#moment. and he wandered for a bit. and he mourned. he mourned for six years. because how do you go on living when your future was torn from

[screechingfromthevoid]

"I don't think I have anymore hard nos" EXCUSE ME MR. O'BRIEN CAN WE TAKE THAT BACK A SECOND

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess x Leto ~ Married Sex (because I need this 🥹)

Actually-not-dead continuity, vaguely nsfw, also on ao3.

Jessica hasn’t felt this awkward in years.

Every delicate emotion she’s ever felt has been in these arms, every-

No. Not everything. The absence remains a wound, resolved as it is now, the six months she spent in mourning and-

She knows she has a heart when it breaks. All this time and he can still undo her like no one else.

She is unsure this is the best idea she’s ever had, but she’s out of better ones; the world turns so quickly, the looming sense that a breaking point could be reached any day now, and letting her partner touch her a week or two earlier than she might under other circumstances is not-

“Eyes open,” he murmurs as he moves around her, exposing her hair first. She’s always liked his voice, low and clear and calm and-

“If I have to keep from-“

“I would hope you will not have to.”

She has trained her body not to process emotions as she once did, the tears she used to cry replaced with a bite-swollen lip, but this is still-

“I would assume I have not changed so much.”

She twirls and takes a kiss and she wants to believe this, that time has been kind and how long it has been since the last time she wanted him this way will not be a concern, that her unstable body is still-

“You do worry me.”

He says that easier than openly speaking of love; she’s learned what he actually means. There is a certain reverence in his eyes as he kisses across her face, her markings giving new direction, and all of this they have comfortably done since-

Her body still recovers from the birth of their daughter. To subject it to desire above that is a risk, but… she knows this man she loves as an extension of herself, and it will be safe, and-

More kisses, maneuvering of clothes, eyes wandering more than hands. The sight of him is different now, every bit of his skin a reminder that the impossible happened and for once it was good, and if they ever have time and she has the energy for it she wants to map everything she missed but for now-

“It would be easier if… I have control,” she murmurs. “I do trust you, but I do not know-“

“You have never preferred that, but-“

“I didn’t let you touch me for a year last time. The caution is-“

Her breath catches as his hands move between her thighs. That he has interest in her at all this way, a month after… this is what love is, she thinks, this is how powerful they are, this is-

“Tell me what you need.”

“Lie down first.”

He does, and this too is beauty, her impatient beloved willing to accept whatever boundaries she sets in this moment and-

She straddles his waist, and an idea forms that may make this easier.

“Could you… sit against the wall?”

They are not as young as they once were, she reminds herself, and they were never particularly adventurous in intimacies to begin with, and she will not cause unpleasant aftershocks if she can avoid them, and-

Yes. This will do much better.

Her partner touches between her thighs again and makes a low uncertain noise, and she moves against his fingers and the want of it feels new and how dare she have that feeling from someone she has loved for near twenty years and-

“If this is just an excuse to hide your face against me…”

“It will be easier,” she murmurs. “But I may need other distraction.”

A few more kisses and she feels herself get warm, not quite as she once did but enough for her to change her position and align herself and-

She makes an almost inhuman noise at the sensation. They used to be good at this; how suited they are to each other does include intimate parts, and even if it hadn’t the amount of times they’ve been together would’ve re-trained her, but right now-

“Did I hurt you?”

Jessica laughs, some primal reaction in her body taking over. “You did nothing,” she manages to say. “I really did think…”

“If this is not-“

She deliberately clenches around him as if to make a point. “It is a different feeling than I am used to and expect. That does not make it bad, just…”

“Still-“

“I do not know what chances we will have in the near future. I won’t have my lingering memory of the last time we took pleasure in each other be the strangeness of our reunion. Besides, we have not consummated our marriage, and-“

“You do have a creative tendency for self-destruction.”

“Do you think I do not want you?”

She rolls her hips and it is still strange, not bad in a way she could explain but strange all the same. Her body is something different now, and-

The position she chose does allow him to hold her close, and she leans into it. This part she knows, fingers tracing patterns on her back, the solidness of him against her fragility, slowly moving his hips against hers to make it easier, cautious as she’s ever wanted and-

“Are you-“

“No.”

“Do you need-“

“You know I’ve never-“

One of his hands slips between them and plays with her pleasure nerves, gentle pressure, she can’t recall ever saying what she likes and she’s not sure he’s ever asked either but they have been like this so long and-

She does not break as he does, but she gets pleasantly close and it is enough.

She moves off of him and decides that is enough movement for the night, no reason to do anything more than curl up on her side of the bed. They have been married for a month; they are now, by every code she knows, completely bound to each other and-

“I do love you,” she murmurs. “I would not have-“

“We don’t have to be as we have been.”

“I never did anything I didn’t want. I know-“

“Nothing has changed. Nothing needs to change.”

She knows that isn’t true. If they come out of this intact… a rapidly shifting world with their son at the center of it… what space is there for them against such chaos? Where do they actually stand, and what is she-

She has never cared much for labels or formalities, she reminds herself as she kisses her husband’s face and rests her body against his. Why start now?

[metanoia-blues]

02. METANOIA BLUES - The Hag of Driftwood Marsh

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After a couple days of rest and a bit of shopping to buy Luca a new prosthetic arm, our trio set off for the Driftwood Marsh in search of the river barge, home of the dreaded hag, Old Aggie Eeltongue.

Old Aggie proved to be as abrasive and unpleasant as the stories had said, prodding and provoking our heroes with snippets of knowledge from their past that the hag had no right to know...

Through her flippant remarks, it’s revealed to En and Willow that four years ago Luca lost all memories of his life, and that he carries a Dragonmark of the Sentinel on the nape of his neck. Luca and Willow also learn that En’s right eye was replaced against their will by the strange eyeball that now acts as the source of their magic. Willow’s immediate research would reveal this eyeball’s origins to likely be one of two planes: Xoriat, the Plane of Madness, or Khyber, the World within Worlds.

After making the trio do her chores, Aggie agrees to give them a cure for the curse in exchange for the return of her conch shell. But first, they’re told to venture into the marsh and retrieve some ingredients for her. Slightly battered and embarrassed, the trio returns to Old Aggie’s barge with the ingredients in tow.

As a curse-lifting concoction simmers, Aggie offers the trio a mystical fortune telling. She tells Luca that joy and suffering in equal measure await him on his journey, and that people he does not remember miss him. And to En, she reveals that the cult that forced the Eye upon them is still active with more than ten members, and the greater whole that the Eye was a fragment of is still alive. But Willow refuses Old Aggie’s fortunes, instead opting to use her crystal ball themselves. Succeeding at this phenomenal feat of magic, Willow has visions of an airship called the Stormchaser, observing it and its unfamiliar crew.

Before the trio departs, Old Aggie reluctantly offers them one last gift, a piece of the Draconic Prophecy:

The braid of fate is not lightly split, so a telling for one is a telling for all. What I say now is only a glimpse of the living prophecy, the coils ever shifting as the great wyrm wends its way through the sands of time… The Startouched Wanderer. The Devoted Shieldbearer. The Penitent Dreamspeaker. A grand design spirals into the beyond, for your lives are more than simply your own. I see four pillars unmoving, each a trial in its own right, though only one will promise fortune at the threshold. Beware the roving Eyes of the slumbering Tyrant; their thirst poisons the Houses in Shadow. The Blazing Blade seeks those who will carry it beyond the borders of darkness. Only a resurrection of the Twisted Shade can quench its selfish heart. Forgotten love wields its sword in despair, clutched by hand of green that bows to the legacy of the Thirteenth Mark. In the desolate heart of the shattered Gorgon sleeps the Seed of Annihilation. The Steel Lion knows the way. Trust his guidance. That is all that I see. These are the things that Will come to pass, for they were set in motion long ago. All else is ephemeral chaos, unknowable until the moment it is.

The hag claims that the Fates of our three heroes are intertwined. Four inevitable trials await them, and their actions will have great consequences, though the outcome is yet unclear. Willow the Startouched Wanderer, Luca the Devoted Shieldbearer, and En the Penitent Dreamspeaker.

With that, Old Aggie all but shoves our heroes from her home, her barge sinking below the marsh water.

Returning to Salvage with a cure for Captain Varis and his crew in the form of magical soap, the trio discuss with Luca’s friend and mentor Seeker Else the best way to bathe six seaspawn. Else offers to let them use the clinic baths and to provide help, but it would need to be arranged for two days later, as the anniversary of the Day of Mourning was approaching - a holiday in remembrance of the grim calamity that had destroyed the nation of Cyre and brought the Last War to a grinding halt. Such a day meant that the clinic would likely be busy with those seeking counsel and care. Nevertheless, the trio sneaks into the caves under the lighthouse to report the news to Varis and his crew and arrange to administer the hag's curative soap at the earliest opportunity.

In the meantime, disguised as their shady alias Kai, En visits a Regalport salon named Vis-a-Visage, which operates as a front for their criminal contact Vis’ less-than-legal enterprises. There they learn of a lucrative impersonation job: attend a special theatre performance on the Day of Mourning wearing the face of one Captain Miraldine Frostroot. En accepts the job without comment.

Disguised as Captain Frostroot, En finds themselves at House Thuranni's Galleria of Shadows, sitting next to some of the most high-ranking Captains of the Seadragon Principality, including High Prince Ryger ir’Wynarn himself.

They are in attendance at the premiere performance of the Folly of the Four Sons - a new opera by the Cyran poet Tarek Elham, performed by the brightest of House Thuranni’s luminaries. The cast includes the head of the house himself, Baron Elar d'Thuranni playing a titular role, and his daughter Lydia Lelas d'Thuranni as the prima donna. The opera was a deliberate criticism of the Last War, with dream-like visuals created through incredible feats of illusion magic.

The job seemed to be going smoothly, until it wasn’t. During the intermission, En caught sight of a man with a golden monocle. They recognized him from the worst day of their life – when they were taken captive in a House Phiarlan theatre, had their own eye surgically removed and replaced with the magical one that now haunts their dreams. Shaken by the sudden memory, En manages to finish their job and return to their temporary residence at the Nodding Poppy clinic. Despite Luca’s best efforts to calm En’s nerves, En spends the night in a wakeless sleep, remembering in perfect clarity the events that led to them making their Warlock Pact. 

The next day En, Luca, and Willow smuggle the cursed seaspawn to the clinic under the cover of night. Using the magic soap, they scrub away the curse revealing the true forms of Captain Varis and his crew.

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[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 13 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 13

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, the Duke

Rating: NC-17 for sex and language (shower sex, P in V, unprotected sex *wrap it up, kids*, creampie)

Summary:  you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter 13

The hot water cascaded down your body.  Steam fogged up the windowed walls of the shower stall.  Your eyes were closed and you melted back against Heisenberg’s body as he washed your hair and massaged your scalp.  His fingers felt amazing, kneading and relieving the tension.

He turned you around to face him, cupped your face in his hands, and tilted your head back.  As the water rinsed the suds from your hair, his lips closed over yours, kissing you deeply.  You kept your head under the rush of water as your arms wrapped around his waist, holding his naked body close to yours.  Heisenberg moaned into your mouth and you wanted to devour him.  After hours of fucking, you thought you would have gotten at least a bit of your pent-up arousal out of your system, but you craved him more and more.

Heisenberg kissed down your jaw and neck.  You shivered against him at the feel of his tongue starting at your chest and slowly licking up your neck and back to your mouth.  “Mmmmm fuck...I want to lick every drop of water from your body, Y/N,” Heisenberg murmured against your lips before kissing you.

You needed him again...you were always going to need this man.

“Fuck me, Karl…” you whispered, turning around in his arms, leaning forward, and placing your hands on the windowed wall.

Heisenberg growled as his hands pulled you by your hips.  You felt him against your ass, his slow thrusts sliding his cock between your thighs.  “How the fuck are you doing this to me?” he whispered against your ear, his left hand moving up the front of your body, softly grasping your neck, “I’ve fucked you over and over again...and I can’t get enough.  I want you even more now that I’ve fucked you…”

“I still want you, too,” you said, one hand sliding down the window, making a handprint in the steam, “please, Karl...I’m aching…”  With a gruff curse, he reached down between your legs, angled his cock, and pushed inside of you.

The both of you moaned loudly, the noises echoing in the shower stall.  Heisenberg’s fingers tightened on your neck as his hips moved against you.  The wet slap of skin against skin joined the echoes.  

Heisenberg’s lips kissed and licked along your ear as he grunted and growled.  Goosebumps rose on your skin as the feel of his cock caressed back and forth along your G-spot.  The soothing pleasure of the hot water relaxed you as he pushed deeper inside of you.  He stretched you open and the feeling was exquisite.  You never wanted to be without his hands on you and his body pressed to yours.

His left hand stayed at your neck, holding you against him as his right hand moved around to your clit, trapping it under his index and middle fingers.

“Karl…” you moaned loudly, pushing back into his increasing thrusts.  Heisenberg fucked you like a madman, so desperate to cum inside of you and to feel you cum around his cock.

“Oh my god...Y/N...cum...I want you to cum…” he ordered, holding you tight between his body and his hand.  You wriggled and moved helplessly, chasing the orgasm that he wanted to give to you.  

You rested your head against his shoulder and cried out as you toppled over the edge.  Your orgasm was intense and fierce, quickly giving way to overpowering as your clit became hypersensitive.  Heisenberg’s teeth sunk into the soft, wet skin of your shoulder as he emptied himself inside of you.  The muffled moans seemed to slip into your skin and nestle deep into your soul.  His arms wrapped tight around you, holding you close, unable to let you go.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum…” Heisenberg murmured.

Once the two of you caught your breath, you continued your shower.  He shampooed his hair as you took a washcloth and soap and washed his body.  You took your time, washing every inch of his body, ogling his taut limbs and strong frame.  He chuckled as he caught you gazing at him and squeezing his flesh.

“Struck by a vision?” he asked, an amused smile on his face.

“I’m just admiring the view,” you quipped, reaching around to lightly pinch his ass.  He laughed heartily as he washed the suds from his hair.

Then it was his turn to wash you.  His hands worked the soap into a lather as he cleaned your body, taking his time to grope you and massage your achy muscles.  Having sex consistently for hours was bound to make anyone sore.  He moved behind you and reached around to wash your breasts, thoroughly massaging them and pinching your nipples.  Arousal pulsed in your cunt, but you had to focus.  The Duke would be outside the factory shortly and you thought it rude to keep him waiting.

Heisenberg shut off the shower and opened the stall door, grabbing two towels.  He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off as you took the other towel.  Wrapping it around his waist, he went to the kitchen area, letting you dry yourself off.  You watched him as he made coffee on the stove and cooked a small breakfast.

It was unusual watching this domesticated moment between you and Heisenberg.  In such a short amount of time, the two of you had fallen into this routine...this habit.  You found that you were getting more and more comfortable around him.  He did not arouse feelings of fear, dread, and unease anymore.  It was hard to imagine that just a few days ago, you were fearful of him despite the evident attraction you two felt for one another.  But after the truth came out...and of course the fucking...you felt drawn to him, emotionally as well as physically.

You towel dried your hair and wrapped it around your body as you sifted through your clothing for something warm to wear.

“I still need to wash my dirty clothes,” you reminded Heisenberg, “before long, I won’t have any clean clothes left.”

Heisenberg chuckled as he cooked bacon and fried eggs on the stove.  “If I had my way, pussycat, you would walk around naked all the time…”

You rolled your eyes as he turned his head to you and gave you a naughty wink.  “Dirty old man…” you quipped, a smile toying with your lips.  He laughed and turned back to the food.  You took in his strong back and the towel covering his nakedness from the waist down.  A sudden image of going up behind him and ripping his towel off played in your mind, but once again you had to remind yourself that the Duke was going to be there soon.

You rifled through one of the extra suitcases Heisenberg brought you from the crash and found an oversized long sleeved shirt.  The fabric felt warm and cozy.  You put on your bra and panties before pulling the shirt over your head.  Your favorite pair of jeans completed the look.

Heisenberg placed your plate on the table and you sat and ate quietly as he got dressed.  As tempting as it was to want to turn and watch him take off his towel, you knew that it would only add to your arousal.  Now wasn’t the time.

“Are you going to eat?” you asked as he walked up to the table dressed in his pants and buttoned up shirt.

“No, I only drink coffee in the morning,” he said, reaching for the three items he always wore hanging around his neck.  

“What are those things?” you asked, pointing your fork at them.  Heisenberg took them one by one and showed them to you.

“This is a compass,” he answered, placing it over his head, “this one is a scale of sorts that helps measure metals and steel…”  The last one he held in his hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth over it.  “And this one is a dogtag from the German army.  It belonged to my uncle.  When I was a child, my uncle went AWOL during World War I and escaped here to be with my family.  He died of consumption...what we know now as tuberculosis...four years later.  One day as I was wandering around the village, I came across his old house...hadn’t been lived in since my family died.  I found this as I was rummaging through his things.  I decided to keep it…”

You hung on to his every word.  His eyes looked so sad, mourning the family he had been taken from.  Your heart ached for him.  You cursed Mother Miranda for taking him from his flesh and blood.  Heisenberg acted tough and at times had an air of self-centeredness and a large ego, but he was fragile deep inside.  You wondered if he had ever told anyone else this story.

“You done?” he asked once he snapped out of his reverie.  You took the last strip of bacon and ate it quickly before going to get your socks and sneakers.  Heisenberg put the dogtag around his neck, put his hat on his head, and reached for his trenchcoat.  You tied your shoes as he slid his sunglasses on his face.

You followed him down the hall and down a flight of stairs to the sliding double doors.  He pushed one open and the two of you walked outside.

It was cold and cloudy, but the storm had passed.  Fresh snow coated the ground.  The sporadic pieces of metal, old factory parts, and an old beat-up car jutted up from the earth with a small amount of snow covering them.  You looked down the pathway and saw the Duke sitting in the back of his cart in the exact same place where you had first met him.

The Duke smiled as you and Heisenberg approached his carriage, him puffing on his cigar.  “It is good to see you again, Y/N,” he greeted.

“It’s good to see you as well, Duke,” you said.  Heisenberg immediately started rifling through the supplies the Duke had lying around his cart.  He wasn’t one for small talk.

You looked around the carriage for the horse.  “I love your horse, Duke.  What’s its name?”

“Her name is Raven,” the Duke answered, “I think she’s taken quite a liking to you since she saw you last.  Call it my expert intuition, but her demeanor changed for the better after she spent some time with you…”

You chuckled softly as you started to walk towards the front, but stopped.  “Karl,” you said, turning to him, “I’m going to pet the horse, not run off.  Just want you to know so you don’t have a heart attack…”

Heisenberg mumbled as he sifted through the wares.  “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, dollface…” he muttered, not acting in the least bit troubled by your witty repartee.  You laughed and walked to Raven, slowly placing your hand on her hip.

“Hey, Raven,” you whispered soothingly, “it’s Y/N.  I missed you…”

The horse turned her head in your direction and let out a huff through her nostrils.  You ran your hand along her body and up her neck.  Raven slowly placed her nose on your shoulder and nuzzled your face, to which you giggled.  You spent a good amount of time giving her lots of rubs and pets.  You didn’t think of yourself as a horse whisperer, but it was as if you could feel Raven’s admiration of you and it made your heart swell.

“I’ll see you again, I hope,” you said, giving her another pet before walking back to Heisenberg and the Duke.

Your gaze fell on a small array of crystals that hung from necklaces and bracelets.  The crystals were different sizes, shapes, and colors.  Some were jagged and rough while others were smooth to the touch.  A small bracelet sat off to the side with a reddish crystal the size of a grape.  You picked it up and admired it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the Duke said, turning his attention towards you.

“It is,” you marveled, “what kind of crystal is it?”

“Well...that looks to be a carnelian,” he answered, “carnelians bring joy and friendship...and family togetherness.  It is a stone of happiness, it represents bringing things and people together…”

You smiled as you studied the bracelet.  Friendship.  Family.  You knew exactly who you wanted to have this.

“How much?” you asked.  Heisenberg had been loading his purchases into his sack and stopped to look at you.  “I don’t have much and all I have is in American currency, but I can run back to get my wallet…”

“It’s on the house, my sweet,” the Duke said, smiling down at you.

“Oh no, please, let me give you something…” you spoke, but the Duke held his hand up as if the matter was closed.

“Please, Y/N, your money's no good here…” he said.  You gave him a smile and thanked him, putting the bracelet in your pocket.

“I’ll need more cigars in a couple weeks,” Heisenberg spoke up, slinging the sack over his shoulder.

“Of course!  And I’ll inquire about those tools, cogs, and copper wire that you need.  I saw some items a few towns over...I should have them in a few weeks,” the Duke said.

“Good.  Thank you,” Heisenberg said, turning and walking back to the factory.

“It was good seeing you again, Duke,” you said, waving goodbye as you jogged to Heisenberg.

“And you as well, darling,” he returned, moving his hand as if he were tipping an imaginary cap to you.  You caught up with Heisenberg and looped your arm under his, placing your hand on his bicep.  He looked down at your hand on him, then up at your face.  You had your gaze forward on a mist of clouds hovering above the mountains, not seeing the soft smile that played on Heisenberg’s mouth as he continued walking up the pathway towards the factory.

The Duke smiled as he watched the endearing moment.

[scoutdoesstuff]

hi hello ok. so this was supposed to be posted on august 24th for my little august tea prompt challenge and that. didn't quite happen. but i'm posting it now!!

i'll be trying to get the rest of the challenge out by the end of this week, btw, though posting may be a little erratic on my end. as always, everything will wind up in the masterpost i've got going, though, so feel free to check that from time to time if you're following along (thank you for following along if you are!!).

august 24th's ficlet is another possible homestead verse chunk. this time, we're going to the fair with the flavor white peach.

Jack’s perched on top of Dean’s shoulders, little kid arms wrapped around Dean’s face, and chubby kid fingers interlaced under Dean’s chin. He’s getting dangerously close to a nap time, even for a kid who could decide what age he is at a whim. His once enthusiastic song about peaches is dimming down to a sort of distracted muttering that’s getting close to a creepy witches chant.

“You ready to head home, Jack Attack?” Dean asks, tilting his head up slightly to try and catch Jack’s attention.

“Peaches, peaches, peeaacheesss,” Jack sings, voice cracking on the high notes. Then Jack sighs, awfully mournful for someone who had eaten their weight in fruit and fried dough today.

Sam stifles a laugh in his cotton candy next to Dean. Dean had been designated as the Jack wrangler today which made Sam their sherpa for the day. It also meant that, for once, Sam had eaten more junk food that Dean had, if only because Dean hadn’t had the damn time after chasing Jack around.

The kid was technically indestructible, yeah, but Dean still didn’t want him to accidentally get kicked in the head by a goat. Those things were fucked up. Eyes weren’t supposed to look like that.

The fair had been his idea. Sam had been going through the local papers, more out of habit than any real desire for a hunt, and Dean had seen a blurb about the local fair. Dean and Sam had never really gone as kids, outside of one truly disastrous first date Dean had had in high school. Cindy Martins had been really fucking cute but really fucking freaked out by the fact that Dean could hit a bullseye at twenty paces again and again and again. Sixteen year old Dean had thought he could impress her with his sharp shooting and distract from the fact that he didn’t have any money for food by stuffing her arms with the creepy, dead eyed stuffed animals. It hadn’t quite worked out like that, though.

Anyway, Dean wanted Jack Attack to have normal kid memories, even if he wasn’t exactly a normal kid. All kids liked animals and shitty food and the extremely unhygienic death trap rides, though, so Dean had tossed the idea out to Sam of them going to the fair. Sam had done one of those weird sort of frown, sort of agreement faces he does and gone yeah, sure, Dean and that was that.

Jack had been a bit too small for the rollercoasters, but he’d fallen in love with the frankly terrifying swing contraption that looked … awful from the ground. When Dean’s nerves couldn’t handle his — Cas’ — kid going twenty feet up in the air on something that was deconstructed and reconstructed in twelve hours every other weekend, they’d wandered over and found the animals. Jack developed several deep and intense friendships with some of the petting zoo animals and had a minor meltdown when his time in the pen was up. Both Dean and Sam had a blinding moment of terror, images of their kid — Cas’ kid — showing up on every “can you believe it or not” website on the planet with headlines like “baby with the face of an angel screams everyone within 100 miles deaf after being pulled from petting zoo pen before he was ready”.

Jack didn’t go full nuclear, though, just regular six year old pissy. Sam — stupidly, in Dean’s opinion — promised Jack he could maybe get a pet of his very own soon if he stopped crying. Jack had taken a couple of hiccuping breaths and scrubbed at his face with his tiny hands and stared at Sam like he’d just promised Jack the world. Watching Sammy gently wipe Jack’s tears and talk to Jack like he was family made something weird and warm worm its way into Dean’s chest.

They’re driving home now. Jack’s dead to the world in his booster seat, mouth open in a silent little kid snore, Sam’s tapping away at his phone in the passenger seat, and Dean’s watching the world roll by while the Mamas and the Papas croon softly from the Impala’s stereo.

“Dog or cat?” Dean asks, keeping his voice pitched low so that Jack won’t wake up.

Sam grunts and looks up from his phone, face scrunched in confusion.

“Do you want a dog?” Dean says, slower but still with his voice pitched low. “Or a cat?”

“I don’t know if we’re really positioned to have either right now, Dean,” Sam says, sounding hideously reasonable about it all.

“You just promised our magic six year old a pet today, Sammy,” Dean says. He can’t even bother to hide his smile.

Sam scoffs. “He’s a three month old in a six year old’s body, Dean. He’s not gonna remember.”

“You never forgot,” Dean says. Sammy stares at his profile for the next six miles, a frown slowly growing on his face.

[wannaholdhandswithfictionalmen]

(My) Sanctuary;

A/n: First Ever Fic for Genshin Impact Fandom. A fic no one asked for but the idea was living in my head rent free, so what's a girl to do except play more Genshin Impact and work on this fic. (Listened to Sanctuary & Don't think twice by Hikaru Utada while writing this -- hence my inspired and very unoriginal title for this fic because I am horrible at thinking of titles.) 

Genre: Mostly Fluff really, a pinch or two of Angst.

Warning: Implied underage drinking. Brief description of Violence. Of age drinking. 

Summary: Childhood friends with history. Unspoken feelings. Mutual pining. Circumstances and life have forced you and Diluc on different paths, but you always return to Mondstadt and Diluc always makes time for you.

Word count: 3,128

The busy streets of Mondstadt. How long had it been this time? The absence of your presence from these cobblestone paths; four, five? No. Six months. Commissions to fight greater, fierce foes across Teyvat demanded your blades and lightning. Not that it mattered much how far or long you ventured from your former home. There was only one person who meant a great deal, important even if you could not sort through all the emotions attached to him in your own heart or even dare to give voice to those emotions.

Diluc Ragnvindr. 

And despite the inner twisted, festering turmoil (of your own making) cradled in your heart for Mondstadt, Favonius Knights, The Fatui 'diplomats'. Diluc was always a reason to return. 

In fact you aren't at all surprised when you stop by Good Hunter, offering up a handful of Mora for a meal. Sitting down at a table, closing your eyes. You took in a deep breath, the air here felt different to you. Thanks to the Anemo god, Barbatos. You swear it truly is the sense, embodiment of freedom that fills your lungs and soothes you even if for a few seconds. 

A savory blend of mushrooms, chicken and noodles is your lunch for the day. After thirty minutes have passed since your arrival in Mondstadt. And Diluc is sliding into the chair across from your own, elbows on the table, arms folded. Crimson eyes silently taking in the features of you. 

"Hm. You're slacking. That's ten minutes later than before, what took your little informants so long to whisper in your ear word of me being back?" You don't even spare a look at him, taking another bite, chewing a mouthful as you wait for his reply. 

"I do have a winery to run and the protection of Mondstadt to ensure, I can't not always come rushing away for personal affairs." Diluc holds a evident edge of underlying frustration in his smooth voice. 

Your own gaze trails up and over him, taking in the exasperation and exhaustion that furrows the brow of his otherwise stoic expression-- you want to ask when he last got a full night's rest? If he was still doing his lone warrior, Darknight Hero routine? If he was as stubborn as ever shouldering the burden of his fervor desire to defend and protect. Oh, how you worry, worry and worry the weight of it all on your tongue, tightening your throat-- who takes care of you? Who stands by your side? Who defends you? Who protects you? Who lov-

Once upon a time it had been you but a vortex of mourning, sorrow, rage swallowed up your old life. Until you wanted nothing more than to never see the walls of Mondstadt ever again. One day leaving it all behind. Time was a cruel mistress, one day swiftly grew to years. The first time you returned from what would become regular disappearances--adventures. 

Damage had been done. Diluc was the one who reached out to savage your friendship and you had welcomed the chance to have him back in your life even if it would never be anything more. 

"Should I be honored that the gentleman Ragnvindr can even grace me with his company?" It's a hollow jest as you pick at your half eaten plate of food. 

"No," His dismissal of the notion is soft yet firm. "Just Diluc, a friend, who is glad to see you well again." It's never his straight-forward or blunt nature that catches you off guard, it's when the subtle but clear sincerity creeps to the surface. Open, unwavering in his honesty.  

You huff, looking down feigning disinterest yet the twitch of your lips is undeniable. Warmth, simple, gentle curls in your chest. Happiness. Flickering embers outside of the stone walls of your heart that would make Rex Lapis proud. Diluc had always been able to slip past your defenses, so easily lingering in your thoughts, in your heart. Whether he was aware of it or not. 

"I suppose I am glad to see you too. Saved me a few bottles of my favorite wine?" You ask glancing up to catch his watchful gaze, biting your bottom lip as a wide smile threatened to spread on your face. Dulic's sudden raised eyebrow says it all-- do you really need to ask? 

"Four pristine bottles of aged mixed sunsettia, valberry wine." Prideful is subtle and delicate in his voice as if Diluc would ever forget your favorite wine. Funny enough to think about how even as the unspoken king of the winery industry, he doesn't enjoy alcohol himself. Still keeping a stock of your favorite in his manor. 

"You never let me pay you and we can't really share a few glasses together, so," you hum, slowly wired up with nervous yet excited anticipation as you reach down into the bag hanging off your shoulder. Shifting through the items and materials you carried with you for cooking and crafting you find it! Grabbing a slender jug of a bottle, wrapped in cloth. Swiftly placed on the table in front of Diluc. "I brought something for you." 

It's not like grape juice is such a hard find or something Diluc could not afford himself with his abundance of wealth but you had commissioned a famous brewer to make a special blend of grapes and other berries to create a rich and sweet juice. With your own Mora to spare after a few jobs, and you had a feeling your wandering would lead back to Mondstadt. 

Diluc is steady, slow with peeling back the cloth to stare at the deep, dark purple liquid filling the glass bottle. Uncorking the bottle, Diluc takes a whiff, closing his eyes, the smile that graces his face. It's everything and so much more. "It smells delicious. Thank you, I can't wait to taste it." 

"Then we should begin our walk to the manor? I can hear my wine calling me." You leave a few Mora coins as a tip, standing up, Diluc presses the cork back into the bottle and hands it back to you for safe keeping. 

"Alright," Diluc nods, following, matching your stride with ease. "Adelinde was asking about you the other day, you know she always makes sure your room is tidy, spotless in fact." 

Stupid. How one little phrase has your stomach full of crystal flies like you are a teenager all over again. And the mention of the kind maid who still fusses over Diluc and you on occasion makes you happy. It is a nice reprieve from nights of solitude, you are content to travel alone but loneliness is a creature that waits, and waits until the right moment to sink its claws and fangs into you on the road. 

The walk from Mondstadt isn't far but you aren't expecting a fully pleasant and peaceful walk with Diluc. Outside of the gates of the city and a few minutes down the dirt road, the sight of Hilichurls is predictable. 

Small pack of fighters, five Hilichurls carrying clubs and one hulking Mitachurl with a shield. This should be fun. 

"Make sure to show me how playing the part of the nighttime hero has kept your skills sharp!" You yell with a laugh, grinning as you summon your sword, forged of dragon bone, jagged, fierce blade. Rushing forward you dodge past the throw Pyro slimes. 

You let yourself run a little wild, your Electro vision surge through you, bolts of lightning crash down on the charging Hilichurls. Shocking and stunning the monsters for a moment, that's all you need to unleash a flurry of fast slashes.

A loud, enraged howl, crashing stomps approach from your back. Anyone else would need to worry or doubt--you don't. The familiar roar and rumble of flames fills the air, the scorning heat of it nipping behind you. Diluc doesn't even let that Mitcahurl so much as graze you, his grunts and shouts clash with its growl and howls as his flame imbued blade breaks and burns through the beast's wooden shield. Leaving ashes flying in the air and the heavy smell of smoke and fire. 

You electrify the Hilichurls, slowing, paralyzing the small beasts until they are left vulnerable and weak against you. The perfect targets. You cleave one's head off, stab straight through the mask of another, impale the chest of another. Delivering killing blows with precision and force. Wiping them out, you turn in time to see the beauty of Diluc. 

Rapid, graceful, relentless, ferocity embraced in unyielding flames. The towering giant Hilichurl is left staggering, stumbling under the strikes of Diluc's claymore left all too unprotected without its shield to hide behind. Diluc turns up the heat quite literally, the soaring, blazing phoenix that emerged from his own vision and will, his flames destroy the Mitcahurl, wiping out its pitiful existence effortlessly. 

Diluc shakes a bit of lingering flames and smoke off the steel of his blade with a sweeping slash at the air, standing among darkened, black grass, a gust of wind sways his hair and he looks over his shoulder. It is surely a moment deserving of immortalizing in portrait, his bright red hair blowing in the wind, holding his greatsword in one hand, sunlight giving him an ethereal glow, gazing at you. 

Giving a slow applause, you whistle and laugh. "Flashy as ever, Diluc." 

"The pyro element leaves little room for anything else. Still it's efficient and powerful," Diluc turns to face you, letting go of the hilt of his sword as it vanishes, unneeded outside of battle. "However, it's not something you could critique me on, when anyone for miles could see your lightning." 

"Fair enough." 

Besides a few stray slimes, the rest of your walk is undisturbed, reaching the winery as nightfall, the sun dipping below the horizon. 

"(Name) it is good to see you well." Adelinde smiles upon seeing you as Diluc opens the front door and holds it open for you to walk in first. She hugs you, it's hard not to melt into her tight cradle. 

"Have you been eating well? Sleeping accordingly? Not just naps. Taking breaks in between all your monster hunting?" Her lovingly stern questions always feel comforting in a way that is odd to describe and felt deeply. 

"I am still standing, Adelinde, fully rested and my stomach is full at the moment." 

"You would do well to keep it as such." Adelinde levels you with a motherly look of if you do not take care of yourself, I will which should be hard to make look threatening but the older woman handles it with years of expertise. She has worried over guests, Diluc, Kaeya, you for many, many years in the pact and many to come you are certain. 

"Adelinde, please have the bottles of sunsettia, valberry wine brought up, we-" 

"One step ahead of you, Master Diluc. Hillie and Moco brought them up a short while ago, I hope you two enjoy your time together." Adelinde leaves the manor, you aren't sure what work needs to be done on the grounds, you know for a fact Adeline specifically tries to do outside chores during daylight hours. It's an obvious tell for someone who knows her, she is ensuring you and Diluc remain alone for now. An avid supporter of your friendship you suppose. 

Diluc barely gets to call out a 'thank you!' as she is shutting the door. 

You stroll across the room, not much has changed at all. Your destination is the furniture set by the fireplace, the small, round table paired with two cushioned chairs. Pulling out the bottle of juice to place on the table top next to the bottles of wine, to cups awaiting you both. 

Pouring your first cup, you are eager, excited to taste the almost sickeningly sweet flavor of the wine. It never seems to taste the same from any other winery or brewery or even in the company of others. 

Moments of comfortable quiet drift by as you slowly, steadily sip and savory the wine. 

When Diluc takes the first taste of your gift and his low moan of approval as he swallows. Oh. You could listen to that again and again. All husky, raspy delight that sends shivers down your spine. It feels good to bring any kind of bliss to Diluc, even the simplest kind by providing him a drink he loves. 

You get the mutual feeling of being watched as you drink, sighing and smiling at the taste, the feeling of nostalgia creeps up on you. 

"I remember the first time I tasted this wine. We were barely teenagers sneaking down into the cellar. I badly wanted to try the wine everyone in Mondstadt wouldn't shut up about," you recall it interrupting yourself with short, full breaths of levity. Far too amused by the memory to contain your laughter. "I- I asked. No- begged you to come down with me while your father was gone, saying I'd bring Kaeya instead if you didn't come, bluffing and you got as red as a flaming flower, grabbed my hand and pulled me all the way to the cellar and downstairs." 

Diluc huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. "You knew how to push my buttons too well, half of the stuff I let you talk me into was completely foolish." Staring into the lit fire as he listened to you. 

"Just half?"

"Fine. All of the escapades I let you drag me along on were absurd." 

"Your welcome as I recall you had a lot of fun." 

"At the risk of a lot of trouble, you tested the lengths of even my father's generous patience." Diluc shook his head, the fondness in expression was plain as day. 

"Oh, remember the night after getting my gliding license, I dared you to join me on top of the cathedral to see which of us could get farther across the city, and you landed in a bush!" Several glasses of wine, one empty bottle of the tart and sweet berry alcohol and you felt even more relaxed, comfortable in the company of Diluc. 

"I, at the very least, remained dry. You were the one who crash-landed right into the fountain." Diluc smirked, sharp, sly as he chuckled, lightly tugging and adjusting the fabric of his gloves. Idle gestures as his cup stays on the table after a few sips. 

"I would rate my dive undoubtedly ten out of ten." By the Archons, it had been a miracle you both escaped from the knights of Favonius night patrol with the commotion you made, wet leather boots on stone top made you slip a few times in your dash to escape discovery. Diluc had kept a firm grip on your arm, tugging you back up and refusing to leave you behind. 

Then you remember, hiding away, pressed chest to chest, the chill of your soaked clothes clinging to you, the rise and fall of heavy, labored breaths. How close Diluc had been, that smokey, fiery scent that having pyro vision gifted him along with faint aroma of fruit thanks to the orchard of the dawn winery, he worked with his father on occasion. If you had just tilted your head up, leaned in--

"I know Kaeya was always jealous. I could talk you into anything but you refused his antics left and right." 

"It's different. I actually like you and spending time with you." Diluc's deadpan response pulls a ugly snort-laugh from you. His relationship with Kaeya is an odd one but you know deep down he cares for his brother even if things aren't exactly civil between them. 

"I feel so special." 

"As you should, I don't like people." His sarcasm, that is half-joke, half-truth keeps you laughing. 

The first wave of tiredness hits you, letting out an involuntary yawn. Your travels, the trek and fight from earlier catch up with you. Combined with the consumption of alcohol. 

"I think the wine is getting to me, I feel a little sleepy." You finish off your glass with one gulp, smooth like silk down your throat, the lack of burn makes it far too easy to want to empty all the bottles. Four. You'd certainly regret that in the morning. 

"I noticed." Diluc gets up first, three steps towards you, he is holding out his hand to you. 

"I can walk myself, I am not that drunk." You protest his offer while reaching out and taking his hand, entwining your fingers without a second thought. Diluc gives your hand a squeeze, his slender fingers lightly caressing the back of your hand. He guides you upstairs to your room as if you don't know the way by heart as if your room would ever change. 

"You would never ask for help yourself and you did break a vase the last time, even the smallest bit of intoxication seems to make you clumsier." Diluc gives his clear and absolutely unfair opinion. It happened one time!

It is really not necessary either to open the door for you, letting go of your hand only to press the large, warm palm of his hand against your back. Nor does Diluc need to kneel before you as you sit on the edge of the bed, unfastening your boots, removing your satchel and placing your belongings on the bedside table. 

"It is hilarious to hear you of all people, calling me out of not asking for help. Mister Darknight." 

Dliuc 'tsks' at the mention of his beloved hero name. "I am aware, that can be a little hypocritical." 

"A little?" 

"(Name)," Diluc speaks your name so tenderly, softly, as if the word itself is precious. "I simply want to help you, to car-" He clears his throat cutting off that train of thought. Pausing for seconds of silence pass, crimson eyes staring into your own. "If there was anyone I would accept help from it would be you." 

That is dangerously close to an admission of something else. And all every moment of the past, all the maybe(s), what-ifs, almost(s) flash through your mind. You could take the leap or let this become another memory to turn over and over in your head, wondering, wanting, yearning. 

"Get some rest." Diluc walks over to the door, standing in the open threshold of the room, hand gripping the door knob. 

"Diluc, wait" It's barely a whisper, so hushed and subdued. So low, he doesn't hear it and when Diluc looks over his shoulder, the short-lived courage in you has diminished and you can't bring yourself to voice all the longing, desire, love trapped in your heart. 

"Goodnight, Diluc."

"Goodnight, (Name)." 

[akoumi]

MWAD FOLKLORE - 4/?

ANASTASIA AND THE BONE KING.

This story is a little longer than the last one, and, quite a little more macabre. Do you still want to hear it? Well, then, listen closely…

A long, long time ago, there was a poor little village. Most of the villagers were farmers, and they made just enough to get by. Summers were warm, and crops grew well, but the winters were harsh and bitter like they are in this country. But the villagers banded together, worked hard to keep each other warm and fed, and so they survived year after year. 

But early one autumn, a stranger came to their village. He was tall and gaunt and dressed in all black. Not a single inch of skin showed - he wore a cloak, boots, gloves, and even his face was hidden by a black mask fashioned into the likeness of a skull. He had a mournful air about him, something melancholy, that many of the girls and boys took a shine to. They said he had lost a lover, that he was unbearably handsome under that mask of his, that he wore it to ward off anyone who might want a taste while he grieved for what he had lost. Some of the villagers said there was an unsavory air around him, the stink of rot and death that they smelled. They said that when he passed by, he was always accompanied by a cold breeze, and the sound of autumn turning to winter.

He did not give them his name. Instead he introduced himself to the villagers as the Bone King, and he said that he had come in search of a partner for himself. He said that he wanted someone beautiful to look at, someone who was a good dancer. They would come to live with him in his mansion miles to the north for a little bit, and if he was satisfied with them, he would wed them. Their family would receive money, food, cloth, anything they wanted. 

At this proposal, even the villagers who were wary of him fell over themselves trying to find a pretty youth to give to him. First in line was Mila Federova. She was a gorgeous young thing, with hair as black as the night sky and lips redder than the apples she was fond of. They brushed her hair until it shone, they pinched her cheeks until she blushed pink, they dressed her in a white-and-gold gown, and then they sent her off to the Bone King. 

For a little while, the villagers were happy, gossiping about the fun she must be having, dancing and eating with who was undoubtedly a very handsome young man. 

And then, the Bone King returned, as sorrowful as ever, without Mila. She hadn’t been who he was looking for, he explained sadly. She hadn’t been able to dance. So he had returned, looking for another suitor. The villagers were puzzled - Mila had always been light on her feet. And where was she now? But the Bone King simply said that she had not been the one.

The next one to go was Frederik Aslanov, with curly hair the color of wheat and gray eyes that flashed just like a summer storm. Just like with Mila, they brushed his hair and pinched his cheeks and dressed him up in his best clothes and sent him right off. 

For a little while, the villagers were happy. They gossiped about what fun he must be having, in the grand palace of the Bone King.

And then, the Bone King returned, as morose as ever, without Frederik. He hadn’t been who he was looking for, he explained sadly. He hadn’t been able to dance. So he had returned, looking for another suitor. The villagers were puzzled - Frederik had always been nimble. And where was he now? But the Bone King simply said that he had not done enough. 

The third youth to be chosen was Irina Petrova. She had lustrous chestnut hair, several shades of red and orange and gold, and perfect white teeth. Just like with Mila and Frederik, they brushed her hair and pinched her cheeks and dressed her up and sent her off. 

For a little while, the villagers were happy. They gossiped about the fun she must be having, wandering the gardens and endless riches of the black-masked man. 

And then, the Bone King returned, as desolate as ever, without Irina. She hadn’t been who he was looking for, he explained sadly. She hadn’t been able to dance. So he had returned, looking for another suitor. The villagers were puzzled - Irina had always moved like water in a spring stream. And where was she now? But the Bone King simply said she had failed. He asked for a new young man or woman to take home - but no one wanted to go with him. They were afraid of him. They saw the skull on his mask rather than speculate about how handsome of a face might lay under it. 

The Bone King did not argue. He simply bowed his head and departed. That night, Lev Antonov’s entire field of corn withered and died. The next day, he came back, asking for a new youth to take home. The villagers refused. 

The Bone King did not argue. He simply bowed his head and departed. That night, Marina Orlova’s entire herd of cows died. The next day, he came back, asking for a new youth to take home. The villagers refused. 

The Bone King did not argue. He simply bowed his head and departed. That night, Maxim Kusnetsov’s four children died. Every single one of them. The next day, he came back, asking for a new youth to take home. 

And this time, a young woman named Anastasia Morozova volunteered. She could not sit by any more, watching her village waste away. She was not quite as handsome as Mila or Frederik, or Irina, and she could not dance as well as they could, but she looked at herself in the mirror and decided she was enough. 

Her parents did not want her to go, and the villagers did not believe that the Bone King would want her. So she brushed her own brown hair, she pinched her own cheeks, she pulled on her least worm-eaten gown, and set off to find the Bone King. 

Before long, she stopped in front of the doors of the Bone King’s enormous black mansion, and she knocked - once, twice, thrice. The doors opened, and there he stood. But he was not happy with her. 

“You are not beautiful,” he said, but Anastasia simply squared her shoulders. 

“How can you say that when I have never seen your face at all?” she asked back. The Bone King paused, and then he nodded. 

“Come in, and dance with me.” 

And so he led her inside. It was a great mansion, but on the inside, there was nothing at all. No servants, no furniture, no paintings. The hall was bleak and empty. And in the corner, Anastasia saw three bodies. 

The Bone King took off his cloak. He took off his boots. He took off his gloves. Under those, there was no skin. No skin, no flesh, no blood. Just bones. And finally, he took off his skull mask. He was nothing more than bones under there, little one. A grinning skull, with empty hollows for eyes. 

“Now that I have taken off my shoes,” he said, as slow and doleful as ever. “Please do me the favor of taking yours off as well. It is only polite.”

And so Anastasia did, and they began to dance. He was a good dancer, and they danced on and on and on, until Anastasia’s feet were sore. But she did not stop. They danced on and on and on, until her legs began to hurt. But she did not stop. They danced on and on and on, until her feet began to bleed. But she did not stop, not even as her blood coated the stone floor. 

But she slipped then, and Anastasia fell to the floor. The Bone King stopped, and shook his head. He said that she was not the dancer he was looking for. Anastasia looked back at the bodies, and she saw the open bloody sores on their feet, and she realized that the Bone King had danced them to death. They hadn’t slipped - no, they were too good for that. They had danced and danced and danced until their bodies gave out. 

The Bone King did not want her anymore. So she hobbled back home, feet wounded. When she got back to her village, the villagers were relieved to see her - but no one would go the next day. So Anastasia bandaged up her feet and waited for the next sunrise - and then she went again to the Bone King.

“I will dance again,” she said. “I will dance again.” 

The Bone King was not happy to see her for the second time, but there was no one else, and she insisted on dancing. And so they danced again. They did not stop, even as Anastasia’s feet became sore. They did not stop, even as her legs burned. They did not stop, even as her bandages unraveled and her feet began to bleed again. 

And once again, Anastasia slipped, and the dance stopped. Once again, she was sent home. Once again, she bandaged up her feet and waited for the next sunrise. And once again, she returned, saying that she was that day’s bride and that she would dance again. 

This continued on for six days and six nights. Anastasia would arrive at his palace in the morning, dance until she slipped, and then go home, only to bandage her feet and wait for the next day to come.

On the seventh morning, when she arrived, the Bone King examined her. He was tired of this game, and he said, “Today will be the last time we do this. If you slip and fall, you forfeit your life.” 

Anastasia did not think it was fair that it was only her who had this kind of deal, and she told him so. “Very well. But only if I make a deal with you as well. If I slip and fall, I forfeit my life. But if you make a mistake, then you will leave this village and never return. Find your bride elsewhere.” 

The Bone King considered that for a long moment, and then he agreed to that. And so, for the seventh time, the dance began. They danced on and on and on. Even as Anastasia’s feet became sore, she did not stop. They danced on and on and on. Even as Anastasia’s legs began to hurt, she did not stop. They danced on and on and on. And even as her bandages unraveled and her feet began to bleed, Anastasia did not stop. She did not stop even as the tiles grew wet with her blood. She did not stop even as she felt her flesh rub against the stone of the floor. 

Soon, she began to see the rays of the dawn touch the horizon, and Anastasia wondered if she would be able to dance until sunrise and finally win. But then, just as the sunlight began to warm the empty mansion, Anastasia slipped on her own blood, and fell to the ground - but to her absolute shock, so did her partner. He had slipped on the blood as well and fallen to the floor, skull cracking against the stone. 

For a moment, the only sound was Anastasia’s breathing. She did not know what would happen next. She had fallen. But so had he. The silence stretched on so long that Anastasia wondered if he would ever say anything. 

Finally, the Bone King sat up. “You have fallen,” he said finally, as forlorn as ever. “But so have I. So I will not take your life. But every winter, I will return. I shall not ask for a partner to take home, but I will ask for a partner to dance with. For seven days and seven nights, we will dance. And then I will take my leave again.” 

And so he did. He left, his mansion disappearing with him, and Anastasia hobbled back home for the seventh time. Her village was overjoyed to find out that she was alive, to find out that the Bone King had left, to find out that they were safe once more. 

The Bone King kept his promise. The next winter, the youths of the town had their hair brushed and their cheeks pinched and their finest clothes washed, and there they danced for seven days and seven nights with the Bone King, taking turns so he would always have a partner. They did it the next winter, and the next, and the next.

Nowadays, no one expects you to dance for seven days and seven nights. But a few hours of dancing will not kill you, and the last thing you want is to anger the Bone King. Now, sweet dreams, young one. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Plan

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); unplanned pregnancy; cheating.

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

(Fair warning, this is very depressing and rough)

Summary: You and Bucky had the perfect marriage until you didn’t.

Based on this prompt:

‘Shadow of what I once was.’ -Chance the Rapper 

for @honeyhan-123​‘s One Year Anniversary Challenge

Supplemental Lyrics: 

Where did you go? Why would you stay? You must have lost your marbles You always were so forgetful In a hurry, don't wait up I was too late, I was too late

Note: So this was kinda impromptu and out of nowhere. I haven’t done a legit one shot if forever so here ya go!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your feet ached. Even in the low heels, you felt as if you’d been standing on nails all night. Your round stomach made it hard to balance without the added challenge of your shoes. The dainty lilac silk was taut across your middle and your swollen breasts were barely contained by the off the shoulder bodice. You were told you were glowing but you felt anything but.

Your husband had wandered off as you were too tired to make the journey across the room. You found a random chair among the tables and lowered yourself heavily. An uncleared plate remained beside a champagne flute with a mouthful left in the crystal. You rubbed your stomach and sighed as you looked around.

Tony’s extravaganza’s always wore on but these days, time felt even more excruciating. The endless anxiety of the child within you, the urge to make it all go faster yet bask in what you had. 

It hadn’t been planned. You and Bucky had always agreed that children would only complicate your perfect simplicity. Neither of you had a deep yearning for a baby but you didn’t always get what you wanted. There were alternatives, you had talked about them. Those weren’t good enough for him. 

So there you were, bloated and nauseous. A different woman than you were. And he’d changed too. You could tell. Temperamental. One moment doting and delicate; the next impatient and hostile. 

Was it the stress of the unexpected? Or was it more?

You’d loved each other so entirely, you didn’t think he could have anything other than love for a child. At first, it seemed to be so but then as the months passed, his delight turned to resent. He didn’t say so but he didn’t need to. You couldn’t blame him. You felt the same and it made you sick. This child within you didn’t deserve that. So you cried alone at night; hidden in the bathroom as he snored, indifferent and ignorant.

You watched him with Steve and Sam; laughing. He didn’t do that much anymore. Neither did you. Maybe if you just talked about it, you’d realise that you were both trapped in the same dreadful limbo. The interminable wait. The fear and confusion of it all.

Maybe if he knew you were disappointed in yourself. Your career was on hold, if not over. You couldn’t be on active duty anymore, not with another life attached to you. His own was unaffected and perhaps your envy kept you from telling him of your woes. 

Is this how it would be? You alone with the child as he saved the world?

You huffed again and dropped your hand from your stomach. You looked down at the stretched silk. You couldn’t even weather a party without taking a breather. And now that you thought of standing up, you realised that might be a task on its own. Only six months and you felt ready to burst.

“How do you feel?” Wanda surprised you as she appeared from behind your chair. “You must be so excited.”

“Excited,” You smiled weakly. “In a way.”

“Oh, but it will be a miracle,” She chimed. “A little baby Bucky.”

“Well, we don’t know,” You rubbed a circle over your stomach with your fingertip. “He didn’t want to know.”

“Better, a surprise!” She sang.

You grumbled and shifted in the chair.

“Sorry, but could you…” You held out your hand. “Thank you.” You let her help you to your feet. “Is that the dress you were telling me about?”

She looked down at the dress with it’s peacock feather fringe and grinned. Her blue eyes sparkled and her golden hair shimmered down her back.

“It is,” She confirmed. “I found it at a rack sale… a bit tight but I managed.”

You chuckled softly. Wanda checked in more often than any of your other co-workers. Most only did when they were with Bucky or with a casual text. Wanda invited you to lunches and offered to baby shop with you when Bucky was too busy. You still had much to do and time seemed so trivial.

“The shower!” She clapped her hands. “I didn’t show you the invitations.”

“I told you, we don’t need one,” You insisted. “Bucky’s not much for that stuff and well, I don’t have much of a family to invite.”

“You have us,” She insisted. “We are your family.”

You could barely keep from frowning. You weren’t even sure you’d count your husband and the unborn child as family at that point. It didn’t feel like a family. It felt like a terrible obligation.

“Thank you, Wanda,” You reached over and squeezed her hand. “Excuse me, I’m not feeling very well.”

“You okay?” She clung to you.

“Fine, I think…” You fanned yourself. “I think it’s time to head out for me.”

“Okay,” She let you go, “Go rest, momma.”

You nodded with a sheepish smile and turned to waddle across the room. You were almost out of breath by the time you reached Bucky. Steve saw you and smiled. He welcomed you closer with an arm around your shoulders.

“And look at your wife,” Steve announced. “Each day, brighter than the last, I’m sure.”

Bucky turned and his cheek twitched. His veneer almost cracked. Sam nudged him playfully.

“Uh huh,” Bucky gave a crooked, half-hearted smile. 

“Now, do you think the arm is genetic?” Sam kidded and Bucky shot him a look. “Well, that definitely will be.” Sam pointed at Bucky’s scowl.

“Um, hon,” You wiggled away from Steve and touched Bucky’s cuff. “I think we should go. I’m tired.”

There was a pause. His tongue poked out just slightly and then he nodded.

“Well, guess that’s my cue,” He finally said to Steve and Sam. 

“I should be headed out soon,” Sam checked his watch. “Jet’ll be here nice and early.”

“Shit, yeah,” Bucky shook his head. “Why does Tony do that?”

You stayed quiet throughout their farewells, suppressed your misgivings. Finally he hooked his arm through yours and guided you to the door. When you passed into the hallway and approached the coat check, you finally found your courage. And your voice.

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving tomorrow,” You said softly as you handed in your ticket.

“Didn’t I?” He wondered as he grabbed your coat and handed it to you, then took his own. “Must have slipped my mind.”

You said nothing as you pulled on your coat.

“Tired,” He scoffed as he swept past you. You followed him to the door, unable to keep up more than a step behind him. 

“Bucky,” You pleaded from behind him, barely catching the door as he marched through it. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s funny how whenever I’m having fun, I have to stop because you’re not,” He huffed as he continued down the sidewalk. “That kid can’t be an excuse for you to be a bitch.”

“Excuse me?” You were startled by the venom in his tone. These mood swings had grown more frequent but no less tolerable. “Well if it was such a big deal, I’m a big girl, I can hail a cab.”

He rolled his eyes and unlocked the car as he rounded it.

“Then why didn’t you?” He got in and slammed his door. 

You opened the passenger side and lowered yourself into the seat. You closed the door but didn’t have the chance to buckle your belt before he pulled sharply out of his spot.

“I’m sorry,” You said. “I didn’t--”

“You didn’t think? Or you don’t care about me?” He gripped the wheel tightly and the leather groaned.

You were quiet. You picked at the button on your coat.

“You said you wanted to keep it,” You uttered.

“Don’t make me the bad guy,” He snarled. “Don’t. That’s what you always do. Hmm? What if I had said get rid of it? Then I’d be a monster.”

You were hurt but the anger constricted your throat and you glanced over at him.

“I told you to wear a condom,” You crossed your arms. 

“You said you were on the pill,” He growled. 

“I was!” You shouted. “You counted the pills yourself, you fucking--”

“I don’t want to do this again,” He raised his voice. “I can’t.”

“Then why do you do it?” You hissed.

“Because…” He sighed. “Because you make me.”

You lowered your chin and fought to hold back the tears. You shouldn’t have ever told him. You should have just made the decision yourself. You’d still be happy then. Him, too. He’d still love you.

“I can’t wait to fucking leave tomorrow,” He muttered. 

You lifted your head and blinked at him, stunned.

“Good,” You swallowed the acid in your throat, “Good. I can’t wait either.”

💔

Bucky slept on the couch that night. He didn’t say goodbye in the morning though you heard him leave. You were still angry but it wasn’t enough to blot out the hurt. The anger was nothing, but the stab in your heart was torturous.

You woke up slowly. Getting out of bed was awkward and descending the stairs was more than enough exercise for the morning. You mourned your specialty coffee beans and had juice instead. You buttered two pieces of toast alongside a soft-boiled egg and sat at the kitchen table with your laptop.

You could distract yourself with shopping. You still needed to paint the nursery. Hell, you still needed to do anything. Your procrastination was quickly growing overwhelming and you couldn’t wait until month nine to get your ass in gear.

You mulled between an emerald green and a canary yellow. Then a crib and a change table and a rocker… everything. Too much.

You wiped your hands and began to scroll more intently. The speakers binged and a small notification popped up in the corner. You ignored it as you mused at the koala sleeper. Cute. For a moment, you almost felt happy. Then you felt lost again.

Would it always be like this? Would you always be so alone? Bucky should’ve just left you. If this wasn’t what he wanted, if you weren’t what he wanted, he needed to just say so. Was this even what you wanted?

The same notification beeped and you clicked the small x without reading. A third time and you huffed. You rubbed your eyes and hovered over the small rectangle.

From: Marina; Rendezvous tonight? ;)

Marina. You squinted and sat back. You knew that name. You knew her quite well. You’d trained her only a year ago. The last you’d heard, she’d only just been cleared for field duty. You clicked the alert before it could flick away.

Bucky had left himself signed in. He didn’t have his own laptop, he rarely used yours; only to type up his reports and often you ended up doing it for him. You tapped your fingers above the touch pad and clicked the small bubble icon. The page loaded his messages and you felt nauseous. You gulped the last of your juice and braced yourself.

You dragged your finger along the pad and glossed over the conversation. He had been up all night, talking to her. You froze as you saw the first image; your husband’s hand around his dick. The one above was Marina; her toned stomach and perky tits, a pretty little v. You slammed the laptop shut and shoved it away.

You were mortified. Disgusted. You don’t know what to do but you know you have to do something. You look around at the life you’ve built with Bucky then at your growing stomach. You stood with a groan and left the kitchen. 

You climb the stairs slowly. You felt numb. You should have been angry, or sad, but the humiliation had seeped to nothing. Complacency. What you were used to.

You dressed and grabbed your phone. You sat on the bed and dialed. You waited for the other end to pick up.

“Hey,” Wanda sang from the speaker.

“Hey,” Your voice was steady. Emotionless. “Are you free to help me grab a crib? I saw this one online and I’d like to go check it out.”

“Of course!” She exclaimed. “Can Nat come? We were just finishing up our session.”

“The more the merrier.” You said and hung up without awaiting a response. 

You had to get out of the house. Away from the walls that only reminded you of him.

💔

In the days that Bucky was gone, you spent your days busy. Wanda helped paint the nursery a goldenrod yellow and assembled the crib. You hung up the little framed pictures of Winnie the Pooh and his friends along the walls and ordered a changing table with built-in drawers; then a rocker with a cushioned footrest, a mobile, a baby monitor… Just a little at a time. Distraction with a dollar sign.

And there were several times when your heart got the best of you. You looked at Bucky’s messages once more before you signed out of his account. Your eyes burned. They had, indeed, rendezvoused and you wondered if he was even working at all. You sniffed back your tears and carried on.

You didn’t need to worry about Bucky anymore, he didn’t worry about you. What you needed to worry about was the child. You would give it the life you couldn’t have. You would make it feel wanted because you could never wish such a horrid feeling on anyone else. Your love wasn’t his anymore, it was your own and it would be your first gift to your baby.

On the fifth night without him, you fell asleep on the couch. You were too lazy to drag yourself up the stairs and so you drifted off watching an episode of reality drivel. You woke with a start. Your legs were warm and a smooth thumb rubbed your ankle as your bottom half was draped over Bucky’s lap.

You sat up and tried to pull away. He kept hold of you as you propped yourself up on shaky arms. His touch was gentle but it stung so much. It was false affection; not affection at all.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home.” You gulped.

“You didn’t answer any of my other texts,” His hand tickled past your knee and crawled back down. You wore a loose nightshirt, made shorter by your bump, and nothing else.

“Let me go,” You tried to wrench your legs away but your stomach made it awkward and painful. He released you reluctantly. “You didn’t even say goodbye to me and you expect me to answer.”

You grabbed the arm of the couch and tried to stand. He reached over to help as his hand grasped your hip. You stepped away and turned to cross your arms. He tilted his head as he watched you. He remained on the couch, leaning back against it with a shrug.

“Am I crashing your party?” He asked.

“Only your own,” You hissed. “You don’t have to stay. I’m sure Marina would love another rendezvous.”

He nodded and looked at his lap as his tongue slid across his lip. He didn’t look guilty, merely amused. He lifted his eyes to you and smirked.

“Is that what this is about?” He raised a brow. “You’re my wife.”

“You’re fucking her. Don’t think I’m stupid.” You snarled.

“Fucking her but I didn’t marry her,” He stood.

“I’m keeping the house, it’s the least you can do for our child,” You huffed. “Since you won’t do anything else.”

“I’m not going anywhere, babe,” He neared and you tore your arms apart. You held your stomach as you backed away from him. “I made a vow.”

“You’re cheating on me,” You snipped. “Fuck your vow.”

“She’s nothing. She’s stress relief. You are… everything,” He kept on as you walked backwards. Your back met the wall and he grasped the doorway right beside you, keeping you from slipping away. “I won’t make an excuse. I’ve been fucking her and it gets the job done but… I’ll only ever love you.”

“Bullshit,” You snapped. “You know you’re full of it.”

His hand startled you as he touched your stomach. You looked down at the metal as it stretched over the cotton. You were shaking.

“You want me to stop, I can stop. I don’t need her. I need you.” He grabbed your arm with his other hand. “I only ever think of you. Even with her.”

“Bucky--” Your feet scuffed over the hardwood and nearly caught under the edge of the rug. He shoved you ahead of him and you stumbled just in front of the couch. “Stop!”

“That’s my baby. You’re my wife.” He growled as he caught your shoulders and pushed you forward. Your knees met the sofa. “So be a good wife and serve your husband.”

“Get--off!” You struggled with him but you were off-balance. You lifted your legs onto the couch and he bent you until your head was on the back of it.

“Lonely? Is that the problem?” He dragged his hands down your back. “Mmm, look at you.” He lifted your nightshirt until your ass was bare. “Pregnancy looks well on you.” He kneaded the flesh with his metal hand as you heard his fly. You pushed back and he grasped your neck. “You don’t want to hurt the baby, do you?”

You froze and your eyes widened. You let out a murmur but could manage nothing else.

He pushed his knees between yours, you felt the rough denim of his jeans just below his cock as he rubbed against you. He was hard already. You squirmed and grabbed the back of the couch as you tried to lift yourself.

He poked at your entrance and your back ached as he pulled you against him. He pushed inside of you and sighed. He forced himself to his limit and you whimpered. He leaned against your back and his hot breath circled your neck. His metal hand came down next to yours and his other reached around to cradle your stomach.

He began to thrust, slowly. He purred in your ear and caressed it with his lips. Your legs shook. You were shocked; at his roughness, at the way your body reacted, at the suddenness of it all.

He sped up and you mewled. You quivered as you pushed back into him. Embarrassed as you couldn’t decide if you wanted him off of you or if you wanted more. His zipper bit into your ass as he panted into your neck, his hips never wavered. His fingers curled and uncurled across your stomach and he bit into your neck.

“Don’t you ever think of leaving me,” He snarled as he jolted your body. “Ever. Because I will always find you and I will always have you.”

He grabbed your neck and drew you back. You scrambled and kicked out as he turned you swiftly. He sat with you on his lap, his other hand still on your stomach as his other slipped to your hip.

“Keep going.” He ordered. 

You whined. Your lower back was on fire and your leg muscles thrummed. He guided you, rubbing your stomach as you began to rock atop him. Your arms shook as you used his thighs to keep moving.

“Ugh, yeah, yeah,” He groaned and planted his feet. He hammered into you from below and you bounced helplessly in his lap. “Fuck, fuck, here it comes.”

You felt him cum. His body spasmed as you were filled with his heat. He pulled you back against him, your legs splayed around his as he caught his breath. He held your stomach with both hands and slipped his metal fingers down to your thigh. His cock slipped just a little and he played with his cum as it leaked from you down his shaft.

“You don’t want me fucking her,” He sneered, “Then you do your duty as my wife.”

You tried to get off of him but he forced you back down until your walls were straining around him. He held you there until you stopped moving. Until you hung your head in surrender.

“I’m not done,” He snaked his hands further up beneath your nightshirt and cupped your tits and tweaked his hips. You winced and began to move once rock. “Mmm, these are even nicer than I remember.”

[brywrites]

Focus II

[Part I] If you’re looking for something to distract you from the looming anxiety of election results, here’s something else to focus on for a few minutes. ;) This was definitely longer than I thought it would be! CW for mentions of triggers/flashbacks, mild smut!

Summary: Reid faces unexpected challenges returning to the field after his reinstatement, but the Reader remains the one person who can help ease his mind when it all gets to be too much.

----------

For once, the world has chosen to be gentle with them. Following Scratch’s demise, the Bureau mandates that the BAU takes six weeks of leave. It comes as a relief to all of them after living in a constant state of anxiety for the last year. Rossi disappears on a vacation that includes visiting Ringo Starr, who he reminds everyone is “a close personal friend.” JJ stays at home with her boys, happy to be nothing but “mom” for a little while. Tara fits in research, Luke goes camping with Lisa and Roxy, and Garcia divides her time between MMORPGs, her grief group, and babysitting Hank Morgan.

Y/N spends a good amount of the time on Emily’s couch, watching old seasons The Bachelorette and whatever 2000s rom-coms they can find. But when she’s not at her best friend’s apartment and she isn’t at home attempting complicated recipes in her kitchen, she’s with him.

Spencer is spending a large portion of his break attending mandatory therapy sessions and redoing fitness courses in Hogan’s Alley in order to meet his reinstatement requirements. But whenever he gets the chance, he’s by her side. They get coffee and wander through museums and parks, they go for long drives and make out on his couch. They talk about everything and nothing and all at once it’s wonderful. There is a strange giddy feeling that takes her over every time his hand finds her in a crowded place or he goes out of his way to do something nice for her or he can’t help but smile while kissing her. He’s so gentle with her, leaving sweet notes around her apartment and burying his face in the crook of her neck as he holds her close.

There are no cases. There are no monsters. There are no press conferences. There are only warm days and wine and the sound of Spencer’s laugh echoing in her living room.

With two weeks to go, she realizes the world might not be quite so gentle. She swings by the BAU to help Matt move case files out of her office, and as she’s on her way out she spots Spencer at the end of the corridor, rubbing at his eyes the way she’s only seen him do the night Scratch stole Emily.

He doesn’t even seem to register her approach until she says his name. And when he turns to her, he’s miles away. “What is it?” she asks. “Spencer, what’s wrong?”

“The scenario I was running in the Alley… there were multiple unsubs in the laundromat and it was just – it was too much like – it was…” He presses his palm into his eye.

Too much like Luis. He’s told her that story already. “What do you need?” she asks. She reaches out to grab his hand, lacing her fingers through hers.

She feels him tense for just a second before, squeezing her hand tighter, he starts down the hall with her. The door to Garcia’s office is open and he pulls her inside, shutting it behind him. Before she can ask what he’s doing, her back is against the door and his mouth is on hers.

He kisses her fiercely and when he slips his tongue past her lips, she wraps a hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer to her. He’s still holding her hand, his grip tight as he rolls his hips against her and though it’s caught her completely off-guard, the feeling of his body against her is exquisite.

She winds her fingers in his curly hair, eliciting a moan from him that rumbles through his chest. His free hand slips down the curve of her back until he can cup her ass. He catches her bottom lip between his teeth. Every action is hungry, desperate. Her skin feels hot everywhere he touches her.

He stops suddenly and wraps her in a hug. His sweater is soft against her cheek and he smells like ivory soap and coffee and his embrace is so secure. This is a different kind of passion – less frantic, but just as strong, as he rests his head on her shoulder and attempts to steady his breathing.

“It still works,” he sighs.

“Hmm?”

Spencer releases her from his arms. “When it gets bad, and my mind goes… there, your touch helps keep me here. Everything else just disappears. I can’t explain it, but it still works.”

“So… kissing me is a like a grounding technique?” she asks, trying to surprise a giggle.

He chuckles in spite of himself, and the distance in his eyes is gone. He is himself once more. “Something like that, yeah. It’s pretty amazing actually. Even just holding your hand helps. But um, kissing you is…” He clears his throat. “A little more effective, it seems.”

“Well,” she says, “I’m certainly happy to be of assistance.” She gives him a quick peck.

“What am I supposed to do in the field?” he asks. “I’m still having flashbacks and even a basic training exercise triggered a trauma response today.”

“Love, you’re a genius. You know that PTSS is like an injury. And that means it’s gonna take time to heal. But you’ll find a way to cope and stay grounded while you heal.” She caresses his cheek, the stubble he’s continued to grow rough against her hand when he leans into her touch. “Even if that means sneaking off to a back room with me,” she teases.

Their time of rest is coming to a close, the hours ticking by until the day they’ll return to work and Spencer will face his reinstatement evaluation. She savors the quiet while she can, the ability to go to bed early and sleep in, the simple joy of waking up in her own bed, or sometimes in his. She can tell he’s anxious though – scared that he’ll be denied reinstatement and scared that the trauma will continue to hang heavy over him.

When it gets bad and his mind steals him somewhere far away, he reaches for her and she always welcomes him. She’s grateful for any reason to be close to him, and if it helps to keep him here in the moment, that’s even better. She can always tell when he needs her to clear his mind by the way he kisses her. When he’s not himself, he pins her against the wall, gropes at her ass, holds her face still as he bites her lip. He’s impulsive and needy. But when his firm grasp fades to soft caresses, when he places kisses on her cheek, her forehead, when it becomes a sweeter sort of passion, she knows he’s come back to her.

So when Emily announces his reinstatement to the team and she kisses him quickly and his hand squeezes hers just a little tighter than she expects, she knows there’s something bothering him. They grab their go-bags from the bullpen and she asks him about it, but he just kisses her forehead and promises that they’ll talk later.

Emily goes over the case on the plane, women in caregiving roles stuffed into suitcases. The team goes over victimology and she tries to take notes, already thinking of questions to ask the families and directions to take with local media. It’s easy to get lost in the work when it demands her full attention.

.

Upon landing, there is already a couple waiting for her in the interview room. Laura Westin is their latest victim, and her parents are devastated. They paint a picture for her with their words of their daughter – a bright, beautiful, generous woman who was mourning the death of her own friend. The grief has traveled in waves.

“Who would do this to her?” Mrs. Westin sobs. Her husband places a hand on her shoulder. “She’s such a good girl, she is – she was… Oh, god!”

“She was,” Y/N repeats. “And she is always going to be your daughter. And the people who love her will remember all of the good she did.” They cry and she listens and she assures them that they’re doing everything right and while she knows not to make promises she can’t keep, she does promise that they’ll do their best.

When they’ve shared everything they know and settled back into a state of relative calm, she walks the Westins to the door of the station and returns to conference room, where the team is working on the profile.

“Welcome back,” Rossi says. She sits down next Spencer. It’s clear to her that he’s lost in his own thoughts. Out of the corner of her eye she sees his fingers form a fist and he begins to bounce his leg under the table. Their chairs are close together already, making it incredibly difficult for anyone else to notice that she reaches across beneath the table to rest her hand on his thigh. The moment she does, he stills. He inhales sharply and clenches his fist a little bit tighter for just a moment – but then relaxes. She strokes steady circles with her thumb while she tells the team about Laura Westin.

They team files out of the room for a quick break and she stays behind with Reid. He’s relaxed enough to give her a smile. “How was interviewing the family?” he asks, lacing his fingers through her own.

She sighs. “It never gets any easier. But I know it’s important for them to get a chance to talk to someone about her. Someone who won’t tell them it all happened for a reason and she’s in a better place now.”

“You’re so good at that,” he says. “You always make the people around you feel better.”

“What about you? What’s going on in your head?”

He stares down at his coffee cup. “There was a… condition for my reinstatement. For every one hundred days I’m in the field, I have to take thirty days off.”

“Like a sabbatical? Does Emily know?”

“Yeah. She thinks it’s a good idea.” He aimlessly strokes patterns on the back of her hand.

“I know I’m not an expert, but I think she might be right,” she says. “Spencer, what you went through – you’re going to struggle. And you’re going to need to rest.”

“I know,” he says. “But Y/N, I’m worried that–”

“Y/L/N!” Alvez’s entrance startles them both. “There’s a reporter for the Daily News out here. Sorry,” he adds, noticing Spencer’s hand still holding hers. “He’s, uh, trying to call this guy ‘The Baggage Claim Killer.’”

“Of course he is,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, Luke. I’ll go talk him down. And we’ll talk later, okay?” she tells Spencer. Though the man in the lobby is annoying, wrangling a reporter is far easier than talking to a grieving family. It doesn’t hurt her heart to lay into someone trying to profit from another person’s pain, and she’s always been good at using her kindness to guilt trip them.

.

That evening at the hotel, there’s a knock at her door. She knows who it is even before answering it and his face is a welcome sight.

“I missed you today,” Spencer says, closing the door behind him.

“I missed you, too. I like you much better than those reporters,” she says. She takes a seat on her bed, patting the spot beside her. “But we didn’t get to finish talking earlier. What’s got you worried?”

Spencer plops onto the mattress, heaving a sigh. “I’m worried that maybe I’m not ready to be back in the field.”

“Do you not want to be?”

“I do! I do, I just…” He runs his hands through his hair. “I wanted to kill Scratch. You know that. And I would have if Emily hadn’t stopped me. Just like I would have killed Cat and just like I almost killed the guys at Milburn…” His hands are shaking so she reaches out to hold them. “What if this is who I am now? What if the next time I’m face to face with an unsub I just…”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know what I did in there… what I had to do…”

He screws his eyes shut and she knows she’s losing him. She kisses his cheek, because she wants him here and she wants to be close to him and she hasn’t been able to hold him all day. It’s a mutually beneficial situation, she figures, when his mouth finds hers, and he kisses her so deep she thinks she might drown in the feeling. His hands slip under the hem of her sweater and his fingers are so warm against her skin. She tangles her hands in his deliciously unruly hair and tugs, needing him closer, wanting to keep him grounded.

“You’re here,” she murmurs. “You’re right here.” His hand is on her breast and his lips are on her neck and she tries so hard not to moan. The last thing she needs is for a team member to walk past her room and overhear them. He sucks hard enough at the skin of her collarbone that she knows it’ll leave a mark. She captures his mouth once more, and he pulls her down onto the bed so she’s lying on top of him. When she’s kissing him, she can forget too. She can erase, for a brief moment, the fear that she’ll let those parents down. That she’ll say the wrong thing or overlook a rogue reporter. She can stop worrying that she’s not doing enough to get justice for those women for just a minute, because when he holds her she doesn’t have to be a perfect liaison or have all the right words. All she has to be is in this moment with the man that she loves. It’s all he needs from her and he is everything she needs right now.

She swipes her tongue over his lower lip before pressing kisses down his jaw. Her hands work away at the buttons of his shirt as she goes, carving a path with her lips down his chest, the soft skin of his belly. He bites back a groan but she can feel how tense he is still, his breathing shallow. It occurs to her that being back in the field might be making things worse than usual. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take things a step further. He needs her, and god does she want him.

She shrugs out of her sweater before flicking open his belt buckle and undoing the zipper of his pants, pulling them down his legs. His cock is already straining against the fabric of his boxers, and when she drags a finger over the length of him he presses his hips into her hands. They haven’t gone this far before. Her heart beats out a staccato rhythm of anticipation as she reaches for the waistband of boxers.

But this his hand grabs hers, his grip soft but firm.

“Y/N.” He’s not looking past her anymore. Spencer’s hazel eyes are completely focused on her, shining in the dim hotel lamplight. “I don’t want my first time with you to be like this.”

“I don’t mind,” she assures him.

“But I do,” he says. He sits up on the bed, holding her in his lap. He brushes her hair back from her face, letting his touch trail down the side her face to caress her cheek. “I want this, but I – I don’t want you to think for a second that I’m using you. I want to do it right. You’re not just another pretty girl or a way for me to clear my mind or a distraction. You’re my favorite person. You’re the one I love. And Y/N, I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You do,” she says. How can he possibly think he doesn’t when he sends her pictures of things he finds that will make or smile or reads her favorite books just to memorize the words she loves or holds her as though nothing so precious has ever been within his grasp before?

“I need to prove it to myself though.” And though she doesn’t quite understand, she relents. But when she asks if he wants to be alone, he says, “Can I just stay here? With you?”

“Of course.” She trades her slacks for a pair of pajama shorts and asks, “So you do think I’m a pretty girl though?”

He laughs. “The prettiest. But you know that already.” She curls up under the covers with him and watches him fall asleep with his arms around her. His breathing steadies and in sleep he looks more peaceful than he has his days. His body relaxes. A small smile graces his face. Like this, she can almost pretend that Mexico never happened and nothing ever hurt him. She loves him in all ways and all parts, even when he’s hurting, but she wishes she could take that pain away from him.

.

By the time she arrives at the unsub’s house with Rossi, Luke is leading William Lynch away in handcuffs and Spencer is walking the survivor to the meet the medics. Once she’s in the ambulance, Y/N meets him on the sidewalk.

“I didn’t hurt him,” he says.

“I knew you wouldn’t.” He pulls her into a hug, and to her surprise, there is no tension in his touch. He’s not far away. He doesn’t need her to keep him in this moment. He just wants to hold her. She rests her head against his chest, relishing that simple fact.

That week, she can see a lightness in his step at work. His smile comes easier and stays a little longer. He seems to be finding his footing in the office and with the team once again, and he’s even excited about the prospect of the seminars he’ll be teaching. The weekend is welcomed with a Friday night dinner at Rossi’s, after which Spencer drives the both of them back to his apartment. When she steps inside, she finds the living room lit up with string lights and her favorite flowers sitting on the kitchen table.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“For you, Pretty Girl,” he says. “I told you I wanted to do this right. Flowers have been a symbol of romantic love for centuries, particularly when given as a gift, so that was obvious. And dimmed lights are typically used as a way to set a romantic mood, although also have a skill for lighting up the life of everyone you meet, so there’s that too. Maybe that doesn’t make much sense,” he says, laughing at himself. “But I wanted to make it clear that I was thinking of you and I wanted to make tonight special. Not that anything has to happen tonight, of course, but if you still wanted to I just thought that maybe, well–”

“It’s perfect,” she assures him. “More than perfect. I love it. I love you. And this is exactly what I want.” She stands on her toes to kiss him before he can start rambling once more. Spencer leads her to the bedroom and unlike the rush of movement and need in Florida, he knows exactly he wants. Every kiss is languid and longing, every touch so precise and electric. He helps her out of her dress and places kisses between the valley of her breasts, the curves of her hips. He lets her guide him to where she wants him most and responds to every cue she gives him. Every inch of her body is given careful attention. As if he needs nothing from her at all but to love her.

It’s so much more than sex. As much as she hates the term making love she doesn’t know what else to call it. Because in every gesture, every kiss, he tells her without words that he loves her. And with every touch she tries to tell him the same. He devotes himself to ensuring she comes first, and makes good on that promise with ease, but when he finally reaches his release the sound of him crying her name is the holiest benediction she’s ever heard.

It takes him several minutes after to regain the ability to form words, during which she lies there in contended bliss, stroking his hair. “I love you,” is the first thing he says. “I love you, Pretty Girl.”

She smiles to herself, delighted to be not just a pretty girl who steals his train of thought, but his pretty girl. The one who gets to stay by his side and take his breath away and push the nightmares back. “I love you, too.”

“I’m so glad you kissed me that day.”

“I’m glad Emily gave me such an outrageous idea,” she giggles.

“Thank you for being patient with me all this time. I know I say that you help me forget, but it’s more than that. You’re the one who helps me remember who I am and what matters. But I love you for so many more reasons than that. I’ve asked a lot of you lately and I want to make sure I make you feel as loved as you make me feel.”

“Spencer, you asked me to kiss you. That’s hardly a burden. And I like listening to you. I like being with you – because you make me feel so loved, all the time.” She snuggles closer to him. “I like you like this, when you’re sweet and gentle and you. But it’s, um, it’s not a bad thing when you lose control a little bit. It’s sort of hot – to feel like you just can’t help yourself.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Well, I will absolutely need to remember that. You know, it scares me sometimes, how much I want you. How much I love you. But I’d much rather be scared by that than by the person I am without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. Because they’re both better when they’re together.

He makes her brave. She gives him strength. They change each other for the better, and as the days pass, the world feels a little lighter again. The sabbatical proves to be a good idea. With rest, with time, with therapy, she watches him heal. He doesn’t need to run off to kiss her hard against a wall to keep himself grounded (though when she’s in a certain mood, he’s more than happy to). He can focus in the field without her by his side. But when he’s having a hard time, his hand will still find hers. He’ll stand a little closer to her, and look at her, letting the rest of the world fade away, and feel better, every time. And there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

[hey-its-nonny]

Wishes

Aragorn x reader

okay this will be my last angsty fic i promise

I’m excited to announce that this fic is a collaboration! i wrote this with @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse and i am super pleased with it!

chap. six of In Between is out, so be sure to check that out. ANYWAYS this is inspired by the song Heather by Conan Gray :)

let the heartbreak commence <3

~~~~~

You woke in a restored Gondor, eyes fluttering open at the beams of golden sunlight seeping through your window. The day you‘d dreaded for months had finally come. It was the day Aragorn was to be wed to his love, Arwen.

You rose, already mourning your loss of your friend and your love. You didn’t know how you could stay, concealed in the dark. Hiding. Ignoring your emotions and acting as if they didn’t exist was a difficult task. But, if it meant Aragorn would be happy, you would try your best, unsure of what might come of it.

Slowly, you slid on your dress, the silky fabric brushing your legs. It was a beautiful gown, one that Arwen had made especially for you. It fit perfectly, snug around your waist and flaring out. In your favorite color, too.

The necklace Aragorn had given you laid heavily on your neck. It felt wrong to be wearing it to this event, but without it, you didn't feel whole.

And with a look in the mirror, you sighed, a saddened smile gracing your lips while you prepared yourself for what would be one of the saddest days of your life.

You thought back to a better time when everything was easier. When your love for Aragorn had bloomed.

It was a cold night. You and Aragorn had gone on yet another adventure together through the hours of the night. After plenty of frolicking and distractions, you’d both agreed that it was time to eat.

You’d decided a warm soup was the way to go, and Aragorn agreed with you on that as well. And while you waited for your meals, you talked around pointless things, avoiding the affection that was blossoming.

You were teasing him, pushing him around, baiting him. When he finally retaliated, he accidentally hit your soup out of your hands. The target for the food? your clothes. Your shirt was covered, and you stifled a laugh while Aragorn looked mortified.

You winced a bit at how hot your soup was, as well as the fact that you could no longer eat it, since it was so elegantly spilled on your shirt.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. Here, let me- I can-” The poor man rambled, looking for a cloth to dry your shirt. You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, though the fiery wrath of the soup was definitely a contender for your attention.

Yet still, you laughed, opening your bag with a hum. “Aragorn, I’m sure I have a spare shirt in my pa- What? Where is it?” You quietly gasped, Aragorn’s eyes brightening.

“Take mine, Y/N. I have a spare.” He stated, the red on his cheeks dissipating.

Your gentle hands gingerly grasped the shirt as you stood, sharply inhaling at the temperature of the soup. “I’ll be back.”

After a minute or two, you walked over to the table and sat down, cozier than ever in Aragorn’s off-white shirt. You offered a smile and caught Aragorn’s eye, his shocked expression warming your cheeks. “It is a little big, I will admit, but it will do until I get a fresh change of clothing.” You grinned, biting back a smile.

“Keep it.” Aragorn smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the slightest and sweetest of ways. “It looks better on you than it looked on me.” He stated, inhaling a breath after stealing another glance at you.

You still had that shirt, after all the time that passed.

Those were fond memories you had of him, but fleeting. You smoothed your dress down and slipped on your shoes. Another memory came to haunt you, the emotions overwhelming.

You were wandering Rivendell when you heard a giggle. You had turned a corner, finding Aragorn, his lips glued to Arwen’s. You cleared your throat, causing them to break apart, looking at you sheepishly.

Arwen spoke softly, “Oh, I am sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone else would come here.” Of course, she didn’t know that Aragorn and you had spent many hours in this same place. You avoided his gaze and hid your emotion, laughing instead.

“Oh I have so many things I could say, but most important of all, I could tell everyone!” You paraded around them, joking of course. They laughed along, not truly seeing how much this hurt you. And you would keep it that way.

The decorations were beautiful. You gazed upon the arch that Aragorn was to be wed under, trailing down the cascading vines and flowers. You counted at least a hundred guests.

If it weren’t for the emotions you felt at the moment, you might have smiled just because of how beautiful everything looked.

The bells rang, signifying that the ceremony would start soon, and you took a sharp breath. Your stomach churned like you were about to face the armies of Mordor alone. But it wasn’t the time to be afraid. It was time to be Aragorn’s friend.

The very man that your thoughts were formed around jogged up to you, handsome as ever. His armor contrasted his eyes beautifully, and the smile he wore made you melt.

“Y/N. Just the woman I wished to see.” He grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder while you returned the smile.

You hummed, straightening your back. “What do you need?” You asked, ready to do whatever he needed.

“A friend.” He replied, indicating that he was nervous.

“You’ll be fine, Aragorn.” You smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Everything will go smoothly, I assure you.”

The man nodded, a dreadful sigh escaping his lips once the bells rang again. Of all the things you’d said today, the three words that left your lips were some of the hardest to get out. “Go get her.”

Once everyone was settled, the ceremony began with Elrond giving Arwen away. You watched Aragorn closely, the way his eyes lit up when Arwen was unveiled, the pure love and devotion he had for her nearly killing you. You had no idea it would be this hard. Tears pricked at your eyes when they kissed and you were glad you could blame it on the “beauty” of the moment.

You watched Aragorn lead Arwen down the aisle, each step a dagger in your chest. No matter how strong you wanted to be for Aragorn, you couldn’t watch this any longer. Your strained smile slowly disappeared as they walked out of sight. You had to get out of there.

So, when he wasn’t looking, you quietly slipped away, allowing the tears to finally fall. What you didn’t know, however, was that he saw you walk away, more confused and worried than ever.

Once you were far enough, you broke into a sprint. You needed to get as far away from there as fast as you could. You slipped your shoes off, the cold and roughness of the stone adding to your anguish. Upon reaching the garden, you sobbed, collapsing onto the stone ground where you once stood. You couldn’t control it. Your shoulders softly shook as you cried, feeling nothing but sorry for yourself. You thought you could watch Aragorn give a special part of himself to Arwen. You really did. But you couldn’t.

And you hated yourself for it. You held your head in your hands, sniffling quietly into the silence. You never got to tell him how much better he made you. You never got to hug him as Arwen would. You never got to laugh at his flirtatious jokes like Arwen would be able to. You never got to kiss him as Arwen would. But then again, why would he ever kiss someone like you? You weren’t even half as pretty as her.

Too lost in your own sorrow, you didn’t hear Aragorn’s footsteps approaching. Something about rangers, they always knew how to stay quiet and test the situation. Upon seeing you, he removed his crown, kneeling beside you with worry written on his sharp features. “Y/n? Y/n, why are you upset?” The worried man asked, gently grasping your trembling shoulders.

You flinched under the touch, shrinking away from the touch. “It is nothing, Mellon. Please, go be with yo- Arwen. Were you not just betrothed?” You asked, wiping away the salty teardrops on your cheeks.

While you stood to leave, Aragorn mimicked your actions, blocking your exit. “Y/n, please. I only wish to help,” He pleaded, following your gaze. He gently grabbed your chin, sending a shiver down your spine while he forced you to look at him.

“Aragorn, please let me go.” You sniffled, lip quivering while your eyes begged him to leave.

Aragorn frowned, giving one final attempt at helping you. He couldn’t know. He could never know. “Was it Arwen? Gandalf? I do not know what could have upset you in such a way.” He frowned, brow creased in worry.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. No more games, or guessing, or hiding from it. You’d tried so hard, only for it all to come crashing down in flames before your eyes. “It’s you, Aragorn!” You cried, hot tears streaming down your cheeks while throwing your hands out.

You laughed a sad laugh, backing away from the man you’d loved for countless years. “It’s always been you.” You croaked weakly, your voice brittle and defeated. Aragorn was still confused. He cautiously stepped forward, taking your hands in his own. “Y/n, what do you mean?” He asked, clearly worried that he’d hurt you in some way.

You shook your head, biting your lip while you trained your gaze on the ground. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just-” You smiled, shaking your head as you met his gaze. “Just go be with her. You need to be with her.”

But instead of walking away, Aragorn shook his head. “Y/n, we cannot keep circling amongst each other like this. Please, tell me what I’ve done to hurt you.” He pleaded, worry and remorse engraved in his expression.

You took a shaky breath, tearing up once again. “I can’t, Aragorn.” You admitted, the cost of saying the words far more than you were willing to give. “If I do, I will have to leave.” You choked, willing away the tears.

Aragorn sighed, determination set in his jaw. “Whatever you are facing, Y/n, whatever comes, I will face it beside you.” He stated, confidence and truth behind the words. You hated how perfect he was. Always an amazing friend, but not for much longer.

Finally, after a minute of silence, you decided that if you were going to leave Gondor for the rest of your days, you might as well make it memorable. “Forgive me, Aragorn.” You pleaded, leaning in to steal a kiss from Aragorn.

He hummed in surprise, but didn’t back away, eyes fluttering shut. You relished in the feeling, your hand on his warm, stubbly cheek. It was incredible. Until the both of you realized what was happening. You gasped, backing away from the kiss. “I-“ You stammered, quickly going into a panic. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” You breathed, stumbling out of the garden.

You felt like such an idiot. All of the nights wasted in tears rushing back to haunt you as you ran away from the love you’d held onto so dearly. You ran as fast as you could for the forest, clutching the necklace Aragorn had given you. Habit.

Little did you know, Aragorn decided to run after you, desperate to clean up the mess you’d made. You ran, skillfully weaving throughout the trees to lose Aragorn.

Once you thought you were far enough, you leaned against a tree, dirt marks along your arms and legs. That was the last time you would ever see Aragorn. You wasted it. So, you cried. Then you decided you would move on. Start over.

Aragorn approached, careful not to startle you. You looked up, resting your head against the tree with an irritated sigh. “I can’t stay.” You whispered, your defeated tone letting Aragorn know just how much of a toll this took on you.

Aragorn frowned, the glisten of a tear catching your eye. “Why? We can forget it happened, Y/n. We can make this right.” He suggested, a pleading in his voice that you’d only heard a handful of times. It hurt.

“We can’t. I have to leave.” You replied, forcing yourself to look at him. “I love you, Aragorn. I always have and will. Nothing can ever change that. So, unless you have miraculously realized that it is not Arwen, but me you love, which I highly doubt, I’m leaving.” You explained, standing with a sigh, knowing Aragorn would try to follow.

He stood, watching while you unclasped the necklace Aragorn gave you. “Goodbye, Aragorn.” You spoke defeatedly, gently grasping his hands to place the necklace in them.

“Y/n, anything you wish, I will do. Just stay.” He asked one final time, slow tears falling down his cheeks.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiping away his tears with your thumb. “I wish I were Arwen.” And with that, you walked away, thankful that Aragorn didn’t try to follow.

~~~ i LOVED writing this!!! if any of you writers ever wanna collaborate, hmu!!

tags: @eru-vande @thewhiteladyofrohan @from-patroclus-with-love @elvish-sky @lady-latte @entishramblings

[deejadabbles]

A Thousand Songs (Atem/Yami x Reader)

Chapter Five: Hello, My Old Heart

One /// Two /// Three /// Four /// Five /// (Six coming soon) ///

Summary: You knew that you and your band could make it big. Not only that, but stay together while doing it; the five of you were family, after all. The only problem was that despite all your musical talents...none of you were particularly good at lyrics. After years of struggling to put out your first full album, the solution finally made himself know in chance meeting on an empty stage.

Rock Band AU, Atem x Reader, gender neutral reader.

You could visibly see the poor young man swallowing hard as he settled in the seat across from you and the rest of your bandmates. Try as you might to make the setting casual (cushy chairs instead of a desk, offers of soda and chips, greeting him with an ‘what’s up, my dude?’, etc.) Atem still seemed rather nervous. Not that you blamed him, you distinctly remember Honda making a joke about “oh yeah, ask the dude to come to our secluded studio by himself to meet five strangers, that’s not creepy or anything” when Yugi told you guys how he had invited the man to meet with the rest of you.

“So, Yugi said that you write songs as a hobby?” Anzu began, giving him the warmest smile she could, an effort to ease Atem’s mood.

He nodded, then started unclasping the latch on his leather messenger bag, “That’s right, I’ll admit, I don’t have too many that are finished, but that’s mostly due to boredom and moving on to a new idea, not lack of inspiration.” He then pulled out some papers divided by paperclips. “Here are the songs I think best represent my usual work, the work that’s easiest for me to write as well as what I would prefer to put out there.”

Honda grabbed the small stack and passed out songs to each of you. A bit of an awkward silence fell as you all started reading the various lyrics, but not even that could tarnish how impressed you were with the ones you were reading. Poetic, but not too over the top or pretentious, nice. You glanced up at the others, nodding your head with an impressed smile before switching papers with Yugi to look over another example (you also didn’t miss the way Yugi beamed at you). Now this song struck you, after only reading the first verse you could already hear the beginnings of a beat and chords you could put with the lyrics.

“Yugi also said you have a killer voice,” you said, shifting your eyes from the page to peer up at him.

He gave a cute little cough, “Uh, yes, I suppose I’m not a bad singer.”

You had to actively keep your mind from gushing over how sweet he was. The dude looked like a typical adonis hottie, but his shy outer demeanor just added an extra layer to him. He was wearing something more stylish than the few tabloid pics you’d seen: a long-sleeved black shirt with a silky maroon and gold vest, accessorized with a few rings, bangles, necklaces, and a pair of gold dangling earrings.

You shook the wandering thoughts on his attractiveness away; this was for business, not pleasure. “I was just wondering if you’d mind singing one of the songs for us, that way we can get a feel for the melody you had in mind.”

Again, Atem seemed to swallow something in this throat as a hand reached up to briefly play with one of the flat triangles dripping from his ears. “I suppose I could do that, but, do you mind if I play my violin with it? I’ll find it easier to sing with some music.”

“Of course,” you waved an eager hand, egging him on before handing him back the music sheet in your hand.

His eyes scanned the pages, reminding himself of what song it was before nodding his head and reaching down to the instrument case beside the armchair. Jonouchi had made a comment about Atem carrying his violin everywhere, trying to set a joking mood, but it just caused a flushed Atem to mumble about how he had just picked it up from getting its weekly tuning.

Once Atem was standing, violin in hand, he took a deep breath to collect himself. Then, after two slow heartbeats, he began to play.

The first note was a sorrowful one, long, like a quiet, mournful hum, his slender fingers pulsing to create a wave effect on the sound. Then he was singing. His tone came out like a deep, almost breathy moan, letting the lyrics flow like a story at first- before his tone rose and belted out the chorus.

Atem was captivating, pulling you in with every line, every inflection, making you want to hold your breath lest the sound of it distract from the song. He kept his eyes closed, lost in the music his hands and mouth crafted, and the longer the song went on the more he seemed to relax, to lean into his own notes.

You blinked suddenly, realizing that your mouth had been hanging open just in time to close it before Atem ended his performance on another soaring note and breathy lyric. He stayed like that for a moment, catching his breath, basking in the lingering sound of his song.

Finally, his eyes blinked open and shifted to gauge everyone’s reaction. You weren’t the only one left in awe.

“Holy shit,” Honda breathed.

Yugi’s beaming smile was at maximum sunshine as he leaned into you and whispered, “That’s the song I heard him sing at the theatre, isn’t it beautiful?!”

You nodded and opened your mouth to say something but Anzu beat you to it.

“Can you do that again?” she asked, eager, as she jumped up and walked to her keyboard.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” you asked, also bouncing to your feet and joining her.

Anzu smiled back at you, “Keeping that longer intro and adding keys to it?”

“Yes!” you turned to Jonouchi- who was still staring at Atem like he didn’t quite believe the man was standing there. “Jou, add some drums? Something steady and subtle at first, drawing everyone in before the lyrics start and-”

“-and picking up when the chorus kicks in?” he finished, snapping to attention in an instant, “You got it!”

With that Jonouchi vaulted off the back of the couch, plopping onto the stool at his drum set. Atem was still standing there, now looking a bit bewildered and amused as he watched everyone get to work, perhaps some pride shining in his eyes that his music had inspired it.

“Atem?” you asked, tone gentle and drawing his attention back to you, “Can you play that again?” you repeated Anzu’s question, seeing as how she was fully engrossed in her keys now.

Again, the man seemed hesitant, “Shouldn’t you be taking over, you’re the lead singer after all.”

“Dude, we have to keep that violin track,” you insisted, finding your voice breathy as you pointed at Atem, “It’s perfect for the song, it’s deep and beautiful and-” speechless, you gave an exaggerated chef’s kiss to emphasize just how much you meant what you were touting.

The expression earned you a smile from the violinist, a hint of bashfulness mixing with the fresh and rising pride. “Alright, if you think it will improve the song.” With that, Atem lifted his violin, took another deep breath, and started the song again.

***

It was strange how no hands had officially shaken, no one even told Atem he was hired, but that session was immediately followed up by the band asking when his next free day was and asking him to come back for another practice session. Atem had never intended on actually playing with the band, but, when they acted so enthralled with his playing, he could hardly say no.

The next time they got together (almost a week after their first meeting) Atem found himself just as nervous as when he first met them. Parking outside their studio, he found his chest heating up with some anxiety. Atem never was good around people, after all.

Hello, my old heart

How have you been?

Are you still there inside my chest?

He rubbed his hands against the steering wheel, letting out a long breath and holding it a moment, before making himself grab his violin case and climb out of the car. His feet crunching on the gravel driveway grounded him a bit and he had managed to calm down slightly before knocking on the studio door.

I've been so worried, you've been so still

Barely beating at all

He heard the sound of laughter coming closer on the other side of the door and a moment later it opened, revealing you in the doorway and more laughter echoing yours in the next room.

“Atem, there you are! Come on in,” you stepped aside and waved an inviting arm.

Atem felt the heat in his chest climb up his neck, “Sorry, am I late?”

“Huh?” You then waved your hand again as you shut the door behind him, “Oh no don’t worry, we just got here early, that’s all.”

He heard someone else call his name before he even got to the room where everyone was sitting, and by the time he did enter, the whole band was waving and greeting him. He cleared his throat before nodding back to everyone and saying a weak ‘hello’ before you spoke again.

“Come on, sit down and chill for a bit before we get started,” you waved at a beat-up arm chair even as you perched on its armrest.

Atem realized with a quick look around that there was nowhere better for you to sit and you were likely offering him your own seat. “Oh, that’s alright, I don’t want to steal your seat-”

Before his offer to sit on the floor was out, you shook your head, “Dude, we can’t have our muse sitting in a creaky fold-up chair, at least sit on the other arm so I don’t topple it!” You laughed again as Honda made some comment about how a topple would probably bust the thing in half.

His cheeks were hot now, but he took the offer with grace (or at least, as much grace as he could muster) and perched himself on the other armrest, setting his violin on the actual seat. Atem also remembered how last time, he had been offered the armchair while Anzu took the creaky fold-up chair. Everyone here really seemed to care about making him comfortable.

Hello, my old heart

It's been so long

Since I've given you away

When was the last time he met anyone who had greeted him with such...openness? Such compassion. And a whole group of someones at that...

He cleared his throat again, trying to draw himself out of his wandering thoughts. “So, are we just going to work out more of the music today?”

And every day, I add another stone

To the walls I built around you

To keep you safe

Everyone seemed to respect his want to get down to business, perhaps thinking that he had other engagements, and only chit-chatted for a handful of minutes, before getting down to their rehearsal. It went well, just as the previous session had, and Atem found himself in awe of how well the creative process of making notes together flowed. Just like that first day, everyone seemed to work off of each other so well, bounding ideas left and right, almost always being on the same page. Even when they weren’t, there were just a few goodhearted jabs and sighs before working everything out.

Again Atem found himself shaking his thoughts away. He really should stop, it wasn’t wise to get attached to this process, these sessions, these people. After all, he was just their ghostwriter, nothing more.

Oh, don't leave me here alone

Don't tell me that we've grown

For having loved a little while

He found himself smiling again despite himself, when you started throwing popcorn kernels at Jonouchi; retribution for a comment about how you needed to change the chords up in the third chorus.

“I’m not changing it,” you said with your tongue sticking out, all while Jou looked affronted at your kernel bombing. “It’s a steady beat, that’s the whole point! Right, Atem?”

At the sound of his name, Atem’s eyes went wide, “Uh- What?”

“Eh, don’t drag him to your side!” Jonouchi pouted, tossing some popcorn from his lap back in your direction.

“I’m not dragging, I’m asking his opinion, there’s a difference,” you said matter of factly, then turned back to Atem, who was sweating a bit now, “What do you think, Atem? Are the same chords during the third chorus too boring? Or does it fit the subtle, powerful nature of the song?”

“You’re leading his answer!” Jonouchi countered, again looking appalled, then squawking as you tossed more popcorn at him.

Atem was a bit distracted by the way Honda kept laughing as Jou picked kernels out of his shirt, but eventually he managed to swallow thickly and answer your question. “I actually like the way you have it now, if I’m being honest.”

You beamed at him, stuck your tongue out at Jonouchi in victory, then held the popcorn bowl out to Atem. “Thank you, my muse! Here, have some brain food.”

His face was heating up again at nickname- or, dare he say, endearment? However, even as he blushed, and took a handful of popcorn, he couldn’t keep that smile from making yet another appearance.

Oh, I don't wanna be alone

I wanna find a home

And I wanna share it with you

When everyone called the day's session to an end, Atem tried not to feel...disappointed. Stop that , he told himself again, this was not something to get attached to. As everyone packed their notes away, Honda started asking about dinner.

“Heeey if I give you a ride to work, think you can get me a discount on nachos again?” he asked, turning to you with an eyebrow wiggle.

You scoffed, “Dude, the boss was barely okay with that one time I did it, I can’t convince her again. But I can just buy your nachos if you really want.”

“Where do you work?” Atem found himself asking, far too late to stop himself from getting involved.

“Oh- ever heard of The Mark? It’s a bar downtown.”

Atem shook his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. Admittedly, the only bar he had been in since college was the high-end one in his apartment building.

You didn’t seem to take notice of his embarrassment though and just shrugged, “It’s only popular to a certain crowd. Anyway,” you continued, turning back to Honda, “give me a ride and I’ll buy you nachos.”

“Okay, all this talk of nachos has me hungry,” Jonouchi groaned, “Let’s go with em, Yug.”

Anzu perked up at that, nodding to you as she said, “You know, I’ve really been craving your specialty daiquiris. Jou, got room in your truck for me?”

“Sure,” the drummer shrugged as everyone started milling towards the door.

Yugi was smiling brightly as he held the door open for everyone, “Guess it’s a band outing now! Atem, you want to join? You can follow us to the bar, it isn’t far.”

As his feet were once again crunching on the gravel drive, Atem had to stop. He looked back to the group, ready to see at least one of them giving an uneasy expression at the invitation, if not an outright protest.

Instead, he saw Anzu nodding her head eagerly while Honda locked up the studio. Neither you nor Jonouchi looked wary of the suggestion and instead just looked to him for an answer.

You must have thought he needed further prompting, because you said, “Hey, our ‘girls night’ plate of nachos is more than big enough for all of you.”

Atem had to swallow another something in his throat. All of you were already inviting him out for drinks?

Hello, my old heart

How have you been?

“I- sorry, I have to get up early in the morning. Thank you, though.” Atem could only cast his eyes to the ground during the half-lie.

How is it being locked away?

He saw something flicker in Yugi’s eyes, but he was quick to hide it with a smile. “Okay, maybe next time.”

Your smile matched Yugi’s as everyone headed to Jou’s truck and Honda’s bike, “Have a good night, Atem.”

Don't you worry, in there you're safe

“See you next week,” Anzu waved.

All he could manage was a nod as he turned towards his own car.

And it's true, you'll never beat

But you'll never break

It only took one more session to get the rest of the music figured out, and then it was time to record. Atem was interested in the process, how the five of you set up the sound equipment, what programs you used, he even asked you how you had installed padding to improve the sound quality.

The video part of the recording would be left for later, right now it was just the song to worry about- though you did make a point to tell Atem that you wanted to discuss setting ideas for the video soon. Atem felt his heart swell a bit at that. Not that he wanted to admit it, but he was glad that you wanted to involve him in every step of the song. This song in particular, this first one that had so enthralled Yugi first, was likely one of the more personal ones Atem had written.

Your voice rose with the chorus, fingers dancing gracefully against the bridge of the guitar, and Atem found himself admiring how well suited your voice was to his lyrics. A perfect fit. Though you likely had no way of knowing the background behind this song or why Atem had written it, you belted the lyrics with passion and depth, cared for every bar as if you were singing from the depths of your heart.

Maybe you were. Music spoke to more than just those who wrote it, perhaps not in the same ways, but that hardly mattered.

He heard the way the ending lyric stole your breath, and his violin hummed its final note with you in a harmony Atem had admired a dozen times during these rehearsals. When the last note ended, everyone waited a moment, seeming to hold their breaths, before daring to move. When everyone did, Jonouchi was already bounding over to the computer hooked up to the recording mics. With a few clicks and a quick look over something on the screen, the blonde gave a clap of his hands.

“We got it! That should be all we need for a high quality recording.”

Everyone cheered or hooted at that, and Yugi made a comment about finally having something new to give their fans. Atem was smiling with the rest of them, but he was failing to ignore the way his chest ached just a bit. The song was done, and, unless they asked him to join them on stage, Atem supposed this was the last time he would play with the band.

Writing songs for them was all nice in of itself, but, despite all his personal warnings not to, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t grown a bit attached to these evenings and nights with the band.

Oh, I don't wanna be alone

I wanna find a home

And I wanna share it with you

A sudden call of his name had Atem jolting back to the present, and he saw you standing beside him, a hint of concern creasing your brow. “Everything okay?”

“Uh-” he cleared his throat, “-yes, I’m alright,” he lied, just as he had lied to deny himself the after-work drinks weeks ago. “I was just thinking, we got so caught up in recording this song, that none of you got the chance to discuss if any others were to your liking.”

“What, any of your other songs?” Honda asked, and when Atem nodded, he literally waved the comment off, “Dude, I’m pretty sure we liked all the examples you gave us, right guys?”

“Definitely!” Yugi didn’t miss the chance to boost Atem’s ego (or rather, soothe any worries). “We actually looked over your other songs the other day, and all of us agree we want to record all of them. I told you you were a perfect fit for us!”

The words, as well as the wink Yugi gave, did make Atem smile, but it didn’t do much to alleviate the root of his woe. “I’m glad they fit with the band so well. If you want to know the melodies or themes I had in mind for any of the other songs as well, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

That seemed to give everyone pause.

Nothing lasts forever

Atem watched as they began giving each other looks, very pointed looks, in turns, and he couldn’t ignore the sinking sensation in his chest. They seemed to silently agree on something a moment later, because Anzu spoke up as her eyes turned back to Atem.

“Actually, we were talking about that a lot too…”

Some things aren't meant to be

Atem swallowed hard, heart starting to pound in his ears. Perhaps he wasn’t good enough, perhaps they thought him too pretentious, or maybe he had overstepped the boundaries of his role here, maybe he and his violin didn’t-

“How would you feel about joining the band for the whole album?”

But you'll never find the answers

Until you set your old heart free

Again, your voice put a break on Atem’s reeling thoughts, and he had to blink to collect himself again. “I- you mean, you want me to play for the other songs as well?”

More looks were exchanged, quick ones this time, before Yugi chimed in next. “We talked it over a lot the past week and we all agree that you gel with us pretty well! And not only that, but your violin really adds a lot to our music, we’d really love for you to record more songs with us, not just write them.”

Until you set your old heart free

Now Atem’s heart was pounding in his ears for a whole other reason. He almost wanted to smack himself when he felt the widest, most giddy grin he ever remembered smiling spread across his face.

“I would like that very much,” he said, cheeks going a bit warm when everyone was returning his smile.

Hello, my old heart

“So what are we waitin’ for?” Jonouchi jumped in, all enthusiasm and eagerness, “What song are we doing next?”

That sparked conversation, and everyone started chiming in with their votes almost immediately, Yugi and Anzu even digging out Atem’s sheet music for references. Atem could only take the scene in with a smile that was widening the more he watched them bicker good-heartedly.

And he was glad he had gotten attached to this process, these sessions, to these people.

I wanna share it with you

[ayo-cowbelly]

Anakin Everlasting

read on ao3 here

wowww look at me, posting writing two days in a row... here’s to being productive

again, blame discord. those amazing angst-lovers keep inspiring me to write and make everyone sad.

hope you enjoy!

p.s. pretty sure it's a thing that jedi live a lot longer than average people, usually over 100 years. so that's why that's in there.

***

Anakin wandered throughout the temple. Not the Coruscant one, as you might think- no, he was on Yavin IV now. Years ago, the Jedi had decided to expand and, seeing as there was an unused temple on a lush planet, a planet that was strong in the Force- it was perfect for a new branch of the Order.

He stared out at the greenery, so different from what he had been used to. Even though he came to this place almost 100 years ago, Anakin couldn't find himself getting fully adjusted to the new environment.

Anakin was now surrounded by greens, blues, and browns, so different from the golds and tans he was used to. Those colors represented everything he loved, everything he'd lost, and that which he could not bear to see taken from him. That was why, even if it was a bit uncomfortable, Anakin had moved to Yavin IV. He has lost so much- and Anakin had never been good with loss.

Yes, time heals all wounds, and of course he'd spent time meditating with Yoda, learning how to let go; Yoda was the only one who could even begin to understand Anakin's plight. Despite that, however, he still found his heart aching when he thought of his friends, his family, and how they had left him.

Padmé had been the first to go. She lived to be 97, and Anakin never stopped loving her. As she got older, Padmé had insisted on Anakin moving on, finding a younger person who could keep up with him, now that she was too frail to even leave the apartment most days. He knew she'd be gone soon, so he promised he'd try to find someone.

It was the only promise he'd ever broken.

"I don't want you to mourn the moment you spent with me for an eternity," She had told him.

Anakin, tears in his eyes, whispered back, "You are my eternity, Angel."

That, even 1000 years later, was still true. He loved her, as many others in the galaxy had loved someone; fiercely, eternally, even if she was dead. Anakin and Padmé had a love that would always be real, be true, as long as he kept her memory alive as he traveled across the stars.

Anakin cried for days when Ahsoka died.

His first and dearest Padawan lived to be 117, and she had been feisty until the very end (only Leia had been able to keep up with Ahsoka in that regard- oh, Force, Leia-)

When she left, laying in her bed with soft condolences and gentle teases and whispers of "Don't forget me, Skyguy," Anakin had thought that would break him, as he held her now-limp hand.

Obi-Wan was worse. Obi-Wan, the oldest family member he had left, had been gone for a long time. His brother had lived to be around 124 (or maybe not, Anakin seemed to be getting worse at keeping track of time the longer his life went on). Obi-Wan had lived a long life, a happy life; and when his time came, he learned enough of the Force that he could still visit Anakin, sometimes.

Every once and awhile, the two could talk (it used to be always, back when Obi lived- but Anakin would be the only one who would get an always). But it wasn't the same. Not even close.

He'd never admit it, but Anakin cried for over a week when Obi-Wan faded away. At that time, he was sure he would shatter; If Padmé hadn't broken him, if Ahsoka hadn't, surely his older brother would.

Obi's death had to be the worst, he was positive.

He was so, so wrong.

Nothing could compare to the pure heartbreak that came with the death of his children.

Luke, who was bright like sunshine and serene like water- and Leia, who was pure fire and somehow engulfed everyone she met. They were the brightest parts of Anakin's life, both in the Force and not. They were the best parts of him and Padmé, and he loved them so incredibly much. And, being twins, Luke and Leia spent almost every moment together since their birth. Throughout their lives, it was rare to see one without the other, for nobody was as closely intertwined as they; save for Anakin and Obi-Wan.

So, when Death came for his children, Anakin had to watch as they left together (there was no other way they could go). He'd had them for an amazing 156 years, years he would forever cherish.

Now he didn't have anyone. But somehow, he was still whole. He hadn't broken then, and he hadn't broken when his later Padawans had died (death was hard for Anakin to think about. Even though he somewhat feared it, he also wanted it, if it meant he could see his dearest ones again). But Anakin knew Death would never claim him, so he made the most out of his eternal life (but it was a half-life, for what is a life without love?)

He took other Padawans, trained other students and treated them as his own. Though he knew it was a bad idea, as nobody could stay forever, they became his family. Just as Ahsoka once had, when she'd stepped out of a shuttle on Christophsis.

Anakin also found he was good at storytelling. Every night, he made his way to the Crèche and regaled the younglings with his stories. The now-legends of a beautiful queen, a wise Jedi Master, a snarky Togruta (who had become a Master in her own right), an exasperated clone captain; and later the stories of a brave young man and his fiery twin sister, the smuggler she fell in love with, and how through it all were two droids who were the best of friends.

He told the next generations about their adventures, how they found joy while fighting a war, and he told them of how they had managed to discover and overthrow the Sith. He taught them how to find the Light, find love, even when hope seems lost.

The younglings loved the stories, ate them up until Anakin had no more, so he'd retell them again. He told them to the children, to the Padawans, to the Knights, and even the Masters (even if they were old, most had grown up hearing of Anakin's adventures). His only rule for those who heard the tales? Pass them on, so the memories stay alive.

He taught them a truth he had discovered: Nobody is ever really gone, as long as you keep on telling their stories.

Anakin forever would.

He made his way to a special room he had reserved for himself in the Temple, for as Grandmaster (now that Yoda was gone, Anakin had become the Grandmaster. Yoda's death, of all people... that had hit Anakin harder than he'd thought it would. When someone who seems to be forever dies, said death is shocking) he could do such things.

When he entered, he looked around the room. He surveyed the pictures and trinkets that lay there, waiting for him.

By Padmé's picture, there was the old Japor snippet necklace- along with a small flimsi paper flower he'd once made for her, onboard a Star Destroyer while thinking of how he missed her.

Beside Obi-Wan's, there was a lightsaber that hummed. It seemed to have a mind of its own now, and the buzzing got louder as Anakin approached- or rather, his own blade did. Just as their users were connected, these lightsabers were as well. There was also a small holo of Anakin and Obi-Wan on Cato Nemoidia, just after that "business" that Obi-Wan always said "didn't count". In the picture, Padawan Anakin is grinning widely, arm slung around a very disgruntled Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Next to Ahsoka's lay her two lightsabers and the golden headdress she'd worn since she was young. Anakin remembers how he'd gently lifted it off her head at the funeral, for if he couldn't keep his sister, his beloved Padawan, then he would keep this small part of her.

Alongside Luke and Leia's (their pictures were one and the same, since they almost never did something without the other) there were their own 'sabers and two drawings the twins made when they were toddlers. If Anakin remembered correctly (as time went on, he found it harder and harder to look at such things) the pictures depicted their family- which of course included Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Rex, R2 and 3PO.

The two droids had been shut down long ago, finally going out of use just after Padmé's death.

The room housed other pictures, which showed the rest of Anakin's Padawans- including Ahsoka, there were six in total; But even though he kept all their lightsabers, he only had trinkets for two of them.

Uchani, who had been his second Padawan about 40 years after Ahsoka died, had been a quiet but strong Zeltron. She was a calm person, but there was spunk in her that rivaled Leia's. Uchani was amazing at calming Anakin down when he was angry, the gentle waves of her Force presence dousing out the embers in his. She had become his little sister as well.

Then there was Myn. A young Tholothian, Myn was brave and outspoken, and him and Anakin fit well together. He was the sixth student Anakin had taken, and though he loved all his students, Anakin remembered Myn vividly.

In all his eternal years, Anakin had not been prepared for seeing his Padawan die young. In battle, no less.

Myn was slain by a Darksider in the catacombs of Akiva. Anakin had been too late, moments too late; after cutting down the enemy, he watched as Myn's life dwindled.

Knowing Anakin well after ten years of training, Myn had wheezed, "Don't- Don't do anything- anything reckless, Master." 

Anakin refused to look at the wound on his apprentice's stomach. "Myn, we need to get you to a healer-" 

"Master- Anakin-" Myn coughed, and Anakin felt the tears in his eyes overflow and run down his face.

"No, please, not you too," Anakin said, but he already knew what the outcome would be.

"It'll be okay, Anakin," Myn murmered, and then he was gone, just like all the others.  

Anakin shook off the memory of his last Padawan, and he sat down in the middle of the room. Rex's helmet (Rex, who had lived to be 105 once the accelerated aging was healed, had never stopped standing up for what was right. When his body failed him, he switched to words, fighting until the end. Anakin missed his twin so much), which Anakin had kept in as good condition as possible, stared back at him as he told his family of his day.

When he finished, he felt a presence behind him, and wasn't surprised to see the faint blue glow of Obi-Wan's ghost.

"It sounds like you had a good day, Anakin."

"I did," He said back happily. "But it's not over yet. I'm about to go see the younglings- care to join me, Master?"

Obi-Wan smiled softly. "I'd be delighted, Padawan mine."

[peaceoutofthepieces]

chapter 16

The Stars Look Very Different

Social Media AU

previous chapter

this isn’t proofread because I literally just finished it so...I hope you like ❤️

tag list: @yellowballoon @cleocc @skaming-myself @boldlydeepestcupcake @pduwd @notallthereyall @gingerhead007 @groeneweiden @nyttvera @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @curiouskopf @engelkeijsers @xiaomailab @honeyandsinn @lauren-bk @saraben00 @tailsbeth @boysrunaway @howlingsaturn @menamesniall

~^~

Sander was nervous.

Really, nervous was an understatement.

He’s gone through the whole day with an erratic heartbeat and sweaty palms, counting down the hours. He was sure he would combust before the time even came. The only thing that stopped him was the idea of Robbe waiting for him, growing more and more restless as the minutes passed, eventually leaving on his own. Sander couldn’t have that.

More than anything, he was excited.

It pricked and sparked under his skin, urging him onwards, incredibly impatient. There was nothing in his head but Robbe. He was struggling to comprehend it. It didn’t seem possible that he was being allowed to see him again—that Robbe himself had requested it. None of it seemed possible. None of it seemed real.

It was also the only thing that was clear to Sander. His feelings for Robbe, his desire to see him, his need to talk to him at all times.

It might not have been real, but as long as Sander got to live in the fantasy long enough to see this night through, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He had to admit, though, that he cared a little when Robbe finally came into sight and he short-circuited for just a small moment.

Was he really going to do this?

“Hey, Robbe!”

He was.

Robbe found him in an instant, eyes catching and lips tweaking up in a smile. They held their usual element of danger, and it left a thrill thrumming through Sander’s stomach. But there was something else, hidden behind the glint. Something softer, curious. Something that almost resembled excitement. It set the thrill on fire.

Robbe hopped down off the wall when Sander came close enough, cocking his head as he examined him. Sander felt a little ridiculous, suddenly, wearing his leather jacket and Doc Martens, while Robbe wore his usual ensemble of hoodie and sweatpants and his signature brown coat. He was beautiful, all russet curls and doe eyes and smirks. Sander carefully bit down the urge to tell him so.

Though he was very tempted to see how Robbe would react.

“Nice,” Robbe commented, finally, simply. He turned and took a few steps backwards, nodding his head to the side in a gesture for Sander to follow.

This time, Sander didn’t question him.

“How did you get out past Lucas?”

Robbe shrugged. “Didn’t have to. He’s gone out with Jens.”

Sander’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t give them any explanation?”

“Sander,” Robbe snorted. “They might not even come back. And if they do, they’ll assume I’m asleep and continue on in their own little bubble. Don’t worry.”

Sander focused on the two syllables of his name in Robbe’s light, lilting voice and didn’t worry about it. “Are you at least going to tell me if it’s far? You could’ve told me to where walking shoes.”

Robbe snuck another glance at him and shook his head. “What would be the fun in that?”

Sander groaned in response and Robbe finally took pity on him, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not far. You’ll manage. You have longer legs and everything.”

Robbe finally grinned, and though it was teasing and left Sander narrowing his eyes in response, it also sent his heart flapping around in his ribcage. He didn’t care where they were going or how far it was. He was already with Robbe, and that was already enough.

Still, he was glad when it didn’t even take another ten minutes of walking before Robbe turned off into a darker street and beckoned Sander after him once more. Sander followed slowly, lightening his steps. The air seemed to grow quieter, even though they had already been walking through mostly empty streets. They were rounding a large brick building, plain and worn with all the windows dark, looking as if it hadn’t seen life in years. Robbe went right to the back door before taking a paperclip out of his pocket and sliding it into the lock.

Sander’s eyes widened and he took a step closer to him. “*Robbe.”

“Shhh,” Robbe hissed back.

Sander lowered his voice to the same tone. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m opening the door.”

“Robbe,” Sander tried again. Robbe ignored him, continuing his work, and it only took a few seconds before the lock popped and he swung the door open.

He looked around at Sander and raised his brows, holding the door open and sweeping his arm through. “Babies first.”

Sander pulled a face at him and didn’t move, sneaking a hesitant glance into the darkness. Robbe slipped his phone out of his pocket and shone the small flashlight through the door.

Then he held out his hand.

Sander stared at it, pulse kicking up. Robbe wiggled his fingers. Sander reached out to grasp them.

Aside from the tight squeeze Robbe initially gave, his grip was unexpectedly light. Sander hadn’t quite prepared himself for the gentle touch, or for the uptick of Robbe’s lips seconds later. Devious and sparkling, maybe, but pleased nonetheless. He took a small step backwards into the dark and rugged Sander with him. “Come.”

Sander went.

The building was cold, and Sander was glad for the thick hoodie under his jacket and the warmth of Robbe’s palm, pressing closer against his as he guided him through an empty room. Sander shuffled his phone out of his own pocket, but Robbe stopped him before he could turn on the torch. He waved his own light at another doorway, and Sander watched on, intrigued, as he swung it open with ease. Sander was left mourning the loss of his touch as he turned around to shine the torch on the wall, illuminating a light switch.

He gave Sander a cheshire grin and flicked it on.

The ceiling hummed with energy before six long overhead lights flickered to life, dull and dirty but enough to illuminate the expanse of the larger room in a yellow glow. The larger room that was filled with statue upon statue, sculptures filling the spaces in between. It was the sides of the room that took Sander by surprise—where painting upon painting lay stacked together, all in different styles and mediums and colours, all eye-catchingly beautiful.

Sander stared and stared and forgot that Robbe was watching him. He forgot to school his expression out of the automatic awe it fell into, lips parting and eyes widening and heart hammering. It was something right out of a dream.

“How?”

Robbe was examining him closely, he knew, but Sander still couldn’t look at him, still hadn’t taken everything in. “It’s just an old warehouse. This stuff has been here for years. I think it’s all pieces that got kicked out of the museums, some others from the college, some that people just wanted to store and then forgot about. Just, left here. All abandoned.”

Sander finally looked at him to find that he was now examining the room, gazing upon the art with something akin to sympathy. “All beautiful,” he said quietly.

Robbe looked back at him, and a new understanding passed silently between them. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

It was really unfair, how Robbe had managed to do this. Sander had worried, in brief moments before speaking to Robbe, if his feelings were misplaced. If he’d fabricated his own fantasy into a little too nice of a picture, of the reasons for his intrigue were unreasonable. It had only gotten worse, last month, the month before; but the feelings had stuck.

Then Robbe had come to him, and he’d left Sander even more smitten than before.

“You wanna admire, then?” Robbe raised a brow.

I’m already admiring.

Sander took a few careful steps towards the closest sculpture, a twisted mass of wires that he couldn’t quite figure out but enjoyed nonetheless. He did a slow lap of it before moving on, to a sculpture of a man curled around himself, body locked tight and head bowed, hidden. Sander crouched down next to it, allowing himself to reach out and skim his fingertips over the ridges. “I wish I had my camera.”

“Wait.”

He looked up and watched Robbe reach into his pocket, before he pulled out a small disposable camera. He held it up, then tossed it to Sander before stuffing his hands back in his pockets. Sander examined the object and laughed. “Cute.”

Robbe rolled his eyes, but he’d spent the past ten minutes smiling.

Sander ducked his head to hide his own grin and snapped a photo of the statue.

He took his time wandering around the room, and Robbe let him, following quietly. Sander would admire, and Robbe would joke (“it’s metaphorical, how he’s standing under an invisible weight”; “he’s taking an invisible shit”), and it all felt too easy. It was all too good to be true.

Robbe pushed the camera down when Sander pointed it at him, and while Sander expected to be told off, Robbe merely said, “Don’t use it all up yet. I have one more surprise.”

Sander blinked at him and was granted another grin. His heart fluttered as Robbe retook his hand.

“Come.”

Robbe led him to the corner of the back corner of the room, where it opened into a small hallway. They walked to the end and turned into a stairwell. Robbe let go of his hand and winked at him before leading the way down. Sander allowed himself to admire him as he followed, cataloguing all the bumps and shadows of his curls, how his coat swallowed his thin shoulders but his sweatpants hugged his legs. Then his thoughts turned silly, turned to thinking about how he wanted to hug Robbe himself, and he shook himself out of it before the other boy could notice.

There was another door at the bottom, heavier than the others, and Robbe had to press his whole side together to shove it open. Sander did his best to bite back his laugh. Robbe glared over his shoulder at him anyway.

Once Robbe flicked on this light switch, however, all thoughts of laughter left Sander as his breath wooshed out of him.

This space was a maze of gray, stone walls overlapping and interconnecting.

Or it would be, if the entire space wasn’t covered in dozens of pieces of brilliantly bright graffiti.

“Robbe,” Sander breathed. “What?”

Robbe waved at the space, watching him carefully. “You’re an artist, but this is your favourite kind of art. Isn’t it?”

Sander could have kissed him.

He swallowed, and then his lips were curling into a grin. They stared each other down, and Robbe’s eyes widened in understanding just a second before Sander took off, racing for a gap in the walls.

“You’re such a child,” Robbe yelled after him, but he was already chasing.

Sander laughed and kept going, whipping around corners and whizzing past bright bursts of orange and blue and red and green and every colour in between. He didn’t even bother pausing to take it all in. It was already enough to know he was surrounded by it, encased in the whirl of colours, and that Robbe was right behind him.

Until he wasn’t, because he was right in front of him.

Sander skidded to a stop, breathless, and reveled in Robbe’s hands catching his chest, in the laugh spilling out of him as he looked up at Sander. He liked Robbe most, like this. Softer, brightened, smiling. When it became obvious that he wasn’t pushing Sander away, that he’d taken a moment to trust him enough that he didn’t have to hide himself.

The smile smoothed out slowly as Sander continued to stare at him, and he grew suddenly more serious, tongue poking out to lick over his lip for a split second before he dropped his hands from Sander’s chest.

“You didn’t believe that I know you as well as you know me, right?” Robbe asked.

Suddenly, it clicked.

“Well, for example,” Robbe started, “I know that you’re also a bit of an insomniac. I know you’re an art cliche, and you especially like graffiti, even though that just might be a thrill thing. Your best friends are Noor Bauwens and Lucas Van Der Heiden. Noor is your best best-friend while Lucas is almost like an older brother, who is also dating my best friend and who I also now live with because of reasons. You’re a tease. You do this weird little snort instead of laughing and it would be funny if it wasn’t so cute. You never take off your ring.”

He nodded at Sander’s hand, and Sander brought his hands together to twist the ring around his finger before looking back up at Robbe. It shouldn’t have been possible, with them having been already toe to toe, but he seemed even closer than before.

“And I don’t know this yet,” Robbe continued quietly, eyes dropping to Sander’s lips. “But I’m willing to bet that you’re a fucking good kisser.”

Sander’s breath stopped.

It was hard to think, with Robbe looking at him like that, with Robbe so close, so he kept his thoughts simple. He ran through all their texts messages, the ease with which their conversations flowed, the lightness of the jibes passed between them. He ran through their first proper meeting, when he could do nothing but stare at Robbe and hear his blood rushing in his ears, thinking that it was too soon even as he berated himself for not meeting him sooner. He ran through the months before that, when all he could do was watch Robbe from afar and tamp down the need in him, the desire to seek that thrill more than he wanted to do anything else.

He ran through this night up until now, when the nerves were spilling and spiking through each of his veins before he set his eyes on Robbe and it all slipped away. When he’d finally understood their plans, and he hadn’t bothered to hide his surprise or his overexcitement that always came with setting his eyes on art. When he’d thought of muting his joy to a more acceptable level, so as not to affect Robbe’s possible feelings for him, and then he’d quickly tossed it aside.

He didn’t need to hide either, with Robbe. He didn’t have to be nervous. With Robbe, he was enigmatic and unabashed and alive. He wasn’t a problem to solve or a case to crack or a pity project.

With Robbe, he was known.

Robbe’s hands moved to his cheeks as Sander’s found their place on his waist, and Robbe pushed up on his toes as Sander leaned down and their lips met in the middle.

And Sander breathed.

It was nothing and everything like he’d imagined. Meaning he’d expected defensive, edgy, tight-lipped Robbe to be harsh and he wasn’t, and he’d expected it to bliss and it was.

Robbe’s lips were soft and slow, but demanding, taking everything Sander had to give and still going back for more; though he gave just as much in return. His hands had found their way around Sander, one sliding into his hair and the other wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him in until they were pressed together from head to toe.

It still wasn’t close enough.

Sander was vibrating. Sander was floating. Sander was on fire.

He was dying.

He’d never felt more alive.

Sander—Sander was kissing someone.

Sander was kissing Robbe.

Sander was kissing someone and that someone was Robbe and Robbe was kissing him back.

They parted for air. Well, Robbe did; Sander didn’t need it. Air wasn’t important. Getting his lips back on Robbe’s was. Robbe allowed it, and Sander hadn’t even realised his lips had turned up in a grin and that Sander himself had mimicked it, and that kissing was quite impossible when one didn’t have complete control over their mouth.

Then Robbe scratched through his hair, and made a noise like an aborted giggle, and Sander pulled back to rest their heads together and sneak a kiss to his nose.

Robbe’s nose wrinkled in response, so Sander kissed it again.

Robbe nudged their lips together once more, brief, and then mumbled, “Thank fuck I was right.”

Sander snorted. “Would have been a deal-breaker for you, would it?”

Robbe hummed, tilting his head side to side, but he kissed Sander again and Sander forgot to care about anything else.

~^~

next chapter

[louiseleblancdiggory]

I just read the pregnancy rowaelin angst and it made me feel so many things. Would you write a second part, where Aelin actually find out she's pregnant again and is all happy but also scared to tell Rowan? And then the first ultrasound happens? Maybe they already have an adopted child and they are so excited to become a sibling and it's all cute and fluff. ❤️

This is so sweet. Like so fucking sweet it gave me toothache. I threw as much fluff as I possibly could because as I said, pregnancy is something personal to me and I love happy endings. It’s fucking long but I hope you enjoy every single second of it. This is the part one!

Warnings: literally none, it’s just really cute

Safe haven 2

--

Aelin was resting against the hood of her car, arms crossed and eyes scanning the crowd for…

“Mommy!” A little girl screamed from the school’s door. Her inky black hair bounced as she ran to Aelin, her green eyes shining with excitement. “Mommy, here!”

Aelin’s face broke into a wide grin as she jogged in her daughter’s direction and grabbed the little girl in her arms. She immediately peppered her daughter’s face in quick kisses, earning delighted laughs.

“Hello, Aurora. How was your day at school, baby?” Aelin asked, standing up with Aurora in her arms. The girl hugged Aelin’s neck fiercely, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Made any friends?”

Aelin fought a smile when she saw Aurora blushing and smiling sheepishly. “His name is Lachlan, and he’s new to the school. He speaks nice.”

“Oh, he does?”

“Yes. He said is how people speak where he come from. Some kids made fun of it, but I think it was pretty. Just like daddy speaks a little different too.”

Aelin nodded, kissing her daughter’s crown. For all her excitement and free spirit, Aurora was awfully shy around anyone who wasn’t her family or people she knew since her adoption. Her best friend, Aedion and Lys’s daughter, was a year younger so they couldn’t be in the same class. Rowan and Aelin had been hoping for weeks now that Aurora would make at least one friend in school. She was six and smart like her dad, which caused her to feel a little bit different from the other kids.

Aelin couldn’t wait to see the relief on Rowan’s face that their baby had made a friend.

“So now you guys are friends?”

“Yes!” She smiled excitedly and clapped her hands. “He said he’s gonna bring me some candies from his kingdom tomorrow, and I said I would bring a picture of Fleetfoot.”

“That’s so great, baby.” Aelin smiled, putting Aurora in her seat and buckling her up. “We’ll find the most beautiful picture of Fleetfoot to show Lachlan.”

Her daughter squeaked with delight, and Aelin laughed as she opened her window and closed the door. She stood on the side walk once more, looking around again, searching for someone else.

“Mom!” A teenage boy called her.

“Nino!” Aurora shouted from the backseat. “Nino, I made a friend!”

Nino smiled at her voice, his friend group smiling too. They all waved at Aelin as her son jogged in her direction, giving her a quick kiss on her forehead. Although Nino was adopted, everyone liked to joke he had gotten Rowan’s genes. His and Aurora’s green eyes were the exact same shade as Rowan’s, and Nino was becoming as tall as his father.

He waved back at his friends and they were shouting their goodbyes as they walked away.

“Bye, aunt Aelin!” Evangeline shouted.

Aelin smiled at her and waved back. Evangeline had been Aedion and Lys’s ward much before Aelin and Rowan had even considered adoption. Eva was much as Lys’s daughter as Nino and Aurora were her kids.

“How was your day in school?” Aelin said, getting in the car as Nino took the passenger seat.

“Fine.” He said, and Aelin only raised a brow at him. He sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I bombed math.”

Although she should be pissed, should act like the strict mom and reprimand him from bombing another math test, Aelin had to fight a smile. “Your dad is gonna eat your liver with a spoon if you keep failing math exams.”

“Mommy! That’s disgusting!” Aurora said, and Aelin looked back to see her frowning her whole face with disgust.

Aelin laughed, and so did Nino.

“I know, I know. Evangeline also barely passed, Malik did worse than I. Phedre said she could teach me.”

“Oh, she did?” Aelin was absolutely certain that her son had the biggest crush on one of his best friends, Phedre. Whenever Eva came to their houses with Aedion and Lysandra, she would also tease her cousin endlessly.

“Mom.”

She batted her eyelashes innocently. “Yes, sweetie?”

“Stop that shit.” Aelin also knew she should reprimand him from cursing, but she fully believed that a sixteen year old boy should be allowed to say some curse words here and there. Never in important occasions, but both she and Rowan were fine with it during their daily lives.

Aelin only snorted, and silence fell upon the car.

She quietly looked at her two kids, Aurora playing with a doll she had found and Nino typing something on his phone, and a small smile played on her lips.

When Aelin learned that she would have difficulty getting pregnant three years ago, her world fell. She didn’t want to base her whole life on that fact, but it was like seeing some of her biggest dreams getting crushed right in front of her eyes. Even when Rowan started explaining to her how the adoption process would be, a part of her was still sad by the prospect of not getting pregnant.

It hadn’t taken them too long to go to foster care. Aelin had to admit, she was only half paying attention during the beginning of their visit, her mind still heavy with a sort of mourning. She still remembered the feeling of being completely devastated, and only Rowan’s pine green eyes had taken her out of her stupor.

She stopped mid track when she again saw Rowan’s pine green eyes staring at her, only it wasn’t Rowan because he was walking behind her. Aelin took in the little three year old sitting on the floor, playing with two old dolls.

That moment had been Aelin’s epiphany.

It was like a whole new path had been revealed to her, a striking realization that she might have dreamed of getting pregnant, but that wasn’t all that there was. She could keep trying, but she wouldn’t waste away in grief.

“Who’s she?” Aelin’s voice was low, and the social worker stopped talking to Rowan, both of their heads turning to her. “The little girl with black hair. What’s her name?”

“Who? Aurora?” At that, the girl smiled at Aelin and Rowan, extending one of her dolls.

For the first time in a week, Aelin’s smile was genuine. Her heart was beating so fast, hope blossoming where grief had been. She approached the girl and seated on the floor with her, taking the doll and starting to play. She felt Rowan’s soft gaze on them, and also heard the whispered words with the social worker.

“How old is she?”

“Three.” The woman responded. “Although our highest demand is for babies, Aurora would have a greater chance being adopted if she didn’t have an older brother. Not everyone is willing to take in two kids, much less when one who is so much older.”

“How old is he?” Aelin said, turning to look at the social worker and Rowan standing behind her. Aurora seemed content with playing with Aelin’s doll even though Aelin wasn’t moving it.

“Dominique is thirteen. We all call him Nino because Aurora couldn’t pronounce Nick, only Nino.”

Aelin stared at Rowan, and he stared right back. They had come here to look for babies, that’s for sure. Aelin wanted to be there every step, wanted to see every phase. They didn’t even know what they would do with a teenager. Or with two kids at once. But Aelin’s heart had almost burst out of her chest when she took a look at Aurora, and the thought of just going home and never seeing her again hurt.

“Can we meet the boy?” Rowan asked, not taking his eyes off Aelin.

“Of course, just a second.” The woman wandered off, and Rowan came to sit by Aelin.

Aurora eyed him suspiciously, but relaxed when he gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’m Aelin, this is my husband Rowan.” Aelin gestured between them, her voice soft so she wouldn’t scare the girl.

Aurora smiled at them, and was opening her mouth to say something when her brother entered the room.

If Aurora had been Aelin’s epiphany, Nino had been Rowan’s.

Rowan looked at Aelin and both of them shared a secretive smile.

And that had been that.

Rowan got all the papers to bring the kids to live with them and then the adoption papers. It was strange in the beginning, the new addition to the house, but they soon feel in such natural normalcy that Aelin sometimes wanted to cry when she thought of it.

Nino absolutely loved Aelin, but he adored Rowan. His father was his role model, and Nino did everything to build a relationship with Rowan as fast as possible. They went to hockey and football games together. Rowan always took Nino to practice, and they would always go out just the two of them after to eat something. Aurora was closer to Aelin, but she adored her father just the same and had him wrapped around her little finger.

There was so much love on Rowan’s eyes when he looked at their kids that Aelin’s heart skipped a beat.

She loved her family so much that sometimes she felt she could die from it.

“Mom?” Nino woke her up from her memories. She parked the car in front of Rowan’s clinic, and when Nino started taking off his seatbelt, she put a hand on his wrist. He looked at her puzzled, but didn’t say anything. He rested against the seat again, playing on his phone as Aelin took Aurora out and walked in the clinic.

Rowan was a surgeon, but he sometimes did some clinic consults. On those days, Aelin would bring the kids to spend the day with him. She waved at Fenrys who was talking with a patient, and he waved back and winked at Aurora, making her giggle at her uncle.

“Dada!” Aurora shouted the moment she saw Rowan’s silver head, and his head snapped up with a smile already on his face.

“If it’s not my two favorite girls in the whole world.” He stood, walking to them. Rowan took Aurora out of Aelin’s arms and bent down to give her a kiss. He gave another quick one before standing straight again. He gave a peck on Aurora’s forehead and she laid her face on his shoulder. “Where’s Nino?”

“Sick.” Aelin lied. “I’m taking him home. Nothing serious, just a little headache and nausea.”

Rowan’s brows instantly furrowed, and he looked to the entrance as if he could see his son sitting inside the car. “Want me to check on him?”

Aelin laughed. “He’s not that sick and would hate the fussing. He’ll be better once you go home, but for today is only you and Aurora.”

He nodded, still not fully convinced.

“Actually, Aurora has something to tell you.” Aelin said with a smile. “About her new friend.”

Rowan’s face broke into a curious smile and he looked at his blushing daughter. “Oh?”

“His name is Lachlan and he speaks nice.” She said shyly.

Rowan bit his lip not to laugh, and Aelin did the same. She stepped closer to him, giving him another kiss. “I’ll see you home. Love you.”

“Love you too, Ace.” He called after her as she left, immediately turning to his daughter to hear about her new friend.

The moment Aelin got into the car, Nino looked at her. “So, what are we hiding from dad?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You say you know me because I am your son. Well,” he shrugged. “I know you because you’re my mom.”

She smiled at that, but it slowly fell. “It’s a secret, Nino. And I really need you to keep it.”

He was suddenly serious. “You can tell me whatever, mom.”

She blew a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

He stared at her for a few moments before a smile broke on his face. Nino had known since the beginning how much his mom wanted to get pregnant. It had never made him feel less wanted or loved, and he couldn’t be happier for her right now. “Mom, that’s amazing! Why can’t dad know?”

“What if I lose it again, Nino? I can’t put your dad through it again. I remember the miscarriages from years ago and although he doesn’t think so, I knew the devastation on his eyes. I never held for more than three weeks. I’m so sorry to put this weight on you, sweetheart, but I just couldn’t go to the ultrasound alone.”

“It’s no weight, mom. Of course it isn’t.” He was still smiling at her. “How long?”

“I don’t know. The treatments mess up my periods so I haven’t had one in two months, but that doesn’t mean anything. I started getting morning sickness a few days ago, so maybe a week.” Aelin was tense, her palms clammy as she started driving to the hospital. “I’m so nervous, Nino. It crushed me three years ago, and I haven’t had a pregnancy scare since then.”

“You had three years of treatments, mom. Everything is gonna be alright and Aurora will have a little sibling to pick on.” Despite her tension, Aelin laughed. Nino was always calm, always a steady presence. His reassurance made her calmer, even though she wished she could call Rowan. He was the only one who really knew how to soothe her nerves.

The last few days had been torture. Her hands had been trembling when she bought a pregnancy test. Trembling even more when it came back positive. She wanted to tell Rowan so, so bad. Wanted to have him by her side as she discovered if she would be able to hold it or not, but she couldn’t bring herself to break his heart again. They had been so happy for the past three years with Aurora and Nino that Aelin wouldn’t dare to break his peace.

In the waiting room, Nino talked to his mom about anything to distract her. Aelin forced herself to listen about his classes, about hockey practice, about how Malik, his best friend, had gone to the infirmary after Evangeline accidentally decked him during gym. How he and Phedre had laughed their asses off while watching the scene.

She was smiling softly at her son when the nurse came in, asking her if she was ready. Just like that, all her calm disappeared. Her heart was beating so fast that it was all she could hear as she walked entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitethorn. How are we doing today?” The doctor asked as Aelin laid down. He rode her shirt up to expose her belly, applying the cold lubricating jelly onto her skin. “Your son?”

“My oldest, yes.” Aelin answered automatically. She was too nervous to elaborate further. Nino was sitting on a chair by the bed, elbows on his knees while he stared at the black monitor.

“So let’s get over with it, shall we?” He said with a smile, asking her a few questions before putting the transducer against her skin. Immediately the black screen lit up, and the doctor stared at it, moving the thing across her belly.

Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen, trying to understand what was going on. Her heartbeat was steady but so strong that she could feel her whole body shaking with it. “So?” She asked after a few moments.

The doctor was silent, still analyzing what was on the screen. When he turned to her, he gave her a smile. “Everything seems fine, Mrs. Whitethorn. Because of your treatments your period was irregular, and that was most likely what stopped you from noticing the pregnancy earlier. Judging by the size, you have two healthy and strong babies inside of you for two months now. I would still recommend biweekly visits just to make sure nothing changes but... The pregnancy seems fine, nothing apparent to worry about. Congratulations.”

Aelin’s whole world stopped at that moment. She could feel her cheeks dampening, her mouth letting out a small sob but she wasn’t really there. Her mind was spinning and she had never known this feeling. She wanted to put her hand on her stomach, above the two little things she could not even feel but knew that were there.

“Would you like to hear it?”

She nodded, her eyes glued to the monitor. When Aelin first heard the two soft heartbeats twining together, she was fully crying. It was like hearing the response to so many questions she didn’t even know she wanted the answers. It cracked a damn inside of her, and she closed her eyes, basking on the sound of her babies’ heartbeats.

She turned to Nino and he was smiling at her. “Damn, now I have to share my heritage with two more people?”

Aelin laughed out loud, the sound merry to her ears. “Can I record it? To show my husband?”

“Of course, and if you want a picture we can provide that.”

Aelin nodded eagerly, and held onto the recording and the pictures all the way home. When they arrived, Rowan’s car was already parked in the garage.

“Where were the two of you?” Rowan asked the moment Nino and Aelin stepped inside. “And I thought you were sick.”

Nino smiled at his father, speaking to him as he went up the stairs, his voice gloating. “I knew first.”

Rowan’s face was a mask of confusion as he watched his son disappear. He turned back to Aelin, sitting on their couch. “Knew what first?”

Unable to help herself, tears started falling from her eyes and she went to him. He immediately grabbed her in his arms, holding her on his lap. Even not knowing what was going on, Rowan whispered soothing words to her and rubbed her back.

He gave her a strong kiss to the forehead. “Fireheart, what happened?”

She wordlessly took out her phone, looking for the recording. He watched her intently, worry showing on his face.

Rowan was a doctor, he would understand what that was without her explaining, she she silently played it. It took him a moment of listening to the recording to understand what it was, for the expression on his face to go from worry to absolute exhilaration.

He put a hand on her stomach, the other one going to the back of her neck to hold Aelin in place when he kissed her. His lips were warm and soft against hers, and Aelin sighed in complete happiness as she hugged his neck. She could feel the smile on his lips, all the love and happiness he was feeling in that kiss.

“You’re pregnant?”

She nodded cheerly, her eyes watering again. Her tears started falling the same moment a single one fell from Rowan’s eye. “Two months, Ro. And they’re fine, healthy and big and strong.” She laughed, kissing him again. “We’re going to have two more kids, Ro.” She showed him the picture of the ultrasound, the two little things laying next to each other.

He grabbed the picture with one had, staring at it in awe. When his eyes fell upon Aelin’s face, the expression changed to so much love and adoration it knocked the air out of her lungs.

He boomed a loud and happy laugh, standing up with her in his arms and sweeping around. Aelin was laughing, her arms tight around his neck. “I love you. I love you so much, fireheart. I love you so fucking much sometimes I think I’ll combust from it.”

She was crying again, holding onto Rowan as if he was her life line. “I love you too, Ro. I love you so much that just looking at your face makes me loose my breath. I love you so much that I think it’s impossible to love you more, but it happens every day.” Aelin kissed him, euphorically and sloppy.

“The two of you are disgusting. Find a room, for fuck’s sake.” Nino said from where he was standing at the stairs, Aurora in his arms. She was beaming at her parents, and Rowan held Aelin with one arm as he extended the other one to their kids.

Nino smiled and went up to his father, hugging his side as Aurora threw herself at him. She was blabbering about the babies, about being an older sister and Rowan, Aelin and Nino were quietly laughing at her. Aelin, still holding one of Rowan’s hand, pulled Nino into a hug. “Thank you for going with me, Nino. You’re the best son I could ever dream of.”

His cheeks turned a shade of pink but he hugged his mom back, looking at his father. “I knew first.”

Rowan faked impatience, narrowing his eyes. The intimidating effect was completely ruined by Aurora in a pink tutu in his arms, pulling his hair in all directions. “You’ve gloated already, boyo.”

“I’ll never let you forget.” Nino was grinning, his arm around Aelin’s shoulder. She bit her lip to hold her laughter.

“Gods help me.” Rowan muttered.

“You could even say I am mom’s favorite man in the house.”

“You’re asking to get grounded.”

“Lost your position, old man.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “How was your math test?”

“Actually,” Nino said, taking his arm off his mom’s shoulder and backing up a step. “You can have the favorite man position.”

“Nino Galathynius Whitethorn.”

“It’s all yours!” Nino shouted to his dad as he ran up the stairs.

Rowan looked exasperatedly at Aelin, and even with all her efforts she couldn’t keep her joyous laugh from escaping her lips.

“He gets being shit at math from his mother.” Aelin shrugged.

Rowan huffed a laugh. “The bunch of you will give me silver hair.”

“Dad!” Aurora shouted from his arms. “You already have silver hair, duh!”

This time, when Aelin’s laugh rang out, Rowan’s did too.

Tags:

@abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @bilkul-sharam-nahi-aati

[createandconstruct]

ffix? 👀👉👈

Bless you, my friend. Bless you.

the character i least understand

Gotta be Quan, Vivi's Grandpa. He is the most puzzling character to me. There's evidence that he cared for Vivi but that he also, for a good amount of time, was planning on eating the kid. There's also the entire special scene between him, Vivi, and Quale, and like, I have gotten dizzy interpreting the dialogue. How did he die? Did he die starving? From imagining food and not actually eating? He's a chef that believes the only way to experience food is by not eating it but byimagining it?? Is this some kind of Socrates message on how deeper thinking and metacognition leads to truly being alive?? I don't know???????!!!!

interactions i enjoyed the most

There are seriously so many but if I had to choose just one it has to be Steiner and Zidane. I love them So. Much. Their development into trusted comrades is one of my favorite relationships in the entire game and one of my favorite's in fiction in general. It's my favorite thing period. I'll say it. And there is not enough content of them. People won't give me Steiner and Zidane friendship and shenanigans? Fine. I'll do it myself. I'll write for them until I'm dead. Steiner really started the game promising Garnet he'd give his life for her and that he would see to it that Zidane was HUNG for his "crimes," and then ends the game telling Zidane he'd march into HELL with him (Japanese translation). He never even said that to GARNET. Their friendship is so slept on. SO slept on and its one of the most compelling. HELL, people. He'd go to HELL for Zidane. He'd DIE for him. A THEIF HE SCORNED. STEINER would gladly go to the GALLOWS with and for Zidane. I can't... I... I gotta go. Gotta lie down.

the character who scares me the most

Does the Iifa Tree count? If I say Soul Cage maybe that will. The living tree that takes the living and replaces them with souls of the long dead is really horrifying to me. There's also the theory that Necron is the other side of the Soul Cage, the embodiment of death that is part of the Iifa Tree, a parasite that has rooted itself in every inch of Gaia. It's creepy and perfect. I just love how FFIX flips the "tree of life" troupe on its head with the Iifa Tree which is very much a purgatory or hell for souls, sentencing them to wander the earth as Mist. Terrifying! I love it!

the character who is mostly like me

I very much relate to Zidane's easy breezy attitude with high, suppressed levels of anxiety and doubt. I also very much relate to his mom friend woes.

hottest looks character

Hottest is so weird for me but if we're talking objectively I gotta say Hilda. Dead stop she's gorgeous and her design is impeccable. Cid was a fool and I am thankful he was forced to suffer as an Oglop and Frog for the entire game. Perish Cid.

one thing i dislike about my fave character

Only thing I dislike about Zidane is that he called Vivi a brat and told him to shut up, in Pandemonium. I gasped during my first playthrough. I'll never forgive him.

one thing i like about my hated character

I don't really hate anyone in FFIX. I honestly enjoy all their contributions to the story and game. But I'll pick Brahne? Just because she's a murderer and terrible mother. I really like the bit of mystery left with her character and her feelings for Dagger. Some of her finally words are "I hear my daughter's voice," but it always struck me that this is said just after the fact that we've learned that Dagger is not her true daughter. There was a Princess Garnet (the 1st let's call her) before Dagger. Yet when on death's doors - in the same way that Dagger says that Brahne is her only mother - based on her words, to Brahne, Dagger is her only daughter. Which is so extremely tragic because Garnet the 1st was completely erased and forgotten. For a parent, losing a child is often said to be one of the worst pains imaginable. Some will go on to have another child but it will never erase the one they lost. And yet here's Brahne, ridding all memory of her original Garnet. It is haunting. It really gives an insight on how this woman handled grief - which was not at all. Perhaps that is why she turned to war and power after her husband's death. The implications of Garnet the 1st is a detail I cannot stop thinking about and it makes Brahne all the more compelling to me. A bitterweet part of me likes to think that after the game ends Dagger decides to create a grave for the true princess, the little six-year-old child who died twice: once in death and twice in memory.

a quote or scene that haunts me

"The sunset makes the Eidolon Wall look like it's on fire!" There's something about this scene and the fact that a beautiful memory of the Eidolon Wall from her past is what triggers Dagger's memory of her home, burning with the Invincible's flames. Every time I play this part of the game, Dagger's flashback on the boat and the subsequent sequence between her and Eiko move me to tears .

a death that left me indifferent

Probably Mog. Only because, no matter how much I love FFIX, the Mount Gulug section overall feels a little lacking which is because of the execution of Mog's transform/sacrifice/and the events that follow. I do think it's a symptom of an overall problem in Disc 3 which may simply be the result of the opening of the game map and player freedom. The is though, that you have Eiko losing Mog, her sister, a huge emotional moment, when its extremely easy for you, the player, to forget about Mog entirely!! Of course you may likely play as Eiko in the Desert Palace but that's optional and Mog never makes an appearance!! There's no real lead up for the scene on Disc 3 that emotional prepares us. Mog's sacrifice would have been more impactful had she made an appearance in the Desert Palace or during the start of Disc 3 in Alexandria. Eiko has all this time alone for character self-reflection and Mog is technically there, hidden in her shirt, but she never appears for greater impact. There's just too much allotted game time between the events in Madain Sari and the events at Gulug Mountain.

a character i wish died but didn’t

Vivi. Must I say more?

my ship that never sailed

Blank and Ruby are forever in that "too hard headed to make anything meaningful come from their constant bickering." I both love and mourn their stagnant friends to lovers state. They'll never be canon but the post-game potential for them is excellent.

[inky-duchess]

History Bites: Worst Marriages

In History Bites, I pick the best moments of history and the antics historical figures in order to give you inspiration for your WIP. Think of History Bites like prompts, only juicer and 90% accurate (results may vary).

Marriage is a battlefield sometimes. History is patterned with thousands of terrible husbands, murderous wives and backstabbing. Naturally it is in us as writers to explore the drama and shed a light on marriages that would probably benefit from a trip to the Jeremy Kyle Show.

George I of England and Elector of Hanover was married Sophia Dorothea of Celle, in an effort to enrich his impoverished family. The marriage was extremely unhappy as George slept around and paraded his youthful mistresses before his wife. Sophia, lonely and isolated, began an affair with Philip Christoph von Königsmarck, a Swedish count. But with the double standard, George was incredibly wroth about his wife being unfaithful. He beat Sophia and divorced her, keeping her imprisoned in Hanover whilst he went to England to rule. He also had Königsmarck murdered for good measure and kept Sophia's children from her so she never saw them again.

George IV only Caroline of Brunswick because his father made him. George was repelled by her the first moment they lay eyes upon her and she didn't like him either. George was drunk for their wedding ceremony. On their honeymoon, they managed to sleep together twice which proved just enough. Caroline fell pregnant with Princess Charlotte. The couple lived separately him hating her and her hating him. A minister once told George that his greatest enemy was dead and George's reply was "God, is she?". When George became King, he barred Caroline from being crowned. She was hammering on the door of Westminster Abbey the entire time he was bringing crowned. She died three weeks later.

The parents of Prince Albert, Enrst of Saxe Coburg wed Princess Louise. Ernst was a bit of a fuck boy and had dozens of mistresses but like George I didn't like his wife finding love either. Though Louise gave him two sons, Ernst did not love her. When Louise took a lover, Ernst cast her out and forbade her to see their sons ever again. She died without ever seeing them.

Mary, Queen of Scots had been raised in France and married to a French King but when he died she returned to Scotland. Immediately, royal matches began to vie for Mary's hand. Mary chose Henry, Lord Darnley to be her husband as he was an heir to England as she was and she like how he looked. It wasn't long before Mary realised how much of a spoiled brat Darnley was. Mary refused to sign a document that would entitle him to rule as monarch after her death. Darnley eventually conceived a child with Mary but some say that he wasn't pleased as the child pushed him away from the throne. Darnley joined a coup of men aiming to drag Mary down. In an effort to paint her as an adultress, they fell upon her secretary the Italian David Rizzio in front of the pregnant Queen. Though the event was shocking, Mary managed to give birth to her son James. A few months later, Darnley paid for being the worm he was. While he was staying at a house at Kirk o' Field, somebody tried to blow up the house. He survived the house blowing up, but not the assassin who strangled him to death. Mary might have been involved.

Isabella of France was only a child of 12 when she married the English King Edward II. It was meant to be the pinnacle of the Anglo-French alliance but it was a disaster from day one. Edward spent the wedding chatting and giving his wedding gifts to his favourite, Piers Gaveston. The triangle of Queen, King and favorite went on for a while, with Edward and Isabella popping out a few children. Isabella was mainly sidelined in her early marriage on account of Edward's relationship with Piers but after a coup by the nobles, Piers was murdered. In the few years after, Edward and Isabella found common ground and had a few happy years. Then came Hugh Despenser, a tall hulking knight who Edward immediately befriended (or boned, in my opinion). Hugh and Edward brought the killers of Piers to justice and began terrorizing the nobility including Isabella, whose children were stripped from her. Isabella had a trick up her sleeve however. When Anglo-French relations deteriorated, Isabella volunteered to go negotiate with her brother the French King. While negotiating she asked that her eldest son be sent to her so that he might meet the French. Isabella jumped to action the first moment her son arrived. She dressed in mourning for her husband and raised an army to depose him with her son as replacement. Isabella invaded England along with her lover Roger Mortimer and won the crown for her son. She had Hugh Despenser executed and imprisoned Edward who died mysteriously in prison.

Henry VIII is probably the worst husband. He went out of his way to marry his brother's widow, Catherine of Aragon who saved his kingdom while he was off playing soldier in France and struggled to birth an heir, giving him only a daughter. Henry's eye wandered and he set his sights on Anne Boleyn. He abandoned Catherine and took up Anne as his wife. The vivacious and challenging nature of Anne soon began to tire Henry as well as Anne's two miscarriage and her birthing of a daughter. He arranged for his councillors to frame Anne for adultery with notable courtiers including her brother. Anne was executed. Henry then married Jane Seymour, who was Anne's opposite. But when Jane dared to ask mercy for rebels, Henry threatened her by asking her whether she recalled what happened Anne. Jane died giving birth to Henry's long awaited male heir. Henry cast his net about Europe to find a bride and set his eyes on the young German noblewoman Anne of Cleves. On New Year's Day 1540, Henry tried to surprise Anne by bursting into her chambers in disguise, one of his favourite tricks. Anne was understandably appalled at the sight of the fat, balding man trying to kiss her leading Henry to storm out and began shouting about how ugly she was and how she smelt. He tried to stop the wedding but the contract was binding so they married. Henry likely couldn't perform in the bedchamber but blamed Anne for being appalling. He divorced Anne and married the teenage Katherine Howard. Though he was smitten with her, it did not stop him from having her executed because she had had previous sexual relations (which very well may have been abuse by male authority figures) and had begun an affair with one of his gentlemen. Henry soon turned to Katheryn Parr, who had her eye on another marriage. Katheryn agreed to marry Henry and for a time they were happy. Henry soon got jealous of Katheryn's literary accomplishments and disliked her intellect so he began proceedings to have her arraigned for heresy. Katheryn talked him out of it and narrowly escaped execution. Henry died living four wives in their grave and two thankful to be alive.

Though the marriage of Philip of Spain and Mary I of England was politically successful, it failed on a personal level. Philip hated living in England and wasn't exactly happy to be wed to a woman a decade older. Mary however was in love with him. She believed she was pregnant twice but each case turned out to be a phantom and false alarm. Philip left Mary to tour his lands in Europe, staying away as long as he could. Mary was distraught without him and often wrote him letters asking him to return to her. Philip proposed marriage to Elizabeth, Mary's sister whilst his wife was dying. Mary died broken hearted without her husband at her side.

Catherine the Great was only a minor German Princess when she wed the heir to the Russian throne. Peter was scarred from smallpox, under the thumb of his overbearing aunt, ill-mannered, obsessed with playing soldiers and torturing animals. Peter got so drunk at their wedding that he could not consummate the marriage but they soon did. Peter kept a mistress and continued to dislike his clever wife. He would order his regiments to get out of their beds and march at his command as well as his wife. Catherine lived in fear of her husband. Peter's aunt the Empress Elizabeth permitted Catherine to have affairs so that she could conceive an heir and Catherine soon gave birth to her son Paul. Peter ascended to the throne but lost it after six months to his wife who may or may not have had him murdered.