#imagine your children being gone for months then they come home and one of them is dating a serial killer

[momomaizono]

Out of context The Hamster House meme

[sometimesanalice]

Leave a Light On {vol. i}

Summary: When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 7k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(this was the story I was working on back in January, before the 'Like I Can' series and anything else on my masterlist. I'm so excited to share it with you all! This will be a 2-part series.)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, you imagine he probably thought you’d check on his plants every now and then. That you’d pop by to give them a quick water and then be on your way.

Maybe that you’d take the Bronco out for a quick spin, so that his baby it didn’t sit there too long going unused. You were one of a very small handful of people he trusted to drive his most prized possession. There was something special about being behind the vintage wheel with the sun on your face as you cruised along the highway, even if it wasn’t the same without him sitting there smiling next to you.

He’d already put his mail on hold with the USPS, but you knew that he knew he could count on you to rescue any stray package that might slip through the cracks and make its way to the front door of his charming craftsman bungalow.

What he probably didn’t expect was for you to be there sometime past 2 AM sitting on the creaky bench of the old, but well-loved, piano that you had helped him to find.

You should be tucked away under the comforter of your own bed, in your own room, at your own place.

Instead, your fingers are navigating over the black and ivory keys trying, yet again, to make it through a tricky passage on a song that you’ve spent the better part of the last three months trying to perfect.

He was coming home soon and you couldn’t wait to hold him, to love him, to surprise him.

Each time he leaves, it gets a little easier to miss him. You wear your longing like a locket rather than an albatross around your neck, always there but easier to bear.

Rooster had a way of filling a space in a way you’ve never experienced before. His larger than life charisma was one of the first things that had caught your attention, followed by that damn smile of his.

He was always humming in the kitchen.

Or whistling in the car.

Or playing the piano to decompress after a long day.

Or listening to something on his mom’s refurbished record player.

His presence always so tangible and warm, like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer. With Bradley around, you could wrap yourself up in the sheer comfort of him.

And when he was gone, it was the quiet that you struggled with the most. A constant reminder of just how far away he was. No texts or calls or voice memos throughout the day. No little everyday sweet somethings that let you know he was thinking of you.

The sound of silence followed you everywhere. Its heavy companionship making itself known regardless of how loudly you sang along to his favorite songs on the playlist he had made you or how many times you played through the song you were learning just for him.

You had grown up in the silence, you knew it well.

Parents who stayed together because it was easier than splitting the house and sharing the kid. And on the rare occasions it wasn’t quiet, it was loud. The kind that was inescapable regardless of how much you buried under the covers or how far you tucked yourself away in the corner of the backyard.

Until one day the glossy, satin walnut upright piano appeared along the wall in your barely used dining room. And then it soon became your favorite way to cover the quiet and to mask the loud.

Looking back on it now, maybe your parents had wanted something to fill the silence too.

The hours and hours of lessons you and Bradley had both been forced to sit through as children was something that the two of you had bonded over pretty early on. And while he had kept up with playing, it was something that had fallen to the wayside in your life. First with school, then with a career, and now with purposeful avoidance.

There was once a time when reading sheet music had come as easily to you as reading a book. And then one day, they were just a bunch of random dots scattered in between and across five lines on a piece of paper.

There was once a time when you didn’t even need to look down to know where your fingertips were flying to. And then one day, all your fingers could do was stumble and trip over the keys as you winced at the dissonance it created.

And when Rooster had learned about your mutual musical upbringing, he had made it his personal mission to try and get you to play something for him. He was so sweet, so sincere in the way he’d ask you, all big brown eyes and hopeful smiles.

It had always made your chest tight to brush him off. It was something he clearly wanted to share with you, but that part of you ached like a phantom limb. You didn’t know what would be worse embarrassing yourself or disappointing him with your lack of skill when it was something that you used to be so proud about.

It was easy to dodge him at first during nights out at the Hard Deck with your understandable Not with all these people here’s to your practical Mozart would just bring the vibes down’s to your evasive Maybe next time’s. 

And when his polite requests were met with empty answers, he took it a step further.

One night in his bed, the curtains fluttering as the sea breeze mingled with his sandalwood scent, he’d whispered into your heated skin, “I’ll get you to play something for me one of these days. Maybe I just need to find the right form of bribery.”

His teasing innuendo juxtaposed deliciously with the deliberate touch of his fingers and tongue as he’d played your body to a perfect crescendo.

It reached a point where you couldn’t stomach to see the dejection in his eyes, the hurt he tried so hard to hide when you’d deny him yet again, that you had to own up to your closely guarded secret.

The confession had whooshed out of you in one breath, leaving you feeling deflated and defeated afterwards.

When you eventually mustered the courage to look at him, he’d been wearing the softest look of understanding on his face, as if he could sense the toll it took to admit the loss of that part of yourself. Then he gathered you in his lap and held you, all while the tears of frustration simmered behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

And when he offered to help remind how to read that language without words, to help you remember the letters of the keys beneath your fingers, it had made your heart hurt a little less.

You weren’t ready then, not like you are now.

But nothing gave you as much pleasure as it did to watch Rooster seated in front of the well-worn and well-played upright piano of Penny’s at the Hard Deck. There was nothing more exhilarating than seeing him in his element so at home on the bench, scuffed and scratched from performers of the past, as he shared that part of himself with everyone in the bar.

He made it look so easy. So damn effortless. His thick fingers flying purposefully over the keys as he played from memory. His joyous enthusiasm electrifying and substantial enough to get the whole bar singing along with him.

It always drew him a lot of attention.

How could it not? He was magnetic on a bad day and captivating the rest of the time. And entirely too handsome for his own good.

Interested eyes, curious eyes, hungry eyes followed him around more often than not after an impromptu performance.

However, those brown eyes of his were always set on you.

Never wavering, never straying from you as he’d weave his way poco a poco, little by little, back through the packed bar. Handing out high-fives to people on autopilot as he passed by to return back to your side. Glistening with the sweat he worked up and grinning widely as he’d greet you with a How’d I do, sweetheart?. Those big, capable hands sliding around your waist, in the back pocket of your jeans, under your top to rest on your low back.

The two of you never stuck around for long after he wrapped up. You didn’t mind helping him find ways to put that excess adrenaline to good use. Usually in the backseat of the Bronco.

You’ll never forget the first time Bradley serenaded you. The song meant for you and you alone.

If someone were to cut into that soft, pink part of your brain, you’re pretty sure they would find that memory pressed there like flowers between the pages of a book. Forever apart of you.

It was the song that always took you right back to that little vinyl shop along the pier. And back to that date that had almost derailed it all.

When Rooster had picked you up to take you to dinner all those months ago, he had seemed a bit antsy and absentminded.

Sure, he had gotten out of the Bronco to come fetch you like a gentleman, instead of sending some half-assed Here text like your ex had been fond of doing. You thought for sure he’d be hustling you back inside after he caught a glimpse of what you were wearing once you opened your front door to greet him.

So you were surprised when he’d simply pressed a dry kiss to your cheek and escorted you to his car with a hand placed respectfully between your shoulder blades instead of cheekily in that space between your low back and ass.

That spot that toed the line between decent and indecent. That spot that made him smirk when you’d give him a pointed lift of the eyebrow, because the two of you knew exactly what he was doing. And better yet, liked it.

However, that night it was almost like he was going through the motions, like he was already somewhere else.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent except for the white noise of the highway as he drove. The circular knob for the radio set to the left.

Off.

Which in hindsight should have been your first warning, since Bradley was never not listening to the Oldies station. A vintage vibe for your vintage boy. 

When you were finally seated across from him at that new trendy Thai place you had been dying to go to, his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping out some unheard tune. On the tops his thighs. On the top of the table.

His eyes were landing everywhere else other than on you. On the large leaves of the potted palms, on the ornate pattern on the gold silk that was swathed across the ceiling, on the intricate hand-painted tiles on the floor.

You’d been trying to carry on a conversation for the past fifteen minutes and were feeling completely on edge when you had to repeat yet another question for him.

The anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach had been getting more and more difficult to ignore. You could tell he wasn’t really there, what you were trying to figure out was whether or not he just didn’t want to be there with you.

And god, the drinks hadn’t even come out yet. There wasn’t anything for you to distract yourself with other than your water glass, and even that was already empty except for a few melting ice cubes.

His half answers and noncommittal noises were rapidly clearing things up for you.

He’s breaking up with me.

It was at that crushing realization that the waitress had returned with your drink orders. The bright orange concoction that she set in front of you had been topped with a lovely purple orchid and glittery swizzle stick.

A happy looking cocktail for the girl who thought she was going to have another great date with the guy who was saved in her phone as “Golden Boy”.

“Have you two decided on what you want to eat? Or would you like to hear the chef’s specials again?” the waitress had asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Bradley.

You could tell that she was sensing the brewing tension between the two of you.

“I don’t think we’ll here much longer, maybe just the check--”

“Sorry, if we could have a few more minutes to decide--”

You’d both started speaking at the same time only to turn to the other wearing matching faces of absolute confusion. He’d gone ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers finally still on the tabletop. The shock in his eyes was apparent, and you could only assume it was there because you beat him to the punch.

The waitress had looked at you sympathetically before saying she’d come back in check in a few minutes and then quickly spun on her heel to take her hasty leave.

It was the look that she’d given you that had really sealed the deal for you, and wasn’t that just great? You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rest of the waitstaff was already hearing about the couple fighting at Table 12 and taking bets about whether or not they’d break up.

Lucky them, dinner and a show.

You’d reached the fruity drink in front of you, the condensation from the glass leaving a ring on the table and took a large sip for moral support. Feeling the weight his stare on you the whole time as you savored the tart taste of passionfruit as it burst across your tongue.

He’d just have to wait. It was your turn to ignore him.

As you’d swallowed it down, it had left you feeling more than a little angry that it tasted so good when you were feeling so shitty. He knew how much you liked an over the top cocktail, why couldn’t he have picked some dingy hole-in-the-wall to do this at rather than ruin this place for you? The hot prickling sensation of righteous indignation filled your chest.

You really didn’t want it to drag out any longer, setting your liquid courage back down you’d met his stare and got right down to it, “If you’re going to break up with me, Rooster, can you just do it now? I’d like to still be able to order Pad See Ew in the future without thinking about you and this moment.”

You removed the napkin from your lap, folding it up primly before placing it back upon the table as you waited for the final nail in the coffin to be pounded in on the remains of the happiest-and-easiest-and-clearly-too-good-to-be-true relationship you’ve ever had.

“Wait, what? I don’t want to break up.” His eyes were wide and searching, the hurt in his voice had been evident. And it was the first time all evening that he seemed to be present with you, like your Golden Boy had finally showed up to the date. “I thought things were going well. More than well, actually.”

“Yeah. I mean, I did too. Until tonight,” you’d agreed, defeatedly. “I’m really confused here. You’ve been completely distant tonight. Not to be vain, but look at me,” you gestured to the sexy lowcut dress you’d worn for the evening. It was something you’d been saving in your closet for the right occasion. And you’d thought it was going to drive him wild, but he hadn’t even given it a second glance.

You’d leaned in a bit, lowering your voice, “It’s a boob and leg dress, Bradley. I look really fucking hot, and frankly, I didn’t even think we were going to make it here once you saw this. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve missed a dinner reservation. And you haven’t said a single thing about it.”

It felt like a silly thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things, but his inattentiveness that evening had stung more than you’d wanted to admit to.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed,” he’d retorted hotly. His eyes had been heated as he’d matched your movement and leaned in further across the table. “Half the men in here noticed it too the second you walked in.”

You didn’t bother trying to hold back your scoff of frustration, the man was infuriating.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re making me feel like being here- with me- is the last place you want to be right now?” You’d given up on trying to sound unaffected, this was not the evening you had envisioned. It felt like being blindfolded on a rollercoaster, unable to see what exactly you were hurtling towards.

“I got my new orders today,” he’d blurted out, his eyes trying to read yours for the reaction. “I’m being send as aerial escort for a diplomatic mission. I ship out next Monday for six weeks.”

He’d told you later that he was grateful it wasn’t a longer one, he knew he was lucky because he could have just as easily been sent away for a deployment longer than you’d actually been together.

“Oh.”

You’d known that that moment would have happened eventually with his job, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. However, it was one thing thinking about it theoretically rather than looking at a ticking clock with a deadline.

“Cards on the table, sweetheart?” He’d waited for you to nod before continuing on, “I am really fucking into you. I’m trying not to put pressure on this, because I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl. I wanted to take you out for a nice meal, get you a couple of those complicated fun drinks you like. I even looked at the menu in advance, they have one here that they light on fire and it seems like something you would love.”

He was right, it was something that you’d love. You had even eyed it when you first got the menu, but you hadn’t wanted to get anything that would draw you more attention when you already felt like you had too many pairs of eyes on you.

“Then I wanted to take you home with me and tell you after we had a great time out. I wanted to ask you to save that Sunday before I leave for me, so that we could spend the whole day together.” His fingers had started playing that unheard tune on the table again. “I wanted to show my girl the best time, to keep her wanting to come back and to stick around. So that someone else doesn’t catch her eye, so that I don’t lose her to someone better than me while I’m away.”

His confession had your heart taking up residence in your throat. Having him lay it out for you so clearly and knowing that he’d felt as serious about you as you did about him was everything you had wanted to hear. However, one thing nagged at you.

“Bradley, you make me happy. Like really, really happy. I’ve only got eyes for you. If I’m being honest, this stopped being casual to me around our third date. And I trust you enough to know you’d tell me if this”, you’d gestured between the two of you, “wasn’t what you wanted anymore before starting up with someone else. I hope I have that same trust in return, because if you’re worried about me stepping out on you while you’re away, I don’t know how this is going to work. And I really want it to work.”

“Shit, I’m really striking out here. Batting 0 for two,” he’d sighed out more to himself than to you, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Our third? Really? I thought for sure after that disaster that you were going to block my number.” He huffs a laugh, cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they had that chaotic evening on the beach.

“Bradley, it was comically bad.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at the memory of it. “You were trying so hard and you were so flustered. It was so endearing.”

“Who would have guessed getting attacked by seagulls and coming home covered in sand flea bites could have been so appealing?” He joked self-deprecatingly.

“Me, I could have. Since I was with you,” you said sincerely, “No one I’ve dated has ever put half as much effort into trying to make me happy as you have.”

The two of you exchanged a soft, tentative smiles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had a wandering eye or anything, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with you as he reached for your hands and threaded his fingers through yours, his palms slightly sweaty. “This deployment is different for me. I’ve never had to ask someone to wait for me before, never had anyone who wanted to. And I’ve been really in my head because I was trying to find the right way to tell you, to ask you.”

You were still getting to know all of the expressions of his face, but the look of open insecurity he was wearing was new to you. And you’d felt something deep in your chest release and unlock.

For how easily he owned a room, for how confident he could be, getting to see these tender parts of him because he trusted you with them had made you ache in the most bittersweet of ways for the man who was in front of you.

You held his gaze, taking in his anxious expression. How anyone couldn’t want this man or didn’t think he was worth the wait was incomprehensible to you.

“So Sunday the seventeenth, huh?” you’d said with a grin.

His relief was palpable as he’d squeezed your hand a bit tighter, “Yeah, baby, you up for it?”

“A perfect day with my dream guy?” you mused, squeezing his hand back, “Yeah, I think I’d be up for that. I’m up for all of it.”

Not just the date. Not just the deployment. You already knew. With him, you wanted it all.

When the waitress returned a few moments later, Bradley ordered a green curry for himself and the Pad See Ew for you. Along with one of those complicated, fun drinks that arrived with fanfare and flames, all while he played with your fingers.

And after you were finished, she’d dropped off a fluffy looking coconut covered dessert that she’d stated was on the house as walked away with a wink.

You’d totally called it, dinner and a show.

As you’d left the restaurant, he tucked you in close under his arm pressing kiss after kiss to your temple as you made your way back to the Bronco.

And later, when he had taken you back to his place for the night, your boob-and-leg dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, he’d apologized again. This time with his mouth on your body.

Twice.

It had been a fluke, really, finding that record tucked away in that small, but well-kept shop on that Sunday before his deployment.

You’d surprised him with a certificate for a haircut and hot towel shave at an upscale barber for a little pre-deployment pampering. He’d gotten his hair trimmed the day before and he was somehow looking even more sunkissed than usual. His patterned shirt was mostly buttoned up and he had on your favorite pair of jeans- the ones that might have been a bit too snug, but did devastating things for his ass.

It was the outfit he’d been wearing when you had first met.

You and Bradley had spent a lazy, perfect morning at the beach reading and lounging and trading sea salt kisses before changing and to grab a bite to eat. He’d held up a towel up around you to slip into your sun warmed dress, behaving himself for the most part. But you’d still caught him sneaking a peek from over the top of the terry cloth.

After eating a late lunch at his favorite little café that served the best cioppino, you’d popped in and out of the various shops that dotted the boardwalk near the pier. It might have been the bottle of wine you shared, but he made sure to stop at every photobooth you passed along the way, collecting strip after strip of snapshots and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

His hand staying in yours the whole time.

When he’d spotted the tiny record store, he’d cheerily pulled you along with him wanting to look for new additions for his ever-growing collection. It was his newest hobby after getting his mom’s old record player restored. You had even helped him build the sideboard he had specially ordered for it to display his prized collection in the living room of his home.

You could hear him talking excitedly to an associate about some Jerry Lee Lewis albums, who offered to take a look in the backroom for him. You never had good luck when you tried to search for specific things, so you were happy to meander around a bit aimlessly and see what spoke to you.

Casually flipping through the stacks, you’d gasped when you landed on what appeared to be the holy grail of all vinyl records ever made.

“Bradley, look!” You’d held out the record for him like a prize. And he abandoned his own search to come join you on the other side of the store.

“Soldiers’ Sweethearts, huh?” He grinned at your find, his eyes crinkling around the edges. The navy colored jacket highlighted a trio of glamourous looking women, each of the three records featured a different performer and their covers of songs popularized during WWII.

“Mm-hmm,” you’d preened, feeling entirely too pleased with yourself. “You’re a soldier, I’m a sweetheart. I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. I have to get it.”

“Well I’m not a soldier, technically,” he’d chuckled, as you’d rolled your eyes at him. The joke had you scrunching your nose, and his mustache grazed you as he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to it. “But you’re definitely a sweetheart, sweetheart.”

You were still trying to learn the ins and outs of that part of his life. But you’d liked how he never made you feel stupid when you had questions. More often than not he seemed excited to answer them for you, that you were interested in what he did.

Rooster gently took your newest most prized possession into his big hands, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Flipping the album over, he’d scanned the tracks listed on the back for the three records. “Some classics, but a lot I don’t think I know. Definitely some intriguing titles, like ‘Daddy’,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a grin that could only be described as lewd.

The man was a menace and had no problem finding new ways to make you blush. You were grateful that the shop was empty except for the two of you, as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“What about ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight’? Have you heard that one before, sweetheart?” His large body moving in and crowding yours, the smell of his cologne making your thoughts go a bit fuzzy around the edges. Your heartbeat kicked up in tempo as he brushed a piece of hair off your forehead.

That find was definitely a jackpot.

Him and those records.

“Mm, or how about ‘Make Love To Me’?” He’d murmured into your ear, his free arm slid slowly against your waist, making a home for itself low on your back. The warmth from his hand seeping through your dress and into your skin.

It was heady being the target of all his heated words and teasing tone. The pull in your low stomach getting more intense with every moment you’d stayed pressed against his hard body. You could see how his pulse was pounding arditamente con forza, boldly with force, from how close your face was to that thick throat of his. And you had wanted to--

“I knew we had it somewhere!”

The associate’s cheery announcement as he returned from the backroom startled you back into yourself. Feeling flustered you’d tried to pull away, but Bradley just kept his arm locked around you as he’d made his way to the counter.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. We’ll take this one too,” he stated as he’d smoothly placed your Soldiers’ Sweethearts album on the top of the pile he had accumulated. Only letting go of you to pay.

Naturally, you’d wanted to play the record the second you made it back to Bradley’s place.

He set it up for you before giving you a lingering, deep kiss leaving you to your own devices as he worked on the final few things left on his to-do list before his deployment early the next morning.

You were happy to make yourself comfortable on his wide seat couch with an Old Fashioned listening to Jo Stafford’s soothing voice with your eyes closed, wanting to luxuriate in the moment.

One where Bradley was less than twenty feet away puttering around in his kitchen and humming and murmuring to himself.

One where you could call out to him and he would be in front of you in a few long strides.

You wanted to avoid thinking about the next day and the beginning of your new normal.

One where you couldn’t expect text messages from him throughout the day.

One where concern and uncertainty would follow you around like a dark cloud until he came back home to you.

But he was here for now. And you wanted to savor it all, to soak up all of its sweet, syrupy goodness like the expensive cherry in your glass.

He must have sensed the turn in your thoughts because his sandalwood scent gave his closeness away before his voice did, “What do you say, Miss Soldiers’ Sweetheart? Can you spare a dance for me?”

You opened your eyes to see him standing before you with his hand outreached for you. The smile so gentle and open on his face, made it impossible for you to do anything other than wordlessly nod your head in agreement as you’d let him pull you up from your comfy perch.

“Apologies in advance for any injuries caused by my two left feet,” you joked a bit bashfully as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Lucky for us, I was gifted with two right feet. Don’t worry, we’ll even out each other,” he murmured.

He pulled you into his gravity, pressing your joined hands against his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand on your lower back urging closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head where you had tucked it into that safe space where his neck meets his shoulder.

take me in your arms, and never let me go whisper to me softly while the moon is low

True to his word, he’d guided you in a smooth, easy rhythm. The confidence in his steps as you were held within his sturdy arms was enough to make you feel secure in your own movement. With him you were completely taken care of.

hold me close and tell me what I wanna know say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow

Your other hand slid up slowly from where it was resting on his shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as your thumb traced the thick column of his throat.

Come a little closer, make love to me

He held you tighter, held you closer, as the song came to an end. The easy rhythm turning into a gentle sway that continued as the next song began. And the one after that.

That night in his bed he moved against you with such purpose, such tenderness. The sex with Bradley was always stunningly good, he was never content to let himself come until he’d rendered you thoroughly boneless and breathless. He was easily the best you’ve ever had, but that night it was different between you two.

The mood weighty and intense, both of you exposed in a way you hadn’t been before. But there was no mistaking the deliberate way he touched you, the unwavering way he rolled his hips against yours, the unguarded way he held your gaze as if he was committing that moment to memory as he made love to you.

He’d held you close to his warm body, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps, as you shivered through your orgasm. His mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered soothing sweet somethings until he followed you over the edge.

For Bradley, you were up for it. For him, you’d be up for all of it.

yesyesyes

Things were a bit too quiet for you.

You heart clenched in a different way when you looked at Penny’s piano on those evenings you spent with the Dagger Squad without him. The ache was still there, but so was a new kind of longing. Part for him, but also for yourself.

But you’d made it through that deployment with the help of your three favorite sweethearts: Jo, Vera and Anne. Although you always queued up one song in particular anytime you found yourself missing him a bit more than normal.

And when Bradley returned back home to you six weeks later, it was easy to fall right back into him. That quiet period was almost too easily forgotten when he was around to fill a space.

That night at the Hard Deck when he serenaded you for the first time, it was normal for him to strut over to the old jukebox to unplug it. His timing impeccable as always, silencing whatever country song Jake had queued up.  

What wasn’t normal was the way he took you by the hand leading you directly to the old upright and pulled you right onto the bench next to him.

There was already some sheet music spread across the shelf, you’d noted as he’d wiped his hands on the outside of his jeans before settling his hands on the keys. It only took you a couple bars of the intro to realize what song he was playing, already completely enamored before he’d even opened his mouth to sing.

It was your song.

Nothing in the world could ever compete with Bradley Bradshaw’s deep, raspy voice singing just for you. The significance of the song meant for you and him alone.

You heart had swelled in your chest until you thought it might burst from happiness. Never in your life had you been so thoroughly swept off your feet. It was a gesture came from his heart that made a home in yours.

Ever the showman Rooster put on a full performance, his aviator sunglasses sliding down his nose as he really leaned into it.

Your wide grin had turned to laughter when a few members of the Dagger Squad jumped in as back-up vocals, singing into their beer bottles in a way that obviously had been rehearsed. You didn’t know how he managed to keep it a secret. While Rooster was a vault in his professional life, when it came to his personal life Bradley couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

The whole bar was having fun with the jaunty tune, some couples dancing along in smooth circles on the sticky wood floor as he crooned. He’d leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek every now and then in between verses, and you’d felt yourself fall for him even harder.

He’d pulled you into his lap once he was done playing, as the din of the resumed chatter softly cocooned you. You’d seen all you needed to know reflected in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Will you play it again?” you’d asked against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.” And you rested your head on his shoulder watching his fingers get into position on the keys once more as he played the few opening notes.

Somewhere you heard a groan followed by a grumbled, “Not again.”

“Shut it, Bagman,” you bossed at him, not even bothering to look in his direction. You only had eyes for Bradley.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled. “Shut it, Bagman.”

And then he played it again.

take me in your arms, and never let me go

You should be asleep in your own bed and not at his place with only the soft light of the lamp above his piano and a now cold cup of tea to keep you company.

Tired of tossing and turning, you’d given up on the idea of getting any sleep at your own place after the second hour of trying. Throwing on your slippers, you’d grabbed your keys and then drove over to his place, still in the oversized t-shirt you’d put on before bed, in hopes that scent of his sheets would help lull you to sleep.

But all it did was make you miss him more.

It was too quiet without his soft breathing next to you as he held you close and tucked against his chest.

Too quiet without his records.

Too quiet without his happy humming.

Too quiet without him.

The sound of the tea kettle on his gas range had helped fill the silence, but it was his piano that had called you as you had waited for the water to boil. The sheet music you had left there from the last time you were over beckoning like a siren’s song.

It was your secret.

Only for a few more days, only until he came home.

You wanted to surprise him, to sweep him off his feet the way that he always did with you when he played for you.

During that first deployment, for the first time in years, your fingers yearned for the feel of cool, smooth keys beneath your fingers.

You hadn’t even told Bradley, the one person who would understand it the most, that you’d been thinking about it. Let alone that you were actually taking classes again. Making up excuses about manicures or errands or spin classes for why you were busy for an hour every Tuesday at five PM.

The thing that had once hurt your heart the most, was now the only thing that helped soothe the ache of missing him. The only thing that made you feel close to him when you were thousands of miles apart.

You wanted that familiar comfort of making music. You wanted it because you missed him, but you also wanted it for yourself.

A co-worker had given you the name and number for her kids’ instructor, Mrs. McMullen, an elderly woman who started teaching after her husband passed away. It took you couple weeks to work up the courage to make the call, the sticky note burning a hole in the pocket of your purse you had tucked it into.

You had been an anxious mess the day of your first lesson, hands shaking like you’d had one too many shots of espresso. It felt strange, a little surreal sitting there in the body you’d grown into on the padded bench in her cozy living room. One of the walls filled with shelves and shelves of sheet music, her own personal library.

And for a brief moment, you were transported to a different year on a different bench in a different room. Now and Then. Older and Younger. Both versions of you there to learn. All too familiar, yet entirely new.

You started with the basics. A reintroduction to those lines on the page and the notes that spoke their own language for those who knew how to read it.

Your fingers wanting to move quicker than your sluggish mind, like an echo of a memory of how it used to be. You winced and apologized after every wrong note, until she put her hand on yours, her skin looked as delicate as her fingers did, and said gently, “We learn by doing, mistakes only mean that you are trying. Once more, once again.”

After that first lesson, you’d gone back to your car and promptly burst into tears. Overwhelmed tears, happy tears. That tender part of you still soft, however no longer aching.

You’d left feeling lighter as you pulled away from her house to go meet up with everyone at the Hard Deck, but also with a packet of sheet music to practice for your next lesson.

When Rooster had told you about getting his new orders, when he had asked you again if you were still up for it. You’d told him the same thing you had at that date, you were up for it all.

You would take the sadness with the sweet any day of the week for as long as he was yours.

You’d known how you would fill the space he left behind. And exactly how you wanted to welcome him home. You’d been excited to put that certain song just for him in your cart, and then tacking on one more song to your order, a song that would be just for you.

Both you and Mrs. McMullen had be surprised at how you’d been able to pick things back up over the months, you still weren’t anywhere as good as you were when you were younger, but it wasn’t nearly as daunting as it used to be. And when you showed up to your next lesson after your songs had been delivered, she was more than happy to help you figure out ways to simplify the songs a bit so that you’d be ready when he returned.

And now you’re bent over Bradley’s piano with a pencil tucked behind your ear as you played through the hardest bit of the song, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve gone over it tonight. This morning? You were in that liminal space between yesterday and today. Where the time on the clock was just a suggestion because it felt neither here nor there.

You had practiced and practiced the song you had wanted to play for him once got home. You’re pretty sure Mav wasn’t supposed to tell you the significance of that particular song, but it had made your heart flutter wildly in your chest when he’d told you. And every time you’ve heard it since then.

It was polished, it was perfect, it was ready. All you needed was him.

The one you’re playing now con amore, with love, is the piece you pull out when you long for him the most.

The cover of the song had made you think of him from the moment you’d heard it. It was more lyrical and delicate than the original, and captured just how you felt about him. Just how much he meant to you. Sometimes you sing along with it, sometimes you just let the keys and pedals express the things you otherwise could not.  

It was the song of your heart.

Your fingers trip over one of the notes yet again, probably from the lack of sleep, but you weren’t ready to crawl back into Bradley’s comfy bed. Not just yet.

Sighing, you pull the pencil from behind your ear, muttering to yourself out loud as you note the spot on the page. It was already filled with little pencil marks, some older and some newer. All made because you were trying.

Once more, once again.

Breathing out slowly, you settle your hand back on the keys-

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

Read {vol. ii} here!

He's a sneaky one, friends! I have Part 2 in the works, not to worry! We have to see how it all plays out! (put intended)

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for the grand finale!

Here's a link to the Soldiers' Sweethearts Album, if you're curious!

But this is their song, the one Bradley serenaded her with! Jo Stafford's version of 'Make Love to Me'

I ended up making two moodboards for this part!

Here's the more colorful one! And here's the more yearn-y one!

You can check out my other stories here!

And a big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me spam you about this one!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Epilogue: It’s Not Over ‘Til You’re Underground]

A/N: We've finally reached the end of the Oregon Trail, besties!!! Enjoy this one last treat to celebrate the conclusion of Martyrs 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Both the series title and epilogue title are lyrics from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Word count: 4.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Autumn is the harvest, ripping up roots, preparing for the starving time of winter, and so you step through the threshold of your new life as the world is ending again.

“I knew the chances,” Sophie says when you tell her what happened; but she can’t look at you, because of course she wishes it was Rio who made it to Odessa instead, and you don’t blame her. She breaks down and leaves the house, and you sit there—silent, sorry, self-loathing—for a long time with Rio’s weeping parents and Aegon’s arm draped across the back of your chair. But then Sophie comes back inside, and through tears she says it’s nice to meet you in person at last, and then she asks if you’d like to hold Rio’s son.

Here it is commonplace to see M16s and AR-15s, marijuana growing in gardens, a myriad of flags flying from homes—Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024, American flags, rainbow flags, porcupines of the Libertarian Party—and order is maintained by an elected council of longtime Odessa residents. For anyone to be allowed into the community, somebody already here must take responsibility for them, and so the seven of you—eight, counting Ice—spend the first few months sleeping on Rio’s parents’ living room floor and eating meals out of their cellar, enough self-stable food to last for years. You join the construction crew and help build houses, Cregan cuts down trees and fishes and hunts, Helaena shows Aegon how to garden and Sophie teaches Luke to bake bread. There are no doctors here, but there are several unlicensed midwives and a veterinarian named Ian Whitted. Rhaena studies under him—attending every appointment and taking copious notes in the spider notebook Helaena gifts her, sharing what she learned from Aemond—and before long her sutures are quicker and cleaner than Ian’s. Daeron, considered too young and inexperienced for the most dangerous work, is posted with his compound bow inside the village to serve as a guard. He resents this until he realizes there are far more women to flirt with here than out in the forest where wolves and bears prowl and the dead rove with incurable hunger.

You work from dawn to sunset; you work so you have no time to think. The baby doesn’t feel real, and neither does Aemond being gone, and the future is so unimaginable you’d rather not try to imagine it at all. Because you’re a good shot, they want you for patrols and raids of nearby towns to search for supplies, and you take every shift you’re offered until Rhaena says you have to stop. She tells you that each time you leave, Aegon watches the door until you walk through it again, that it’s not good for him, that it’s not good for you either. She says you can’t keep running from what’s happened.

“I’m not trying to run away,” you tell her where she’s cornered you by one of the wells, lilac twilight sky and glimmers of stars, hoots of owls and children laughing as they roast marshmallows over crackling fires. “I’m trying to find my way through.”

“Fine,” Rhaena replies firmly, no room for argument. “But you’re going to do that in here where it’s safe.”

The new houses have wooden walls and kitchen fireplaces made of stones, beds with feather mattresses, plots for gardens and pens for ducks, chickens, pigs, sheep, goats, turkeys, cattle. Helaena and Cregan move into one cabin, Rhaena and Luke share another, and you have the last to yourself, the first time you’ve ever lived alone. Aegon and Daeron float around between the houses, more often than not ending up in yours as the sun is dipping below the tree line into the west, Daeron carving wooden cutlery with a hunting knife, Aegon cuddling with Ice on the deerskin rug, luring you into disastrous baking attempts and games of Uno and telling stories about Washington D.C., Djibouti, Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae, Diego Garcia, Saratoga Springs before the dead began to walk.

Thanksgiving dinner is at Rio’s parents’ house, Sophie’s baby sound asleep in his blue sling, candles flickering and Ice lying beneath the table to gulp down scraps that fall to the floor: roasted turkey, hazelnut stuffing, buttered carrots, mashed potatoes, pickled beets, salad with homemade ranch dressing, pumpkin pie for dessert.

“God, I miss chilidogs,” Aegon mutters beside you, and you laugh—a real laugh, loud and helpless, a lightness flooding into your arteries and the marrow of your bones—for the first time since Aemond died.

“You have to try this,” Sophie says, pouring you a small glass of moonshine distilled with apples and cherries and cinnamon. Everybody else has already had a taste except Aegon. He doesn’t drink anymore, doesn’t smoke the weed people grow here, only keeps a few tobacco plants in your garden to enjoy on rare occasions.

“I can’t,” you tell Sophie, staring at the amber-colored moonshine. You are over three months along and will be showing soon. It materializes all at once, shifts from a hazy apparition to something in full focus: next Thanksgiving you will have a fatherless infant of your own.

Sophie is puzzled. The glass of moonshine waits untouched on the table. “Why not?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” you say.

Aegon chokes on his pumpkin pie. “You’re what?!”

And everyone except Helaena drops their forks and leaps up to engulf you: How long have you known? How far along are you? Why didn’t you tell us? How can we help?

You stop lifting heavy things and stay off of ladders. Helaena brings you kale and mushrooms, Sophie knits you baby clothes, Rio’s mom makes you candles infused with essential oils, lavender, chamomile, ginger, and you lie and say they make a difference. Aegon helps you build a crib; you don’t need his help, but still, he insists. Smiling to himself, he etches two words into the headboard: Mini Chips. Wheat is planted in the fields to the north of the village. Scrap metal is scavenged for the blacksmiths to melt down to make nails and bullets. You learn to sweeten desserts with honey instead of sugar and to hold your hand flat when you feed the baby goats so they won’t nibble your fingers. You wait for winter to thaw and summer to come back around again.

It is what people would call a bad birth: hemorrhaging and lots of stitches, Rhaena squinting in the glow of the flashlights trying to piece you back together, rain outside and no lidocaine. You can’t stop crying. You feel like you’re going to die, and you’re shaking too badly to hold your own child, and you want Aemond. He would know what to do, he would know how to make the world go quiet. And the truth that he will never meet his daughter hits you over and over again like cold lethal waves, like bullets that pierce the heart.

Aegon is here instead, and you want to cling to him but you can’t; if all the others could die, so can he. But even when you look away from him to stare at the wall he stays, his hand clutching yours and never complaining even when you squeeze it hard enough to leave bruises that paint him maroon and indigo, tilting glasses filled with fresh pomegranate juice against your lips, asking Rhaena and Ian what you will need from him as you recover. Slowly the house empties and everyone goes home, but Aegon stays through the night and never leaves again.

Harmony cries a lot, as if she already knows she’s lost someone. She has trouble nursing and only sleeps for a few hours at a time. People are always coming in and out of the house: Sophie with handknit clothes and blankets for the baby, Helaena with flowers and fruit and vegetables, Rhaena with loaves of Luke’s fresh-baked bread, Cregan with firewood. At first Aegon is better with Harmony than you are. You love her, of course, and you mourn for the life you cannot give her; but you can’t shake the feeling that someone left her on your doorstep, this fragile bewildering creature you are so unequipped to soothe. Yet Aegon picks her up and she stops crying. He carries her around the house and murmurs nonsense—rules of golf, sailing knots—and she gazes up at him mesmerized; and in the peace that grows from him like weeds, wild and inevitable, you can heal.

Aegon helps you walk for the first week after the birth. He brings you meals, overflowing plates you can never finish. He respectfully averts his eyes when you nurse the baby and when he passes the bedroom as you’re changing clothes, slowly and inelegantly, every muscle feeling shredded. He falls exhausted into bed beside you with his arms crossed over his chest so he won’t reach for you in his sleep. You keep waiting for him to start craving marijuana and moonshine, to meet someone who makes him wayward again while you are left here alone, morose and unglamorous and bleeding. You care about Aegon—entirely, violently—but you are convinced you’ll never love a man again. Perhaps love is something that is always doomed to be broken, ruinous, poisoned.

When Harmony is about four months old, you begin to see Aegon differently. You can’t stop staring at the way his hair shags over his eyes when he’s bent low in the garden, you hide behind walls and listen each time you catch him singing to himself, you feel a dark desperate sense of loss when other women flirt with him, though Aegon is never more than polite in return. You find excuses to touch him, and he always acquiesces: Let me bandage the cuts on your hands, let me dab honey on your sunburn.

One night you wake to find Aegon with Harmony in the kitchen, humming and rocking her in his arms as he paces back and forth across the wood floor in his bare feet, the full moon radiant through the window, the fireplace crackling. He glances over when he notices you standing in the doorway and says: “I think this is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Aegon?”

“Yeah, Chips.”

“I’m in love with you.”

At first he is startled, and then he smiles in the firelight, a slow mischievous curve of the lips that puts stars in his eyes and shows his teeth. “Took you long enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly ten years ago, you were learning how to be a builder at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, salt and sun and sweet tea and humidity that lies heavy like a second skin you can’t shed. Today you are hammering nails into boards that will be a wall of the new meeting house, twice the square footage of the old one. The community here keeps growing.

“Watch out for your fingers, Zack Attack.”

 Zack looks over at you. He’s a kid, nineteen, and he’s only been here a week. He left Beaumont, Texas with a group of thirty people, one of them the cousin of a council member here. Twelve were left when they arrived. “Huh?”

“You’re holding the nail too close to the bottom,” you say. “If you swing the hammer and miss—and you will miss, everyone does sometimes, even me—you’ll crush your fingers against the wood. But if you hold the nail up near the top, the hammer will kind of knock them out of the way as it comes down, and you won’t have to worry about Rhaena or Ian popping your bones back into place.”

“Oh, cool! Thanks!” Zack readjusts his hands. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

“The Navy.”

“Right. That makes sense.” He gives you a crooked, conspiratorial grin. “I heard you’re a good shot.”

“I am, I guess.” You don’t do patrols anymore, but you’re on the list of people to call when there’s a security breach, and you go because you have to. If Odessa is ever overrun, that will be the end of the life you’ve made here. The last scare was two months ago, a hoard that wandered up from the south, probably out of Klamath Falls. Someone knocked and you answered, leaving Aegon standing in the doorway with troubled eyes, Noah in his arms asking: Where Mama go? And Aegon had told him She’ll be back soon, buddy, but of course no one had known if that was true.

Now Zack says admiringly: “A real killer.”

You smile and give him a slap on the shoulder as you start climbing down the ladder. “I’d rather be a builder.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah, my kids probably miss me.”

“See ya tomorrow. Bring more of Aegon’s raspberry crumb muffins.”

You laugh. “If there are any left.”

Down on the ground, bumblebees orbit tufts of wildflowers and cats prowl for mice. Sitting cross-legged on the grass are kids rubbing nails against bars of goat milk soap; it makes them go into the wood easier. They play the same way you did as a child: in the dirt, in the wild, tracking animals and building dams in the creek. They wave as you pass by. Everyone knows each other here. Everyone knows what you can do with the Beretta M9 in your holster.

Beside one of the wells, Daeron is helping a flock of tittering, blushing women pull up their buckets and plucking stray blades of grass and pine needles out of their hair. He is easily the most eligible bachelor in Odessa, and in no hurry to take himself off the market. By the schoolhouse, two teenagers are petting Ice as they listen to Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman and rap along to Gold Digger: “You will see him on tv, any given Sunday, win the Super Bowl and drive off in a Hyundai…”

But at Sophie’s house, the song you hear is Darius Rucker’s Wagon Wheel, drifting from a battery-powered boombox containing one of Rio’s dad’s cassette tapes. Aegon is already here and dusted with earth, your children clamoring around his legs as he chats with Sophie at the edge of the garden: zucchini, snap peas, tomatoes, strawberries, spinach, potatoes, cucumbers, carrots, kale. When Aegon sees you, he lights up and says to the kids: “Look! Look who’s here!” And you crouch down and open your arms so you can catch all three of them as they barrel into you on small, wobbly legs.

The second birth was much easier, the third only lasted an afternoon. Opal, three years old, is named after a gemstone that Sophie told you symbolizes hope and clarity; Noah, two and with unruly blonde hair like Aegon’s, shares a name with the man who started over when the world flooded and all the generations before were lost. You pick him up before he can trip over his own feet.

“Mama, come see!” Harmony shouts, grabbing your free hand and dragging you to a hutch full of fluffy, multicolored rabbits. Aegon is walking over to join you, his hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his lips, long blonde hair and stubbled cheeks.

“Are these the new meat rabbits?” you say without thinking, and Aegon widens his eyes at you.

Harmony peers up with a worried frown. She’s getting too smart to be shielded from such harsh realities. “Why did you call them meat rabbits?”

Aegon swoops Harmony off the ground to distract her. “Because they’re so excited to meet you!” he says as she giggles and kicks through open air.

“What are their names?” you ask to change the subject.

“Arrax,” Opal says in her toddler lisp, pointing to a grey one. And then, indicating a rabbit with long, reddish-tan fur: “Morning.”

“Those are such nice names!” you gush, a bit perplexed. Children have a certain mystery to them, one foot still in the Great Beyond, wherever souls wait to be born and reunited.

“And this one is Sunfyre,” Harmony announces proudly, reaching through the wire to scratch its straw-colored coat.

“Sunfyre?!” Aegon says. “Well now you’re just making shit up.” A pause. “Stuff. You’re making stuff up.”

“And Sunfyre is married to Dreamfyre.”

“Cute,” Aegon says. “Incestuous, but cute.”

“The post-apocalypse dating pool is limited,” you remind him.

“Have you met the Texas people yet?” Sophie asks you as she wanders over to the hutch in a handknit yellow dress, wearing elephant earrings that Rio once mailed home to her from Djibouti.

“Yeah, some of them are working on the meeting house. They seem really nice. And apparently they know how to barbeque, so that’s exciting. New recipes!”

Sophie smirks. “When they dropped by to introduce themselves, I had to have the whole conversation again.”

“Well…you did name your kid Otter.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sophie says, chuckling, showing her palms. “I did not name him Otter.”

“You named him Bryan Otter Osorio. And you call him Otter.”

“Because he’s a little kid and it’s a perfectly fine nickname for now! And then when he’s older…you know…he can decide who he wants to be.”

You smile. “Sure.”

“I think it’s great, personally,” Aegon says. “I’m hoping I’ll get to name my next one Softshell Turtle.”

“Absolutely,” you deadpan. “And what if it’s a girl?”

“Softshell Turtle is obviously unisex.”

Sophie is laughing and shaking her head. “I hate you guys.”

Helaena and Cregan arrive to pick up their children, two sets of twins, all named after species of butterflies: Skipper, Adonis, Tiger, Sara. Rio’s parents bring them outside to the garden to be collected. They and Sophie like to keep the house full of children, especially now that Otter is getting older. And when they need meat or firewood or their roof patched, they know who to ask.

“I’m so sorry,” Sophie tells Helaena and Cregan as they wrangle their brood. “I’m mortified. Adonis ate Harmony’s oatmeal raisin cookie and made her cry, so Otter smacked him in the head with his golf club.” Aegon has carved miniature, lightweight clubs out of pine wood for each of the children; they zip around putting acorns and walnuts. “Adonis was freaked out but I think he’s fine now. I couldn’t find a bruise or anything. Again, I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“You okay, buckaroo?” Cregan asks, and his oldest son—brunette man bun, already pestering his dad to take him hunting—nods adamantly.

“Duh. It didn’t even hurt.”

Cregan guffaws and turns back to Sophie. “See? No harm done.”

Otter trots out of the house, rubbing his eyes like he just woke up from a nap. Harmony immediately runs over to hug him. He’s already six inches taller than her and is always giving her gifts that end up on the fireplace mantle at your house: flecks of quartz, pinecones, bracelets woven from buttercups.

Sophie asks Otter: “Did you think about what you did earlier?”

“Yeah,” he replies cavalierly.

“Would you do it again?”

“Probably.”

“Oh dear,” Sophie exhales, exasperated.

You beam down at Otter. “He’s exactly like Rio.”

“Yeah,” Sophie says wistfully, combing her fingers through his dark curly hair. “He really is.”

Rhaena and Luke happen to be strolling by and stop to say hello. Luke teaches English classes at the schoolhouse, founded the Cultural Preservation Committee, and writes and directs a new play each month. When he is in the lull between original ideas, he draws from pre-zombie pop culture. The June production is Free Britney.

“Hi!” Rhaena says, waving. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” All the adults offer greetings and confirm they’ll swing by her and Luke’s cabin in a few hours. Then Rhaena shields her eyes from the sun as she sighs incredulously. “Do you realize there are ten women due in the next two weeks? I spend all day rushing around because they’re panicking about Braxton Hicks contractions. If I get one full night’s sleep between now and mid-July, it’ll be a miracle. Am I the only human alive who knows how to use the rhythm method? I explain it! I give lessons!”

You laugh and say: “I think people just really want babies, Rhaena.”

“They’re so sweet,” Helaena coos as she snuggles Sara against her chest.

“Gotta repopulate the planet,” Cregan adds.

Rhaena is disturbed. “I don’t feel ready for that.”

“Totally cool,” you assure her. “Helaena and I are keeping the average up.”

That night, logs pop and hiss in the fireplace and wind howls outside through the forest. On the walls are photographs of Aemond and Helaena and Daeron, drawings that the children have scribbled of you and Aegon. Propped in one corner of the living room is Aegon’s acoustic guitar; Harmony’s current favorite song for him to play is Big Girls Don’t Cry, though a slightly censored version of Fergalicious is a close second. Tomorrow is Aegon’s birthday. You have a cake hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets—cinnamon, honey, buttercream frosting—that you baked this morning before leaving for the construction site, along with 35 small homemade candles dyed green with chamomile. Every year he assumes you’ve forgotten, but you never do. You’re so thankful he was born. You are eternally finding new ways to convince him of this.

All five of you cuddle up in the big bed for story time. You begin as you always do, struggling to capture the kids’ attention as they crawl around giggling and rolling on top of each other: “Hey, hey, everyone look at me. You remember what we say.” Harmony knows this part my heart, Opal has the words mostly right, Noah gives it a solid effort as he mauls on a teddy bear Sophie knitted for him. “You’re beautiful. I love you. You’re doing the right thing.”

“What story should Mama tell tonight, huh?” Aegon asks as you open the book of fairytales borrowed from the makeshift community library, another one of Luke’s projects. “The Little Mermaid, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Beauty and the Beast…oh wait, I think I might be in that one…”

Harmony says to you: “Tell the story about how Aemond saved us from the tower.”

Children understand death here. People get infections, people succumb to cancer or heart attacks or strokes or diabetes, people go out on raids or patrols and never come back, one man contracted rabies from a bat bite and was—at his request—euthanized via gunshot. Harmony is aware she had a father before Aegon, but that he had to go to heaven early, and so Aegon is her father now and loves her completely. She knows Aemond’s face from the photographs Helaena took from the beach house on the Pacific Ocean. She knows the kind of person he was from the stories she’s been told. Harmony envisions a fantastical castle keep instead of a stark metal transmission tower draped in dead wires, and she’s a bit unclear on the chronology of when she entered the picture, but she has heard about the journey to Odessa. Aegon’s map, annotated with glittery green gel pen ink, hangs on the kitchen wall.

You close the book, looking at Harmony: your hair, Aemond’s eyes. “Okay. I can tell that one.”

“Mama…” Her little forehead crinkles, questions she is at last getting old enough to start asking. “Why do some people have to go to heaven before they’re old?”

You hesitate, trying to decide how to explain; and now embers are glowing hot and scarring in your throat. It’s a fire that cools and rekindles but never burns out. Aegon speaks instead. “Because they’re heroes, Mini Chips,” he says gently. “They go to heaven so other people get to stay here longer. Aemond went to heaven so you and your mom could live here in Odessa with me.”

“So Otter’s daddy was a hero too?”

Aegon leans down to kiss the top of her head, his eyes shining. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Not just a hero, you think. A martyr. Someone who dies for a cause.

Harmony is patting your arm with her tiny outstretched hand. “The tower, Mama. Tell us about the tower.”

Now you are there again with Rio: sixty feet off the ground and clinging to metal beams hot enough to put blisters on your palms, cascading June sunlight and wild emerald fields, blood and madness behind you, the mirage of Oregon ahead, believing without reason that someone out there will save you.

And they will; they will.

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

guilty as sin?

cooper adams/f!reader (5.9k wc)

summary upon coming home from your senior year of college, you find out that cooper has volunteered to help watch your sister while your parents are on holiday. just what you need - being home alone with the hot dad from down the street for a week.

content warnings smut, unsafe sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), age difference, dark/canon-typical subject material (ie. takes place post trap and it's not cheating because rachel died and he got away au), the ending i guess can kind of be interpreted as dark but it's also like... not that dark

cooper gets a fic named after my favorite taylor swift song. cooper is just that special! i love him. this actually was not the cooper fic i was halfway done writing last night but i had this idea while i was at the cinema seeing trap again and just kind went with it. more cooper soon.

Coming home from college was hard enough - sure, you had a reprieve from your classes for the summer, but you were also moving around and not being in direct contact with your new friends for a few months. It became worse when you realized what questions you were going to be met with by just about everyone in your life for the next three months. “Oh, you just graduated? What next? Grad school, why? What about internships? Any jobs lined up? What was college like? Meet any cute boys?” It was sickening even thinking about it.

With that in mind, you wanted to do your best to do a low-profile. Avoid the neighbors who you were certain were going to ask questions, attend as few little parties in the neighborhood as possible, and definitely don’t interact with the man at the end of the street. 

Cooper Adams had always been a problem for you. When you were younger, you were too nervous to be around him and typically hid in the corner whenever he was in the same place as you. It was unfortunate that he was good friends with your father, since that meant that you were around him a lot more than you wanted to be. Having met him when you were freshly eighteen, you figured that the way that your stomach filled with a disturbing fluttery feeling and your body miraculously always broke out in a sweat when he was near was simply something to do with being a legal adult for the first time. It was surely just exciting to be around an attractive older man now that he wasn’t (legally) off limits for you.

But Cooper was off limits. He was married with two children. He was friends with your father, and his daughter was best friends with your younger sister - by the time you came back from your freshman year of college, your mother was seemingly best friends with his wife. You’d hoped, by then, those feelings would have gone away since you were surrounded by people who were viable partners, but those feelings never quite went away. 

Any boy your age you tried to sleep with was a let down, nothing they did could make you orgasm. So, you tried girls, and that didn’t work either. You branched out to older men, and that worked a little - but the entire time you just wished that you were with Cooper, that was what ultimately brought you over the edge. So, with four (failed) total partners and one total orgasm - courtesy mainly of your imagination - you decided that you were just going to quit sex and romance all together since you could never, ever, sleep with Cooper Adams.

He’d talk to you, sure. He made friendly conversation and offered you some wine when he knew that you were twenty-one, he even invited you to a concert with him and his daughter since your little sister was going with them. He was always kind to you, but that just made you more irritated because you liked talking to him. It was infuriating, and you wanted to spend as little time down the street as possible if you could help it this summer. Your mind would linger on Cooper, you’d think about him late at night when you were in bed, and you’d wonder if he could see you when you were tasked with walking the family dog from time to time, but that was it. You could not be anywhere near him, because you knew he’d talk to you, and you knew you’d like it, and you knew that he was just going to continue to be a massive (emphasis on massive, since he’s so tall and broad that you’re pretty sure he could throw a person with little effort) issue for you. 

Things typically don’t work out for you when it comes to Cooper, though. 

Try as you may to convince your parents that you were just fine with watching your sister for a week while they traveled Europe together, they were certain that would be placing too much of a burden on you since it was only two weeks after you got back from a strenuous semester. Nay nay, they insisted, Cooper volunteered since Rachel is out of town with her parents - he really only needs to be there at night, they said. He can come over after work, they said, it’s just fine, they said! You love Cooper and your sister can spend plenty of time with Riley! It’s a win-win, they insisted. 

What they didn’t quite consider was that you quite literally had nothing to do. Making friends in Philadelphia wasn’t particularly hard - plenty of people around, a nice night life, but mainly you knew that most of your friends had moved away. At some point, you were going to start a summer job, but the job market was absolutely horrendous and it was taking longer than you thought it would to get one. So, with little gas money and no where in particular to go, you really weren’t burdened by watching your sister who wasn’t even there during the day; there was no reason, you figured, for Cooper to need to be in your home at five sharp every afternoon, but he was. 

The first day was fine, overall. Your sister spend the day out with one of her friends from school and came home around four in the afternoon. She begged you to play video games with her, and you were only slightly embarrassed to answer the door for Cooper while fully invested in playing Roblox. 

Cooper, who stood in front of you with a big smile on his face that told you that he was about to either stab you or hug you - sometimes you just couldn’t tell with him, he smiled almost too much. 

“I heard you graduated, congratulations!” Hug it was, then.

You accepted the embrace, but you were sure that he could feel how warm you were against him. Naturally, nobody was that warm, but he really did always make you spontaneously break out in a sweat. “From undergrad, yeah, I’m going to grad school in the fall though.”

“For anything in particular?” He asked, pulling back. Cooper kept a respectable distance, he always did, but you let him close it slightly when you actually let him inside of the house. 

“Still figuring that out.” You responded, leading him to where the kitchen was located in the house. “I’m assuming my parents wanted you to cook, but that kinda… mean. I can cook with you.” 

“Oh, I offered, don’t worry about it.” His voice was reassuring, and if you were being smart, you would just tell him that was fine and go about your business. But you wanted to be accommodating, and the smart part of you that knew it was wise to keep your distance from Cooper just seemed to shut off whenever he was around. Somehow, you always tried to spend even more time with him knowing that you’d just regret it later. Like drinking a coffee late at night or something. 

“You’re still getting used to this kitchen, though. It’s really no problem for me to help you.” 

“I suppose I could always use an extra set of hands.” He responded, setting the grocery bags he had come with down. “But, you have to promise to follow my instructions. I’m very particular about recipes.” 

“You can trust me, I think.” 

“Just try your best, I’m sure you’ll get it.” 

Cooper, despite only having been inside of your home a few times, really had no issue getting acclimated to cooking in your kitchen. He had no issue taking charge, and certainly no issue when making sure that you were doing the right thing. He was incredibly meticulous and organized, but you already knew that from having experienced his behavior and having been in his house before. 

The issue wasn’t so much cooking with him, because you were both pretty into what you were doing. He was methodical, and you were just trying to please him and make sure that you didn’t mess up the food that you were about to eat. The issue was that you were into what you were doing, because you were so distracted that you only realized when the food was in the oven that his hair had started hanging partially in his face. That his hand sometimes grazed your own, and that he was standing about as close as he did when you were at barbeque’s with him and he knew that you weren’t going to be able to hear him otherwise; so close that you were always worried that his wife was going to get mad at you if you moved just a centimeter closer to him. But she wasn’t here right now, and your movement was so imperceptible that you were certain he didn’t even notice it while he cleaned up your cupboards - something that, truly, you probably should have offered to do but you were just so… fascinated by watching him. Plus, he probably wanted that done a particular way, too. 

“Your parents told me you put up quite an argument against me helping out this week.” He finally turned to you, your proximity much more noticeable. But he didn’t move away, he simply folded the towel that he was using at set it down on the cupboard. 

“I just didn’t want you to be inconvenienced… my parents seem to think I have places to be but I don’t.” 

“It’s really no trouble at all,” He was too close, and you were certain that he had moved even closer. You felt like you were so warm you could implode, your needed to take your cardigan off, something to get some relief. “Do you need to air conditioner turned up? You’re a little clammy.” 

His hand on your forehead was the next thing you felt, your eyes not leaving his face for an second, but it was in that instant that you knew that he knew exactly what he was doing to you. 

“You’re burning up, honey. Do you want to sit down?”

“Just dehydrated.” Your voice probably helped sell it, since you could barely get the words out of your throat. Cooper’s hand fell from your forehead, but not without grazing your cheek. Whatever lack of arousal you had felt around other people who you had actively tried to be aroused with was a thing of the past with Cooper, you were pretty sure that you had never been so aroused in your life as you were now, and all he had done was touched your face for less than a minute - how did he have such a hold over you? 

“Let me get you some water.” He turned to the fridge, grabbing a bottle that he was certain belonged to you from the stickers adorning the side. “This you?”

“Mhm.” Holding your hand out, you expected him to just give it to you, but his new goal in life seemed to be tormenting you. He popped the lid open and held it out to you, but he didn’t let you take it from his hand. “Cooper-”

“I’m just taking care of you, we wouldn’t want you to pass out.” He was too close, suffocatingly close, and he was pressing the bottle’s plastic nub to your lips - it was overwhelming. “Drink, please.” 

The sexual nature of what he was doing wasn’t lost on you as you wrapped your lips around the plastic, taking a sip of your water. His eyes were locked on yours, his lips slightly parted as he watched you. He seemed fascinated, but he also definitely knew that everything he was doing had one simple effect on you. Once you were finished with the water. He closed it and reached past you to set it down. 

“You seem so pent up, have the boys at school not been treating you well?” Cooper brought a hand to your forehead, brushing some hair out of your face. You weren’t even sure that this was actually happening, but you went along with it regardless because it was definitely happening.

“I gave up on that like two years ago.” 

“And why’s that?”

“Cooper-” You weren’t sure what exactly to say, but just based upon the way he was looking at you, you were almost convinced that he knew the exact reason. 

“I just want to hear you say it, who did you wish was touching you?”

“I-Is this happening? Am I hallucinating?”

“You’re not hallucinating,” He stepped a bit closer, and any worries that you had about someone walking in were off of your mind - your sister was probably still entranced with her game anyway. “I think it would be rude to pinch a young lady, so I’ll just have to show you another way.” 

The feeling of Cooper’s mouth on yours was immediate, and your response was quicker than you would ever admit to anyone. Your hand grabbed onto his forearm, grounding you while you kissed him back. But his kiss was tantalizingly slow, he knew that he was taunting you and leaving you on edge. For whatever reason, he seemed to be getting enjoyment out of that, but you couldn’t claim that you weren’t enjoying this more than even you believed that you ever would. 

He pulled away after a moment, though. “Can you answer my question now?”

“I was… they couldn’t please me.”

“Why not?” 

“Because they weren’t you.” 

“You’re so sweet.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, but pulled away and checked on the food the moment that the timer went off as though nothing had happened. “Why don’t you set the table.”

Wordlessly, you set the dinner table for three - you had been expecting Riley and her little brother to be over, but your sister had explained earlier that Riley and her brother were going to be over for the rest of the week, but not tonight. some sort of obligation that they couldn’t get out of with another family member even though it meant that Cooper needed to drive them there, pick them up, and still deal with babysitting your younger sister and cooking dinner; even though he had volunteered and your complaints had been relatively selfish, you still felt like you were putting too much on his plate. 

Still, your mind was lingering elsewhere. Namely, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his lips on yours, of the way that he looked at you and touched you, how badly you wanted him to do much more than that. How this had even happened was something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. Never had you gotten the impression that Cooper would ever do anything to pursue you. Your families were so close, it was such a risk - but what had happened was real, it did happen, you definitely hadn’t made it up. 

There was a sense of guilt in your mind. In the past, your thoughts were just thoughts. You had never acted on them, and so you couldn’t feel bad for pining over a married man who you knew you could never, and would never, have anything with. But kissing him was already bad enough, hoping that more would happen by the time your sister went to bed made it much worse. It was true that your thoughts were only natural, but you had a responsibility not to act on them - to keep them as pure fantasy. And yet, all you wanted was to forget about that and find out what he looked like underneath his shirt. 

Shaking that thought from your mind as you called for your sister, you joined the two of them for dinner. She carried most of the conversation, but when it shifted to you, you did your best to not show how dazed you had been as you contemplated that anything that was going on meant. Nor did you know how to react when she expressed that a friend down the street had invited her to spend the night, when you were given the authority to decide whether that was okay or not. Normally, it was a yes. Your parents would have said yes, your sister had no school since she had just been let on summer vacation a few days ago, and you had no reason to say no. It shouldn’t have taken as much contemplation as it did, but the expectant way that Cooper looked at you told you simply that your not-so-innocent thoughts had the capacity to become a reality if she wasn’t there for the night.

Against your better judgment, you said yes. 

With that looming in your mind for the rest of dinner, you were reluctant to walk her down the street to see her friend. It was almost a shame how close-knit this community was, because without that you probably wouldn’t even be as close with Cooper as you were to begin with and she certainly wouldn’t be spending the night with someone on a whim. But, here you were. Even the cool night air couldn’t do much to calm you as you recognized that Cooper was still going to be in your home by the time that you got back, and you were going to have to face whatever decision you had made earlier when you let him kiss you. 

Walking back through the doors of your home, you tried your best to act normal under the circumstances. Cooper was just finishing up packing the leftover food into the fridge, and you almost wanted to go straight to your room - but that wasn’t going to solve anything. You were an adult, with adult feelings toward another adult, and you needed to do the responsible thing and face them head-on. It just so happened that the responsible thing, truly, would be telling him that what was happening was wrong, that he was married and at least twenty years older than you… and it also just so happened that you knew that you weren’t going to do that. 

“Cooper?”

“What’s up?” 

What was up? What was your plan in approaching him? ‘Hey Cooper, wanna have sex?’ didn’t really seem like the right move. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m just finishing up, thank you though.” He replied, cleaning off the cupboard one last time before approaching you. “Did you need anything else before I go?”

“You know, you don’t have to go back home. It’s getting late, it could be dangerous.”

“I’m sure I’ll be okay.” He replied, but he didn’t move. Once again, it seemed like he was waiting on you to make the move - but he was letting you, he wanted you to, he seemed to be getting off on making you ask him for it. 

“And you’ll be all alone, you could get bored.”

“I’m pretty tired, I bet I’ll pass right out.”

“I’m scared of being in the house alone, I might need company.” 

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” He stepped a bit closer to you, his large hand covering your cheek. “Do you want me to stay? To protect you?”

“Please stay.” 

“Do you want me to… sleep on the couch?”

“I imagine a bed would be more comfortable.” 

Cooper hummed, but shrugged his shoulders. “Last time I checked, you don’t have a spare bedroom.”

“Cooper-”

“Tell me what you want, or I can’t do anything for you.” 

It was wrong, and you knew that, and he did too. You both knew that what you were doing was wrong. Yet, for whatever reason, he wasn’t stopping it - maybe he was just lonely since his wife was out of town for an undisclosed period of time, some family emergency that you didn’t even know about until your parents told you. Maybe he had been waiting to finally get you alone, maybe he had noticed those longing glances that you were sending him when you figured that he wouldn’t catch you.

“How long have you known?” You asked, your voice shaking a bit.

“Remember that pool party Cindy threw down the street last summer?”

“Yeah…”

“I distinctly remember you, quiet as ever, piping up to complain tirelessly about me refusing to swim.” 

“I mean, they were the first family on the block to get a pool. You were really missing out.” 

“Right… but that wasn’t why you complained, was it?”

“No, not really.” 

“And why did you complain?”

“Because I wanted you to take your shirt off.” You replied, not really knowing what to say other than the truth. Cooper was intelligent, you knew that. He had you figured out even though you were certain that you had kept your distance enough that he wouldn’t have. But, you took solace in the fact that it had taken three years of quiet pining for him to figure it out. “But what made you want… assuming you want to… you know-”

“I’m not sure, exactly.” Not really the best answer, but you knew that he was going to elaborate. “A good answer would be seeing you in your little shorts, or in that bathing suit at the pool party. But I think the first time I thought about it was when you were over around Thanksgiving, fully covered in one of those cute sweaters you like so much.”

“Do you still want me to ask you to have sex with me?”

“I think you just did.” 

Cooper’s lips were pressed against yours again before you could even really contemplate the consequences of it. Whatever issues you were going to have with yourself in the morning for doing this with him were just going to have to be issues for a future version of yourself. For now, the only thing that mattered was how delicately he pushed you against the wall. How he let your fingers roam under his shirt, playing with the hem of it until he disconnected his lips from yours, given you a moment to breathe.

“Would you mind leading me to your bedroom? If your past partners have been unsatisfactory, you at least deserve to do this on a bed.”

Quickly, you nodded and took his hand. Cooper followed you as you brought him into your room, looking around at the items that you had collected. Your room was rather clean, sparing the suitcase that you hadn’t fully unpacked since returning home that sat half-open in the corner of the room. He seemed interested in the posters and albums that filled your room, interested in knowing what each of them actually was since you hardly let him speak to you to begin with. But, he was mainly interested in getting your shirt off and tossing it into your clothing basket - it being in the basket was of particular importance to him. 

He let you remove his shirt as well, your eyes finally taking in the sight of him without it on. You weren’t particularly surprised that he looked good underneath his shirt, you expected nothing less of him. Yet, you couldn’t help the way that your fingers grazed over his skin before finally meeting his eyes. Cooper had his fingers underneath the hem of your leggings rather quickly, watching to see if you were resistant of that for a moment - when he saw no disagreement in your face, he quickly removed the article of clothing from your body before urging you to get onto the bed. 

Admittedly, you wished that you had a larger bed than what you did simply for this purpose - not that you had sex very often, but simply because you felt like you were cramping Cooper. If he minded, he didn’t let on. 

“What was it that those people at school didn’t do for you?” He asked, situating himself in between your legs once you were both on the bed. “Did they not pay enough attention to you? Not worry more about your pleasure than theirs?”

“I don’t even think it was an equal amount.” 

“Well, let’s fix that.” Cooper’s lips were delicate against yours, but they were also fleeting. It wasn’t long before he was kissing down your chest, his hands moving to your back to undo your bra. While you shrugged it off of your body, he took it from your hands to make sure that it ended up in the basket of your dirty clothes. Some part of your mind contemplated the fact that his shirt was in there too, that his scent could linger on your clothing until you washed it, but did you really need to be concerned about that when there was an even better chance that his scent was going to linger in your bed? On your skin? 

His lips distracted you from your thoughts, wrapping gingerly around one of your nipples while his hand descended lower on your body. You could feel his fingers pushing underneath the fabric of your panties, roaming slower and collecting the wetness that you knew had started pooling the moment that you saw him in the doorway.

“Have any of them ever made you this wet before?”

“Only when I started thinking about you.” It was the truth, you had gotten this wet before  during another sexual encounter - it just so happened that it was because you were fantasizing about Cooper during it. 

“That’s a no, then.” 

His fingers were much thicker than yours, that was what you noticed the moment that he pushed them inside of you. He could reach deeper than you could, and it didn’t even seem to be something that he was purposefully trying to do when the heel of his hand ground against your clit as his fingers moved within your cunt. His lips continued to kiss along your skin, your quiet moans spurring him on as he brought another hand to the hem of the fabric of your panties. It almost felt unfair that he still had his pants on throughout this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to really think about that once he had your panties off of your body and his lips pressed gently against your hipbone. 

“Have you ever let anyone put their mouth here?” He inquired, venturing lower and glancing up at you as his teeth sunk into the skin of your thigh.

“Once.”

“And did you finish?”

“I pretended to.” 

“Poor thing, you’re not going to have to pretend with me.” His voice was gentle and reassuring, but it was clear that there were undertones to it that you’ve never heard from him before. 

There really was no time to linger on that, though, as his mouth finally connected with your cunt. His fingers still moved within you, seemingly he had figured out just how to move them to make you moan just a little bit louder. There was some part of you that felt like you needed to try to be quiet, like there was some risk that you were going to get caught even though you knew that wasn’t going to happen. If your sister had to come back, she’d call you. If something came up in any other capacity, you were certain that you would know. There was no way that someone was going to catch you, and no nosy neighbor was going to discuss Cooper having been here until late into the night since everyone knew that he was going to be here. If anything, you weren’t particularly lying when you said that you were nervous to be in the house alone! You’d been spending months in a dorm with people, and when you got back you had been with family. Being alone did make you kind of nervous, so you weren’t actually being dishonest and it wouldn’t be very hard to tell people that if anyone did question if anything happened. 

Regardless, you knew that what you were doing with Cooper was wrong. That alone was enough to make you on edge, but that edginess continually slipped away as his lips latched onto your clit and his fingers curled at just the right angle inside of you to make you feel like you were going to lose your mind. 

Cooper was right, you were incredibly pent up from having spent so long not having any conquests - and, when you had conquests, it just never brought you to the finish line. You needed this, and you specifically needed it with him. 

Your fingers tangled in his hair without you really thinking about what you were doing, and that just made Cooper continue what he was doing with a bit more vigor. He liked the feeling of you touching him, the feeling of you this close. He really had been thinking about it for quite some time, and it only helped a little bit that your little worry about him being married wasn’t that much of a worry for him. 

When he did feel you pulsating around his fingers, he knew that you were close. He continued to work you to the edge, your fingers tightening around his hair as his name escaped your lips more times than you probably even noticed. Finally, you felt the relief of an orgasm flow through you as you came on his fingers, his movements only stalling when he knew that you were coming down from that high.

Your eyes were a bit dazed as you looked at him, as he moved up your body and laughed at how eager you were to pull his lips back to yours. Cooper helped you as you moved to undo his pants, tossing them into the hamper as well before removing the boxers that kept him separated from you. 

“Sure you can take it?”

“Please, Cooper, I’m sure.”

Cooper moved one of his hands to take yours, “Squeeze if you need to.” Being the only thing leaving his mouth. His concern was based in reality - you hadn’t had anyone inside of you in years, and even then, he was bigger than anyone that you had been with before, both in stature and in what he was packing beneath his pants. Of course, you expected this from him. He was tall, he had large hands, you knew the signs. 

Your hand did squeeze his a bit, but the moment he knew you were comfortable was the moment that he started moving. He really didn’t waste any time, his hips snapping into yours and leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him - but that was, ultimately, what Cooper wanted from you. 

“You’re doing so well, being such a good girl; I knew you’d be good for me.” His praise brought that familiar (sickening) fluttering back to your stomach, but you did your best to mask it with another kiss. It was sloppier than it was before, his teeth digging slightly into your lower lip and his tongue pressing against yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and that alone was enough to make you yearn for more. More of this, more encounters like this. You’d wanted him for so long, and now the idea of this only happening once was absolutely devastating to you. 

“It feels so good, Cooper - so much better than anyone else.”

“I know, baby, you just needed me to take care of you.” He kept a hand planted on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. His eyes were so warm, but there was a bit of a darkness behind them - a darkness that you were assuming was lust, though it could always be something more. 

His other hand moved lower, his finger coming in contact with your clit again. Everything he did felt so good, you were certain that nobody had ever made you feel this good before - and you were also certain that nobody else ever would. But, was it not just how badly that you wanted him in particular that had made everyone else pale in comparison? Truly, they probably just never had a fair chance.

Cooper was experienced, but he also seemed to be figuring out exactly what you wanted moment by moment. He seemed focused on making sure that he was pleasing you, but, in the process, his grunts and groans didn’t go unnoticed. To the contrary, each one of them went straight to your core. Truthfully, Cooper had been pent up for a while as well - longer than you actually knew. 

That was probably why neither of you stood a chance at lasting longer than you did, and probably why neither of you even considered the ramifications of him not pulling out of you. But the feeling of him finishing inside of you, of feeling somehow even more full of him than you did before, did something to you. The sight of him above you as you both came to terms with what had happened, as his soft hair hung over his forehead and his eyes - glazed with lust - found yours, you knew that he had ruined any chance of you ever wanting anyone other than him.

“Cooper,” You started, not really sure where to go from there… but you’d had sex with him, hadn’t you? What qualms could you really have about speaking your mind anymore? “You should spend the night.” 

“We’re going to shower first, okay?”

“Alright, okay.” 

So, you took showers (separately, to your chagrin, but he had to use your father’s shower products), and he ultimately did join you in your small, relatively cramped bed. Even as you fell asleep on his chest that night, you were worried that it wouldn’t happen again - that he just wasn’t as interested as you. After all, you were a fun idea, a younger woman who wanted him so badly that you’d do anything he asked of you, not someone to bring home to his children who are only about ten years younger than you. Besides that, Cooper was still married, right?

But you really didn’t have the full picture. 

Cooper, legally, was still married. But you’d saved yourself a lot of trouble refusing to go to that concert with him, that concert that had been a setup from Rachel. It was an odd coincidence that she had a family emergency right after, especially for Riley who was on top of the world before her mother was gone without much word. It was going to be a problem when it became clear that she was actually gone, but for now, that guilt that you felt about potentially being a mistress was… probably not the worry that you should have. But Cooper was happy to keep that from you, at least for now, for as long as he needed to. 

After all, maybe you’d be happier with him than you would have been at grad school? Maybe you wouldn’t turn him into the police if you ever grew suspicious of what exactly he did in his free time. All he knew was that you’d tried - even if you hadn’t realized you were trying - to get him wrapped around your finger, and it had worked. Now, he had you wrapped around his, and he just didn’t really feel like letting that go any time soon. Of course, you wouldn’t protest being with him for longer - he knew that, you wanted to keep him in your life, and he always enjoyed giving you what you wanted.

[deathbxnny]

Oh yeah, raising literal childish soldiers canNOT be good for one's conscious 🥲

But, I'm glad you're eager for more of that succulent emotional hurt, though this one will be... different the previous ones. And without further adieu, let's get into it 😈

So, I've noticed how, in this series, any harm sent mother's way has always been somewhat second-handed, and psychological in nature. Physical arm has always gone to the Children of The House. So, what if for this scenario, "Mother" is the unexpected one coming to harm?

Now, I could definitely write up a scenario of "Mother" getting hurt in some drastic way, and Arle and the House Kids retaliate in grand fashion, but that would be... kinda generic, no? Rather, I'm thinking of a scenario where "Mother" is hurt by the one thing that not even The Knave herself can protect her from.

Herself.

Or more specifically, her own body. Lemme explain.

So, "Mother" is in a position that can be IMMENSELY stressful and emotionally draining, so imagine one day, it's about as normal as life in the Hearth can be, "Mother" is at work, performing or assigning chores, or maybe prepping a meal for the kids, with some their help. When suddenly, she's hit with immense chest pains, as though her rib cage is squeezing around her heart, it becomes hard to breath, hard to focus because of how dizzy she's become. That's right, Mama suffer (or very nearly suffer, that detail is up to you) a literal heart attack, give everyone in the House a good scare, if you would 🤭.

And so, after this incident "Mother" is pretty forced to "take it easy" so that she can recover (which according to some brief searches I've done, can take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months). And, considering how "Mother" is definitely seems like she'd be something of a workaholic, someone who feels she needs to be present and contributing to be a "worthy" mother, suddenly being forced to take a break from all her usual daily tasks must make for an absolutely miserable experience for her.

So, in the meanwhile, Arle and the kids try to figure out some things to cheer her up and keep her mind occupied while she recovers.

X Anon

Heartfelt devotion. | Arlecchino x Fem!Wife!Reader

(Part one) (Part two) (Part three) (Part four)

A/N: Hello X Anon! Thank you so much for your request. I really enjoyed writing this. In fact, this turned out to be a bit of a personal piece due to me having had the experience of an immideate family member suffering a heart attack, so I put some of that into this fic, which is why I took a bit of a different approach to your idea. Either way, I hope it's to your liking X Anon!!<33

Content: Heart attacks, comas, angst, hurt/comfort, wife reader, mentions of Curcabena, reader becomes a bit delirious, trauma, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

The will of the Tsaritsa never rested for anything.

The expectation for everyone to continue until nothing was left of them always weighed on your shoulders, but it did little to ever make itself noticeable in the ranks of the Fatui. Exhaustion? Sickness? Death? None of that was an excuse enough to stop. You were all motivated by the goal ahead, even if uncertainty of what exactly it was often lingered in your mind. It was inspiring to work hard even in the face of pure agony and hell. It's just how things were. That's just how you kept going for so long as an organization.

The Tsaritsa's gentle kindness was ultimately not enough of a reason when the cold, icy snow and wind of your home ripped at your skin hungrily for more of your soul to take.

And you especially, as the wife of a Harbinger and "Mother" of the House of Hearth, felt that deeply.

Day in, day out.

It was all the same in the house of Hearth that forever kept busy no matter the occasion. You were unofficially the head of it all. Your wife often had better things to do as a diplomat and therefore entrusted you with your family from day one. The title and duties of the "Mother" weighed on you painfully, just as expected from you. And whilst you've spent endless years attempting to repair the relationship between that title and the family, you still didn't feel like it was enough. The woman that raised you and the 4th Harbinger haunted you with every step, always looking over your shoulder with that sinister smile of hers. You could feel the scrutiny in her gaze, see the rage in her grin, hear her venomous words in that sweet, gentle voice of hers.

Arlecchino had moved on from her by taking on the title of "Father," but you remained cursed. You remained in the past where you belonged, fixing connections that died for a reason, yet you were stuck with due to your own doing. There were no regrets in your actions initially, but now, after seeing the carnage and death you had caused to your own children by sending them off to the grim reaper yourself, you realise that over time, your mind and body has become worn down dangerously. You were beginning to fall apart, yet tried to keep yourself together just enough to continue every day. Like everyone else here.

It was getting hard to move and sleep lately, however, something that should've unnerved you when it was first starting to become noticeable. But you waved it off like everything else, your mind focused on your daily tasks and responsibilities instead. With your wife abroad back in the motherland for a Harbinger meeting, you were stuck shouldering absolutely everything again, not that you ever protested or cared much. You saw it as a necessity, perhaps even an honor to work at her side and take care of such an important part of the Fatui. If only the glamor and patriotism didn't melt away every time you got a new death report regarding more of your children. Crucabena used to read them as though they were the latest fashion magazine, a content smile on her lips every time. You, on the other hand, shed endless tears, finding no enjoyment in what you've become.

How did she do it? How was she able to be so indifferent and cruel to you all without feeling a thing? What was the secret to absolut absolvation from the guilt and shame? Years later, you still find yourself asking these questions in the shadows of the night, your blurry reflection in the water of the cold bathtub mirroring her image. You wonder if you even were any different than her ultimately. You felt like you did the same things as her, just less cruel, less callous. Was your care and love for the children enough to make a difference?

"Of course not. You and I are one in the same, my dear child." You often hear her voice whisper to you in those painfully sleepless nights, and you wished Peruere was there to keep her quiet again.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a weak hum when you felt someone grab onto your shoulder with a gentle shake. "Mother?" Lyney asked carefully, brows furrowed in worry at your near catatonic state lately. You barely seemed alive at times, your blank stare staring through everyone, some of your tasks even neglected seemingly unbeknownst to you. Your movement was sluggish, slow, and clumsy. Everyone noticed this, and the worry was beginning to seep into all the children belonging to the house. This was nothing like you. And yet, you didn't seem to be aware of it. Or maybe you were ignoring it.

Either way, Lyney had enough of just watching you suffer, his gaze becoming stern when you gave him a tired look. "Have you... slept or eaten properly lately? You look ill." The answer was 'no' to both, of course. You haven't been able to eat much due to the sudden huge workload you were confronted with ever since their Father left for much longer than usual. Sleep was out of the question due to the odd pain and pressure in your chest whenever you laid down. This led to you often sitting in a chair instead in front of the fireplace in hopes of getting some sleep that way... but unfortunately, that didn't work either.

Gently shaking your head, you mustered the strength to give him a shaky smile in hopes of calming him. "I'm alright, dear, don't worry about me. It's just a little stress, nothing more." Ever so perceptive, you sighed when you saw his eyes narrow. He didn't believe you, and you certainly wouldn't believe yourself either. Something was terribly wrong, but you had no time to deal with it. You didn't want Lyney to take on any duties he didn't have to yet, even if he'll most likely be your wife's successor one day. The pressure was too much. You didn't want him to feel the way you did.

Behind him, you saw two agents enter the kitchen through the backdoor. Masks obscured their faces, but the aura they let in was grim and cold. One you were so awfully familiar with, including the documents in their hands. A red envelope peeked out, a silent sign of more carnage and death raised by your own hands. The pressure in your chest suddenly increased once more when the guilt crept back up your body and whispered those evil words of self-doubt into your ears again. "How... How many this time?" You breathed out, a hand pressed to your chest in pain. Lyney grabbed onto your arm in surprise as your body nearly keeled over. Your mind was ringing, and you couldn't even hear the response to your question anymore.

It was all too much. You couldn't take it anymore. In the forefront of your mind, the woman that raised you gave you a "proud" smile, like she always did. It sickened you, for it meant that you've done something that once again proved that your title was cursed.

"Mother!" Lyney yelled out in panic, quick to alert everyone around them to your collapsing form. This has never happened before. The Lady of the House never fell, never faltered. And yet, as you now laid there on the floor, hands pressed against your chest as you heaved painfully, unable to breathe, you realised that everything you've done in your life has led you to this point. This was karma. This was the pain you deserved. Your children's terrified faces faded away and swirled into your mother's dark, sinister gaze. She reached out to you, her gloved hand pressing against your sweating forehead and tearstruck eyes, but you didn't feel any comfort. You felt like another death report, her favorite and one she has been waiting for forever.

If this is how you died, then so be it. One thing about Curcabena was that she'll always find a place for you to sit next to her no matter what. This time, you supposed, it would be in hell for the hurt you've caused.

How fitting.

"... Is she going to ever wake up?" "Not for a while. The doctors said the coma is necessary for her recovery. The reanimation took too long and... it's on her now to awaken." Lynette took a deep breath, her voice coming out in hushed whispers in fear of being overheard by their stressed Father. When Arlecchino came back come after an emergency letter practically crashed into the meeting room through a panicked Fatui agent, she found herself in the middle of a near warzone. You kept the house together at all times. But with you being in a medically induced coma now, everything fell right onto Lyney's shoulders. The one thing you never wanted.

The Knave had yet to say a thing, her lips pressed into a thin line at all times, as she silently moved to reorganize everyone and ease the pressure off of the young man's shoulders. Not even three days of taking on everything, and he was done emotionally and physically. How did his mother do it every day? How was she able to function? How was she able to keep everything in mind, do every task with perfect precision? He had so much to still learn, and that's what your absence proved him so painfully.

But hope still remained. If you woke up soon, then things would get better. Then, no one needed to be so terrified anymore.

Freminet nervously leaned against the doorway to your room, red eyes casted downwards to his shoes in silent shame. Guilt was eating everyone in the house up, their hearts aching with the question, "Could we have done more?". Yet their father wasn't keen on answering anything, her reassurance coming in the form of stern orders and a call for strength from them all.

"I see... in that case, I'll stay and watch over her for the night. You should go rest, Lynette." The young man spoke, watching as his sister exhaled a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. No one was getting any sleep lately, but it's the thought that counted. Passing by him with a short hug they both needed, Freminet watched her disappear into the darkness of the corridor, the moonlight filtering in through the windows leading her way. Stepping into the room with a soft sigh, he closed the door behind him and approached your sleeping form. His father hadn't stepped into this room much due to how busy she was with the chaos that broke out with your absence... but when she was in here, he saw the way she'd just stare at you, the pain in those stern eyes melting the ice and leaving behind a worried, foreign gaze that was rare to see on her.

Pulling a chair to the edge of the bed, he leaned his head against your slowly rising and falling chest, his eyes fluttering close in hopes of catching the tears that threatened to fall again. He wanted you to wake up so badly. It hurt to see you in this broken, weakened state. You were so pale and looked hollow, like all the life had been taken out of you. It was a terrifying sight that he could only barely comprehend. You have never looked like this before. You were always so strong and domineering.

He just couldn't believe it.

Fingers running through his blonde hair calmly is what made him flinch back to reality, his body reeling backward in surprise, yet the hand kept him there firmly. "Calm down, child... don't be afraid. It's just me." It was your voice, yet it sounded raspy and defeated, a slight slur to it from the lack of using it. Freminet froze and stared into the white covers of your bed, his tears dampening the soft fabric. But you didn't seem to notice his plight at first. He wanted to stay still, in case this was a dream. He was afraid that a single sudden move would make you fall back into your coma, the irrational thought plaguing him painfully.

"Mother..." "... Is this... heaven, after all?" You whispered, mind returning to the woman that haunted you. Surely, this must be the bliss before the storm. You imagined that soon flames and the hands of the children you've sent to their death would reach out and drag you down with them. And yet, all you got was the blonde boy pulling himself back again and grabbing onto your hand. "N-No! You're... you're alive." He stuttered out in panic and confusion, wishing someone else would help him, someone else could be here with you and take care of you much better than he could.

But once you processed those words of his, your heart skipped a beat in panic. The emotions finally caught up to you, and the surge of emotions made you attempt to sit up. Letting out a small yelp, Freminet attempted to hold you down and comfort you, knowing how you were about the house and your duties. The doctors had warned about this happening, too. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer strength you demonstrated despite everything that happened. Something which could prove deadly soon, if you didn't relax immideatly.

And as though the heavens had heard his prayers, the door to the room creaked open, and in came his Father, an unreadable expression on her face at the sight of your struggling form. You were alive and somehow filled with energy, which unnerved her a little deep down. This certainly was going against your bedrest orders. "Peruere, I... I'm sorry for disappointing you- I'll get back to my duties as soon as I-" Her hand rose, and your deafening silence came with it. Taking slow steps towards you, her hand came down to rest on top of her trembling son's head. A silent absolvation from his duties for tonight.

"It's okay. You have not disappointed me in the slightest. Now rest." Her voice was stern and cold like it always was, but beneath the icy surface, you could feel the warmth and worry spread through her like a wild fire. She didn't want you to feel this way, and you could tell that the state you were in hurt her deep down. You and your family were her only weaknesses. Wanting to ease her pain, you leaned back into the soft pillows, eyes not daring to look up at her anymore. Why did you feel so ashamed? Perhaps because you should have taken care of yourself better. If you had, then maybe you wouldn't feel like a burden now. As though she was reading your mind, Arlecchino gave her son a curt nod, which he immideatly took as his sign to reluctantly leave.

Silence now overtook you both until she sighed and took a seat in the chair Freminet was in earlier. The moonlight filtering in through the open window illuminated the side of her tense face, her unique eyes near glowing. It was a peaceful moment, despite the pain that now raked through your entire body and especially chest. You closed your eyes weakly in relief when you felt her clawed hand carefully caress your sweat drenched face, your throat feeling so awfully dry as you gulped.

"I... I need to get up... I need to go back to work." "Not for a while." "... For how long then." A week maybe, you hoped. It was more than enough. It was all you allowed yourself, and even that was pushing it. Your restless mind was spinning in circles at all the tasks it still had to complete, and you felt yourself at a loss for words when she shook her head with the faintest frown. She knew you too well. You were an open book she had read many times over and couldn't get enough of. "Six weeks. Perhaps even longer after, depending on your state-..." She stopped herself when she saw your body trembling, and in the dimmest moonlight, she saw tears glinting in your eyes.

"Please don't cry. This is for your own good. I was... afraid when I heard of what happened. In fact, I'm grateful that you are alive, my songbird." Oh, how delicate her words were. Her honesty was forever going to be proof of her undying love for you. The ache is your heart lessened at the gentle warmth that spread through you from her touch, her tone lulling you into the safety you've craved ever since you fluttered your eyes open again. If only the guilt left with it. "What of our children? I must've scared them terribly. Especially my poor Fremi'..." You whispered after a moment of contemplation. Arlecchino watched your sick, tired form with kind eyes that were only reserved for you.

She figured that you'd feel this way. You were always so desperate to prove yourself to absolutely everyone. Whether it was to her, your children, or even the entire organization, you wanted to show everyone that you were better than Crucabena. Yet no matter how many years past, and no matter how much you achieved, you were never able to realise the truth. You had always been better than her from day one. The moment you rebelled and refused to take her side on the day, Arlecchino defeated her was proof of it.

"Do not fret over them. The children are strong. It is you that we need to worry about now. Just take it easy and sleep." Her words were comforting, even if short and to the point. You trusted them with your life. And yet, the feeling of being a burden just creeped up your body until you fell into a restless slumber once more.

The next few weeks were filled with nothing short of attention and borderline spoiling from all children in the house and beyond. Whether young or old, they all took care of you in the same way you cared for them. Something you could only barely handle. You felt like you should be doing that for them only, never the other way around. Yet under your wife's iron gaze, you were left with no choice but to accept your fate and stay put in bed or, on the rare occasion, in the living room near the fireplace. Lyney and his siblings especially took charge of your care, and you couldn't help but feel guilty at what you've put them through. You had attempted to apologize to the young man plenty of times for simply collapsing the way you did in front of him, but he'd always wave you off with a gentle smile. One they all attempted for you to mirror again.

The magician and Lynette would perform small shows just for you, knowing how much you enjoyed their tricks. Freminet, who was practically glued to your side, would read books with you about sea animals, whilst the other children brought you tasty pastries and food. The house was kept spotless by everyone, and you didn't have to lift a singular finger. And your wife was more affectionate with you in her own special way. Gentle kisses and careful, early morning cuddles were the norm, despite her reluctance for physical touch beforehand. You could tell through her actions that the state you were in had hit you deeper than she was most likely aware, and it didn't help the small guilt that was still left in your heart. All she had left from her old life was you. The woman she considered her wife and the mother of the house.

And by the time you've mostly recovered fully, you realised that the past wasn't haunting you anymore. Crucabena's strict hold on you had faded away, even if you knew that she was simply waiting for your arrival in hell one day. But your small revenge would leave her seething, absolutely enraged for years to come first.

In fact, it felt so good to be alive now.

[charmedreincarnation]

Success story (not the void)

Maya, as I promised you, I'm writing you my success story. It's quite a wild one, so please bear with me.

My journey started during the Angel era, when I was struggling with the void state. I tried everything I could think of to get out of it - every method, every meditation technique, affirming, intention, lucid dreaming, and even coaching from various LoA experts, including those not so well-known. I was desperate for a breakthrough, a key to unlock the life I deserved. I would have done anything, even ate dirt if that was what it took.

At that time, my family was going through a rough patch. My abusive father, a police officer, divorced my mother and left us with nothing. We were homeless, living out of our car, while my dad was living a comfortable life. He had a new girlfriend, a younger woman, and continued to be respected in his job. Meanwhile, my mom, who was a victim of his abuse, was labeled a liar and lost everything. I was filled with rage, towards him, towards the world, towards the jury that declared him innocent. I wasn’t safe in this world especially being homeless, women and children are the most vulnerable to sexual and physical assault. I was scared, unsafe, and had nothing aside my mother and siblings.

I wanted to enter the void, not just for myself, but to give my family a better life and to bring justice to those who had wronged us. I was at a point where I was harming myself, but I couldn't give up because my family needed me. I remember messaging you, Maya, pouring out my story, begging you to help me enter the void. Despite your initial hesitation, you responded with kindness, sharing some personal experiences, and reassuring me that I wasn't alone.

Your words gave me hope. You made me realize that many people who find the law have gone through, or are still going through difficulties. If they could overcome their struggles, so could I.

So, I decided to let go of the void. Not because I didn't believe in it, but because I had elevated it to a status akin to a genie that would magically solve all my problems. When non-dualism and other loa concepts were introduced, everything finally clicked. I realized I didn't have to be angry, or try to be someone manifesting master, or do all these fake methods. I have always known that my family and I were meant to be happy.

For a month, I went through a process of shedding my ego. It was uncomfortable, and there were times I found myself fighting my own thoughts, telling them to shut up. I was separating my ego from myself. You, Maya, had once said that this process was similar to withdrawal symptoms of someone quitting drugs. This thought comforted me. I was becoming someone new, my old thoughts weren't there anymore.

Living in my car, I began to see it as my mansion. My mom's crying turned into laughter, my siblings' whine for food turned into jokes. We pretended that we were living our dream life, and after a while, my siblings joined me in this game. We would come "home" from school and yell at each other, pretending that the house was so big that we needed walkie-talkies to communicate.whenever I needed to steal food it was because we owned the place and can take whatever we want, not because I had to.

One day, we parked at a field, and I started imagining my life. I tried to become the clouds by thinking I am and accepting that my consciousness could be whatever it wanted. I got my siblings to do the same. We became the flowers, then the sun, then the stars at night. Even though physically I was still in the car, mentally and emotionally, I was living my dream life.

When I woke up, I was in a large room. It was decorated to perfection. I heard my siblings running around, throwing toys, and my mother laughing with a man, who's laugh alone sounded like gold. I explored the house, and it was beautiful. There was no yelling, no violence, only laughter and love. My mom introduced me to her boyfriend, and he was holding a newspaper that read that my father had been arrested for domestic crimes and fraud. He was losing everything.

At that moment, I realized that I had done it. My mom was happy, beautiful, and loved. My siblings had plenty of toys and clothes, and our house was filled with love. My family and I were finally living our dream life.

I have been living my life for about a month and now, and it has been blissful to say the least. I go to a well known private school and I am the top student. I am apart of many clubs, and also spend a lot of time volunteering at domestic shelters, and speaking to victims of intrapersonal abuse. I have made friends of people who volunteer with me, so it’s nice to have people who care about the same thing I do.

I am also apart of my writing club, and found comfort in reading and writing and have decided I want to be an author once I graduate. I have always wanted to be a writer but they don’t make enough money often. But now not only do I know I will be successful but my family has enough money to last us multiple generations plus some more. My Bio father had gotten much to what is coming to him and he will be going to jail. I hope he drops the soap but I have let go of my anger with that barbaric fool. So has my mother who has also recently gotten engaged and I get to be her maid of honor. She has a friend group of mothers from school and I have never seen her happier. My now father treats her like a goddess and treats everyone like that. He spoils my mom and us with gifts and luxurious trips. He also spoils the help such as the maids and cooks and never treats them below us. He does not expect anything from my mother except for her to be happy and spend time with us. He is kind selfless loving and respectful. the real definition of a man. I adore him so much and I’m so happy to call him my father.

I find great joy in the little stuff. I love cleaning my room. My bio dad was a hoarder and the house was always a mess because my mom was the sole provider though my “bio dad” made much more. He instead used it on hookers, alcohol, and drugs. Pathetic excuse for a man I know. I love going shopping, as I don’t have to look at the price tag. It feels normal, there was no shift. This is just life constantly changing. I have 5 pets and spend great time with all of them, and they are all so loving and adore me. I love school, and doing my homework, taking tests, assemblies etc. i love talking to my teacher about my ideas and how I can improve. They’re always so encouraging and kind, and I have never experienced that. I also loveeeee having crushes hehe. I never had time nor the “looks” for that prior to these past few months, but I receive a good amount of attention from a lot of sweet man and the “what if” aspect of having crushes is fun. I just love being a teenage girl, something I was not always able to say. I love the world and the people in it, the creations I bring and make, and all I did to make it what it is. I never worry what happened to my old self or life. It died, it doesn’t exist I am here right now with them and the old story is gone. Like an author erasing a part of a story she doesn’t like and never producing it, I did the same. My one true reality and I am so blessed.

Also big thanks to bloggers like @awarenessis @starbursts777 @consciousnessbaddie for introducing this concepts to Tumblr in a simple and kind way. Love to everyone in this devoted app.

Congratulations on your astounding success story 🥹 Your journey is a testament to the power of the human spirit, and it's an honor to hear about your transformation. This is beautiful wild tale, but it's your reality, and it's absolutely beautiful.

Your story is a powerful reminder that we have the power to shape our reality, no matter how dire our circumstances may be. It's a testament to the power of belief, determination, and the human spirit. I'm incredibly proud of you and wish you and your family all the happiness in the world.

[lanafofana]

The Faithwarden & The Archdruid

Day THREEEEEE of HalsinTavWeek is upon us, fam! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Summary: When she is away, Tav wonders if Halsin misses her as much as she misses him. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tag: Voyeurism, Mutual Masturbation, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Post Epilogue No Beta We Die Like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And an AO3 link! For all who celebrate.

If Tav had had any idea of the kind of commitment involved with holding the title of Faithwarden, she might have just killed Khaga in cold blood where she stood. The woman had certainly made it tempting enough without the added threat of being named the equivalent of a druidic mediator, judge, and oracle. 

When she said as much to Halsin the former archdruid had only given her the proudest, softest expression and assured her that she was the only druid he had ever met who was well suited to the task. Which might have just been, possibly, the least helpful thing he could have said.

The summons came from all over Faerûn and took her away from home from anywhere between a tenday to months on end. Settling disputes between groves, ousting unworthy leadership, and using her ironclad grasp of Silvanus’ teachings to guide, illuminate, and teach his servants.

Highest honor this. Under the eye of Silvanus himself that. It was godsdamned exhausting, is what it was.  

Every time her duties kept her away from home for longer than a few days her skin itched to return. To ensconce herself in their house amongst the trees, rousing from her meditation and rolling on top of her lover, listening to the chatter of nature while she walked barefoot through the forest born anew. These were the things that tugged at her mind most when found herself many miles from home. 

Frustratingly, Halsin did not seem to miss her quite as much as she did him. When she returned he greeted her warmly enough, an enthusiastic participant in their lovemaking always, but a part of Tav wondered if she was the only one left pining during their separations. 

If she was gone longer than a ten day they would exchange letters or messages through nature, sometimes managing to speak through their meditations though that was rarer. He shared news of the happenings from home, asked after her welfare, and sometimes included messages from the children under their care. All very sweet but the few times she tried to broach the subject in her letters, how she missed him and yearned for his touch, he either said something clinically empathetic about duty or, worse, didn’t address it at all. 

The lack of reciprocation of her desires began to chip away at her confidence in their bond. She began to wonder if maybe she was being selfish trying to bring it up all the time. Perhaps he considered the lust she felt in his absence a youthful fault of her own and nothing to do with him at all. 

When she takes her leave one day she mentions while he walks with her to the boundary of their home, that if it looks like she may need to stay longer she will send a letter before the tenday is out. He smiles and nods but tells her she need not trouble herself on his account and kisses her softly on the forehead. 

Walking away from him, her steps feel heavy, and the words chase themselves in circles in her mind. Hurt blooms like a wicked vine, crawling through her mind with cruel barbs that whisper silky lies that taste like truths. Keeping in contact over long distances is not necessary. If someone should miss her, they surely know how to reach her. He may as well have told her not to come home at all. 

It all boiled down to the same thing. My love does not equal your love. Once she had the thought she found it had taken root and would not be burned away. She heard it as she walked, as she lay staring at the stars, and in her troubled meditations that shattered under the weight of it. It took very little imagination to begin to hear them repeat in her mind with his voice.     The journey is long and difficult but with dark thoughts dogging her heels she pushes herself as far and as fast as she is able. The grove is surprised to see her arrive so early but readily enfold her to the circle and the reasons they called for assistance. 

Two days, one set of bruised knuckles, and a sternly worded letter to an archdruid in Amn later Tav leaves the grove in an even fouler mood than she went in. 

“Please, Faithwarden, at least stay another day. Your journey here was most perilous and long, you should take a day and refresh yourself.” 

Tav tries to put her best face forward, she really does, but it is extremely difficult after her altercation with the grove’s resident healer left her in such a seething rage the First Druid had been forced to physically hold her back from beating the woman to death. When she whirls on the young novice he flinches back and Tav feels the sharp words turn to ash on her tongue. 

She can’t do anything to rid her face of the stern expression that has decided to live there but she does try to curb her tone at the very least. She assures the poor man she was well rested enough thank you very much but must be on her way to her next destination. 

The problem was, Tav had no idea where that destination was. Should she go home? Or would it be so terrible to wander for a bit, away from where she was clearly not as wanted as she supposed. Almost as soon as the thought occurs to her she decides no. She has a stack of letters to work through, almost half of them undoubtedly more summons for her aid. 

Standing in the middle of a dusty, overgrown road she sighs. The tangle of hurt and anger giving way to sudden weariness. Was this to be her doom? Always wandering, always aiding, and never finding a notch to catch her heel and making her stop and rest. To sooth her loneliness with the fleeting, loveless passion between strangers who desire her body or her position. It turns her stomach. Inside her chest her heart feels splintered with cracks. One more blow and she will crumble. 

When she is close to Thaniel’s realm she hesitates crossing the border right away. She decides that the temporary succor of reuniting with her lover, for once, does not outweigh the turmoil inflicted by the detachment of his farewell. It hasn’t even been a full ten-day anyway, so no one will be looking for her return. She can steal in through the window in her raven form, collect her stack of correspondence, and be gone again without anyone the wiser. 

The sky is dark and silent when she begins her mission.  A new moon offers plenty of cover to flit through the dark shadows on her way to the house nestled deep in the center of Thaniel’s realm. Spying an open window she flits though and perches on a chair, cocking her head and getting a read on her surroundings. The house is quiet though; the children are all nestled tight in their beds and the druid is nowhere to be seen. 

She wonders at that for a moment, it’s unlike him to leave the children unattended overnight. Though, she concedes, he does like to wander the border in wildshape when he feels like thinking in solitude. She brushes the thought away and sheds her birdform to creep on soundless steps through the dark home. 

The letters are not in the study where she expected them to be. The desk is tidy, just how Halsin prefers, but the slot where she usually keeps her stack is empty. She rifles through the drawers but they’re simply not there at all. Huffing an irritated sigh she spends a few extra moments poking around the rest of the room but there’s nothing. 

He’s already preparing for you to leave permanently, whispers the acrid voice from before. That makes Tav stop her tracks, her heart and stomach and throat twisting so much she has to put her fist against her chest to assure herself she hasn’t been impaled by an arrow. The cracks within, quiver in expectation but she’s here on a mission, not to feel sorry for herself. She ruthlessly shoves the thought and the accompanying lance of pain from her mind. 

The kitchen is likewise tidy, and the living area where Tav is most guilty of leaving her things strewn around, “like a magpie’s nest,” Halsin had oft remarked. The words had seemed teasingly affectionate then but now, wandering the spotless house, Tav isn’t sure. 

There’s only one place left to check but at this point Tav wonders if she mightn’t just leave after all. It seems unlikely the druid would move her things there, where they had no proper place like the desk. But there is a dreadful anticipation buzzing under her skin and she realizes she can’t not look, can’t leave without seeing for herself if she has been erased from even that space. If he has packed away the odds and ends, removed the evidence of her existence. If he had truly cut her out of his life so thoroughly. 

Her hand on the doorknob, heart in her throat, Tav braces herself. When the door swings open on silent hinges, revealing their bedroom just as she remembered it before she left she lets out a sigh that feels less like relief than she thought it would. Stepping in and shutting the door behind her, her keen eyes can see little that has moved or changed in the few days she’s been gone. 

Her robe is missing from the place it usually hangs but that’s not unusual. The children were very fond of donning it for their make believe games of wizards and sorcerers. The little vanity table the druid had carved for her is littered with her trinkets and keepsakes, untouched. She spins slowly, correspondence forgotten for the moment while she looks for something. Anything to either untether the ache in her chest or banish it for good. But there’s nothing. The room is unremarkable, ordinary in every way. 

She pokes around a bit and finds her stack of letters in the drawer of her vanity. She gives the room another cursory glance but pauses when she hears a gasp. She freezes, wondering if one of the kids had a nightmare and has found her in their search for comfort but the door is shut. The room still. 

Curious, she moves as silent as a shadow towards the alcove where the bed is tucked away from sight by a large screen she brought with her from one of her travels. A very dim light comes into view, a guttering candle more ember than wick left. The view that unfolds beyond the screen however, steals her breath away. 

Halsin is naked on their bed, eyes shut tight, with one hand holding her robe to his face while the other works a fierce pace along his erection. His hand rolls over the leaking head, once, twice, smearing the leaking precum from the tip before returning to pumping his thick length. His head drops back on the pillow, his mouth dropping open as he pants, his face a rictus in concentration. He breathes in sharply, another gasp he can’t hold back while he pleasures himself, lost in his fantasy, with her robe acting as the anchor. 

She feels…giddy. The sight before her would in any other circumstance be enough to have her naked within moments and joining him but the evidence of his clear desire for her, his desperate gasps and near silent wails are the result of his desperate want of her and she…she can’t look away. Her blood runs hot but she’s frozen. 

On the bed Halsin whines, teeth clenching, hips flexing as he tries to fuck his own hand. His heavy breathing is broken by a soft murmur, a whispered litany of words she can barely make out except for one. 

“Tav.” 

The hand holding her robe clenches and he takes a deep breath through his nose, taking in her scent from the fabric and when his eyes slit open Tav feels her own breath shudder out of her. It’s hot, suddenly too hot. His expression betrays surprise, confusion but when his hand stops moving on his cock Tav’s mouth is moving before her brain can catch up.

“Don’t stop,” she commands with a voice that sounds stronger than she feels. Inside she feels brittle and if he pushes the issue she would crumple immediately but he doesn’t. He nods, chest heaving, and his hand resumes its ministrations, his nearly black eyes on hers further driving her wild with desire.

Not even sure what she’s doing anymore Tav sheds her clothes and positions herself at the foot of the bed. A possession has come upon her, moving her limbs for her while her brain is far away. Abandoning his grip on her robe he uses his other hand to squeeze his balls, his breath hitching and in response she feels herself suck in a breath sharply. When he growls, stare heavy on her, she licks her lips and drags the hot skin of her palm across her nipples, her stomach, before finally dipping between the lips of her sex, seeking the bundle of nerves that throbs for attention. 

“Tav,” he utters, breathing thready and she sways. 

She drinks up the sight of him; squirming, needy, and skin flushed with arousal. The precum welling up from his tip looks like beads of pearls before he swipes it away to join the wet slick slide of his grip pumping his sex. When his hips start to jut into his hand again her hips jerk to echo it, her fingers swirling around her clit increasing their pace to keep rhythm with his movements. 

The silent room has become a chorus of their echoing gasps, groans, and stilted breathing. The lewd wet sound as they masturbate to each other’s pleasure is obscene and Tav nearly comes apart with the force of how much she likes it. She watches with intense hunger, the flex of each muscle as he unravels under her gaze. 

“I’m–! “ He breaks off, throwing his head back, the corded muscles of his neck taunt, the column of his throat damp with sweat. 

“Y-yes!” It’s all she can manage to choke out before she’s lost to the sensation of her toes curling, jaw clenching. 

They orgasm together, the sight of his seed spurting across his hand, his stomach, his chest has her moaning and grinding her finger into her clint until she exhales an aching, guttural sob, vision exploding with stars.

She crashes to her knees on the mattress, throwing out a hand to catch herself from falling face first into the blanket while she blinks away the haze of her orgasm. There’s movement and before she’s fully inhabiting her body again his mouth is on hers, his hands pulling her into his embrace. They’re both sticky and sweaty, but it feels like coming home after being away for a decade and she throws her arms around his neck and plunges her tongue into his mouth. 

Breaking apart, still catching their breath they sit entwined, foreheads together while they come back to their senses. 

When she finally meets his gaze it’s to find it already on her, soft and warm. The ache in her chest cracks wide open and she bursts into tears. 

“My love?” Halsin’s voice is the comforting rumble of a summer thunderstorm and it only makes the tears flow more insistently. 

“I–I thought...” The words die in her throat. It’s stupid, it’s ludicrous. How could she ever have even dreamed this sweet man would do the things she had supposed. What foolishness had bewitched her? How did she let her mind come to those awful conclusions? She doesn’t have an answer and speaking the words out loud feels fraught with peril. 

Halsin doesn’t press her but cradles her head against his chest, running a hand down her back in a soothing gesture that only makes the tangled mess of her emotions a stronger torrent of tears. He rocks her, humming something slow and soft. He kisses the fevered skin of her forehead, clutching her body to his tightly, securely, until at last she feels her last sob give way to hitching sighs. 

“I think…I think I’ve been incredibly foolish,” she admits, pulling away to look at him with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose. 

Halsin takes that in but instead of interrogating her, he thumbs away her tears gently before pressing featherlight kisses against the damp skin of her face. 

She breathes in, sucking what courage she can from the air between them and haltingly begins to explain. Halsin’s face goes through several complicated emotions as she speaks before settling on sadness. 

When she is done relaying the whole of it. How she thought he did not miss her and how it snowballed so horribly from there, he takes her face in both his hands and kisses her softly. 

“I miss you,” he begins firmly, holding her gaze. “I miss you when you are not near, whether that means you have gone to answer a summons to a far away grove, or down to the river to collect the children, or even when you are laying in this bed in a trance close enough to touch. I miss you like the land misses the rain in a drought,” he takes her hands in his and presses them to his chest. “I miss you like the winter misses the sun; the dragon misses his flight; the Tears of Selûne miss the moon when its light is extinguished and they are left to trail along until she returns. Without you by my side I feel my days grow dark and grey and spend too often looking over my shoulder for the moment you might appear and bring the light to shine on me again.”  

“But–” 

“I miss you,” interrupts Halsin urgently. “With everything that I am. Foolishly I held myself aloof in your absence because I did not wish to burden you with my own selfish suffering. You already found the duty bestowed on you an oppressive one and I did not wish to add myself to your troubles. I see now that was a mistake. One I will not commit again.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Tav, looking away. “I should have tried harder to explain what I…what I wanted, I suppose. What I needed from you.” 

Halsin smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “We each of us have learned something here today and I think we are the better for it, no?” 

“You’re very wise, archdruid,” says Tav with a small smile, the spark coming back into her eyes. “You wouldn’t be interested in becoming Faithwarden, would you?” 

Halsin laughs and tugs her into his arm again, burying his face in her neck, and stroking her hair and the bare skin of her back. “I’m afraid I’ve quite retired from druidic duties, my heart.” 

“Yeah yeah, rub it in.” She pulls back from his embrace when a thought occurs to her and she scans his wide chest in puzzlement before she spies her rolled up robe cast aside on the floor. “Halsin Silverbough did you use my robe to clean up your– “

He leans in close and snatches a kiss to cut her off. “I will wash it myself.” 

“Yes you will, that was a gift I got in Waterdeep! Silvanus protect you if I have to go back to that fetid kingdom of money plagued rats to get another one.”

He grins and snatches another kiss before rolling away and snatching the robe off the floor, backing away to the door. “I’m glad you’re home, my heart.” 

“You’re not going to be very glad if you don’t go put that in some water right now!” 

“Yes, dear,” he calls, sauntering away

“Cold water, Halsin, I’m serious!” He doesn’t respond and she trails after him in alarm. “Halsin? Are you listening?” 

“Always, my heart.”  

The End

[obsolescent]

I definitely imagine ghost like this when he comes back from a few months away and he’s just absolutely pissed that reader hasn’t being taking care of herself to take good care of the little ones😭https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJsu6BM3/

Woven Together

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x AFAB!GN!Reader

Author’s notes: Ough I am a sucker for domestic Simon. Honestly, after all he’s been through I feel like he would be a wonderful father and would want to be one, too. To set an example and show that he can and will be different from what his father was. Oops I’m getting carried away, I just love letting characters heal lol. Thank you for your request! Also…Gender neutral names for a parent are kinda hard to find, lol.

Content Warnings: Marriage, mentions of pregnancy, reader has given birth, reader has been neglecting themselves a bit, just in a forgetful way. Reader is called Mapa, a mixture of mama and papa.

CRASH

The sound echoes throughout the house. Your feet are moving before your brain realizes. You clutch the sling that your infant is nestled into close to your chest, trying to keep them asleep while rushing to your other child. You begin to hear them starting to cry and quicken your pace.

You round the corner into the living room, spotting your child. Your oldest, your son, is in the stage known as the “Terrible Twos,” which is an understatement. He’s so curious, getting into any and everything and it’s hard to keep up with him now that you’ve had your other child, your daughter. She’s just turned four months old, still quite small and sleeping throughout most of the day with feedings every couple hours. You have her in a sling secured around your chest while you made lunch for your son, before the sudden loud noise occurred. 

You see now what’s caused the loud racket and his sobbing. The lamp that was on the end table is now broken on the floor, likely due to him running and bumping into it. “Uh oh!” You exclaim, coming towards him with outstretched hands. He runs into your embrace, while hiccupping an “Uh oh” back to you. It’s something you’ve been able to teach him to say when something like this occurs, whenever he makes a mistake or gets hurt, you’ve realized it helps him calm down and to let him know that accidents happen and he isn’t in trouble.

While cooing in his ear and rubbing his back, you hear keys slide into the lock at the front door. Your head snaps to the sound and you watch your husband, Simon, walk inside. He had been able to be at home for the birth of your daughter through paternity leave, but had to leave again after those six weeks ended. He had been gone for a month now and you were so glad to have him home again. Your son also looks toward the sound, now excited at seeing his father home. “Dada!” He yells, rushing towards him. 

He sets his duffle bag aside and crouches down with his arms wide. “Hello, my boy!” He says, scooping him up and hugging him. You beam at the display, before making your way to them both. “Hello to you, too, my loves, " He says, bending down and giving you a quick kiss to the lips, before crouching further to plant one on his daughter’s head. He holds your cheek in his hand, studying your face. He must notice the bags under your eyes, unruliness of your hair, the rumpled clothing. You wince. “Darling…” He trails off, narrowing his eyes at you. 

 “It’s been a rough month without you, honey,” You answer honestly. No use in hiding it, you reckoned, for it was bare to his eyes. “Sit.” Simon instructs you, putting an arm around you, directing you towards the couch. You take a seat, while he sets your son down. “Hold Esther while I put the sling on,” He says, waiting for you to hand it to him. You look up at him, confused. “You need rest, love. Let me watch the children while you relax.” “But you just got back from a mission–” He stops you by cupping your face in his hands. “No arguing. Now, the sling, please.” You grumbled under your breath while slipping your daughter out from the cloth.

After unwrapping yourself from the sling, you hand it to Simon, who begins to place it around himself. Once finished, he scoops up Esther and places her against his chest, safely securing her inside its hold. She begins to fuss, but soon settles after Simon begins rubbing her back and cooing to her. You can’t help but smile at the display, your heart full of love and warmth for your little family. 

Simon grabs your son’s hand. “Timothy, we’re going to let Mapa take a break, alright? Let’s go have ourselves a snack, yeah?” Your son eagerly nods his head, tugging him towards the kitchen. Simon looks back at you with a smile, “Enjoy your break, darling.” “Thank you, Simon. I love you.” “Love you more.” You stand up from the couch and head towards yours and Simon’s room. Slipping into your pajamas, you crawl into bed, sleep gently taking you. 

Waking with a start after feeling the bed shift, you feel arms wrap around you. “Simon?” You asked groggily, looking over your shoulder. “It’s me, love. How was your nap?” “It was wonderful, thank you, honey.” You sit up and wipe the sleep from your eyes, blinking a few times as your eyes adjust to the dark, slivers of moonlight poking through the curtains. “How long did I sleep for?” You asked, remembering it was around one o’clock in the afternoon when Simon arrived home. “It’s nine now,” He replies, running his fingers through your hair. Nine?! 

“Oh my Lord, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep that long, I must’ve been worn slap out.” You feel guilt gnawing at you for leaving Simon alone with the children for so long, before he says, “It’s fine, didn’t want to disturb your rest, you needed it.” He kisses the back of your hand. “The children are asleep, just me and you now.” Oh. You return to his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss. 

“What would I do without you, Simon? Thank you for today,” You say, now running your hands through his short blond locks. He hums with a grin, “Bare minimum I could do, was glad to have the time with the little ones anyways.” He was never one to accept praise. “Now, I want to spend my time with my spouse. Are you hungry?” The mention of food causes your stomach to growl, loudly. You both laugh, before Simon pulls you from bed. “Let’s order some takeout and watch a movie, yeah?” You grin and nod, excited at the prospect of an at-home date with your husband. 

After ordering food, you settle down to wait for the delivery, nestled against each other on the couch. You lay down while Simon’s situated against you, his head on your chest while holding you close. You don’t take for granted the time you have with Simon. Always glad to be in his company. It’s times like these you cherish the most, able to make the most of the time allotted to you two. “I love you,” You whisper to him, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He turns his head up to stare into your eyes, his honeyed gaze filled with adoration. “Love you most.”

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎSwan Song꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: death, blood pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: billy thinks you're gone forever author's note: :) hope this is alright. Had another vampire idea after doing some research Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

He needed to tear away. Tell himself the figure beneath the wrinkled white sheet was not you, but rather something void of your spirit, of everything that had ever made you special. But Billy couldn't help loving it. He'd loved every part of you.

The candle was a nub collapsing in on itself, dripping into the brass holder. Though the glow was faint, he could see the outline of your face beneath the thin fabric. His girl. His beautiful girl, even when death masked you.

The sickness had been rapid, claiming you quick. Billy had hardly left your bedside in the duration, his prayers taking a new form. He'd called the doctor into your small home and begged him to save you, but the man's hopes hadn't been high.

Still, Billy had nursed you, mopped your sweaty brow, pleaded with you to drink water and broth, held you when the fever caused you to cry out in the dark. Every time you opened your eyes and he saw the beautiful glimmer that told him you were still fighting, he became a little more convinced that it would all be okay. That in a month, he would look back at this as merely an incident and nothing more.

But in the early hours of the morning, your clammy hand clasped in his, you slipped from mortality, disappearing into the afterlife's pocket.

The doctor, grim-faced, had pronounced you lucky that the fingers of death hadn't wrapped around you sooner. Billy waited until he left to cry, tears like rain dripping down his cheeks.

Now you were laid out stiffly on a table, shrouded in white. He had made sure to tuck the sheet under your heels- you hated when your feet were cold. Billy slouched in a chair dragged from the kitchen, hand covering his mouth as he stared at what was left of you, one pale hand dipping from the table and clasped in his other. He'd been motionless for hours, mind traveling lengths and showing him the life he would never have with you. All the things he'd wanted to say, wanted to give you.

He saw imaginings of the children you would have had, of watching you grow older; a luxury he hadn't ever thought he would get. A roughened outlaw, any dreams he'd had of a normal life were forced to be shattered by his own hand. When he'd met you, he found himself putting them back together, with every smile, every time you said you loved him.

It was the only music he wanted to hear, and its artist had been silence.

Fish circled his ankles, letting out a tiny questioning meow. Wordlessly, Billy dropped his free hand to his back, stroking his dark silky fur. Your beloved pet had been in a state of distress for hours now, and Billy felt a pang of guilt for not paying more attention to him.

He wondered if you were watching right now and immediately hoped you weren't. If you were free from this life, you deserved heaven, not long years being forced to view his misery. He knew he would wear it without shame. You were the greatest love he ever knew, and now he'd lost it. The pieces of his heart had trailed behind him like bread crumbs as he carried your limp body from the bedroom to the table, laying you out.

Recalling the death of his mother and brother, Billy knew about viewings and customs. But he knew that though you had been kind to all you met in your life, his tarnished name had sullied yours as well. Nobody would come to pay respects to the lover of a former outlaw. As much as he hated his reputation's muddied tendencies, he was grateful for it now. There wasn't any way he could have accepted condolences or politely thanked anybody for coming now.

Bowing his head, Billy shifted in his chair. There wasn't any way in hell he was leaving your side until the burial. He wasn't sure if he'd even be able to sleep without you pressed into his side, ear over his heart. Fish leapt from the ground onto his lap, making himself comfortable, a regular practice for the cat. Billy swore his whiskers were drooping, a forlorn look in the little animal's eyes.

Settling one hand on the cat's side, Billy breathed in, shutting his eyes. Maybe when the morning came he'd find it a little easier to start saying goodbye.

The last thought he had before falling asleep was one of truth that pierced the jagged remains of his heart. He would never say goodbye. Not truly.

Fish was meowing. Billy grunted, slowly lifting his head upright. His neck was aching from the angle it'd lulled into somewhere in the night, and he gritted his teeth as the soreness pounded. Early sunshine was poking through the curtains and knocking at his eyelids.

The warmth of the cat in his lap was absent, and he figured the little animal was hungry. He tried to remember if there was any chicken left from when he'd canned it last. Stretching out his legs, Billy yawned, rolling a shoulder back. Instinctively, he flexed his fingers, still feeling the weight of your hand in his.

Your cold hand.

It all came rushing back like the current of a river out to drown him. Billy took in a breath through his nose, trying to suppress it for now. Later. He could deal with that later. Right now, the cat was hungry.

Wearily, he cracked one eye open, the fuzzy outline of the world greeting him. The house was still fairly shadowy, although lighter than last night. Fish darted past his legs, and he hummed, rubbing an eye with his free hand. "Alright...alright, I'm comin'."

Instinctively, he turned to look at you. Maybe it was a habit he wouldn't ever shake, always checking first to make sure you were well.

No matter the reason, he was shocked to see you sitting up, staring right back at him.

Panic shot through Billy's body, and he stood so rapidly that the chair was knocked backwards. Chest heaving, he searched the length of you, positive he was dreaming.

The sheet was bunched around your waist, a corner flung away to reveal part of your thigh. You were still in the nightdress you had passed in, one shoulder bare where the strap had fallen down. Hair loose, your skin was as pale and cold as it had been yesterday. In fact, most everything about you looked the same.

It was your eyes that had changed, now an icy lightened blue that reminded him of death. You blinked at him like a doll, and he was terrified by the entire scene. Were you a spirit? A ghost he'd conjured from the throes of his own grief?

"Baby..." The breathy word fell from his lips like a prayer, and his teeth nearly chattered when he saw the old glimmer flash across your irises.

Your voice was raspy. "Billy."

It hit him right then that this was real. You were here, somehow conscious and sentient. A ragged cry tore from him, and he surged forward, bringing you into his chest and squeezing you tight. Your arms were solid around his back, and the detail of it bloomed an overload of relief in his chest.

"How're you...what're you...?" Every question went unfinished as he pressed his lips to your hair over and over again, mind racing.

You fisted his shirt, face buried in his chest. "I don't know. I don't know." He pulled back, and you looked as though you would cry. "All I know is that it was so dark...and I woke up and Fish was on the table next to me."

Cupping your cool cheeks in his big hands, Billy smiled in disbelief, looking over you again. "You're here...you're-" You smiled, lips parting, and he froze, eyes glued to your teeth. It seemed your eyes weren't the only thing death had changed.

The pieces began to connect.

Smile dropping, his mind caught on a certain part of what you'd said, a flood of memory washing over him. The tales his mother used to tell filled in blanks tentatively, and his heart pounded. No. It was impossible. That sort of thing wasn't real.

But you had been dead hours ago.

"Did you say Fish was beside you?" His voice was a whisper.

"Here." Kathleen deposited the kitten that had snuck in Billy's hands and returned to her task, stripping the petals of lavender from the green stem. It had been a flurry of adults running in and out of the house all morning, tending to the icy figure of his aunt Rosalie in the next room.

"Take her outside," his mother commanded gently, pinching another stalk of lavender. "Isn't good to have an animal around a body. If they walk over it they'll turn a person to something like Abhartach."

A vampire.

Now Billy's heart was beating double time, and he looked back at you, everything clicking. His mind raced- was there anything to do? Fish was purring and circling his legs once more, blissfully unaware of his actions.

You whimpered, a hand flying to your throat. "Billy...it hurts...I..." Opening and closing your mouth, fear struck your eyes like lightning. When you looked up at him helplessly, the conditions of your new form unknown to you, any modicum of doubt or hesitation he'd had disappeared. All he knew was that you needed help.

Admittedly, Billy had very limited knowledge, but of one thing he was sure. There was a singular substance you needed to make the pain stop. And you'd never had any. Protection blurred every protesting thought as he stood, one objective clear in his mind.

Securing an arm around your waist, he moved you slightly on the table, planting one of his legs firmly on the ground and putting the other on your opposite side. Gently, he pulled you in to rest against his chest, fingers rubbing your hip. When you began to protest, he murmured, "Shh...it's okay. 'm gonna help you feel better."

Lifting his free wrist to your mouth, he whispered, "Bite down on it." You began to turn in his arms, but he held you firm, sensing your confusion. "Trust me, angel. You'll feel better."

There was a moment in between when he wasn't sure you'd do it. He could see how odd of a request it was, especially when you weren't sure why. Slowly but surely, you closed your mouth around it, and the sensation of your fangs cutting through his skin was evident. Your body's instincts seemed to kick in, and you began to suck, relaxing into his body.

Billy held back any grimaces at the pain, trying to keep any worries at bay. He wasn't sure how much blood you would need, hell, he wasn't sure if you knew. But he'd be damned if you went hurting without something his body could just make more of.

Your hand grasped his wrist after a moment, teeth withdrawing and leaving two little dots like a constellation on his skin. Billy breathed in, grateful that your thirst had been satiated and that he'd been deemed worthy by some higher power to keep living. If he was meant to die, by all means he'd let you drain his body into nothing but skin and bones.

When you turned to look into his eyes again, any explanations died on his tongue. You knew. There was no discussion, though he could see guilt in your eyes. That was something for another time, when he'd tell you as many times as you needed that his blood was yours for the taking. Thumbing the crimson from the corner of your mouth, he gave you a little smile.

Without speaking, Billy found his footing and scooped you up into his arms, walking the few feet to the sofa and sitting there with you between his legs once more. This would be more comfortable for the long term. He knew you didn't need as much rest anymore, but that didn't mean he couldn't hold you.

Your eyes were trained on the wall, lips forming the names of numbers as you started from the first board and tried to count your way to the top. He watched you for a moment, feeling you tense when you kept losing track.

"Easy." He splayed the hand belonging to the wrist you'd bitten out, guiding your grasp to the palm. "Why don'tcha count these instead?"

You smiled sweetly up at him before your eyes fell to his fingers, mouthing as you counted over and over. One two three four five.

Satisfied, he held perfectly still, enjoying the feel of your icy skin against his. Fish leapt up beside you, nestling at Billy's feet. He'd have to give the cat extra chicken for the rest of his life now for what he'd done. Recalling how sad he'd looked sitting below your corpse, Billy wondered if he had known what he was doing. He couldn't help a smile at the thought.

For you were in Billy's arms again. You curled into his empty space, making him whole.

[brialex]

The reason Missa doesn't consider Philza's house to be his too is because he wasn't there.

He wasn't there to see their changes, he wasn't there when more and more details were added for his children.

Yes, he has access, because Philza always thinks about Missa. But this had happened before with Roier.

There was a week when Missa wasn't on the server, and Roier had upgraded the house where they used to live together (before Tacos lore). He improved the second floor, the crops, made a bridge, and Missa still had access because that house belonged to both of them.

Then one day he came back, saw all those changes and no longer considered that that was his home. Even when Quackity asked him to come in, and he told him "This is not my house, I didn't make it". Then the Tacos thing happen and he left that place, alone.

So yes, this may happen because when he doesnt participate, he wasnt part of the process... and that was a week, now imagine missing all those changes in MONTHS.

Before leaving for Japan he told Chayanne that he would do everything possible to logging. Because "he didn't want anyone to tell him anything, he wanted to be there". And that didn't happen because thats out of roleplay lol

But Yup, thats why he's always looking for places where he can make his OWN house.

I can even mention that moment when he came back home to visit Chayanne and quietly sang "Huésped en casa propia" by Pxndx

(Translation: Guest in your own home)

It was a detail that went unnoticed, and I hate that!! because the song talks about how he really feels.

The waypoint says "Phil & Missa" but it's more Phil than Missa. It was more Roier than Missa... Do you feel me?

Because that feeling of being a burden is not because he is just "in love with Philza", it is because his personality is like that with everyone

JAJA and it's funny to know that Missa has involuntarily built his character like this, he has even gone to therapy with Melissa twice!!!

And now that Philza has realized all this, I hope that the next time they meet again he will make Missa feel that that is his family and home too, because history repeats and repeats itself. And it's angst, so fucking angst.

[not-another-leon-blog]

Aftermath

DI! Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary– How your son (doesn’t) deal with the aftermath of Alcatraz. Word count: 2345 S/n– Son’s name D/n– Daughter’s name A/N: has a slightly heavier focus on Leon and his son, a sequel to Family Matters / Aftermath / Out Together

You were right about one thing following the incident in San Francisco: You and Leon wouldn’t be sleeping alone for a long time. For almost the past month, D/n had practically moved into your bedroom, too scared to sleep alone even with her nightlight. Neither of you minded, though. You’d be more concerned if she never came to you at all.

Which was the case with S/n. Not once had he come crawling into bed between you. He hadn’t even sprawled himself across the foot of the bed like he sometimes did during thunderstorms. 

Had it been any other situation, you probably would have commended him for braving through his fears. But you knew all too well how difficult it was to have to deal with the consequences of the viruses and the mutations they brought with them. And with S/n being only eight years old, it had to be harder for him.

“I’m worried about him,” you said to Leon one day. The kids were at school and for once Leon’s vacation days had gone uninterrupted. 

He’d been thinking the same thing for a while now. S/n had changed since they came home. He was quiet, reserved. His grades had fallen and he hadn’t shown interest in doing much of anything. He knew they wouldn’t be able to keep the viruses a secret forever, he just never imagined the twins finding out so soon. And in such an intense way.

“I know.” He leaned against the dining table. “He pretends to sleep at night.” It had become almost routine for him to get up at some point in the night to check on S/n. “I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t listen.”

You saw the droop in his shoulders, the defeated look in his eyes. The both of you were stumped when it came to getting through to your son. Unlike him, D/n was easier to read. She wore her heart on her sleeve and sought out support and help more often than her brother. 

Your phone began to ring. As you went to answer, Leon continued to think of ways to get through to his son. Maybe they were trying too hard. Maybe he just needed to wait for S/n to come to them to talk. But S/n was stubborn and Leon knew that despite his youth, he felt like he needed to be the more responsible twin (though he’d been born only a minute before his sister) and that drove him to keep most of his negative thoughts to himself.

“We need to go pick up the twins,” you told him as you hung up the phone. 

“Why? What happened?” That surprised him. They’d never been called to pick up either of the twins early from school before. It wasn’t even noon yet.

You sighed. “I don’t know. Something about a fight with a couple other kids.”

Leon slipped on one of his leather jackets and grabbed his keys, gesturing for you to follow him. Together, the two of you drove to the school in silence. There was no use in being upset with them (unless, of course, it was justified). Mostly, you were upset with yourselves.

The day you had told Leon you were pregnant, he was beyond terrified. If Raccoon City had never happened, if these viruses and monsters never existed, maybe he would have been excited. Make no mistake, he adored his children and would go to the ends of the earth for them, but back then the thought of bringing new life into a world like this felt like the scariest thing in the world. And now, in his eyes, he had failed his kids. They’d been thrown right into the face of danger and now had to deal with the trauma of it. 

You reached the school and made your way to the front office. D/n and S/n were sitting just outside of the principal’s office. Their hair was a mess and S/n had ripped holes in his jeans. Dirt was smeared on D/n’s cheek and the braid you’d done for her had come loose. They both avoided your eyes.

The principal’s door opened. “Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy?”

~~

“I’m sure both of you are aware that we don’t condone fighting in this school. We have a very strict anti-bullying policy,” the principal started. 

“Of course,” you replied. “Though, we would like to know exactly what happened.”

“They were involved in a fight during their lunch hour,” the principal said simply. “The other kids are currently in the nurse's office with busted lips and bloody noses.” The explanation seemed simple enough. But surely there had to be more to it.

“Mind if we get the kids in here?” Leon asked pointedly. He wasn’t satisfied with this version of events. The principal nodded and Leon went back to the door, opening it just enough to usher the twins inside.

“They have no prior behavioral issues,” the principal said, “but given the circumstances, at the very least they will be on a three-day suspension.”

“Let’s hear their side first,” Leon said firmly, folding his arms across his chest. 

They were quiet. D/n began picking at her fingers and chewing the inside of her cheek. S/n’s eyes were narrowed and his jaw locked. You knew that look despite how rare it was to see. He was usually such a happy boy but right now, he was angry. Downright furious even.

“They wouldn’t leave D/n alone,” he spat.

“What were they doing to D/n?” Leon asked.

“Pulling her hair. They called her a crybaby.”

You turned back to the principal. “I thought you didn’t tolerate bullying?”

The principal stumbled over his words and went red in the face, trying to find a way out of the corner he’d found himself backed into. “With all due respect, Mrs. Kennedy, if that is indeed what happened, instigating a fight is inexcusable.”

“Is that what happened, D/n?” you asked her. She nodded.

Leon’s own frustration was starting to show. He was done with this conversation. “Let’s go.”

“Mr. Kennedy,” the principal started, “This situation must be addressed.”

“Look, I don’t encourage my kids to fight–” the principal shrunk into his chair, “ – but as I see it, my son was protecting his sister. Had your lunch monitors done their job, maybe we wouldn’t be here.”

The principal was speechless. Leon put a hand on each of the twins’ shoulders and gently nudged them back to the door. You stood and began to follow them. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

~~

The ride home was as silent as the ride to the school. Every now and then Leon glanced at the rearview mirror only to see S/n staring intently out the window. He could only guess at what his son was thinking. Above all, he hoped S/n wasn’t replaying San Francisco over and over in his head. Yet, he knew that was the reason they were here.

S/n was too young to process something like that and Leon will spend the rest of his life regretting the whole thing. But for now, he needed to find a way to help his son cope. He couldn’t have him going around busting lips and breaking noses (even if it was deserved).

As for D/n, Leon had decided to leave her to you for now. Even though she was a daddy’s girl through and through, his attention needed to be on S/n.

“Y/n,” he said as he pulled into the driveway, “go ahead and take D/n inside. I’m gonna have a talk with him.”

You nodded and climbed out of the car, D/n following close behind you.

There was a beat of silence.

“If you’re gonna yell, just do it,” S/n mumbled.

“I’m not gonna yell at you.” Leon turned in his seat. “I understand why you did what you did. But why didn’t you go get a teacher?”

S/n frowned and turned his gaze to his shoes. “I was…”

“But?”

He scoffed and shook his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes. Leon sighed and got out of the car, only to round it and get into the back seat with him. He put a comforting hand on top of his head.

S/n bottom lip began to quiver. His breathing became heavy and he wrapped his arms tight around himself. Leon swore he felt his heart snap in two at the sound of his son’s cry. Tears streamed down his face and his body shook with sobs. Leon unbuckled his seat belt and pulled him into his side, his shirt quickly becoming soaked with tears.

“I can still hear it!” Dylan Blake may be dead, but the damage he left behind would take a long time to heal, if ever. “I see it when I try to sleep!” S/n pressed himself as close to Leon as he could, as if he were trying to sink into him.

“It’s okay, bud,” he said quietly, slowly rocking back and forth. He desperately wanted to take the pain away. To erase the memories, rewrite the past or avoid it altogether. S/n cried harder, holding onto Leon like he was a lifeline.

It felt like hours had passed before S/n began to calm down. His sobs turned to sniffles and the tears slowly came to a stop. His grip on Leon’s shirt never loosened.

“W-why do you do it?” S/n whimpered.

Leon wiped his thumb over S/n’s cheek. “To keep you safe.” He held him just a bit tighter. “I do it so you’ll never have to.”

“B-but what i-if you… never come back?” Finally, S/n looked up at Leon. For that, he wasn’t sure he had an answer. He knew it was a very real possibility that one day he might leave and not come home. 

“Don’t you worry about that.” He kissed the top of his head. 

“Can’t you q-quit?”

“I wish I could.” It’s what he wants more than anything. He wanted to be home with his family. He wanted to watch them grow up and not have to worry about anything more than them coming home before curfew. If only it was that simple. 

He pulled away slightly. “I know you were protecting your sister, but you can’t be fighting in school. Even if they deserve it.” S/n nodded. He hugged him again. “I love you, bud. You don’t have to keep all this to yourself.”

“I love you, too,” S/n replied.

Leon shrugged out of his leather jacket and wrapped it around his son. “Take care of this for me, will ya?”

He slipped his arms into the sleeves. The jacket nearly swallowed him whole. “It’s too big.”

Leon chuckled and ruffled his hair. “You’ll grow into it. Let’s get inside.”

~~

You were starting to get worried by the time Leon and S/n came inside. You’d already managed to get the full story out of D/n and had her washing dishes in the kitchen. Not only had S/n started the fight, she had chosen to take part and help him instead of standing off to the side. At least you could take comfort in the fact that they’d stand by each other no matter what.

S/n waddled in wearing Leon’s jacket and went straight to the dining room table with his backpack, getting right to work on whatever homework needed to be done.

Leon came to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Let’s take them out tomorrow,” he suggested. With the kids out of school for the next few days, it would be a good opportunity for him to bond with them.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Sports park?” It would be a healthy way for them to get out the stress they’d been carrying. “Get them to wack a few out in a batting cage?”

You considered it for a moment. Since coming home from San Francisco the twins had only ever gone from the house to school and back again. They needed a change in scenery. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“It’s settled then.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and went to check on S/n while you went to start dinner.

For the first time in a while, there was a sense of peace that almost resembled normalcy. Alcatraz wasn’t at the forefront of your mind as the four of you ate and prepared for bed. Soon you found yourself tucked against Leon’s side in bed. D/n had chosen to sleep in her room tonight, though you were prepared to wake up with her between you in the morning.

The television droned on with some old comedy while you traced random shapes on Leon’s chest. “It looks like you got through to him today,” you said. S/n was noticeably less tense at dinner than he had been these past few days.

“Yeah. Little guy’s got a lot going on in there.” Progress was made and it brought him some relief. S/n had opened up to him just a little bit, and he wouldn’t ask for anything more right now. The door creaked open and S/n peeked inside nervously. 

He hesitated before asking, “Can I sleep here tonight?”

The two of you offered him soft smiles. “Sure, sweetie.” You scooted away from Leon to offer him the space in between. S/n nearly jumped into bed with you, almost as if he’d change his mind if he didn’t. Leon switched the television off and reached across to wrap his arm around the both of you.

“Will I ever stop thinking about it?” S/n held your hand tight as he nuzzled against Leon.

Leon kissed the top of his head. Deep down, he knew Alcatraz was something S/n would never truly forget. “One day, it’ll just be a bad dream.”

[nanisburner]

New Family

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Your wives help you through your pregnancy. No matter how hard it gets for the three of you. / 6k words

Warnings: Pregnant!reader , slight (poorly written) smut, and cursing

A/N: This is an old fic that i posted on my old account. I missed writing and decided to start again 🫡

When you and your wives first started talking about having children, it was hard. You were with two Avengers, so trying to make and raise a family would be hard with their schedules. It’s not like they had a lot of missions, but with meetings, training, and press conferences they were still away from home a lot. You knew of this when you guys first started dating. You knew that they would have a lot to do, so you asked them what they thought about having kids before getting serious with them. The two Avengers told you that they would love that, when everything died down.

Now the three of you were married, and things have not died down.

It was your guys’ three year anniversary when you brought it up again. Natasha bluntly stated that she can’t carry, while Wanda just sighed and said, “No, you know we don’t have time for that.” After that you left it alone, keeping your disappointment from showing because you wanted to let them enjoy their time working. You didn’t want to keep them away from doing the things that they love.

But then Natasha started noticing the longing looks you would throw towards mothers and their children, even fathers. She noticed the way you lingered on your friend’s posts of their kids, and family pictures. She noticed the way you would instantly light up when Clint and Laura bring the kids over to visit the three of you. She noticed how natural you were with the kids. Natasha always noticed, and she herself started to feel a sort of longing for a family with you and Wanda. Maybe, she thought, she could take a step back from traveling so much.

Wanda, wouldn’t notice your physical reactions, but she would hear your thoughts if they got too loud. She could hear you thinking about ‘What ifs’ and your hopes about Wanda and Natasha coming around to the idea of children. She would hear (and see) your daydreams of the three of you raising a child together. You always seemed so happy and content in those daydreams.

Were you not happy now?

You were. You were so so so so happy with Wanda and Natasha. You didn’t need kids to be happy with them. It was just something you always imagined. You thought that maybe it had something to do with the way you grew up, which was poorly. Your parents were shitty, and so you vowed to never be like them if you had children. So now you treated any kid you came across with kindness and patience, something you never received as a child. But you knew it would feel completely different with a baby of your own, and Wanda understood that.

So after another couple of months of long talks, arguments, and compromises, the three of you decided to have a baby. It was decided that you would carry because Natasha can’t, and Wanda didn’t want to be taken out of the field just yet. You guys had asked Bruce and Dr. Cho if they could possibly convert Wanda and Natasha’s DNA into something that could be used to make the baby. You guys wanted the baby to have features from all three of you. After three tries, you were finally pregnant.

Your family of three was about to grow.

— Two months pregnant

The sound of gagging noises woke Wanda up from her nap, so she felt around the bed for you only to feel empty sheets. Opening her eyes, she was met with a vacant bed and frowned. She knew Natasha had to help Maria train new SHIELD agents, but you were with her when she fell asleep. Her questions of where you had gone were quickly answered by a heaving sound that came from the bathroom. She immediately knew that it was you, since one of your early symptoms of the pregnancy had been nausea. The others being an increased libido (which her and Nat happily helped you with), and mood swings.

Wanda rushed out of the bed and into the bathroom, her frown deepening as she saw you hunched over the toilet.

“Oh, detka.” She sighed out and kneeled beside you, one hand holding your hair back while the other rubbed your back, soothing you. “Just let it all out, baby it’s okay. You’re okay.” She whispered out as you finished.

You whimpered and tears fell down your eyes. She watched as you sat back against the tub.

“I h-hate this. I can’t even eat my favorite food anymore with out throwing it all up.” You cried. Wanda pulled you into her lap and let you cry into her shoulder.

“I know,” Wanda always knew. “I know it’s hard right now, but we all know that it’ll be so so worth it in the end.” She rocked you back and forth and held you tightly.

“I want Natty.” You cried again, Wanda sighed. You were especially clingy now that you were pregnant, not that either of them minded. But you always seemed to long for the one that was gone. If Wanda was out working, you would want Wanda. If Natasha was out doing something, you would want her. If they were both gone…oh hell.

“She’ll be here before dinner baby.” She noticed your breathing and sobs had died down. “Hey, why don’t we get you cleaned up so we can get started on cooking? Nat should be here soon.” You looked up at her and gave her a tired smile.

“That sounds good to me, Wan.” She internally cheered at your sudden shift into happiness at the mention of Natasha.

“Come on then.” She tapped your thigh twice and you stood up. After brushing you teeth and washing your mouth out, you were in Wanda’s arms.

“Thank you.” You sighed out.

You weren’t always so emotional, but with the hormonal changes happening within you it was understandable. As hard as it was, this was just the beginning.

— Four months pregnant

Now four months, almost five months pregnant, you were starting to show. It wasn’t too noticeable since it was still small and got covered by your clothes. Your morning sickness was gone, but new problems have come to light. You were starting to get light headed a lot, and it was worrying your wives sick. They suggested that the three of you move back into the compound so you would be close to medical care, but you assured them that you would be fine.

You were not fine.

“…And that’s why none of you are worthy enough to wield my precious hammer.” Thor said smugly.

You were sitting in the living room of the Avengers compound, waiting for Wanda and Natasha to be finished with a debriefing. The three of you were about to tell everyone that you were pregnant, and you were excited. These people you’ve grown close to over the past years have become family to you, and they were the first people you wanted to tell about your pregnancy.

So here you were listening to Thor as he listed off reasons as to why each person in the room would not be able to hold Mjölnir. Which then led to Tony, Sam, Clint, Carol, Rhodey, and Bruce defending themselves while Steve, Peter, Pepper, and Bucky just sat there amused. As they were taking turns with trying to life the hammer, you started to get hungry. You realized you haven’t eaten since before you had arrived to the compound, which was hours ago.

You laughed at Bruce’s attempt to life the hammer, and made a move to stand up from the couch. As you stood up straight, you got that lightheaded feeling again, closing your eyes and breathing deeply through your nose. Carol had noticed, but was quickly distracted by Clint moving up to the hammer.

When the dizziness started to subside, you took a couple of steps towards the kitchen only to stumble a little bit, your head feeling light again, legs weak. You braced yourself against one of the desks that were placed behind the couch, which caused Carol, and Bucky’s attention to drift to you. They both got up and walked towards you.

“Y/n, you feeling okay?” You heard Carol’s voice and tried to look up at her, the sudden movement causing the dizziness to get worse, your vision blackening.

“Y/n? Y/n!” Bucky yelled your name as you collapsed towards the ground, but Carol was quick to catch you.

“Oh my god. Someone tell Wanda and Nat to get in here!” Carol demanded. Everyone’s attention diverted away from the hammer to your limp form in Carol’s arms. She carried you to the couch and gently laid you down. Bruce was quick to be by your side, checking your pulse and trying to tap you awake. Tony used FRIDAY to call your wives in.

“Y/n/n, come on. Did she show any signs of passing put earlier? Anyone?” Bruce asked as he looked around. Everyone shook their heads. Before he could respond, a booming voice echoed throughout the now quiet room.

“What the hell happened to her?!” Wanda’s voice wavered as she spoke. Her and Natasha quickly making their way over to you. Her voice started to stir you awake.

“I- No- We don’t know!” Bruce stuttered out. You opened your eyes and groaned.

“She was just fine, and then when she got up to leave the room...” Carol trailed off and gestured to your body.

“What happened?” You asked as you tried to sit up, only to be softly pushed back down by Bruce.

“You passed out.” He said. Wanda and Natasha coming over and shoving him away from you, causing him to collide into Thor with a small “oof”.

“Are you okay, kotenok?”

“Are you hurting anywhere?”

“Even if it’s small pain you have to tell us, detka.”

Your two lovely wives bombarded you with questions and you just had a silly grin on your face at their concern. Wanda furrowed her brows at that.

“Why are you smiling, you passed out! You could have gotten hurt.” She huffed out and you frowned.

“I’m sorry. I was just hungry.” She sighed and moved to cup your face. Natasha was pressing light kisses to your head, and by now everyone had moved back some to give you guys space.

“It’s okay, we just worry. If we knew your lightheadedness would turn into you fainting, we would have kept a better eye on you.” Natasha smiled softly at you.

“She’s been getting lightheaded a lot lately?” Bruce asked with knitted brows. “We should get her to the med bay and check her out for anything serious.” He moved to walk away but Wanda stopped him.

“Wait! We know why she’s been getting dizzy, and well, it is kind of serious.” They all looked at you with concerned eyes as you sat up, leaning into Wanda’s legs as she stood beside you. Her hand came up to caress your hair, Natasha sitting on the arm of the couch and rubbing your back. Both smiling at how you relaxed into their touches.

“She’s- You’re not sick are you?” A crack in Peter’s voice made you jerk your head up. Peter was like a younger brother to you, and you didn’t want him to be sad or worried over you.

“No!” Startling him, you shot him an apologetic glance before continuing. “No, I’m not sick. I’m actually just pregnant.” You said with a wide smile. Peter and Pepper gasped as everyone else erupted into joyful cheers and laughter. Peter was the first one to hug you, as lightly as he could.

“Congratulations!”

“Aw, Y/n! You guys will be great parents.” Pepper clapped her hands together.

After congratulating you and your wives, Tony and Pepper insisted that you stay at the compound at least until the baby is born. Steve overheard and decided to chime in, saying that it would be best if you stayed there. Which then caused everyone else to try and convince you to move in. The next thing you know, you were saying yes as they all celebrated again. Wanda pulled you into a sweet kiss before Natasha did the same. You couldn’t feel more happier.

— Seven months pregnant

After moving into the compound, everyone was watching over you as best as they could. If Wanda and Natasha were both needed for something, at least one person would stay behind to keep you company. That one person being Peter a lot because Tony still didn’t want him doing hefty work, but you didn’t mind. Peter always let you pick the movies and shows you wanted to watch, which is what you guys were doing now.

Your mind wandered away with random thoughts as you zoned out.

Your belly was also a lot bigger, so you were no longer able to fit in your regular clothes. Wanda and Natasha had taken you shopping for clothes, and now you had a whole new wardrobe. Yeah, they may have went a little overboard.

Something you were still experiencing though, were the mood swings increased libido.

Earlier in the day you had found that its been a few weeks since you and your wives had had sex. You were thinking about how you hated how busy they were, which then lead you to think about the last night you guys all had together. At first you were thinking of a romantic outing, a date night. But then your mind drifted off into how those date nights usually end, which is with sex.

You realized that when you started showing, they stopped touching you. Even when you tried initiating it, they turned you down with an excuse.

Did they not find you desirable anymore?

The thought brought tears to your eyes, which quickly alerted Peter who was watching a movie with you. You wiped them away after he asked if you were okay.

“I’m fine. I’m going to sleep.” You stood up from the couch and began to walk away.

“But it’s only 6- aaaand she’s gone.” He sighed and shot a quick text to Wanda, saying that you were upset about something but didn’t explain what. She messaged him back saying that they were on their way home from the press conference they were just attending.

—

“Detka? Can you unlock the door please?” Wanda asked sweetly. You had locked yourself in the bathroom, and wouldn’t come out no matter what your two wives had tried to bribe you with.

“Can you at least tell us what’s wrong, baby?” Natasha spoke up this time, her tone soft. They heard you sniffling holding back sobs, and their hearts broke at the sound of it all. “Y/n/n? Please.”

“No! I don’t want you guys to look at me anymore so go!” They looked at each other concerned. “Y-you don’t have to pretend that you love me anymore. I- It’s okay if you guys don’t f-find me as attractive as before.” More sobs were let out as you voiced your thoughts. Wanda and Natasha’s eyes widened at your words.

“Y/n, we will always find you attractive. Pregnant or not, baby you’re beautiful.”

“We promise we love you the same as we did before the pregnancy.” Wanda assured you. “Even more so now. Can you please come out so we can talk?”

“You’re lying. You’re both lying to me.” You mumbled out loud enough for them to hear you through the door.

“What makes you say that?”

“You won’t have sex with me!” Natasha’s eyes widened even more while Wanda blushed. “You guys won’t even touch me anymore and I know it’s because I’m not pretty anymore.” That was enough for Wanda.

“Okay, we’re coming in.” Her eyes lit up to a red hue, and a red mist made it’s way into the bathroom and onto the knob, unlocking and opening the door. They rushed to where you were sat on the ground, kneeling beside your cross-legged form. You had your hands resting on top of your bump, sniffling away tears.

“Honey look at me,” Natasha softly demanded. You hesitantly lifted your gaze up to meet hers, and looked at Wanda when you felt her hand slip into yours. They both held nothing but love in their eyes. You felt yourself tearing up again.

“We love you so so much.” Natasha continued. “We still think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. Having your body accommodate to forming a literal child in your stomach doesn’t change our opinions of you.” She took your free hand and squeezed it with a reassuring smile.

“Then why won’t you touch me?” You whispered out.

“We don’t want to hurt you or the baby.” Natasha said in the same tone. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“You won’t,” you mumbled out. “You’re always so paranoid.” Silence passed before your other wife spoke up.

“I’m sorry we made you feel neglected.” Natasha’s expression turned apologetic before a smirk graced her features. “Just know that we are still very much attracted to you.”

Her hand came up on your thighs when Wanda leaned in to kiss your neck.

“You want us to touch you baby?” Wanda husked out. “Is that why you’re being so fussy? Hm?” Her hand loosened her hold on yours and traveled up your body. When she reached your chin, she gripped your face in her hand and brought your lips to hers. You moaned as she swiped her tongue across your bottom lip, which gave her an opening allowing her to slip her tongue into your mouth. She quickly won over your weak fight for dominance. You soon felt another pair of lips on your neck, and you whimpered as Natasha nibbled little bites onto it.

“Let’s take this to the bed, kotenok.” She breathed out. Wanda pulled away and chuckled at your little whine.

Soon you were on the bed in between the two women you loved the most in the world. You were naked now, as were Wanda and Natasha. Your were leaning on Wanda, your back pressed to her chest, feeling her bare skin on yours. Her hands were on your sore breasts, alternating between massaging them softly and gently grazing over your sensitive nipples. Her legs were holding yours spread out, leaving enough room for Natasha to kneel in between them.

“You are so beautiful, Y/n.” Natasha’s hands were lightly running up and down your thighs, the tingling sensation causing you to buck your hips up with a whine. “We love you.”

“So much.” Wanda chimed in.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you guys too.” You groaned out in frustration when they still didn’t give you what you wanted. “Now shut up and fuck me already.” Natasha smirked at your impatience.

“Gladly.” You moaned out as her fingers sunk into you.

Your wives made you cum three times before you were asking them to stop. You were sensitive, and finally satisfied in knowing that the two women still loved you and your body. With how they worshipped you so carefully and intensely, you knew these insecurities wouldn’t be such a problem for you anymore.

Wanda was gently stroking your skin, cooing in your ear and praising you for being so good. You were still trembling, tears of pleasure streaming down your face, bruise-like marks from both Natasha and Wanda covering your neck, thighs, and chest. Natasha went to move her fingers out but you closed your legs and trapped her hand there.

“D-don’t. Not y-yet please.” You murmured out. Wanda’s hands were running through your hair, and Nat’s free hand caressed your legs, trying to relax you enough so she could remove her hand.

“Ready to get cleaned up?” Your eyes were drooping as you nodded, legs limply falling open.

As your wives took care of you and bathed you, you knew that they still loved you no matter what the circumstances are.

— Eight Months Pregnant

Maybe they loved me too much, you thought.

Not really, but they were around everywhere you went since you guys were a month away from your due date. Both Wanda and Natasha have taken four months off, allowing them to be by your side when they wanted to be. Which was every. Single. Minute. of the day.

At first, you didn’t complain because you loved them and always wanted them safe and with you. But now, you couldn’t even go the restroom with out one of them tagging along because they “needed to go pee, too” or because they “left their phone on the sink” only for it to be in their pocket the whole time.

You really did appreciate their concern, and that they loved you enough to worry so much, but now you just felt helpless and incapable. You would try to sneak away from then every once in a while for some alone time, but one’s a spy and the other can read minds so you don’t get very far.

So you were upset, and in pain because of the small contractions you’ve been feeling recently. The doctor told you they were normal though, so you weren’t really worried about it.

“You guys seriously aren’t letting me go to the store now? God, I’m starting to feel like a handmaiden more than your wife!” You huffed out and crossed your arms over your big belly bump. Wanda bit her lip in an attempt to conceal her smile. You were just so adorable when you were mad, even more so now that you’re pregnant with their child. Natasha stood up from the bed and walked in front of you. She tried to uncross your arms, but that only resulted in you stepping away from her grip.

“Look, honey, I know you love going to the store, but-”

“If you tell me that I need to be here because you worry about my safety, Nat, I’ll really give you something to worry about.” You glared at Wanda as she laughed out loud at your empty threat towards the Russian spy. Natasha just smirked, which made you even more angrier.

“You know what? Fine. Both of you can go because you’re annoying me.” You walked out of the room and ignored their calls for you. You stormed into the kitchen where Bucky, Sam, and Carol were eating lunch. They all looked up and smiled at you, Carol’s faltering when she noticed your expression.

“Hey,” She said cautiously. “What’s up with you?” You sighed out in annoyance turning to look at the blonde.

“What’s up is that I’m being treated like a prisoner!” You ran your fingers through your hair and shook your head. “I know that Wands and Nat are looking out for me, but I feel like I’m going crazy not being able to do even the easy things.” Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of tears making their way down your face. He jumped up out of his seat and made his way over to you.

“Here,” He led you to the chair beside his which was in between him and Carol, Bucky sitting in front of you now. “Want to try this grilled cheese sandwich? Carol made it with her stove hands.” He grinned teasingly at Carol and you laughed wiping your tears.

“Thank you, though I don’t know how much I trust Carol’s bare hands when it comes to handling food.” She gasped.

“Are you saying I’m dirty?” You turned to look at her and before you could throw another remark towards her, you felt wetness seep out of you. “Y/n?” Carol noticed your sudden stiffness.

That’s when you felt an especially painful contraction. You hissed in pain and bent over a bit, clutching your stomach. The three Avengers frowned at you.

“Y/n are you okay?” Bucky asked.

“F-fine. Actually,” You looked at him with wide eyes. “I think my water broke.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, concern written all over his features.

“Yea- Oh!” Another contraction hit even harder this time. You were almost leaning fully on Sam now, tears of physical pain pooling in your eyes now. He held onto you and stood up, you clutching onto his arm to stay upright. Carol was quick to be on your other side, protectively cradling your stomach. Bucky was soon on his feet too.

“We should get you to Dr. Cho.” He said. “I’ll let her know we’re on our way. Where’s Wanda? Nat?”

“They’re not here.” You whimpered out. The contractions were hurting even more now, and you so badly wished that your wives were here by your side.

“I’ll call them,” Bucky assured you with a nod.

The three of them led you down the hall into the elevator, going to the medical floor. Sam was practically carrying you now, speed-walking as smoothly as he could with you in his arms. You could hear Bucky frantically speaking on the phone.

“Dr. Cho, Bruce!” Carol called out.

“Here! We’re here. What’s wrong?” The woman asked. Sam put you on one of the beds and stepped back as Dr. Cho got closer to you.

“My water b-broke and it hurts.” You sobbed out. You weren’t ready for this yet. You had eight months to prepare, and you were still not ready for this level of pain you were about to go through. And to top it all off, Wanda and Natasha weren’t here. “I thought t-they were the normal false labor p-pains but it’s worse.” She just nodded and started to put her gloves on, Bruce doing the same.

“Oh god,” You croaked out. “It hurts too much. I can’t do it.” You cried. Carol was quick to come stroke your face, wiping the tears away.

“You’ll be okay, Y/n. We’re all going to be right here for you alright? Just breathe.” That just turned your fear into anger, the pain making everything unbearable.

“You try breathing with a fucking baby in you, Danvers!” Her eyes widened at your use of her last name, and Bucky lightly shoved her away to take her place.

“Hey Y/n, you-“

“Bucky if you don’t get your cyborg ass out of my face! Stop hovering!” You seethed as another contraction hit, your hands gripping the sheets of the bed. He quickly mumbled an apology and went to stand by Carol. Bruce came back with a needle, towels, a bucket and Dr. Cho followed behind with some IV tubings, and other tools. Before Sam could step up to you, Bruce was standing by your side.

“We need to check if you’ve dilated yet at all, is it okay for us to take your pants off?” He asked carefully. The tightening in your stomach lessened and you breathed out in relief. You could only manage a nod towards the man. Dr. Cho carefully guided you out of your pants, and underwear, putting you in a gown. Sam and Bucky were now gone, Bruce shoving them out.

You asked Carol to stay, not wanting to be alone if your wives were still gone by the time you gave birth.

“Okay, Y/n, I’m going to hook you up to some IVs. It’ll help with the pain while we wait for you to dilate enough to push.” She paused before speaking again. “It’s still a month early, so to avoid complications I will have to ask you to be prepared for a C-section just in case.” She walked off to talk to Bruce when you Tears were flowing down your face again.

You were scared now. It was too early to be giving birth, your wives weren’t here, you were alone and you were scared.

“I want Wanda, Carol. I want Nat.” You cried out as another contraction hit. She nodded and wiped your tears away.

“I know. I know, they’ll be here soon okay? They’re stuck in traffic, but I promise they’ll be here for you.” The loud bang of a door caught yours and Carol’s attention, her stepping away from you so her hands could glow as if she was preparing to fight.

You could hear muffled voices and then the door of the medbay swung open, revealing a worried and slightly angry Wanda and Nat. Bucky and Sam trailing behind them with apprehensive looks on their faces. You saw Bucky rubbing a spot on his forehead, and you figured Natasha must have thrown him into the door for something. Carol relaxed seeing that the there was no threat.

Wanda and Nat rushed to your side, each grabbing a hand of yours. “We’re so so sorry we left you earlier, detka.” Wanda choked out, and you noticed she had tears falling down her face. You furrowed your brows and reached up to wipe them away.

“Are you okay, Wan?” She let out a watery laugh and shook her head in disbelief. Even as you were lying on a hospital bed with painful contractions, you were still worried about her.

“Am I okay? Are you okay? Baby, you’re about to give birth.” You smiled and nodded at her, grimacing when you felt another contraction.

“We’re sorry for upsetting you, Y/n/n. We just worry so much.” Natasha said.

“It’s okay. I know you guys do, but let’s forget about all of that.” You shifted to get as comfortable as you could considering your situation. “I’m in pain and have to stay awake for the next 24 hours. It’s all so early and they don’t want there to be any complications.” Your voice cracked as you talked, fear flashing in your eyes. You wanted everything to be okay.

“Hey,” Wanda cupped your cheeks. “Everything is going to be fine, okay? Nothing is going to happen to you or the baby.” She gave you a reassuring smile.

“They’re going to be so small.” You whispered out. “I don’t want them to get hurt.”

“Well, they’ll have three moms to make sure that won’t happen.” Bucky piped up. You looked at him and noticed a bruise on his forehead. You laughed.

“I’m assuming you guys had something to do with his head’s new addition?” You smirked as he rolled his arms and crossed his arms.

— 29 Hours Later

“I- I can’t do it.” You whimpered and squeezed the two hands you were holding. “I’m not ready, not ready.”

After monitoring you and the baby for the past 24 hours, Dr. Cho and Bruce confirmed that while the baby would be a little small, you were ready to have it. You were now, finally dilated enough to start pushing, and the pain was excruciating. You could feel the tears happening down below, every muscle in your body was aching, sweat all over your body. You were pushing as hard as you could.

For a small baby, getting this thing out was still hurting like hell.

“You can do it, detka. You can- AH!” You squeezed Wanda’s hand so hard she fell to her knees.

“This is your fault Wanda!” You yelled out with another push. She looked at you shocked.

“Mine?! What about Nat!” You squeezed her hand harder to shut her up.

“She must like me bette- Y/n!” Natasha bent over when you crushed her hand to shut her up too. More painful yells, more pushing.

“J-Just shut up!”

—

“You’re almost there, Y/n a few more pushes.”

—

“One more mama you can do it!”

—

You slumped back, exhaustion making it’s way into your body. You heard people shuffling around you, your wives hands slipping from your grip. Your vision was blackening, but you could vaguely see Natasha’s red hair in front of you, saying something but her voice was muffled. You just wanted to sleep now.

That’s when you realized you didn’t hear crying, but before you could say anything about it you were unconscious.

—

“-because she delivered earlier than planned, her body wasn’t prepared for it. She was also up for 30 hours or more, so she’s perfectly fine. Just tired.” You heard Dr. Cho’s distant voice.

“You’re sure?” You recognized that as Natasha, encouraging you to open your eyes.

You groaned as you felt the soreness and pain settling in, the bright light of the medbay making you wince a little bit.

“Hey!” You tilted your head to the side, seeing Dr. Cho and Natasha standing there at the door. The former rushing over to stand by the bed you were on. “Hey, baby. How are you feeling?” She asked softly.

That’s when you remembered that you didn’t hear the baby cry. You didn’t even get to see her, or make sure she was okay. You started tearing up and tried to sit up.

“Where- where’s the baby?” Your voice was breaking, and Natasha tried pushing you back down.

“Hey, you need to rest oka-” You shoved her away and moved to take your IVs out. Natasha grabbed both of your hands in hers and made you look at her. “You need to rest. You can’t be up walking around yet. The baby is fine, Wanda is with Bruce getting her dressed right now.” You shook your head.

“Nat I didn’t hear her cry.” You sobbed out. “I was so scared because I couldn’t hear her.” She moved to sit on the bed, bringing your head to her chest and rocking you back and forth.

“It’s okay. It took her awhile to get used to being out of the womb,” She combed through your messy hair. “You passed out right before she cried. She’s fine, alright?” Your cries were down to a sniffle now, and you nodded your head into her chest more.

“I love you.” You whispered out. “Thank you for everything, I don’t think I thanked you guys as much as I should have these past months.” You wrapped your arms around her and squeezed, never wanting to let go.

“You don’t have to thank us,” Your head turned to the door and saw Wanda standing there holding the baby. “Do you want to hold her?” She walked closer.

“Of course. I didn’t go through hours of pain to not hold my baby.” You held out your arms and gently held the little girl. She was sound asleep, a tiny hand resting on her chin, the other gripping the blanket she was wrapped in. Your eyes sparkled as you looked at her. She resembled the three of you so much. You ran your finger lightly across her tiny features.

“She has your nose, Wands. Your mouth Nat.” You breathed out, keeping your gaze on the baby. “She’s beautiful.” You felt the hospital bed dip on both sides of you, and you tore your eyes away from the baby to look at your wives.

They both had tears of joy in their eyes, love shining through as they watched you and you guys’ daughter.

“She has your eyes.” Wanda pointed out, staring in awe as the newborn girl opened her eyes. Natasha groaned causing you and Wanda to look at her.

“Another set of eyes I won’t be able to say ‘no’ to ever in my life.” You smirked while Wanda snorted.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Another Y/n, means more trouble, doesn’t it?” You scoffed when Natasha agreed, giving her a playful glare.

“I just gave birth, and you two are already ganging up on me.” Before you could say anything else, a small sneeze caused your eyes to snap down to the baby. Wanda and Natasha’s eyes doing the same.

She sneezed again and the three of you cooed at her, your hand that wasn’t holding her was getting gripped by her tiny fingers. Natasha’s hand settled on her head as softly as she could, and she leaned down to kiss her forehead while Wanda smiled with tears in her eyes, her hand settled on your thigh.

You smiled at all three of them, and felt so at ease with your new family. This is what you wanted, and you were so glad to have it with the loves of your life.

[ilguna]

Can you do finnick odair with Marjorie by taylor swift for the piano sessions . Like finnick is grieving after reader dies in the sewers . I LOVE some good finnick angst

Ps I absolutely adore your work

☼ marjorie (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention.

wc; 1.7k

notes; Piano Sessions: songfic, Marjorie by Taylor Swift.

--

District Four is haunted by the ghost of you.

Finnick knew it would be hard coming back here, which is exactly why he’s been putting it off for so long. He needed more time to come to terms with the fact that you wouldn’t be by his side when he did it. It helped that he wasn’t immediately released from the Capitol directly after the rebel’s victory.

There was a set time period for the victors from the Star Squad to recover from their adventure in the sewers. Whether it be from physical, emotional or mental wounds. In Finnick’s case specifically, all three. He nearly got torn apart by the pale slimy mutts if it weren’t for you, coming in to save him. Ultimately, losing your life for him.

It’s hard for him not to blame himself. He knows that’s not what you would want, it was your choice to jump in front of him. He wishes you hadn’t. He’s sure that he would’ve found a way to get out of there, and he’d much rather you be here, than him. You deserved to live. 

The vote that Coin conducted regarding another Hunger Games with the Capitol’s children delayed his trip home further. In fact, it set off a whole domino lineup that he’s sure Katniss never thought would happen. She knew there would be consequences, of course, she just didn’t take the time to think about how severe it would be.

Finnick voted no to the idea twice. Once for him, because he would never subject them to the years of torture he had to go through, especially since they had no hand in the Games. And one more time for you, because you would never have entertained the idea. 

In the end, it didn’t matter, because the vote went through. The same evening, Katniss was to execute Snow on live television, when instead she took the life of Coin for suggesting such a tasteless idea. This was when the dominos began to fall. Her actions caused another couple weeks of trial while they assessed her wellbeing. While that happened, an emergency election took place, where Commander Paylor took charge of Panem.

When Katniss was granted permission to go home to District Twelve, so was everyone else that was in Capitol custody. For the first time in Finnick’s life, he could go anywhere, do anything. Despite the fact that it should’ve felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, they felt heavier. When he imagined the light at the end of the tunnel, he always pictured it with you. Not by himself.

There were many people around Finnick that tried to support him. The most important of them being Johanna, who did tell him that he didn’t have to go back to Four if he didn’t want to. She wouldn’t mind it if he decided that he wanted to live with her for a little while, or even permanently.

With him being away for so long, he had to go home. He ached for it. The same way he ached for you to be in his arms, for you to kiss his face, for you to calm the rising grief in his chest for all the people you lost together.

Finnick’s never felt more alone.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he stepped off the train a month ago, but it wasn’t the flood of memories that hit him while standing on the station. All of the times you’d gone to the Capitol together to mentor for the Hunger Games. How he held your hand every time while you carefully stepped off, because of the one time your foot slipped. His promise for it to never happen again.

It didn’t end there. It doesn’t matter where Finnick goes. It doesn’t matter how far he runs. He’s gone to the beach, and relived the picnics and the sunrises and the stargazes. The way you’d brush the sand from his skin, the minutes that never seemed to end when he had his eyes on you.

The first day he went to the market, he was met with all the sorrowed faces that frowned in his direction. Every single one of them knew how much you meant to him. If you were out of the house, usually he wasn’t too far behind, going wherever you went. If it meant he was able to spend more time with you.

It got worse when he returned to Victor’s Village, where he was met with a cemetery of houses that belonged to the victors that used to live there. With the rebellion, almost everyone had been wiped off the map by the Peacekeepers. And if not by them, then the rebels, who were afraid of the loyalists.

Besides Finnick, the only other victor that survived is Annie, but she lives with Katniss’s mother now. It was too painful of an idea for Annie to return here, she likely would’ve broken down completely. She can’t handle the memories the same way that he can.

He wishes he could say that he escapes reality in his house, that he’s able to pretend that nothing’s ever changed. And you’re still across the street, baking cookies with the door wide open. But his house is haunted, too. Finnick knew that one day he would regret inviting you to live with him at his house, when you had offered for him to move into yours.

He thought it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Finnick never intended for the two of you to fall apart, he was going to hold you two together for the rest of your lives if you allowed him to. He never considered that an outside force would wipe you off the face of the planet forever.

He should have taken your offer, because maybe then it wouldn’t be so painful to stay here, in his own home. Maybe he wouldn’t be crying in his bed at night, clutching your pillow, begging for you to come back. For a sign that you’re still around, waiting for him.

You’re everywhere, you’re inescapable. Your favorite tableware is in his cupboards, the one that your family has been using for generations. The one that your kids were supposed to use as they grew up, and eventually take as they gave it to their own children.

Your favorite soaps are in his bathrooms, which he’s too afraid to use. He had to buy new hand soap to avoid using the one that you’d gotten. He doesn’t touch the shampoo and conditioner in the shower. He doesn’t even sniff the body wash that sits on the ledge of the tub. 

Your decorations are carefully placed throughout the house. You brought life to his kitchen, his living room, his bathrooms, his hallways, his bedroom. Pieces that he never would have thought to grab in the past, because he couldn’t see the point of having them.

Your favorite smell is embedded in the blankets on the bed you shared. With your preferred perfume still sitting on the bedside table, waiting for you to come back. It would bother Finnick when you would spray his side of the bed, but now he would give anything for you to do it again.

Your makeup is on the vanity on the far side of his room, the jewelry box is propped open, the silver and gold collecting dust because he doesn’t want to close it. And your clothes are still taking up half of his closet, which he resists smelling every hour of the day.

Johanna told him to get rid of all of it. Or, at the very least, bring it back to your house, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s yours. For a brief moment in time, this place was yours too. Even if your belongings are gone, your feet are still imprinted in his wooden floors. In his mind.

You linger.

There’s a trace of you in every path you walked, in every object you touched, in every person you talked to, and in every breath of air that Finnick takes. This becomes increasingly obvious the longer Johanna stays with him.

“Maybe you and Katniss should spend some time together.” Johanna suggests, arms crossed over her chest. She looks over Finnick. “I heard that she’s not doing very well either.”

Of course not. Katniss lost more than she probably ever thought she would. She went through with being the Mockingjay to free Panem, but more importantly, to keep her sister safe. The whole reason why she ended up in that position was because she didn’t want her sister to go into the Games. Now that she’s dead, not even her own mother will return to Twelve. And the person she loved hasn’t stepped foot back, either.

When Finnick tears his eyes from the pot of fake greenery in the corner to look at her, the scowl on her face smooths out.

“No gossip.” She breathes, arms unfolding. “(Y/n) would’ve scolded me by now.”

Finnick presses his lips together, wanting to keep the growing pressure behind his eyes contained. 

“You and Katniss got along though, didn’t you?” She asks. “I thought I saw you getting close while we were in District Thirteen.”

He nods. “We had a lot in common.”

“You still do.” She says, the expression on her face has changed once again. This time to concern. “Finnick, are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“I’m sure.” Finnick breathes.

If Johanna stays, then she’ll ultimately end up trying to erase the time you put into him. She’ll try to take his mind off of all the things he knows about you. How you loved the amber skies in autumn. The way you’d pull him into the freezing beach water, while he complained the whole time.

The song you’d hum on the way back to his house, holding his hand up until the very minute you got into the shower together. He should’ve asked you what you were thinking about, he should’ve listened to every word.

‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from him.

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[wri0thesley]

home - hawks x reader (6.7k)

you miss him when he's not here.

cw: not sfw. reader is afab but no gendered language is used. chubby reader, insecurities mentioned. established relationship. possessive hawks. blood, injury (mild). cunnilingus, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms.

this was a commissioned work.

There are drawbacks to being a Pro Hero’s partner.

Oh, there are some positives, too - the nice things that you get sent, sometimes, in the hopes that you’ll post them on social media and the business in question will get some extra footfall from being papped on the significant other of the more popular Pro Heroes (putting aside the occasional frustration of paparazzi always tailing you, the free clothes and free tech and free gear and free meals are very nice). The fact that Keigo has a sizable fortune that he mainly uses to make sure that you and he have the best life he can provide. The swell of pride that rises in your chest when you think about him, and all of the lives he has saved, all of the people who are grateful for him. 

The sunshine in Keigo’s face, too, when a small child tells him how much they look up to him - how they want to be just like him. The money that is funneled back by Keigo into charitable institutions for children. The fact that you’re doing a small part of good in the world despite your reasonably useless quirk (making flowers bloom at a touch is only useful when the flowers are not yet in season, after all - it’s a quirk that you can use maybe three months out of the year, and you’ve noticed flowers don’t seem to last any longer just because you’ve grazed them with your fingertips) by making Keigo happy, the way he deserves to be. 

But there are plenty of negatives. 

Those same paparazzi who sell photographs of you and Keigo to gossip magazines and comment on your appearance, your hair if it’s messy, your figure that you’re already not all that confident in. The online gossip-mongers who spend their time bemoaning how much of a better fit they’d be for a man like Keigo, if he’d just stop ‘pitying’ you enough to date you. 

The nights you spend stroking Keigo’s hair as he buries his head in your neck and all of the ugliest parts of his job fall out of his mouth; the fear of being a pawn for the HPSC for the rest of his life, the things he’s asked to do that remain secret except in whispered gasps into your ear, his hands clinging to you so tightly you think about talons puncturing your skin. The long, long nights when he’s out doing hero work and you fear that he may never come back to you. The way time stretches interminably on when he says he’ll be gone for a little while and you don’t know if it will be days or weeks or months. 

You wouldn’t trade anything for him. Keigo makes you feel seen and beautiful and loved and cherished in a way no other person could ever compare to. You get butterflies when he smiles at you. You cannot imagine a life in which you did not find each other, somehow. 

But tonight, your bed in Keigo’s penthouse (big glass windows, so he can feel like he’s flying - a huge bed, with room for his wings) is empty and cold. You wear a too-big ‘Hawks’s Baby Bird’ nightshirt that falls down to your knees, a gag gift from one of your friends who is a member of your boyfriend’s fan club. The little cartoon depiction of him is not enough to make you feel as though he is there with you.

Tonight feels like one of those nights that might last forever.

You roll over in the bed uncomfortably, legs tangling in cool sheets that you wish were warmed by your partner. The space seems to stretch on for an eternity without Keigo’s wings there for you to good-naturedly grouse about as he laughs and pulls you in even closer. 

You think not hearing anything might be the worst. 

You know what he does is important, you know that he doesn’t always tell you where he’s going because he’s worried about you - you know that being shrouded in secrecy is better for both of you. But not knowing where he is or who he’s with or what he’s doing makes all kinds of worrying scenarios play out in your head as you wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if the last time you kissed him on the cheek and told him to be careful (and he looked at you with all of the love in the world lighting his gold eyes, his gaze saying far more than his easy laugh and his promise he would come back) would be the last time. 

Ugh. You flop onto your back and stare up at the ceiling. 

Maybe you should try making yourself a hot drink; distract yourself from the thoughts swirling around your mind and the loneliness that’s eating at your edges. That sounds nice. You swing your legs over the side of the comically oversized mattress, the soft hem of your nightshirt riding high on your thighs - and then you hear a familiar sound, and your heart feels like it swells to double its size in your chest. 

You quickly walk from the bedroom into the lounge, following the sound of beating wings and displaced air and something clinking against glass. There, on the balcony outside, stands Keigo - still in his hero costume, red wings in the process of being tucked behind him, keys tinkling in his hand. 

Through the window, he catches sight of you - and his smile is so wide it could split his face in two, eyes crinkling at the edges. He fumbles even quicker with the keys, eager to get inside and back to you - and you walk across the room, your feet warm on the cold tiled floor, to meet him.

Up close, you can see that the night has not been kind to him. 

Despite the smile that lights up his eyes and transforms his face, there are grazes all over his face; a rip in his hero costume at the sleeve, where he’s bleeding a little. His wings seem fine, but high on the left wing the feathers are bent out of shape and uneven as if he narrowly avoided trapping it somewhere. Your stomach drops somewhere in the region of your feet - and then, Keigo is through the window and it’s clinking closed behind him and you are embraced by all of him, all red feathers and fur jacket and arms wrapping so tightly around you that you can barely breathe. 

“Keigo,” your voice comes out in a choked squeak. “Keigo, you’re hurt--!”

“I’m so glad to see you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, his normally light tone heavy with emotion. “I missed you so so much. I . . . I thought I might not see you ever again--”

His gloved hands cling to your generous hips, squishing into the soft flesh there, dragging you against him. He noses against your neck, breathing in your scent, as if he’s trying to reassure himself that you’re real and true and there. 

“Let me look at your injuries--” You try to say, but Keigo instead pulls you into a searing kiss that makes your knees feel weak. Despite his relatively small stature - compared to most other Pros, anyway - he trains long and hard, and he pulls you into him as if you weigh nothing at all, the softness of your curves and pudge not presenting the smallest of problems. His mouth is hot and beseeching against yours; this is a kiss that says ‘I am alive, and I thought I wouldn’t be’. Fear is still rolling hot through your stomach, but it’s hard not to melt into him when he knows every spot of your mouth and every nerve of your lips as well as he knows his own. His teeth nip needily at your lower lip and you open your mouth for him - let his tongue mark you out as his, sliding across that spot behind your front teeth that makes you full-body shiver in his arms. 

It doesn’t seem to matter to him that the two of you are in full view of the windows (not that any paparazzi would be fool enough to try and photograph from here, after the last time) - all that matters is that the two of you are entwined, that Keigo is there and you are there. His hands slide down your hips to knead at the soft globes of your ass, a motion that’s meant to be teasing but instead simply feels desperate.

You break apart from him with a gasp, your heart beating frantically against your ribcage.

“Keigo,” you say, hoping you sound more sure of yourself than you feel. “I need to clean your w-wounds.”

He looks at you all half-lidded and wanting, his mouth swollen from the kiss - actually, you don’t think his gaze has strayed from you once since he first laid eyes on you. 

“I needed to kiss you,” he says to you, and he cracks a small smile that doesn’t quite mask the wildness in his eyes. “I needed to remember exactly what you were like. Remind myself you were mine, birdie.” 

“The kiss could have waited,” you say, exhaling in a way that’s part laugh and part exhaustion. “You’re hurt.”

One gloved hand raises to your face; his thumb strokes over your cheek. The smile on his face is so sad and so wanting that it makes you ache. 

“I could never wait to kiss you,” he says. “Not a second longer than I have to.”

You tug gently on his sleeve; there’s dirt all over the tan fabric. You wonder what happened to him on this mission, but you don’t ask - Keigo never wants you to have to worry about things. He keeps you as safe as he can - makes sure you can work from home, insists that if he can’t go shopping with you groceries are delivered . . . on another person, it might be suffocating. But on Keigo . . . 

He hasn’t told you much about his life pre-Wing Hero: Hawks. Still, he has told you more than almost anybody else in the whole world knows, and you understand why he clings to the vestiges of a home he’s managed to build around himself. It’s hard not to be flattered that he considers you home - and you, in return, feel exactly the same way about him. 

“Come on,” you say to him, a little more forcefully this time, and you give him a gentle smile so he doesn’t feel like he’s worrying you too much. “Let me clean these scratches and get your uniform off, and I promise you can kiss me as much as you like for as long as you like.”

He lets out a soft laugh but lets himself be tugged across the room anyway. 

“My uniform off?” He asks, lightly teasing, the edge of desperation slowly ebbing away now that he is with you and knows you are safe. “Why, birdie, you’ve only gotta ask! Little forward, but I’m not gonna complain--”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh all the same, as the two of you enter the kitchen and you bully him lovingly into taking a seat on one of the stools by the long breakfast bar. You reach up onto your toes to reach the first-aid kit kept in one of the high kitchen cupboards, feeling the hem of your shirt rise up to reveal the thin red satin underwear you wore to bed--

“Are those Hawks brand, too?” Keigo asks. You can’t see him, but you can just imagine the shit-eating grin that’s painted itself over his face. “Look, I know you want me to stay still whilst you tend lovingly to me, but you’re making this really difficult--”

“Shh,” you tell him, turning around with the little metal tin tucked beneath your arm. “You’re just trying to get out of the antiseptic swabbing, aren’t you?”

It takes you by surprise how quickly he’s shed his garments. You suppose that speed is his greatest asset, but still - you’d heard only a little rustling, and yet Keigo is suddenly sat behind you totally shirtless with his uniform discarded on the stool beside him. You can see almost all of him; the lean muscles of his pectorals, dotted with old scars - the corded forearms, the surprisingly strong hands . . .

You’re grateful to see that the wounds and scratches are only surface-level. They’ll need cleaning and bandaging up a little, but that’s all - he’s not at risk of any infections, doesn’t need to go see any healers or hospital workers. You’re glad - you don’t want him to be out of your sight for any longer than he has to be now that you finally have him back for a while. 

You cough as you rifle through the medical kit for anti-bacterial wipes, feeling your face heat up at his proximity and his nakedness. Keigo laughs softly, angling his body closer to you.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says to you, his voice low and soft. “C’mon. See something you like?”

“Could you stop flirting for one second?” You ask him, as you wipe over one of the nasty grazes on his arm - you don’t think you could look into those golden eyes right now without falling into them like molten pools. “I need to get this cleaned up.”

“You’d be flirting if the prettiest thing in the whole world was touching your naked body,” Keigo says to you, reasonably; and he laughs again when you fumble with the bandage you’re trying to affix to the spot in question. “C’mon. You’re even wearing my merch! How’m I supposed to just sit here and let you look after me when I’m thinking about pinning you to the breakfast bar and having my wicked way with you, huh?”

“Have your wicked way with me when I’m done,” you tell him, and now you have no choice but to turn your hand to the grazes on his cheek - and looking at Keigo’s pretty face takes your breath away in the same way it always does. His eyes are liquid gold, burning you as you gently wipe the blood from his sharp cheekbones. At the touch of your fingers on his face, he takes a sharp intake of breath - and one strong hand lands on the outside of your thigh, thumb pressing softly into the skin there. Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

There’s a bloom of heat low in your core, to be looked at like that. Possession and adoration and hunger all mixed up in his gaze, your own body screaming at you that Keigo wants you and you want him and everything else should be thrown to the wayside in pursuit of the pleasure the two of you are clearly longing for. 

He breathes out after a moment that feels like it lasts a week, and his voice has dropped a semitone into something rich and low and starving hungry. 

“You’re nearly done now, right?” He asks, swallowing, the bob in his throat visible. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself.”

You do not break eye contact as you drop the gauze, as you close the lid of the first-aid kit. 

“I’d think a Pro Hero would have more control,” you say to him breathily. “Stop yourself from doing what, exactly?”

He smiles up at you with a wickedness that makes you weak at the knees, and you feel all of your concern about his grazes and bruises and the feathers that have been bent and ruffled in his wings melt away in favour of the persistent pounding in your core.

He moves lightning-fast; utterly deserving of all of his accolades, and before you know it you’re pressed against the breakfast bar, your ass pressed flush against the rim of the surface, and Keigo has dropped down onto his knees. 

“Stop myself from eating you all up, birdie,” he says, with a grin bright and hungry, as he presses his nose softly against the plumpness of your thighs. “You’re looking delicious, and I’m starving after being away for so long. Won’t you let a guy have a taste?”

You gasp as he moves his face; as his nose nudges at your mound through the Hawks branded underwear. He breathes in deeply, savouring the scent of you on the air.

“I can tell you want it too,” he teases you. “I can smell you from here. That’s how I know how delicious you’re going to be.”

“Keigo,” you breathe out lightly, but there is no complaint in your tone. Your boyfriend takes this the way it is; your consent for him to do whatever he wants to you, and his smile is knife-sharp in the darkness as his fingers hook into the elastic of the underwear and slowly begin to edge them down your legs. 

“Spread for me, angel,” Keigo murmurs, dropping a kiss just above your knee, peppering the skin he can currently get to with more feather soft touches of his lips. “Show me how much you want it. Let me see you; I’ve missed you. Feels like a century when I don’t see you for a day.” 

You fall over yourself to please him. You’ve missed him just as much; too deeply for you to care if you seem desperate, when you spread your legs further and let him see the wet mess between your legs. Keigo’s eyes go half-lidded and wanting as he trails the pad of one of his fingers up your thigh to dip between the lips of your sex and into your slick. 

“Look at you, pretty birdie,” he says, low and awestruck. “This is all for me? Aren’t I the lucky one? Aren’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?”

Your face heats up at the compliments; Keigo is never shy about giving them, of course, but when the position is so intimate and he looks so fascinated it’s hard not to feel woozy with the want that drips off every syllable. Keigo moves his face closer; kisses at the plump spill of your very inner thighs, where they’re damp with your own arousal. Teeth bite into the flesh gently, nipping at you until you gasp. 

“Y-you were being serious about eating me up, then?” You ask, a huff of laughter on your lips, as Keigo shifts his attentions to the other thigh, sucking love bites into the soft flesh. 

“Just making sure you know you’re mine,” he says, breathless. “Marking you up so you know who you belong to. After I’ve eaten you up, I’ll get on to eatin’ you out--”

He kisses over your sex this time; his breath fanning hot against your most sensitive parts. Your knees almost buckle, and you have to cling to the rim of the breakfast bar to stop yourself from just falling onto him completely. You feel a couple of well-placed breaths away from collapsing onto the floor.

“Is that a . . . a promise?” You ask him, and Keigo chuckles and the vibrations seem to travel from between your legs and right up your spine. 

“For you?” He murmurs, and his tongue darts out - laps up your cunt from perineum to clit, and you swear you see stars. “Of course it is.” 

Once Keigo has had a taste of you, there’s nothing you can do. You know it from past experience sprawled out on the bed beneath him as he works you over until you’re putty in his hands - when he wants someone, when he wants something, when something is his and it’s his responsibility . . . he will not rest until he’s wrung several orgasms out of you and you can barely move. The kitchen is a brand new development for this kind of thing, but Keigo is more than a little possessive and when you’ve murmured in the heat of the moment about christening every surface in his apartment it’s always gotten him going--

So it’s all you can do, really, to let him eat you out like he’s a man starved and he’s having his final meal before his untimely end. 

To let your fingers curl around the rim and to give yourself into Keigo’s mouth as it hotly works you over; his tongue dragging through your folds as if he’s trying to drink you in. Your own mouth falls open as your breath escapes you in little surprised gasps; it seems that for every slow lap of his tongue, he manages to do some kind of swirling trick of athletics that makes you feel like you’re melting into a pleasured mess. 

In between the licks and the sucks, he turns his attention back to the soft fullness of your thighs; drops little growling interludes of;

‘Mine’. ‘So beautiful’. ‘So good’. ‘You’re mine’. ‘Mine, mine, mine’. 

Kisses and bites and licks and mumbles, the soft abrasive scratch of his scruff making you dizzy and light-headed as you feel all of the pleasure that he brings you work itself into tight knots in your stomach. Sometimes he bites just a little too hard, as if he wants to ensure that the mark takes - and though on another partner, you might push him away, with Keigo it’s hard to not just let your lashes flutter and a soft moan escape at the thought of just how much he wants you to be his. 

There’s something to be said about having the mark of ownership of a man like Keigo upon your skin. 

He rubs his cheeks against your thighs, uncaring of how your slick is fair dripping from your sex; covering himself in your scent the same way he tries to cover you in his own. You’ve heard him complain when you switch shower gels or perfumes or shampoos; you know he can’t get enough of the natural scent of you. He never cares about cuddling up to you when you feel sweaty or gross - in fact, a couple of times, you’ve thought that it really gets him going--

It’s getting much harder to think the longer Keigo uses his mouth on you. 

It’s hard to think of anything other than the sensation of his tongue, the prickling pleasant heat that’s running through your veins, the groans of pleasure that he keeps putting forth with every new lap and suck and kiss of your clit. Your fingers twitch, your thighs shaking wildly, as you hover on the precipice of your orgasm.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he murmurs softly. “Come on. Come for me.” 

There’s no question of doing anything but. 

Your entire body goes taut all over, like a string waiting to be plucked - and then snaps, as your orgasm washes over you in fierce waves, making your body tingle like fireworks are being set off beneath your skin. You don’t try to muffle your noises - Keigo had coached that out of you with kisses and begging and telling you how much he loves hearing you - so soft whimpers and moans come issuing forth from your mouth, bouncing against the kitchen walls. Keigo makes his own noise in response; a coaxing kind of reassurance that you can let yourself go with him, you’re safe. His mouth is still pressed against your sex, though, his tongue still drinking in the slick you’re pumping out with every clench and pulse of your release. 

He stays there even as the orgasm slowly subsides and feeling returns to your extremities. You’re sensitive, your thighs shaking - and Keigo chuckles, pulling back and looking up at you with his eyes all blown with adoration. 

“I’ve missed the way you taste,” he tells you, tone teasing. “I’ve missed the way you sound, too. I’ve missed . . . all of that.”

“I’ve missed you more,” you say to him breathlessly. “A-are you going to let me repay the favour?” 

Keigo laughs again, and the sound makes happiness bloom in your chest. 

“No,” he says, sounding very sure of himself. “I’m not done with you yet, birdie. I need to make sure that every perfect inch of you remembers me; I need to make sure that you’re always with me, that you’re imprinted onto every part of me, that you know just how much I love you and I need you and that I can remember every part of you with my eyes closed--”

Your cheeks are hot at this profession of adoration. It’s not that Keigo is shy about these things - he said ‘I love you’ before you did - but . . . he’s not always prone to these big, grand gestures. He holds your hands and pulls you close and keeps you next to him, plays with your hair and remembers your favourites and checks in on you to make sure everything is alright as often as he can. Love story confessions are not his style--

And that’s how you know that he means every single syllable. 

“Th-that’s not fair,” you say weakly, as Keigo takes your hand and tugs you through the apartment instead, a mirror of you taking him into the kitchen to clean his wounds. “I want to do all that for you too--!”

“Ah, but you didn’t get to saying it before me, did you?” He shoots you a broad grin, pulling you into the bedroom. The sheets on your huge bed are still rumpled; he raises one eyebrow. “Not sleep well without me, birdie?”

“You know I never do,” you whisper, and his face goes impossibly soft. He pulls you closer to him, pressing his nose against your own so that the two of you are staring directly into one another’s eyes. 

“I love you,” he says, plain and simple. His hands go to touch your hips, to slide up to your waist and to your chest, his touch reverent like a sculptor and his masterpiece. “I love everything about you. If it were up to me, I’d spend every waking minute with you - I’d never let you leave our bed. We’d have everything we need. I . . .” He swallows. “I want to be with you forever.”

“I want to be with you forever, too,” you breathe out - you bring your hand up to stroke over his shoulders, to delicately curve over the musculature in his back to where his wings stand proudly out. He lets out a soft noise of pleasure at the soft touch of your fingers on the downy feathers at the base, his cheeks going pink. 

“Then let me take care of you,” Keigo murmurs, softly. “Let me come inside of you so many times you don’t remember what it feels like to have anything inside of you but me.” He takes a shuddering breath - and despite your earlier orgasm, your breath catches and your pulse beats between your thighs as if it’s agreeing that he can do whatever he wants with you. “Please.”

“Keigo--”

“Say I can, birdie.”

His touch gets desperate. His thumbs dig into the soft meat of your waist, the plump pudge there. You make the mistake of flickering your eyes away from his gaze, to between you and below your eye line, to see the way that his cock is tenting the front of his pants in need. You think about Keigo’s cock - about how it feels inside of you, about how perfectly it fills you up, about the sensation of having him come inside and keep going, keep pumping himself into you--

“Keigo,” you breathe, eyes flicking back up to him. “Of course you can.”

As much as you want to get on your knees for him and bring him the same pleasure he’s already brought you today, you can tell that this means a lot to Keigo - and so you’re not surprised when he groans out loud and pulls you back into a fierce kiss. Your lips are nibbled on, your tongue danced with, your entire body dragged into a kiss that Keigo puts every muscle into - until he pulls back, breathless. 

“Can we get this off you now?” He asks, tugging at your nightshirt. “Kind of weird to be looking at myself right now, even if I do look very cute as a cartoon--”

You laugh as you pull the dark red cotton over your head. You have a brief moment of doubt - that same flash that comes across you every time you fully disrobe in front of Keigo, a voice in your head saying that you’re not good enough or pretty enough for him - but it’s a doubt that Keigo quickly dispels as he pushes you back onto the bed and begins to pepper every inch of your newly exposed skin with bites and kisses. 

“I love these,” he murmurs, palming at your chest with rough calloused hands, plucking your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they stand to stiff attention. “They’re so pretty.” A pinch, and you whine, back arching. “And so sensitive--!” 

His tongue follows the path of his fingers, swirling around the nipple and sucking on it with a soft pop until you’re whining even louder, spreading your thighs apart for him in a silent plea to get on with it.

“You’re being needy,” he tells you, with a bite to the swell of your breast that you can tell will leave a bruise. “And I love it. Ask me nicely, pretty birdie--”

“Please fuck me, Keigo,” you say, breathless with need and want and the dizzying desire to have him inside of you. “Please, I want you inside of me--”

He kisses you fiercely again; fabric is displaced lower down his body as he works his trousers off without for a moment breaking the contact of your two lips. His cock slaps against the roundness of your tummy, leaving wet precome in a smear over your navel - hard and long, stiff and aching to find anchor in your port. 

“You have no idea what hearing you say that does to me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Spread wider, angel, alright?” 

You obey him, spreading your thighs so wide that it’s almost painful. 

The two of you have had to experiment with positions many times - Keigo’s wings provide an interesting challenge for ensuring that both of you are comfortable. Even now, in this simplest of positions, his wings make a canopy over you and give a soft red-warm glow to everything beneath them. Keigo smiles at you so softly that it feels like melting, and then his cock is nudging the lips of your sex apart and slowly slowly slowly sinking inside of you. 

It’s gratifying, to finally be full. His tongue felt good, but there’s a kind of intimacy in this that it can’t replicate - a feeling that the two of you are melding together, hearts beating as one. Keigo’s eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping his pretty mouth.

“You have no idea how you feel,” he chokes out. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you--”

“You feel like home,” you say to Keigo, and he whines and sheathes himself fully inside of you. 

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up so you’re not just laid directly on the bed. His nails - fingers a little sharp, like talons - rake down your back, scratching into you, as he gets used to feel of you hot and tight and wet around him. The two of you are both panting, your own arms wrapping around his neck so you’re as close to him as you can possibly be. 

He crashes his lips against yours at the same time as he begins to move his hips in hungry little circles. He isn’t yet fucking in and out of you in wild abandon, but this is still overwhelming after being without him for a few nights and forgetting all of the places inside of you that are stoked like a brand new fire by his cock, stretching you out. You move your hips against him in tiny increments, his abdomen rubbing against your swollen clit in a way that sends pleasant little frissons of electricity up and down your spine. 

The electric mixes with the scratches of Keigo’s hands, an overwhelming symphony of sensation that is at once too much and not enough. You lose track of time - you lose track of anything but the feel of Keigo inside of you, the pleasure of being stretched and fucked and taken and knowing you are loved. 

His lips against yours, his words against your ear with whispers of how much he loves you and how beautiful you are and how good you are for him. Your own words, coming out slurred and breathless as you both chase your orgasms, wanting to crest that hill together. 

“Keigo,” you’re whimpering. “Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.” Chants of his name spilling out of your lips like prayer beads, prayers that he drinks up with his kisses and his own soft entreaties of your name. 

“I’m going to--”

“I want you to--”

“Fill me up, please--”

“Fuck--”

You both lose track of who is actually the one speaking; the words come out in a spill that’s mirrored by the twitch of your thighs and the coil of heat in your stomach. Your orgasm hits you like a train, and your fingers curl into Keigo’s short hair at the same time as he digs his teeth into the soft place where your neck meets your shoulders and his cock pulses inside of you, spilling his seed into your sex, marking you out as his. Your own release gushes over his cock, your cunt clenching around him as you pant and whimper. You’re light-headed and dizzy as you chase your aftershocks, gyrating your hips on his softening cock to eke out every last drop of pleasure you can. Keigo’s hands stay on you, sliding to the small of your back, encouraging you as he sucks and kisses on the bitemarks and lets his own pants fill the air. 

The comfortable silence that follows your releases lasts only a moment. 

He’s come inside of you once, and your body feels full and satiated with your own orgasm, but that’s not enough for Keigo. Even as he pulls out, his cock is already hardening again, a soft groan falling from his mouth as it slaps against the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

“Tell me I can fuck you again,” he murmurs. “I want you to be full of me, birdie. I want you to be dripping with my come for weeks. I need t’fill you up so bad--”

You manage to screw up all of your left-over energy - not that there was much of it - to roll over, gathering yourself up on your hands and knees, spreading your legs further apart and balancing yourself on your elbows. It’s a position the two of you have used often, made all the more comfortable by Keigo’s expensive bed. It means that you don’t have to do much more work than stay there and thrust your hips back into him - and, crucially, it means that Keigo gets so deep inside of you that you swear you feel him in your stomach. 

“Yes,” Keigo breathes, already gathering himself up onto his knees. He drops kisses onto the places on your shoulder blades and spine he scratched earlier, soft feather-light whispers of how much he adores you. “Fuck, angel--”

He fits inside of you like a glove; your earlier exertions making him slide inside of you so easily you barely feel the stretch. Your fingers clench into the sheets as you moan out a prayer that sounds like his name, as Keigo continues to drop wet messy kisses all over you. He’s rambling now, about how beautiful you look like this and how good you feel.

“I should fuck you on every surface in the house,” he whispers, as he begins to work his hips back and forth, sliding easily into a rhythm. “I should christen every single one of them, so it feels like home--”

“Okay,” you breathe in return, moving your hips as much as you can. You’re going to come again, you realise, embarrassingly quickly. He just feels so deep inside of you - like there is no end to where he starts or you begin, like there’s nothing in the universe but the two of you and the places you’re joined. One of his hands slaps over yours, holding it as best he can in the position you’re in. 

“I need to fill you up,” he’s panting. “I need you . . . need you to be mine, need you to know how much I love you, need you need you need you--”

“I need you,” you reply, in a whimper that feels like a sob as he adjusts his hips just so and oh, the spots he hits inside of you with every thrust . . . You feel born anew again; like this is the first time Keigo has fucked you and you’re as sensitive as a virgin. You squeeze your eyes closed. “I need you more-- please fill me up, I want to be yours, please please please--”

“Say my name,” Keigo begs into your ear, the words broken up with pants. “Say you love me.”

“K-Keigo--!” Your voice pitches as your orgasm clenches all up inside of you. You feel yourself tighten around him. The feeling of him inside of you, the wet glide of his cock, the sting of the bites and scratches from your earlier extremely enthusiastic love-making, all converging together until you can do nothing but let the white hot feeling take you over completely. “I l-love you--”

A moaning whimpering groan of your name, and the two of you are coming together. Keigo’s cock is twitching inside of you, spilling more thick ropes of his come as deep into you as he can to join his earlier load. You moan as you feel it trickle down your thighs, as he fucks it in deeper chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm and your body collapses into a jelly-like mass of nothing but feeling. Keigo lets you collapse and follows you down, breathless laughs turning into moans as you lie there for a few moments sweating and panting in the afterglow of your lovemaking. 

It takes a little while for the two of you to disentangle yourself fully; for Keigo’s cock to pop out of you (followed by a little rush of your mixed fluids), for him to drag your sweat-soaked body against him without caring for how you must be messing up the sheets. 

“I love you too,” he says, a belated reply to your call as you’d come. Your face goes hot at the reminder.

You curl up against his chest shyly, cheek pressed to his beating heart. Your fingers come up to trace patterns over his skin, and he makes a noise low in his throat almost like a chirp, pleasure at your touch melding with the pleasure of what has transpired between you both. He’s always a little more bird-like in this state; relaxed and sated and happy. 

A phone rings somewhere in the distance, and he groans. Eyes fluttering shut. 

“It’s in my pocket,” he mumbles in annoyance. “It’ll be the Commission.”

You make a soft noise of displeasure at the Hero Commission already wanting to monopolise his time when it feels like he’s been home for an hour or two at most. 

“I’d hoped we’d have a bit longer this time,” you say, and you hope that you don’t sound petulant. You don’t want to resent Keigo’s job! You know he’s one of the top heroes for a reason! But curled up in bed, it’s hard to reconcile Wing Hero: Hawks and Keigo, your boyfriend, your lover, your home. You want longer with him. You want to keep him for yourself. 

His mouth twists. Resolutely, he wraps his arms back around you. 

“We will,” he says, as he continues to ignore the ringing. “We’ll have more time. They can wait a day. I still have more things I want to do to you.”

“Unfair,” you say, hiding your smile in his chest. “It’s my turn to do things to you.”

He laughs and presses a kiss on the top of your head. The scratches and bruises and bites from your earlier exertions sting pleasantly; a reminder of home, a reminder of Keigo, a reminder of belonging. 

“Okay,” he says, with a faux sigh. “It’ll be a challenge, but I’ll take one for the team. I guess you can do things to me next time.” 

Both of you laugh and snuggle in closer to one another. 

The bed feels so much more right with Keigo in it beside you. 

[spacedace]

Fuck whatever DC is doing with the al Ghul's characterizations and story lines, I've decided that from now on the al Ghul's are gonna be DC's version of the Addams Family instead.

Now I don't mean just give the various al Ghul's the exact personalities of the various Addams and call it a day. That's boring, that erases all the interesting parts of the al Ghuls, that's just using "find & replace" and not actually adding anything. I mean give them the vibes of the Addams Family.

Keep the al Ghul's as the al Ghul's with all their scheming and machinations and world domination attempts but give them all the unhinged energy, the casually insane view of the world, the deranged levels of love and devotion for family. Make them that group where objectively they are batshit insane but also you cannot argue with the fact that they are indisputably the most stable and functional family in the entire universe.

They're creepy, they're kooky, they're mysterious and spooky. Ra's many opulent homes and impenetrable fortresses are a museum and the al Ghul's really are a screa-um whenever people come to see-um (or when they lay waste upon their enemies in a surprise attack that has been planned for months and is just the first domino in a series that will ultimately lead to achieving a far greater goal).

They all love each other and want each other to be happy, they express this primarily with stabbing and murder attempts (its fine, death is a thing that happens to other people).

And forget the League of Assassins being a cult. Just make the whole vast globe spanning organization a collection of cousins/aunts/uncles/dear old friends ect. No one (not even the al Ghuls, if they cared to keep track of such things) is sure who is actually related to them and who just got absorbed into the ever expanding family tree based on their vibes being right.

(Is Sensei Ra's father you ask? Well he's certainly someone's father - probably.

Anyway have you heard about Cousin Cheshire? Despicable poisoner of a young woman, capable of the most horrific things imaginable - yes she is the sweetest dear. Like I was saying though, she just had a baby!

Everyone in the family is just so excited to throw a baby shower to celebrate! Ubu has really gone all out with the spike traps, he does so love getting to welcome a new addition to the family.

Talia of course has cultivated a brand new strain of the most toxic plants imaginable to make a brand new kind of necrotizing poison. You know, as a nice little romantic gift for Cousin Cheshire and that young man of hers. It really is so important to make sure you take time for you and your partner to go on dates and have a few pitched battles to the death on dark rooftops in the pounding rain when you have children.

Now there is some to-do about it all of course, you know how family get together can be. Everyone is arguing over who should get to give little Lian her first weapon and what it should be. Nyssa is pushing for grenades but Ra's is insisting on a sword - he's traditional like that you know - but Dusan has the vote so far on throwing knives. You know the kind that have the little divots along the edges of the blades them to make it easier to get the poison you dip them in to stick.)

I'm just saying that the al Ghuls should be a delightful cross between the Bond Villains they were originally conceived as and the lovingly unhinged Addams Family. It just feels correct in my heart.

(Again keep the interesting aspects of the characters and the nuances of who each of them are like their drive to save the world through destroying humanity and their strong environmentalist leanings and their constantly playing 5D chess and everything, but like, take away the racism and the cartoonishly evil for no reason bullshit and give them some fun feral energy to go along with it).

[froginthesoil]

— 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨. . .

— freminet, kaeya

— gender neutral | comfort, platonic

— 𝐜𝐰: daydreaming as escapism

— 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐭

• he understands — if anything, he knows how comforting one's imagination can be.

• wanting to help you, he creates a small doll for you. its appearance is similar to your imaginary friend's... he makes sure to give it a mechanical heart, with deep heartbeats that comfort you, and eyes that shines when activated.

• freminet rarely comes over, mostly due to his work. but when he does, he makes sure to bring pers. if you decorate your home to remind you of your own little world, he's not one to judge.

• he's fine with staying with you in silence. if anything, it's better for him than having to speak.

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖✩˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

it was a relatively cold evening in fontaine — the sun long gone behind the mountains, and a gentle rainfall, trickling down the cobblestone streets of the court. freminet held a small doll in his hands, keeping it safe from the rain as he examined it, making sure it was built just right. its small, mechanical heart responded with a beat, confirming that it was functional.

with a satisfied sigh, the young man opened the door of your apartment, using the key you gave him — how he had managed to gain such a strong trust from you, freminet had no idea. this friendship was only a few months old, after all, with neither of you willing to really speak that much.

if anything, the only way freminet was able to understand so much about you was by watching your surroundings, relating them to his own experience.

the environment you were living in, decorated to replicate the image of a home that you had drawn so many times, had become familiar to him. he understood, being no stranger to the comfort that imagination could bring. that was the reason why pers was always by his side, after all. he thought you'd appreciate having a physical reminder of your own friend.

that's why, when he made his way into your bedroom to spend the night, he handed you the little doll that he had created; almost identical to the appearance he had seen in your drawings. its eyes sparkled a golden light in the dark, pushing the shadows away when activated, and its beating core melted your worries. freminet wasn't sure of whether you'd appreciate the gift, or find him intrusive for touching your imaginary friend in some way.

but the smile on your face was a good sign, and he lowered his gaze in relief. "i hope it's alright", he said, swiftly beginning to find flaws in his creation. "sewing clothes is more difficult than i thought." he would have said a little more, offering to sew another outfit, if it wasn't for your smile as you held the doll close to your chest.

"it's really them..." you muttered, relieved by the ability to finally embrace your imaginary friend. "thank you. i'll take care of them." it was as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders. in your mind, there was nothing to fear as long as your imaginary friend was there with you. freminet kept his concerns for himself, well aware that he had no advice to give.

— 𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐚

• kaeya has a fair amount of experience handling children and their wild creativity. he figures that it goes deeper for you, considering you're past the age of having imaginary friends — but he gets it, and he doesn't pry.

• he lets you stay with him when he's not needed outside of town, doesn't mind your presence since you're so quiet anyway.

• he's fine with listening while you occasionally ramble about the daydreams you came up with, even if he is a little hurt by the fact that you'd rather hide away than reach out to him for help. sometimes he reminds you that's he here, he slips in a few comments.

• if you're neglecting your responsabilities, he does bring you back to reality. kaeya isn't so teasing with you during these times, he wouldn't dare to make fun of something so personal.

• sometimes, he wonders what he can do to help — accompanying you during walks in case you're careless and doing what he can to remove some stress from your shoulders don't seem to make much of a difference. as long as you refuse to open up about what's bothering you, that's the most he can do.