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she-karev · 8 months ago

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Trying to Get Pregnant (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister)

Previous Part Here

Age Rating: 16+

Chapters: Four of Five

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy/Station 19

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 18 Episode 17/Season 5 Episode 17

Summary: Andrew and Amber accidentally tell people they’re trying to get pregnant.

Words: 2368

February 18th, 2022

Andrew, Alex and Link stand in front of Kristen in the waiting room. Alex is with them in case Kristen’s stress harms the baby and they needs a peds surgeon to help. Kristen is processing their devastating diagnosis of Simon’s tumor. She sits in silent agony holding her gorging belly and tries to find the strength to ask her question.

“How long? Please tell me how long my husband has to live.”

Andrew keeps his voice neutral as he lays out the facts, “We still have to do staging, but from the information that we have, maybe a month at most.”

Kristen gasps and begins to cry, “His whole life, Simon always wanted to be a dad. He wanted to be the best dad. And I wanted to give him that.” Kristen stands up, “We need to take the baby out now. I need a C-section.”

Alex shakes his head knowing the outcome if they take the baby out, “Kristen we can’t it's too early.”

Kristen is adamant, “Simon needs to meet his son. I need to talk to an OB, please.”

“Okay sit down please.” Andrew helps Kristen sit down as she continues to cry, “Look any OB will tell you that there are risks if you take the baby out right now.”

Kristen shakes her head, “No.”

��I know you want to do this for Simon, but we cannot risk-”

“I'll talk to Dr. DeLuca. Okay Kristen?” Andrew and Alex look at Link in shock as he continues, “She’s an OB, he isn’t so I’ll talk to her and see if she can help you.”

Alex starts to tell Link off, “Dr. Lincoln-”

“She’s at the station right now she’s not here.” Andrew tells Link with an offended tone to save Alex from making a scene before turning back to Kristen, “Kristen you need to think about what’s best for your son right now because at 32 weeks his lungs aren’t fully developed and he’s premature when we take him out. It is safer to wait until you give birth then it is to do a C-section this early.”

“Do you have kids?” Kristen asks frustrated, “Do you know what it’s like to want something your whole life? Because that’s what Simon is doing right now, he wants to meet his son before he dies and you’re stopping me from doing that.”

“…I don’t have kids, but my wife and I are trying to have a baby.” Alex looks mildly shocked at that as he continues, “I can’t imagine the struggle you and Simon faced when you tried to have a baby but I know what it’s like to want to be a dad more than anything. I also know that if I was in Simon’s position I would want my kid to be born healthy even if I never get to meet them. If Simon doesn’t feel that way, then we can talk about a C-section but if he does…we’ll try as hard as we can to give him more time so he can be your baby’s father even if it’s just for a little while.”

Kristen begins to sob and Andrew stands up to give her space, “I’m really sorry.” The men walk away to give Kristen space to grieve.

Later at Station 19

Amber helps Carina pack up the supplies and throw away the trash after the clinic closed. The rest of the team on shift helps as well. Jo is on the phone with Hunt at Grey Sloan after sending in Errol. She helped Warren with a man named Errol who came in with leg pain that turned out to be his toes decaying and falling off due to not treating his diabetes.

The man said he didn’t think it was worth going to a hospital for but it was mostly because he didn’t have insurance. The man’s state broke Jo’s heart as she understood what it was like to be broke and afraid of going into debt. She assured him they would find doctors who could treat him and help him cover the costs.

“Okay thank you Hunt, bye.” Jo hangs up and announces to the team, “Erroll has been admitted to Grey-Sloan. Their gonna start rapid treatment as soon as possible.”

Sullivan asks Jo, “How do you watch your toes turn to black mush and not get help, huh?”

“Well, he obviously needs mental health care as well.” Carina explains that makes Montgomery snap.

“Yeah, something else this broken system isn't gonna provide!” Travis kicks the chairs he’s folding in anger causing the team to look worried, “I'm sorry, but this is nuts. I mean, that guy didn't get his diabetes checked out until his toes fell off because he didn't want to go into debt? I mean, what is that? And what if we didn't have this clinic? What then? What happens to Erroll, and all the Errolls out there?”

Warren tries to mend his anger, “Yeah, but we do have the clinic.”

“Yeah, but it's not enough. And-And if Dixon is elected mayor, he's going to shut this place down, okay? This-This world is a broken and cruel place, and we keep putting people in charge that are fixated on making it worse.”

“He's not gonna win.” Maya says.

“You don't know that!” Travis says in fear, “Have you seen the rest of the field? He could very easily win, and nothing terrifies me more. I'm a first responder. I'm great at problem solving, but on this, I got nothing.”

“Well, I mean, you could run for mayor.” Warren suggests and Jo follows.

“Yeah you would be the first politician I would like.”

Travis shakes his head, “I can't do that.”

“Why not?” Sullivan asks, “Scared you're gonna lose?”

“No, because I think I could win.” Travis explains, “Okay, yeah. Maybe that terrifies me more.”

“I think you should do it, Travis.” Carina supports him as she helps pack away the medical equipment, “I'll vote for you. I mean, I don't even have my green card yet, but you know what I mean.”

Maya looks shocked at that, “Wait, are we actually talking about you running for mayor of Seattle?”

“Yeah. No. No. I don't know.” Travis says in conflict, “Not to actually be mayor, but to just, you know, make sure Dixon isn't.”

“I think you would win.” Carina says hopeful.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Amber shrugs liking the idea, “Worser and more stupid people have run and won, be the first good one. You got my vote and my husbands.”

“And mine and my husbands.” Jo says with a smile.

“But that's crazy, right?” Travis asks with the others agreeing.

“Like you said, the world is crazy.” Robert says with support.

Travis grins at the support and exhales, “Well on to more uplifting news, I heard what you said to that mom this morning Amber. I’m glad you and your husband are trying; I think you’ll be great parents.”

Amber’s eyes widen at that as well as Jo who purses her lips and Carina who looks up in shock.

“I’m sorry what?” Carina asks and steps forward, “You and Andrea are trying to have a baby?”

Amber pinches the bridge of her nose knowing she has no way out of this, “Yes we are and I was going to tell you once you got pregnant but I guess Montgomery missed that part of my conversation in the exam room!”

Travis looks embarrassed by that and gulps at the daggers Amber is glaring his way, “Um…I guess it’s a bad time to say Travis would be a good name for the baby?” Amber responds with a gauze she throws directly at Travis’s head that he doesn’t dodge. The soft wrap barely hurts him but he got the message, “I deserved that.”

“Walk away before I grab this monitor next.” Amber orders in anger pointing at the exit.

“Yep, I’m going, sorry.” Travis quickly walks away as well as Ben and Robert who sense a bloodbath about to come.

Carina stands in front of Amber with a curious face, “Amber? Is it true? Are you and my brother trying to get pregnant?”

Amber sighs and faces her sister-in-law with Jo and Maya in the middle as a neutral third party, “Yeah we are. We wanted to tell you after you got pregnant because we know how hard you and Maya are trying and I know the hormones make you angry. I also know all the advantages me and Andrew have that you guys don’t, so I didn’t want you to-”

“No, no stop, please.” Carina begins to smile to Maya’s shock who expected her hormonal wife to lash out but instead she holds Amber’s shoulders and looks her straight in the eye with familial love, “I am so happy for you, and I am so happy for Andrea.”

Carina pulls Amber in for a hug that shocks her, but she responds with her hands over Carina’s back.

“You don’t hate me?” Amber asks.

Carina laughs and pulls back with a smile and tears in her eyes, “Hate you? You’re gonna make me an aunt. Bambina how can I possibly hate you?”

Amber laughs at that and smiles, “Yeah when you put it like that, I am pretty amazing. But just so you know I’m not pregnant we just started trying like last night.”

Carina keeps smiling, “And I am already looking forward to being a part of your baby’s life.”

Maya smiles at her wife already planning on being an aunt and squeezes her shoulder pulling her to her side facing Amber, “Me too. And as Aunt Maya I can introduce your kid to sports so they can get a full ride and you and Andrew won’t have to pay for college.”

Amber laughs at that, “Thank you.”

Jo smiles and steps in, “Yeah and just for the record I call favorite auntie status.”

Maya narrows her eyes at Jo, “Over your dead body.”

The ladies chuckle at that before going into playful discussion over who gets to do what as an aunt making Amber grin at the sweet scene in front of her silently hoping for a baby soon.

Later at the Hospital

Alex sees Andrew leaning against the station at the ICU saddened over Simon’s news. He was shocked after finding out that he and his sister were trying to have a baby at first but then he was happy for them. He was happy that his baby sister who grew up without love and stability like him was building one for herself with the man she loves. He was also happy about the possibility of becoming an uncle, already loving and playing with Meredith’s kids who call him the best uncle ever. He knows he can be that for his sister’s kids and walks over to stand next to Andrew.

“You did everything you could.” Alex says first knowing his brother-in-law is beating himself up for failing to resect the tumor, “If you tried to take it out Simon wouldn’t have a chance to meet his son before he died. Don’t blame yourself for things out of your control.”

Andrew nods understanding it all too well, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“…So, you and Amber are trying to get pregnant huh?”

Andrew chuckles lightly knowing it was coming, “Yeah, we are. We wanted to wait to tell you guys but then Kristen was talking about a C-section, and I had to make sure she wasn’t alone in wanting to be a family with the person she loves. I wanted her to remember her baby being healthy is something that’s not always a given.”

“Well, you did good. I think you talked Kristen off the ledge.” Alex taps his fingers, “Does anybody else know?”

“Nope you and Link are the first. My sister is trying to get pregnant too and with the hormone treatments I’m afraid telling her will result in me physically unable to impregnate my wife.”

Alex chuckles, “Yeah, she probably would do that. But I am happy for you, and I hope you guys get pregnant soon.”

“Thanks. We’re just trying to do date nights and trying these diets that increase fertility since Amber threw out the condoms.”

“Piece of advice don’t use my sister’s name in the same sentence as condoms in front of me.” Alex says uncomfortable with Andrew nodding in agreement, “It sounds like you guys have a solid plan. And the fact that babies are nonstop crying machines who never sleep for more than three hours in a row. And you can’t tell whether they’re smiling or have gas and every time you change a diaper, they pee on you. Don’t let any of that stop you from trying to get pregnant.”

“How can I when you make it sound so pleasant?” Andrew responds sarcastically.

“But seriously though Luna is the best thing that happened to me.” Alex says with a grin over his beloved daughter, “And I wish the same for you when you meet your kid. As long as I get favorite uncle status over Aaron.”

Andrew chuckles, “I’ll try.”

Link approaches them, “So Simon is gonna start chemo tomorrow, hopefully it gets him until Kristen gives birth.”

“I’m sorry man.”

Link shakes his head at Andrew’s apology, “It’s fine you did your best, thanks for that by the way.” Link sighs before putting up a strong front, “But on the bright side you and Amber are gonna become parent’s, congrats, I’m really happy for you guys.”

“We just started.”

“Nonetheless we should celebrate, drinks on me?”

Alex takes up on it, “Yeah I’ll drop off Luna and Jo and then we can head to Joe’s, DeLuca?”

“No, I should head home, it’s date night and I am in charge. Amber should have finished her shift by now so I’m gonna clock out. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Link grins as DeLuca walks away from them, “Good luck, try to impregnate your wife as many times as you can.” Alex narrows his eyes at that distasteful comment towards his little sister that Link catches to his embarrassment, “I’m sorry.” Alex walks away from Link leaving him by the station.

Next Part Here

#greys anatomy #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy edit #greysanatomyedit #greysedit #station 19 #station19edit #andrew deluca #andrew deluca imagine #andrew deluca x oc #amber karev #alex karev #carina deluca #elizabeth gillies #liz gillies #giacomo gianniotti #headcanon #mine

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iusedtoweavecrowns · 28 days ago

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Personal life rant

Gonna write it here into the digital void so maybe it'll let me sleep easier but I'm feeling so bad and guilty rn because I've been visiting a foreign country for two weeks and one of the people I know and love from when I was here 10 years ago is in the hospital but I didn't manage to brave up to go visit her there.

She has severe dementia and it's unclear if she remembers and recognises people but I'm now struck with the thought of what if she does remember inside and would have liked to see me but I didn't go because I was too scared to talk to her husband and ask him to take me (I couldn't go alone) 😭😭😭😭😭😭 And not because he's scary but because I find it scary to talk to people when I don't have a scenario and because inviting myself into a personal moment feels Rude and Like I Shouldn't Do It (he's so angry and sad as you can imagine)(I struggle with inviting myself into other people's spaces and company, I keep feeling like if they want me there they would invite me themselves)(I did say in a convo that I'd be interested in going and waited for some sign)(maybe I looked shifty?) and I don't feel significant enough because I'm just someone who was here years and years ago for a bit and later exchanged a few birthday wishes on facebook.

Also I guess I'm scared to see her changed from how I remember her? And being in a situation for which I have no reference (what do people do on hospital visits? I've been very lucky in that I've never been there). In a way I prefer remembering the past I guess. So I didn't like try super hard? Didn't put in the effort to force myself into a situation where I'd write him (I need to create some sort of situation to overcome the fear for a moment) and I kept hoping he or one of our mutual friends would just kind of go we are going to visit her, come along. But no one did. And it's probably too much to expect of a grieving man to plan for me? I'm not sure he wanted to take care of me while on a trip to take care of his wife yk? But I fear that he hates me for not going? Or that I was unclear about when I'm leaving so what if he was thinking there was still loads of time? So now I feel Schroedinger's Rudeness for simultaneously wanting to force myself into a personal situation, not wanting to do it, and expecting someone else to do it for me. All the while I think I could forgive this (I am insignificant compared to all the other friends and family) if I hadn't had the thought that what if she's been waiting - I know her husband told her I'm here - and I've been just... letting time go past. Idk idk idk. Telling myself that she is a very kind woman who would understand and forgive me if I could tell her this is not helping.

Praying crying etc. Thought kebab turning in my head to the tune of being a despicable human being and everyone hating me now (what if all the people I know here will never forgive me this cowardice) and her being sad(der) in this already sad situation. I would call my mum to vent to her and hope she says she still loves me but she is much more close to the family (she's been here yearly) and spent her last visits sitting by her bedside so I can add the worry that she will be upset with me to the pile.

We are all helpless but I have made myself extra helpless 😫

#This entire time here has been just grief on top of grief on top of grief #in 10 years you really see how everyone has aged #a few people have gone gray and look like a burden is heavily weighing on them #several of the couples i thought of as best examples of marriages i've ever encountered have divorced #people have retired or are talking of retiring soon #this lady who was very sweet to me is dying and she's only 70 #and the me who was here feels also divorced from me #all my hopes and dreams of the time unfulfilled #i just feel like in those years i've gotten more mentally ill more insecure more sad more lost and on the positive side #more gay #i have this thought that feels horrible to have #that it would have been easier for everyone if i had never come back #just this one good summer memory for us all #but now that i have been back i need to keep coming back #if i leave for another 10 years who knows in what shape people will be; if they'll still be #it would be unbearable #real life #real world #crying etc #if any of you do read to the end and wish to say something go ahead #you can tell me i fucked up but do it nicely please

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seijorhi · 4 years ago

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Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin�� about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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stylistiquements · 4 years ago

Text

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing

Masterlist | Next

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn��t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy ; @bizarrebibitch ; @bellomi-clarke ; @ladybismuth ; @katyasrussianaccent ; @satanhauntedourcats ; @owl-llie ; @teenloves ; @notannis ; @mcntsee ; @rottenroyalebooks ; @peachdoppi ; @mirahg ; @foxxtrot-116 ; @koi-soi ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fic #corpse husband AU #the sorcerer #platonic!dream

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ggukkieland · 4 years ago

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📕CURRENT READS (2020 November)

🌹 Almost done with the list except for a few and I am excited to curate fics that are fitting for merry December 🎅❄🎄🤶 woot woot!

I enjoyed this month’s reads - a mix of cyberpunk au, android au, werewolf aus, slice of life, exes and those on the verge of breaking up, and lots of beautifully-written drabbles which ended up in my list of favorites.

Please send these authors some love by reblogging their content =)

✅ - done reading | S (smut) F (fluff) A (angst)

🥕[Ongoing Series - to check weekly]

Still reading the ongoing series from October’s reading list, whenever there is an update 😊.

Onyx @springbean - JJK | ABO universe, omega!reader, rouge!Alpha!Jungkook, roommates, cyberpunk au | A, F (this is so fascinating)

[2/?] years after the war, Soketh has become a bustling electric city of life and death. a world now filled with mystery, danger, and rules, y/n finds herself rooming with her old friend while trying to find herself in the city of dangerous dreams. however, her world is turned upside down when a rouge alpha enters their life seeking refuge and help…

Vulgar and Divine @yeoldontknow - JHS | elf!hoseok au, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, fantasy au, horror, suspense | A, S

[1/?] The Elf King buys your hand in marriage as an act of political strategy - you, the Banshee Priestess and your ability to forewarn death in exchange for your people’s return to your original home in the River Lands. You hate him for the way his kind make a mockery of death. Even before you meet him, you decide you will not grieve his death - not even a little. But then, on the day of your wedding you begin to weep - and it is not out of love or rapture.

Kitchen Confidential @glitter-kookiedough - KSJ | chef au, slow burn, enemies to lovers | A, F, S

[3/?] After years of annoying the life out of you, your rival, Kim Seokjin, pushes you a step too far and he knows it. As angry and resentful as you are, you don’t realize that something has been brewing under the surface for years. This weekend, that will change. 🌟 new chapter🌟

enemiestolovers drabble series @sincerelyourfangirl - JJK | enemies to lovers, fwb, co-workers | S, A, F

[3/?] Maybe the line between love and hate is thin. Especially when you’re in bed with Jungkook.

Challenge Accepted | What Happens When You’re not Careful | Risky Business

The Lost Luna @hobisbeautifulass - KTH | werewolf au, soulmate au, rival clans | F, A

[2/?] One Luna is born per a hundred-year cycle or so and only appears after the previous one has passed away. This Luna was forced into hiding for seventeen years, but now she’s back, bloodthirsty, and ready to reclaim her throne.

Mutual Help @personasintro - JJK | bestfriend au, fwb au, fake dating | A, S, F

[24/?] in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it a mutual help

Bite Me @cheeky-kookie - PJM | vampire au | A, F, S

[1/?] Growing up, you always learned to look over your shoulder at night, hoping to never run into the catlike gleam of a vampires eyes. Yet, one night on your way home you find yourself staring into the very things you feared most. Dangerously beautiful and undeniably confident, Park Jimin was everything you knew you needed to stay away from, but he had other plans.

Nut Jobs @ironicarmy - OT7 | slice of life, crack, humor, friends au | S

[5/?] Eight friends. One terrible idea. A whole lot of trouble. Welcome to No Nut November.

Cherry Pickers @kimnjss - JJK | social media au, smau, gamer, fuckboi, vixen!reader, virgin!reader | F, S, A

[4/?] [updates daily] known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life… rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you… forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

(or, you’re a video vixen with an assumed identity and jungkook manages to see past it.)

Across the Board @out-of-jams - KTH | 20s, gambling, mafia au, enemies to lovers | S, A

[1/?] And now you’re indebted to the city’s most dangerous mob boss, forced to pay your dues in blood one way or another. With a gun pushed into your hands and your life at stake; once you’re in, you’re in. You’ll never get out.

🥕[Completed AUs/Series/Drabbles - to read]

Through Time and Space @taephilia - 10.6k | KSJ | F, A, sci-fi, time travel au, adventure, doctor who au

re: Untitled @to-star-lake - 18.8k | JJK | A, S, F, ceo au, arranged marriage, childhood acquaintance turned enemies (one of my favorites this month 🥰)

01 02 03 04 ✅

Moral of the Story @suhdays - 7.7k | JHS | A, F, S, strangers to loves, soulmate au, OC can tell if people are telling the truth (really interesting) ✅

In the Margins @bonvoyagenoona - 31k | MYG | F, S, A, writer au, humor, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, editor!reader, writer!yoongi [also on AO3]

01: Winter (5k words) ✅ 02: Spring (6k words) 03: Summer (7k words) 04: Fall (13k words)

Into my Bones @inkofyoongi - 15k | MYG | S, F, A, fwb to lovers, slice of life-ish, non-chronological (this is awesome 🌟) ✅

A Human Touch @snackhobi - 39.1k | KTH | F, S, robot au, android!taehyung

01 ✅ 1.5 02 (will finish the rest of the chapters; this is so good)

Supply and Demand @scribblemetae - 5.7k | MYG | S, A, supernatural au, telepathic!myg, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers ✅

More than Us @jeongi - 11.3k | KTH | F, S, college au, roommate au, best friend to lovers

Moirai @jimlingss - 46.9k | KTH | F, A, isekai au, fantasy au, reborn as a villain in a video game

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Taking Flight @rmnamjoons - 15.2k | KNJ | S, sci-fi, post-apocalypse, rivals to friends to lovers au

Lining’s Silver @sketchguk - 14.1k | MYG | S, F, College au, idiots to lovers, enemies to lovers

Even a Forest Fire Dies Out @9uk - 6.6k | JJK | A, F, exes au (a re-read) ✅

Southpaw @starshapedkookie - 30k | JJK | A, S, F, childhood friends, college au, boxer au, kinda e2l-ish (a re-read, that fight scene was just exhilarating) 🔥🥊 ✅

All That We Had @starlightauroras-writes - 13k | JJK | Heavy A, S, F, exes au, reunion, ex-husband!JK ✅ (author said there’ll be Pt2)

After the Honeymoon Fades @onherwings - 13k | MYG | A, S, F, established relationship (on the rocks), producer!yoongi, professor!OC ✅

Cozy Thief @bratkook - 5.1k | JJK | F, S, roommates au, mutual pining ✅

Quiet Baby by bratkook - 3.2k | JJK | S, established au, pwp, exhibitionism✅

Come Over by bratkook - 7.2k | JJK | S, pwp, neighbors au, voyeurism ✅

Tear You Apart by bratkook - 17.4k | KTH | S, pwp, slight horror, paranormal

01 ✅ 02 (to read)

Breathe @ephemeralkookie - 6.9k | JJK | A, S, F, exes au, multiple break-ups ✅

Shield @namgukgalore - 18.6k | JJK | F, S, slow burn, security guard!JJK, co-workers au ✅

Imitation of Art by namgukgalore - 9.6k | KTH | F, S, romance, friends to lovers

High School Reunion @btsarmy9593 - 6k | MYG | F, reunion, second chances ✅

One Night Ride by btsarmy9593 - 3.8k | JJK | F, hints of S, college!JK, noona, one night stand au ✅

Off the Table @fakeleaves - 11k | KNJ | A, F, exes to lovers ✅

By its Cover @crystaljins - 38.9k | JHS | F, A, enemies to lovers, demon au, magic/supernatural, witch!reader

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 ✅

Your Eyes Tell @njkbangtan - 40k | JJK | A, F, mild S, soulmate au, roommates au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, a bit sugar baby au, lawyer!reader, artist!jungkook

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 ✅

Popular-ish (drabble series) @hansolmates - 16.1k | JJK | F, S, A, popular!JJK, normie!reader, college au, fwb-ish

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 ✅ 🥰

One More Time (Finale) - 7.3k | reunion ✅

No One @dfdph - 21k | JJK | A, extreme sports, slice of life, epistolary (in form of letters), heavy angst (not kidding! with trigger warnings; written so beautifully but angst may not be for all) ✅

Repercussions: Suspenders, Satin and Stockings @pars-ley - 3.1k | MYG | S, pwp, established relationship ✅

Have Faith in Me @aroseforyoongi - 6.4k | KTH | S, F, werewolf au, soulmates au, bestfriends to lovers ✅

The Art of Boxing @seokiie - 3.1k | JJK | S, pwp, boxing au ✅

Beautiful Confession @btsracket - 6.3k | JJK | S, F, fake dating, friends to lovers ✅

Tongue Tied @btssavedmylifeblr - 12k | PJM | S, F, minor A, crack, demon au, idol verse, established relationship, pwp ✅

Infamous @sugaxjpg - 12.5k | KTH | S, A, secret relationship au, fuckboy au ✅

Familiar Stranger @army-author - 7.3k | KTH | F, friends to lovers, high school au, mixed-up identity ✅

Strangers Again @minniefilms - 11.4k | JJK | A, F, enemies to lovers, best friend’s boyfriend

01 02 03 04 drabble ✅

Ruin Him @kingsuckjin - 3.5k | JJK | S, pwp, virgin!JK, coworker au ✅

Sex Education @extravaguk - 12k | JJK | S, F, A, brother’s best friend, virgin!OC (actually came out fluffier than expected 🥰) ✅

In your Eyes @sweetaesuga - 10.6k | JJK | S, F, A, college au, fratboy au, ex-fuckboy jk, friends to lovers ✅

Drabble Series: In Your Heart [4/11] ✅

Lunar Violence @taetaesbaebaepsae - 7.4k | JJK | S, rock band au, werewolf au, ABO dynamics, strangers to lovers ✅

A Fallen Bookmark on a Thursday Afternoon @cutaepatootie - 19k | JJK | A, F, S, strangers to lovers, takes the same train every Thursday 😭 ✅

There You Are @joonkookiemonster - 13.4k | JJK | F, S, ABO dynamics, werewolf au ✅

Here I Come @jiminssthetic - 3k | JJK | S, pwp, college au, friends to lovers ✅

Morning Rush @atdawnsuga - 3.2k | JJK | S, college au, exhibitionism, strangers ✅

(in)Satiable @thatlongspringnight - 11.3k | JJK | S, F, incubus au, lucid dreams ✅

The Red Pool @ksmuttherapy - 3.1k | JJK | S, horror, vampire au, dusk til dawn vibes

inTOXICated @sugarjaee - JJK | A, S, toxic relationship, college au, fboi au

01 02 03 04 05 06 ✅

Inebriated [Jungkook’s POV] - 7.4k, read after chapter 4 ✅

You’re so Creepy (drabble series) @whatifyoulivelikethat - 2k per member | OT7 | F, crack, university au, creepy girl au, (actually cute)

There’s always at least one campus creepy girl. Or seven. Part 1 (1st kiss) Part 2 (2nd meeting)

kim namjoon - part i | part ii (fave) ✅

kim seokjin - part i | part ii (fave) ✅

min yoongi - part i | part ii ✅

jung hoseok - part i | part ii (fave) ✅

park jimin - part i | part ii (fave) ✅

kim taehyung - part i | part ii ✅

jeon jungkook - part i | part ii ✅

🥕[Drabbles]

Feeling @sometimeinjoon - 2.3k | JJK | demon JJK, established relationship, a bit slice-of-life | love this so much ✅🥰

Warmth @artaefact - 306 words | JJK | fluff, fantasy au, incandesce couple ✅

Too Close @taestybae - 1.4k words | JJK | expecting parents au, boxer au, angst ✅

“i’m yours, in every way you’ll have me” by taestybae - 0.8k | KTH | S, A, fwb au ✅

“Are you Sure?” by taestybae - 2k | KTH | S, F, brother’s best friend | love this! ✅ 🥰

“The strings are attached already” @taetaespeaches - 1.8k | KNJ | angst, fwb ✅

Deep End @latetaektalk - 2.2k | MYG | angst, fuckboy au, a bit of fluff ✅

Game Boy @suqakoo - 2.7k | JJK | S, gamer au, enemies to lovers, a bit of fluff ✅🔥

Reese’s It’s All for You @joonkookiemonster - 3.1k | JJK | F, demon au, roommate au, Driving me Wild Halloween Drabble ✅

Transparent @kingsuckin - 793 words | JJK | S, pwp, established relationship, see-through JJK shirt 😉 ✅🔥

Savage Love @whatifyoulivelikethat - | JJK | S, pwp, OC is yoongi’s ex 😬 ✅

🌹 Drabbles by @zephyoongist - I love the way these are written. Just beautiful. Truly fluffy (like butterflies in my stomach) and also gives off a deep/for keeps type of dynamics between the characters:

you and yoongi had an unusual friendship... - 665 words | MYG | fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers ✅🥰

kim taehyung had only met you a few times… - 1.2k | KTH | fluff, accidental pregnancy au ✅🥰 (a fave)

there wasn’t any particular reason as to why min yoongi chose you to be his mate - his luna… - 840 words | MYG | fluff, werewolf au, slice of life ✅🥰

jung hoseok found you when you were about to make the biggest mistake of your life… - 1.5k | JHS | fluff, runaway bride, slice of life | really cute ✅🥰

538 notes · View notes

winchesterxxi · 4 years ago

Note

Maybe Poe and Skywalker reader being married to each other. Their life together, struggles and everything in between

(force awakens to rise of Skywalker)

WARNINGS: Non-canon content for the sake of the request; Focuses more on the Reader x Poe relationship, so many plot points are left untouched (as in, Reader doesn’t know Kylo is her brother)

THE FORCE AWAKENS

You were stationed in Jakku with your dad and Chewie when a girl and a guy board onto the ship;

“Who the hell are you?” you ask, you and your dad with blasters pointed out to them.

They throw they’re hands up and from behind them rolls out BB8 and you immediately drop to your knees.

“BB! Oh my God, where is Poe? We lost his TIE signal two hours ago, we’ve been worried sick!”

“You know Poe Dameron?” Finn asks you, lowering his hands.

“I’m Y/N Skywalker, his wife.” you eye him, only now noticing he is wearing your husband’s jacket “W-Where is my husband?”

That’s when he gives you the news of the crash and you latch onto your dad, crying.

Days later, on Takodana you are under an attack by the First Order and just as you thought there was no hope left, a fleet of X-Wings come in and save you.

After the fleet landed, you went to meet you mom, knowing that she was the Commander behind this offence against the First Order.

“It’s not me you have to thank honey.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your husband’s the one behind it this time.”

“My...?”

She just nods your head and cups your cheek, stroking your teary eyes, knowing how you’ve been grieving, thinking that Poe had died

“Go find your husband.”

You run past her and your dad to the the landing site trying to spot Poe in the crowd, heart beating hard in your chest

“POE?” “POE!?” you scream is name, trying to find him.

Then

“Y/N?” you stop in your tracks and turn around, spotting your husband.

Your run to him faster than you’ve ever ran until you crash into him in a tight hug, crying.

“I thought you - I thought you had -” you sniff between the tears.

He cups the sides of your face “I know, but I’m here, honey. I’m sorry to worry you. You’d never get rid of me so easily!” He smiles into the crashing kiss.

He helps you blast the FO’s base's thermal oscillator after you witness Kylo killing your father, tears stinging your eyes as you charge ahead.

Afterwards, him being your shoulder to cry on as you mourn your loss.

THE LAST JEDI

Flying alongside him on the dreadnought attack;

“Y/N, FIRE NOW!”

You do as you’re instructed, your shot igniting the explosives that had been set inside the dreadnought making it light up like the 4th of July

“THAT’S MY GIRL!” he shouts over the intercom

When back at the ship, reunited with your mother, you’re the one that spots the Star Destroyer in the radar grabbing Finn’s forearm, alerting him to the map.

“We need to jump to lightspeed!” he states running to your mom, awaiting clearance to do so, hot-headed as always.

“Poe, we can’t do that! We only have enough resources for one jump and if we do so, they’ll just track us again and be without fuel.”

You eye your mother, looking for some help.

“Permission to jump on an X-Wing and blow something up?” he addresses your mom.

“Poe w-” you start

“Permission granted!” your mom agrees as Poe darts running

“MOM!”

“Go get on one as well.” she comes forward and kisses your forehead “You’re a team now.”

Just as you and Poe are about to reach the X-Wings, him slightly ahead of you the FO manages to blast the platform, sending him flying against you as you both crash to the ground.

He his also next to you when you spot your mother floating in space after the attack and he grips your hand tightly.

You insist on pushing her to the medical wing but he stops you before you can do it

“Poe, I need to be with my mom please.” you grip his arms, sobbing.

He kisses your forehead

“I’ll go with her, you stay here please.” you nod, teary eyed at him “Finn, take care of her for me while I’m gone”

*FASTFORWARD TO HOLDO’S EVACUATION PLAN*

You believe her plan won’t work either so you lead the mutiny alongside your husband

That is until he is stunned against the wall.

You throw yourself on your knees beside him, cradling his head.

Turning back you spot your mom, alive, holding the blaster

“MOM? WHAT THE HELL?”

“I know you love your husband but for once, just drag his ass out.”

You are holding his hand when he springs back to life.

“What - What happened?” he is shaken

“Poe I-”

He pushes past you running to the nearest window

“NO!” he slams on the glass and you come up behind him hand on his shoulder

“Honey,...” he shrugs his shoulder off, facing you, hurt tainting his face.

“Don’t... Call me that.”

“Poe...”

“No! I thought we were in this together!”

“This plan is gonna work, you have to trust me!”

“How can you ask me that after what you just did.”

First serious married fight... yay.

You look at him, biting your lip, tears in your eyes before walking away.

“Poe.” he turns around and finds your mom, calling him and that’s when she shows him Crait and explains him the full and he realizes he was just an asshole to the person he loved the most.

“Oh my god, I’m such an idiot.”

“Yes you are. Now go apologize to my daughter.”

“Yes ma’am.”

*Cue romantic, cute and awkward apology scene*

When the time comes to face the First Order he boards on a speeder and you on your father’s Falcon alongside Chewie

And of course you then help him lead your people out of the cave

THE RISE OF SKYWALKER

So...you’re kind of the captain of the Falcon

Despite Poe being an undeniably better pilot than you, he insisted that you were the rightful captain of the ship now that your dad was gone.

And he loved to call you captain

It made you smile every single time

Fastforward to Kijimi when Poe has a blaster pointed to his head

You are quick to point your own to the armored woman behind him

“Blaster off him, now.”

“She won’t ask twice, I would listen to her”

“Who are you?” you ask, blaster still up as she hadn’t let hers down

“Honey, this is Zorii. Zorii, this is my wife, Y/N”

Her helmet turns to you “Wife? There are actually people out there who go along with what you say.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” he retorts and you snap a look at him

“I could pull this trigger right now.” She says, pushing the blaster harder against Poe’s head.

“You do that, my blaster is the last thing you’ll see in this life.”

“We’re trying to find Babu Frik.” Poe tries to ease the situation

“He only works with the crew. That’s not you anymore.”

“What does she mean crew?” you ask him

“Oh your wife doesn’t know?”

you look between her and him confused

“Funny he never mentioned it...”

“Married people are still allowed secrets Zorii - “ he tries

“Your husband was a spice runner.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your eye sockets

“You were a spice runner? In almost 5 years of marriage NOT ONCE did it occur to you to mention that!?”

Once again, next to him when one of the stormtroopers blasts him in the arm inside the Star Destroyer

“POE!”

Standing in line next him, Chewie and Finn

“Were you ever going to tell me you were a spice runner?”

“You’re still on that?”

“OH I’M SORRY, IS THIS A BAD TIME?”

“IT KIND OF IS, YEAH!”

“Well, because later doesn’t really seem like an option right now -”

“You don’t say -”

“And if my husband has some other important life information before meeting me that I should be aware of, I would like to know becasue for all i know, you could’ve even been a stormtr--”

BAM

Troopers dead, you all alive

Hux admits to being the spy

“I KNEW IT” he points out

“No, you didn’t.”

While on one of the Endor’s moon your mom uses her last breath to reach out to you trough the Force

You are a few feet behind Poe on the grass and fall to your knees with a thud

He looks over at you, face dropping as he runs in your direction

Your face is white and your look is blank and he is trying to shake your shoulders to gain some attention from you

“My mom...” You look up at him and he immediately understands, gulping hardly. He doesn’t say a word, simply pulling you into a crushing hug as you scream into the ground, tears running down.

Later, back at the resistance base, after you’ve said your goodbyes to your mom, Poe is the one sitting next to her linen-covered body

“I... I promise I’ll take care of her. Not just now, or in the near future, just... forever. I’ll stay by her side, always, Leia. Your daughter... Your daughter is the love of my life.”

After you defeat the First Order, during the celebrations Poe pulls you aside to a quiet place and tells you that he wants to settle down.

You agree with him, teary eyed, kiss kiss, you know the drill

BB8 beeps at your feet

POST TROS BONUS

The both of you settled on Yavin 4, his home planet

You are blessed with kids, first a baby boy and then a baby girl, 2 years apart

Who you name Kes and Leia, after Poe’s dad and Leia’s mom, who devoted their lives to the resistance and in one way or another were behind the reason your life path’s ever crossed

Poe cried like a baby when you told him you wanted your first born to be named Kes

Occasional visits form uncle Finn and uncle Chewie

When it’s just Finn, him and Poe tend to go out and do “guy stuff”

While you sit back at home with the kids and BB8 who loves to entertain them

And it isn’t rare for sometimes you being sitting on a bench, watching the three of them play in the distance, head on Poe’s shoulder, his arms draped around your waist

And you look to the side to be met with the Force ghosts of your family members looking down at you

#THIS ONE TOOK TOO LONG #why do i always go all out on the headcanons ffs #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron headcanon #poe dameron x skywalker!reader #poe dameron #oscar isaac #the rise of skywalker #the force awakens #star wars #the last jedi

242 notes · View notes

teamhappyme · 4 years ago

Text

my love will find you

aaron hotchner x female!reader

word count: 1.9k

a/n: another hurt/comfort fic because i’m incapable of righting pure fluff. this was inspired by the incredibly sad but beautiful children’s book ‘wherever you are, my love will find you’ by nancy tillman. i have quoted some parts of the book, and those are the quotes in italics. i first read this book to the toddlers i work with two weeks after my bestfriend, my grandmother died a few years ago. it brought me to tears, and is truly one of my favorite children’s books.

warnings: discussions of miscarriage, nothing graphic

****

You gently knocked on Jack’s door after seeing the light peek through the space where the door met the floor. It was nearing ten o’clock, the ten year old should be in bed by now.

Once you heard the quiet ‘come in’, you opened the door to find him tucked in, little lamp on with a few books on his bed.

“It’s getting late, bud. Why don’t you wrap up your last book for the night.” He nodded, closing the book in his hand. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you recognized the cover, and felt your heart drop in your chest.

“Is anything bothering you, honey?” He let out a sigh, and he reminded you so much of Aaron in that moment. Usually, you loved to see the resemblance in your husband and son. But this big sigh was too much for the little boy to go through.

“My art teacher had us make mother’s day cards at school today. All of my friends just stood up and grabbed a piece of paper, but I kind of froze for a second.” You would do anything to bring back Haley, to put this little boy out of the pain he’s gone through at such a young age. “I asked my teacher if I could make three. They were supposed to be a surprise, but I made one for mom, you, and aunt Jess.”

You couldn’t help the small smile on your face. He was such a sweet boy. He was the reason you and Aaron talked about having a baby of your own. Give Jack a sibling, maybe spread some more love in this family.

“I’m just missing my mom a lot today, that’s all. And this book makes me feel a little better about it.”

You took the book from his hands, tracing your fingers down the front cover.

“You know, I’m the one that gave you this book. When my nana died, this book really helped me stay connected to her. I’m glad it does the same for you too.” A smile crept across your face, and you stood up from his bed. “I know you may be a little too old for this, but would you mind if I read this to you? I’m feeling a little sad tonight too, and I think this book could make me feel better.”

He smiled, and scooched closer to the wall to give you some space in his bed. “What are you sad about y/n/n?” You shook your head, not wanting to hurt the little boy any more than he already was.

“I’m just missing daddy. But he’ll be home tomorrow.” You turned to the first page, getting ready to read the short little book.

“I wanted you more than you ever will know, so I sent love to follow wherever you go.”

It had been a while since you read this to Jack, and you were already starting to tear up.

“It never gets lost, never fades, never ends… paint til you’re blue… there’s no place, not one, where my love can’t find you.”

You wanted Aaron to be here, needed Aaron to be here. Especially today.

“And if someday you’re lonely, or someday you’re sad, or you strike out at baseball, or think you’ve been bad… just lift up your face, feel the wind in your hair. That’s me, my sweet baby, my love is right there.”

Your hand rested on your stomach, that was full of new life just a few weeks ago.

“If you’re still my small babe or you’re all the way grown, my promise to you is you’re never alone.”

As you flipped to the last page, you quickly wiped away the tears in your eyes. You just have to be strong for another few minutes.

“You are my angel, my darling, my star… and my love will find you wherever you are.”

It was an incredibly sad children’s book, but it was really for the parents more than the kids.

“Okay honey, do you feel a little better now? Do you want to read another book?” He shook his head.

“I’m okay now. I think I’ll just talk to mom for a minute, then go to sleep.” He turned his lantern on, it was what he used to talk to Haley when an adult wasn’t around with the special candle. “Thank you for reading to me, y/n/n.”

You smiled. “Anytime, Jack. Goodnight, I love you.” You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Love you too. ‘Night.”

You quietly closed his door and headed down the hall to your own bedroom. Once secure in your own closed room, you let your tears fall free.

It had been a long forty eight hours without Aaron. The team got called on a case in the middle of the night, but you were left behind due to your twelve week scan with your ob/gyn. You assured Aaron you would be okay on your own.

But you couldn’t have known what was going to be on that scan. Or, rather, what was missing.

It was strange to think that only eight hours ago you were still thinking of your baby. How you were going to tell everyone, tell Jack, start thinking of baby names. You should’ve known better than to get so excited so fast.

You don’t know how long you were staring at your laptop screen for, but when you heard the front door open, your heart dropped again.

You’d left a message when you couldn’t get a hold of him, figuring he was on the jet or wrapping up with the local PD. But it was cryptic, you couldn’t tell him in a voicemail.

Once he came into the bedroom, you stood up, meeting his gaze. His tie was already off, undershirt poking through from his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt. He was stressed out. And it didn’t take a genius to know why.

“Hi, how was the case?” He kicked his shoes off, slightly shaking his head before giving you a quick kiss.

“It was just another case. I, I got your message. Is everything alright?”

Just rip off the bandaid, y/n. Quick, as quick as they told you.

You stood in front of him, your husband, holding onto the news that would ruin your future in one second. Wringing your hands together, your eyes began to water again. God, why couldn’t he just have been there with you.

“I lost the baby, Aaron.”

He stopped his miniscule movements, his eyes falling open the slightest bit. Only you ever noticed the change in his eyes.

“They said it was probably right after the eight week scan, that I lost them. It wasn’t anything I did, they say it just… happens.” A tear fell down your face, and you moved to wipe it away. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called you right away.”

“Honey,” He walked over to me, holding my hands in his own. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to form a sentence with all the emotions running through his head. But he couldn’t. You couldn’t either when they first told you. Instead, you saw tears form in his eyes, as he choked back a sob. “Sorry,” He started, trying to be strong for you.

But you wouldn’t let him bury this. Not this pain. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and he buried his head in your shoulder. Your tears were staining his shirt, and you could hear him sniffle every few seconds. But you started to feel whole again with his arms wrapped around you.

He lifted his head after a minute, pressing a kiss to your head before tucking you under his chin. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you. You shouldn’t have had to be there alone.”

“It’s not your fault. We couldn’t have known.” Your eyes welled with tears again, and you held on tighter to your husband. “I know it was only a few months, but I really loved them Aaron.”

“I know, I do too.” You untangled yourself from him, wanting to see his face as you talked through another incredible loss in his life.

“They scheduled me for a d&c on monday, just to be sure everything is cleared out.” They had to make everything sound so clinical. As if this wasn’t a human, your human growing inside of you. “You’ll come with me, right?”

“Of course.” He noticed you wringing your hands again, fighting back the next wave of tears washing over you. “Y/n, talk to me.”

You sat at the end of your bed, resting your head in your hands, letting the tears slowly, evenly escape your eyes.

“My whole life, all I’ve wanted was to be a mom. I wanted to have babies running around my house, their toys filling up every room you walk in. It was the one thing I was always sure about. When I found out I was pregnant, I was so excited that my dream was coming true. That we could expand our family, we could give Jack a sibling. But now,” You lifted your head, Aaron leaning against the dresser. “I just can’t help but think this was a sign. That I’m not meant to have my own baby.”

He immediately pushed off the dresser, moving to kneel in front of you. “Y/n,”

You shook your head, wanting to finish before he started. “I love our life, Aaron. I was devastated this afternoon. I was crying in the parking lot of the doctor’s office for thirty minutes, before I went to pick up Jack. But once I saw him, I felt better.” You reached out to hold one of his hands. “He told me today that he made a mother’s day card for Haley, Jess, and me. We talked about Haley, and how he misses her. And then we read the book I gave him after she died,”

“Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You,” He interrupted you, and you smiled. The book seemed to have a lasting effect on everyone in the Hotchner house.

“Aaron, I love being another mom to Jack. I love being your wife, I love my relationship with Jess, I loved our baby, and I love where we are right now.” You brought his hand to your lips, lightly kissing his knuckles before you finished. “Maybe I’m not meant to have my own baby. But I love our son, and our family. And once we grieve the one we almost got, that’s all I want to focus on. At least for right now.”

Once you finished, and he soaked in your words, he gave you a true Aaron Hotchner smile, dimples and all. A stray tear fell down his face, and you quickly moved to brush it away.

“I love you so much, you know that right?”

You smiled in return. “I love you too.”

He leaned in to kiss you, soft and slow. A few stray tears mixed together between the two of you, emotions all over the place right now. But it was going to be okay with Aaron by your side.

You slowly pulled away, giving him one final kiss before he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“We’ll get through this together.” You nodded, resting your forehead against his. “Allways.”

****

#aaron hotchner x female! reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #jules writes shit ??

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giggles-and-freckles · 4 years ago

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swoon june day 15: masquerade

He finds her quicker than he normally does at these sorts of things. It’s surprising, given the masks and elaborate apparel of all in attendance. But Anakin recognises Padmé's soft extravagance immediately, and can’t find it in himself to be discreet as he cuts across the dance floor to pull her from her conversation with other senators.

“Milady,” he says, resting a hand at the small of her back. She flinches in surprise, but turns to him and offers a strange smile. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, nodding to the other senators who look miffed at his intrusion. He doesn’t remotely care. “But I was hoping for a dance.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just offers her hand and allows him to pull her to the dance floor.

It’s liberating, being able to be with her like this, unconcerned by the watchful eyes and judging gazes. He should be more careful, anyway–he knows he should. But it’s so rare for him to be able to have his hands on her anywhere that isn’t her apartment, so he’ll take further advantage of the convenience than he likely should.

He tries to pull her closer to him, annoyed by the inches of space she’s purposefully placed between them.

“Padmé,” he says, under his breath. “What are you doing...no one’s even watching. Just–”

She places a hand on his chest, pushing him back. Her feet don’t falter and their rhythm isn’t lost, but Anakin reels back nonetheless.

“What’s wrong?” he says, trying again to pull her flush against him. She shakes her head quickly. “Padmé,” he sighs. “I’ve missed you. Please, just–”

“She wishes to see you,” she says quietly.

Anakin stumbles, but manages to catch himself and her, continuing their gait about the floor. He squints, focusing on the eyes behind the mask. “Motée?” he whispers.

A slight nod.

His eyes widen in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.” He clears his throat. “Where’s–”

“Her office.”

His face screws up in confusion. “Her office? She’s supposed to be here. How...why–” He straightens up, almost stepping on her feet. “Is she all right?”

Motée’s eyes flicker to the side of the room, where Obi-Wan sits, primly watching the room around him. His mask is in place, but his shoulders are hunched in further than they should be. He’s ignored all of Anakin’s attempts to engage him in the gala.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asks in bewilderment. “What does he–”

She nods her head emphatically.

“Oh,” he sighs. “The Duchess.”

Motée’s hand squeezes his, tightly.

“I’m gonna–” His eyes shift between the door and Obi-Wan. “I’m gonna go.” He drops her hands and begins to walk, but then turns. “Will you…” He bites his lip, struggling for the words. “Can you–”

“I’m going to grab a refreshment,” Motée says. “Perhaps Master Kenobi will want one as well.”

Anakin smiles gratefully. “Thank you.” She nods and turns to walk toward the older Jedi.

Anakin makes it to the doors of the ballroom and slips through them, beginning the jog from the top of the Senatorial Complex down to the lower levels containing Padmé’s office. He’s out of breath by the time he arrives, but he steels himself and knocks anyway. The echo of his mechno-arm against the durasteel door hollows through the hall.

The door slides open.

“Padmé?” he calls immediately, his eyes searching the room. He finds her, crumpled on the floor, an elaborate dress bunched up in a pool around her. An exquisite scarlet and black mask is on the floor next to her, looking crumpled and tossed aside.

“Hey,” he says with a frown, rushing to her. He drops to the floor in front of her, careful not to step on her dress. He’s committed that crime far too many times to be so foolish now, even in the midst of her distress. “What’s going on?”

She looks up at him and the light from the window catches on the wetness of her cheeks. Without thinking, he lifts his hand to gently swipe at them. She closes her eyes and leans into his hand.

“Talk to me,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbones. WIth his other hand, he pulls off his own mask, tossing it to the side. It matches hers, he realises, and knows that wasn’t an accident. “Are you okay? Motée said…”

She cuts him off with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry,” she manages. “I didn’t mean to pull you from the gala. I just...I–”

“Hey, hey, shh,” he says, sliding his hand down under her chin. He pulls her gaze up. “Don’t apologise. I hate those things anyway, you know that. The only reason I go is to see you.”

She tries for a sort of snort, but it falls pathetically between them. “And Obi-Wan,” she adds.

“I mean sure,” Anakin shrugs theatrically, “he doesn’t look bad in dress robes, so I suppose that’s another reason, but–” he trails off, the joke clearly not doing anything to fill the cracks of Padmé’s countenance. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “I go for Obi-Wan, too.”

“How is he doing?” she asks.

“The same.” He drops his hand and frowns. “He won’t let me help him. I know he’s in pain, but he...he won’t let me do anything. Won’t even talk about it.”

She nods and another tear falls down her cheek. He catches it with the tip of his finger. “He cared about her deeply.”

“He loved her,” Anakin corrects fiercely, then takes a breath. “But I don’t understand why he’s so ashamed of that. Why–”

“He’s not ashamed, Ani,” Padmé says, frowning at her husband. “He’s grieving.”

“Well then he should do something about it.” He throws his hands up in frustration. Fire sparks in his fists as he thinks about the monster who did this to the Duchess, to Obi-Wan. “We know where Maul is. We should–”

“Ani.”

He falls from his precipice of rage. “What?”

“Not everyone grieves the same, my love.”

And something about the way she’s looking at him, like she’s chastising him but also pitying him–it makes him pause.

“You’re grieving, too,” he says in final understanding, guilt and shame drowning him. He’s sitting here planning revenge while his wife cries on the floor of her office, skipping the masquerade he knows she’s been looking forward to for weeks. “Padmé,” he chokes out, “I’m so sorry. She was your friend. You–”

She shakes her head again, offering a sad smile. “It’s okay,” she says. “But yes. She was.”

His hands are around her shoulders within moments, pulling her into his chest. She snakes her arms under his robes to clasp behind his back–and falls apart. Her trickle of tears become a steady stream and she heaves as she struggles to find oxygen between her broken sobs.

Anakin hates this feeling. Hates the knowledge that he can’t do anything to expunge her pain. He doesn’t want to ease it, he wants to erase it. She deserves infinite happiness and he can’t give it to her. It’s another stinging reminder of how much more he has to learn and become to be enough.

“I’m so...tired of this war,” she manages into the folds of his tunic. She’s still shaking. “I’m so tired of losing.”

swoon june 2021 prompts

#swoonjune2021 #my fic #anidala #:'((((((

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moonknightly · 5 years ago

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and you keep me holding on : santiago “pope” garcia x reader (three)

Word Count: 5.5k+

Excerpt: “Had he told her? When she was leaving his office that night, had Santi told her how much he loved her?”

Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, mentions of blood, cursing, guns, uhhh that should be it?

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

OCTOBER 19TH - DAY THREE

Two days pass with absolutely nothing. Santi’s boss has given him strict orders to stay as far away from work as possible, and he actually decides to listen for a change. He knows he would be useless to his co-workers in his current state.

Cameron refuses to let him anywhere near the precinct either, saying it’ll only add to his stress. He knows she’s right, but part of him still wishes he could be there, just so he can sit right by the phone and be the first to know if she’d been found, but he doubts that Cameron would budge on the matter. He still begged her to call him if she heard anything at all though, and she’d promised she would.

It’s not a promise Santiago is taking lightly.

He’s hardly left Jay’s couch since arriving back in New York from Princeton. He only gets up when it’s absolutely necessary, and even then, it’s only for a minute or two at a time. He hasn’t combed his hair, has only brushed his teeth once. His drive and motivation are just completely lacking without her.

He’s been wearing the same set of sweats from the moment he was able to change out of his blood soaked clothes. He has no idea what Jay’s done with them, but he hopes they were put in the trash and not sitting at the bottom of the washing machine. He never wants to see those damn pants ever again, or the shirt for that matter. He’d been contemplating setting both articles of clothing on fire, but he was positive that Jay wouldn’t appreciate the smoke and ash filling his apartment, setting the fire alarm off and disturbing his neighbors.

But fuck, had he wanted to watch them burn.

The news of her disappearance spread rapidly, and Pope still doesn’t know if he’s thankful for the attention or if the coverage only continued to add to his rage and unease. He figures that he’s allowed to feel both.

Cameron had spoken at a press conference in the early morning following their trip to Princeton, and there had been an article printed on the front page of several newspapers. They’d used a fairly recent photo of her, one that was taken while she was dressed out in her scrubs. Santi was actually in it as well, though they’d cropped him out of course.

It had been one of his favorite pictures of the two of them together, but now it just makes his stomach sick every single time it flashes across the TV screen.

Her parents had been notified just prior to the press conference. Santi hadn’t been the one to make the phone call, and while he felt some sort of guilt over it, he was also glad he hadn’t had to face them yet — he’s not ready for her mother’s tears or her father’s icecold glare and sharp words. He knows they’re going to blame him for not protecting her properly, for not doing what was supposed to be his one job when it came to her, just as he was blaming himself.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to face them.

He doesn’t even know how to face his own parents.

His mother calls him at least once an hour, and each time he lets it go to voicemail. He has 41 missed calls and almost twice as many unopened texts, but he never fails to check who they’re from, jumping to his feet and snatching his phone from wherever it lay each time a new one came through, just in case it’s an unknown number that might be her or even Nathan.

But it only continues to be his mom and sometimes the boys, though they’re trying their best to give him the space they know he needs.

He doesn’t think he needs space.

Santi starts to have second thoughts about staying away from work. The later the day drags on, the more and more anxious he feels.

The more and more useless.

He needs to do something other than just sitting there, watching TV and waiting for the phone to ring once again.

He’s better than this, worth more than this. If he could only work on his own or with the boys even, he was sure they’d be ten steps closer to finding her. He knows it and he can’t stand playing by the damn rules but his emotions are still running too high and he doesn’t even know where to begin.

All Santi knows is that he can’t fucking sit there and do nothing anymore.

He throws the blanket off of his legs and stands from the couch, immediately going to the bag he’d brought from the apartment, pulling out a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. It’s obvious that his shirt hadn’t been properly folded, but he has his bullet proof vest to throw on over the wrinkled garment, not that he really cares and not that it really matters.

He’s out the door within ten minutes.

Parker is the first to see Santi enter the precinct. She’s sitting at one of the tables in the corner, idly talking with Cameron about a case from several years ago and she can’t help the sigh and the not-so-subtle shake of her head that follows upon seeing him walk towards them.

“I thought you told Garcia that he couldn’t be here.”

“I did.”

She doesn’t have to turn around to know that Santi’s approaching, and she still doesn’t turn around even when she senses him come to a stop directly behind her, just a few feet away.

“But you and I both know how well he tends to follow directions.”

“Yeah,” Parker scoffs, shaking her head once again and folding her arms across her chest.

Cameron finally turns in her chair, facing Santi after several long seconds. She feels a twinge in her chest as she takes in his dejected expression and tired eyes. He looks rough, and so so worried but that’s all to be expected. She swallows the lump in her throat and wills her own nerves to settle, giving her full attention to Santi.

“What are you doing here Pope?”

“Do you know how fuckin’ awful daytime television is?”

“What, Judge Judy not doing it for you?” Parker jokes, a smirk plastered across her face as she leans further back into her chair.

Santi cracks a small smile, his first one in days, though it’s nowhere near genuine. It’s so extremely forced, his cheeks ache with the effort even. He shuffles his feet gently, glancing at his shoes briefly before he looks back up to Cameron.

“I just can’t sit on Jay’s couch anymore. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Cameron nods her head in understanding. She can’t count how many times she’s sat at home, her mind captivated by a case that she wanted nothing more than to work on for every second of the day. She tries to relate her own experience to what Santi must be feeling, but she still can’t imagine what he must be going through, as the case involves his wife and not just a random victim. She would be so far gone had she been in his shoes.

“You know,” she starts, trying to think of the best possible way to word her sentence. “You’re her husband first, before anything else you’re her partner Santiago. You really don’t need to be her detective too.” She refrains from reminding him that technically, he’s not even officially on the case. “We can handle this, Pope. You’re allowed to take the time to grieve.”

“I don’t want to grieve,” he mumbles under his breath, almost inaudibly. He sounds so completely unlike himself. Cameron begins to speak again, but he interrupts her with a shake of his head. “Not yet.”

Cameron knows it’s not the time to talk about statistics and probability. She knows Santi doesn’t need to be reminded of her chances and Cameron’s not even really paying attention to the numbers herself because this is her they’re talking about. It’s far too close to home.

They’ve definitely recovered missing persons who had been gone for much, much longer.

So she only nods her head slowly, giving Santi a soft, gentle smile. “How would you feel about doing some paperwork for me then? There’s still some notes on my desk that need to be entered in.”

She knows it would be better to give him some sort of work — something to distract his mind so he’s not just sitting there, only further losing himself to worry and panic. Santi seems to feel the same way because he nods without question, not complaining or groaning in protest like he used to whenever she’d ask him to do her paperwork.

“I can do that.”

Santi walks off without another word, sitting himself behind Cameron’s desk, trying to drown himself in busy work. He just needs to turn his brain off, put it on something else for a while.

And it works, kind of. At least, he thinks it does, but Cameron can’t help but frown at the haunted look that lingers in Santi’s eyes, still so noticeable even from across the room. Parker sighs quietly, looking between her lieutenant and Pope.

“You sure this is a good idea?”

She doesn’t know what to tell her, because no, she’s not sure. She’s not sure at fucking all.

Part of her think that he needs to take a step back and stay away, but a larger part of her doesn’t think having him cooped up in an apartment with only his thoughts to keep him company is a good idea either.

At least this way, he isn’t alone and they can keep an eye on him. Make sure that he wasn’t doing anything irrational, make sure he’s taking care of himself, drinking water and eating.

And so, she’s honest.

“I don’t know.”

Parker only nods, her stance on the situation exactly the same. It’s a hard position to be in, no doubt, having to decide whether you’re going to act as a friend or a person of authority.

Nothing else is said between the pair, and the day drags on slowly, though no one is complaining. Slow is a nice change, especially given the added stress they’re all under. Jay returns to the precinct from interviewing some of Nathan’s old co-workers sometime in the early afternoon, instantly noticing Santi sitting at Cameron’s desk, though after one look towards his Lieutenant, he decides not to say anything.

It was just before three o’clock when Santi is broken from an almost trance-like state. He’s been so focused on typing up report after report he’s hardly noticed the world around him in the time that’s passed. He isn’t even entirely sure what pulled his attention away until he feels his Apple watch buzz against his wrist.

He rolls his eyes, only slightly annoyed at the interruption. A sigh leaves his lips as he raises his watch to see who’d decided to text him — it was probably just his mother or maybe Frankie, trying to get in touch with him again, asking how-

Santi feels his blood run cold the moment the display of his watch comes up, because the name that flashes across the screen definitely isn’t his mother’s.

The name that flashed across the screen reads “Mi Vida”, or “My Life” from Spanish to English.

It’s her. Or, it’s at least her Apple watch. Her cell phone is still at the apartment, but Santi had completely forgotten about her watch.

He quickly shakes the shock away, blinking several times as her name fades away and the actual message comes onto the screen. It’s a picture, one Santi couldn’t see very well because of the small screen and he lets out a loud curse, not caring about the stares he receives in return, hastily digging his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and pulling up the text thread in a matter of seconds.

Santi’s stomach drops. His face turns pale and he feels the need to vomit yet again, though his stomach still doesn’t have much of anything to offer.

Jay hears Santi’s outburst and promptly makes his way over to the desk. Santi hears him ask what's wrong, but he can’t form the words, can’t make himself say anything. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t know how to. His entire focus is on his phone, on the picture in his hands. Because she’s in it, but it isn’t a happy picture — not one that he would normally sit back and admire with a soft smile and even softer eyes.

She’s in it, but she’s tied up, legs and arms bound with a gag in place. There’s an obvious cut in her eyebrow, no doubt from the broken shards of glass of their once bathroom mirror. It looks as if her hands are tied to a bed frame or a pole of some kind — Santi can’t tell, doesn’t care enough about that aspect of the photo, no.

No, he’s much more focused on her face, on the terror that is so evident and haunting he’s sure that he’ll see the same image every time he closes his eyes for the rest of his life. She looks so scared, so terrified, and Santi feels his heart shatter even further, and his own fear grips him tight and refuses to let go, doesn’t allow him to move even a muscle.

He still holds completely still even after Jay yanks the phone from his grasp, still stares into thin air at where the phone had been. Jay looks at him, concern etched all over his face until he looks at the screen, suddenly understanding the horror that’s taken over his friend.

“Cameron!” Jay calls out, the panic evident in his voice, his feet not daring to move. He feels stuck in place.

Santi still doesn’t move, he can’t move, doesn’t want to move because he feels as if he might faint but Cameron is the exact opposite, rushing over with Parker right behind.

Jay holds the phone out to her with shaky hands, but reels back when he feels it vibrate again.

Another message comes through from her watch. She, or rather Nathan, started sharing their current location — somewhere in Allentown, Pennsylvania. Santi hears the buzz, and promptly snatches the phone from Jay, looking at it for a moment before Cameron does the same to him.

She stands silent for several seconds. Part of her feels like it’s a trap, a set up to lure them off-course. It’s just too easy, it’s never that easy. There’s something entirely off about it, and the nerves in her stomach pick back up at a rapid speed.

But she can’t just ignore it because her instinct is off. It was too large of a lead to be ignored.

“Jay, call down to Allentown. Have them set up roadblocks on all routes out. Parker, start calling the surrounding towns and have them do the same. No one approaches Nathan until we’re there.”

They both fall into action immediately, doing as they’re asked, but Santi continues to sit quietly in his chair, eyes void of any and all emotion.

Cameron leans over him, pulling the chair back so he rolls a few feet away from the desk.

“Come on, Santiago,” she says gently, clasping her hand on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging squeeze.

Santi stands without a word, taking his vest off the back of the chair, putting it on slowly, slower than Cameron has ever seen him. She watches him closely, her heart sinking as she does so, as she thinks about so many different outcomes and possibilities.

If they don’t find her, she doesn’t know what will happen to Santi. What Pope will do, who he’ll become in the midst of his grief.

She isn’t ready to lose both Garcia’s

The drive to Allentown is even more agonizing than the drive to Princeton. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. The wait and uncertainty of it all is killing everyone, and the butterflies in the pits of their stomachs are buzzing around in a crazy sort of frenzy, though they’re by no means good or even tolerable butterflies. They so desperately want this lead to bring something promising, but the doubt still looms over their minds, causing nothing but anxiety and unwelcome thoughts.

Santi is leaning against the cool window of the squad car. Cameron’s driving, her knuckles white as she tightly grips the steering wheel. Every few seconds, she’ll glance over at him, just to check on him, though she doesn’t expect any change. He hasn’t moved since they left the city, hasn’t said a word and still she feels the need to just keep checking. Keep monitoring.

Santi watches the trees pass by in a blur. The last time he’d been to Pennsylvania, he’d been with her, when she wanted to take a weekend trip down to State College to show him around PSU, where she’d gone to school to earn her nursing degree. She’d taken him all around campus, even introducing him to her favorite professor. They went to eat at her favorite restaurants, she drove him past the house she had spent her senior year in. They had even caught the game that weekend against the University of Michigan.

It’d been such a fun weekend, but even the memory of it couldn’t bring a smile to Santi’s face. None of their memories together seem to trigger anything in that moment and he’s been flipping through them all, searching for one that doesn’t make him want to cry.

He thinks about all of the different trips they’d taken together, he thinks about their lazy Sunday mornings spent between the sheets, the stolen kisses and the sweet nothings whispered into each other’s ears — words spoken with so much conviction and love and trust. He thinks of the late night Netflix binges and the endless amount of family dinners her mother invited them to. Even the memory of their wedding makes Santi want to break down and sob, but he figures that to be the fact that their two year wedding anniversary is quickly approaching and he doesn’t know whether or not he would be spending it alone.

He thinks back to the first day they’d met, when the DEA had been working with the NYPD on a bust and he’d gone to interview a victim at the hospital. All it took was one look at her and he knew that he was a goner. Her confidence and her beauty had completely knocked the breath from his lungs, and he remembers feeling absolutely floored when he’d witnessed her interact with a patient for the first time.

He’d asked her on their first date three months later, after taking every chance he could find to visit the hospital. He expected her to be hesitant but she had accepted almost immediately, taking him by surprise but making him oh so happy at the same time. When he had asked her why, months after the fact, she had simply answered by saying “because I knew I was going to marry you the first moment I saw you.”

Santi had known the same, if he was being completely honest, and so he proposed after only nine months, and they married fourteen after that. He’d never pictured himself proposing to someone after such little time, really he never imagined getting married at all, but it had just felt right with her.

Everything with her just feels so absolutely right. He doesn’t want to think about what the last four years of his life would have been like if he didn’t know her.

And of course he can’t imagine going forward without her, either. Can’t imagine waking up for the rest of his life without her by his side, can’t imagine not being able to hear her laugh ever again, or being able to tell her he loves her.

Had he told her? When she was leaving his office that night, had Santi told her how much he loved her? Had he given her a kiss goodbye? Or had he been too preoccupied with the mountain of work that had been covering his desk?

He can’t remember.

He’s almost sure that he had, but he can’t help but second guess himself because he knows how easily distracted he can become.

There’s a new wave of guilt that comes washing over him, and he can’t help but feel so conflicted. He had tried to do something nice by letting her go home when she had been trying so hard to stay and wait for him. He knew she had been exhausted, but if he had just been a little selfish, if he had just let her stay with him then she might still be here. They would’ve entered their apartment together and there was absolutely no way in hell Santi would’ve let Nathan walk out with her.

He starts thinking about all of the times he had sent her home alone before, and how many opportunities that meant Nathan would have had to take her.

He quickly shoves the thought away after feeling his head begin to spin. Santi swallows the lump in his throat and gently shuts his eyes, trying to make himself think about anything else.

He doesn’t open them again until they arrive in Allentown thirty minutes later.

They flip their lights on just after they cross city limits, but keep their sirens turned off, a few Allentown PD cars merging behind them as they pass the roadblock. Cameron is following closely behind Parker, who leads the way in the other squad car. Jay had taken Santi’s phone before they left the precinct, and Santi had protested of course, but they all knew what would have happened had Santi kept it. He wouldn’t have looked away from it, not that Jay had been any better himself, but no one thought it was smart to let Santi suffer through the car ride with it in his hand, staring at a map and praying that the location didn’t go out.

Her watch has been sitting in the same location for the last forty five minutes — just outside of a book shop in the center of town. Jay has a bad feeling about the entire situation; a feeling he can only describe as somewhere between doubt and apprehension. He knows that if it had been her and only her, she would’ve gone straight to the Police Department or the hospital. She would have called for help, would have texted Santi, something. He knows there’s something wrong, something off.

“Pull off into this parking lot here,” Jay instructs when they’re only two blocks away.

Parker does as she’s told before coming to an abrupt stop, throwing the car into park and hastily climbing out.

Santi is already out of the other car by then, he’d thrown his door open before they were even completely stopped, but Cameron had done the same.

The squad wordlessly gathers into a small circle, all securing their vests and pulling their guns from their holsters, though they keep the safety on as standard protocol. The Allentown officers follow suit, and wait for instruction from Cameron.

She glances at each of her squad members, her eyes lingering on Santi for the longest. They’re all looking at her, all except for him.

He’s instead staring at the ground, jaw clenched and mouth set in a thin, straight line. His eyes are darker than their normal chocolate shade, and Cameron doesn’t like what she sees when she looks into them. There’s a certain sort of determination swimming in his irises — hollow and cold, calculated and oh so sure all at the same time.

She can tell with just one look that he’s plotting something.

That he’s thinking about what he’s willing to do in order to get her back, what he’s willing to give up. She can tell that he’s made up his mind, that he’ll do and risk anything to save her, and that even then, having her back might not be good enough.

“Pope,” she murmurs gently, almost flinching when his eyes met hers with a glare she knows isn’t truly directed at her. “You don’t have to do this. You can stay here, in the car.”

Santiago scoffs gently, shaking his head and biting the inside of his cheek. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I know what you’re thinking. I know what you’re planning. And Pope, if you do it, you’re going to lose a piece of yourself that you can never get back-”

“I can lose everything!” he snaps, voice raised, the anger and the pain oh so evident in both his tone and the expression written across his face. It makes some of the Allentown officers take a step back, but the squad doesn’t even flinch.

“I can lose fuckin’ everything but I can’t lose her.”

Cameron is silent, but she still holds his eye contact, still stands her ground. Santi is the first to look away, lip quivering slightly though he quickly sucks in a shaky breath to play it off, pushing his emotions down, down, down.

“God, not her.”

The anger quickly fades and is swiftly replaced by sadness and grief, the sudden change jarring for everyone. Cameron feels a pang in her chest as she watches him attempt to hold himself together — Santi has never been good at hiding his anger, but this is different from every other time he’s let his temper show around the squad.

It’s different and it makes her nod her head and gently clasp him on his shoulder.

“We’ll find her, and then I promise you, Nathan will get what he deserves.”

Santi sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently as he nods himself, still refusing to actually look towards Cameron. Part of him feels ashamed for the thoughts running through his head, but a larger part of him, the part he’s given into more than once in his time with the military and in law enforcement, didn’t care.

A larger part of him wants nothing more than to watch Nathan suffer.

Cameron waits a few more seconds before giving the squad the order to move, the Allentown officers following closely behind. Jay decides to put himself in front of Santi, and they all quickly make their way towards the book shop, guns drawn and aimed at the ground.

Santi’s the only one with the safety already switched off.

Cameron is several steps ahead, and rounds the corner before anyone else.

She instantly feels the dejection settle in the pit of her stomach, but she’d been expecting it.

She isn’t there, and neither is Nathan. The only person on the street is a teenage boy, looking down and fumbling with something in his hand that looked a lot like-

She stopped in her tracks, a scoff falling from her lips. Jay comes up behind her just a second later, followed directly by Santi.

“Jay, you’re positive we’re in the right spot?”

Jay glances towards the phone that is still in his hand, nodding his head as he double checks, triple checks. “Yeah, I’m sure. The signal is coming from right over there.”

Cameron nods towards the young boy, her shoulders sagging with the words that followed.

“We’ve been played.”

All of the hope anyone had been holding onto quickly fades. The atmosphere surrounding the squad turns heavy instantly, but Santi only feels a fire ignite deep in his chest, twisting his veins, taking over his every thought.

Santi pushes past Jay and Cameron, not bothering to listen as they both call his name, asking him to just hold on for a second and to just let them handle it.

The boy doesn’t look up until Santi snatches the watch away from him, gripping it tightly in his fist before using his other hand to grab the front of the kid’s shirt, effortlessly hoisting him off of the bench.

“Hey, what the hell man-”

“Where did you get this?” Santi questions, voice sharp, caustic, venom dripping from his tongue.

The boy’s eyes widen, and he holds his hands up in surrender once seeing the fury on Santi’s face, shaking his head frantically as he fumbles with his words. “I don’t-”

Santi’s fist tightens around the fabric of his shirt, and he knows what he’s doing is wrong, he shouldn’t be manhandling a young teenage boy but he’s positively seething and all he can see is red and why the fuck did this kid have her fucking watch?

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Where did you get the watch?”

“Pope!” Cameron yells from just behind him, though he didn’t turn the face her, his eyes staying focused on the boy. “Santiago, that’s enough.”

He can’t stop, can’t make himself even if he had wanted to. Not until he gets an answer.

All of the control he has left is completely gone, vanished the moment he realized she isn’t here.

She isn’t there she isn’t here she isn’t-

“Where!?” Santi yells into the boy’s face, completely ignoring Cameron’s command.

“Some guy gave it to me! He said all I had to do was sit here for a little while and that it was mine to keep and-”

“What did he look like?”

“He had brown hair and I...I don’t know man, just let me go!”

“Was there a girl with him?”

The boy looks confused now, eyebrows furrowing and lips turning into a deep frown. “What-”

Santi shakes the boy violently, only once, just enough to scare him. “A girl, was there a girl-”

“No! No, I didn’t see any girl!”

Santi feels his heart sink even deeper into his chest. He only stares for a few seconds longer, the full weight of what he’s just done to a young kid finally settling in just as his sorrow started to outweigh the anger once more. Pope looks down at his feet as he quietly mumbles something that sounded like an apology before letting go of the boy’s shirt, turning on his heel and briskly walking away, but not before Cameron stops him.

“Santiago, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he mumbles, shrugging her off, desperately wanting to put some distance between him and everyone else, continuing to walk away, shoving his wife’s watch into his pocket as he does so.

Cameron calls out to him again, but just like every other time over the course of the past few days, he doesn’t listen.

As he makes his way back to the car, quickly walking past the squad and the other officers, Santi feels the anger flood into his body once again. He feels it settle between his ribs and make a home where so much love had once lived, where so much hope had been only moments before.

The constant back and forth is giving him whiplash.

Cameron still continues to follow him, still continues to call out his name but she really doesn’t think that he’ll stop, and she’s just about to give up when Santi whirls around with his gun still in his hand, though it isn’t aimed towards her. It isn’t aimed at anything, really.

The look in Santi’s eyes is even colder than before, if that’s even at all possible. Cameron feels fear prick at her skin, her hair standing on edge and her blood turning to ice. All she can do is take in his every movement and wait for a moment where she’s forced to intervene. Santi lifts his arms up, and for just a split second she thinks that he’s going to place the muzzle of the gun to his temple but he only lets the barrel rest against his skin, eyes falling shut.

Cameron still doesn’t like the fact that his finger is hovering near the trigger.

She cautiously approaches, making sure not to walk too fast, not wanting to scare him and cause him to panic. She reaches her own hand up and gently puts it overtop of Santi’s before slowly pulling the gun from his grasp.

His eyes snap open, and there’s absolutely no denying it. Not with eyes so dark and harsh and so devoid of emotion. Eyes that are almost dead.

Santiago is out for revenge. Out for blood.

He’s over this game of cat and mouse, he’s over chasing Nathan.

He’s over being toyed with.

Cameron is done watching her friend lose his mind.

And so, not caring about the anger from the entire squad that her decision will bring, she makes the only call she can think of. One she should have made at the very beginning.

One that will hopefully keep her from losing anyone else.

“I’m turning her case over. We’re done.”

#santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fic

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donteattheappleshook · 4 years ago

Text

She Came From the Water Chapter 6/?

Summary

Between his dissatisfying job, a constant battle to keep seeing his daughter, and a history of mistakes, losses, and broken dreams, Killian Jones has no place for magic in his life. But when he pulls in his fishing nets one evening only to find a woman caught in them, his life becomes infinitely more complicated. Is she a siren, a selkie, like his daughter believes, or just another lost soul like himself? Suddenly, his life is a thing of fairytales; beautiful women hidden away in cottages, selkie husbands coming back to claim them, and, just maybe, a chance at happily ever after.

A Captain Swan AU based on the film Ondine (2009) for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Rated M for eventual smut.

I’m going to stop guessing at how long this fic is going to be.

Read it on Ao3 or Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5

Thank you so much @ultraluckycatnd for helping me through all my insecurities about this fic <3 you’re such a lovely beta and person <3

Big thank you as well to @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly and @xhookswenchx for letting me brainstorm out loud to you!

Finally thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo for this lovely aesthetic that made me start writing this fic again.

****

Part 6

"Someone’s here."

She looks outside again and Killian tenses. Nobody ever comes out here. Not unannounced. “Go into the bedroom," he tells her, absentmindedly stroking her arm. "I’ll see who it is.”

He does his best to stay calm. Surely it’s David or Mary Margaret come to say hello. They just forgot to call. But he can’t shake the feeling that her past has finally shown up, that someone has come to break apart this little world they’ve created for themselves over the last three days and he grieves it already.

Once she’s shut the door to the bedroom, Killian heads across the kitchen. He can hear it now, someone coming up the drive, steps light and quick like someone sneaking up, trying to avoid being seen. He opens the door, stepping outside in an attempt to keep whoever it is from coming in when suddenly the mystery visitor ducks out from the treeline. He lets out a sigh of relief.

“Alice,” he calls and her head snaps up. “What are you doing here? You know you’re not allowed to come without your mum’s permission.” The words burn in his throat as they do every time he has to say them, every time Alice disregards the custody rules set in place.

“Mum’s not home,” she shrugs. “Besides, I wanted to hear the rest of the story. Did she get her memories back?” Alice continues, ducking right under his arm and into the house behind him. He whirls around. His daughter might not be a threat or someone from Swan’s past coming to take her away, but she doesn’t want to be seen.

“Alice, wait,” he starts but she’s already headed into the kitchen and dragged a chair to the counter so she can boost herself up and reach the cabinet. She beams when she finds the Poptarts. She’s climbing down and ripping into the bag before he’s even reached her so he can make sure she doesn’t break her neck on the way. “Careful,” he warns but is, of course, ignored. She’s utterly unphased as he scoops her up under her arms to set her safely on the ground.

“So did she?” she asks again.

“Did she what? Who?” Killian’s head is spinning.

“The girl in the net,” Alice clarifies, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Really Dad, isn’t this supposed to be your story.”

“Sweetheart, now isn’t a good time.”

“Why not?” she asks and just then the kettle goes off. Alice looks at it and then at the two mugs next to the stove. Killian casts a slightly frantic glance at his bedroom door and her gaze follows him. “Do you have a friend over?” she cocks her head. “Is Ruby visiting? Why is she hiding? Are you doing grown up things again?”

Killian is going to have a heart attack. “No,” he answers, hoping that Swan didn’t hear anything. “What are grown up things?”

“I don’t know. You said you’d only tell me when I was older.”

“Alice I-” The door creaks open and Swan pokes her head out. Killian whirls around, shocked, and wondering how much of the conversation she overheard. She smiles shyly and Killian looks between her and Alice, who beams. How is he going to explain-

“Hello,” his daughter says, setting down her snack and heading over to greet the woman now stepping out of his room.

“Hello,” Swan answers. Killian stares at them both, unsure what to do or say, worried that this will make the woman staying with him feel betrayed, that it will traumatize his child in some way. But neither of them seem particularly angry or prone to holding this over his head in therapy, so he hesitates.

“Um, Alice, this is Swan. She’s staying with me for a bit.”

“Oh, we’ve met,” Alice says. Killian’s eyes snap to Swan who nods, looking guilty. When had they met? Why had neither told him? Selkies. Suddenly it makes sense. “Oh, don’t be upset,” his daughter continues dismissively. “I asked her to keep it a secret.”

“Do you think you could keep me a secret?” Swan asks then, casting a glance at him, as though asking for permission. He nods. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

“Why not?” Alice asks, frowning. And then her eyes widen in understanding. “Of course! Because of your seal coat!” Both the adults look at her in confusion. “You wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re here if you can’t remember where you left your seal coat. They could trap you.”

She casts an uncertain glance at Killian. He doesn’t want to lie to Alice, but he also doesn’t believe that he’d be able to talk her out of her certainty about Swan being a selkie if he tried. He clears his throat, absentmindedly stroking the back of his daughter’s hair. “Right. So let’s not tell anyone just yet, okay, love?”

Alice nods. “I did some research you know,” she starts. “Selkies aren’t dangerous. They’re not like mermaids. They save sailors from drowning rather than pulling them under. Which is strange since in this case it’s you who was saved from drowning. Although, I don’t know if you can actually drown if you’re a seal-woman…”

She continues on, rattling off facts and theories and rambling and Killian casts a hopeless, affectionate glance at Swan who is watching his daughter with patient interest. Alice has it backwards; he might have been the one who pulled her from the water, but it was he who’d been drowning. She’s reached through all the misery and the darkness he’d let himself surrender to and pulled him back to the surface, breathed air and life back into his lungs.

“And of course you can swim very fast and very long since you can breathe underwater,” Alice continues. “I wonder if you swim as fast as a seal? Although you were swimming without your seal coat. I don’t know what the rules are for a selkie in human form.” She frowns at Swan then. “Is it much much different? Swimming with human legs? It must be more difficult -”

“Do you swim, Alice?” she asks then and Alice shakes her head.

“No. I’ve never had lessons. And Dad can’t teach me.” Killian glances awkwardly at his feet and shrugs when Swan looks at him in surprise. But she doesn’t pry. Instead, she turns back to his daughter.

“Would you like to learn?” she asks. “... Unless you’re afraid of the water,” she suggests when Alice hesitates and there’s no challenge in her voice, no taunt, just understanding, like maybe she understands that fear.

“I wouldn’t be afraid of the water if I had a sea creature with me,” the girl beams and Swan returns it.

“I can teach you. If it’s okay with your dad.”

Killian had been watching the interaction between the two in stunned disbelief. The way she’s watching Swan, with awe and admiration and enchantment, he’s never seen Alice so taken with anyone in his life. He wonders if everyone who meets her instantly falls in love with her or if it’s just Joneses.

“Aye. It’s alright with me. But won’t you be cold?”

“It’s not that cold!” Alice insists and he can already see that there’s a tantrum brewing under the surface if he dares to deny her the chance to swim with a sea creature.

He tries to hide his smirk. “Alright, but the second your lips turn blue we’re coming in.”

He doesn’t think she’ll last very long. While the wind is mild today the water was still cold against his skin. No harm in a few minutes in the sea, he reasons, children here grow up with the cold in their blood and the water in their veins. He likes the idea of Alice learning to swim; he thinks he’ll sleep better knowing he doesn’t have to worry about her every time she wades out too far or is on the boat with him.

Swan reaches out and Alice takes her hand and the two head off out the door towards the shore. They’re still on the steps when Swan turns back to him. “Aren’t you coming?” she asks, as though it should have been obvious that he was invited. He’d assumed this was girl-bonding. He smiles, happy to be included.

It’s not until they reach the water and Alice kicks off her shoes and socks, dipping her toes in the chilly water that she turns to them both in panic. “I don’t have a swimsuit!” she realises.

“That’s alright. Neither do I,” Swan consoles her.

“What will we wear then?”

Swan considers this for a moment and then shrugs. “Underwear,” she tells her and then pulls her dress off over her head.

Killian’s mind suddenly goes blank, every thought and sound drowned out by the racing of his heart as his eyes cast over the long lines of her legs. His jaw drops, in shock, in awe, in disbelief. He watches the way her hair falls softly over the curve of her back, every smooth, pale inch of her on display and beautiful under his gaze, smile bright and shining as she laughs. She can’t be real.

It’s only when she turns to look at him, and her smile falters a little with curiosity, lip catching between her teeth, that he realises he’s staring. He’s suddenly far too aware of his limbs, feeling awkward and clumsy and like he’s taking up far too much space.

He darts his eyes away, staring fixedly out at the horizon as he tries to calm his racing heart. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as discreetly as he can to try to clear it. But he can’t get the image of her out of his mind.

He tries to focus on Alice as the two of them wade out into the water, his daughter letting out a shrieking giggle when the cold reaches her knees, her fingers white knuckled against the woman’s. Killian’s certain that if he just stays right here and doesn’t move, doesn’t let his gaze stray from the spot right in front of his feet, that he can get through this without making a fool of himself.

“Aren’t you coming in, Dad?” Alice calls and the blood drains from his face.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to learn too!” He glances over at them and Swan throws a look at him, the challenge in it raised with her brow.

He’d really, really rather not. He can barely handle the effect this woman has on him with all her clothes on. But he notices again the way Alice is clutching her hand, the slight nervousness to her posture despite her incessant bravery and he knows he has to. He kicks off his boots and his socks and leaves them on the shore before wading out after them. As soon as he reaches Alice, she clings tightly to his hand.

“You swim with all your clothes on?” Swan teases and he smirks.

“I don’t swim.” She rolls her eyes, clearly not letting him off so easily. “Little girls and selkies might not get cold, but fishermen do.” She laughs and, as the water reaches his hips and shoots ice up his spine, he’s glad he’ll have at least one less thing to worry about.

“Too bad.” She says it so softly he almost doesn’t hear it but his gaze snaps to hers, eyes wide. She’s focused on Alice now, asking if she’s feeling scared, and he wonders if he imagined it.

“Okay, lie back,” she instructs and lets go of the little girl’s hand so that she can brace one arm under her shoulders and one under her legs, Alice squishing his fingers between both of her hands. “You’re doing great,” Swan encourages even as his daughter flounders a little nervously, letting herself be held up. After a long moment, she finally lets go of his hand and tentatively trails her arms through the water, toes kicking gently and untested.

“I’m swimming!” she exclaims, nervous laughter bubbling out of her and Killian grins at her proudly.

“You are!” Swan agrees proudly. “Look at you go, you’re a sea creature!”

“You’re a natural, love,” he smiles at her. The two of them wade out a little further, Swan guiding the girl in circles, always holding her steady as she gets the hang of floating and he watches, amazed by how taken Alice is and how taken Swan seems to be as well. He’s never even dreamed of letting a woman into his life, not when that life includes Alice and he doesn’t even know if there’s room for someone else in his heart. But seeing them together, he can’t get over how perfectly she fits, or how much he likes it.

Suddenly, Swan stops, gaze darting down to her foot beneath the waves and he worries she’s maybe cut herself on a rock. She continues to stare, brow furrowing further as she shifts her feet under her. He can see the anxiety building in her and he comes towards them, calling her name softly in question.

“Go to your dad for a second,” she says quickly and Alice must sense her change in mood because she practically leaps across the small space into his arms. He hoists her out of the water and onto his hip just as Swan takes a deep, gasping breath and dives down beneath it. She’s under for a long moment, just long enough that Killian fears he may have to go after her, but panics knowing he can’t do so with Alice out this deep.

Finally, she breaks the surface, swallowing air in heavy swallows and the relief washes over him so forcefully that he’s made dizzy for a moment. She’s clutching something. It’s dark and leathery and covered in moss and seaweed.

“What’s that?” Alice asks and Swan stares hard at it.

“I don’t know. Just… something I found.”

Her eyes go wide suddenly. “Is it your seal-coat?” she asks excitedly.

“Maybe.” Her voice sounds far away.

“Are you going to bury it?”

Swan looks at them then for the first time since before she dove under the water, uncertain. But as her gaze turns to Alice, her expression softens, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Should I?”

“Yes. Then you could stay for seven years.”

Her smile softens even more. “Would you like that?” Killian can’t help the way his breath catches when her eyes flit to his beneath her lashes.

“Very much.” He hopes she knows, even if he can’t say it, how much he’d like it too.

She clutches the leather and weeds to her chest. “Well then, I guess we better bury it.”

Killian carries his daughter back to shore, Swan following closely behind them. Alice goes on at length without need for an audience about how and where they should hide the ‘seal coat’. Every time he glances back at the woman trailing in their wake, she’s fixated on the item in her hands, her expression unreadable.

It can’t be her seal coat. That would be impossible, ludicrous, the stuff of fairytales. He appreciates that she’s doing this for Alice, letting her play make believe, indulging her games and fantasies. But the way she’s staring at the waterlogged bundle, like it’s something overwhelming and terrifying and familiar... it makes him doubt everything he believes.

Maybe she is a selkie. Maybe she did swim here to escape a selkie husband and wind up in his net and in his life. All he knows is fairytale or not, figurative or not, her burying it means something. ‘Would you like that?’ she’d asked. She didn’t have to ask. If she wants to stay, seven years or a hundred, he won’t send her away.

When they reach shore, Alice wiggles her way out of his arms and, after a small battle over the fact that she had to put her jeans and sweater back on (which she only agreed to when she saw that Swan was dressing as well), she begins leading them off back towards the house.

“Where are we burying it?” Swan asks, still clutching it carefully.

“I know the perfect place!” Alice insists.

Killian watches the woman carefully. Every now and then her eyes dart out around her, like she’s expecting someone or something, like she’s being watched. He tries to settle the chill in his bones, the worry that something is coming, that it’s on it’s way now to take her away and ruin this. He fears it; he can’t lose her, not yet. He hasn’t had enough time. He’ll never have enough time.

Alice runs off ahead of them, disappearing around the back of the cottage. He doesn’t worry. She’s spent years getting lost and found on the grounds and the cliffs and the woods around his home. She knows every inch. When he looks to Swan again she’s frowning, gnawing at her lip as her fingers scratch at the moss and the mud that cover her package.

He reaches out, fingers brushing gently along her spine, hesitant in his desire to comfort her. She glances up at him, snapped out of whatever train of thought she’d gotten lost in for a little while. He knows the feeling well.

“Are you alright?” he asks, fingertips still barely touching the dampness of her dress, droplets falling from her hair and onto his knuckles. She watches him for a moment. They’ve stopped walking. He can’t make out her expression. She looks torn, pained and confused and so lost and he wants to help, but he doesn’t know how.

Her eyes are uncertain as she looks down at the would-be seal coat and then back at him. “I -”

“Come on!” Alice shouts and her mouth snaps shut. Killian turns to wave at his daughter who rolls her eyes in exasperation, waiting with arms crossed. When he looks back at the woman beside him the helpless expression is gone, hidden behind some wall he doesn’t know if he can climb.

“Swan?”

She smiles, bright and shining and a lie. “I’m fine. Let’s go,” she insists, heading off after Alice and leaving him no choice but to follow.

They find her in the greenhouse, an old, broken down thing that had been here when they bought the cottage and that his mother had always meant to turn into something beautiful. She’d run out of time though, and while Killian once swore to himself that he’d finish it for her, the decaying wood of the foundation speaks of his empty promises and forgotten good intentions.

Swan looks around in wonder, eyes wide and mouth agape as she takes in the overgrown structure. Nature has overtaken it, moss and weeds and late season flowers climbing along the beams and covering the cracked stone floor. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, gazing up at the canopy of leaves that wind around the remains of the ceiling, some trickling down so low that she reaches out to brush them with her fingertips.

He’s taken in by the sight of her, by the way she finds beauty in the things he’s grown to loath and makes them magical. It’s as though the light she carries flows from her hands and into the room itself, turning the dark and shaded ruins into something wonderful. Strange and wonderful, like everything about her. He wonders if this is how Alice sees the world, remembers what it was like to see adventure and magic where others saw nothing. Perhaps he could see it this way again some day, or maybe it’s enough to surround himself with those who do.

“Over here,” Alice calls and they both follow her to the far end of the structure. She’s trying to get a piece of cracked stone loose, the floor crumbling beneath them.

“Here, let me,” he insists and kneels down to pry it free before she hurts herself. The rock lifts fairly easily, revealing soft, damp earth beneath it and Alice grins.

“Right here,” she says, kneeling down beside him and beginning to dig.

Swan finally sets down her burden and joins them on the ground, fingers sinking deep into the soil as she helps Alice dig. She looks at him, brow raised meaningfully and nodding at the ever growing hole. He shakes his head, laughing but complies, scooping mud and dirt and worms until it’s deep enough and she stands, picking up the bundle and setting it carefully inside. He’s never seen Alice so excited, and that’s saying something.

“Will we remember where it is?” Swan asks as they pile dirt over it. “In seven years?”

“Should we mark it?” Killian asks, trying to remember if he grabbed his pocket knife or left it on the boat. “We could put something in the wood.”

“No, that’s too obvious,” Alice shakes her head. “Someone could find it!”

Swan bites back a smile and turns to him. “Yeah, come on, Killian,” she sighs with a smirk. “Way too obvious.” He raises a brow at her, a disbelieving grin pulling at his lips. Is she teasing him?

“I know,” his daughter says, standing. She walks out where the back door would have been, feet carefully placed one in front of the other until she reaches a giant oak tree that’s been on the grounds longer than Killian’s been alive. She turns to them. “Seventeen steps to the fairy tree.”

“Brilliant,” he tells her and she looks very proud of herself. He doesn’t bother to question the fact that her feet will grow; he doubts she’ll remember this in seven years time. By then she’ll be too grown up, so for now he lets her believe in magic, hopes she continues to for as long as possible.

“Thank you, Alice,” Swan says, taking her hand when the girl returns to them.

“Now your selkie husband can’t make you go back!”

“I have a husband?” she asks.

“Of course. All selkies do. But now he can’t make you go back to the water for seven years. Not so long as your coat is hidden.” The excitement in his daughter’s eyes is unparalleled and he hates to break this up, but a glance at his watch tells him they need to get going. Alice needs to be home when her mother returns, and he still needs to go to the fishery.

“Time to get you home, love.”

“Dad, no,” she starts to whine and while it tugs at his heart that she wants to stay, he knows she can’t.

“Come on, your mum will start to worry.” She won’t. He knows that. She probably won’t even notice Alice is late or gone - who knows where Eloise is anyway - but if she finds out that Alice was here, she’ll make them both suffer for it and he won’t have her keeping his daughter from him any more than she already does.

“Do I still get to come this weekend?” she asks, stepping back as though she’ll refuse to leave unless he promises.

“Aye,” he smiles. “For the whole weekend.” Only then does she begrudgingly agree to come with him. The three of them head back out to the cottage, Swan sitting on the front steps and saying goodbye to Alice, saying she hopes she’ll see her soon.

“Will you still be here Saturday?”

Swan looks at him quickly before answering. He only gives her a hopeful smile. “Yes,” she promises and he has to duck his head to hide his pleased grin.

“Okay,” Alice agrees and then heads towards his extended hand. She’s only about halfway there when she stops. She turns suddenly, rushing towards Swan and wrapping her arms around her neck in a fierce hug.

The woman looks stunned for a second, thrown back by the force of the small girl crashing into her, but then she smiles, eyes almost watery as she squeezes her back. Alice whispers something in her ear that he can’t hear and he won’t ask about. Let them have their secrets. One more kind woman in his daughter’s life is not a gift he takes lightly.

Alice hangs on to his hand for longer than normal on their walk home, regaling him with tales of selkies and what exactly it means to bury her seal coat. He raises an eyebrow at some of the things she tells him she’s read in the books she found at the library, really hoping she doesn’t actually understand some of the stories about women and male selkie lovers.

“Why seven years?” he asks and she rolls her eyes.

“Because those are the rules. If she buries her seal coat she can stay for seven years. But burying it just means she has to stay. She can stay if she wants to. Unless her husband decides he wants to take her back. That’s why we had to make sure it was hidden. If he finds it, he’ll take her away.” There’s a hint of heartbreak in her eyes.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we hid it so well,” he says, squeezing her hand and her smile is back.

“You know, Dad,” she says when they’ve been walking a little while. He looks down at her. “Sometimes selkies do stay on land forever. They say that selkies can often find happiness with a…” she frowns, certainly trying to remember whatever book she’s quoting. “A landsman! That’s it. Selkies can often find unexpected happiness with a landsman.”

“Is that so?” he asks, deliberately not acknowledging her meaningful look.

“Do you think Swan will stay?” she presses.

“I don’t know, love. That’s her choice.”

“I think she will. I think she likes it here. Maybe you can marry her and then she can stay forever.”

Killian winces, not ready to get into why he can’t go marrying a woman with no memory who he’s only met three days ago. Especially when even now the thought makes him smile. “Alice…” he starts.

“Why not?” she asks, more to herself. “It makes sense. She’s already living with you, and she likes you.”

“You think she likes me?” he asks before he can stop himself and regretting it the moment he says it. Alice gives him a sly grin. Killian clears his throat, making a point to sound less excited this time. “What makes you think she wants to stay?”

“She could have taken her seal coat and left.”

He knows it’s not a seal coat. He knows she’s not obligated to stay for seven years because she hid it in his greenhouse. But he can’t help but hope when he thinks of the way she looked at him when she said they should bury it. It felt like a promise. Maybe not a promise, but the suggestion of one at least.

“Besides,” Alice says, breaking him from his thoughts. “I’m not oblivious, you know. I’m seven. I know things.”

***

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Or removed, I won’t take offence!

@kmomof4 @snowbellewells @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @gingerchangeling @bubblegum1425 @jackieorioncat @darkcolinodonorgasm @xhookswenchx @lfh1226-linda @searchingwardrobes @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xsajx @thejollyroger-writer @elizabeethan @carpedzem @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @demisexualemmaswan @itsfabianadocarmo @courtorderedcake @the-darkdragonfly @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd @sailtoafarawayland @zaharadessert @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713

#she came from the water #captain swan #cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfiction #cs au #captain swan au #cs ff #cs fanfic #ondine 2009 #captain swan movie marathon

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ironmariposa · 4 years ago

Text

(I’ll be your) Sanctuary

Pepper watches as Tony comes to terms with Peter being gone.

Found on Ao3

Tony swipes the glass of water off his tray and it shatters against the wall.

“Jesus.” Happy says shaking his head as he leaves the room to presumably get something to clean up the mess.

Pepper for her part hasn’t moved an inch, “Feel better?” she asks with a touch of sarcasm.

“Not at all. Fuck!” He slams his hands down on the tray and then brushed it aside with a crash as well, “What were they thinking? What the fuck were they thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Pepper whispers as she sits on the edge of his bed, reaching out a hand to brush over his leg. A lazy show of comfort they both know, but still effective as the anger inside of him calms.

“They weren’t. They weren’t thinking at all and now…” Tony’s breath hitches as tears fill his eyes and slide down his cheeks. Pepper freezes, she can count on one hand the number of times she has seen Tony cry. Eleven years with this man and only one hand.

“Now my only chance to get him back is gone.” He drops his face in his hands as the door cracks open and Happy sticks his head in, Pepper shakes her head at him and he just as quietly leaves, “My kid is gone and I don’t know how to… I don’t… Oh God, Oh God.”

Pepper slides up the bed and grabs the back of Tony’s neck, pulling him to her, she says the only word that has ever helped him during past panic attacks. “Breath.”

He attempts a deep breath but it catches in his throat and she rubs his neck then slides her hand down his back, “Okay try again. With me. In.” And she sucks in a loud breath then “Out.” She slowly lets it out. He manages a few deep breaths before settling back against the bed.

Sliding out of her shoes, Pepper climbs up beside him, tucking his head against her chest, “Just breathe with me.”

His first breath hitches but eventually his breathing settles enough that he falls asleep.

“I’m pregnant.”

Tony’s eyes widen and he drops the toothbrush, “You’re?”

Pepper gives him a half smile, “Pregnant. I didn’t know it at the time you asked, before..” she waves her hand, “but you obviously did.”

He silently stares over her shoulder and she tries to stop herself from saying it but the words just fly out, “I’m so sorry.”

That jerks him back to her and he steps to her, pulling her into his arms, “Whatever for?”

She has her face tucked into that spot between his neck and shoulder, it’s one of her favorites. She breathes in deeply and regardless of him going to space and nearly dying on her, he still smells the same. “I just know this isn’t the best time to announce a pregnancy. We’re all grieving. You’re grieving the loss of a child.”

Tony inhales sharply, “He wasn’t..”

Pepper pulls back and reaches up to hold his face in her hands, her eyes searching his, “He was Tony. He very much was in all ways but one. Don’t deny yourself that. He was your kid and you’re allowed to grieve as any father would. I know,” Pepper chokes on her words as tears fill both of their eyes, “Peter would agree and so would May.”

His hand tangles in her hair as he pulls her back to him and hides his face in her hair, “How is she? Have you talked to her.”

“No. But Happy is with her now. He’ll let us know.”

They’re quiet for so long as he holds her against him. Her arms are curled around his back and she grips his shirt. She has moments where she remembers just how close she was to losing him. And this is the only thing that anchors her. His touch. His scent.

Pepper’s not a genius. Not in the ways that Tony, Rhodey or even Peter is, was, but she knows what Tony is considering.

She catches him standing in the room's doorway for the third time and approaches him quietly. Brushing her fingers over his back.

She lets him know she’s okay with it one night as they lay in the dark, his arms wrapped around her from behind, his fingers splayed over her stomach, “We can make it his room.” His fingers freeze but he doesn’t respond, and she covers his hand with hers, “you know just in case he…”

He pulls away from her, rolling into his back and covering his eyes with his arm. Slowly, she rolls over to face him.

“He’s not.” his voice is rough.

“I don’t one hundred percent believe that.” She whispers, “between you and Cap and the others, you’ll figure something out.”

“Doubtful.”

Pepper sighs. Tony has so many moods and she knows them all, including this one. It’s his stubborn, I’ve given up on the world mood. It usually doesn't last long but also things have never been this bad.

“I love you.” She kisses his cheek and lays her head on his chest. She’s nearly asleep when she feels his arm move from his eyes to wrap around her side.

“Love you too.” He mumbles into her hair.

Pepper remembers the first time she met Peter. It was the night before their engagement party and she had come home to Tony and a kid asleep on the couch with a movie playing on the screen. The two of them weren’t touching or close by any means but they were both turned to one another. As if in sleep it had come naturally. Pepper knew Peter had been spending more time at the compound with Tony in the lab. But this was the first she knew of them spending time outside of the lab. She also knew Tony was growing more and more fond of the kid. When he was interested in something he never stopped talking about it and lately it had been “The kid this” and “The kid that.”

The next morning as she watched Peter and Tony verbally banter as they made breakfast, she had a vision of having a kid with Tony for the first time ever.

Rhodey helps with the nursery. They find out they’re having a girl. Pepper is silently relieved. She’s not sure how Tony would handle having a boy so soon after Peter. They both agree on naming her Morgan.

They decide to have a quiet wedding by the lake. Just the two of them with Rhodey as their ordained minister. Happy and May as their witnesses.

“He should be here for this.” She hears Tony say as May hugs him. She just shushes him as her hand slides up his back. Pepper turns away to smile at what Rhodey and Happy are talking about.

Natasha and Bruce show up a month before Morgan is due. Pepper stops them with a stare from the front porch.

“How is he?” Nat asks her and Pepper doesn’t answer.

Bruce wrings his hands, “We’re just worried about him Pep. Wanted to make sure you both were okay since we haven’t heard from you.”

She is fond of both Avengers. But she loves her husband more. So she sends them away without them seeing Tony or him seeing them. She reassures them they are all fine.

Morgan is born into the world on a dark, warm night. Pepper had been having contractions most of the day but she keeps it to herself until they start to settle into their evening routine. Most nights they sit together on their front porch swing, talking, reading, eating desert. It's then that she finally turns to Tony and says the words.

“It’s time.”

The words don’t seem to break through his thoughts right away. He just hums and settles onto the swing. She waits for a moment. Two, when it happens. He’s up and out of the seat in a flash, his eyes wide as he repeats her words.

They meet Helen at the local hospital and all goes smoothly. They’re home with their daughter a day later.

Happy and Rhodey visit first and don’t ever really leave for very long. They have their own rooms downstairs, Pepper and Tony like having them there. May comes and she holds Morgan for so long, Pepper gets her first full night of rest. She wakes up both her back and breasts aching.

When Morgan is three months, Nebula, the blue alien Tony says saved his life while in space, visits but she refuses to hold Morgan. Just stares down at her until Morgan flashes Nebula her first real smile. When they all stop celebrating Nebula runs a single blue finger over Morgan’s dark head of hair. “She favors your son.”

Pepper looks to Tony to see a gentle, easy smile on his face. And May sniffles, “I know it’s not possible, but she does.”

At six months Tony starts telling Morgan Spiderman bedtime stories. He cries every night after putting her down but soon he’s able to get through a night without tears. Pepper isn’t sure if it’s an accomplishment or not.

At nine months she starts walking. Surprising all of them but Tony or May. “I was the same.” He says and May smiles softly, “Same with Peter.”

Pepper just holds her arms out to their daughter and laughs as Happy follows closely behind her.

At a year old, Morgan has a long list of words including her favorites, “Mama, Dada, Unc and May.” All her very favorite people.

They have a small party for her out by the lake. Tony shows up with an Alpaca.

“How the hell is that a birthday present?” Happy protests and Pepper agrees but she just shakes her head. Because it’s Tony.

He laughs and laughs at her reaction. His laugh she hadn’t heard in so, so long.

And finally Pepper thinks, they’re okay.

#iron family #ironfamily fanfic #peter parker #pepper potts #Peter Parker & pepper Potts #tony stark #pepperony #pepperony fanfic

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asktheghosthost · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming

Jai belongs to @catinabag, and is used with their permission. This was a little drabble gift that kept growing until I finally decided to just finish and post it. It’s a little lengthy, hence the Read More. Enjoy!

Fog was rolling in thick that night, but it wasn't doing much to dissuade the man lumbering along the edge of the road. Occasionally, he'd glance up at a damp street sign, grunt in acknowledgement of it, and keep going. He really wasn't relying on them, anyway. It was an... instinct, a feeling that pulled him to where he needed to be. And the closer he was getting, the stronger the pull became.

"Come to the Square," a voice whispered, simultaneously at his ear and in his brain. "Come to the Square, and you'll be home..."

Home... He hadn't seen home-- hadn't had a home-- in... God, how many decades now? Time had lost all meaning to him.

He tugged his pinstripe jacket closer around him. Fuck it was cold. Wasn't Louisiana supposed to be all muggy and swampy and hot? How many more miles of this did he have to deal with? Was it even worth it? What the hell was he even doing, really--

The honk of a car horn made him turn away from his thoughts. He glared at the car, a dull yellow taxi, as it slowed to a crawl next him. The window rolled down, and a scruffy faced driver leaned over the passenger seat and called out, "Y'all need a ride?"

Standing there, arms stiffly around him, the man hesitated to say anything. "Uh..."

The driver grinned. "Tell you what, brah, if you goin' the same way I am, and it's under five miles, no charge. Lagniappe. Deal?"

The man nodded, and quickly got into the car. "Thanks," he grunted. "'Preciate it."

"No problem, no problem." Pulling away from the road's edge, the driver continued forward. "Y'all ain't from around these parts, are you? What's your name, ami?"

"No," he said, gruffly, shaking his head. "It's Jai. Ghast." He hadn't said his real last name in years. It was almost like saying a foreign word, like his tongue didn't know how to curl around it properly.

The driver let out a short, relieved laugh. "For a moment there, I thought you was gonna say 'Gracey.' Ah, there's a family no one wants any part of. 'Cause of them, most drivers won't make rounds 'round here."

Jai furrowed his brow in confusion. "They a crime syndicate, or something?"

"Non, ami. They're all dead." His grin glinted in the rearview mirror. "Now where you heading to, Monsieur Ghast?"

Go to the Square...

"Um, the Square?" Jai cringed inwardly.

Now it was the driver's turn to look confused. "New Orleans Square?"

Jai pursed his lips and his gray eyes darted from side to side. He wagered, "Yes?"

The driver's grin widened. "You in luck, ami! That's where I be headed to." The cab took off with such force, Jai was pressed back into the seat. "Ol' Gabe, he get you there tout suite!"

Jai's knuckles faded to a pale beige as he gripped the door handle. The vehicle-- and his stomach-- lurched. And then there was a strange sensation under him, or rather, a lack of sensation. It was subtle at first, hard to pin point, and then he realized what it was: there wasn't any road under them. There should have been the familiar pings of grit and gravel under the tires. A steady whoosh from below his feet. There was an eerie whistling, however, and he forced his head to turn to look out the window.

They weren't connected to the road. They weren't connected to anything. Tiny points of lights--streetlights-- barely shown through the mist dozens of feet beneath them.

"The hell! What're you doing, you crazy Cajun?!"

"Why, I'm gettin' you to your destination, of course!" Gabe cackled. Moonlight flashed through him, betraying he was transparent.

Jai let out a heavy sigh and slumped back against the seat. How had he not figured it out? "This some kind of show you put on for tourists?"

"Gotta get my kicks somehow, ami." He gave a good-natured shrug. "Besides, one of us had to let on we was dead."

Jai was quiet for a few seconds. "Fair."

The next few minutes were thankfully uneventful, and the cab touched down on centuries old cobblestone.

Jai didn't open the door right away, instead rolling down the fogged window.

Up ahead loomed a massive, white house, a plantation-style mansion. It shone like a bleached tooth, a beacon in the misty night. The imposing black, wrought iron gate ahead of it was almost easy to miss in comparison. Even easier to miss were the strange, misshapen large stones scattered across the front yard of the property.

"This is the Square?"

"New Orleans Square is the town, but this is the place you need to be. Gracey Manor." Gabe's grin shifted into a gentler smile. "Safe travels, ami. And when you see old Beauregard, you tell him Gabe Guidry says hi."

"Beauregard?"

But Gabe was gone. The cab was gone. Jai was suddenly standing outside that menacing gate. With a long, high creak, it slowly opened, gesturing he should enter.

Jai licked his lips and ran a hand back through his shaggy black hair. Graceys. The dead people.

He straightened his jacket and stepped forward, a dirt path becoming more and more visible under his black leather shoes.

Moving forward, he got a better look at the property. A cement bird bath was to his left. A small pool was in it, but was too dark to see through. Jai had a feeling he'd regret sticking his hand in.

Near the bird bath was a statue of a smug, fluffy Persian cat. This in turn was flanked by multiple tiny bird statues. Nearby were other stone animals--a duck, a snake, a few different dogs, a monkey...

Wait...

The spacing between the animals led him to look at tiny placards under each, which all listed names and dates. This was a pet cemetery!

Cute, he thought. But then it dawned on him what those larger stones were. Who has a house flanked by a graveyard?

Beauregard…

With a new sense of urgency, he bounded up the front steps and barely stopped before gripping the enormous bronze door knocker and slamming it down three times. "Open up." His throat was suddenly tight. Angry tears welled in his eyes. "Open up, you creepy bastard!"

As if responding to his impatience, the door was pulled open with such force, Jai was flung inside. Skidding, he caught himself before he could fall.

A low voice greeted him in the darkness of the foyer. “Welcome, wayward soul.” An unseen hand helped him straighten up.

That voice… Jai knew it. It’d just been so long since he’d heard it. That tightness returned to his throat.

“Beauregard?”

A man appeared in front of him, one who was simultaneously familiar and a stranger. Thin, lanky, like him, with long, shaggy hair, only shock white instead of black. Taller than Jai by a few inches, but he always had been. They stared at one another, jaws agape, eyes wide.

Jai took a couple of unsure steps forward, but the other ran to him, and then flung his arms around him and hugged him so tightly Jai thought he’d never break free.

“My baby brother!” He pulled away, only to hold Jai’s shoulders and look him over. “It’s been so long.” His voice cracked. “You… You look… so grown up.” A tiny sob-chuckle escaped him, but he was grinning.

Jai took a moment to take in some of the new details of his sibling—the pale, blind right eye, and the scarring over it that ran from brow to cheek; the bruising left behind on his thin throat, and its answer, a thick noose that hung loosely under it like some kind of macabre tie. His green coat was threadbare at the shoulders and elbows, and his purple waistcoat was slightly too long. The pinstripe slacks were all right, but his spats were misaligned.

“You look like shit.”

Beauregard laughed and wiped his eyes. “That’s fair.”

“Sorry,” Jai said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess those last few years weren’t so kind to you, huh?”

Beauregard shrugged a shoulder, not denying it, but not providing details, either. “It’s been a long time since then.”

“And you’ve just been here, in this big ol’ house, for…?”

Another shrug. “I’m honestly not sure how long now. I don’t keep track of time anymore. I know I died January twenty-ninth of 1901, at exactly 10:35 p.m. Beyond that…” He pulled out a pocket watch and flashed the face of it at Jai. It had been stopped since his time of death. “Time has lost all meaning for me.”

“So, you’ve been here…”

“Yes.”

“All this time?”

“Yes.”

“You died here?”

“Yes…” Beau was trying not to show the mild annoyance growing at the questions. “What are you getting at?”

Jai suddenly pointed at him accusingly. “You’ve been here, living here, for ages, and you ain’t never tried to contact me even once? Even once!”

Taken aback, Beau sputtered, “Well, you—Who do you think sent out the message for you, hmm? Who do you think led you here?”

“But that was just now! You’ve had literal decades! Decades! Decades that I’ve spent away from the very last little bit of family I had left!” There were tears in his eyes. “If Eulie were here…”

“Eulie is here. This was her house.” Beau looked over his shoulder at the grand staircase leading to the bedrooms above. “I’m surprised she hasn’t come down to investigate the ruckus yet. Her or Dorian…”

Jai took a tiny pause for confusion. “Is that her husband?”

“No, her son.”

“I have a nephew?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “And you all were livin’ in a mansion! And not one of you saw fit to find me?!” Turning on his heel, he headed back to the door.

“Now stop!” Beau bellowed. A chair cut Jai off, knocking him down into it, and it scooted back to Beau. “You disappeared!” Pointing at Jai, Beau floated above the floor. “You were the one who forsake the family! You went off to who-knows-where, while Eulalie and I were dealing with our parents’ funeral expenses, and bank possessing the house, and—” He let out a frustrated groan. Slipping back down to the floor, he slowly exhaled, and started again, in a much calmer tone. “It was like you had fallen off the face of the planet. And… And I knew you were grieving in your own way. By the time we wound up here… H-How was I supposed to find you, Jai?” Beau put a hand on his shoulder, gazing into his eyes, imploring. “When you clearly didn’t want to be found?”

Turning his head aside, Jai looked away. It was true. He hadn’t wanted to be found, not at first. But when he’d found himself deep in trouble, that’s when he’d started thinking about his family and what he’d left behind. Then… Then it was too late. Far too late. You couldn’t scream for your big brother with a mouth full of dirty handkerchief, and lungs full of river water.

Jai blinked, sending tears cascading down his cheeks. “I—I missed you, Beau. I needed you. And—And I couldn’t find you. And I couldn’t face you. Not after what I’d done. I’ve… I’ve done horrible things, Beau. I…”

“Shh,” Beau shushed him. “Do you think I’m proud of this?” He gestured to the noose. “We’ve all done regrettable things, Jai.” Gripping the arms of the chair, he leaned down. “The important thing is we’re back together, eh?” He grinned his cock-eyed grin that always seemed just a little too wide. “The Ghast boys wreaking havoc from beyond the grave!”

Jai allowed himself a small smile. “You mean it? Back together like old times?”

Beau yanked him up, and put an arm around him as he led him further into the mansion. “Not exactly. Far fewer things to worry about now. I’ll give you the tour, and you can tell me everything you’ve been up to.”

“Eh…” Jai rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a tall order.”

“Hm, we have all eternity little brother.” Beau squeezed him to his side.

#drabble #jai #fic #fanfic #short story #story #beau

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