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woso-dreamzzz · 8 months ago

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Injured (Jenni's Version): Future II

Grace Clinton x Reader

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Your children meet Alexia

"Mama!" Jaume complains," Leave my hair alone!"

Alexia stifles her laugh as Olga continues to rake her fingers through Jaume's hair. It had been a long fight between them about the length for years now.

Jaume liked it a bit longer while Olga preferred it to be clipped a bit shorter so it would stop falling into his eyes when he walked.

"I'm just making it neat."

"It's fine!"

Alexia sighs. "Can we go in now? The others are waiting."

It's a monthly tradition to meet up at Alexia's Mama's house with the rest of the extended family. This argument happened every time they pulled up.

Olga frowns at Jaume as he forces his hair back to how it was before, shaking her head. "Fine."

Alexia lets them all into the house, already knowing the party had migrated to the garden with the barbeque set up and beers already opened.

"Say hello to your Abuela first, Jaume," Alexia calls after him as her son rushes off to grab food," And tell her you love her!"

Jaume gives no indication that he hears her and he doesn't need to be reminded.

"He better be polite to his cousins," Alexia grumbles as Jaume makes a quick pitstop with Eli before hurrying to load up his plate.

"He will be. You know him."

Jaume's sweet really. A big softie but after playing a big match yesterday and sleeping most of the day away, it was stupid to get between him and food.

Alexia shakes her head fondly at her son before surveying the group. Her aunts and uncles and cousins are all there with their own kids. Alba's holding a baby that Alexia doesn't quite recognise.

There's a little boy running around as well that she doesn't recognise either and that's when Alexia spots you.

It's been years but Alexia would recognise you anywhere.

The last time she'd seen you, you were nearly seventeen, doing your last performance with your ballet company in Spain that Alexia had to secretly buy tickets to see.

You'd gone to England then for a year or two and last Alexia heard you were dancing in France.

You fondly look down at the little boy as he crashes into you, sweeping his messy hair out of his eyes before sending him on his way.

Alba passes the baby to you and you hold her so comfortably that she must be yours.

You have children...and Alexia didn't know at all.

"Ale?"

"I'm fine," She tells Olga, sucking in a deep breath and painting on a smile," I'm fine."

But she's not fine and she's even more not fine when an arm pulls you closer by your waist and you back easily into the body of Grace Clinton.

Grace Clinton who plays for Lyon in France and who Alexia knows there is only one reason for why she would be in Spain now.

She's your wife.

You have matching wedding bands and the boy looks up adoringly at her.

You have children with a woman who is at least a decade older than you...

You look happy though, smiling up at her sweetly as she pulls faces at the baby.

"Alexia!" Eli's voice snaps Alexia out of her daze. "You send your son to see me but can't even greet your old mother?"

"You're not that old, Mama," Alexia says, kissing Eli's cheeks," You look good for your age."

"The comfort of good food and family," Eli replies," Come, sit, eat. There is more than enough to go around. Knowing your uncle, I will be sending everyone home with seconds!"

Alexia sits, talks and laughs but her eyes keep travelling back to you and your little family.

You're on the other side of the garden, with your baby and your wife and one of Alexia's cousins fawning over her.

"Bisabuela!" The little boy appears suddenly and Alexia jolts. He looks like you but he's got Clinton's mannerisms even though there's a big train on his shirt.

"Ah, James!" Eli says," What can I do for you?"

"Mami has lost Livy's bag again!" He tells her," Do you know where it is?"

"I will take it," Eli says," I am overdue Olivia cuddles. Sit, eat some food, James."

The boy - James - climbs up onto Eli's now abandoned seat and tucks into some brisket. He devours it in a way that only a growing boy can.

"Are you related to my Mami?" He asks suddenly and his eyes are on Alexia's.

She winces. "Yes. I am."

"You look like her like how Alba does."

"I'm Alba's sister."

James nods. "My sister Livy's named after Alba. Olivia Alba."

Alexia forces a smile on her face. "That's nice."

"I'm named after Bisabuela, kind of. James Eliot but Mami and Mummy call me James Eli."

"That's nice," Alexia says," It's always important to honour family."

Her eyes drift over to Jaume, who looks torn between approaching you or hanging back. He's always had some kind of hero worship for you, his mysterious older sister who lived with Jenni. He's still got that now as he steels himself and slowly heads over.

"How are you related to my Mami then? I know Alba's Mami's Tia so are you her Tia too?"

"I'm Bambi's-"

"That's not my Mami's name," James interrupts," Not really anyway. Sometimes Abuela calls her that but she says it's a nickname."

Alexia's heart stops. She knows that Abuela must be Jenni and she isn't sure what she expected. Of course Abuela is Jenni. Of course Alexia isn't.

James has no idea who she is.

James has no idea who Alexia is...who Alexia was to you.

"What's your Mami's name then?" Alexia asks instead.

"Beautiful. That's what Mummy calls her. Mummy's name is Amor..." He frowns. "Or Idiot because that's what Mami calls her when she's angry."

"When I knew your Mami, everyone called her Bambi."

James nods. "Like the deer. Abuela made me watch that film when she looked after me and Livy last week."

"It's a good film, isn't it?"

"It is!" His plate is empty and he frowns. Alexia's plate is full and he reaches for some of hers.

"James," Grace Clinton says," What have I said about stealing food?"

James puffs out his cheeks. "But she's family! She's Mami's Tia! You said I'm allowed to if it's family!"

"I said no even if it is family!"

Alexia can feel the weight of Grace's gaze on her even as she banters with her son. Alexia can feel herself being sized up as Grace takes Eli's seat and places James on her lap.

James eats off Grace's plate as the two adults stare at each other.

Alexia played against Grace a few times when Grace was just starting her international career. She's older now, wiser and captain of the team that had beaten Barcelona in the Champion's League final two times in a row just a few years ago.

Grace Clinton is your wife.

She is the other mother of your children. Sweet, sweet James and Olivia, who is now being gently passed into an awestruck Jaume's arms.

Alexia settles on giving her an awkward smile.

"James," Grace says, tickling his tummy," Can you go share our plate with Mami? I'm sure she's hungry."

James goes off quickly and now it's just Alexia and Grace.

"I love my wife," Grace says suddenly," And I love my kids. Coming back here with them is a lot for her, you have to understand."

"I do."

"She wants them to know her family outside of just Jenni. She comes from Spain and she doesn't want them to not know that part of themselves."

"I get it."

"Good." Grace nods. There's silence for a moment before Grace quells Alexia's fears in one sentence. "She's happy."

Grace fades into the background then as more of the family appears around the table, conversations washing over her as Alexia catches up with her cousins.

It takes a while before you approach and Alexia holds her breath. You're holding your breath too as you perch on Grace's lap, desperately clutching your baby tighter to you.

It's stupid, you think. You should be over this. It happened so long ago. You're a different person now but seeing Alexia put you on edge, especially so near your children.

You had nearly burst into tears seeing her talking to James, halfway between running towards them and just collapsing. Grace had gone in your place but you were even more unnerved now, having little Livy so close.

Olivia couldn't care less though, making soft little noises as she sat happily in your arms.

You peck at your food, unease rolling in your stomach as you felt Alexia's gaze on your side profile.

Grace adjusts behind you, a soft kiss being pressed against the back of your ear.

"Half," She implores," Please, beautiful. It's hot today. You didn't eat much at breakfast."

You had always had a strange relationship with food. It ebbed and flowed when you were a teenager. It had changed again when you were pregnant, another little human relying you on to keep them healthy.

But, still, sometimes you struggle when you feel off.

You nod though, unable to deny your wife anything.

Grace's arm around your waist is warm and comforting. The smile you know she is sporting is comforting too, even though you can't see it.

You usually went to these alone, once a year, even after you'd given birth to James. Grace's Spanish wasn't the greatest and her accent made her speaking almost unintelligible sometimes but it was nice she was here to support you, to whisk you and the kids away the moment you wanted.

You turn your head, meeting Alexia's eyes.

She smiled awkwardly at you and you smiled even more awkwardly back.

"His shirt," She says, the first words she's spoken to you all afternoon," He likes trains?"

You look down bashfully. "He took more after me than we expected."

Alexia bites her lip, debating back and forth whether or not to continue. "How long are you staying?"

"Two weeks."

"I...I have some trains at home. Jaume is too old for them now. Would James-?"

You nod, a real smile appearing on your face. "He would like that, thank you."

You tilt towards Alexia, showing her Olivia more obviously.

You don't let her touch your baby. You don't want her touching either of your children. But you can stomach this, for now.

"This is Olivia," You say," She's nearly one."

"She's beautiful."

Grace grins behind you. "Just like my wife."

#woso x reader #grace clinton x reader #grace clinton #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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mbsneur · 6 months ago

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My Love

Aitana Bonmati x Reader

Summary: your Aitanas girlfriend

Warnings: Pure Fluff, maybe bad ending

My Masterlist

please read this text before going to the story

please don't be so strict with me but rather write to me what I can do better or what you wished were different. also tell me if you find the story too long or too short.. Also write to me if you liked it. My requests are always open (and English is not my first language so don't be mad at me) and if you have any ideas for the future about who I should write please tell me… the topics I will choose by myself unless you have a request for one or two people I will Read everything.. in the next survey I will take a few ideas from the old survey and new ones…. now read and I hope you like it <33

(its a very short one)

aitana is your girlfriend, she is the most tender and sweetest person you have ever met

You know that she would drop everything if you called her and said you weren't feeling well

It was match day. You've been playing for Betis Sevilla since your childhood. It was the game against FC Barcelona. You already knew that you wouldn't have a chance

You're going to play against your girlfriend. You kept your relationship secret long enough until you went on vacation together during the summer break and decided to post a picture together so that everyone knew you were together. Since then, your team has been annoying you and keeps telling you that you are togheter with the best player

Also today they teased you about playing against Aitana, you haven't seen her in a long time, it was already overdue. You both have been very busy lately and have neglected your relationship a little, so you didn't really like the jokes your teammates made

“Can you please stop” you said slightly annoyed and pulled your jersey over your head The jokes will probably never stop

"Aww we're a little baby again today" Paula joked and pinched your cheek lightly. You clicked in annoyance and let Noelia braid your hair. It's a little ritual between you to braid each other's hair

You were all excited to play against Barça again. You finished lacing up your shoes and went into the tunnel. You acted as captains and stood right next to Alexia, the captain of Barça. You cracked your neck one last time before the referee announced it was time to line up

You stood there, gave a little applause and shook hands with your opponents. Aitana took your hand firmly in hers and gave you a little wink, which you accepted with a smile

it was kick-off. The game went well, even though you lost 5-1, you were still proud to be part of this team

1-0 Barcelona: Claudia Pina 26‘

2-0 Barcelona: Mariona Caldentey 44‘

2-1 Betis Sevilla: y/n 45‘

3-1 Barcelona: Caroline Graham-hansen 75‘

4-1 Barcelona: Salma Paralluelo 88‘

5-1 Barcelona: Salma Paralluelo 90+1‘

Even though you lost so much, you were still proud that the times were so far apart

After the game you all gave each other a handshake

Aitana ran up to you and hugged you tightly. "Hey you were great" she beamed at you with a huge smile

“Thank you aita you were pretty good too” you joked, smelling the sweet smell of her hair once again

"Would you like to come with me? I mean you're in Barcelona and I think your team will be able to do without you for the night or not?" she told you and put her arm around your shoulders to start the way to the cabins

you took a deep breath "okay but only if you cook for me" you raised your hand aitana laughed "sí I'll cook whatever you want" she said laughing and let go of you "well I'll wait for you outside my car" She said as she walked past and you nodded at her

You took a shower and told the coaching team that you would stay with Aitana and fly back alone tomorrow

About an hour later you were finished. You said goodbye to your team and headed towards the exit. The evening warmth of Barcelona hit your face. You looked for Aitana's car until she drove close to you

"Hola chica necesitas un conductor?"

She asks laughing and you ironically bump into her car. You walked in. It's been a long time since you looked in her car. After a moment she immediately pounced on you and bit lightly into your neck and cheek. You squealed and tried pushing her away laughing "aita aita stop" you say breathless with laughter

"I missed you so much" she tells you and places kisses on your cheek. You took her hands in yours and gave her a long kiss on the mouth

When you let go she looks at you with her sweet gaze. She licks her lips and blushes with embarrassment. You have kissed so many times but after such a long time it is always unique to kiss her again

"I missed you too" you say and smile slightly, everything is the same as before, her light ponytail, the smell of peppermint toothpaste when you kiss her and the gentle rose scent of her shower gel that is distributed in the air

"Do you want to go I'm pretty hungry" she said and rubbed her stomach lightly. She sometimes behaved like a little baby but that's what you loved about her, her funny faces that she sometimes gave you or she tickled you awake in the morning or crawled under your shirt you loved everything about her

"Yes we can go" you say, laughing slightly and giving her one last little kiss. She drove through the gate. On the car ride, you sang your favorite songs. Her hand didn't leave yours for a second

When you arrived at Aitana's house she opened your door and took your hand to escort you out. She carried your suitcase and looked for her key to the door

“You can take something from me to wear you know where everything is” she says and gave you a kiss before disappearing into the kitchen

You went into her bedroom and the smell of freshly washed laundry from her laundry basket immediately hit your nose. You did a little tidying up and taught the basket and carefully placed everything in your closet and looked for something to wear yourself You decided on a loose shirt and shorts. You changed your clothes and saw your selfie together in a frame on her dessert. A smile immediately came to your face you loved this woman.

You went into the kitchen and the smell of fresh ham hit your nose. You watched Aitana for a moment until you walked up to her and hugged her tenderly from behind. "Ay baby you're wearing my favorite shirt" she said, laughing slightly and frying a few tortillas in the pan you place your head on her shoulder and place small kisses on her neck

"can you promise me no matter how long we don't see each other or neglect each other that you'll never leave me" You say lovingly and notice how Aitana's stomach falls and rises

"I'll stay with you until you can't stand me anymore and even then I won't let you go you won't get rid of me that easily" she says with a slight smile

you beam across both cheeks "I love you Aita" you whisper in her ear

"I love you too cariño"

#woso fanfics #woso #woso community #fitblr #woso appreciation #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso smut #aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati x reader

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brain-rot-central · 2 months ago

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Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch 10

A/N: HI. SURPRISE CHAPTER RELEASE, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! If you're still here, I love you and kiss you passionately with tongue. Or hug you. Whichever you prefer.

Rating: Mature Word count: 6.1k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, a lot of fucking angst, anxiety depictions, blood mention, some tame descriptions of sexual acts Summary: Having been retrieved from the courtyard by Astarion, Tav and Astarion have a long, overdue discussion.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

Her heart hammers in her chest as they tear through the crowd, barely missing a step. Astarion sets the pace, his hand gripped tightly over her forearm. It’s all her feet can do to keep up lest she trip and ruin her gown further.

Tav’s mind races as she mulls over her conversation with Gale. As far as the wizard is concerned, Astarion has a right to know about her delicate condition. Fear strikes deep at the thought – she’d rather curl up and perish than face a reality where Astarion finds out.

Bleeding black lines of mascara brand her cheeks, makeup half removed after the events in the courtyard. Eyes linger over them as Astarion drags her through the ballroom, a few guests dipping their heads to chatter quietly to one another. Tav meets Marceline's questioning gaze for a moment, though their interaction is brief as Astarion catches on. He roughly jerks Tav’s arm forward, urging her to move faster.

“H-hey!” Tav shouts in protest, “I’m not an animal, Astarion! Easy!” She rips her arm from his hold, earning her an annoyed groan from Astarion. The delicate skin of her forearm tears on one of Astarion's nails and she winces. Blood blooms on the surface of the tiny wound and Tav is quick to put it to her mouth before the scent reaches Astarion's nose. “Where are you taking me, anyhow?” she asks, eyes fluttering as the blood reaches her tongue. Tav practically moans into her arm at the taste; it may be her own blood, but it still tastes exquisite.

“The office,” growls the vampire, void of much emotion.

Ah. The office. Where he fucked then nearly killed her a couple nights ago. Perhaps tonight will be when he finishes the job? Make her well and truly his? Her stomach churns at the idea.

“Why?” Tav inquires with a huff, still trying to match Astarion's immortal pace. “Why can't we just speak here?” The office is too secluded. Should Astarion try anything, she'd much prefer there to be witnesses.

The vampire lord stops without warning, Tav almost crashing into his back. He turns slowly; Tav instinctively takes a step back. Leaning toward her, Astarion says, “Do you need a play-by-play of every single thought running through my mind, dearest?” His face is wound tight with tension, muscles quivering over his jaw. Tav can see he's fighting the urge to bare his fangs at her. When Astarion realizes how unsettled she is, he softens his expression. “I’d like our conversation to be private.” He lifts his head then to survey the room. “Away from prying ears.”

Tav raises a brow in question. Following the vampire's line of sight, she catches Wyll's gaze upon them from across the ballroom. Concern is written plainly across the Duke's face. The thought of giving him a signal for help crosses her mind, but Tav only gives him a reassuring smile and a nod of her head.

It’s Wyll that concerns Astarion. Perhaps he fears that the Duke will intervene, should they remain here? He wouldn't be wrong – if Wyll were to witness any cruelty by Astarion’s hand, he wouldn’t hesitate to step forward. Tav has no doubts regarding that. But as she turns her attention to Astarion again, she finds him scowling deeply at her. As if he'd been privy to her own private thoughts.

Despite Astarion's visage, a strange feeling of comfort consoles her. At least someone will know her last whereabouts should things go awry.

“I see,” Tav manages to say. “Let’s be on our way, then.” It's taking everything she has not to turn and run from Astarion. The urge is tearing into her gut as she resumes her trail behind him. Astarion says nothing. Tav wonders if she's just given the green light to resume her own personal death march.

They cross the threshold into the foyer and Astarion stops again near the foot of the grand staircase. Lifting a hand, he rests it atop the newel post. The foyer is vacant save for the servants, rushing in and out of the ballroom, who are likely too preoccupied to notice their presence. Astarion turns again in Tav’s direction, furrowing his brow. Heat crawls up Tav’s neck as he studies her intently.

“Do you fear me, now?” the vampire asks. His voice is soft–barely above a whisper. He almost sounds… concerned?

Her mind blanks. “I…” A chill shoots down the length of her spine. Glass clinks in the background. All Tav can do is blink absently in response. Can he hear her thoughts?

Astarion tilts his head slightly to the left, eyes still glued to her form.

Impossible, she thinks. There's no way he's in my head.

…Is he?

Astarion suddenly pulls back. “I'll take your silence as a, ‘yes,’” he infers with a quick chuckle. He turns back in the direction toward the office. “Wonderful,” he sneers. Tav sprints behind to catch up, shaking her head.

Unsure as to exactly why, she finds herself mulling over Astarion’s question. Does she fear him? Why would he ever ask her something like that? Would the answer even matter? All good points to make, but the one thing that baffles her most is just how much she finds herself caring.

“You barely gave me enough time to give you an answer!” declares Tav. She looks down to her arm and brings the small cut to her mouth again. She needs something – anything – to help distract her from the rapid beating of her heart. From the edges now cut into the corners of her vision. Her body is preparing itself for a fight, to run. Pressure builds in her chest; the taste of blood on her tongue again is a soothing balm to her overexcited nerves.

“Well, you had to think about it!” the vampire exclaims. Astarion deftly grabs for the handles of the heavy office doors. Their latches disengage with a distinct click. “That's an answer in and of itself.”

Tav halts a few paces behind. She looks around the dimly lit foyer – they're still the only two occupants. “Must you jump to such catastrophic conclusions?” she asks, lowering her arm back to her side. As her attention returns to Astarion, she can't help but notice how the flickering light of the candelabras acts like shimmering waves over his platinum hair. Like the light of the moon over a restless sea.

“Are they catastrophic if they happen to be true?” questions Astarion, throwing the wooden doors open. He steps through the threshold and into the office. “Besides,” he says over his shoulder, “that's the most effective way to learn how to weather all the shit life throws at you.”

Tav scowls before following him inside. She closes the doors gently behind them. “Forever anticipating the end? Sounds horribly exhausting, to me.” She watches Astarion make his way to the small bar cart located to the left of his desk. On her own, Tav decides to follow.

“Such is life, darling,” he says wistfully, picking up a decanter filled with wine. Astarion pulls off the glass stopper and pours a generous amount into a glass, putting it to his lips near immediately.

“Your life, perhaps,” Tav chides. A craft of water stands next to the wine, and she pours some into a glass. She then dips a corner of a napkin into the glass, sweeping it under her eyes. “That's not reality for everyone else, Astarion.” Tav scowls as she inspects the black smeared into the napkin, performing the same act again until no mascara remains.

A roll of Astarion's eyes is all the answer she gets as he takes a long sip of wine. Tav then gracefully pulls the wine glass out of the vampire’s hand, firmly placing it on the bar cart. She looks at him as she lifts her head. “It doesn't have to be yours anymore, either,” says Tav, softly.

His eyes shift quickly between hers and the wine glass, his now vacant hand dropping unceremoniously to his side. “What are you doing?” Astarion asks, slightly annoyed.

“You drink more than you used to.” She speaks plain, neutral; careful not to impose bias of any sort.

The vampire scowls, mouth twisting into a hard line. “Oh? And does that bother you, mother dearest?” There's venom laced in his words – a clear indication that Tav has touched upon a particularly sensitive nerve. Offending him was something she wished to avoid, but she soon recognizes this as the perfect opportunity to push forward.

“I'm not going to sit back and watch you turn into some miserable wino.”

Astarion scoffs. “Oh, my sweet, I appreciate the concern. But I'd have to drink an entire cellar for any of this to even touch me.” In sheer defiance, he picks up the glass, bringing it again to his lips. “What does it matter, anyhow?” he says with a feigned lit, “Perhaps it'll make me less terrifying!”

At this point, Tav knows he's trying to goad her into a reactionary response. To give him anything that gives him higher ground. Shows him she's just as bothered by all of this as he is. “If we're going to have any sort of serious conversation, I need you here, Astarion,” she responds, calmly. She refuses to fall into his trap. They will speak plainly about this, even if she has to demand it.

“Darling,” says Astarion, his lips turning into a smirk, “have you been touched by fever? I'm standing right in front of you.”

Stubborn. He's so godsdamned stubborn.

Anger cuts through her core like a hot knife; her patience wears thin. “Do you want me to leave? Or will you finally agree to cut the bullshit?”

“Fine, fine,” Astarion sneers in defiance, tipping his head back as he downs the remainder of his wine. He slams the empty glass down on the bar cart. “I'll behave.”

Tav draws in a breath and lets a moment pass between them. Silence. Only the sound of their breathing fills the office. Tav's eyes wander to Astarion's hands as he begins playing with the ring on his left hand. Her gaze shifts to the wooden desk in the middle of the room. The ring case that was present days ago is missing.

It hits her then, that the ring Astarion fidgets with is the very same she gave him – True Love's Caress – his half of the lovers’ rings she found in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. A declaration of the vow she swore to protect him, always.

Astarion knows the weight that ring holds just as well as she does. Her stomach drops to the floor. “Wyll.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, though she knows Astarion can still hear. “You had Wyll reveal the truth? Are you trying to push me into his arms?”

His eyes dart instantly to her, ears twitching. Astarion's face contorts. Tav thinks she hears the rumble of a growl rise from the back of his throat, but as quickly as his anger rises, it fades. The only audible noise to come from him is a simple laugh. The vampire then treks to the other side of the room, taking a seat upon the chaise lounge. The sun has fully set by now – nothing but black is beyond the large frosted window behind him.

“Have you ever confessed your sins to someone you care about?” Astarion speaks to the floor, as if too ashamed to look at her. “I couldn't bear to see the look of disappointment on your face. Of disgust.” He rolls the ring again around his finger, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. His ruby eyes gleam in the dim light of the office. “I'd already lost you once. Can you blame me for not wanting to risk it again?”

Frustrated, Tav yells, “You had a chance to be honest with me!” Despite the tension that now hangs heavy in the air, Astarion’s admission isn’t lost on her. Losing her is what he fears. What lies at the heart of his dishonesty, and he's all but admitted doing whatever it takes to prevent that. Is it the declaration of love she’s been hoping for? Not quite, but it’s evidence that the shell is cracking, allowing for a look within. And if she continues pressing him, perhaps she’ll uncover even more. “You had a chance to be honest, and yet you still chose yourself. Your image, above us!”

The vampire abruptly throws up his hands. He lets out a laugh of disbelief, elbows coming to rest on the tops of his knees as he leans forward. His head hangs in his hands. “What else am I to do, Tavaria?” Astarion asks, muffled by the position of his hands over his mouth. A rhetorical question born of frustration, by the sound of it.

“So, that’s it? This is what you are now?” She weighs the weight of her next statement carefully, ultimately deciding to continue. “A coward?”

To the Hells with it. If there’s a chance she will die tonight, she may as well go out on her terms.

Astarion stands. “I beg your pardon?” he says, stalking toward her. He's practically growling, now. Rage simmers hot beneath his cool countenance.

Tavaria stares the vampire lord dead in the face. “You’re a coward, Astarion Ancunín,” she states. There's hardly any inflection to her voice; confidence saturates her tone. As he stops before her, she notices how much taller he is. How he seems to tower over her. Tav lifts her face and catches his jaw working, clenching tight. Astarion sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “It seems you have lost your manners,” he sneers.

Tav is quick to shoot back, “Have I? Or have I seen through you?” She knows him too well – how he adores playing with the truth.

Astarion’s fists clench rapidly at his sides. Yet, instead of erupting… he laughs. Quietly at first, gradually growing louder. Tav raises a brow, confused and also concerned by the scene unfolding before her, but stays silent.

“What am I doing?” Astarion ponders aloud. He lifts his hands to his face and rubs, digging his palms into his eyes. “The Gods must be having a field day seeing what I've been reduced to.”

“Reduced to what, exactly?” Tav asks with a slight tilt of her head. A handful of emotions wash over her – anger, confusion, fear, doubt. She isn’t sure which one she should listen to first. She isn’t sure if she should listen to any of them. “I'm not quite sure I appreciate your tone, Astarion.”

Astarion lifts his head near immediately, shouting, “A blabbering, lovesick fool!” He gestures wildly before her. “Look at me, Tavaria! I'm too godsdamned afraid to speak to you unless I have a few drinks in me!” He runs a slender hand through the silver locks atop his head, grabbing a fist full of curls as he pulls forward. “I'm a fucking mess!” the vampire admits with nervous laughter.

She stares blankly at him, an audible gasp falling from her lips. “Love..?” She reiterates, quietly. The word nearly saps all moisture from her mouth. She knows she heard him, but her brain is too shaken to properly receive the message. “You didn't tell me because you're lovesick?”

“Gods, Tavaria, again with this? We've already had this discussion!” Astarion yells back. “You can’t possibly be this obtuse.”

Deflection again. One of his favorite tactics.

The layers he's built around himself are quickly melting away. Astarion is grasping for control. Trying to push her out so as to not see his shame. His vulnerability. His heart. But Tav has already planted one foot within his walls, unwilling to give up the ground she's gained. She remains resilient.

“Is that what I’m to do, Astarion? Piece everything together and just assume how you feel? Like a dog that waits patiently for scraps at the dinner table?” She hardly recognizes her own voice. The ground feels unstable beneath her, as if it’ll crack and she’ll fall right through. She continues pushing forward in defiance. “This is the first inkling of a confession I’ve gotten from you in months–” Tav leans in toward Astarion, “–months! Do you realize that? Of course we're going to talk about this!”

The vampire growls, low and gruff within his chest. He places his hands over his hips and taps one foot against the ground. “What do you think all of this is, then?” Astarion then hums in question. “Do you think it's a game to me?”

“I don't know what you think it is,” Tav shoots back almost immediately. “I hardly even know who you are, at this point.”

“I really wish you would stop fucking saying that,” Astarion sneers. He places his hands over his hips, shifting his weight to one side.

“Should I take a page out of your book then, and lie to your face?” Tav realizes she's playing with fire the more she pushes, but she can't help herself. The smell of raw, open wounds fills her; she finally has him cornered. “Would you rather I fall to my knees and swear fealty to you, all while brandishing a dagger behind my back? Is that in more of a language you understand?”

Silence befalls the room. Astarion's gaze sits heavy on her, but Tav stands still. She watches as he shudders, turning away from her. Pain grips her chest.

For a brief moment, she questions if she's perhaps gone too far.

“I'm not going to harm you, Astarion,” Tav says, breaking the silence. She feels her heart sink further as Astarion drags a hand over his face. The vampire then pulls in a shaky breath.

“You already have.”

His words are an instant punch to the gut. Tav chokes.

“But so have I,” continues Astarion. “The first time I ever lay with you… It was under false pretenses.” The hand on his face raises to his hair, combing through. Astarion lifts his face with a half-empty smile. “We’ve been hurting one another, haven't we?”

That's it. The horrid realization of what their relationship boils down to. Tit for tat, bit by bit. Two steps forward and three back. Both too afraid to show their real faces. Pulling themselves back before they ever truly begin. The rare moments of a lull is where their love resides. When the masks finally slip off. The beautiful garden they ignore until it sets aflame. Drowning it in water, they have no choice but to hope for the best. Hoping they survive.

That is the reality of their love. That has been their love. Neither too eager to maintain it out of fear of being seen by the other. But when they do manage to put those feelings aside, their garden thrives.

“Do you love me?”

The question echoes within the depths of her mind, chilling her body to its core. She can hardly believe she asked it – and so boldly – but it doesn't make the inquiry any less honest. For once, she allows herself to speak from her heart.

“If you truly want to end this game between us, Astarion,” Tav states sternly, “then I ask you again: Do you love me?” He has no place to hide, this time. Nowhere to run, and she will use this to her full advantage. “Because if you don't, I will leave.” With growing confidence, she dares to stand before him. “Forever.”

And there it is–her ultimatum. Her declaration of being through with this charade. That she will take no more from him. And despite how her heart crumbles at the thought, Tav knows it would ultimately be for the best. She needs this from him, and she refuses to continue going with less than what she deserves.

Astarion's silver tongue moves along the inside of his cheek as he stares her down. A tongue so saturated in deceit, unhesitating to strike even her, should he demand it. His eyes narrow into thin slits and he draws a deep breath through his nose. “Do I desire you?” Astarion asks, tauntingly. He snickers as he leans forward, mouth hovering over hers. “Every corner of my mind is consumed by thoughts of you. Of us.” Astarion's eyes drop to her lips. “Thoughts of you in my arms. The smell of your hair filling my senses.” He lifts his gaze, eyes hooded. “The warmth of your body against mine.”

The air suddenly evaporates from her lungs, and Tav nearly chokes.

“Everything I do… I do it with us in mind. Because I love you,” he grounds out. “That's what you've been waiting to hear, isn't it?”

A shiver passes over her. “Not if it isn't true,” Tav says, weakly. Her head is spinning. Is he really saying this? Is this another one of his tricks?

Astarion reaches for her face and Tav flinches, still not used to his body heat. “Well, that's really too bad, because it is. And it nearly drives me out of my mind how much I love you. How often I think of you.” Tears threaten the corners of his eyes. She hasn't seen him cry since the night he learned the true nature of the poem carved into his back.

Tav goes slack within his embrace and her eyes flit closed. An odd sense of calm washes over her the panic gripping her heart seems to fade, replaced by warmth and longing. Desire, she realizes. True, unbridled desire for him. Another feeling she's tried to stifle out of shame, out of fear of being unrequited. And as she opens her eyes, she meets the shimmering ruby red of Astarion's irises. A lone tear streaks down his porcelain skin.

Tav throws her arms over the vampire's shoulders, settling closer to him. Astarion's arms then drop to her waist. He pulls her close, burying his face within the crook of her neck. She pants gently against the side of his face as his lips connect with the tender flesh of her neck, weaving her fingers through his hair.

“I love you, too. So much that I hate this,” Tav admits breathlessly. She feels Astarion freeze under her, but he doesn't pull away. “I have craved this for so long, Astarion. To be like this with you.” Her heart thuds loudly within her chest, ready to punch through the confines of her ribcage. “And I hate that you've made me wait this long for it.”

The arms around her waist tighten, one moving up to splay across her back. “You've any idea how nervous I was when I sought you out again?” Astarion says, voice quivering. “I was so sure you'd tell me to leave and never come back.”

Tav sucks in a sharp breath. Truth be told, she wanted to. Had convinced herself that she should have, and has been looking through that perspective ever since. But a deep, deep part of her was still hopelessly bonded to Astarion. The man she knew he was – not the creature that had replaced him. And when he laid her down so gently the first night of his return, carrying her into the bath after, it was reassurance enough that the same man was still in there. That this was still worth fighting for.

Tav’s stomach clenches as Astarion's hand continues to travel up, settling on the back of her neck. Heat pools within her lower belly as she melts further into his form. “Astarion,” she moans, the vampire now nipping at the shell of her ear. There’s a pulling sensation below her navel and her hand flies instinctively to her stomach. Gale's words suddenly echo within her mind; she sighs. There is no better time to tell him than now.

“I wish to tell you something,” Tav says, breathless.

Astarion simply hums his reply, not bothering to lift his face. His fingers dance along the small hairs at the base of her neck before cradling her head.

Tav peels herself gently from him, a shiver running through her. “Astarion,” she calls again to him. He finally meets her eyes. Curiosity colors his expression, but he watches patiently as Tav removes his hand from the small of her back, placing it over her abdomen. “Feel,” she instructs. Her heart hammers in her chest.

Astarion lifts a brow, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. “What exactly am I feeling for, love?” he laughs, “If you mean to tell me you're hungry, we can have–”

Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. Color drains from his face as he slowly turns his head, looking down at his hand. Astarion then kneels before her, placing his ear against her stomach. A near-silent gasp falls from the vampire’s lips. Tav grasps for his shoulders as the room around her spins. She feels faint, as if there isn't enough oxygen to breathe anywhere in Faerûn, let alone this room. That there is no corner of the world she can go to in order to escape this feeling.

Doubt creeps in. This was a mistake, she thinks. Selfish and impulsive. What was she thinking? How could she ever think this was a good idea? He wasn't supposed to find out, she should have never–

“Tavaria…” Astarion’s face settles into a scowl as he rises to his feet. “Is this some kind of joke?”

The world snaps back into focus. She suddenly realizes that she is alone with the most powerful vampire lord to have ever existed, who now thinks her greatest vulnerability is a crude trick. Her worst fear nearly confirmed. Tav’s stomach falls to the floor. The small hairs on her arms raise. Bile burns at the back of her throat.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, desperately.

“You get me to a point where I let you see my heart–” Astarion pauses, screwing his eyes shut, but continues, “I give you my back, only for you to do this?”

Anger. So much anger bleeds from him. Hurt, betrayal. Tav can hardly piece together all she's hearing. Her body begins shaking violently; adrenaline kicking in as she readies herself to flee, should need be. “I don't understand,” she manages to tell him. The truth, really. She hasn't a clue where he's going with this line of questioning.

The vampire scoffs, turning his head away from her. He shifts his weight to one side as his hands settle on his hips. “Do you really take me for that much of a fool?” accuses Astarion. “That I would accept you passing off someone else's child as ours?”

Her head spins as her mind quickly works through the events of the last three months. “There has only ever been you, Astarion,” Tav declares, fiercely. She should be the one asking him that same question. Is this how little he thinks of her? Even if she had a rotating parade of lovers each night in her bed, what business of his is that? They've made no promises to one another. No bond, no vows. Tav balls her hands into fists. How dare he insult her in such a way.

As if sensing her offense, Astarion sighs. “Forgive my skepticism, love, but I'm having a hard time believing this is true.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I feel like this would have happened already.” He snickers before adding, “We weren't exactly celibate, back then.”

The tension in her chest begins to unfurl. She realizes he has a point – not unlike the same conclusion she initially came to upon finding out. “I thought the same,” she admits. “I never thought twice about laying with you for that reason. I’m still not certain of how this happened, but I know this as truth, Astarion.”

Astarion shakes his head. “‘All the appetites of man will be returned to you,’” he recites, giving a short chuckle. “I guess that also extends to other things.” He raises his hands to hold hers, grimacing at how Tav flinches at the contact. “I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to paint you as ill-willed. I've done enough horrid things to you, including this. Had I known… I would have been more careful. I hope you don't believe I was planning this.”

Tav snickers. “You? Plan?” Despite her light tone, the urge to make him suffer tugs at her. She should be madder, demand more from him, make him feel even a sliver of the pain and anguish she's felt for weeks, now. Force him down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, to worship her, to vow never to betray her again. Her bones sing for it, blood clawing at the need for revenge. To make right all he's wronged against her.

But he's not that different from her, is he? Lost in his own darkness. A slave, no longer by physical means, but now to his own selfish desires. The new body he inhabits, the quickened mind; every thought and feeling amplified. It doesn't excuse his cruelty, but it gives strong reason. And she can tell he's beginning to understand the line between the two. He's trying rather than excusing his actions. That surely implies insight, does it not?

Tav decides that this will suffice, swallowing her own darkness back down. She will help bear the torch to aid him on his journey toward understanding. A way to pay him back for his patience during their quest against the Absolute. She'd nearly killed him, more than once, yet still he returned to her tent night after night to hold her through every breakdown. Every rotten urge that dared to swallow her whole. He gave her the unwavering support she needed, even if it wasn't what she deserved. And he never so much as asked for anything aside from her love in return.

The raw vulnerability Astarion is finally presenting to her… This is all she's wanted from the beginning.

Him.

The side of him that was and is hers. The man she fell in love with. And as if coming to a clearing in the middle of a lush meadow, he finally, finally, stands before her. Tav can't help but smile.

“I’ve been known to have some good ideas,” Astarion says in jest, returning her smile. A few moments pass before he gathers her hands within his, bringing each to his mouth. “So… what comes now?” He kisses over her knuckles, then leans forward to kiss between her brows. Tav gives him a puzzled look, and he quickly clarifies, “Vampiric children are rare, but I would completely understand if this isn't what you want.”

Choice. He's giving her choice.

Tav’s eyes widen with surprise. “Oh, no, I'm…” Her voice trails off as her gaze falls to the side. She can feel the faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I'm almost beyond that point, now. I think.” Numbers fly through her mind. Just how long has it been, she wonders? Perhaps another visit to Jaheira wouldn't hurt.

“So you're keeping it?” Astarion asks, raising a brow.

Tav is quick to nod. “Y-yes,” she stammers, “I don't expect anything from you.” She dares herself to meet his gaze. “Unless you want to.” Her heart is lodged in her throat as she waits for his reply. It’s only fair that she gives him, too, the chance to choose.

Astarion's eyes wander over her face. He's still holding her hands, but he moves now to intertwine their fingers. “Do you?”

A searing pain shoots through her chest. He's deflecting? Why? “That's not what I asked you, Astarion.” Tav’s voice trembles as she blinks at him. She feels herself fading. Splitting from herself. She begins to shake again, fear bubbling over.

It was stupid to think he'd want this. He hates children; do you not remember his first reaction to Yenna? The disgust? Why would your child be any different? This is a mistake, this is wrong, you ignorant little–

“I want to,” Astarion declares, wrapping his arms around her waist. He speaks against her ear, “So, tell me, darling: Do you?”

She returns to herself at the first sound of his reply, and Tav nods her head wildly in agreement. Her throat tightens suddenly, heat curling up her face. The familiar sting of tears prickle the corners of her eyes. “Yes,” she states emphatically, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses the side of his face. “Yes, Astarion!”

“Then it’s settled,” says the vampire lord. He pulls his head back from her to observe her face, a smile tugging on his mouth. “We… are expecting.”

She's overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions that wash over her. Happiness, frustration, relief. Happy and relieved by this outcome, but also frustrated that it’s taken so long to get here. It’s easy for her to identify those feelings, but there's another whose identity is foreign to her. It nags at her subconscious, itching to be let out of its cage. It lashes wildly against her mental restraints.

Their eyes meet. Tavaria’s gaze shifts momentarily to his lips and then back again. Astarion does the same. He lingers over her mouth a bit too long before lazily dragging his eyes back up her face. Heat dances under her skin. The room suddenly feels too warm. Scorching.

“Love,” Astarion whispers quietly against her lips. He drops his forehead against hers, hands settling on the curve of her hips. They lightly fist the fabric of her emerald gown.

Her head spins as her senses are flooded. The thick smell of food trailing down the hall and the faintest hint of pipe smoke that clings to his clothes, mixing with his cologne. The delightful pressure of Astarion’s hands on her body. The warmth radiating off his body, so close to hers.

Safe.

She feels safe within his embrace.

A rhythmic pulsing starts at the apex of her thighs, desire pooling low in her belly. Astarion's chest rises and falls in shorter intervals. The scent of his cologne sits heavy within her nose, a smell so entirely him, and her eyes fall closed, instinctively rolling back into her head. The flames of arousal lick pleasantly over her core.

“Tavaria…”

And as quickly as her name drops from his lips, she ignites.

She rushes forward, capturing Astarion’s lips in a searing kiss. He groans in surprise against her mouth, a hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. Tav’s jaw goes slack and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She winds her hands through his hair, grabbing desperately at fistfuls of silver as Astarion nips at her lower lip. Pulling her closer, Tav hisses as she feels the outline of him stirring to life against her center. She sneaks a hand down between them to cup him through his clothes.

Astarion groans, pulling her head roughly to the side before delving into the nape of her neck. He traces the faint scars along her skin with his tongue before closing his mouth over them, sucking hard. “Mine,” he hisses against her neck, the hand still on her hip tightening.

She wants to reply, to tell him yes, she’s his, has always been his, but all she manages is a wanton moan as he sucks feverishly at her neck again. Tav scrambles for the zipper on the back of her dress, desperate for the touch of his hands along her heated flesh.

“No,” Astarion grumbles, holding her hands steady.

“Astarion, please,” Tav begs.

“Not here.”

The sting of rejection ghosts along her heart. Tav pulls back from him as she gives him a questioning glance, panting heavily. The room around them comes back into focus, the fire of her arousal being doused.

As if sensing her hurt, Astarion says, “Upstairs. I would like to do this properly.” A blush sits across the vampire’s face, his eyes glazed over with lust. His chest heaves. He means not to reject her; he wants to take her to bed.

Her heart swells once again. “Take me,” Tav coos, resting her head against his. Her eyes fall closed as she kisses him. Every fiber of her being sings to him. Calls to him, wants him to devour her. She craves the feel of strong hands along her sore breasts, like a soothing balm. Those hands then diving down to explore the ripening expanse of her stomach. Further still, until those fingers delve deep, deep within her. Tav aches for him, she realizes. Stronger than ever before. “Please,” she begs, near silently. The fire within her burns near out of control. If he doesn’t act soon, she will be lost.

Astarion pulls away again, groaning at the loss of contact. Tav can hardly keep herself from looking between his legs. His cock strains heavily against the confines of his trousers and she bites her lower lip in anticipation. Astarion laughs as he catches her gaze, but he grabs her hand and leads them both toward the exit. “Come then, my love,” he coos as he throws open the door, leading them both out into the foyer.

#ascended astarion #sotlc #my writing #tavstarion #bg3 fanfiction #ascended astarion x tav #durgestarion

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enchantedchocolatebars · 1 month ago

Text

Witte Solstice - Chapter 31

Cover art by @leespinoodle.

Fic written by me (enchantedchocolatebars) and @leespinoodle.

Summary: It's winter in the Boiling Isles, and Caleb prepares to celebrate the solstice with his wife, his friends… and hopefully, with Beardo Philip! Philip swears he'll never partake in the satanic holidays of those demonic witches. But when Caleb invites him over for the solstice… maybe he'll find himself making an exception.

Ao3 version

(AAA, LAST CHAPTER!! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS STORY IS GOING TO BE OVER AFTER THIS!!! 😭 😭 😭 Thank you to everyone who took the time to read it, and a special thanks to @leespinoodle for being my companion throughout this writing journey! I highly recommend checking out their works since they're a really talented writer. This story, in particular, will always mean a lot to me since it's my first ever completed collaborative fic with a friend. I'll always go back and reread it whenever I can. But anyway, yeah! Hope everyone has a Happy New Year + a flourishing 2025! I'm defo going to be taking a small break after this (TIRED), but expect to see more fics, fic requests, headcanons, written works, etc. from me in the future. I'LL ALSO BE GETTING TO THE ASKS IN MY INBOX!)

Enjoy!

Soft golden light arose in the sky the next morning as Beardo Philip gently stirred in his sleep.

When he awoke, he let out a longish yawn, sitting up in bed to stretch his arms.

His blue eyes soon began to survey the spare room he was in, recalling a few of the events from yesterday.

Philip remembers having spoken to Caleb, as well as being led into this room after their talk.

Fables such as "The Ant and the Grasshopper" and "The Lion and the Mouse" were also fresh in his mind... for some odd reason.

Slipping out of the quilt that covered him, Philip headed to the door.

...

Caleb sat at the kitchen table, nursing a hot whiskey tonic. He looked up as Philip stepped out of the spare room. "Good morning," he said softly. "How are you feeling? I'd imagine you have quite the headache."

The second Caleb said that, Philip felt the pain in his head return.

"Ugh, don't remind me...," he calmly groaned, taking a seat at the table. "I'm fine, by the way. Slept fairly well. You?"

"I barely slept a wink," Caleb admitted. "The last of the guests left shortly after dawn, so I just laid down for a bit before getting up to make myself a tonic. Would you like one?"

Philip gave a slow, restful nod. "A tonic sounds fine. Is it feasible for you to make tea as well?" he requested.

"Of course." Caleb stood to set a kettle on the stove. "Anything to eat? We have bread and pottage from yesterday's supper."

"I'll have bread," Philip calmly spoke to Caleb as he tried piecing together the sober apology he was planning on making to the elder.

In his mind, it was long overdue.

Once the tea and tonic were done, Caleb brought them over to the table, along with a loaf of bread and a knife. "Here you are. Something on your mind?"

"Thank you." With breakfast now in his possession, Philip took hold of the wooden teacup, curling his fingers around the handle as he brought it to his lips, blowing the steam that arose from the liquid.

After a long sip, he released a breath.

The tea was black and plain, just how he liked it.

He set the cup down.

Philip was unprepared for Caleb's question.

It was evident to the elder that there was something on his mind.

"Hm?!" Philip went, quickly shifting his gaze to his teacup as he saw his reflection ripple through the liquid like little waves until it stilled.

He soon sighed, looking up at Caleb with regretful eyes.

"It's just..." Philip sighed once more. "I'm… I'm sorry, Caleb. For yesterday. I... very much regret not making a genuine arrival to your party. And..." Philip drew a long, deep breath and let it out.

"... I apologize for not visiting you often. I know that Yule is over, but I had a gift that I wanted to give you. I'm not sure if it'll mean much now."

"A gift? You didn't have to bring me a gift. You know that spending time together would have been enough of a gift for me," Caleb said, sitting back down.

Philip nodded. "I understand. However, I still wish to give you what I made. It's something I know you'll find fetching. View it as a humble apology gift from me to you. Would you mind opening your hands up?"

Caleb tilted his head questioningly but held out his hands.

Reaching a hand into his pocket, Philip pulled out his gift and placed it into Caleb's hands.

Caleb held a cute, delicately painted carving of a small yellow duckling with an orange bill and black eyes that had white pupils within his palms.

The bill was meticulously crafted to make the duck look cheerful.

As a small gag, the duck's lively aura is complimented by a single squeaky noise that acts as a quack.

Caleb gently cradled the wooden duckling in his hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. He smiled softly. "Thank you, Philip. It's lovely."

With closed eyes, Philip returned Caleb's expression as he felt the heavy burden of shame and regret that he once felt lifted from his back by his brother's smile. "You're quite welcome." He soon opened his eyes.

"Also, Caleb, if it's not too much trouble, could you let your cardinal know that I offer my deepest apologies to him? Admittingly, I wasn't the kindest to young Pancake the other day."

"That's not his... Alright, I'll let him know," Caleb said.

…

After breakfast had concluded, Beardo Philip was ready to return to his cave.

He smiled a small, somewhat gloomy smile.

"I... guess this is goodbye then...," Philip spoke as he sighed, his tone soft and tender as he turned to face Caleb while standing near the front door, now dressed in his blue coat.

The brunette did his best to avoid sounding too down about his departure.

Caleb reached out to pull Philip into a hug. "Remember, you're always welcome here. Don't be a stranger, now."

Philip's smile went soft as he hugged his brother back, happy to be in his caring and kind embrace. "I'll make sure to remember that, Caleb Clawthorne."

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movingmusically · 1 month ago

Text

Caught Feeling: A Stroke of Intimacy - One Shot

Author’s Note:

I’ve been seeing some set pictures pop up again, and it’s made me miss Hank, so here’s a piece I’ve had sitting in drafts for a while.

Word Count: 5,304

Masterlist

The attic at my mum’s house smelled like old wood and dust, with just the faintest hint of lavender from the sachets she insisted on hiding in every corner. It had been years since I’d been up here, but it looked almost exactly the same—a time capsule of mismatched furniture, faded holiday decorations, and boxes full of forgotten treasures that Mum had always sworn she’d sort through “one day.” That day had apparently come.

Mum had roped us in to help her with a long-overdue clear-out, claiming she’d finally reached her limit with the clutter. “I don’t even know what half of this stuff is anymore,” she’d said, hands on her hips as she surveyed the mess. “It’s time to let go.” Whether or not that would actually happen remained to be seen, but Hank, of course, had jumped at the chance to help.

Now, a couple of hours in, I was starting to think he regretted it. From my spot on the landing, I could hear him shuffling around up there, the occasional curse muffled by the beams as he ducked and dodged low-hanging obstacles.

“You alright up there?” I called, grinning to myself.

“Never better,” came his reply, tinged with sarcasm. “Your mum’s got enough Christmas decorations to start a department store, by the way.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Tell me something I don’t know. Did you find the box labelled ‘mystery trinkets’? That’s her favourite.”

There was a pause, followed by a muffled groan of exertion. “If by ‘mystery trinkets’ you mean twenty different snow globes, then yes. Got it covered.”

Mum appeared at the bottom of the stairs just then, holding two mugs of coffee. “Is he still alive up there?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye.

“Barely,” I replied, loud enough for Hank to hear. His exaggerated sigh echoed down to us, making us both laugh.

It had been Hank’s idea to turn this into a full-day event, complete with lunch breaks and frequent coffee runs. “Might as well make it fun,” he’d said with that easy smile of his, already rolling up his sleeves before Mum could even ask for help. It was one of the things I loved most about him—the way he made everything feel lighter, even tedious chores like this.

“I’m almost done!” Hank called down, his voice slightly breathless. A second later, there was the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floorboards, followed by an impressive thud.

“Hank?” I called again, my tone edging toward concern.

“Fine!” he shouted back. “Nothing broken. Except maybe my pride.”

Mum chuckled, shaking her head as she handed me one of the mugs. “He’s a keeper,” she said with a knowing smile before heading back to the kitchen.

By the time Hank finally emerged, hauling the last box down to the landing, he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a particularly vengeful spider. Cobwebs clung to his hair and shirt, and there was a faint smudge of dust on his cheek. Despite the state of him, his grin was full of smug satisfaction, like he’d just conquered some great feat.

“Last one,” he announced, dropping the box with a dramatic flourish. He wiped his hands on his jeans, glancing at me with a twinkle in his eye. “You’re welcome.”

I bit back a laugh, stepping closer to brush a stray cobweb from his shoulder. “You look like you just survived a horror movie.”

He swiped a hand through his hair, only managing to make it worse. “Pretty sure your attic’s haunted. I’m half convinced I heard something whispering ‘leave while you still can.’”

“You’re fine, drama queen,” I teased, plucking another cobweb from his shirt before reaching up to brush the smudge of dust from his cheek. “It was probably the lavender sachets.”

His expression softened, and for just a moment, he leaned into my touch, his cheek pressing lightly against my hand. The simple act sent a pang of warmth through me, but before I could dwell on it, he straightened, flashing me a lopsided grin. “Don’t know what you’d do without me.”

“Get the boxes down myself?” I quipped, earning a mock glare.

As I glanced down, my attention caught on the label of the box he’d carried down—my name, scrawled in my teenage handwriting. “Hang on,” I said, crouching beside it. “This one’s mine.”

Hank followed me down, crouching behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his curiosity palpable as he peered over. “What’s in it?”

I shrugged, peeling back the tape. The smell of old paper and charcoal wafted up as I opened the flaps, revealing a stack of sketchbooks, some loose papers, and a few half-empty tins of pencils. “Looks like my old art stuff.”

“You used to draw?” he asked, his voice soft with interest.

I nodded, flipping through one of the sketchbooks. “Yeah, all the time. I took art class in school—actually thought about pursuing it for a while before vet school won out.”

He kissed my shoulder, his lips warm and soft against my skin. “Why’d you stop?”

I hesitated, skimming through the pages. “Life, I guess. Vet school took up all my time, and then… I don’t know. I just kind of fell out of the habit.”

Hank didn’t say anything, just hummed thoughtfully, his breath brushing against my neck as he studied the page I’d turned to. It was an old drawing of a bowl of fruit, complete with the wonky shading I’d never quite mastered. I laughed softly at the memory, tracing a finger over the edge of the paper.

“That one’s not bad,” he offered, his chin nudging my shoulder.

“Not bad,” I echoed with a smirk. “Wait till you see the next one.”

I turned another page, showing him a rough sketch of a model seated on a stool, her pose casual but elegant. “We did a lot of life drawing back then.”

“Life drawing?” he repeated, his brow arching with interest. “Like people?”

“Yeah. We had a different model every week. It was… fun. Relaxing, in a way.”

Hank hummed again, his eyes lingering on the sketch. “You’re really good.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I was okay. It’s been years, though.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still be good.” He pressed another soft kiss to my shoulder, his lips lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You ever think about picking it up again?”

I shrugged, closing the sketchbook. “Maybe. Life’s been busy.”

Hank didn’t say anything else, just nodded thoughtfully, his arms giving my waist a gentle squeeze before he stood. I could see the gears turning in his head, but at the time, I didn’t think much of it.

A week later, I came home to find the apartment eerily quiet.

“Hank?” I called, stepping into the living room and setting my bag down on the sofa. My voice echoed slightly, the usual hum of music or clatter from the kitchen conspicuously absent. “You here?”

“In the bedroom!” His voice drifted down the hall, warm and inviting, with a trace of something that made me pause. Curiosity piqued, I slipped off my shoes and followed the sound, my steps slowing as I approached the door.

When I opened it, I stopped in my tracks.

The space had been transformed. The bed had been pushed to one side, replaced by a single stool set in the centre of the room. A soft, golden glow came from the table lamp in the corner, bathing the space in warmth, the light catching on a makeshift easel positioned at the perfect angle to the stool. Beside it was a neat stack of fresh paper and an array of pencils and charcoal sticks, all arranged with careful precision.

And then there was Hank, standing by the stool in nothing but a pair of black boxers, his arms crossed over his chest, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He looked like something out of a magazine, the sharp lines of his body softened by the warm light, his posture both casual and confident. My breath caught as I took it all in.

“What… what is all this?” I asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me, the words tumbling out in a mix of awe and disbelief.

He shrugged, the grin widening just a bit. “Thought I’d surprise you. You said you liked life drawing, and I figured… well, I could use a bit of sitting still. Not something I’m particularly good at.”

I blinked, my heart swelling with affection. He wasn’t joking—he’d really gone through all this trouble just to recreate something I’d casually mentioned in passing. My throat tightened as I struggled to find the words. “Hank…”

“It’s no big deal,” he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “Just thought it might be fun. You’ve been working so hard lately, and… well, you deserve a break.”

The lump in my throat made it hard to speak, but I managed a small, wobbly smile. “This isn’t just ‘no big deal,’ Hank. This is… really thoughtful. Thank you.”

His grin softened, and he gave a little shrug, suddenly almost shy. “So… you up for it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I crossed the room to run my fingers over the pencils. “You’re wonderful, you know that?”

“Yeah, but it’s only fair,” he said, his tone teasing but genuine. “You’ve always got my back. I just wanted to do something for you.”

The warmth in his words settled over me, filling the space between us with something soft and intimate. I reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, my fingers trembling slightly as I picked up a sheet of paper and placed it on the easel. “Alright,” I said, my voice steadying. “Let’s do this.”

Hank’s grin returned, this time with a playful edge. He stepped over to the stool, dropping onto it with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, coach. How do you want me?”

“Comfortable,” I said, smirking as I selected a pencil. “But… maybe sit a little straighter. Hands on your knees.”

“Bossy,” he muttered, adjusting himself with mock reluctance. Finally, he settled, his posture relaxed but composed, and the sight of him made my breath hitch. The light from the lamp painted soft shadows over his shoulders and chest, highlighting the lean definition of his muscles. There was something about the way he sat there, completely at ease under my gaze.

“Like this?” he asked, his brow arching in a way that made my heart flutter.

“Perfect,” I murmured, swallowing hard as I brought the pencil to the page. My hand trembled slightly, the weight of the moment pressing on me, but before I could make a single mark, Hank spoke again.

“Draw me like one of your French girls.”

The laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it, loud and sudden, and I had to put the pencil down for a second, wiping tears from my eyes. “Oh my God, no talking.”

He winked, leaning back slightly. “Gotta keep it fun.”

Still smiling, I picked up the pencil again, letting the familiar rhythm of sketching take over. At first, it felt awkward, my strokes hesitant, my mind too caught up in the fact that I was sketching him. But as the lines began to take shape, the old familiarity returned, the movements soothing and exhilarating all at once.

Hank stayed still, his eyes soft and steady as they followed my every movement. The quiet stretched between us, comfortable and filled with the sound of pencil on paper. Every now and then, I’d glance up, my gaze lingering on the curve of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble on his cheeks, the way the light played over his collarbone.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured after a while, his voice breaking the spell.

“Hmm?” I glanced at him, blinking as if coming out of a trance.

“Drawing. You’ve got this… focus.” His lips curved into a faint smile. “It’s kind of hot.”

I laughed, shaking my head as heat crept up my neck. “You’re supposed to be still.”

But the longer I worked, the harder it became to focus. The lines blurred as my mind wandered, and I found myself watching him more than the page. There was something intoxicating about the way he sat there, so open and vulnerable, he looked so effortlessly beautiful it made my chest ache.

I set the pencil down and stepped around the easel, my feet carrying me to him without a second thought.

Hank’s eyes met mine, a spark of curiosity lighting up his gaze as I stopped in front of him, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Finished already?”

“Not quite,” I said softly, reaching out to brush my fingers along the curve of his shoulder. His skin was warm, his muscles taut beneath my touch, and the way he leaned into it made my breath catch.

“You’re supposed to be drawing me,” he murmured, but his voice lacked any real conviction.

“I think I’m done with that for now.”

I closed the distance between us, my hands finding their way to his jaw as I tilted his face up to meet mine. His breath hitched, and then his hands were on me, sliding around my waist, pulling me into his lap in one fluid motion. The warmth of his skin seeped through my clothes as our bodies pressed together, and I couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped my lips.

His gaze flickered to my mouth before meeting my eyes again, I leaned in, my lips finding his in a kiss that was soft and tentative, a gentle exploration, slow and full of promise.

Hank’s lips parted under mine, the soft brush of his tongue coaxing me further, drawing me into the warmth of him. My hands slid up from his jaw to thread through his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as I tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His grip on my waist tightened, anchoring me against him, the heat of his bare skin beneath my palms sending a shiver down my spine.

He kissed me like he had all the time in the world—slow, deliberate, his lips and tongue exploring mine with a precision that made me forget everything else. The makeshift studio, the forgotten sketch on the easel—it all faded away, leaving only the quiet, electric intimacy between us.

I shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the warmth of his hands as they slid lower, settling just above the curve of my hips. His thumbs brushed against the hem of my shirt, teasing the skin there, and I felt his breath hitch as I broke the kiss, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Hank,” I murmured, my voice catching as his hands moved, slipping beneath the fabric to rest fully against my skin. There was something about the way he touched me—like he couldn’t bear to be separated by even a thin layer of clothing—that made my heart ache.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then another to the line of my jaw. His lips trailed lower, finding the sensitive spot just beneath my ear, and I felt myself melt, my fingers tightening in his hair as a soft sigh escaped me.

“Every time,” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and rough. “Every time, you undo me.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through me, my chest tightening with the overwhelming need to show him just how much he meant to me. My fingers slipped from his hair to cradle his face, gently guiding him to look at me. His eyes searched mine, softening as they held my gaze.

“Do you even realise what you do to me?” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. My thumb brushed over his cheek, tracing the faint stubble there. “It’s not just the way you touch me or kiss me—it’s everything. The way you care, the way you make me feel seen, the way you make me laugh when I need it most.”

His brow furrowed slightly, as though my words caught him off guard, but the corner of his mouth lifted in that lopsided smile I loved so much. “You know that goes both ways, right?” he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with something vulnerable. “You’ve changed everything for me, Y/N. You make me feel… whole. In a way I didn’t even know I was missing.”

Hank’s lips curved into a soft smile, his blue eyes holding mine as his hand brushed lightly over my back. “You know, I still think about that night you walked into Paul’s,” he said, his voice quieter now, reflective.

I tilted my head, my fingers idly tracing a line along his collarbone. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” he replied, his tone gentle but insistent. “It’s not every night someone like you walks into a place like that. You… stood out.”

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “I didn’t feel like I stood out. I felt completely out of place. I wasn’t even sure why I went in. I just…” I hesitated, the memory of that night still vivid. “I couldn’t face another night of being alone. I needed to do something different.”

His hand stilled against my back, and I glanced up to find him watching me, his gaze soft and unguarded. “Well, whatever it was, I’m glad you did. That night… it felt different the second you walked in.”

I raised an eyebrow, my lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Different, huh? What, you don’t get random women walking into your bar all the time, asking you to surprise them with a drink?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not like you.” His voice dropped slightly, taking on a more serious note. “You weren’t there to impress anyone. You didn’t try to be something you weren’t. You just… were. And I don’t know, it caught me off guard. In the best way.”

I felt my cheeks flush, the sincerity in his words making my chest ache. “I remember seeing you as soon as I walked in. You were leaning against the bar, looking like you owned the place.”

His grin widened. “What can I say? It’s my natural state.”

Rolling my eyes, I laughed softly. “You looked so at ease, like you belonged there. And then you caught me looking, and… I don’t know. It felt like you could see right through me.”

“That’s because I could,” he said simply, his hand sliding up to cup my face. “You walked in looking like you’d rather be anywhere else but there. But at the same time, you stayed. You didn’t turn around. You sat down, and you let me surprise you.”

I smiled, leaning into his touch. “It was a good drink.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “It was an Old Fashioned, not exactly revolutionary.”

“Yeah, but it was exactly what I needed,” I said, my voice softening. “And so were you.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the steady hum of the city beyond the window. Hank’s thumb brushed over my cheek, his gaze searching mine. “You know,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful, “sometimes it feels like… fate.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “Fate?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “I mean, think about it. You could’ve walked past Paul’s that night. You almost did. But you didn’t. You came in. And I just happened to be there. It feels like… like we were supposed to meet.”

I blinked, his words settling over me like a warm blanket. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic,” he said with a shrug, though his eyes betrayed the depth of his belief.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You might be right. Maybe it was fate. Maybe I was meant to walk into that bar, and you were meant to be there, leaning against the counter, looking at me like you already knew me.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was slow and full of unspoken emotion. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine, his hands steady against my back. “Whatever it was, I’m glad it brought you to me.”

“Me too,” I whispered, my heart swelling in my chest.

I smiled, brushing my fingers along the curve of his jaw, my heart aching with how much I loved him. “It’s funny,” I said softly. “Sometimes I think I’m the one who’s got it all figured out. Then you go and do something like this—set up an easel in the middle of our bedroom just because I mentioned I used to draw. You always know exactly what I need, even when I don’t.”

Hank’s hands tightened on my waist, his grip grounding me as his gaze held mine. “It’s not hard,” he said simply, his tone filled with quiet sincerity. “Loving you? It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

The way he said it—not as a grand declaration but as an unshakable truth—made my chest tighten, my throat burning with the weight of my emotions. I kissed him, my lips brushing over his in a soft, lingering caress. His hands moved, sliding up my back as he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss until I was completely lost in him.

I broke away just enough to rest my forehead against his, my fingers tracing light patterns along the back of his neck. “I don’t say it enough,” I murmured. “But I hope you know how much I love you.”

The corners of his mouth curved into a soft smile, and he brushed his lips over mine again, the kiss tender and unhurried. “You show me every day,” he replied, his voice steady and full of quiet conviction. “And I’ll never stop showing you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I let out a shaky laugh, resting my hands on his shoulders as I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Hank let out a quiet chuckle, his hands moving to cradle my face. “Funny,” he said, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing since the moment I met you.”

I kissed him again, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude I felt for him into it, and his response was immediate, his arms wrapping around me like he couldn’t bear to let me go. The kiss deepened, his lips and tongue coaxing me into a slow, deliberate rhythm that made the world fade away. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—just full of quiet, unspoken promises, every touch and caress saying what words never could.

And in that moment, with his hands steadying me, his warmth grounding me, and his love surrounding me, I knew with absolute certainty that he was it for me, just as I was for him.

Hank’s hands slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing over my ribs before they settled on the buttons of my shirt. His gaze met mine, quiet and intent, as if asking for permission without words. I gave a small nod, my breath catching as his fingers deftly undid the first button, then the next, his movements slow and deliberate.

He leaned forward as he worked, his lips pressing soft kisses to my skin with each button he freed. The hollow of my throat, the curve between my ribs—his mouth left a trail of warmth that sent shivers cascading through me. By the time he reached the last button, my heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

The shirt slipped from my shoulders, pooling behind me, but Hank didn’t rush. His hands came to rest at my waist, his thumbs brushing over the bare skin there as his lips found the swell of my chest. He kissed me slowly, unhurried, his mouth lingering as though he wanted to savour every inch of me.

“Stand for me,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with need.

I did as he asked, my knees trembling slightly as I rose to my feet. Hank followed the movement with his hands, sliding them down to the waistband of my trousers. He knelt in front of me, his fingers hooking into the fabric as he began to ease them down. His lips brushed along my hip as he worked, his touch sending sparks dancing over my skin.

When the trousers pooled at my feet, he held onto my hands lightly for balance as I stepped out of them. His hands lingered, steadying me before trailing back up my legs. His lips followed, brushing kisses along the bare skin of my thighs, his gaze never leaving mine.

Once I was free of the last layer of clothing, Hank rose to his feet, his hands finding their place on my hips again. The heat of his skin against mine sent a rush of warmth through me, and when his mouth captured mine, it was slow and deliberate, his lips moving against mine with the kind of unspoken devotion that made my chest ache.

We didn’t speak as we shed the final barriers between us. My hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, my fingers trembling slightly as I pushed them down. He stepped out of them easily, his hands steady on my waist as though he could sense my nerves and wanted to ground me.

Together, we made our way to the bed, the world narrowing to just the two of us. Hank lay me back against the sheets, his body following mine as he settled over me. His hands moved with a tenderness that felt all-encompassing, tracing the curve of my waist, the line of my thigh, as though committing every part of me to memory.

His lips found mine again, their movements slow and deliberate, a quiet exploration that deepened with each passing second. He kissed me as though we had all the time in the world, his touch reverent, his body pressing into mine with a warmth that left me breathless.

When he finally aligned himself, the tip of him pressing at my entrance, he paused, his eyes meeting mine with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver through me. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed inside, the stretch of him filling me completely, stealing the air from my lungs. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, his jaw tightening as he stilled, letting me adjust, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.

The warmth of his breath fanned over my lips as he exhaled shakily, his hands tightening on my hips as if grounding himself. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke, the words barely audible. “Perfect,” he murmured, his tone filled with reverence.

He began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm, every thrust deliberate and precise, the pressure of his body against mine igniting a fire that spread through every nerve. My fingers found their way to his back, tracing the hard planes of muscle as they flexed beneath my touch. His movements were unhurried, each one coaxing a soft sound from deep in my throat, a sound that only seemed to spur him on.

I gasped softly as his lips found the curve of my shoulder, his breath hot and uneven as he kissed his way up my neck. His hips pressed forward again, a little more insistent, and I couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped me, my head tipping back to give him more access.

His lips traveled down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, pausing to suck gently at the sensitive skin there. Each touch of his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure through me, and I could feel the way his breath caught against my skin whenever I moved beneath him. My fingers dug into the broad expanse of his shoulders, holding onto him as the slow, steady rhythm of his hips began to build.

“God,” he groaned, his voice low and gravelly, the sound making my stomach tighten. His hands shifted, one sliding up to cup the side of my neck, his thumb brushing over my jaw as he tilted my face toward his. His other hand gripped my thigh, pulling it higher around his waist, anchoring me closer as he moved. The sounds he made—soft groans and low, broken murmurs—wrapped around me, adding to the symphony of the moment: the creak of the bed, the rustle of sheets, the whispered breaths that passed between us.

I couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping me—the soft cries, the whispered breaths of his name. His hips pressed deeper, the angle sending a rush of sensation through me that made my toes curl. His mouth captured mine in a kiss that was all-consuming, his tongue sliding against mine with a deliberate slowness that made my entire body tremble. The air between us was thick with heat, each shared breath feeding the fire that burned between us.

His pace quickened slightly, his movements growing more insistent, the tension building with every roll of his hips. My body arched into his, chasing the friction, the heat, the undeniable connection that bound us. His groans grew louder, mingling with the broken whimpers that spilled from my lips, the sound of us filling the room, raw and unfiltered.

When we finally reached the peak together, it was like the world stopped for a moment. His body tensed, a low, guttural moan escaping him as he buried himself deep, his grip on me tightening as he shuddered against me. My own release followed, a wave of heat and light that left me gasping, my fingers clutching at his shoulders as my body trembled beneath his.

He stayed there, his weight a comforting pressure against me, as we both caught our breath, our bodies still entwined. The room was quiet save for the sound of our breathing, the stillness wrapping around us like a cocoon, the steady beat of our hearts slowly evening out as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. His hand brushed along my side, his thumb tracing idle patterns over my skin, grounding me in the warmth of him.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his lips curving into a soft, almost shy smile. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “I love you sweetheart,” he murmured, the words carrying the same quiet sincerity as every touch and kiss that had come before.

I smiled, my hand sliding up to cup his face as I leaned in to kiss him again, slow and tender. “I love you too,” I whispered against his lips, the words a quiet promise, an anchor in the aftermath of the moment we’d just shared.

“Can we stay like this?” he murmured, his voice hushed and filled with quiet wonder.

I nodded, wrapping my arms around him, holding him close as we sank into the stillness together. My fingers traced light patterns along his back, a quiet rhythm that mirrored the way we moved moments before. The world outside faded into nothingness, and I found myself wishing I could capture this feeling somehow—every curve, every line, every breath—like a sketch I’d never forget.

#austin butler #caught stealing #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #fan fiction #fanfic #caught stealing fic #hank thompson x y/n #hank thompson x you #hank thompson fic #hank thompson x reader #hank thompson #fiction #imagine

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fortheloveofwonderland · 11 months ago

Text

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 20 FINAL | S.R

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - It’s eight months later and Spencer’s life has changed dramatically. Did he ever get his happy ending?

A/N - Final chapter folks! 'Bout time, right?

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - some light angst but overall long overdue fluff. WC - 5.3k

Chapter 20 - First Day of My Life

And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been,

But I know where I want to go.

And so I thought I'd let you know,

Yeah, these things take forever, I especially am slow,

But I realised that I need you,

And I wondered if I could come home.

“How did you find me?”

“I know a guy.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s time we had a long overdue talk.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“Spencer. We need to talk about Spencer.”

***

Eight Months Later

Spencer Reid had a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he slotted the last handful of books into their new home on the bookshelf in his new office.

He ran his fingers over the spines and the smile started to take route, blossoming and growing until it reached all the way to his eyes.

He surveyed the room, tucked away at the back of the second storey of his new home. His old trusty desk sat beneath the old bay windows with the most gorgeous lighting drifting in through the open curtains from the surprisingly glorious winter day outside.

He slid into his leather chair and brushed his fingertips over the dark wood desk.

He’d officially moved into the old gothic style house back in the fall and the rest of the home had come together nicely. But his office had been a slow process, a tiring process.

This room more than any others in the new house had to be perfect. He would be spending a lot of time in this room and it had to be just right. And after weeks of shuffling furniture around, it finally fit his criteria.

Eight months ago Spencer had made a decision about his future. He’d quit teaching, never returning to Georgetown after the summer break. Instead he struck a deal with BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss.

On the weeks Maeve had the girls he would work from Quantico or go away with the team on cases. When he had the girls he would work from his home office as a consultant.

His FBI badge sat next to his computer along with his new credentials and every time he looked at them he couldn’t help but smile.

The BAU was his home. In all the years since he’d left he’d felt like something was missing from his life. But now he had found his way back to his rightful place in the world.

It allowed him to feel fulfilled in both his home and work life. He didn’t have to give up any of his precious time spent with his daughters and he was able to work a job he loved with every fibre of his being.

Since the incident the night of the art show, Spencer had not had a single sip of alcohol. He was closing in on nine months sober and honestly he’d never felt better.

He still took his antidepressants, but a much lower dose now and he’d quit seeing Doctor Sanchez months ago.

His relationship was Maeve had slowly repaired itself over time to the point he would now call her one of his closest friends.

Eight months ago he would never have believed he could be this happy again. But it just went to show what a little hard work and determination could do.

He ran his fingers over the desk again as he got to his feet. He walked past the desk and across the room.

In the doorway he turned back for one last glance around the room.

Yes, everything was falling into place.

***

You fought with the zipper on the back of your dress, huffing and puffing through excretion. When you finally got the thing all the way up your arms fell back to your sides and you let out a large breath.

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, turning this way and that and scrutinising your appearance. You’d looked better, that was for sure. But given the circumstances you didn’t look half bad.

The pile of papers on the dresser caught your gaze through the mirror and you rolled your eyes as they seemingly taunted you.

Tomorrow was paperwork day. Today there were more pressing things at hand.

You’d received your doctorate in August and since Doctor Spencer Reid’s sudden resignation from the university you had taken over teaching his classes.

It wasn’t your end goal, but for now you couldn’t deny you loved teaching. Maybe one day you’d look elsewhere but as of right now you quite liked your place in the world.

The past eight months had been a whirlwind to say the least, and where you’d found yourself was not at all where you imagined ending up. But you couldn’t pretend you weren’t happy where you were.

You moved over to the bed, your stomach coiling a little as you sat down on the edge of it. You slipped your feet into your shoes as your mind wandered back some eight months.

“How did you find me?” You scrutinised the woman on your doorstep, recognising her from one fleeting sighting of her some time ago.

“I know a guy.” She shrugged simply.

“What do you want?” You folded your arms across your chest.

She was the last person you expected to see here and the last person you wanted to be face to face with.

“It’s time we had a long overdue talk.” She mirrored your action and crossed her own arms.

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” You scoffed.

“Spencer.” She rolled her eyes. “We need to talk about Spencer.”

Having the former Mrs Reid show up at your apartment had thrown you through a loop. You’d been so shell shocked you’d actually invited her inside.

Maeve proceeded to tell you all the reasons you needed to give Spencer a second chance. She explained to you why he’d lied to you about not being in love with you, how he was simply trying to protect himself from getting hurt again.

She went into great detail about how she knew you and Spencer belonged together and that you were the loves of each other's lives.

You hadn’t spoken much, simply listened. And when she left she tried to put the whole thing behind you so you could move on. You still had no idea to this day how she knew where you lived and could only assume someone at the BAU had given her the intel.

Two months later you’d gone back to work to find Spencer had quit the university. And for some reason the thought of never seeing him again undid all the hard work you’d put in over the summer to get over him.

“Y/N?” He blinked at you as though he wasn’t sure he trusted his own eyes. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” You hugged your arms around yourself.

“Yeah, sure. The place is still a mess, I literally only moved in a few days ago.” He held open the door to his new home and let you inside.

Boxes were piled up all over the place. A couch and a coffee table were the only visible furniture.

“How did you know where I live?” He hovered between piles of boxes.

“Maeve,” you croaked. “She came to me a few months ago and left me her number. I didn’t ever expect to use it but when I found out you’d quit I just…I wanted to know why. So I called her and she gave me your address, said she has the girls this week.”

“Maeve came to you? Why?” He frowned, scratching at the back of his head.

“She wanted to explain some things. About you. About why you lied to me.”

“Right,” his frown deepened.

“So why did you quit?”

“That’s why you came here? Really? You want to know why I quit Georgetown? I haven't seen or heard from you in months and that’s what you came here for?” He looked at you somewhat indignantly.

“They offered me your job. I just want to know if you plan on coming back before I take it.” You shrugged.

“You got your doctorate?” His lip quivered into something resembling a smile.

“I did. So are you coming back or can I take your job?”

“I rejoined the BAU.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Not a full caseload like I used to work, I can fit my hours around the girls now Maeve and I have joint custody. It’s where I belong.”

“Fine.” You finally let your arms fall to your sides. “That’s all I came here for.”

You turned away from him, back towards the old mahogany front door with the stained glass window in the centre but you didn’t get very far.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you.” He spoke and when you turned back around he was a few steps closer to you. “I thought I was protecting us both but really I was only hurting us.”

“I didn’t come here for this.” You shook your head.

“Well you certainly didn’t come all the way out here to ask if I was coming back to work.” He chuckled dryly. “I may always have complicated feelings towards my ex but my feelings for you are anything but. I love you Y/N. I love you more than words can describe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t walk away. Please give me another chance.”

Your eyes misted with tears but you were not going to let them fall. You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes of keeping them at bay.

You straightened your back, clenched your jaw and spat a simple, “no.”

You pushed yourself up, wobbling slightly as you did so. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes to try to ease the dizziness.

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, smoothing down the front of your dress which was a little tighter than you would have liked it to be, before shaking your head and pushing out of the door.

***

“You really don’t have to do this.” Maeve rolled her eyes at him through the mirror.

“Oh please, I’m great with kids.” Spencer scoffed, nudging the rocker a little and smiling down at the little dark haired bundle of joy.

“Well yes I know that,” she huffed, toying with the strap of her dress. “But it seems weird to have you look after my son.”

Little Elijah, Daisy and Lily’s half brother, was twelve weeks old and Spencer had almost forgotten how tiny babies were.

“It’s really no big deal. He’s my daughter’s half brother, he’s basically family.” He shrugged.

“And what a weird family we are.” Maeve laughed as she turned back to face Spencer. “So, how do I look?”

Spencer glanced up from baby Elijah and onto her and tears immediately filled his eyes. He stood up and crossed the room towards her, gaze flicking up and down her frame.

“Good gosh Maeve,” he breathed. “You look incredible.”

“Don’t cry.” She shook her head. “Because if you start I’ll start.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his palms to try and dismiss the tears. “But seriously, you look amazing.”

She smiled at him, glancing down at her white, satin dress. She felt like a princess, and judging by Spencer’s reaction she looked like one too.

“Thank you,” she took hold of his hands and squeezed them. “And you’re sure you don’t mind watching over Elijah for the day?”

“For the one hundredth time I do not mind at all. For the record, I hate weddings anyway so this kinda works out great for me. If he cries I have an excuse to leave early.” He smirked at her and she removed her hands from his so she could slap his bicep.

“You’re such a cynic.” She rolled her eyes.

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I heard eloping is all the rage.”

She rolled her eyes yet again.

“Can you believe we’re here? I never in a million years thought I’d ever get married again.” She sighed wistfully.

“I always thought when I got married it would be forever.” He nodded. “And after all we’ve been through I never thought we’d end up here.”

“Friends you mean?”’

“Is that what this is? Huh. Good to know.” He chuckled, yet again making Maeve roll her eyes.

She turned her back on him again and toyed with her hair in the mirror. Spencer moved back over to where baby Elijah was dribbling down his chin, making little gurgling noises.

He picked up the rocket and attached it to the frame of the stroller so he was ready to make a quick exit when needed.

Just then the door to the bridal suite flew open and his two boisterous daughters barrelled in, wearing their matching purple bridesmaids dresses.

“Mom!” Daisy gasped. “Oh my gosh you look amazing!”

“Mom you’re so pretty!” Lily agreed excitedly.

“Thank you sweethearts.” Maeve turned and held her arms open for the girls who quickly embraced their mother.

“I mean, I’m also here.” Spencer shrugged. “I thought I looked pretty good too.”

“Shut up dad.” Daisy rolled her eyes at him.

“Yeah dad, you’re not the one getting married.” Lily also rolled her eyes.

Since turning eight a few months ago, Lily had started becoming more and more like her sister by the day. Spencer couldn’t remember the time she’d called him daddy or the last time she’d asked him to read to her.

Life was moving way too fast for his liking. His little girls were growing up, soon enough they’d be leaving him. Now wasn’t the time to get down about it though, he still had exciting things in his future.

“Fair enough,” he sighed. “I’m going to take Elijah and get a seat. Try not to upstage your mom, kiddos.”

“He’s such a dork.” He heard Daisy say.

“Yeah who says kiddos?” He heard Lily reply.

He smiled to himself as he left the room, pushing Elijah’s stroller towards the large ballroom down the hall.

Soft music played through small, indiscriminate speakers, as people started taking their seats either side of the grand aisle.

Maeve had always dreamed of a big wedding, their own nuptials at city hall had left a lot for her imagination to desire. And Spencer was glad she was finally getting everything she’d always wanted.

He came to a stop by the door where Bobby, beaming with pride, was waiting to greet people. He spotted Spencer and his son heading his way and waved at them.

“Hey, how’s my little man doing?”

“I’m not bad, thanks.” Spencer joked, now making Bobby roll his eyes. “Oh you mean Elijah? He’s good aren’t you buddy?”

Bobby crouched down and cooed over his son for a moment or two, placing a kiss on his forehead before standing back to his full height.

“Thanks for being here, man. It means a lot to Maeve that you approve of this.” Bobby smiled a gentle smile at him.

“I just want her to be happy.” Spencer shrugged. “And I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with you.”

Bobby extended his hand and Spencer took it, shaking his ex-wife’s soon to be new husband's hand.

It was probably extremely weird if he stopped to think about it, but that was a thought for another day.

“Are you happy, Spencer?” Bobby surprised him when he asked.

A smile toyed on Spencer’s lips as he closed his eyes briefly and gave thought to his life. When he opened his eyes again his smile grew.

“You know what? I really am.” He nodded.

Bobby patted him on the shoulder before Spencer took the stroller again and headed through the doors.

He headed towards the bar in the corner, spotting JJ, Will and the boys already in their seats and offered them a wave as he passed.

Towards the bar he saw Luke and Garcia, holding hands and giggling between themselves. Nearby Rossi sipped his scotch and tilted his glass at Spencer as he passed.

Cameron was hovering on the other side of the room, looking much like a spare part. He didn’t know anyone here and was instructed to wait patiently for his girlfriend while she fulfilled her bridesmaids duties.

The rest of the team were due to be here but the ceremony wasn’t due to start for another half hour so he had no doubt they’d be here soon.

He pushed the stroller up to the bar and applied the brake, ordering himself a club soda and leaning on the bar top while he waited.

Elijah started to stir, his gurgling noises starting to sound a little strained. Spencer stood back up and peered in his stroller.

“Hey you,” he reached towards the tiny boy and unclipped him from the seat. “It’s ok.”

He lifted Elijah from the stroller, his little face contorted as though he may start crying at any moment. Spencer held the back of soft head and brought him to his chest, cradling him in his arms.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” He bounced him gently. “Don’t cry, it’s your mommy and daddy’s big day. We don’t want tears.”

He rocked him back and forth and thanked the bar tender when he placed his club soda on the bar. Elijah continued to gurgling, but the rocking motion seemed to calm him.

“It’s ok.” He kissed the side of Elijah’s head.

He’d missed this. He missed when his girls were this small and they didn’t talk back to him and one cuddle from their daddy solved all their problems.

He missed sneaking into their rooms at night just to watch them sleep when the baby monitor wasn’t enough. He missed the way they would cling to his hand so tightly, the way they’d once thought their dad was a superhero.

He loved his girls, more than humanly possible. He loved them as babies, as toddlers and he loved them now, one as a teenager and another who thought she was a teenager.

But as time went on Spencer felt like his girls needed him less and less with every passing day. He sometimes felt redundant as a parent, like his job was done.

Elijah was brand new. Maeve and Bobby would have all those things he’d taken for granted with Daisy and Lily.

Sometimes he wished he could go back in time, really savour those moments. In the blink of an eye his girls would be going off to college, having families of their own and then they really wouldn’t need him anymore.

He held Elijah a little longer than he needed to, momentarily pretending he was Daisy or Lily and he had a chance to do it all over again.

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you little man. And you got so lucky. You’re mom and dad love you so much and you have the two best sisters in the whole world. And this extended family of yours…” he trailed off, glancing around the room at his family, his BAU family. “You don’t know how lucky you’ve got it kid.”

He started getting a little misty eyed as he stroked Elijah’s head, still rocking him in his arms. Elijah made a happy little cooing sound and Spencer smiled to himself. He closed his eyes and breathed in that new baby scent, imagining one of his daughter’s in his arms when they were so small and vulnerable.

“That’s a good look on you, daddy.”

His eyes snapped back open and he couldn’t hold back the smile on his face. He cautiously laid Elijah back down in his stroller, buckling him back in.

“Just remembering what it was like, it's been a while.” He chuckled, reaching out his hands. “You look like a goddamn dream.”

“You say that like you didn’t see me this morning.” You laughed, taking hold of his outstretched hands.

“You somehow look more beautiful every single time I lay eyes on you.” He pulled you close by your hands and moved them to cup your face.

“You’re not going to cry are you?” You teased him as he kissed you.

“I can’t promise anything.” He laughed against your lips.

“I may always have complicated feelings towards my ex but my feelings for you are anything but. I love you Y/N. I love you more than words can describe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t walk away. Please give me another chance.”

Your eyes misted with tears but you were not going to let them fall. You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes of keeping them at bay.

You straightened your back, clenched your jaw and spat a simple, “no.”

Turning away from him towards the door, you soon felt a hand on your shoulder.

“That’s not good enough for me.” He turned you back to face him. “I cannot let you walk away again.”

Before you knew what was happening, Spencer caged you back against the door and kissed you. And despite everything, all the pain and hurt he’d caused you, you kissed him back.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

You didn’t walk away, couldn’t even if you tried. You hadn’t walked away in the six months since and you knew you never would.

Four weeks later you moved into his new home with him and the girls.

Daisy and Lily adored you and in return you loved them just as much. They enjoyed having another woman around and oftentimes the three of you would gang up on their dad, much to Spencer’s chagrin.

Daisy talked to you about things she wasn’t always comfortable talking to her parents about. Lily liked it when you braided her hair. They both enjoyed the shopping trips you took them on.

Spencer kissed you once more before letting go of your face and taking hold of one of your hands again.

“This place is fancy.” You spoke as your eyes flitted around the grand room.

“I did try to explain to her the benefits of eloping.” Spencer shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s not for everyone.” You chuckled.

Spencer raised your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles, right next to your gold wedding band.

“Do you regret it? Not having some big fancy event like this?”

“Are you kidding me?” You pulled a face, glancing down at his matching band. “The only person I needed at our wedding was you, Doctor Reid.”

Some might say it was too soon, that the two of you had rushed into things but they would be wrong.

When you know, you know and you both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were meant to be together and didn’t want to waste a second not being married. Nothing had ever felt so right as standing up in that little Vegas chapel and promising each other forever.

“I love you so much. Doctor Reid.” He squeezed your hand.

The kiss lasted several minutes and by the time Spencer pulled back you were both panting.

The look he was giving you was like no look anyone had ever given you before. And it told you all you needed to know.

This man was incomparably in love with you, and would go to the ends of the earth for you. This man would do anything for you.

He’d made some mistakes, but so had you. Life wasn’t always perfect, there would always be bumps in the road. But with any luck the hardest hurdles were now in your past.

He loved you and you loved him and it was just as simple as that.

“I don’t want the best days of my life to have passed me by. I want it all, Y/N. I want to get married, I want to have more kids. And I want it with you.”

“It really is a good job we don’t both work at Georgetown anymore, two Doctor Reid’s is just confusing.” You laughed.

“Well I think it could be done. There would just be the hot Doctor Reid and the other Doctor Reid.” He shrugged, his eyes sparkling playfully.

“Which one am I?”

“You will never know, my love.” He chuckled, pulling you close again and kissing you slightly more fiercely than was appropriate for the current setting.

Before things could get too hot and heavy, Elijah whined, tearing the two of you apart. You both moved to his stroller and looked down on him.

“Hey little man, what seems to be the problem?” You stroked his wrinkly forehead.

He kicked his tiny legs, blowing little spit bubbles in his mouth. Spencer cooed at him while you continued stroking his head.

Within a few seconds he calmed down again, perhaps he just wanted some attention. Baby’s and dogs weren’t all that dissimilar, Taco had a penchant for whining when he wanted attention.

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t ask if you wanted a drink.” Spencer stood back up and picked up his club soda.

“Just water, please. I’ve been feeling a little queasy again this morning.” You rubbed your stomach.

“Hopefully that’ll pass soon.” He kissed your cheek before getting the bartender's attention again and ordering you a glass of water.

Soon after handing it to you, Daisy and Lily in their beautiful dresses, carrying bouquets, were heading your way.

Spencer saw the coy smile Daisy sent in the direction of her boyfriend and it made his stomach tighten. How he wished he could slow down time so his daughter never got older.

“You need to go sit, it’s starting in a minute.” Daisy demanded.

“Sit please.” Lily echoed.

Spencer looked between his girls and you and little Elijah who could now barely keep his eyes open. He was flooded by nostalgia, weddings always did have that effect on him.

The girls turned to leave, to finish their rounds but Spencer stopped them.

“Hey, pumpkins?” His voice cracked a little as he spoke.

“Stop it.” Daisy frowned at him, hearing the way his voice broke.

“Stop what? Spencer frowned back.

“I can see you getting sappy. Don’t do it. Please, dad?” She begged him.

“Yeah please, dad?” Lily repeated.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” He looked over at Elijah again. “I just miss when you girls were that little. When you needed me.”

You slipped your hand in his, giving it a squeeze to try and tether him to the present before he went down a rabbit hole into the past.

Daisy and Lily looked at each other, communicating subconsciously in the weird way sisters seemed to be able to do.

“We’ll always need you, dad.” Lily spoke as they looked back at him.

“You will?”

“Of course, you’re our dad.” Daisy shrugged.

“We love you.” Lily insisted.

“I love you both so much.” His voice cracked again, eyes misting with tears.

“Oh god,” Daisy groaned. “Do not cry. Stop it.”

“Make him stop, Y/N.” Lily looked at you pleadingly.

“I wish I could.” You chuckled, giving his hand another firm squeeze. “But you know your dad, he’s an emotional kind of guy.”

“We can’t stay little kids forever, dad.” Daisy offered him a slightly sad smile.

“I know, I know.” He nodded, using his free hand to wipe his eyes before any tears fell.

“But hey, at least you get to do it all over again.” Daisy shrugged, nodding towards your belly.

“Hey Y/N?” Spencer spoke to you from the bed of the Caesars Palace Honeymoon suite.

“Yeah?” You called back from the bathroom.

“Let’s make a baby.”

You frowned to yourself and put down your toothbrush, padding back into the bedroom.

“Excuse me?” You leant against the doorframe, your new husband lying naked on top of the covers.

“Let’s make a baby.” He repeated.

You’d come off your pill a week or so ago after you’d discussed wanting to try for a baby at some point in the future. You were still using condoms though and Spencer still never finished inside of you.

“Right now?” You questioned.

“Why not?” He shrugged.

“We literally just got married like five hours ago.” You laughed, stepping further into the room.

“I don’t want to wait.” He reached for you as soon as you were close enough, pulling you down to the bed. “Let’s make a baby.”

Your hand involuntarily went to your growing stomach, the one that you could barely fit inside this dress. You were at fourteen weeks and only just starting to show, it wouldn’t be long now before none of your clothes fit you.

“That is true.” Spencer looked at you with a smile that lit up the entire room.

He was now for three for three. Three times in his life he had unprotected sex, finishing inside of someone, and all three times he had gotten them pregnant. He often wondered if he had some kind of super sperm.

He placed his free hand on top of yours on your stomach, on the future addition to his pumpkin patch, to his crazy, slightly unconventional family.

He wouldn’t change his past, wouldn’t change Daisy and Lily or the way they were brought into the world. But this new baby growing inside of you, you at his side as his wife; this was the life he chose and the life you both chose to make.

“Anyway, you seriously need to go and sit down, mom will be pissed if you miss this.” Daisy snapped him out of his revere.

“Please don’t use that word.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” Daisy shrugged. “Come on Lil, let's get the others.”

Lily happily followed her sister while the two of them rounded up all the guests and motioned them towards their seats. It wasn’t lost on him the way his youngest lit up when Michael LaMontagne smiled at her.

He swore one day he would be at their wedding.

Spencer glanced around and spotted Matt and Kristy hand in hand, closely followed by Emily and Tara who were chatting between themselves as they found seats near JJ and Will. He looked back at you, tears now back in his eyes.

“Don’t.” You shook your head. “I am a hormonal mess as it is. If you start crying, I will too.”

“Sorry,” he sighed wistfully. “I’m just so damn happy.”

“Me too, Spence.” You agreed, leaning in and kissing him. “Me too.”

The two you hung back with Elijah now asleep in his stroller while everyone else took their seats. Your own eyes took in the room, the girls, the BAU members and everyone in between.

This family had found you and accepted you as one of their own with open arms. The Reid family, the BAU family, without really meaning to you’d become a part of something you never knew you’d always wanted.

It may be slightly unorthodox, but it didn’t make what you had any less special. In fact in your eyes, the oddness of this family dynamic made it even more exceptional. And you wouldn’t change a single thing.

Spencer let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, placing a soft kiss on your head while reaching for the stroller with his free hand.

“Looks like it’s just me and you, angel.” He held you close, he always held you so close.

You glanced at Elijah before looking back around at all the faces in the room.

Daisy and Lily were waiting by the doors with their baskets of confetti, awaiting their cue to take to the aisle. Bobby stood proudly at the end, his best man at his side as they waited for the music to begin.

You looked over at JJ and Will, at Penelope and Luke; Matt and Kristy. You surveyed Tara, Emily and Rossi before you looked back to your husband.

“Yeah,” you smiled as you leaned closer to him, closing your eyes and breathing him in as though it was the very first time. “Just me and you and everyone we know.”

@foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @loonalockley @shamelessfangirl-3 @derekm24 @pinkiceee-prose @werewolfbansheelove @mindbelova @weridothatwrites

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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maaarine · 2 months ago

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My PMDD hell: why I went abroad to have my ovaries removed (Sarah Gillespie, The Times, Nov 27 2024)

"For six years, from my late twenties, I have lived with a condition called premenstrual dysphoric disorder, or PMDD.

Due to a genetic quirk, I have a brain sensitivity that makes my body intolerant to its own hormonal changes.

Instead of becoming moody and irritable, as with PMS, I become catatonic and racked with pain.

Dysphoria blooms in my brain, making me depressed and paranoid. I binge on carbohydrates, needing 3,000 calories a day just to function.

This happens for 7-14 days every month, during the latter half of my menstrual cycle, as hormone levels plummet.

On the third day of my period, the fog lifts and I feel normal again. But relief is soon replaced by dread as I survey the destruction.

There are relationships to repair, overdue bills to pay and excess pounds to lose.

It is the life of Sisyphus: every month, I roll the boulder up the mountain only for it to roll down again. (…)

PMDD is surprisingly common and, according to World Health Organisation data, affects 5.5 per cent of women of child-bearing age — about 824,000 women in the UK.

Of these, more than a third have attempted suicide. Yet hardly anyone’s heard of it.

No one knows the cause, either, though scientists generally agree that it’s genetic — hence why psychological therapies can’t fully fix it.

It was only in 2019 that the WHO added PMDD to its international classification of diseases and related health problems (ICD-11), legitimising it as a medical diagnosis (though there are still medical professionals who dispute its existence). (…)

After diagnosis, women with PMDD are put onto a ladder of treatments ranked from least to most invasive.

But as the body ages and hormones become more erratic, PMDD gets progressively worse.

So even when I found a rung on the ladder that worked, I never got to rest there for long.

First, there were lifestyle changes: diet, weight training, high-intensity interval training (HIIT).

Then supplements: chasteberry, evening primrose, magnesium, calcium, L-tryptophan, vitamin B6. Then antidepressants: fluoxetine, sertraline, citalopram.

Then contraceptives: Evra, Yasmin, Eloine. Finally, there was HRT: Utrogestan, Estradot, Estraderm.

I climbed that ladder for five years. Only HIIT and fluoxetine worked, for about nine months each; the rest worked for two months, if at all. (…)

After all this, only one rung was left on the ladder — one with a 96 per cent satisfaction rate, the closest thing to a cure.

This last-resort treatment is a bilateral salpingo oophorectomy: the surgical removal of both ovaries and fallopian tubes.

Upon their removal, all hormone fluctuations would stop, my hormone levels would drop to almost zero and I would enter menopause.

I would need to take hormone replacement therapy (HRT) until my fifties or risk the early onset of osteoporosis, heart disease and dementia. It would also make me infertile. (…)

Getting approved for surgery on the NHS requires a trial period in a reversible “chemical” menopause: monthly injections that would shut down my ovaries, end my suffering and “prove” that I had PMDD.

That was the idea, anyway. Instead, the injections threw my hormones into chaos, resulting in a PMDD episode that lasted for 11 months.

Deprived of even the monthly breaks in my symptoms, I languished in bed.

My attention shattered; I spent countless days scrolling my phone. I gulped down painkillers and sleeping pills like Skittles.

My finances were collapsing. I gained more than two stone in weight.

“It should be working by now,” the gynaecologist said after three months. “Have you tried eating more vegetables?”

The next gynaecologist was no better. “If it hasn’t worked, that suggests it’s not PMDD,” she said. “I should probably refer you to a psychiatrist.”

After months of my pleading, she agreed to write to the surgeon. But her letter was an act of sabotage.

“Sarah has diagnosed herself with PMDD,” she wrote, ignoring my GP’s diagnosis.

“She is on many help groups and accessing a lot of support from other PMDD sufferers online.” In other words: “This hypochondriac is spending too much time on the internet.”

Yes, I was on the internet, but I wasn’t talking to help groups any more.

Instead I’d been digging into scientific papers to find studies on chemical menopause.

Eventually, I found one — a meta-analysis of five clinical trials published in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry.

It stated that chemical menopause treats PMDD in “upwards of 70 per cent” of cases — but not 100 per cent, as the NHS doctors had said.

The International Association for Premenstrual Disorders (IAPMD) backs this up.

On its page on chemical menopause it says, “In rare cases [chemical menopause] does not fully suppress the cycle and there are breakthrough symptoms… If this was the case, you may still respond well to surgical menopause.”

Two months later, I was in Lithuania. Feeling desperate and unable to afford the £10,000 it would cost for private surgery in the UK, I had googled “gynaecology surgery Europe”.

This led me to Nordclinic in Kaunas, which treats about 2,000 British patients annually.

I sent my medical records to the surgeon, who agreed to perform the surgery. (…)

Though it’s early days, I still can’t believe how well I feel. My future unfurls before me without interruption.

I have so much time: time to write, to see friends and family, to travel, go on dates, paint and sing and read and run.

Time to cook, as I can now handle knives without fear. Time to sit and do nothing and burst out laughing from sheer wonder — for life without PMDD is so, so wonderful and I will forever be grateful for it.

That said, I still need to reckon with all the time taken from me over the past six years.

My trust in our healthcare system is broken and will probably never be restored.

I need to kick away the crutches — food, phone, pills, alcohol — that have held me up and rediscover better ways to cope.

But this time, I don’t need to keep starting again and again and again every month.

Yes, the scars are still red and raw. But by next summer, they’ll be gone."

#article #weaker sex #pmdd #tw suicide #health

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taricdarkmorn · 23 hours ago

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February Daily Writing Challenge 2025 Day 2 - Cage

“Morning, Pickles.” Taric removed the cover to the cockatiel’s cage only to be met with no Pickles and an open cage door. Not the first time, no doubt Pickles was just out on one of his early morning adventures. Or an uninvited guest let him out. Taric squinted, suspiciously glancing around the immediate area.

He casually helped himself to his normal morning cup of tea, clearly none too fussed about the missing bird. Pickles would show up in some manner when he was ready, he knew not to stray too far from the Bay and he would be safe here. Everyone knew and loved Pickles, plus Taric was fairly sure that the bird was immortal and would outlive everyone at this point.

He stepped onto his plant-filled balcony, sitting in his favorite chair as he surveyed out over the other early risers starting their days. And Pickles. Perched atop someone’s shoulder that wasn’t actually there. At least not there to the vast majority. Taric had known he could see spirits since he was a child, but Pickles had truly been a surprise. He should have known, animals were often more in tune with such things and Pickles was probably the smartest, and strangest, animal companion he had ever met.

Leaning over the railing, Taric immediately recognized the figure and gave a warm wave to his great-grandfather. It had been a long time since he had visited and they were well overdue to catch up. Perhaps this time, he would tell Taric if his father was still alive or not.

@daily-writing-challenge

#story #pickles #wyrmrest accord #taric #wra #lil' blurb #dwc2025 #februarydwc2025

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punkassfrance · 2 months ago

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Sierra Nevada - Chapter X - Ellie/Abby

Chapter X: This Is Why I Don't Get Out Much (Work length ~3.4k) This work is rated M for canon-typical violence and gore. Please look here for a full list of warnings for the series, specific warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter. This chapter contains: canon-typical violence and gore. Previous Chapter - Full Series - Next Chapter

Ellie

Abby grits her teeth as she yanks at the doors, the rusted, decades-old metal finally giving way under force. An alarm squeaks above the doorway before dying with a pathetic wail, petering out before either of them have a chance to panic. Ellie grimaces as the building settles. It never gets easier. Every groan of the building could be nothing—just a dilapidated store that was old even by pre-outbreak standards. The drywall is rotted, the foundation cracks more each passing year, the stale air reeks of mold spores Ellie might worry about if there weren’t bigger problems at hand. God, how she wants to write off every sound as aches of the wood.

But the fear lingers.

Abby’s hand rests on the grip of her pistol as the two of them look around, hearts pounding as they wait for something. What, they’re not certain. When nothing happens, no runners come flying around the corner, they sigh in near unison.

“You sure this place has what we need…?” Abby glances around the abandoned grocery store, getting up on her toes to glance at the pharmacy in the back.

“No, but it’s our best bet.” Ellie tries not to sound too irritable when she responds. It’s not fair to get snappy with Abby, not right now, when they’re both burdened with the knowledge of Lev in his deathbed miles away. Ellie would ask stupid questions too.

Abby looks down, eyes wandering over the ancient flooring. It creaks as they walk over it, boards bending as she steps forward and puts her weight on them.

“Careful. This place is falling apart.” Ellie grimaces as she surveys the building, eyeing a dusty sign propped up beside the door. Closed from Oct 1st-21st for Renovations. Renovations that are now almost thirty years overdue.

“Clearly.”

They gingerly cross the floor, exchanging nervous glances at each sound echoing through the building. The shelves around them have fallen apart, broken bottles scattered across the ground. Abby follows in Ellie’s footsteps, nervous to venture too far in the unknown building.

The pharmacy is empty- Ellie can’t see anything concerning from where she stands, not yet anyway. There’s no bodies on the ground, no spores, no infected lumbering about. Most of the medications are just sitting dusty on the shelves, no locks or barriers to break down. Ellie hops over the counter and starts digging in the pocket of her jeans.

“Okay—I copied that list, keep an eye out for these, but grab whatever looks useful.”

Abby nods, taking the note offered to her. Ellie grimaces as the floor creaks again, seconds before she eyes a rat in the corner of the room. Or rather, the remains of a rat, crushed and sprawled out on the blood-stained wood.

“…we should hurry.”

Abby

Ellie huffs and mumbles to herself as she sorts through pill bottles. She seems to do that a lot, the more Abby watches her. Ellie never answered her question, after all—how long have you been alone out here?

There’s not much. Ellie pulls bottles off the shelves and grimaces before collecting them anyway. Abby’s not having much luck either. They haven’t found anything they needed, none of the starred medications on Ellie’s list that would give Lev the best shot. Fever reducers are useful, of course, painkillers more so—but without antibiotics, none of it will matter.

Ellie reaches the end of the shelf she’s sorting through, sneering at the last bottle she picks up and turning to chuck it across the room. “Fucking hell—you finding anything?”

Abby swallows hard and shrugs, peering into her open bag on the ground beside her. “Some good stuff, but…no antibiotics.” Her heart has been gradually sinking in her chest for the last ten minutes, the grasp of dread tightening around her.

Ellie crosses the room to take a bottle off the shelf Abby’s scouring, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think any of us are gonna need…Sildenafil.” She sets it back on the shelf and sets a hand on her hip, rubbing her face. “There’s probably a storage room somewhere. No fucking way a pharmacy doesn’t have any antibiotics.”

“Maybe someone got here before us?” Abby muses aloud as she closes up her bag and pulls it back onto her shoulder, glancing around before she spots the door in the back corner of the room.

“And left everything else? Doubt it.”

Ellie tries the door handle—locked. She only has a second to step back and size up the door before Abby touches her arm, stepping forward. “Think I can get this one.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and steps back, crossing her arms. Abby wasn’t trying to say Ellie couldn’t do it—she’s not weak by any means. But if Abby had to guess, she probably has a lot more experience kicking in doors, not to mention a good thirty pounds of muscle on Ellie.

“Alright, wolf. Show me what you got.”

Abby narrows her eyes, squaring up against the door. “I told you, I’m not a fucking wolf anymore.”

“Fine, whatever, show me what you got, puppy.”

Abby flushes with anger and rears back, landing a hard kick right above the doorknob. She hears a crack, but the door doesn’t give quite yet. The second time she drives her heel into the door, the wood splinters around the lock. For a moment, it looks like the door is going to fly open—but it shuts again. They glance at each other before looking back to the door, perplexed. Abby gets her bearings and tries to push the door open, throwing her shoulder into it. The lock is broken, but it keeps falling shut.

Exhaling, Abby looks down, hand resting on the door. “It’s barricaded.”

Eyes roaming over the wall, Ellie tilts her head before reaching back to pull a crowbar from one of the loops on the side of her backpack.

“What are you—”

“Nobody reinforces their walls.” She buries one end of the crowbar behind an empty shelf on the wall and pries it off the wall, throwing it aside. She doesn’t hesitate to start hacking away at the now bare drywall, ripping chunks off the studs until there’s a path through the wall to the other room. It’s just barely big enough for them to squeeze through, but it’ll have to do.

Abby raises her eyebrows and steps back until Ellie’s finished. She’s right- walls aren’t nearly as secure as people think. “I guess that works.”

They squeeze through, covered in drywall dust as they emerge on the other side. Furniture is piled up against the door, easily too much for either of them to move as a whole. Ellie reaches back to grab her pistol from her holster, looking around the room as she clicks off the safety. Abby lets a hand rest on her own weapon, listening for anything suspicious. Someone had to barricade the room. Most likely the crusted, motionless body slumped up against the wall.

“Hear anything?” Abby whispers after a few long seconds, glancing around. Ellie doesn’t respond at first, staring intently at the wall like a cat that’s heard something suspicious. Eventually, she shakes her head.

“…no.”

Abby watches her for a moment before nodding, taking her hand off her gun. Truth be told, there’s a good chance neither of them can be trusted to reliably hear danger coming. Years of gunfire and the occasional explosion will take a toll on your hearing.

Still, they hesitantly relax and start scanning the room for supplies. There’s not much- a desk, a few office supplies scattered on the floor, a calendar on the wall, forever stuck on September 2013. A long-dead body, unresponsive even as Abby nudges it with her boot. In the corner of the room, where the wood dips, a locked cabinet sits on the rotted floor. Behind the dusty glass, a few pill bottles are scattered among the shelves. Ellie darts forward to get a look at it, trying the handle before she huffs. “Course it’s not that easy.” She leans in and tries to get a look at the labels on the bottles, most of them turned away or impossible to read correctly through the filthy glass. After a moment, Ellie makes a sound and reaches out to get Abby’s attention.

“Oxy. We’re gonna want that—try to find a key.”

Abby nods and glances over to the wooden desk along the wall, crossing the room to open the drawers. There’s nothing in most of them, just papers and office supplies they don’t need.

“…woah.”

Abby turns around to see Ellie holding an unfamiliar backpack, peering into the open pocket. She hands the backpack to Abby and takes out a note, squinting at the writing.

“…April fourth, 2041. Eddie, I tried to get back to you, but we crossed a horde and got separated. I don’t know where Kate went. I hope she found you. I’m bleeding out. There’s infected clawing at the door, they won’t go away. I can’t get to you to say goodbye. I’m so sorry, I love you forever. Ezra.” Ellie’s voice gets quieter as she reads, pressing her lips together and folding the letter back up. She halfheartedly gestures to the body, tucking the letter into her pocket. “Sorry, Ezra.”

Abby looks down into the bag, eyes widening. “Is that-”

Ellie steps forward and glances inside. “Holy shit.” She pulls out the mason jar of joints at the top of the bag, turning it over in her hands before she cracks the seal and inhales.

“Is that weed?”

As if on queue, Ellie scrunches her nose and pulls back, sealing the jar once more. “Sure is. Still smells good.”

They both stare at the jar for a moment before exchanging looks.

“I mean…it’s a resource.” Ellie starts, eyes flicking from Abby to the jar. “Would be a shame to waste it.”

Abby raises her eyebrows and tilts her head just a bit, nodding slowly. “…it would be stupid to leave a resource behind.”

“So…the smart thing to do is take it with us.”

“Yeah, duh. It’s the responsible thing to do.”

“We’re so fucking responsible.” Ellie nods decisively and tucks the jar into her backpack, leaving Abby to hold the bag. She digs around as Ellie adjusts her things, pausing before she pulls something from the bottom.

“Well, no key, so I guess we’re breaking in.” Ellie sighs, taking her crowbar into her hands before she pulls her bag on. Abby quickly tucks the small case in with her belongings, looking up to meet Ellie’s curious eye.

“…present for Lev.”

Ellie shrugs and swings the crowbar into the glass, wincing at the crash as it cracks and falls apart. The building groans yet again, Abby’s heart beating faster as Ellie swipes the glass off the edges of the metal frame. As badly as she wants to get out of this building, retreat back to the safety of their controlled cabin, she’s not willing to give up until they find what they need.

Ellie smirks as she reaches in and holds one of the bottles up. “Bingo. Whole bottle of Oxy.”

“Anything else good?” Abby steps forward to the cabinet, taking one of the other few bottles lining the shelves.

They only have a moment to look before the building groans in protest, the floor beneath them caving in.

Ellie

Abby manages to fall back before the floor breaks. She hits the ground as Ellie shrieks and grapples at the edge of the broken planks, the cabinet falling into the freezing basement beneath. Ellie clamps her mouth shut as she hears a retch somewhere beneath her, then clicking.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Ellie whispers as she tries to pull herself back up, adrenaline fueling her as her breaths quicken. Even if she can just get her forearms on solid ground, she has just enough strength to—

Abby grabs her wrist. Her eyes are wide and panicked as she tries to pull Ellie up, her face falling as she hears the clicking.

“Come on, come on, almost got you, I got you—”

Her stomach twists as the hole in the floor widens, crumbling under Ellie’s grip. She tries so hard to stay quiet as they both fall and hit the basement floor, but when she feels a sharp crack in her torso, she can’t help but squeak in pain. Abby’s up before she is, pulling Ellie to her feet and ushering them into a hiding spot. It’s a larger basement than she’d expected, spreading beneath the entire store. They’ve taken shelter behind what looks like a counter, partially destroyed and covered with a sheet. Broken furniture and boxes lie in disarray around the floor, covered in dust.

Seconds later, there it is. A clicker rounds a pillar of boxes, stepping into the open with its arms bent at its sides. It stumbles as quickly as it can to the hole in the ceiling, shrieking into the air when it doesn’t hear the prey it’s after. Abby carefully guides her flashlight up to catch a glimpse of the thing—Ellie immediately wishes she hadn’t. She grimaces at the sight of the thing’s split-open face, mycelium ripping through the skin, the rat blood dripping down the chipped shards of teeth that remain. She gasps quietly as she tries to recoil, one hand coming up to hover over her ribcage. Abby looks over, glancing down at Ellie’s side before looking back to the clicker.

“Broken?” She mouths, but Ellie can only shrug and shake her head. There’s no time to worry about it. The creature before them spins around as it clicks into the empty air, struggling to find whatever was making all that noise. Abby pulls out her pistol, leaning out further from their cover and carefully taking aim as Ellie watches with bated breath. Her eyes flick to the side as they hear another screech from the other side of the basement, out of sight.

Before Abby can fire, something grabs at Ellie’s clothing and yanks her back. She screams, from shock or pain she isn’t sure, but the clicker wheels around and roars before charging. Abby fires a deafening shot, at least slowing it down before it knocks the gun out of her hand, but not by much. Whatever grabbed Ellie tries to sink its teeth into her neck only for a moment before she wrenches around to fight it off, pain tearing through her right side as she shoves it away. A fucking stalker. Easily her least favorite kind of infected. She pulls her pistol from the holster on her hip and fires as it retreats, just seconds too late before it slips behind another pile of boxes, back into the maze it came from. Ellie swears under her breath and turns back to Abby—she doesn’t have the time to chase it.

She looks back just in time to see the brutal end of the fight. Abby’s grabbed a pipe off the ground, pulled back, and swung it at the clicker with everything she has. It’s a devastating backhand that connects right at the jawline, sending it against the wall. It slumps to the side, gurgling as it tries to trill one last time. Abby doesn’t let it. She swings her pipe back down, bashing the poor thing’s head in. Ellie’s almost impressed—she’s covered in blood and rotting brain matter, the clicker motionless and splattered across the wall behind it. Even if its body was falling apart, it takes a lot of strength to destroy a once-human head.

For the first time, she’s glad Abby is here.

Still, they’re not out of the woods. There’s at least two more, but god knows how many stalkers are hiding among the mess.

Abby is still hovering over the corpse, staring down as she tries to breathe steadily. She looks up after a moment, eyes wide, pale cheeks flecked with red. Ellie winces with every panicked inhale, still holding a protective hand over her ribcage. If they make it out of this, Ellie’s going to thank god they found painkillers. Something growls in the back of the basement, behind fuck knows how many walls of crates—but it sounds like it knows they’re here.

Abby glances towards the sound but looks back in an instant. Ellie doesn’t even realize what’s happening when the pipe swings over her head. She hears a sickening crack, something inhuman shrieking behind her. Ellie turns as quickly as she can, watching the stalker try to crawl away before she grabs its ankle. She screams at the stabbing pain in her side as it scrambles to escape, forcing her to stretch to keep her grip. She pulls a knife from her pocket and flicks the blade out, yanking the thing back towards her and gritting her teeth as she groans through the pain. Pulling back just barely enough, she buries the blade into its neck and watches it choke.

“Fuck—” Ellie wheezes, propping herself up on the ground with a whimper. She’s about to collapse when something clatters on the ground, powerful arms wrapping around her and lifting her into the air. It’s hard to say what hurts worse—the lift, the position she’s in, or the way she jostles as Abby carries her around a corner and sets her back on the ground. Seconds later, she hears something break, then the roar of a bloater just feet away from where they’d been. Abby glances around before pulling the shotgun from the side of her bag, cocking it as she stands from their hiding place.

“Hey!” She barks, circling the edge of the room as she pulls the bloater’s attention away from Ellie. She fires, blasting a crater into its torso. It almost charges at her when she cycles another round into the chamber and fires at its head.

Ellie tries to drag herself up, glancing around frantically for her bag when she sees light along the back wall. It’s a cellar door at the top of a short staircase, early morning light just starting to peek through.

She hears another clicker emerge from the back of the room, shrieking into the air. A third shot fires behind her. Abby’s going to need a chance to reload soon.

One hand clutching her side, she makes a fist and pounds on the wooden door. It doesn’t budge, chains jostling on the outside. She swears under her breath and turns just in time to meet Abby’s eye. There’s no time to exchange words— the bloater catches her off guard, pinning Abby up against the concrete wall as she flails.

Before she knows what’s happening, before instinct can kick in, Ellie panics. Abby’s fighting it off, but she can’t keep it up forever, and if Abby dies—

The gun is still in her hand. She doesn’t remember how many bullets are left in the cylinder, but if she can find the shot and trust her aim, she just needs one.

Raising the gun, she closes her left eye, tilts her head towards her shoulder, hesitates, and fires.

It’s not dead, far from it, but it roars furiously and backs away from the wall. She sees blood, and for a moment, she doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Bloaters don’t bleed, it doesn’t have any blood left, what did she hit, what has she done—

Before she can get eyes on Abby, the bloater turns and charges right for Ellie. She pales as it comes at her, arm wrapping around her side as she tries to get out of the way in time. She manages to get out of its path, but it doesn’t matter as it grabs her arm, crashing through the cellar door and taking her with it.

She screams as she hits the ground, pain ripping through her side as she’s tossed across the snow. She struggles to inhale for a moment, bleary eyes just barely cracked open. It doesn’t seem like such a bad place to die. The early morning sunlight is warm on her face, even with the freeze of the snow beneath her seeping into her clothing. If she focuses, she can hear birds, just loud enough to make themselves heard over the monster before her. If she tries, uses her final seconds to focus her eyes, she can probably see the sky one last time. She just barely sees the thing rise from the ground a few yards away, a dark splotch shambling up to her and raising its fist.

A shot echoes across the knoll.

Hi everyone! Wow, much to discuss! I didn't realize it had been a whole two months already- this is the longest chapter yet, at 3.4k!

We're officially at chapter 10, pushing this work over 21k words! This is officially the longest fanfiction I've ever written, and I plan to stick with it to the end, even if it takes me a while. Sorry to end you on a cliffhanger again, the next chapter shouldn't be nearly this delayed. I hate writing action scenes.

Thank you all so much for the ongoing support, I can't say how much it means to me!!

Thank you to @plum98 for the forest divider! Feel free to say hi or drop your thoughts in my askbox, check out my AO3 or my about me if you're interested!

Series Taglist: @a-little-bit-of-everybody

#fanfiction #the last of us #ellabs #abby anderson #ellie williams #ellie williams/abby anderson #ellie williams x abby anderson #ellie x abby #ellie/abby #ellie tlou #abby tlou #the last of us part 2 #the last of us spoilers #sierra nevada #series #ellie the last of us #abby the last of us #lev the last of us

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germanpostwarmodern · 7 months ago

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In their time the brothers Hans & Wassili Luckhardt were spearheads of modernist architecture and technology: their experimental housing development on Schorlemerallee (1924-30) and the houses at Am Rupenhorn (1929-30), both in Berlin, are indelible parts of 20th century architecture included in the major surveys of the modern movement. In view of their historical significance it is remarkable that the last comprehensive survey of their work dates back to 1990 when the Akademie der Künste devoted an exhibition and publication to the work of the brothers. Almost three-and-a-half decades later Carsten Krohn dedicates the latest volume in his series of surveys of key modern architects to the Luckhardts. Again written together with Michele Stavagna and published by Birkhäuser, it collects their 40 realized projects and documents them, where still extant, in new photographs and plans that capture the impressive quality of their work.

The visual documentation is complemented by Krohn’s and Stavagna’s essays that provide artistic as well as technological insights into the Luckhardts’ varied oeuvre. They first received attention as contributors to the „Gläserne Kette“, the utopian correspondence initiated by Bruno Taut in 1919 to discuss and fantasize about architecture. In their drawings the brothers showed quite differing ideas about a future architecture: while Hans leaned towards expressive forms, Wassili focused on structural aspects as basis for his designs. But although in their first projects the expressionist forms dominated, in the long run rational forms prevailed. Their proving ground became a plot on Schorlemerallee where they experimented with brickwork, steel framing and concrete but also realized their own studio together with their partner Alfons Anker.

With the power grab of the National Socialists their career markedly slowed down and Alfons Anker had to flee to Sweden. In the years following they survived on private commissions but successfully continued their work after the end of the war.

With their latest book the duo Krohn/Stavagna provide a long overdue new survey of a significant German architectural practice. Highly recommended!

#hans luckhardt #wassili luckhardt #alfons anker #carsten krohn #architecture #germany #modernist #architecture book #book #monograph

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bookofforbiddenknowledge · 6 days ago

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Occult Book Reviews: New World Witchery

This review is long overdue. I’ve been slowly working through this book for two years, because it spawned so many side-projects! I’ve gone on so many little research rabbit holes, that actually getting through the book itself has taken so much longer than I thought it would.

New World Witchery: A Trove of American Folk Magic is an introductory book on North American folk magic, geared towards practitioners. The author, Cory Thomas Hutcheson, is a folklorist with a PhD, which makes this book more credible and better-researched than other beginner witch books. It’s a survey of a lot of different types of folklore from different places and groups in the United States, and thus doesn’t go super in-depth on anything in particular, but that makes it a great jumping-off point. Hutcheson is conscientious about the way he presents the information, doesn’t claim expertise in groups or traditions that he’s not a part of, and cites his sources in the footnotes. He also has a casual writing style, so this book is accessible and easy to read, not dense. (Why don’t more scholars write books for laypeople?) It’s not really a guide to practical magic, but it is intended to be a resource for it: Like Kelden (see my review of The Crooked Path), Hutcheson carefully considers how one can apply folkloric ideas about witchcraft in the context of a workable practice.

Hutcheson seems a lot like me. Or at least, I relate to a lot of things he said in his introduction. He “spent an inordinate amount of time scouring our school library for anything remotely magical,” and then became obsessed with folklore. I became interested in occultism for similar reasons — if there was a way to do magic in this world, then I was sure as hell going to learn it. I’ve also been studying mythology and folklore pretty much since I learned to read. This book appeals to that part of me. Hutcheson says that he wrote this book for the purpose of helping Americans discover and develop their own traditions of folk magic, and that’s the thing I love the most about it.

It’s easy to feel like Europe and other places in the world are “more magical” than America. That’s partly because home feels mundane compared to unfamiliar places, but it’s also because a lot of books on witchcraft are based around European (and especially British) lore, places, and plants. In the introduction, Hutcheson describes a feeling of “dejection” that magic was part of “over there” in Europe and other exotic locales, and couldn’t be found at home. Then, he discovered that America had a rich tradition of folklore and folk magic:

Magic is everywhere. Which means, magic is here. I have been living with magic all along. Not only that, the magic around me was robust, alive, growing, and active. It stretched out across North America in all directions, leading me to encounter magical paths and traditions that I had been bumping into for years, but putting aside because they weren’t the same ‘over there’ magic I thought I was looking for.

This is exactly how I felt. I know logically that America has its folk magic and folklore; I have a book of New England folklore, and a book of campfire tales. But I do not feel as if I have a native folk tradition. I didn’t grow up with folk magic or devil tales, and I don’t perceive much magic here. That’s why I was so happy to have this book. It introduced me to a lot of new lore, and helped me know where to look for the rest of it. I still don’t feel like I have much magic in my immediate vicinity, but at least I’ve got a place to start.

Hutcheson naturally begins with defining witchcraft. His definition is much more folkloric than even Kelden’s. Kelden tried to outline the basic practices associated with witchcraft for a prospective practitioner, while Hutcheson tries to isolate the most common traits and behaviors associated with witches, both real-life and fictional ones. He associates witchcraft with practical (“low”) magic, with a wonderous and amoral relationship to an enchanted world (for better or worse), and with the passing along of one’s knowledge and skills to others. He determines that witches in folklore cast spells, fly, use talismans and charms, perform both malevolent and benevolent acts, usually suffer at the hands of villagers, and usually survive that suffering in one way or another (even if it’s in a ghostly form).

He lists a number of North American traditions of folk magic (of which there are many), and provides at least some information from all of them. Regarding closed practices, he uses an interesting metaphor: You are like a magpie, taking little shiny bits and pieces from various traditions, but picking up a bluebird feather does not make you a bluebird. You can take inspiration from others’ practices, but you can’t claim to be something you’re not. I also really appreciate his nuanced take on the concept of hereditary witchcraft: The idea of being marked as magical from birth is a really common superstition and motif in folklore, so the idea that one is “born” a witch has a lot of historical precedent. That’s part of why so many Wiccans latched onto “grandmother stories” to gain magical street cred. A lot of folklore is passed down through families, and some of it is magical, or has magical applications.

The subsequent chapters describe the sorts of things witches do, from a folkloric, historical, and practical perspective: folk medicine, baneful magic, divination, treasure-finding, flight, curse-breaking, spirit work, and so forth. Hutcheson is more concerned with covering historical examples of folk magic, or historical tales about magic, than teaching the audience how to do any specific thing. But he does include little DIY projects or spells about once per chapter. These are usually intended to be harmless and easily doable, which I appreciate, because one of the most frustrating things about historical magic (to me personally) is the amount of preparation and specific details that go into everything. Making a spicy tea is much easier than spending years learning herbal medicine, and making a dowsing rod out of a coat hanger is much more convenient than picking a specific kind of branch from a specific kind of tree at a specific hour on Christmas Eve. In addition to the usual correspondence sheets, Hutcheson describes what one is actually supposed to do with the herbs and stones and other objects, which I found particularly helpful. He also includes footnote citations and “recommended reading” at the end of each chapter (in addition to the bibliography), which makes it easy to do more in-depth research into each topic.

Boldly, Hutcheson includes two traditional rituals for invoking the Devil in a forest or at a crossroads. You kind of can’t have a book on witchlore without mentioning the Devil. Just as Kelden recharacterized the Devil as the benevolent-but-tricksterish Witch Father, Hutcheson draws a distinction between Satan, the Christian notion of the adversary, and the Devil, which he defines as a more generic folkloric idea that encompasses trickster archetypes from many different cultural contexts. This is further confirmation of the idea that I came up with while reading The Crooked Path: that Satan ends up fitting into all the mythological roles that aren’t (or can’t be) associated with God. He makes up for the lack of trickster gods. I honestly wish that there were more on the Devil in this book, since he’s such an intrinsic part of witchlore. One of the reasons for this review’s delay is because the book helped inspire the ongoing “Devil project” that I’ve been intermittently working on, examining the Devil as though he were a trickster god. (I can’t promise when I’ll get around to finishing that, since I keep giving myself more reading material, but it’s still in the works.)

Hutcheson also goes out of his way to highlight just how prevalent magic is in everyday American culture, whether we realize it or not. Divination is a good example: You can buy tarot cards in any mainstream bookstore or novelty shop nowadays, and horoscope columns have been a staple of newspapers for about as long as they’ve been around (to say nothing of astrology apps). I didn’t think of cartomancy as being a “local” or “ancestral” tradition of folk magic, since I went out of my way to study tarot, but it is. My mother even taught me to read oracle cards, meaning, the skill was passed down by someone in my family (even if I’ve done more research since then). Hutcheson emphasizes that magic often “hides in plain sight,” through things like divination apps, or holiday superstitions, or simple rituals to honor the dead, or spooky children’s games played at sleepovers (like “Bloody Mary” or the “Three Kings” creepypasta). He also points out ways that completely mundane things can and have been utilized for magical purposes. There’s an entire chapter about standard magical ingredients in folk spells that can be found at a supermarket. Most of them are obvious: salt, lemons, rosemary, sugar, ginger, garlic, etc. Those ingredients are much more practical than attempting to find henbane or mandrake root, and they have just as long a history of magical use for the same purposes.

As I’d hoped, this book is helping me to look at folklore and determine which practical methods I can pull out of it. There’s a Scottish story of a group of witches who saved the Isle of Mull, the home of my distant ancestors, from the Spanish Armada. They raised a storm by making a makeshift pully out of a millstone and a rope that was flung over the rafters. The millstone was tied to the rope, and the higher it rose, the higher the wind. There it is — Scottish storm magic, preserved in a folktale concerning my own ancestors! I’ve also started looking more into New York folklore as a result of reading this book, and discovered a story about a “witch” in the Catskills that supposedly controls the weather and the sky itself for the entire area. I put “witch” in quotes because she sounded much more like a goddess than a witch; any old witch can control the weather, but governing the transition between day and night and hanging the new moon in the sky are the sorts of things that deities do. Is there a sky goddess in my own backyard?

Hutcheson also spends a chapter on the Satanic Panic, and other examples of persecution or legal issues around witchcraft in recent history. That’s a major piece of folklore, too. When people genuinely believe in magic, they also genuinely fear it, and that can turn ugly. This book is from 2021, but Hutcheson’s discussion of this issue is feeling particularly apt in today’s cultural climate. Scary and uncertain times — like the ones we’re headed into — are fertile breeding grounds for folk magic and superstition. Whether that will help or harm the occult community at large remains to be seen. On the one hand, I’m kind of excited to see which new superstitions arise, but I also may need to learn some discretion, in spite of myself. In the meantime, it’s important to remember that folk magic has always been a tool of the poor and marginalized, who turn to it when they have no other means of obtaining power or justice.

More than anything else, this book has been an excellent springboard for further research. The information in it is pretty surface-level, but it covers a lot of ground. It’s brought multiple traditions, techniques, and resources to my attention. It’s also given me additional context around what witchcraft is, especially in America, and what it can look like for modern practitioners. I got pretty much exactly what I wanted from it. I’ll have to check out his podcast, too!

#book reviews #book recommendations #witchblr #witchcraft #folk magic #folk witchcraft #folk witch #occultism #folklore #american folklore

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worldsofarchive · 4 months ago

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Long Overdue - Au!Erwin Smith

This Book Contains:

Event: Cutetober 2024 - Day 1 First Kiss

Pairing: Gn!Reader x Erwin Smith

Warning: Spoiler for Attack On Titan ending

Key Notes: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship

Rating: 13+

Word Count: 0.6k

War was over; no more titans, no more walls, no more blood, no more survey corps. Eren was left to rest, and the retired commander finally could rest. The military was no longer needed, and Erwin got his badge. Humanity no longer needed to fight against the giants that were once humans; those behind the walls learned of the progress done outside the walls. All sobbing at the wonderful white creamy stuff in crunchy bread cones called "ice cream,"

"That's what they call it." Your tongue touched the white goodness, and it's like nothing you've tasted before. You can't even describe it; it's like sweet cold milk that isn't liquid but also not fully solid. It melts in your mouth. Erwin had his own, which he also enjoyed. A soft smile tugged at his lip. You walked together, eating this ice cream, on a paved stone path. Not after an expedition, not after losing many of your comrades, but together as a couple.

You looked up at Erwin and saw some ice cream on his chin; he didn't notice it, so you took the napkin you got from the ice cream stand and wiped his chin with it. He was taken aback; his shoulder, even after so many years, still jerked. But then he smiled, "Thank you, dear." You've been together for so long, but never this close, never this intimate. Well, what you considered intimate.

Blush immediately heated up yours and his face; this was so unusual. Calmness is something that you'll need to get used to. You both went back to eating your ice cream when you passed a couple giving each other a peck on the lips. Elbows intertwined; they were on the older side. You pondered how long they've been together and the way they look at each other.

They looked at each other as the ocean looked up at the stars, as the sun broke through the forest canopy, and as two berries on a tart sat beside each other. They even had matching bow ties; one had them in their hair, the other on their collar. The hair was barely long enough to hold the bow, but their partner's eyes would glance at the bow, and their lips would tug into a smile with a sigh.

Then they walked past you and Erwin; your heart swelled at the thought of two people being so close, being as inseparable as the ocean and its beach, the sky and its clouds, a clam and its pearl. Public affection isn't something you're used to, but to them, it was only them. You reached the bottom of your cone and wiped your mouth. Ice cream is probably going to be a weekly thing for you now. Looking up at Erwin and him looking down at you.

You reach up and wipe his mouth, your bodies so close. His hand finds your waist, your heart beating fast in your ears. His gaze lowers to your lips, and so does yours to his. You both lean in and your lips press together, and you have no idea what to do next. Just a peck is fine; hopefully, that's what the other couple did. You both pull away with a bright blush on your faces; your eyes immediately break eye contact and look away.

Erwin was first to speak up. "Did you like it? Dear?" He asked cautiously, hand on your shoulder. You nodded. "Yeah, this kiss was long overdue." You lean up and kiss the corner of his mouth. "I think we should start to make up for them." He smiles softly, and then he looks at you; something in his eyes is so heart-capturing. He leans in and kisses you again.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #female writers #worldsofarchive #gn reader #attack on titan #aot #snk #erwin smith #aot erwin #erwin smith x reader

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ay0nha · 1 year ago

Text

Misery Loves Company | N.K. (prologue)

SUMMARY: Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

PAIRING: Nanami Kento x f!reader (anti-hero of sorts)

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

WARNINGS: Introduction to story/reader/plot, underground fighting/Gachinko fight club, higher-ups after reader, Nanami being a softie deep down, description of fighting/related injury, jjk typical things, tad angsty, made up cursed objects, etc.

A/N: Overdue to post something Nanami-related...missing our man extra these days... thank you, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, for talking this out with me and helping <3!!! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. Enjoy.

Nanami tags:

@chimamire-ga @eliuriastwo @betterthanuyou @satorulicious @moon-taffy @thefutureastronaut @planetahmane @musababy @kannra21 @khaleesihavilliard @vee-ai @killlerqween @nokkoongie @anti-heroism @nanamin94 @darkstudentsaladbakery

“How obedient.”

Nanami just barely caught your taunt over the vigor of the crowd. The very one that begged for appeasement. They chanted while he fought, asking and receiving the dynamic movements they so adamantly desired.

Nanami delivered.

Your smile was bloody, alive with genuine pride. He had impressed you, listening to the crowd’s pleas for bloodshed. Nanami’s blow was delivered with predictable instinct, a protective measure against your coy fighting style.

“Do you always do what you’re told?” You hummed, pulling at your neck to alleviate the sudden stiffness. “You must if you came looking for me.”

You raised your fists, ready for another spat. You circled each other, the makeshift ring only allowing so much space for a proper fight. However, it could never be that.

The shadows were deep from the light of the dingy parking lot. Smoke clouded the crowd's judgment, swaying the bets in favor of the suited man. You couldn’t blame them; fresh blood was always teeming with hopes of prosperity.

You welcomed Nanami at the entrance, feeling his cursed energy blocks away. The guards surveyed him, unimpressed by being met with unwavering poise. He didn’t belong, but they were far more afraid of your soft touch on their shoulders that dissolved their interrogation.

Boys, you had purred. They stiffened. Let him through; he’s my guest.

You hadn’t led Nanami in directly; you allowed his presence to simmer. It wasn’t often that someone of his status didn’t pose a threat to the venue. It took sarcasm and wit on your end to pull out the reason behind his visit.

They’ve sent me for you, Nanami told you.

It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried. From childhood, the higher-ups deemed you dangerous. They wanted to see the gods fall. Yet, that wasn’t convincing enough to kneel before them.

Instead, you’d decided to return Nanami with a threat written in bruises.

“What do they want?” You hissed, your weight an extension, following through your fist. With no cursed energy attached, your hit was still violent. You knew Nanami could handle it. “Afraid to come themselves?”

Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

Nanami’s breathing became labored. “I’ve told you—”

“Come up with something better.” You moved swiftly, another charge at him.

You put on a show that for non-sorcerers seemed only possible in fiction. Nanami could feel the way you held back, and even then, he struggled to stay upright for long. Sliding under his legs, you swept your own for another satisfying fall of Nanami.

The premeditated outcomes you fixed were boring, your mind elsewhere while your body danced. This, though, this was worth every risk. It wasn’t hard to drag Nanami into the squared circle. He was logical, knowing the odds wouldn’t be in his favor if he didn’t play along. It was the only chance he had to get you to heed the warning he came with.

“They want to kill you—

Nothing new, then?” Your words came out hoarse, following through with your kick.

“They’re mocking up the bounty as we speak,” He said. “They’re looking to be—” Pausing, he’d just narrowly missed a broken rib. “—your highest payer.”

“Honestly,” you smiled. “I’m flattered.” There was truth in jest. “Finally, they think I’m something worthwhile.”

“No—” Nanami was blunt, never one to embellish facts. It always made you flinch. “You’re their scapegoat.”

You swung.

Nanami dodged you just barely, able to gain traction in his next few movements. Even without his blunt sword, he was always skilled in combat. He saw steps ahead, measured every movement precisely, and delivered.

Everyone had their weak points, their fighting style a clear giveaway in how they contorted their bodies. Typically, the ribcage, the exposed spine, or the unstable stance marked it. Your fluidity made it hard to pinpoint.

“That observation have a point?” You adapted instinctually, with no formality in any decision, and always found success.

Nanami’s tie loosed, the buttons of his jacket ripped apart by awkward movements; you were unraveling him by the minute. However, his appearance deceived you more than you thought. You grew comfortable winning, relishing at the shouts of your name followed by rowdy applause.

This was your element, where you could dance rehearsed steps without paranoia. It felt safe. You felt in control, contrasting how life had cruelly treated you. The non-sorcerers couldn’t see this, only attracted to a woman holding her own against men twice her size. Yet, Nanami could see beyond that.

He saw how you moved without restraint and extended beyond innate skill. You had untapped talent that the higher-ups were afraid of. Your technique, cursed energy, and gaze shattered any notions they had of strength.

You knew there was more to you but ignored that always sinking feeling. That was distraction enough almost to misconstrue Nanami’s movements for surrender. Then again, your body knew better than to accept that.

Your cursed energy absorbed the strike Nanami had landed on you, but you still used its momentum to involve those around you. You reveled at how the crowd supported your fall, only to push you back in, defenseless—it was your best performance yet.

“They think you have the Soul Harvester.” Another button was lost under the pounding feet of the mob.

“Fuck off—” Your laughter caused Nanami to stumble against your grapple. There wasn’t much humor to it, but the sound was just as addicting as years before. “No one knows where that piece of shit is.”

It was a myth.

The legend differed every time; no one knew the source or had an accurate understanding. A thread remained the same, a warning to the one who possessed it—you have been weighed in the balance and found wanting.

Your ears buzzed as Nanami explained further. Frustration bloomed across your features. Your eyebrows pinched together only to cave inward the further you worked; a frown turned to a scowl; that usually indifferent gaze was pointedly violent.

You refused to be consumed by something dragged to your doorstep like dead fowl.

"You're devoted to these causes." You started with proper vexation. The push and pull no longer lulled like a game; your words came with a bark of anger. “Always sniffing around where you don’t belong—doing more harm—always.”

“You’re no saint.”

"At least I care about what happens to them” You were quick. You hadn’t even considered it an argument, as it was veracity. “Sorcerers like you always love to forget the mess you leave the rest of us with.”

Nanami used your temper, his elbow striking your solar plexus, making the crowd roar. The air was pulled from your lungs, your hand grasping at your chest as if it would help regain your breath.

7:3

Even the crowd was silent. You slid on your knees, absorbing the hit poorly. Your head hung between your shoulders as you tried your best to swallow the elicited tears.

The corners of this ring were under constant surveillance. Undoubtedly, if you didn’t finish this quickly, Nanami would be eaten alive by the sorcerers behind it all. The pain told you to allow it.

You frowned. “Ouch.”

The crowd booed when you stood, changing its allegiance. Copper filled your mouth, and your insides were begging for reprieve.

“Please understand I am not here to criticize you,” Nanami spoke lowly, hoping only you could hear his promise.

You shook off your discomfort, knowingly releasing whatever held you back. It was for his sake, you reminded yourself. In moments, you’d move faster, no longer pull back the weight of your punches. By then, If Nanami were still standing, you’d bless him with your domain.

“You’ve got my attention now, Kento…” From your lips to God's ear, you pulled him close. His tie was wrapped around your fist so tightly you could feel his Adam’s apple bob with fear. “...but answer me this: what is it you want with me?”

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