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aisiedaisie · 3 months ago

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Royal Flush

Authors Note: Sorry this update took so long!!! I wanted to have the chapter put out by Monday but everyone in my house is sick with the flu. I wrote a bit more as an apology. I hope you enjoy!!!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.6K

As the sun slipped below the horizon, the last vestiges of daylight painted your room in muted hues of amber and lavender. The embroidery you had been working on lay abandoned on the small round table near the window, forgotten as the stillness was abruptly shattered.

Lily stormed in, her fiery presence consuming the space, followed closely by Mary, who lingered near the door, her expression laced with concern. With an exaggerated sigh, the princess threw herself onto your bed, the linens crumpling beneath her in a dramatic display of exasperation.

You turned from the fading light, one brow arching in silent inquiry as your gaze flitted from Lily to Mary, whose fingers twisted together anxiously.

Mary finally broke the silence, her voice hesitant yet steady. “The dignitaries,” she began, her words faltering as she glanced at Lily, “are requesting our lady’s hand in marriage.”

The room seemed to still, the weight of the statement sinking in like a stone dropped into a calm pond. “What?” you breathed, the question spilling out before you could stop it. Your wide eyed gaze darted between Mary and Lily, searching for clarification.

“Why would they even suggest that?” you asked after a moment, the unease in Mary’s posture stoking a sense of dread deep in your chest.

Mary’s lips pressed into a thin line, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes. Her hesitation made the pit in your stomach deepen, and you knew her answer would bring no comfort.

“They wish to strengthen ties between the kingdoms,” Mary explained at last, her tone careful. “And since the prince decided to… leave the meeting rather abruptly, they began considering alternative candidates.” Her words were measured, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

Lily groaned and rolled onto her back, her peridot eyes dulled by frustration. “I can’t even blame him,” she muttered. “If I had the chance, I’d have left too.” Her hand waved dismissively in the air. “We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember, but we’ve never even entertained the idea of marrying one another. I certainly haven’t.”

Mary nodded in quiet agreement, adding softly, “Judging by the way he left, I’d say the prince feels the same.”

You frowned, the pieces of the story not entirely fitting. “Why bring this to you, though? Isn’t this a matter for your parents to discuss?”

Lily sat up slightly, her expression equal parts incredulous and irate. “You’d think so!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. “But apparently, I’m of age to make my own decisions. Not that they’re asking for a wedding tomorrow,” she continued with a bitter grumble. “They just want me to consider the proposal. As if that somehow makes it less ridiculous.”

You sighed and crossed the room, lighting the gas lamp with a practiced hand. The flame flickered to life, its soft glow casting shadows across Lily’s face, now set in a grimace. Her next words came out in a quiet grumble. “They want me to consider Regulus.”

You froze for a beat, the name hanging in the air. “Duke Black’s son?” you asked, your voice cautious.

Lily hummed in confirmation, her tone heavy with irritation. Mary’s silent nod only solidified the weight of the situation.

The night stretched on, the tension easing only when Marlene joined the discussion, her arrival heralded by the scent of sweet treats piled high on a tray.

The princess’s guard placed it carefully on the bedside table, a silent gesture of comfort for the princess.

For hours, the four of you spoke in hushed tones, the conversation ebbing and flowing like tides. Beneath the low hum of voices, a plan began to take shape, fragile and tentative but enough to carry Lily through the storm.

_____

The quiet of the room seemed heavier now that Lily, Mary, and Marlene had gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The faint echo of their laughter and conversation faded, replaced by the stillness that pressed in around you.

The dignitaries’ insistence on binding the kingdoms through marriage weighed heavily on your mind. It seemed inevitable now, a decision looming over Lily’s future and yours by proxy.

It made the prospect of returning to Eylillium feel like a distant dream, and as much as you’d tried to settle here the past few days, a pang of homesickness clung to you.

The familiar faces of the palace staff, the echo of your footsteps in its marble halls, the scent of the gardens after a summer rain— you missed it all.

Shivering, you climbed into bed, pulling the covers tightly around you. The nightgown you wore was far too thin for the chill creeping into the room, and the drafty windows offered little to no reprieve. Staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim you, but it didn’t come.

Instead, thoughts swirled ceaselessly.

You’d need warmer clothes, that much was certain. Winter’s bite was fast approaching, and your wardrobe was ill suited to the northern chill. Shopping would be necessary, though the thought of venturing into unfamiliar shops was more daunting than it should have been.

Sleep evaded you, each minute feeling like an eternity.

_____

The hours ticked by, the moon climbing high into the sky, bathing the room in its silver glow.

With a soft groan, you gave in, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and padding to the small table by the window. The embroidery you’d abandoned earlier waited for you, the needle still resting in place.

Relighting the lamp, its warm glow cast soft shadows over the delicate work. You picked up the silken handkerchief, tracing your fingers over the partially completed design. Lavender stems, small white lemon blossoms, and a pink amaryllis bloomed in the lower corner— a curious combination of flowers yet they felt so right together. You’d left it half finished earlier when your back had protested the hours spent hunched over.

Taking up the needle once more, you were about to continue when something moved just beyond the edge of your vision. You froze, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric. Slowly, you turned your gaze toward the window.

In the garden below, a figure moved among the moonlit paths. Their silhouette was unmistakable, a mix of grace and restless energy.

“Sirius?” The name slipped from your lips in a whisper, barely audible in the stillness of the night.

You leaned closer to the window, watching as he paced through the garden, his movements restless, as though something weighed heavily on him. Whatever it was, it was enough to pull him from the warmth of the palace into the cool embrace of the night.

You grab the shawl you wore earlier that day, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders, and slip on the nearest pair of shoes— a horrendous choice. The forest green clashed with your nightgown but you couldn’t really be bothered to care.

All you can focus on is the thought of Sirius below, his unease obvious even from a distance.

Before you can think better of it, your feet are carrying you out the door, down the hall, and toward the gardens. The cool stone floor bites at your feet through the thin soles of your shoes, but the sensation barely registers. A strangled feeling sits heavy in your chest, an inexplicable pull that drives you forward.

The air hits you as soon as you step outside, sharp and brisk. Your breath puffs out in visible clouds, mingling with the faint mist rolling over the garden. You don’t realize you’re running until the sound of your hurried steps echoes softly against the flagstones, your shawl fluttering loosely behind you as the palace’s warmth gives way to the garden’s crisp night chill.

“Sirius,” you call out, your voice low but urgent as you weave through the labyrinth of moonlit paths.

He doesn’t seem to hear you at first, his figure moving in aimless loops, hands buried in his pockets. When you draw closer, the tension in his shoulders becomes unmistakable, and your concern only deepens.

_____

You stood there for a long moment, watching Sirius pace under the pale glow of the moon. His lips moved as he muttered to himself, his hands gesturing faintly as though wrestling with invisible demons. The sight left you rooted in place, uncertainty holding you back.

What could you say?

What should you say?

The realization struck you like a quiet weight— you barely knew him.

You’d spoken to Sirius Black only twice before. And yet, seeing him like this, troubled and pacing alone in the cold, stirred something deep within you. The thought of his suffering, of him being left to face whatever burden pressed upon him, unsettled you to your very core.

You drew a shaky breath, steeling your resolve as you adjusted your shawl, pulling it tighter around your shoulders. Your fingers fidgeted with the fabric, a nervous gesture that felt grounding against the growing whirlwind in your chest.

‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ you thought to yourself.

He might dismiss you, or perhaps he wouldn’t want to talk. But still, the thought of leaving him alone felt impossible.

“Sirius?” you finally called, his name hesitant and soft on your lips.

His reaction was immediate. He froze mid-stride, turning sharply to face you, his silver eyes wide and bright in the moonlight. For a fleeting moment, you saw unguarded shock and something like raw panic beneath it. Then, like a door slamming shut, he masked it with a familiar, practiced smile— a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, my lady,” he greeted lightly, his tone almost too casual. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”

You ignored the deflection, stepping closer with cautious determination. His words might have carried charm, but his tense shoulders and restless gaze betrayed the truth. Gently, you rested your hand on his arm, a tentative offer of comfort.

“Sirius,” you asked, your voice softer this time, “are you alright?”

He hesitated, his smile faltering under the weight of your concern. “I should be asking you that,” he deflected again, though his voice wavered ever so slightly.

“I’m fine,” you replied firmly, your gaze searching his. “But you’re not. You’re… panicked.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his expression caught somewhere between a laugh and a grimace. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of weariness. “I’m fine,” he repeated, though his tone lacked conviction. “Or, at least, I will be.”

He then shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, but even so, you noticed the faint tremor in them. Without thinking, you reached for one, tugging it gently from the warmer depths. His fingers were ice against yours, and you gasped softly. “Sirius, how long have you been out here?” you demanded, cupping his hand between your own in an effort to warm it.

He stared at your hands, his expression flickering between surprise and something unreadable. “A while,” he admitted finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t notice the cold.”

“How could you not?” you ask firmly, rubbing his hand between your palms. “You can’t stay out here like this. Whatever’s troubling you, it won’t help if you freeze to death.”

Sirius let out a soft, mirthless chuckle, his posture sagging slightly. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?” he murmured, though there was no malice in his tone— only a quiet, grudging gratitude that he didn’t yet know how to express.

“I may be, but I really don’t care at the moment,” you replied softly, holding his gaze. “Let’s get you inside. You’re practically frozen.”

Sirius hesitated, his silver eyes searching yours for a beat before he sighed and gave a reluctant nod. He allowed you to guide him back into the palace, his movements slower than before, his shoulders faintly slouched against the chill.

“I’m fine, really,” he murmured as you led him through the quiet halls, though his words carried no real conviction.

You glanced back at him but said nothing, your silence a quiet refusal to humor his insistence. Once in your room, you motioned toward the small round table near the window, the lamp still casting its warm glow. Sirius lowered himself into the chair, and you quickly fetched the sheets from your bed. Without a word, you wrapped them around his shoulders, tucking the fabric snugly in place.

He looked up at you, a flicker of amusement softening his features as the makeshift cocoon left him almost immobile. “You didn’t have to go to such lengths,” he teased, his voice low, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“That’s debatable,” you replied, straightening with a nod. “You need to warm up.”

He chuckled lightly, though his eyes remained shadowed, the humor not quite reaching them. “You’re far too kind, my lady. Though I’d argue it’s you who needs tending to. You’re shivering.”

“It’s nothing,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand, unwilling to shift the focus from him. “You’ve been out there far longer than I have.”

For a moment, you considered offering him something warm to drink, but you realized with a pang of frustration that you still didn’t know where the kitchens were. A note for tomorrow, you thought, making a mental reminder to ask Molly.

Instead, you leaned against the edge of your bed, watching as Sirius shifted under the weight of the linens. His shoulders had eased, but tension lingered in the set of his jaw.

“I might be overstepping,” you began hesitantly, your voice soft, “but I can find Remus— or His Highness, if you’d prefer.”

Sirius shook his head quickly, a sharp movement that made the loose strands of his hair fall forward. “They already know.”

The statement gave you pause. “And they just let you…?” You gestured vaguely toward the direction of the gardens, disbelief creeping into your voice.

“I told them I was going to my room,” he admitted quietly, his gaze dropping to his hands.

You exhaled softly, sitting down fully on the bed. “For what it’s worth, I’m here if you need to talk,” you offered. “I know we don’t know each other well, but…” You trailed off, searching for the right words, but found none.

He looked up, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his expression took your breath away. The light from the lamp reflected faintly in his eyes, giving them a silvery glow that seemed almost ethereal. You couldn’t help but think how utterly unfair it was for someone to look as he did, even now, burdened by whatever weighed on his mind.

Sirius inhaled deeply, leaning back against the chair. “You’ve probably already heard about Regulus,” he said at last, his voice barely above a murmur.

Your eyes widened slightly as realization struck. “I heard this evening,” you admitted. “But… it’s not decided yet, is it?”

Sirius nodded, his hair brushing against his cheeks. “Right, but I know my family… I know my mother.” His voice grew quieter, tinged with bitterness. “She’ll push for the marriage, no matter what anyone else says.”

The weight in his words made your heart ache. You stepped closer, your hand instinctively finding his back, and you rubbed slow, comforting circles over his shoulder blades. The tension beneath your palm was palpable.

“I could speak with Her Highness,” you offered gently. “She doesn’t seem particularly keen on marriage either. She seemed just as blindsided by the idea as you.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, a faint nod accompanying the sound. “You’re right,” he said after a moment, though his voice carried a strain of lingering doubt. “I shouldn’t let it get to me. Sorry—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” you interrupted, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “You’re allowed to feel what you feel.”

You crouched slightly to take his hands in yours, testing their warmth. His fingers were no longer icy, but they trembled against your palms. “You’re shaking,” you murmured, brushing your thumbs over his knuckles.

Sirius hesitated, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “They always do when I’m nervous,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your chest tightened further at the admission. “I’m so sorry, Sirius. We’ll figure this out, I promise. If Her Highness—”

He let out a soft laugh, cutting you off mid-sentence. His gray eyes darted up to meet yours, shimmering with a fleeting light of amusement. “I’m not nervous about that right now.”

You blinked in surprise, your confusion evident. “Then what—?”

A charmingly lopsided grin spread across his face, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was nonetheless disarming. “Are you not the least bit nervous, my lady? Being alone with a man in your chambers at this hour?” His tone was teasing, but the faint blush dusting his cheeks betrayed him.

The realization hit you like a bolt of lightning, and your face warmed. You stepped back quickly, pulling your shawl tightly around you.

“OH MY GOODNESS!” you gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth as though that might contain your embarrassment.

It didn’t.

Sirius chuckled, his laugh low and melodic. “You have a way of making the most unexpected moments entertaining,” he said, his voice light with amusement.

“This is beyond embarrassing,” you mumbled from behind your hand, avoiding his gaze.

“I’ll admit, it’s refreshing,” he teased gently, the pink still faintly dusting his cheeks. “Most would be too stunned to react so… dramatically.”

You let out a groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never going to live this down.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, leaning back with a sly grin. “I think it might just make me fonder of you.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” you murmured, turning away as the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you once more.

Sirius stood, the cocoon of linen slipping from his shoulders and pooling on the chair. He crossed the room with quiet steps until he was behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders with a gentle, almost hesitant weight, as if afraid to overstep.

“Why not?” he asked softly, his voice low and steady, brushing against the quiet of the night.

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his gaze, bashful but searching. “I don’t think his Highness would— ”

He offered a small, reassuring smile, one that softened the sharpness of his features. “He would agree with me,” Sirius replied, his words laced with a sincerity that made your chest tighten.

“What— ” Your words faltered. “What do you mean?” The air between you seemed to thrum with something unspoken, and you found yourself holding your breath.

Sirius quirked a brow, amusement flickering briefly in his stormy eyes. “I meant what I said. James would agree with me.” His smile lingered, warm and genuine, as if begging you to believe him.

Confusion creased your brow. “But—”

Before you could form a proper protest, Sirius chuckled, the sound low and rich, and lifted a hand to your face. His slender fingers trembled slightly as his thumb brushed against the worry between your brows, smoothing it away with three deliberate strokes before cupping your cheek.

“We’re all fond of you,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of a truth you hadn’t expected. His thumb grazed the high point of your cheekbone, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. “James and Remus too.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You looked up at him, helpless in the face of his sincerity.

Leaning in Sirius pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead, just above where his thumb had worked to erase your doubts. His lips lingered there, a gentle promise wrapped in silence.

“Come meet us tomorrow?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “James has tutoring at ten in the library. Join us around noon?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose—”

He laughed, this time with more ease, more warmth. “You could never impose. I promise you that.”

He stepped back, his hand slipping from your face only to catch yours, his long fingers curling around your palm. “I’ll see you then, my lady?” he asked, bowing theatrically as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

You glanced down, shy beneath his gaze. “If my duties permit… I suppose I could,” you replied, your voice a tad quieter than you intended.

“Perfect.” His grin widened, bright and mischievous, as he pressed another quick kiss to your hand before letting it fall to your side. “Thank you… for tonight,” he added, his tone softening.

You smiled back at him, the warmth in your chest spreading to your limbs. “You’re always welcome. Now, get back to your room safely.” you said, attempting a stern tone that didn’t quite suit you.

He chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “I’m a knight, remember? I think I can handle the walk back to my room.”

You waved him off, shaking your head. “Even knights need to be careful.”

He was still laughing as he disappeared through the doorway, leaving the room quiet once more.

Settling onto the edge of your bed, you couldn’t help but replay the evening in your mind. What might have happened had you simply stayed in bed instead of chasing after him?

It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that you’d been there when he needed someone.

With a contented sigh, you shifted to lie down, reaching for your blankets— only to find nothing. The linens still sat on the chair where Sirius had been wrapped in them moments before.

“Damn it,” you muttered, though the frustration in your voice was softened by the smile tugging at your lips.

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pipsqueakstar · 1 day ago

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𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍!

This idea actually come to me in a prophecy and hence I am the witchy girlfriend they're dating- but anyway, this is my first post so I'm a little nervous but hopefully at least one person enjoys it! As a slightly off-putting and whimsical girl myself I thought I could speak to my fellow, odd lads players <3 (also if it's not that good i am currently dying of the flu so take from that what you will!)

no warnings other than obvious mentions of spirituality and the supernatural!

Xavier: Protesting against Xavier always ended up with the same result: you losing the verbal battle and him ending up accompanying you in your day to day activities. It was a particularly sunny day and the both of you were lucky enough to have a day off from being hunters. However, unbeknownst to Xav, you really wanted to tend to your greenhouse that you had purchased at your local allotment site.

“I promise you, I’m not doing anything of interest.” you tell him as he walks beside you, your tote bag securely on his shoulder. Xavier gives you that same, stubborn look as he did before you guys left the apartment complex. One that said you weren’t getting out of this anytime soon.

“Then we can do something not of interest together.” he responds, following you towards your secret hideout. He stopped in the field and watched you approach the greenhouse, turning a key with a crescent moon cut into it so it could be unlocked. You turned to him, awkwardly gesturing towards your very own “lair” that was decorated with stained glass windows and wind chimes that played a haunting melody.

His jaw dropped, pleasantly. “And… What is this?” he asks, that adorably familiar chuckle cascading from his lips as he followed you inside. A part of you became momentarily shy, watching his blue orbs flick about your beautifully decorated greenhouse. You had been glowing plants and herbs for months on end; even had a shelf up high that the moon hit perfectly to charge your crystals.

“This! Uh,” you let out a nervous giggle, fiddling with the hem of your shirt “this is my hideout of sorts.” you announce finally, giving him a little nod of your head. For a moment his expression is unreadable, but soon enough a fond smile plays at his lips. You let out a sigh of relief, walking over to examine the lavender you had planted for good luck. Xavier came over to read the note you had left next to it, his eyes scanning your handwriting.

“Always plant lavender for luck.” he reads out loud, turning to face you “I won’t need to do that.”

You quip an eyebrow up, tilting your head to the side as he speaks “No?” you ask inquisitively, holding the herb that was securely stuck in a painted plant pot up to your face.

“Yeah. I must have planted some already without realising.” he begins, pressing a kiss to the top of your head “I’ve already got the prettiest witch in all of Linkon. I lucked out.”

Zayne: You hadn’t exactly been planning for Doctor Zayne to come to your apartment that night; but come later on, you had already downed countless drinks and twisted your ankle in an attempt to dance. At that point, he was fully insistent on bringing you back home so he knew you were safe. You had rushed off to your kitchen to grab a bottle of water before saying goodbye, coming back out into your living room to see Zayne looking at something.

Your altar that was dedicated to your worshipped deity.

You froze as you watched Zayne run his fingers across the oak wood of the table, his hazel eyes lingering on the miniature sculpture of Hecate with an admirable expression “Zayne-” you called out from the doorway, your grip tightening on the bottle in your hands. It wasn’t that you were worried about him judging you- it was just that you were shy to let him in on this part of your life.

“Hecate.” Zayne finally says, holding his coat in his hands before turning to look at you “Goddess of witchcraft, the moon, ghosts and necromancy, correct?” you stood stunned for a moment, eyes wide as he got every fact correct. The doctor cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening the longer you both remained in silence.

“Yes, that’s correct.” you stuttered out with an impressed smile, walking over to him and suddenly feeling completely sober “I’m impressed.” you praise him, your own eyes scanning the altar you had put much thought and respect into.

Zayne begins to slip his black coat over his body again, adjusting the collar as he looks down at you “A fine choice. It suits you.” he adds with a tender smile. You knew Zayne would never judge you for what you chose to do but you weren’t expecting him to be so intrigued and even somewhat educated.

A blush appears on your cheeks as he looks down at you fondly “Thank you. I actually brought everything here second hand as well!” you tell him proudly, helping him with his collar.

“Yeah?” he asks, grabbing your hands and placing a kiss to your knuckles “Perhaps one day you can tell me more?” he adds hopefully, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows harshly, gauging your reaction.

The two of you share a knowing, loving gaze as you walk towards your front door, nodding your head enthusiastically “Consider that your first witchy date, doctor.”

Rafayel: Rafayel had given you permission to “clean out” his art gallery as he took his daily walk along the beach. In his head, he assumed you meant cleaning his palettes and wiping off splatters of paint that had landed on places other than the canvas. The sea god was thrown off when he entered his gallery to a delightful smell and lit candles illuminating the floor and furniture.

His eyes darted to you, burning incense carefully, not even noticing him entering at first “Uh, cutie-” he began, minding his step as he made his way over to you “You okay?” he asks, kneeling beside you on the floor and offering a tight lipped and confused smile as you finally make eye contact.

“Perfect!” you tell him, sitting up and looking around his art gallery that you had chosen to cleanse “I didn’t feel anything off in particular, don’t worry! I just wanted to cleanse any potential negative energy.” Rafayel nodded his head, eyes wide, as he had no idea what you were on about. Lemurians also had customs in cleansing bad energy but he had never seen anything like this before while on land.

Raf sits beside you properly, the two of you sitting in silence and taking in the serenity of the atmosphere. The candle flickering beside you lit up your features in such an enchantingly beautiful way that Rafayel couldn’t help but smile to himself “Pretty little witch.” he mumbles, loud enough for you to hear.

You open one eye, smiling cheesily at him as you shake your head “I thought it would be nice to give your gallery a tranquil vibe. It’ll help clear your mind and you’ll find inspiration will come easier.” you explain to him, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Yeah?” he asks, a fond chuckle cascading from his lips “I gotta say, cutie, no one’s gone through this much trouble to help me find inspiration. Is this your way of asking for a raise?” he teases, gently nudging your shoulder.

“Not at all!” you begin, rolling your eyes in response “You’re actually always whining and complaining to me when you’re in here- it’s actually my way of ensuring you're too relaxed to open your mouth, great artiste.”

He pulls a sour face like he’s been physically punctured by your words “You wound me, miss bodyguard.” he jests, taking a whiff of the air and letting it fill his lungs. He had to admit, whatever you had done, it seemed to be doing the job well “I could get used to this. You’re welcome to come and sprinkle magic in my art gallery whenever you see fit.”

Sylus: Watching you set up camp on his dining room table was perhaps the most endearing site Sylus had ever seen. He watched from the island in the middle of the kitchen, cutting vegetables for your meal later. A part of him did wonder what you were planning on creating but he wasn’t sure whether or not to ask- perhaps it was meant to be a surprise?

You pause with a paintbrush in your hand, scrunching up your face in thought “Sy, what colours would you associate with the word fool?” you ask, making the leader of Onychinus freeze along with you, a rich laugh heartily filling the kitchen.

“I’m not sure, kitten. Luke and Kieran do tend to wear black though-” you let out a little giggle, shaking your head and gesturing for him to come over to you. Sylus puts down the kitchen knife and stands behind you, leaning on your chair as he’s finally able to see what you’re doing. His eyes scan different cards that you had painted: the magician, the high priestess, the lovers.

“Tarot cards.” you tell him, noticing his eyes scanning your artwork inquisitively “I wanted to paint my own deck. I felt it would make me connect to the cards more.” you tell him, almost shrinking in the chair as you ramble on about your thoughts and ideas. Sylus smiles as he observes what you had already done, picking up your version of the lovers and handling it delicately.

“I like this one. Will you tell me more?” he asks, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of your head. As busy as he got with work and life in general, he was always keen to listen to you and discover more things about you. He knew very little about the world of tarot but had heard it mentioned in fleeting conversations before.

You clear your throat before you speak, leaning your head back to look at the card with him “The lovers can represent many things. Broadening relationships, twin flames, the potential for harmony or conflict-” Sylus nodded his head as you spoke, seeming genuinely interested in all that you were saying.

“Uhuh, interesting.” he responded, giving you a proud look as he scanned over your work again and listened to your knowledge on the topic “And you’re telling me the fool doesn’t represent Luke and Kieran?” he asks, peppering your cheek with kisses before putting the lovers card back down on the deck.

“Unfortunately not.” you tell him with a smug expression, picking your paintbrush back up.

“You painted us for the lovers card, kitten.” he announces with a smirk, continuing to cook as he takes in the sight of your blush “Surely it wouldn’t kill you to paint them for another card, hm?”

Caleb: “Do you want to hold a seance with me?” you stood in the doorway of Caleb’s bedroom, your arms nervously behind your back as you awaited for the colonel’s reaction. He almost spat his cola out at your forward and unique question, wiping his mouth before giving you a little nod. Caleb had grown up with you and watched overtime as you picked up spiritual hobbies- it made you seem whimsical and he found it adorable and endearing.

“Sure thing, pips.” he agrees with a soft smile, standing from his chair and walking over to you, putting his hands on the back of your neck and soothing your skin “Something bothering you? You only ask to do that if you’re worried about something.” you tilt your head to the side, unsure of whether or not to tell him.

Your eyes trail to the hallway behind you, wiggling your toes as you thought about it “I’ve just sensed something odd, you know? Like a restless spirit. They take the route through our hallway and stand outside your door.” Caleb’s violet eyes widened uncomfortably, his eyes flicking about the hallway behind you too.

“Oh, that’s nice.” he jokes nervously, scratching the back of his head “Do you think it’s attached to me?” he asks, still caressing the skin on the back of your neck. He remembered you talking about how spirits could somehow attach themselves to individuals. It would be just his luck that he picked something up from somewhere.

Much to his relief, you shake your head, a soft smile playing at your lips “No, I don’t get that.” you tell him in a soft whisper “I just think they’re stuck and need help.” you tell him, grabbing his hands and moving to hold them with an affectionate squeeze.

“And who better to help them than you, pips?” he asks, squeezing your hands back. At times you worried that perhaps your fascination with the spirit world and communicating with them was off putting to Caleb; however, every time you involved him with your antics he always seemed interested and genuinely happy to help with whatever.

“I need to say a protection spell first.” you tell him, nodding your head firmly, the look of pure determination on your face. Caleb nodded his head in response, placing a kiss on your forehead before following after you. He couldn’t help the smile of pure adoration on his face when you wasn’t looking, feeling like the happiest and luckiest guy in the world that it was him you chose to come to when it came to this stuff.

You were his spooky little ghoul girl. Even if he was somewhat freaked out whenever you asked if he heard a whisper during movie nights.

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lo0py-lunar · 10 days ago

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*SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE*

ALRIGHT BITCHES LETS TALK ABOUT THE WAY SEVERUS SMELLS

While reading and writing Severus Snape fanfiction I've noticed no one has a full idea of what he smells like and honestly that is fair.

there is a tldr at the end for the people who don't want to here the rant!

I've seen a lot of people say his main scent node would be sandalwood and HONESTLYYYY I don't think that's accurate. Severus in all accounts does not take care of himself past basic hygiene niceties something like applying a cologne would not be there??

Sure there is an innate musk from his shampoo and body washes (which i think he makes himself but that's more of a doesn't want to spend money when HE HAS PERFECTLY GOOD INGRIDENTS TO MAKE WHAT HE NEEDS RIGH THERE but like i don't think he puts fragrance into them it isn't needed he just needs it to clean him not make him smell good)

SO LIKE HERE IS WHAT I DO THINK HE SMELLS LIKE IN LIKE STRONGEST TO WEAKEST??

Tea

-a self made blend of Chamomile mint and clove-

I've always head cannoned he drinks a lot of it. not because haha British but because it preoccupies him while others are talking so he can note things for future use. I think he makes his own blend because since he is constantly growing herbs and foraging it for potion making it becomes cheaper to just dry out and make your own (i also think he gifts his tea blend at yule time). I think he only makes calming teas. Being around people all the time when its very clear he doesn't want to be you need something to stay calm while there are calming droughts and other potions its widely assumed they can be addictive and yes he could probably make a non addictive version he doesn't have the time. So tea. Chamomile and mint have always been noted to calm nerves and i feel like the clove adds some spice that he enjoys.

Potions / potion ingredients

There are to many to list honestly.

Just in general you can assume the one person making potions for self research, constantly in a class teaching with varying ingredients, Brewing for The castles Medi-wing. Then in the later portion of the story TWO sides of the war. smells like a varying array of ingredients.

It could be said that the smells changes seasonally.

During the fall months he may smell more of ingredients themselves as he would've had to prep certain things that cannot be bought (or are not up to his standard at an apothecary) Yet, during the winter months when flu season is happening the lingering scent of brewed pepper up because those snot nosed kids sure as hell cant make it themselves. Spring would be whatever his classes are working on he wouldn't have time to do any research.

Summer though, Summer i think is when that smell changes the most. There are no kids he needs to brew for right away so he can focus on whatever potion he wishes to improve or outright create he can work with more dangerous ingredients.

That changes during the war of course he now has the workload from voldy and than we can assume he is at least brewing wolfsbane monthly for the order (the snupin shipper in me wishes to think he started brewing it during Remus tenure as the DADA teacher and just never stopped. he constantly badgers Remus for his new address to ensure he takes the potion to stop that daft wolf from doing anything idiotic it just becomes easier when he knows that he would be at grimmuald place) And than whatever they need for "war purposes".

Lavender

now hold on i thought you said he wouldn't use any cologne or anything like that. YES BUT i think he would use lavender in floral form or in oil for as a calming agent to sleep. I think this would've started when he was young possibly something his mother would do to soothe nightmares, (a sprig under his pillow or a dab of oil into the case itself) and he carried that on when he went to Hogwarts later when he returned to teach mentioning it in passing to Pamona and she gifts him new sprigs and oils for yule every year.

Tabaco

This one is honestly pure head cannon. But it makes sense to me he was raised in a coal town were he was constantly surrounded by booze and smokes. He would've picked up at least one of those habits and seeing his dad and the at the time normality of smoking yeah he would've done it. I think he quit for a while keep a pack tucked into his drawers in case he had a really bad teaching day and needed a hit of nicotine to make him not throttle anyone. But when both wars where happening i think he allowed himself to just smoke. Smoke when he wanted smoke to numb himself to whatever remarks were made about him at any meeting he showed too. Its a vice we all need one and i think its his.

SO YEAH.

I think he just naturally smells more floral and herbal than "woodsy" he may have a bottle or two of more masculine scents he was given from the Malfoys that he wears when forced into social events or when they are around him. But given what we know i think it wouldn't be sandalwood or driftwood whiskeys or scotch etc. (I'm also in the head cannon while he owns booze he doesn't drink often for fear of becoming his dad)

TLDR: I think Severus Snape smells mostly of Tea, Potions/Potion ingredients Lavender and Tabaco.

WHAT DO YOU ALL THINK I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW

#severus snape #snape #severus #scents #essay #severus snape essay #i wrote this instead of writing the next chapter of my fanfiction #but honestly ive been thinking about this for a while #smoking severus snape #why do people think he smells like sandalwood????#it never made anysense

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writerinthewoods05 · 3 days ago

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Acotar Masterlist.

Requests are currently open! As of right now I only write X Fem Reader. Could change in the future but as of right now I don't, I apologize.

🌺 = Fluff 🌶️ = Smut 🔪 = Angst

💥 = Crack 🕊️ = Dead Dove; Do Not Eat

~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel Shadowsinger

You are my survival 🌶️

Azriel x Fem Reader

Word count: 5k

You and Azriel are mates. Az knows it, you don't, that is until a particularly hard training session when the truth finally come out.

Shadows and Snow Angels 🌺 🌶️ 🔪

Azriel x Fem Reader, Azriel x child OC

Series chapters: 7 so far

Normally when your mate Azriel comes home from the camps and asks you not to get mad it's because he brought home another wounded animal, not a baby boy...

Nyx Archeron

WIP The Leap 🌺 🌶️

Nyx Archeron x Fem Reader

You were Nyx best friend since you were toddlers, neither was ever seen without the other and you basically lived in his house. Nyx is about to leave to live in windhaven for a few years now that has an adult but since your just a potter you have to stay, unless... Unless the Valkyries gain a new member.

We're just friends, right? 🌺 🌶️ 🔪

Nyx Archeron x Fem Reader

Word count: 10.1k

Ever since Nyx turned 18 he was always flirting a new female. He hardly ever spent time with you anymore and you were upset! I mean you had every write to be, you were his best friend, Which meant you automatically deserved his undivided attention constantly. Rhys thinks otherwise, maybe he can try to knock some sense into you both.

Rhys Archeron

Lady in red 🌶️

Vampire Rhysand x Fem Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Rhys is always carful with you and absolutely never drinks from you, but when you finally decided to spend your first night together Rhys has some trouble controlling his hunger for you.

WIP Lavender skies 🌺

Rhysand x Fem Reader

Word count: ?

After a particularly hard day at the Illaryan camp all you can think about is getting home to your mate, who is... On the roof?

Cassian Archeron

WIP Big Illaryan baby 🌺

Cassian x plus size Fem Reader

Word count: ?

Cassian, Lord of bloodshed, Rhys's General, Leader of the Valkyries, currently laid face first down in your lap, complaining that he was about to die. Who knew all it took was the flu to have the mighty Illyrian whining like a toddler... Illyrian baby indeed.

Eris Vanserra

WIP Fox and the Hound 🌺 🌶️ 🔪

Eris Vanserra x Fem Reader

Series chapters: 4 so far

The hound hunts the fox because his master taught him to. Hunting of all he's ever known, besides foxes are lesser than the hounds anyway, right? Coming across a lower fairy in the woods is hardly uncommon for Eris, so he wasn't surprised to meet you when he was walking his hounds. Though ever since Jesminda, his Father banned lower fairies from crossing into the woods around the manor. Eris had never disobeyed his father before but a deep pull inside begs him to keep you a secret, maybe foxes and hounds are more similar than he thought.

Lucien Vanserra

Long hair and Long healing 🌺

Lucien x Fem Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tamlin finally gives Lucian a day off to spend time with his mate due to being snowed in, some times spending time together is also spending time

Helion Spellcleaver

Sinful slumbers 🌺 🌶️

Helion x Fem Reader

Word count: 2.3

Your mate has been performing his duties as high lord all day. who can blame you for pulling him into bed as soon as he comes back to you...

Morragin

Tarquin

Amren

Tamlin

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mactavishsgfandwife · 1 year ago

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141 When They’re Sick

bilingual privilege is using your second language to scribble down notes for your tumblr fanfiction in class with the reassurance that no one else will be able to understand what you’re writing 😋 pure fluff (not proofread)

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish

soap has such man flu vibes

i just know he will have a little cold from never dressing appropriately for the english weather (he thinks he can tough it out) (he can’t) and then lays on the sofa for a week, miserable and constantly pining for your attention

he loves a cup of tea when he’s sick but he also swears that irn bru has magic restorative qualities, and "that’s how i keep m’physique, bonnie"

Johnny groans, rubbing his face with his palm as he lays stretched out over the sofa, his feet resting on one arm and a hot water bottle flopped lazily over his stomach. For the most part, the grunts and sighs seem genuine, but you could swear that he makes sure to emphasise his suffering when you walk past, just to let you know what a big strong boy he’s being for dealing with his sore throat and slight headache.

"Head hurts…" he groans, holding a forearm over his eyes to shield them from the light.

"I know, honey… you want a paracetamol?" you pat his head, trying to hide your little, sympathetic laugh.

"Nah, only just had one… Y’could gimme a kiss, though," he grinned up at you, his tone lightening a little.

"Ew! Stop, I don’t want your germs," you laugh, pulling your hand away from his hair.

"Aww, c’mon… might make me feel better," Johnny teases, sitting up a little (he wasn’t really that weak in the first place) and holds your wrist so you can’t escape. When you see the stupid, irritating grin on his face, you know you don’t really care about germs. You just want to kiss him.

Captain John Price

price, when he’s feeling ill, likes to be looked after - the number one cure for ANY of this man’s problems is a warm bath

he loves it when you act like a little housewife for him, running him a warm bath and bringing him a constant stream of cups of tea - sometimes he’ll pretend to be sicker than he is for a little longer than he has to just for a day or two more of being doted on by you. not that you don’t do that anyways.

but he’s a menace when you try to go off shopping or to work - he lays a strong, hairy arm over you, mumbling something about being sick and needing you to stay

if you massage his back and shoulders when he’s feeling sick, he will be so happy. it takes a little longer than when he rubs your back because there’s just more of him, with his broad shoulders and muscular dad-bod (yum)

You have John laying on his front, on the bed, arms crossed under his head. His hair is damp, getting the bedsheets a little wet beneath him, and he has a soft white towel wrapped loosely around his hips - he smells strangely like lavender (he definitely used your shower gel instead of his because yours is nicer - you pretend not to notice, as your hands gently move up and down his sore back).

He’s managed to come down with a bad cold the day after an intense workout, so his body is totally exhausted and nothing really appeals to him other than laying down. Being as fit as he is, you wouldn’t expect him to be in such a state, but the man needs a break and it’s plain to see.

The soft light from the nice-smelling candles that you’ve lit on the bedside table plays in his wet hair, which you gently comb your fingers through.

"You been using my products again, hmm?" you grin with a gentle tone, leaning in closer to him.

"Sorry love…" he starts to respond, his voice a little hoarse.

"It’s okay," you laugh softly, nuzzling your face into his back as you lower yourself on top of him, like a weighted blanket. Your soft hands wrap gently around his scarred sides, as little sighs of contentment leave your mouth.

"What happened to my back rub?" he teases, feeling your body laying against him. Still, he doesn’t a muscle to stop you from cuddling up to him.

As you keep quiet, enjoying the warmth of his body, he chuckles and pulls himself into a more comfortable position below you.

"That’s alright, sweetheart…" he replies to your silence.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

simon would try to be an unphased tough guy but he’d have little moments of weakness

he’d insist that he’s not that sick while taking paracetamol and drinking tea constantly, pulling you close to him as often as he can and being clingier than usual (he’s always touchy, but he is particularly reliant on you now)

he’s in a terrible mood, but just resting his head on your shoulder or holding you while you work helps him… better yet, he loves it when you’re sitting on the sofa and working on your laptop, or watching a film, and he gets to lay down with his head in your lap - with your soft fingers occasionally brushing through his short hair

he’s a tough guy, but when it’s just you and him, he can just lay down with his girl without worrying about being ghost. he’s just simon - poorly simon, with his sweet girlfriend taking care of him.

Phone in your hand, you quietly text your friend about her crazy ex boyfriend and the dress that she’s going to wear out tonight - the red one or the other red one, with the different neckline? You look up to the doorway to see a tall, tired man walk into the sitting room - 6’4", dressed in an old grey hoodie and a pair of pyjama bottoms, ruffling his hair and looking utterly exhausted.

"Thought you were asleep, Si…"

"Can’t sleep," he mumbles gruffly, silently moving towards you and finding a spot to lay his head - right in your lap, his feet resting on the opposite arm of your big sofa.

Understanding his fatigue, you sigh softly and stroke his head as it lays against you. His skin is pale, showing his sickness, and his eyes look tired and dry. A little groan escapes his lips as he shuffles on the sofa, trying to make himself comfortable.

"Love you, darling…" he whispers softly, his eyes shutting in preparation to finally sleep.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

i feel like kyle’s love language is food

if you make that man a curry or a good spag bol, he will secretly be making plans to propose to you as he eats it

and that’s all the more true when he’s ill or tired out - some comfort food home cooked by you would mean the world

Gaz had a bad cold and had been hibernating in bed all day, mostly asleep but occasionally watching the football or texting Soap to complain about how sick he is. As you walked into the room, brandishing a bowl of spaghetti carbonara, his eyes lit up.

"Hey, what’s this?" he grins, his voice a little hoarse.

"Carbonara. For you," you chuckle, placing it down on his bedside table, "I have some work stuff to finish, I-"

"Y’could just stay with me instead. I’ve been locked up in here all day," he teases.

"You’ve been asleep all day! I really need to… well…"

"Come on, baby."

You struggle to hide the grin that’s creeping onto your face, not wanting to procrastinate your work any longer (this wasn’t the first time Kyle has stolen you away from typing up emails) but he got what he wanted when, a moment later, you were cuddled up to him. Wearing his tshirt and your underwear, with your head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh my God, this is so good!" he chuckles, eating, voice still strained from the sore throat. He’s mostly just happy to have you next to him (oh, as well as the pasta).

gaz is my babyyyyyyy i don’t think you guys get it 😣😣😣 this took an age and a half to write i hope it’s up to standard thanks for reading!! xx

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junedenim · 3 months ago

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hello you

one day more, part four

warnings: dad!al, fluff, slight angst, sprinkled with smut (piv)

word count: 12.4k

Sometime around when Lottie had just given birth to Franny, Alex got infected with the flu. It was likely he picked it up somewhere in those hospital halls, but that was never officially determined. Lottie banished him from the house, not wanting him to infect her or their newborn baby. Thus was born Alex's worry and fear that he was missing Franny's life.

He belonged to a profession that often required him to fly away. Lottie said she never cared much, only that she missed him while he was gone. She considers these girls-only days to be the sweet, special moments Franny will remember with her maman.

But Alex is stuck with that ache of missing them always, even when they are right in front of his eyes. It's like two people laughing at an inside joke. He spent eleven years of his life missing her and it has never fully gone away. Lottie has tried to find solutions to this. It helped that they had mostly three uninterrupted years together after Franny was born, but still, Alex is pained by being away and phone calls just don't do it.

He wants to smell Lottie's lavender shampoo and feel the glitter nail polish on Franny's fingers. The last time he saw them was when the band was in England and he was, of course, sick. He had Franny paint the nail polish on his nails. It mostly ended up on the skin surrounding the nails, but the act allowed him to endure the six weeks without them because he could just rub his fingers on the pink mess.

He talks to them every night before Franny goes to bed. One night he embarrassingly sang her a lullaby in the corner of a bar. He always feels bad about drinking and having fun without them, especially Lottie, who has to deal with a whiny four-year-old who doesn't want to go to sleep.

Lottie always insists it's fine but he worries one day it won't be fine. He often feels like he's never got his shit together. She's just dragging him along. Maybe that's why a wedding took so long. Lottie doesn't even wear a ring. Her last name is still the same too and she was the one who wanted to get married. Sometimes he thinks she's playing a big trick on him. That this has all been some massive fraudulent ruse on him and he'll wake up with them gone one day.

Right before they got married, they were stuffed in a Brussels hotel with Franny. They tucked themselves away in the bathroom while Franny was sleeping. Lottie was in the bath and he was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in his boxers watching her.

They were sharing a "celebratory" glass of wine between them. Alex asked her, "Do you want me to change my last name?" He thought she might laugh but she didn't. Her expression was contemplative, still processing his words. She sank deeper into the tub, the water touching her cupid's bow. She took her time thinking and he passed it by sipping on the wine.

She lifted her mouth out and asked, "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged and said, "'Cause I love you" because that has been the driving force of all his actions since 2018.

She smiled and placed her arms on the edge of the tub, resting her chin on her folded arms. She was cherubic, one of Botticelli's angels. "That's nice."

He came beside her and kissed her after that, but in the darkness of all these empty hotel rooms, he thought about how she didn't say I love you back. He gets this way on the road and he knows he's overthinking and he knows she’s probably nervous that all this time away from one another isn't good for you. But still.

They got married the next day, so, who is he to doubt her love? He's just insecure and lonely, he knows this. It's different now—missing someone. His love for Lottie is undeniable. It's the only way he's able to function, but Franny...that's something different.

She's a piece of him. Literally. Sometimes it feels like she's his heart just running around their London home with a mind of its own. He always knew having children could be like this. He didn't know it would feel like this. It came to him quickly in two moments.

Right after she was born they placed her by Lottie, but since it was a C-section and given Lottie was still open, they gave her to Alex in place of the usual skin-to-skin with the mother. There, when his heartbeat rang through her little ears and her cries turned to small whimpers, he cried with her. It was the quiet kind of crying. I know how you feel, kid, I love you too.

Loving her is the easiest and hardest thing to do. A weight crushes down on him, threatening to break through his ribs that only subsides when she pats his face and says, "Papa." (Yeah, Lottie got her way).

Late at night on one of those phone calls, he talks to Lottie. She's cleaning up their house in London and he's smoking a cigarette on his hotel's balcony in Vegas. He hears Franny's toys rattle against her hands as she says, "There's no need to be jealous, Al." Maybe he should feel lucky that he's looking out at Sin City's lights and was able to have two whiskeys during a game of poker. He doesn't.

But she speaks to him in a way that always puts things in perspective. The calm in the middle of the storm. It was something that used to seem so unexciting to his teenage mind, even when he was running around Brussels with her, he thought happiness would lay there, but really it lies in her, not the moment.

"You don't miss me?" He asked it jokingly, but he took her answer seriously.

"You're all I think about. The good and the bad. I even miss having your wet towels on the floor."

"Wow," he chuckles. She's crying. He could hear it. But he doesn't comment on it, he knows it will hurt her more. "I bet all my gambling money on green in roulette."

She laughs then says, "You lost, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it's okay. Got me on the phone with you sooner."

He keeps a photo in his wallet. He'd never thought he'd come to an age when he did that. Lottie makes fun of him for having the default iPhone background. She doesn't know about the photo in his wallet.

It's Lottie and Franny at Waterstones. It's a photostrip, so technically it's four pictures in one. She showed it to him when the band came through London. At first, it felt like another thing he missed out on, but then Lottie showed him a photo strip taken of her with her mother, right when she was around Franny's age. He realized some moments aren't meant for him. But they are, so he keeps it in his wallet.

It's nice to catch a glimpse of it when he's buying dinner or buying M&Ms at a gas station in Roscoe, Illinois. He sees it when he's buying Franny a stuffed animal from the Lincoln Park Zoo. It dulls the ache when he sleeps with it that night. Maybe he's always been childish and never grew out of his twin-sized bed or Franny has just woken the little boy inside him, but he hugs the stuffed polar bear close to his chest that lonely night in Chicago.

It helped that within a few days, they'd all reunite in Montreal, where Lottie could check out how her French compares with the Quebecois. She's never been to Canada before. It reminded Alex of the lack of travelling they had done together. Other than spots around Europe, which nowadays have been reserved for visiting family, he and Lottie have never been on a trip together, non-work, non-family related.

Perhaps because the first "trip" they took together in Brussels couldn't be topped romantically, however, they didn't even have a honeymoon. Alex insisted against it, knowing he'd be gone soon, and not wanting to be away from Franny for too long and Lottie agreed.

They will have to do something like it soon or maybe just start with being in the same city. There's something he longs for, wishes he could be better and not do this, but he is pulled in two, even if Lottie says otherwise. He likes going swimming with Lottie. They've only done it twice, both in a pool, but he'd like to do it again, maybe soon on a Californian beach.

A few years back, when Franny was just a babe and everything about being a parent they were struggling to figure out, Alex and Lottie talked about everything and nothing. The mundane helped pass those sleepless nights. It helped their relationship stay afloat and not drown around the strain of their crying child.

Lottie was breastfeeding Franny on the couch. It was sometime around 3:30 in the morning. Franny woke up crying and Lottie insisted it was her turn. After ten minutes of no return and no noise, Alex went out to the living room where the television was on but muted and Lottie looked a second away from dropping dead. He probably did too, except, you know, he didn't just have major surgery to remove a human being from him.

She gave him a wordless smile as he sat beside her and placed his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. "I'd kill for a coffee," she said. He doesn't offer because she'll refuse, she's breastfeeding after all.

"Maybe we should go out tomorrow. We've all been cooped up for too long." He had been the only one to go out and that had been for a limited time running to grocery stores and the bakery on the corner that has donuts Lottie loves.

She shook her head. "Too much work." She hates the idea of Franny crying in public. She gets so worried about inconveniencing people that she inconveniences herself instead.

Franny unlatched and Lottie handed her off to Alex to burp her. His palm almost completely covered her back. When she was so little like that he had a hard time believing she was real and belonged to him. She sometimes felt like a doll. He always thought the hospital messed up and gave them the wrong baby. She felt too perfect to be his.

"Maybe you should go out for a walk. I can keep Franny company," he offers.

"Who's gonna keep me company? It's boring to walk alone."

They had become so accustomed to that shared space. In the first few months of Franny's life, they were on top of one another and it never bugged them. They liked those early morning couch talks. Sleep suffered but they were fortunate enough to not have to worry about work the next day.

Lottie's mother came a few weeks after the couch talk. Alex and Lottie went on a walk while she watched Franny. It was cold and Lottie curled her arms around his right arm, stuffed away in his coat pocket.

"I love her as my little baby," Lottie said, "but I can't wait until she's a little older and can do all this stuff with us. Can you imagine her walking? We'll each hold one of her little hands and swing her between us. I always wanted to do that."

She had a thoughtful look on her face. Her smile had become a slight frown. She told him about halfway through the pregnancy that she felt like she was rewriting her history. She was so happy Franny would have a loving, present father, but now he's nowhere close to her.

Lottie will say he's nothing like her deadbeat dad, and sure he might at least be around sometimes, but what's the difference if he's not there to hold her other hand?

When he goes to bed in Toronto, he dreams about Paris. They were all together there in May. First for two shows, then during the tour break. They visited Lottie's family and had romantic evenings where Francoise spent the night with her grandmother.

Francoise swung between them as they walked through Luxembourg Gardens. She splashed her hands softly against the fountain waters with infectious giggles. She squealed and asked, "Can we get a frowntain?"

They got her a mini plastic toy fountain and placed it in their small backyard. In late July, the period before he left for North America, he watched her splash in it. They have these metal tables out in the yard that he and Lottie both shamelessly smoked at in the evening after Franny had gone to bed.

He misses that backyard so desperately. The summer air, the smoke that somehow made the air more breathable, the city groaning in the distance. Lottie would sit out there in a shirt and underwear claiming it was too hot for anything else.

They spoke in short sentences, sometimes tossing the conversation back and forth, sometimes in simple junctions one at a time. Usually, they talked about Franny and their days, ignoring the impending doom of his leaving.

The weather was sweet with a breeze and Lottie looked over at him and he could imagine her at every point he had known her, all combining into the woman in front of him. She giggles at the attention but doesn't ask anymore why he's staring, she knows.

He laughed with her, just wanting to savour a piece of this, any piece of her for a breath more. It swelled around him. It's still swollen in this waiting process. He hopes they slept on the flight.

He twists his wedding band on his left ring finger. He wears his because he wants to. He loves that kind of thing, loves thinking of her all the time. He likes it when it glistens on stage or he knocks it against the bathroom sink. He twists it when he's anxious and when they're together, having sex, she kisses it like he's the Pope.

It's probably the other way around. He told her once that if he were to ever pray, he'd be praying to her. He says things like this usually post-orgasm, so maybe it's truthful, or maybe he's feeling faint but a blowjob is a very powerful thing.

He used to think he'd spend his whole life waiting for her in the metaphorical sense. He thought one day she might come backstage to a show or when she's hard pressed for cash she'll write a book about their time together or one day in a Parisian cafe she'll walk in. Part of that was true, but now he waits for her—them—in the literal sense. Or she waits for him.

Lottie and Franny arrived in Montreal yesterday. She wanted to get everything settled and try their best to be caught up in the different time zones before they spent a day walking around the city. Franny can be fussy without her sleep and they're still unsure how she'll react to jetlag. This is her first time on a plane.

Montreal is supposed to be their special day. They'll be going to Boston the next day, something Alex keeps joking about even if Lottie doesn't find it so funny. He keeps saying they'll run into her ex-fiancé and Lottie gets increasingly pissed every time he says it. He won't anymore because the joke is getting old, especially when he's her husband now.

Today is a reunion, although, as always, it's mudded with obligations like a concert in the evening. He'll linger the best he can to avoid being pulled away from them. He's sick of other things taking priority. It's his fault anyway. He brought this suffering on himself.

Back during the start of the tour, Lottie flew out and joined him for the short first leg in North America. It started in Vegas where he initially joked that if Lottie blew on his pair of dice they might get lucky (this sounds like a sexual euphemism but seriously it was just a game of crabs) and then they actually won. They kept doing it until they lost all the betting money and vowed to never gamble again.

Unsurprisingly, in Los Angeles, Lottie wanted to go to as many art museums as possible. He lived in that city for so many years yet he's not sure he saw as much of it as he did with Lottie. She kept going on about how Young Man at His Window by Gustave Caillebotte reminded her of him. Alex still doesn't understand this. The back of the man's head looks nothing like him. As always, Lottie says it's not what you see it's what you feel.

In New York, they went to more museums. She'd never been to The Met so he took her to The Met. It was partially a surprise. He said he wanted to take her somewhere and she wasn't shocked when they landed on The Met steps. She became obsessed with The Costume Institute and kept pointing at garments and shoes, saying, "I'd like you to buy something like that for me." As if Alex is able to obtain a 17th-century wool mantua and as if Lottie would wear it. She sometimes struggles to just wear a skirt.

They returned to London after that, had a week together, and then he left again. She joined him at other points in the tour. She flew with him to Australia, tour dates that were right after Christmas and took place on New Year's Eve. He said it would be bad luck to not be able to kiss one another and since she had never been to Australia, she left Franny with Alex's parents and joined him.

Montreal is warm but not hot. It's the ideal temperature for walking. Lottie says he gets clinical about those things. She says he sounds like how she has always imagined a father to sound. He's concerned with weather patterns and the best route to get somewhere but struggles to use Google Maps. When he yells at the GPS directions someone else might take that as an overreaction but she laughs every time.

He grabs a coffee before he's driven to the hotel. He sips it quickly knowing that'll mean he will have to pee all day, but he needs it to stay on his feet. Then, he's at the hotel. It's nice, but modest looking. A place with room service but not an extravagant spa.

He opens the hotel room door and it looks empty minus a carry-on suitcase and the kid-sized suitcase they bought for Franny last Christmas. It's pink and has a rainbow butterfly printed on it. Franny fell in love with them when they went to Horniman Butterfly House and one landed on her arm.

She tells everyone about that. She taps on the spot it landed on her and tells them a butterfly kissed her there. Whenever he sees butterfly or caterpillar imagery, he thinks of Franny. Chrysalis is his new favourite word. His notebook is covered in butterfly stickers. He knows what they eat, the different species, and that they can tell time.

The bathroom door opens. Lottie stands, still in her pyjamas, smiling. "Oh, hi." She looks like she's just woken up. Her eyes are light and her smile feels like laying your head on a pillow after a long day of work. Her words are spoken with a crackle in them and her hair is occupied with fly-aways.

He reaches out and pats them down. "Hi." Neither move closer. He holds her cheek in his hand and rubs his thumb along the bone. It feels like he is holding the weight of her. Her skin is blessed with a softness he has only felt elsewhere in Franny's cheeks. "Where's Franny?"

"Sleeping under that pile of blankets. She was cold last night."

"Flight okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Yours?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Kiss me."

He wants to feel her lips but doesn't want to move from holding her in any single way. It's perfect and it's smooth and this is all he needs. He'd stay and camp out in this hotel room as long as they didn't leave. He hates himself for ever wanting anything other than this.

When they part, he asks, "Should I wake her?"

Lottie pouts. "Am I no good?" She's needy and if he's been feeling lonely she's probably been feeling it tenfold. He gets to be with his best mates every day and her only freedom is her independent work. She would say he's feeling sorry for her when there's no need to be. She likes her work, she loves being with Francoise, and she has plenty of company in London. He tends to view her as a lone soul but she's had friends in London long before him.

Her bottom lip is jutting out towards him and he feels like a magnet is pulling his hips to her hips. "I don't think you're trying to be." His hand has fallen from one cheek to another. His thumb rubs her waist. She, of course, keeps her hands to herself.

"Sometimes I need attention too, you know." She pulls her face away but moves her hips closer.

He's falling over himself trying to get closer to her. "Yeah, I know how needy you are."

She rips herself away. It's either a game, a joke, or something to prove a point. He can't read that part of her. She goes further into the bathroom over to the sink where she is getting ready. "I'm not needy. You're needy."

That's always been the case. He begs. A lot. He got down on his knees once, placed his hands together, and begged at her knees. They were both laughing the whole time but he still wanted her all the same.

He moves into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. "Maybe." He wants her. He wants her in every way. He wants to take her up against the sink from behind. He wants her on her knees. He wants to be on his knees. He wants her in the shower. He wants her on the floor. He'll take her to the toilet if he has to. "I missed you."

She brushes her hair and looks at him through the mirror. "Don't get all schmaltzy on me." Her smile quirks in the mirror, much like when they were held up in her Parisian apartment. They spent hours in glances. They felt as sexual as being inside one another. A look meant so much.

He wishes she was naked now like that morning in January right before they found out she was pregnant. They slept naked. It used to be the only way they did sleep before they had to worry about a child climbing into bed with them. She'd get up and make coffee or tea, sometimes toast or a bagel and she'd never put a piece of cloth on her.

He used to feel so hunched over in his body, desperate to hide parts of himself from the morning light. But she didn't care, so why should he? He would get up behind her body and would be rubbing against her in such a sexual sense but never try anything. It was just nice to feel her skin on his. It felt the same as holding Franny for the first time. It was this precious thing that was somehow chosen to be his.

He'd kiss her shoulder and she'd pour him a cup of coffee. It felt like no one else in the world existed. He didn't want anyone else in the world to exist. It was Lottie and that was it. He hadn't felt that way with anything before, not even the projects he created. It made him believe in God in some way because there was no other way to explain how this worked out for him.

Lottie finds that to be dumb. She doesn't believe in soulmates. Probably because of her mother and the years of loneliness their family had. She doesn't like the idea of someone choosing for her. That there was some fate out of there deciding her every move. She finds it more romantic that two people found each other all by themselves. They worked through everything and made things work because they wanted to for each other. He agrees but still believes that they were shaped into puzzle pieces for each other.

Now, he comes up behind her in the same way. It's his way of reminding her. Remember this. Remember when it was just the two of us in a place smaller than this hotel room. Remember how nothing was between us.

She smirks, knowing what he is going for when his hands bring her butt into his groin. She lowers the brush from her hair and stares at him through the mirror. "What are you doing?"

He leans down and kisses her neck. He wishes she had more bare skin to kiss. "Being needy."

She turns around in his arms. She hooks her arm around his neck and slots her knee in between his legs. "It's too early for that."

He brushes his nose against hers. "It's never too early."

She sighs and lets go, returning to brushing her hair. "Not with Francoise in the next room."

He kisses her clothed shoulder. "Does that mean no sex at all?"

"Not now. Later," she promises. Her smirk tells him she wants it as badly as he does. It's like being a teenager and having to hide from your parents all over again. It reminds him of the excited feeling when the house was empty. Or when he got his first blowjob in the backseat of a car. It makes the idea of sex adventurous all over again.

Well, except they're in their thirties, they have a kid to take care of, and he only sees her occasionally these days. It's awfully painful for his sex drive, always having to hit the brakes. The end is in sight. He can't wait to pull off the exit and get that blowjob.

"What do you want to do?" He asks.

"Get breakfast first. I only ate a bag of peanuts and a packet of Biscoffs yesterday."

"Why didn't you get dinner after you landed?"

"Too much work. She was already asleep by the time we got to the hotel." She has that habit. He worries she'll wither away one day. She just forgets to eat and then nighttime hits and she's beyond starving. It's something in her DNA and if he's not there she just won't bother with dinner.

"I'll get you a nice breakfast," he promises. He kisses the top of her head before sitting on the closed toilet seat. "What about after? Other than some art museum."

She turns around with a scowl. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not mocking you."

"I like things other than art, you know." She's sensitive about this. He's never gotten to the bottom of why she always feels he's making fun of her when it comes to her love of art. The passion she has for it inspires him. She's educated him and made him fall in love with it too. Still, she's on the defensive.

"Well, all I want to do is go to the art museum," Alex tells her as he slides off his shoes.

She tosses a smile over her shoulder. She pats her hair down, sweeping it over her shoulders. He watches her and every slight movement she makes. Her legs are bare, she's wearing underwear, a shirt, and a smile. She taps each finger on the marble countertops before she walks over to him and sits on his lap.

Her arms curl around his neck and his arms around her waist. "If you believe me, I missed you."

Alex chuckles. "Yeah. I believe you."

She kisses him with a tight hold. She hops off his lap. "I think you can wake her now. I'm too hungry to wait."

He stands up and kisses her cheek. "Alright, then."

Franny sleeps with these quiet snores. They're cute, not the kind that prevents sleep, the kind that soothes sleep. Her mouth is in a small 'o' shape. Her head hangs back and her hair hangs in two braids, rustled from travelling and sleep.

She likes sleeping more than anything. She whines when anyone wakes her up and clings to the blankets for dear life. Alex's hand covers her back. She's bigger now but still so small. He gives her a light rub, rattling her awake. She groans just like Alex does and rubs her eyes.

"Stop," she tells him.

He chuckles. "Come on, Fran."

Her eyes pop open. Usually, they flutter like those butterflies. She can be slow-moving like a sloth but today she pops up like a rabbit and starts jumping on the bed. "Maman, you were right!" She shouts. Lottie always reminds her, "One sleep until you see papa."

Lottie insists Franny looks like him. Alex knows she's just being polite. She looks exactly like Lottie, besides her hair. Her face is still so small. He can't bear to think of the day she grows old enough to not fit just under his hand. It's getting harder for him to pick her up. Maybe he's the one getting too old with the slight strain in his back.

Franny collapses on top of him, tugging on his neck. He finds himself laughing, so overjoyed by her excitement. "I love planes," she tells him. "Are we going on another one?" That's the best outcome they could have asked for.

Franny is scared of a lot of things. She grew out of her fear of the vacuum earlier this year, but she's still terrified of thunderstorms, monsters under the bed, Snow White, and grapes (they are still unsure of the origin of the latter). He feels bad for liking it when she has bad dreams because she'll wake them up, usually by tugging one of their hands, and ask to climb in bed with them. They slot her in the middle and that's when he feels they are truly a family. He always wishes to protect them.

They go to a cafe near Mount Royal Park and the Museum of Fine Arts. Franny insists on sitting next to Alex in the booth. Lottie is across from them, on her own little island as she puts it. She looks down at the menu, her hair cascading around her. She brushes one side behind her ear. Alex stares at her, rather than his menu.

Franny tugs on his arm. She got a mean pull for a kid who is only four. "Will you order for me?" He's comforted by this, knowing that while she has grown, for now, she's still his tiny little girl who gets nervous talking to strangers like their waiter.

Her hair is in fresh braids. Lottie told him that for the past month that's the way she's insisted on wearing her hair. She's got these overalls on. Blue denim with a sunflower embroidered on the front. Underneath she has a white shirt with purple short sleeves, her favourite colour. She smiles up at him, hoping to charm him into getting her all the treats she wants. She still has all her baby teeth, even though she desperately wants to lose one so the tooth fairy will visit her.

"Can you order for me too?" His other girl requests. Lottie is resting her head on her hand. There's pink in her cheeks and a smile that doesn't show her teeth, something she's still insecure about. Her two front teeth are crooked, turned slightly inward toward the other. It's unnoticeable unless you stare at it for an extended period of time. Everyone calls it cute but she says that it's a clear sign she grew up poor.

She wears a white linen blouse that was made for breezy weather. The front of it hangs open enough that he can see the charm of her two necklaces, one with a small blue pendant, the other with St. Michael. Her shoes have a slight heel to them. She jokes that they wear the same shoes, although he would like to point out that they are different sizes.

Lottie gets two eggs and a chocolate crepe, Franny gets waffles, Alex gets another coffee and Franny's leftovers. He cuts her waffles for her because she still hasn't mastered the grip of a knife. He tries to sneak a bite of Lottie's crepe but she slaps his hand away. "Get your own."

Right after they relocated to London and all of Lottie's things mixed with all of Alex's things, they had the question of possession. In other words, he learned Lottie likes to claim things. They shared shirts, kitchen utensils, and shampoo, but while Alex lost track of what fork was originally owned by who, Lottie still refers to things as yours and mine.

Her possessive pronoun usage was exact. She calls the bed they share your bed, she calls their dining table my table. When she was further along in her pregnancy and refused to buy ugly maternity clothes, she took to wearing more of his clothes. It only lasted for about a month. She's a tad smaller than him but he's no six-foot giant. She still wears some of his jeans to this day and will say, "I'm going to wear your jeans" just like she did back at the hotel.

He doesn't know why she does this. Maybe because English is her second language or she spent her whole childhood getting hand-me-downs from her brother. Either way, what once confused him, now is just amusing. It might be his favourite of her quirks.

"On the plane ride here, Francoise and I watched Toy Story 2," Lottie says to him, but she's prompting Franny to talk. Franny's quiet and keeps to herself. He recognizes that to be a quality she inherited from him. She often hesitates but she differs from him. Once you give her permission to talk, she rambles.

"What'd you think, Fran?" He asks.

She finishes chewing her waffle. She's a proper young lady. "I liked it a lot. It was funny, it was scary. I liked Jessie the best but I want a Woody doll or a piggy bank. I can put my tooth fairy money in there. I don't think my toys come to life. They're too lazy. But it was a good movie. Maman cried but I didn't. I still give it a thumbs up." She gestures the thumbs up with a head shake before returning to her waffle bits.

Alex contains his laughter. "I'll have to see it then, especially if it made maman cry."

"Shush," Lottie signals.

"We can watch it tonight!" Franny suggests with a big smile.

Lottie answers for him, "We're going to papa's concert tonight, remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" She excitedly tosses her head back and forth. Her braids jiggle around like two jump ropes playing a game of double Dutch. "I like your concerts."

It's a genuine compliment, Franny still doesn't know how to give fake ones. She told him after the first show she saw that she found him to be too loud and that they should turn the volume down. Still, she danced around like the music was being played just for her. She's never been to any other concerts and says she wants to go to more.

For her third birthday, Lottie gifted Franny a toy microphone. She didn't like it and handed it to Alex instead because he'd use it. Franny doesn't like singing or the guitar or even banging on drums. She doesn't like loud things.

She's quiet and conserves her energy. She likes the flowers they grow in the backyard. She likes to paint with her maman. She likes doing somersaults in the grass. She likes the smell of honey. She would one day like to bake cookies by herself, but she's too young to turn on the oven. She's a flower child.

They walk over to the Fine Art Museum, Franny swinging between them. "You know, this is the oldest art museum in Canada," Lottie says.

Alex nods. "I did my research."

Lottie rolls her eyes, convinced he's pulling her leg. "You did not."

"Yes, I did." Alex quickly nods. "I got one of those Blue Planet books."

Still not believing him, she says, "No, you did not." He snorts at her jaw dropped open, the disbelief smothering her face.

"How else would I know where Leonard Cohen is buried?"

"'Cause you're a dork."

He's baffled at the accusation, tapping his chest. "I'm a dork?" This is coming from the woman who has a membership at nearly every art museum in London despite the majority of them being free.

"I'm a dork," Franny cheers. She eases tensions. She came along so early in their relationship that it's hard to judge how their dynamic would have developed without Franny. Alex has no doubt they'd still be together but things would be different without her.

He imagines Lottie would join him for more legs of the tour if they didn't have to worry about Franny, but that's probably not true. Lottie has a job that she's passionate about. She's more filled with drive and love for it than he has seen anyone else in any other profession. She loves observing art, she loves writing about art, she loves creating art.

They'd probably still be in Paris. Lottie agreed to move to London because Alex had a larger living situation there that would fit a growing family. Her boss had friends in London that he recommended Lottie for, allowing her to make the move.

He knows she longs for it. London isn't her favourite. But Franny loves it and Alex loves being home and she's willing to make that sacrifice for them. He worries that he's allowed her to give up so much. One day she'll see that she's let go of things she's loved for him and she'll hate him for it. They've fought about it before. They'll probably fight about it again.

But she does love it there. She loves their house and their neighborhood. She loves that she's four blocks away from Leah and on the corner of their street is her favourite bakery. She loves the London art scene and she loves that she has enough space to make her art. She loves the way people admire her slight French accent and finds her to be cool from that alone. She hasn't felt cool most of her life.

However, he knows she misses her mother. She has friends in Paris that she rarely sees now. She only speaks her mother tongue to their four-year-old. For that, he'll always feel guilty.

"I've always wanted to go to Monet's garden," Lottie says as they stand in front of A Cliff at Pourville in the Morning. "It's only about an hour outside Paris, in Giverny, yet I never went."

Franny's eyes gaze up at the painting completely lost in it. She's getting to the age when she understands the beauty in these things. She'll marvel at it and understand the gravity of what is in front of her. Or she's just copying her mother, she likes doing that too.

"We can go when we go to Paris in December," he offers.

"It's closed in the winter."

He can't control the weather and yet it feels like he should be able to. He wants so badly to give her what she wants but it feels like it falls flat all the time. Every gesture falls at her feet with a disappointed thud. A gift she is forced to fix all the broken pieces he created.

Lottie bends down to Franny's ear. She grabs her arms, holding her in place. "Do you like this one?"

She rapidly nods her head.

"It's an exchange between the ocean and the sky," she talks to Franny like she's an adult. "The fleeting beauty of dawn before day sweeps it all away." Alex doubts Franny knows what dawn is but she nods along enthusiastically.

They move quickly, not soaking in nearly enough art as he's sure Lottie would want. They have a tight schedule before they have to be at the venue. He'd apologize for it but he knows she'll be more annoyed by that than actually having to leave the museum.

They take a walk through Mount Royal Park. Lottie takes pictures of Franny as she goes up the Grand Staircase. Franny taps her shoe on each stair. She likes to hear it knock against the wood, the crick each step makes. She stands proudly at the top of the stairs with her hands proudly tugging on her overall straps. You'd think she climbed the mountain itself with how much pride she and her parents have.

She doesn't like to walk on the established path, so she decides to walk ahead of her parents on the grass. Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. Lottie walks with her tote bag over her shoulder and a light-knit black sweater in case it gets cold (it never does).

"Does it remind you of France?" Alex asks.

"Um." She thinks for a moment, looking around at the greenery. "No." She doesn't explain further and Alex doesn't ask for more. "Does it remind you of France?"

Alex chuckles. "You'd know better than me."

She shrugs. "Maybe I'm too snobbish or too filled with nostalgia to decide whether this does measure up with France."

"A little, but maybe it's just the French part."

"You gonna go se branler in the bushes?"

He tosses his head back. "Hush."

She giggles and moves closer to him, knocking shoulders with him. "I think Francoise likes it more than either of us." The little girl is examining flowers, sprouting between the grass and the concrete. She doesn't pluck one, just looks at it from all angles.

"I wish I had an attention span like both of you," Alex says. He tries for both of them but staring at a painting as long as Lottie does is a near-impossible task. Franny has inherited all of those traits. He loves it, but there's no way he can do it.

Lottie curls her arm around him. "You have other talents."

He raises an eyebrow. "Like?"

"We are going to your sold-out concert, Al. There's no need to be modest."

"I'm not trying to be."

She smiles. "I know." She brushes the side of his head, pushing back his hair off of his forehead. "You have blinders on to all your achievements. You forget that you're the most talented person I know."

He scoffs. "Don't lie to me."

"You don't have to believe me. Just think of all the people that are probably jealous of you."

He tosses his head from side to side. That convinces him. She giggles and kisses his cheek.

Leonard Cohen's grave is covered in small stones. Some are painted, some have writing on them, some are blank. It's weird. It's someone he's admired all of his adult life and he's right in front of him, buried in the ground. He doesn't think about death much, but he's thinking about it now.

He hasn't been to many cemeteries. Lottie has been to more than she can count. France is covered in them. She used to walk through Cimetière du Père-Lachaise with her mother every Saturday, finding a new corner of it. Her mother also had a thing for Jim Morrison.

Alex wonders if they should have brought Franny here. If she knows enough about life and death to understand what stands before her. As always, she's well-behaved, admiring the sculptures that stand above the gravestones.

Cohen is buried with three generations of his family. He thinks that's what he'd like. He'd like to be buried in the same coffin as Lottie, disintegrate into one another. That would probably disgust her. She hates the smell of fish. He can't imagine how she'd react to rotting flesh.

Still, he thinks about losing this one day. He'd like to go before her, of course. He probably couldn't function without her. Poor Franny would have to take care of him, remind him of his appointments, tell him to take his meds, and remind him that the sun still exists. So, he'll go first. He smokes and drinks more than her anyway so it'll probably work out that way. He should stop thinking about this now.

"You want to go to the Basilica now?" He asks her.

She smiles softly. It feels like a kiss upon his soul. A blessing he feels so lucky to receive. "Sure."

The bus is close to empty but they sit in the back because Franny likes that it's higher than the rest of the bus. She used to like sitting on one of their laps when riding public transit but she doesn't like that now. She likes to be viewed as a big girl but she wants to sit between her parents so she can touch both of them.

She rests her head on Lottie's shoulder. She's growing tired of all this walking. They aren't doing funny little kid things here but he promises that they'll do it in Boston. Lottie already plans to have fancy afternoon tea at the Boston Public Library, which Franny is already super excited about.

The altar of the basilica is centered by a golden Jesus. The spires strain Lottie's neck as she gazes up at them. He tries to figure out what the wood carving below Jesus is for so long until Lottie tells him it's a high relief of the Last Supper. His eyesight is getting pretty bad.

The spiral staircases captivate Franny. She wants to climb and descend them, waving her hand like she's a royal. Alex wants to know about the organs. There are thousands of pipes, varying from some of the tiniest he's ever seen to the biggest. He's definitely a dork.

He leans next to Lottie's ear and whispers, "They've got some big pipes here."

She laughs in anticipation. "Don't you dare make a sex joke in a church."

Alex contains his laughter. "Wouldn't be the first time."

They walk along the St. Lawrence River because Lottie likes the water and Franny likes quays with ships docked in them. She becomes occupied in her own world. She likes running ahead but not out of sight. She's too well-behaved, it's strange.

Alex holds Lottie's hand. "If I die—"

"Jesus, Al!" She drops his hand, already shaming him for bringing it up. "I don't like talking about that."

"Fine, if you die—"

"Stop it."

"It's a serious question. I'm curious."

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Fine."

"Would you want to be buried in Paris?"

She shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about this now."

"Okay."

Franny tugs on his hand. He looks down and she pats her stomach. "I'm hungry."

They walk down Saint-Paul Street, stopping at a place called Modavie because Franny likes the live jazz music that's flooding out onto the streets. The kind they listened to when they were building the crib in what would be Franny's room. Well, he built the crib, Lottie yelled the instructions at him.

The room was painted lemon and the rocking chair in the corner was an old wood with a pink seating pad. It had been the same chair Lottie was rocked to sleep in. They never used it; instead, they always sat out on the couch. They finally got some use out of it when Franny was old enough to climb in on her own and rock it back and forth.

While Franny said she was hungry, it's actually Alex, who had only eaten scraps of waffles and two coffees. The place is too nice for a quick meal before the show but it's French and he likes the sound of lamb chops. Franny gets calamari because she likes the pronunciation and she's had it before so they know she won't hate it. Lottie gets mussels and fries because Brussels.

Lottie orders for them in French. The waiter says something back to her that makes her laugh but Alex has no clue. He's tried to learn more but he hasn't practiced on the road. It's not his fault his own private tutor won't come with him.

They don't talk. It's far too loud to hear each other over the music, which is nice, but he'd prefer conversation over it. Lottie leans over and whispers straight into his ear, "I bet you she likes this more than your show."

He turns to speak into her ear. His skin brushes against hers. His stubble scratches her jawbone and his lips lightly touch her earlobe. "Yeah, this one has food and mine will be 'too loud.'"

Lottie turns back to his ear. "It's good. I want her to protect her ears." Alex agrees but he's almost certain this jazz band will do more damage to her ears than his band. Their table is right near the stage. Her ears are so close to the saxophone.

Franny pops calamari into her mouth so quickly he worries she'll choke. Granted, he does inhale the lamb chops. Lottie hasn't even had a fry yet by the time he's finished. He snags one of them and she allows it. She then drops a mussel shell into his lap just because she wants to see him squirm. (He does and she giggles almost as loud as the music).

They take the metro to the venue, Bell Centre, or Centre Belle as Lottie calls it because she's French and difficult. The second they step on the platform and wait for the 2 train Alex asks, "Is there something special about Montreal trains I should know?" He speaks quietly so as to not expose his shame.

He truly never got the hang of the doors of Paris's Metro. Either it took him too many tries to open or his arm would get ripped off, eventually, he refused to do it and forced Lottie to do it every time or they wouldn't get off the train. She'd laugh hysterically.

The last time they were there and Lottie was sad they were leaving, Alex opened the door to cheer her up. He tripped and almost fell face-first on the platform. Suddenly, Lottie wasn't so upset anymore.

Now, she laughs at his question. "I don't know. I've never been here before."

"We'll just have Francoise take care of everything," he says.

She smiles and leans her head on his shoulder as they wait. Franny is holding his hand. He doesn't care how long the train takes. This is a nice place to be.

When it comes powering through the station, Franny jumps up and down, beyond excited by the mode of transport. The doors automatically open and Franny leads the way, hopping on the train. She sits on Alex's lap because it's only two seats per row and she doesn't want anyone to be separated. She kicks her feet out and the heel of her shoes beats against his shins.

"These are sleek," Lottie says while looking around the train car.

"Much nicer than London," he says. Lottie rolls her eyes. "What?" He asks.

"This is what happens with a French regime," she says.

He makes an amused noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "What? Nicer subways?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. What was Toronto's metro like?"

"I didn't go on it," he says. "Are we comparing French imperialism and British imperialism right now?"

"No, I'm just saying it's a nice subway."

"Okay."

It's silent between them for a moment. Another train whooshes past and they stop at Station Côte-Vertu. Once the doors close and the train sets in motion again Lottie says, "Not everything is a jab against you."

His eyes widen. He didn't think they were fighting. He needs to be more aware of his tone. Lottie tells him that all the time. "I never said it was."

She rolls her eyes and turns away, looking out the window. He stares at her. She reflects onto the window, her soul staring back at him. He's thinking of her blue bandana and those sunglasses that she used to hide herself with. He thinks of that saddle bag. All those saddlebags that have been left behind in Paris like shedding a piece of who she used to be.

She is every version she's ever been right in front of his eyes. He knows every stretch of her. He memorized it long ago back when they were in Brussels. He was dumb then but he knew that there would be a chance he'd never see her again. So, he brushed his finger on every nanometer of her and swore he would remember it. Has she forgotten that? He's overthinking, he knows. Besides—

"This is our stop," she says.

They walk off the train and up the metro steps. They make it one block before she tells him at a red traffic light, "I'm going to go to the cathedral for a bit."

It's clearly not an invitation for him to come. "Okay."

"You keep Francoise," she requests. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

She bends down and kisses Franny's cheek. She rises to his level and does the same. It's rushed. She says her goodbyes as she tries to make it across the street before the light changes. "I'll see you in an hour."

Then, it's just Franny's hand in his. She tugs on it. "Dad. The light's green."

He nods. "Right." They make their way across the street and Lottie isn't in view anymore, already ducked in Mary, Queen of the World Cathedral. He wonders if Lottie ever prays. She's not religious—that was beaten out of her by the nuns at her Catholic school—but she loves all places of worship. He knows this comes from being an aesthete but something about the Catholics always draws her back. He'll have to ask her.

Franny skips through the venue halls. "It's big."

"Yeah."

"It's bigger than me."

"I think it might be."

He picks her up and she's squealing and flinging her arms and legs around. He made those legs and arms, well, half of her, maybe just the right arm and left leg. Still, it hits him sometimes just as hard as the way her heels kick against him.

He releases her and she goes off giggling. He can't tell if she enjoyed today or not. She enjoyed it enough not to complain about it, which is a relief to him. She can whine. She may be well-behaved and not throw tantrums but she's still four and has a habit of whining and crying and tugging on his arm until he gives in because he always seems to give in.

Franny hangs out backstage while they do soundcheck. He comes back to her drawing with crayons on a coffee table and sipping on a juice box. Lottie still isn't back. He squats down to sit on the couch with the crack of his knees. "Whatcha working on, lady?"

She lifts up the paper featuring a purple creation resembling a butterfly. "I'm not finished."

His grin is unstoppable. He loves all these little creations. They're plastered all around their home from her first work (her handprints) to the latest craze (butterflies). He'll have to make sure this one is packed away safely. "I'm liking it so far."

Alex leans back and watches her. The stroke of her crayon is wild and unstoppable but somehow lands in the form of butterfly wings. She stops, takes a sip of her juice box, and asks, "Are you ever coming home?"

His eyebrows jump and an ache hangs upon his heartstrings. This has gone on too long, he's known this. He knows Lottie shields him from this. It's impossible that Franny doesn't ask why he's gone for so long or that she misses him. "Yeah. In about a month. I'm sorry."

She shrugs and continues drawing. "It's fine. I like mummy a lot."

There's remorse in his smile, but he tells her, "Me too." He can't remember the last time he and Franny were alone together like this. There were plenty of times at home when it was just the two of them but he can't recall the last time the two went somewhere together. Every museum, every playdate, every grocery trip has been handled by Lottie. He can't remember the last time Lottie did something by herself.

It makes him want to slap himself like no shit, not everything is about you. Except it kind of is. He has been the reason she hasn't gotten a moment to herself. She locks things behind a door and says what's going on behind the door is so much fun, but he's never been on the other side of the door so he doesn't know the full truth.

"What juice are you drinking?" He asks.

Franny holds the box up. Elmo faces him with wide arms and a big, wide-open-mouthed smile. "Apple. Want some?" She walks over with the box and holds it out to him.

He almost says no but she pushes it toward him, willing him to take it. His mouth covers the tiny straw and he can't remember the last time he had apple juice but Elmo has good taste. "You can have the rest," she decides. Franny leaves the box with him and trots back to her drawing station.

"Thanks, Fran." He continues to sip on it. The tiny size of it and his hands back him feel like when Franny was a baby. It makes him remember Franny still is a baby and he should savour this time rather than worrying about not having that time back.

He leans his elbows on his knees and drinks the juice. The taste makes him think of his childhood home and how his mum used to give out apple juice boxes whenever his friends came over. Now, well, he's still drinking them.

"Hitting the hard stuff?" Lottie asks as she walks in. She looks brighter as if she went to the beach and got a tan. She's joking, she's smiling, she sits right next to Franny and kisses her left cheek and then her right cheek from behind.

Alex chuckles and places the empty box on the table. "Just trying to calm the nerves. How was the cathedral?"

Her cheeks look like they ache. "It was lovely. The statues, the paintings, the cupola. I'll show you pictures later."

It makes him nearly as happy as her, though that doesn't seem possible to meet. "That's great. I'm excited."

Lottie wraps her arms around Franny's stomach and hugs her back to her chest. "No you're not," she brushes off, looking down at Franny's paper.

He furrows his brows. "I'm not lying."

She looks up, smiles, and does a single nod. "Okay."

Alex can't see them when he's onstage. He imagines they are either dancing or Franny has fallen asleep. He tries not to think about it much when he's playing. It makes him too nervous. He feels the need to be impressive and grab their attention. Plus, if he messes up and falls on his face in front of Lottie she'll make fun of him forever. She'll mock him later anyway.

After the first show she went to on the tour, she stood up on the bed with a bare chest, only wearing his boxers, and started imitating him with a crooner voice and all. Her impersonations aren't just for the present day. In the shower, she'll comb her hair back to look like she's slapped a pound of gel in it and do a horrible impression of him in 2013. She can't sing so it's pretty funny to watch.

When the show ends he waits for them by Franny's purple butterfly drawing. They open the door with Lottie giving Franny a piggyback ride and Franny shouting, "You were great!"

"Really?" He asks, hands on his hips as they reach him. He grabs Franny and holds her on his hip. Her braids have been messed with like she was thrashing in a mosh pit.

"You weren't too loud or quiet. Just right!" She emphasizes her opinion with her hands, adding punctuation with each word.

"Well, thank you, Goldilocks." Alex's eyes shift to Lottie. "Mama bear?"

Lottie wrinkles her nose. "Ew, don't call me that." She cackles loudly as if he's the first person who has ever told her a joke. "You were lovely. Very energetic but not overtly."

He's not sure what she exactly means but he takes it with a chuckle. He takes a big yawn, throwing his head back for extra emphasis. He looks at the little girl. "I'm tired. Are you tired, Franny?"

Lottie makes a pointed look at him. "Francoise, remember?"

"Francoise," he corrects.

Franny giggles and clutches his neck tightly. "You guys are funny."

"Francoise." Alex pops her on his hips, making her laugh more. "What do you think about hanging with Matt and Amanda?"

She shrugs. "I guess so. They want to be my friends soooooo badly."

Lottie has to turn around her as laughter bursts out of her, lips flapping, and in desperate need of taking a deep breath. Alex turns his face to the side, not wanting to laugh straight into Franny's face.

"What?" Franny questions, having no idea of the hilarity of her words.

Lottie covers her mouth as she looks back. Her words come out muffled as she says, "Nothing, honey. You'll have a great time with them."

Alex can't control himself and has to place Franny down in order to contain his laughter. Franny ends up running over to Matt and tugging on his arm saying how excited she is to hang out like they're two guys getting beers together.

On the ride back to the hotel, Lottie nearly falls asleep against the window. She would have if the van hadn't hit a speed bump and knocked her head up against the glass. She walks into the hotel hanging off his side. She bends down and hugs Franny good night before bidding farewell to the rest of the group and escaping into their hotel room where she promptly rushes into the room, kicks off her shoes, and takes her clothes off.

"Geez," Alex says at the sight. "Are you rushing to bed or just excited to see me?"

She moves over to him and kisses him full on the lips. He nearly falls over. His arms flailing at his sides. He feels like he's hallucinating from exhaustion. "Excited to see you." She's unlatching her bra and throwing it at him. The sight of naked boobs should arouse him but leaves him as perplexed as when a woman threw a bra at him in Athens.

"Alrighty. Were you not just about to fall asleep two seconds ago?"

She rolls her eyes, sits on the edge of the bed, and takes off her socks. "It's called putting on a show, Alex," she says to him like he's their four-year-old daughter.

"Right."

"If Francoise thinks I'm tired, she will believe she should be tired. She fully believes my bedtime is 8:30 and that I don't stay up watching television until midnight. It works every time so you should work on your tired look for the next time."

Alex blinks slowly, still fully dressed. "I am tired."

"Oh." She's sitting in her underwear. She sits up straight and crosses her arms. "So, you didn't pawn off our daughter to have sex with me."

"Well," he sheds his jacket and tosses it on the sofa chair, "I never said that. I'm not an idiot."

She smirks and stands up. "I know." She turns her back to him and slowly begins to pull off her panties. Alex rushes to grab her hips and do it himself. He crashes into her, forcing a giggle out of her and landing them flat on the housekeeping-made bed. "Stop. You're gonna break one of my ribs."

He lifts himself, allowing her to breathe again. He stands up and begins to remove clothing items starting with his shoes. Lottie flips her body to look straight at him while he does this. She bites her thumbnail like she needs something between her teeth while she waits for him.

She then takes him off guard, "Do you jerk off?"

He's kicking his trousers off when she asks this, stopping with them pooling around his ankles. "Why do you want to know?"

She shrugs. "I'm just curious. That's all." There's something more to it because if Lottie there's always something more. She's made with ulterior motives.

Alex steps out of his pants. He smirks as he stands over her. His penis hanging near her cunt. "You want me to jerk off."

"What?" She awkwardly giggles. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't," she insists. "I was just curious if you had time for that kind of thing."

He chuckles at her. "Lot, I've got plenty of time to se branler."

She reaches out to slap his stomach, right above his evidence. "Shut up. What kind of foreplay is this?"

Alex stares at her in disbelief. "You asked the question!"

"Did you forget how to have sex? Is that how long we've been apart?"

He rolls his eyes. And just to see her squirm he asks, "Do you watch porn?"

Her jaw drops. "Shut up!" After that, he does because it's much more fun to fuck your wife than to talk about fucking your wife.

The first time they had sex after having Franny, Lottie wanted to go slow. It was foreign and sore and filled with uncertainty for the first time in their relationship. But it was a lovely affair, a reunion of sorts.

This is different. It's a reunion but it's quick and attacking. He feels like they're a step away from eating each other (and not in the eating out kind of way). He's in her and they're together on the edge of the bed, their feet hanging off onto the floor, but neither makes a move to decide whether they should fuck on the bed or the floor.

And they're embarrassingly loud. Or at least she is. He can't keep track of himself. All he knows is he's moaning in her ear and the volume could be a small whisper or a full release. It's like when they were stuck in her Paris apartment that was so tiny you had to fuck in such a confined space and it might have been the hottest sex they ever had because of that.

He feels sweaty for the first time that night. Her hands are grasping on his shoulders, imprinting fingernail crescent cuts. He pushes his mouth directly next to her ear. "What if we had another baby?"

She pushes him up off of her chest, desperate for air, for some release from this heat. "You carry it." Yeah, he probably shouldn't be asking for things like that. He's barely been around this past year for the one they already have.

"Sorry," he pathetically mumbles.

She's not listening. She's busy getting ready to come. "Just fuck me." She's sick of him. He's convinced.

But at least he can fuck her. He knows he's good at that with the way she moves, arches, and clamps around him. She pushes him back further and tells him, "Jerk off now."

He listens, obedient as always to her orders, and pulls out. He would have come on the carpet, completely unsure of where to dispose of himself, but she gets down on her knees and opens her mouth. He moves closer. "Don't put it in my mouth," she says.

He lays the tip on her bottom lip, which seems to be okay with her. His fist is quick because he feels he'll burst into flames at the sight of her right now if he doesn't come into her mouth. So, he does. It takes him a while to relax and he's unsure if she swallows it or spits it into the wastebasket.

Lottie throws her hair up and stretches her back in front of him, bending back and forward. He feels old all the time, it rarely registers that she's the same age as him. She’s getting older too. She's more youthful than him, that's for sure. There's a reason women live longer than men.

She laughs at him still catching his breath as she hides herself under the blankets, waiting for him. "Come here," she reaches out.

He straightens out. "I'm coming. I'm coming."

She curls her lips, refraining from the sex joke. He stretches out on his stomach beside her. She has to tuck him in. It's cozy and soft. She moves him like a doll by grabbing his arm and curling it over her stomach. He moves closer and lies his head on his shoulder, brushing his nose against her jugular.

She moves down and even with his eyes closed he feels her eyes gazing at him. Her breath is so close to his. The tip of her nose carefully brushes his. "I missed you."

He slowly opens his eyes. He longs for her so much. He doesn't think he could've survived another day without her. She's as necessary as food and water. It's a hunger and a desire but it's sustenance and nourishment. Yet, he chose to starve himself. "I'm sorry for doing this to you."

She grows concerned, shifting over to her side. Her brows furrow and she is completely lost. She puts her hand on his upper arm, rubbing it in a soothing manner. "Doing what?"

"Being away. Being absent. Taking things away from you."

She shakes her head with confusion. "You gave me my whole life, Al."

"I gave you a whole different life."

"I'm quite happy with the life I have," she assures him. He goes through phases like this before where he covers himself in self-doubt. But this is different. There's a reason to be concerned because it's hard to question what is in front of your eyes, it's easy to question what you don't see.

"You've given up too much, Lot."

She doesn't refute him. She looks around but doesn't make eye contact with him. She's thinking. She gives his arm a squeeze to calm him. "I'm a very lucky girl." She hesitates before deciding to tell him the truth, "But I sometimes get jealous of you. I give in to you a lot and it's my own decision. You didn't force me into this. I'm going to spend my whole life missing out on things but I don't want to miss out on you. Believe me, I'm very happy right now."

She curls closer to him, needing the comfort, needing the love, needing him. He tries to soothe her the best you can. "I'm gonna take care of you for the rest of my life."

"I believe you."

He's never been great at compromise. He's gotten his way. Lottie gives in. She's the one willing to give things up. It's his turn. It should have been from the beginning. "Do you want to move to Paris?"

She gives him a small smile and a light shake of the head. "I just want you to come home."

"We should spend every summer in Paris. Get a little place there."

"I have work," she points out.

He groans and falls on his back. "Fuck work."

She giggles and lands on top of his chest, lying there. "I appreciate the sentiment though."

Alex brushes her arm. "I'm going to give you what you want. I promise. I'll learn French, I swear."

She kisses his cheek, a smile placed on his skin. "Thank you. I just want us all to be back in our home."

It grows quiet, both just feeling the other's presence, relaxing into it for the first time in forever. Her skin is so soft and her body is a comforting warmth on his skin. A feeling he's felt since the first night he slept beside her. They keep each other close because there's no other way of doing it.

Lottie breaks through the quiet. "Are we going to sleep naked?"

He grins with closed lips and turns to her. "Like the good ol' days."

"Something like it."

He squeezes her butt and she teases the skin around his dick but never touches it. They fall asleep a half hour later. He always thought it was bullshit that people slept better in the presence of someone else but it's true.

Then, there's a knock at the door. He awakes before the noise gets to Lottie. The room is dark and he stubs his toe on one of the bed's legs. He manages to find boxers to throw on before opening the door. It's early and he might be sleepwalking. His eyes squint and he manages to make out the sight of Matt with Franny in his arms.

"What's wrong?" Franny is curled into Matt's shoulder so peaceful looking that she could almost be asleep but she clearly isn't. Her eyes stare straight at him.

Matt looks tired. He's in his pyjamas too. "Bad dream. Sorry for waking you but she's too scared and I just thought..."

Not wanting to trouble Matt more, he reaches out and takes Franny from him. She grabs his neck so tightly she's almost choking him. "Don't worry. Thanks. Sorry about all this."

Matt shakes his head and pats Alex's arm before shuffling his feet back to his own room.

Alex quietly closes the door as best as he can. He whispers to Franny, "You okay?"

"Just don't leave," Franny tells him.

He rubs his hand up her back, holding her the same way he used to burp her. "I'm right here," he reminds her. She squeezes him tightly just to make sure. He reciprocates, holding him close to him. "Mum's still asleep."

She nods against his neck. "I'll be quiet. Swear."

"I know you will." He carries her to their bed, lying her between them. Her arms stay curled around him. He rubs his hand up and down in the hope she will fall asleep before he does.

"I'm happy you're here," she whispers to him.

He smiles because for once he is here. "Me too."

a/n: did not think it would be this long. i didn't think i'd ever write another part to this but i wrote the first 3k words in pencil on random sheets of paper and then the rest just happened. i hope it translates well.

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #junedenim

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abbysimsfun · 2 months ago

Text

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 135 (Heather's Home!)

Conrad was sitting in the kitchen with Lavender when Heather returned from Selvadorada. "Mommy!" Lavender squealed.

Heather beamed. She'd missed their joyful smiles, but she moved slowly, feeling nauseous again as her body still recovered from the spider bite. "You look a little green," said Conrad with concern.

"You should have seen me a few days ago," she mused. "It looks like the contractors finished the upstairs bedroom while I was gone."

"The snow melted just long enough for them to get it done," said Conrad, showing off the space where Ash would sleep once he returned from spending Easter with the Landgraabs. They both glanced out the windows, noting the falling snowflakes beginning to gather on the ground all over again.

Heather smiled. "Even if the snow doesn't want to leave the Bay, it feels like a new beginning. George and June's murder is solved and the town's doing okay. I'm back from vacation. New season. New bedroom."

"We've got new problems...."

Heather cocked her head in confusion. "Rafa still won't cooperate? We didn't have any trouble with cartels in Selvadorada."

"As relieved as I am to hear that, I'm worried they might've gotten to Rafa and it's holding him back. He won't give up Ximena, but I keep trying. I sent Felix to try to talk to him in Sulani after convincing Melissa didn't work."

"Felix is pretty persuasive," she said hopefully. "I saw on Social Bunny he has a new girlfriend."

"He charmed Lilith without much trouble," Conrad agreed with a nod. "But the same lines won't work on Rafa."

"You could always arrest him and force his hand," she reminded him, but she knew her suggestion would fall on deaf ears.

"It's not just Rafa and his sister," he said carefully. He didn't even know where to begin with John Brindleton's town history lesson, so he skipped it - for now. "I talked to Ash about Ben and his dog and he figured out by himself that his accident as a toddler made it possible for him to see ghosts. Felix confirmed it's the most likely explanation."

"Because he was...Oh my Watcher...So he just sees ghosts? Plural? What if they frighten him?"

"He's not even worried about it. Says he's never met a ghost that he didn't think was living. Doesn't even know if he's ever met more than Ben and Captain Whitaker." She leaned into him, feeling dizzy, and Conrad held out a hand to support her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Maybe I should lie down. Jet lag hit me on the way into the jungle, and it'll probably hit me again now that I'm home."

Conrad kissed her and put her to bed, taking Lavender to daycare on his way to work. Heather napped for most of the day, calling her parents to cancel plans to go to Henford for Easter dinner because the thought of spending an hour on the speedy Simmerloop made her feel as green as she looked. "I know Hazel's already in town for the weekend. That's good in case this is a flu or something."

"We're sorry we won't see you, but we just want you to rest if you're sick," said her father, Neal. "We'll miss your cooking, though."

"Maybe we'll make it to Henford for Mother's Day, if things aren't too hectic with the clinic rebuild."

"Get well soon, Buttercup. We love you."

"Love you, too."

She hung up the phone, content after a quick chat with her beloved dad despite her guilt over cancelling holiday plans. But she couldn't dwell for long on her feelings before she raced to the bathroom to be sick.

At work, Conrad was in the break room. While his coworkers talked about plans to celebrate his old partner Josephine's retirement party at the Salty Paw, he pulled himself away when his phone rang. "Felix! How's the beach?"

"It's not Felix." Rafa's tone curdled down the line. "He let me borrow his phone to tell you to screw off."

In the tropics, Felix rocked uncomfortably in his flip flops. "He didn't tell me that's what he wanted to say! I told him he might avoid prison entirely if he gives up his sister and he said he wanted to call you."

"And who the hell are you to promise something like that? You're just some weird lawyer who sounds a hundred years older than he looks!"

"Listen to Felix," Conrad urged, careful not to mention Rafa's name in front of his coworkers. "He's the most experienced attorney I know."

Even though Felix had passed the bar only recently, Conrad was telling the truth. He didn't know any other attorneys who'd practiced law as far back as the early 20th Century.

"If I get off with nothing but a slap on the wrist after selling my own sister up the river, the cartel will come for me, for sure."

"You said yourself they're not concerned with Sulani. I know what I'm asking you, and I wouldn't ask if I didn't need your help. She's been all but abandoned by the cartel. I'm sure of it. No one's visited her since she was put behind bars, but you know what she's capable of. You could keep her there, for your benefit as much as mine. Yours and Melissa's."

"You shouldn't have sent her here."

"But you weren't this mad when I did."

"Screw you, Conrad. And stop telling the Ngatas to spy on me. Oliana and her son come by every other day now."

"Maybe they care about you. I know what that's like."

The call ended with a click, and Conrad sighed. He was beginning to think he'd have to bring in the cartel to pressure Ximena, after all, but he didn't relish the possibility in the slightest. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: There was already a sneaky shot of the new bedroom in the Love Day installment because making spring crafts were the only way I knew how to make Valentine's-themed artwork without mods, and I'd already done the reno in the spring save when I wanted to put that shot in.

WCIF Pose: @novapark's Incoming Puke for Heather's bathroom shot. Love it even if Heather is suffering for it; thank you for sharing!

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #brindleton bay #felix psyded #lilith pleasant #sulani

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nelapanela94 · 2 years ago

Text

“Levi?”

You push the door open with your back and the weathered hinges creak. It’s dark and quiet inside, Levi’s leather jacket hangs over the chair backrest. The window behind his desk is closed, the quill stands in the holder.

The plate and tumbler clatter on the tray as you inch toward the door that connects his office to the room. It is ajar and you, uninvitedly, slip inside.

“Levi?”

A faint glow flickers from the nightstand, and Levi is tucked in bed, like a bundle, covered from head to toe.

Your eyes squint, lines mar the space between your brows. Something doesn’t seem right. You set the tray on the side table and pad gingerly to the bed, lay a hand on the quilt where his shoulder should be.

“Levi? Are you ok?”

What is someone kidnapped him and left the corpse of an animal behind? Panic rises in your chest.

“Y/N?”

His gravelly voice tames the drama snakes in your head. He rolls onto the opposite side. “What are you doing here?”

“You missed dinner. I thought you’d be hungry, so I saved some leftovers…”

“Not hungry.” His voice is shaky, like the rest of his body.

“What’s wrong then? Why are you in bed?”

“Why couldn't I be in bed?” He coughs. “I’m not a child. Get out of here.”

You frown, tap tapping the floor. “You’re acting like one now. And I’m not leaving until I make sure you’re fine.”

He flings the covers off and reveals himself. “I’m fine.”

His eyes are glassy, his lips dry, cheeks red, his hair glued to his face in sweat. He wriggles up against the headboard to a sitting position. You sit next to him, making him curse under his breath, and bring the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re far from fine. Why don’t you go to the infirmary?”

“I don't want to waste their time. Besides, there are others who need it more.”

“You could’ve asked for help at least.”

“I don’t want shitty glasses entering my room.”

“You could’ve asked me.” You jab a finger to your chest, pouting.

His cheeks sizzle with a deeper blush. What a shame it is that you see him in this deplorable state. He is the one who should be protecting you and not the other way around.

You peel from bed and scuff to the washbasin. In the shelf next to it, Levi keeps towels and linens. You take a lavender-imbued cloth, soak it and wring the excess. “Lay down, Levi.”

“Leave me alone.” He grunts and reluctantly complies. You brush his hair off his face and place the cloth on his forehead.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No, it’s just the fever. Thanks. Now, you can leave.”

“Are you kidding me? What if you get worse?” You plonk on the wing chair, arms folded on your chest.

“You’re worse than lice.”

“Just let me know if you need anything.” You stretch out your legs, and your ass sinks into the cotton canvas.

Thirty minutes later, your soft snores swarm the room. Your chest rises and falls steadily in your peaceful slumber. Levi sighs. And you were the one who was supposed to take care of him? His lips curve in a half smile. The ache in his bones and muscles is ebbing, the trembling in his limbs is easing. It's not of him to catch a seasonal flu, but a little attention from you doesn't hurt, does it?

He throws a cushion at you, and you jerk awake.

"Water."

#levi ackerman #aot #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi aot #snk levi #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #shingeki no kyoujin #levi ackerman x female reader

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fawnwilde · 2 months ago

Text

Mamma Mia 𓂃۶ৎ

Charles Smith x reader, John Marston x reader, Javier Escuella x reader

rating: explicit (18+)

Life has been hectic lately, which is only amplified after you find out you're pregnant. The kicker? You don't know who the father is.

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, liberal use of the RDR2 timeline, reader is going through it, cheating (not by reader), pregnancy, angst, fluff, i'm ovulating sorry

word count: 4.3k

You're fucked. Absolutely fucked.

The doctor in Strawberry was very certain. You're pregnant.

With whose child? Well.

A month ago, you had had the two weeks from hell. A rendezvous with a past lover, a lay with a friend with benefits, and a night with the man you pined for, had all happened in a very short amount of time.

And one of them is the father of your unborn child.

"I'm fucked."

Arthur lifted his head as you said that, his hat revealing his concerned look. Passersby gave you both judging looks, only amplified by Arthur's panicked look.

"What did he say?" He asked. You opened your mouth, but arthur was already listing possibilities, "Pox? Flu? Scarlet fever? Syphilis?!"

"Christ, Arthur, calm down!" You said through gritted teeth, grabbing his arm and dragging him to where your horses were waiting.

He stares down at you, eyes wide as he awaits your explanation. You sigh, avoiding his scrutinising look and patting your mare, Lavender's neck.

"i'm pregnant." You sigh.

Arthur stares at you for a minute. You turn to look at him, as he stares at you stock still.

"Is it mine?"

"Arthur, we haven't had sex."

"Oh. Right. Sorry, I panicked." He clears his throat, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair, "So who's the father?"

"That's the thing..."

"God, it's not Sean is it?" Arthur asks with a mix of fear and revulsion.

"No!"

"Thank god."

"It's either-"

"Either?!"

"Shush!" You slap his arm, shutting him up, "It's either john's, Javier's or Charles'."

He stares at you.

"You get around."

You slapped him around the back of the head. He guffaws, as you climb atop your horse with a glare his way. He climbs upon his own, and you barely make it a yard when he begins asking questions.

And he asks them the entire way back to camp.

At camp, everyone was milling about, going about their days at usual, completely unaware of your inner turmoil. Hosea greeted you warmly as you passed, and you gave him a tight lipped smile, patting his shoulder affectionately as you passed. He watched you go, eyebrows furrow in concern at your clear anxiety. When he looks at Arthur, the enforcer merely shrugs and continues to brush his horse.

You walked to Pearson's station, grabbing an apple to satiate your hunger, looking across camp.

John was arguing the Abigail, much like any other day, while Jack sat a few feet away, playing with some pebbles and stacking them into a small mountain.

You and John Marston had a past. You had been close friends as teens, which naturally progressed into romance. He even proposed to you. You thought you would live your fairytale romance, like something out of Mary-Beth's books.

That was until he got Abigail pregnant.

He came to you one night, tears in his eyes, telling you he made a mistake. It broke your heart, and no amounts of him begging you to forgive him and move past it made you yield.

He disappeared when Jack was born, fearful of becoming a father, and upset that it wasn't you he was sharing a baby with. You liked Abigail, and grew closer to her during her pregnancy. When Jack was born, you took on the role of his second parent until John decided to step up.

When he finally returned, you were glad he was here for his son, but refused to talk much to him.

That was, until that night.

A month ago, you and he had been attempting to rob a stage coach. An unexpected interrupted by the law, had the two of you fleeing on foot after your horses were spooked.

Angry words were thrown between you, years of pent up rage and heart break coming to a head. Before long, you had him pressed to a tree with a knife to his throat, pouring out your heart as tears filled your eyes. He watched you with somber eyes, before taking the knife from your hand gently, and holding you close.

You slept with him that night. You allowed him to hold you close and murmur apologies into your neck as he rocked his body into yours. He clung to you like a life boat, and you held him just as hard. Your heart was breaking all over again.

After you both redressed, you asked him to never speak of this again, and left him devastated in the middle of the woods.

A bang startled you out of your thoughts, turning to see Uncle apologising after knocking over a crate. You wave him off, looking back at John, only seeing his back as he walks away from Abigail.

You sigh, taking another bite of your apple as you look to your left, spotting Javier sharpening his knife below a tree.

After John broke your heart all those years ago, you became a nightmare to be around. Always snapping, always angry, arguing with Dutch and ignoring Hosea's attempt to help.

Two days after John told you of Abigail's pregnancy, you found yourself sitting a ways away from camp, crying against a tree as the moon shone down on you. Your heart ached, but you didn't know how to express your agony. John, Hosea, Arthur, Dutch... they all wanted you to talk through your pain, but you just couldn't.

Footsteps approached you, and you spotted Javier walking towards you. He held his hands up in a calming manner, offering a small smile as he sat down beside you.

You sniffed, rubbing your nose in slight shame. He hummed, wordlessly pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, offering it to you. You accepted, letting the burn in your lungs and flush of nicotine in your head distract you. He said nothing, simply sitting with you while you shared the cigarette. After a while, you rested your cheek on his shoulder, and he held you close.

For so long, it felt like your life was a river, ebbing and flowing during the chaos of outlaw life. Until John's betrayal hit you, a damn breaking and flooding the water.

Javier became a raft for you to hold on while you waded through the wreckage.

He was a great friend. Unlike Arthur in ways, who you adored, for the fact that he hadn't been with the gang long enough to feel like a brother.

Maybe that is why you slept with him.

It happened naturally. The two of you sat in his tent as he tuned his guitar, the morning sun slowly rising. Everyone else was asleep. You leant on his shoulder, letting the calm wash over you. You turned to look at him at the same time he turned to look at you, and you pressed your lips to his gently.

After that morning, filled with affectionate and passionate sex, you and he began a friendship with benefits.

It was all you needed for the moment, never worrying that he would break your heart because he didn't ask for it, just two people who cared for one another, caring for one another.

He looked up as you watched him, his stoic face breaking out into a kind smile. You returned it.

Sean stole his attention for a moment, and you chuckled at javiers instant frustration.

When you turned, your eyes fell on Charles.

You and charles were... complicated. He joined the group not long before the incident in Blackwater, immediately establishing himself as a strong and reliable member of the gang. He was fierce, but calm. Deadly when needed, but gentle when he wanted to be.

You and he rarely talked at first, apart from the occasional greeting and small conversation by the camp fire.

But he saved your life during Blackwater. While havoc ensued, a lawman shot you in the arm while you fled. Charles arrived like a knight in shining armour, taking out the lawman and ignoring his own injuries as he carried you to safety.

In colter, you found yourself falling for him. you watched him as he worked, his brow always set in quiet contemplation, his eyes showing an intelligence and understanding you were unused to seeing.

You were resigned to never tell him your feelings, holding your heart in your hands like a newborn baby, protecting it from all outside forces. John broke your heart, Javier helped you put it back together, and you were afraid to put it out there to be at risk of being shattered again.

After arriving at horseshoe overlook, you took to hunting as well as your 'womanly' duties, and Charles offered to teach you how to use a bow. The two of you would regularly go hunting together, something which you both loved and hated.

A month ago, on one of your trips, rain began to fall too heavily to see, and you decided to camp where you were to avoid getting lost in the storm.

Being around him had felt even more intense that day, and in the dead of night; your body acted before your mind could.

You left your tent, clearing your throat outside of his and asking charles if you could come in. When you entered, he sat up, an eyebrow raised in concern.

He looked so beautiful.

You found yourself pressing your lips to his urgently, needing your actions to speak for you, as your world would surely fail to do your feelings justice.

After a moment of hesitation, he cupped your cheek, bringing you further into the kiss, lying down and bringing you with him. No words were spoken.

Charles held you close as he stripped you both of your clothes. He was gentle and slow as he rolled you on top of him, fucking up into you with ease. his soft groans and praises filled your head. You fell asleep on top of him, your bare skin pressed to his.

When you woke up, he was already getting dressed, not looking at you as he frowned down at the ground.

"Charles?" You asked groggily.

He looked over at you, opening his mouth to speak before he closed it, his jaw ticking.

"We best be going. They'll be worried about us." With that, he left.

Your fragile heart cracked.

Clearly, he regretted what happened. You resigned to hide your hurt and never speak of it. No more words were exchanged between the both of you on the way back. In fact, you hadn't spoken at all since that day.

You tore your eyes from him before he could see you, tossing the apple core away as you walked back to your tent.

The sun set, and the camp was once again alive with music and chatter, drinks flowing easily.

You were sat beside Arthur around the campfire, trying to follow Sean singing a song you were not familiar with. Your eyes kept going to Javier, who was smiling easily as he strummed his guitar. Catching your eye, he wiggled his eyebrows playfully, completely unaware of the reason why you were not partaking in the drinks.

Jack was sat at your feet, trying to avoid his mother so he could stay up past his bed time. You held his hands in yours, waving them about in dance, and he laughed happily, looking up at you with loving eyes.

Your heart clenched. Jack felt like your own at this point, god knows Abigail considered you his third parent.

You could be carrying his sibling, the child of the man you once loved more than anything.

Feeling the familiar sense of someone's eyes on you, you looked up and saw john watching you. His eyes were soft, a small smile on his lips as he watched you with his son. He made eye contact with you, the familiar look of grief and sorrow filling his grey eyes. You looked away, turning back to jack to focus on making him do silly dances again.

Abigail laughed and hugged your shoulder, telling Jack to head to bed before she makes him sleep even earlier the next night. With a kiss to your cheek, he walked away, hand in hand with his mother, and John followed them after.

You stood as well, apologetically refusing the whiskey bottle Sean offered you, siting a bad stomach. Arthur watched as you left, trying to be casual with his worry. Javier noticed, though.

Walking back to your own tent, you spotted Charles making his way through the camp, carrying more logs for the fire.

He looked at you at the same time, he pace faltering before he kept walking, nodding to you before passing.

"Charles-"

"Sleep well, Y/N."

You felt your throat close up as he walked away.

Turning back, you saw Hosea sitting on his own bed roll, a book in his lap as he gave you a sad smile. You returned it, joining his side. His presence comforted you, though you were unsure about telling him of your situation, worried about his reaction.

He noticed. He knew you too well to ignore your obvious distress.

"What's wrong, my dear?" Hosea asks softly.

You sighed, playing with the laces of your boots, avoiding his eyes, "Just... life."

He was quiet for a moment, before putting his book away and taking your hand in his, "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I'm... I'm pregnant." You whispered.

His eyebrows raise, and he takes a deep breath, "is it Charles'?"

"I, uh, I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"It could be his. We were, um, intimate about a month ago. But... I slept with Javier a few days before that, and John about a week before both of them."

This is humiliating, you think to yourself.

Hosea sighs, holding the bridge of his nose. You gnawed at your lip, expecting his disappointment and a lecture, at the least.

But he held your hand harder, giving you a soft look.

"I don't care who the father is, dear. That's your baby, and it's going to be a damn force of nature, that's for sure." He says fondly, "You should talk to them, let them know what's happening, and we need to tell the others so we can prepare... having Jack is hard enough when we're constantly in danger. We'll need to lay low, make sure you and the baby are safe."

You smile, relieved at his immediate support, leaning into him so he can wrap an arm around you, kissing the crown of your head paternally.

"Thank you, Hosea."

"Of course, sweetheart, we'll figure this out."

Seven months had passed since the day you found out you were pregnant.

Hosea had convinced Dutch to pull off one grand score, getting enough money for the gang to semi-permanently move into a farm far away from Blackwater and the Pinkertons.

The gang was excited for the new addition, though it took a while to get used to.

The girls were constantly distracted from their chores because they were sewing you maternity dresses and little baby clothes. Miss Grimshaw complained about losing a worker and the women being distracted, but would always be the first one checking on you and berating you for doing too much.

Hosea and arthur were always at your side, when they weren't working on the farm. By the time your bump was big enough that you couldn't see your feet, Arthur was attached to your hip, picking heavy things up for you and carrying you if need be.

They were both excited to be an uncle and a grandfather. The calm life in the farm was making everyone happier, though Dutch often disappeared to go and search out scores.

Life was good, though. Everyone could agree to that.

The fathers were settling, as well. Despite the strangeness of the situation.

Javier had reacted to the news the best.

He knew about your nights with John and Charles, and didn't care who the real father was. He was just excited to meet the little one, singing to your growing belly and helping you come up with names.

John had freaked out initially. He was afraid of what the future would hold, especially due to the uncertainty of who the father would be. He avoided you at first, but when you started showing, your relationship improved. His priority became your safety and comfort.

But even when he was in a weird mood, Abigail would step up, helping you with your aches and nausea and never ending worries. Jack was obsessed with the bump, not caring for the overall tensions and just being happy that he would have a little sister or little brother. Abigail assured you, that no matter who the father was, the baby would have Jack as a big brother. Hearing her say that made you cry, grateful for your little family.

Charles was concerned at first. He was understanding of your situation, and decided to no longer distance himself from you, not when you were vulnerable. He checked on you morning and night, making sure you ate and got enough rest. But there was a lingering worry in your mind.

During your fifth month, you were overwhelmed with hormones, your emotions got the better of you constantly.

Charles found you crying in the barn and immediately fell to your side, taking your hand and pressing a strong palm to your belly, asking what was wrong in his gentle, baritone voice.

"I'm sorry, Charles." You said, voice thick with tears, "I'm sorry all of this is happening. If this baby is yours, I'm sorry you're going to be stuck with me. I know you regret what happened between us. It's not fair to trap you."

Charles looked confused, intertwining your fingers as he looked away, searching for the right words.

"I thought... you would want to forget it happened." He said gently, rubbing your bump soothingly, "I didn't want you to feel obligated to stay with me because we slept together."

"Are you kidding me? I love you, you moron." you said through tears.

Charles' face softened, his hand leaving your belly to cup your cheek. You leaned into it, your tears coating his warm palm.

"I'm sorry, my love." He murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "No more tears. We're in this together now."

"Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

Another few weeks have passed, and you and charles lay on your shared bed, another agonising day of being huge and the baby still hadn't arrived.

The doctor said you were a week overdue, and you had been given strict instructions on what to do to speed up the process. Walking, drinking specific tea's, having sex... a lot of sex, and nothing had happened. Your back was killing you, even just lying down.

You groaned, standing up. Charles watched you, eyes soft as you stretched and rubbed at your bump.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"Yup, just the old back pain." you sighed, stretching your back and walking around leisurely, cracking your stiff joints.

"You're starting to sound like uncle."

"Excuse you, I have a reason to complain. I'm carrying a toddler at this point."

You looked out at the night sky as Charles chuckled, turning back over in bed to get some rest. The stars twinkled up above, and you admired them with a small smile. The baby kicked gently, eager to get out and see them for itself.

The sound of dripping liquid caught your attention, and you looked down, noticing some water pooling by your feet. You were confused for a second, before you began panicking.

"Oh shit." you whispered, looking at charles, who immediately sprung up from the bed and came to your side.

"What's wrong?" he looked down, face completely calm as he assessed the situation.

He looked up with a smile, which you shakily shared.

"Baby's coming." You said breathlessly.

Endings...

here i go again john's version

a fire within my soul javier's version

now or never charles' version

Thank you for reading, it's been months since I completed a fanfic so I'm cheesin at my phone screen. Likes and reblogs are appreciated but I just hope you enjoyed! <3

#fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 community #red dead fandom #charles smith #charles smith x reader #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #john marston #john marston x reader #rdr2 fanfic #fawnwilde

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