#the muses have been a little cranky this month

[pedrospatch]

to do the right thing l part iii

Post Outbreak!Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: You go into labor earlier than expected in the QZ; Joel and Tess help you deliver the baby; after giving birth, you and Joel follow through with a heartbreaking decision.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA. ((TW)) PREGNANCY, mentions and references to adoption. mentions of dead bodies, child death (not what you think), descriptions of childbirth. angst. soft, protective Joel.

word count: 7.9k

a/n: Please do not hate me. That is all. (:

June, 2020

 Disposing of the infected was a shity job.

But then again, most of the civilian jobs in the Boston QZ were pretty fucking shitty.

Still. This particular one had to be the absolute shittiest of the shitty.

Having to haul dozens upon dozens of dead bodies, the accidental inhale of soot and smoke even through your makeshift mask, not to mention, the nauseating smell of burning human flesh—you’d hated getting assigned to this work detail before, but now that you were only just a few weeks shy of being nine months pregnant, it felt like actual fucking hell on earth. And, to make matters even worse, Joel had been asked by one of the officials to head over to a different site and work a different job at the very last minute. He wasn’t by your side to lend you a hand like he usually did. Before being forced by authorities to leave the site, Joel instructed you to find a familiar face and do whatever you could do to get someone to help you when you needed it.

Luckily, on the other side of the open fire pit, you’d spotted Kevin. A younger man in his early twenties, you knew Kevin was something of an avid pill popper and one of Joel’s secret regulars. In exchange for a couple of oxycodone pills that you produced from the pockets of Joel’s jacket you were wearing, he had agreed to help you haul the heavier bodies and toss them in the fire pit.

“You know, you used to be real strong,” Kevin mused out loud as he took the shoulders of a heftier male body. Through a labored grunt, he continued, “You never needed anybody's help.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you took the lower half of the body into your arms, taking subtle care not to strain yourself to the point of hurting yourself—or the baby. “Shut up and move, Kevin.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Seriously, Kevin,” You managed to say to him through gritted teeth as you helped him carry the body. “I’ll throw in another fucking pill if you just shut the fuck up, how about that?”

“Never used to be so cranky, either. Jesus, Miller’s really rubbing off on you, isn’t he?”

Ignoring him, you inhaled a deep breath, exhaling it as you two lifted the body and flung it into the pit. As you turned back towards the canopied pickup truck for the next one, your eyes fell on the tiniest little body that you had ever seen and you simply froze, a chill running up the length of your spine.

While it wasn’t the first time that you’d ever had to dump the body of an infected child, this one had to be the smallest—the youngest. Though his head had been covered with a brown, burlap sack just like the rest of the bodies, anyone with two fucking eyes and half of one brain cell could guess that he was, at most, around the age of a toddler.

“Jesus,” You whispered, noticing the dirty, bloodied white bandage around his teeny little arm. That’s where he’d been infected.

Kevin’s voice came from behind you. “Oh come on, this can’t be your first time seeing a kid, right?”

Your mouth had gone as dry as sandpaper. “I—I’ve never seen one this young,” You told him, feeling your heart sink into your stomach. “He couldn’t have been older than three or something.” Unable to fathom what had to come next, you turned to Kevin and shook your head. “I’ll need you to do this one. I just can’t.”

“Sure thing, sweet cheeks.” He raised an eyebrow and looked around before lowering his voice. “Just as long as you go back home tonight and let that guarddog boyfriend of yours know how much I helped you out, you know, since he wasn’t around to do it himself.” He paused, his beady, dark little eyes twinkling in sheer delight. “Maybe a two for the price of one discount during our next business transaction would be an appropriate way for him to show me some gratitude?”

If Joel could see the smirk on Kevin’s face, he’d knock it right off with his fist.

“Greedy motherfucker, aren’t you?” You muttered under your breath, before finally nodding your head in agreement. “Fine. I’ll make sure Joel hooks it up on your next deal.” Fat chance of that happening.

Satisfied, Kevin grinned and pushed past you, picking up the child’s body.

Unable to bring yourself to watch him toss it into the roaring flames, you hurriedly walked around to the side of the pickup truck, yanking down the red bandana you used as a mask down from over your nose and mouth. Placing a hand on the side of the truck, you hunched over and closed your eyes for a brief second. “Jesus Christ,” You groaned in a whisper to yourself. “I think I’m going to be fucking sick.”

You half expected to toss your afternoon crackers right there onto the pavement in front of you. However, instead, just a split second later, you felt a sudden cramp in the middle of your pelvis—subtle, but still enough to make you wince. It was immediately followed by a feeling of intense pressure between your legs. Before your mind could even wrap itself around what was happening, there was a gush between your thighs, and warm liquid started trickling down the sides of your legs.

Shit.

Terrified, you glanced down.

Though they were dirty, you could distinctly see the wet patches on your faded, dark blue jeans. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s too fucking early—”

“Hey! What the hell are you doing over here? Who the fuck said you could stop and take a break?” One of the FEDRA officials who had been assigned to stand guard at the work site came up behind you, his weapon gripped tightly in his hands. When you whirled around to face him, his eyes fell and instantly noticed your soaked jeans. A look of disgust crossed his face. “Jesus. Did you just fucking piss yourself?”

“No—” You stopped yourself, realizing this could be your ticket out of there. “Yeah,” You replied, nodding your head, causing him to let out a repulsed noise. “Sorry. I just saw a little kid, must have made me—”

He held up one of his hands, stopping you. “Save it. I don’t give two shits,” he told you with a shake of his head. “Get your ass home right now and change your clothes, then come back. Make it quick. There’s still a lot of work to be done around here. Understood?”

You nodded again. The muscles in your pelvic area tightened and the feeling drew the tiniest of sharp breaths from you—your contractions were starting. “Yeah,” You managed to say to the official, keeping a straight face. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

He dismissively waved you away with his weapon and then stalked off back over to his post.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, you turned on your heel and started to make your way back to the apartment as quickly as possible.

Although the building was about a mile and a half up the road, it felt like you were trekking your way across the fucking country. You felt two more contractions along the way, and while their intensity was still pretty low in such an early stage of your labor, they still hurt like hell. They started around your lower back and gradually moved around to the front of your pelvis. You tried to push past the discomfort in order to get home as quick as possible, but every now and again, you found yourself having to stop in the middle of the sidewalk for just a brief second or two, only long enough to recollect and remind yourself that you needed to get a goddamn grip before someone noticed your strange behavior. Once the building finally came into your view, all you could do was silently pray that by some fucking miracle, Joel would be up there in that apartment, home from work detail.

Your prayer went unanswered.

When you opened the door to your quarters and walked inside, you’d found Tess home by herself. She was sitting at the table, sipping on a glass of whiskey and mindlessly flipping through a decades old newspaper.

“Tess,” You said her name, causing her to look up. “Where’s Joel?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“It’s fucking happening.”

Tess stared at you, her eyes widening slightly. “Wait, what?”

“The baby’s coming,” You informed her, pointing down to your damp jeans. Though you were panicking on the inside, you tried your best to remain as calm as humanly possible. “Where the fuck is Joel?”

Tess tossed aside her newspaper and stood up from the table. “I told you, I don’t know. I know he was reassigned but I’m not sure where—he sure as hell wasn’t with me.” She walked over to you, taking you by the elbow. She pulled you over towards the couch and helped you sit down. “I thought you said it would be at least a few more weeks before the baby came.”

You couldn’t help but shoot her an annoyed look. “Well, he’s coming now, Tess. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“How long ago did it start?”

“About half an hour ago, maybe. I was at the pits and my water broke after I saw—” You trailed off, deciding the details of what you had seen back at the work site weren’t necessary to disclose to her. “I’ve had a couple of contractions, but they’re pretty far apart.”

“It could be several hours before the baby comes, but there’s still no fucking way that we’ll be able to get you over to Bill and Frank’s in time.” Tess chewed anxiously on her bottom lip as she wracked her brain for any other possible options—it took her mere seconds to realize that there weren’t any other options. “You’re going to have to give birth here.”

“Fantastic,” You deadpanned, leaning back into the couch.

“Okay, here’s the deal. You stay put and I’m going to go out and find Joel. I know there’s a couple of places where he might have been assigned and if I’m right, I can be back with him quickly.” Tess pulled off her watch from her wrist. It was old and cracked, but otherwise, it still worked fine. “I need you to time your contractions. Try and be as accurate as possible.” She then reached into the back pocket of her jeans, producing a red handkerchief.  She handed it to you along with the watch. “Listen. I know it’s going to hurt like hell, but you need to be as quiet as possible. Last thing we need is for someone to hear you and come running in here, especially while I’m gone. If you need to, you bite down on this to keep quiet, alright?”

You swallowed harshly, taking both of the items with nearly trembling fingers. “Alright.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to find Joel and we’ll be back,” she promised you. “You stay right here, okay?”

“Because I’m such a fucking flight risk right now?”

“Even during labor, you’re still a fucking smartass, huh?” Tess rolled her eyes and reached for her jacket. 

You watched her as she readied herself to take off. “Tess?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry. Please.”

“Fuck,” You hissed, both of your hands planted on your lower back as you paced back and forth in the kitchen, trying your best to breathe your way through another contraction.

 It had been over an hour and a half and Tess still hadn’t returned with Joel.

Your labor was progressing a lot quicker than you’d anticipated and while it could still be at least a couple more hours before the baby was born, you were still terrified at the mere thought of having to deliver him alone. You needed Joel—you didn’t want to have to do this without him.

“Jesus, fuck,” You cursed through clenched teeth. The waves of pain that were coming at you were almost enough to physically knock you off of your feet and right onto your ass. Tess had been smart to give you her handkerchief. During one particularly painful contraction, you’d shoved it into your mouth, muffling your cries of agony.

Another hour had passed and you were genuinely starting to believe that you were indeed going to have to give birth to the baby all alone in that apartment. “Where the fuck are you guys?” You mumbled to yourself. Perhaps something had happened to them—Joel and Tess had spent ample amounts of time in FEDRA lockup for the stunts that they pulled and it wouldn’t surprise you if they had gone and done something stupid, putting themselves behind bars for the night.

In an attempt to keep your mind from continuously wandering to worst case scenarios, you walked over to the kitchen sink and quickly filled up a large, chipped porcelain bowl with water. You rummaged around for the cleanest washcloth that you could find and then picked up the bowl in your hands, taking care not to spill as you hastily made your way around the single wall that divided the kitchen from the bedroom. You placed the bowl of water on top of the old, cherrywood dresser that separated yours and Joel’s bed from Tess’s bed and immediately started peeling off your dirty clothes. Wanting to hurry before another contraction came along, you dipped the cloth into the water and started running it all over your body, wiping away any soot and dirt that you’d brought home from the work site.

After you had finished cleaning yourself off as best as you possibly could under the circumstances, you searched through the drawers and grabbed one of Joel’s cleaner t-shirts, tugging it over your head. Even with the size of your swollen midsection, his shirt still fit you loosely enough, the hem of it falling to the top of your thighs. You’d finished just in time—another contraction starting coming on and you dropped down onto the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress as you hunched over in a world of hurt. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

As it subsided, the sound of the front door opening caused your head to snap up and your heart to skip a beat. Had you been too loud? Or perhaps a neighbor had walked by and heard you?

“Baby?” Joel’s deep voice filled the small apartment. When he appeared around the wall and saw you, a look of utter relief crossed his face and he rushed over to you, Tess following behind him. He crouched down in front of you, both of his hands flying up to the sides of your face. “M’sorry darlin’, I got here as fast I could—”

Though you could have nearly cried from happiness that he was right there in front of you, you found yourself snapping at him, “What took you so fucking long? It’s been fucking hours!”

Tess jumped to Joel’s defense. “I’m sorry, it’s on me! It’s my fault. It took me forever just to fucking find his ass and then we had to find a way to sneak him away from the work site without anyone noticing,” she explained, holding her hands up. “Not to mention, he was on the other end of the fucking QZ. We got here as fast as we could—how far apart are they coming?”

You winced. The truth was, you’d been so busy trying to get through the contractions that you hadn’t been timing them at all. “About that.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I gave you one fucking job—”

“Look, they’re still decently far apart by a few minutes.” You placed a hand on your stomach, suddenly admitting, “But I do feel the urge to push already.”

Joel’s hands slowly dropped from your face and he glanced over his shoulder and up at Tess, looking confused. “Think it’s time?”

She shook her head. “I know it’s going to feel like you need to push as you get closer, but don’t,” she warned you, firmly. “Not yet. They need to come closer together, about a minute to thirty seconds apart. If you start to push too early, you could hurt the baby. Or tear yourself apart.” Tess took off her jacket, tossing it on a nearby chair. “Joel, keep her as comfortable as you can. I’m going to start gathering some supplies. She may not be ready to push now, but I’m thinking within the hour, it’ll be time.”

“Within the hour?” You nearly squeaked.

Joel turned back to you and cupped your face again. The familiarity of his rough, calloused hands on your skin brought some calmness, not enough to completely take your fears away, but just enough that you were able to stay somewhat level headed, even through every single emotion that you were feeling. “Baby, I know you're scared,” he said, his thumb grazing against your cheek. “But I promise you, everythin’ is gonna be just fine, alright? Look at me, right here, look at me,” he urged as he held your face firmly in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna be fine. I won’t let anythin’ happen to you.”

“Joel, it’s childbirth,” You reminded him, smiling wearily. “Don’t make a promise you don’t know if you can actually keep.”

Though he knew deep down inside that you had a point, he repeated himself. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. Okay?”

You offered him a small, meek nod. “Okay.”

Joel lifted himself, pressing his lips gently to yours. He pulled away, murmuring against your lips, “That’s my girl.”

The hour that followed had been nothing short of horrific—the pain had become almost unbearable by this point. There wasn’t a single inch of your entire body that wasn’t drenched, soaked in perspiration. Your hair was an absolute mess, plastered to your forehead and to the sides of your face. Tess sat on her bed, waiting on standby for when it was time to deliver. Meanwhile, Joel, could only hold your hand in his and watch helplessly as you tried not to cry out too loudly.

“Joel,” You nearly pleaded his name, as if pleading for him to take his gun and put you out of your misery.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured soothingly, squeezing your hand in both of his. “I know it hurts.”

“What if I can’t do this?”

“Sorry, sweet darlin’ but you don’t have much of a choice,” he reminded you. He looked and sounded so fucking tired, so fucking exhausted—and he was. He was exhausted from having to sit there and witness you hurt while there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.

Once the contractions started coming in at less than a minute apart, Tess checked you. “I can feel the head. It’s time to start pushing,” she announced. Rolling up the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows, she started giving you instructions. “You’re going to bear all the way down into your bottom as hard as you can. We’ll do ten second counts with short, quick rests in between each push until he comes out. Alright?”

You just about panicked. “Joel—”

“M’right here,” he quickly assured you. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

During the process, Joel had decided to sit behind you, his long legs on either side of you as he held you up at just a couple degrees shy of a ninety degree angle. Tess kneeled on the mattress between your legs, holding your knees apart as she counted through each push out loud for you.

You sank your front teeth hard into your bottom lip, the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth as you tried your hardest from screaming out.

“One, two, three, four—” Tess counted the numbers aloud until she reached the number ten. She watched you as you released a breath, and tapped your knee gently. “Come on, we’re almost there. He’s right there, you’re so fucking close. The harder you push, the quicker this will all be over. So give me one more big, strong push, alright?”

Joel squeezed your shoulders, his lips at your ear as he whispered to you over and over again, “C’mon baby, we’re almost there. It’s almost over.”

You were completely spent, exhausted both physically and mentally beyond what mere words could even explain. Close or not, you simply didn’t have it in you to keep going.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” You moaned, shaking your head as you slumped back against his chest, your head falling into his shoulder. Your body felt like it was just moments away from giving out on you. “I can’t do it, Joel. I just can’t fucking do this—”

“You can and you fucking will,” Tess all but snapped at you, forcing your knees further apart. “Come on, all I need is one more push. Just one fucking more.”

“But—”

“Baby, please,” Joel begged into your neck. “You have to do this.”

You whimpered. They were right—you didn’t have a choice.

“Okay. One more.” You gave a small, weak nod of your head.

Joel helped you sit back up into the previous position, using his body to help support yours. He kissed the back of your head, his hands on your shoulders again. “Good girl,” he praised, bracing himself to help you through the tail end of the delivery.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Tess positioned herself, her hands ready to receive the baby once he was born. “On the count of three. One, two, three—and push. Come on, that’s it. Come on.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you followed her encouraging words, bearing down as hard as you could muster while Joel counted you through that last strenuous push. “Baby’s out!” Tess nearly cried, and you quickly opened your eyes to see her holding the baby in her arms. 

“Is he okay?” You panted, your chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath. Only mere seconds had passed, but already you found yourself in a state of anxiety over the fact that the baby hadn’t made a single sound yet. “He hasn’t cried—why hasn’t he cried?”

“She,” Tess corrected you, her eyes fixed on the newborn as she worked to clean her off with a damp washcloth. She rubbed her chest in quick, firm circles in an attempt to get her to take her first breath.

Your heart skipped a beat—you’d had a girl?

Behind you, Joel inhaled sharply, his body stiffening.

You watched in concern, your lips parted slightly at the sight before you. Not having the proper tools to clear the child’s airway, Tess tried everything and anything that she could think of to help the baby breathe. As the seconds turned into a minute, and then into two, your heart had all but climbed its way up your throat—never had you heard a silence so deafening.

“Tess,” Joel said her name, his tone dangerously low.

“Fuck Joel, I’m trying here!” Tess snapped at him. She let out a small, frustrated sigh and then turned the baby over onto her forearm. She started patting the infant’s back with her opposite hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Come on, you’re alright. Please breathe. Please—”

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the baby sputtered and let out a wet cough before a small, quick cry filled the entire apartment. 

“Fuck,” You breathed out in complete and utter relief. You sagged back against Joel, who’d also released the breath he’d been holding.

“Shh,” Tess soothed her, flipping the baby back over and bouncing her in her arms in an attempt to quiet her.  

Joel carefully climbed out from behind you, helping you to lean back, up against the wall. “You alright?”

“Better now that I know she’s okay.”

“She’s small, definitely at least a couple of weeks premature, but she looks healthy,” Tess observed. She single handedly clamped the cord, cutting it with a pair of sharp shears before she finished cleaning her off. She reached for the flannel throw blanket next to her, however upon picking it up, she had realized it wasn’t a blanket at all. It was Joel’s flannel jacket, the very same one that you’d worn for most of your pregnancy. But it had been washed the day before and it would do for the time being. Tess wrapped the baby in the jacket before easing her into your arms. Knowing that you’d never held a baby before, Tess reached out and maneuvered your arms, making sure that you were holding her properly, supporting her head and neck. “That’s it. There you go.”

Your heart swelled to twice its normal size inside of your chest and an inexplicable warmth radiated throughout every fiber of your being the moment you laid your eyes on her sweet, tiny little face. “Hi, there,” You cooed gently to her. “Welcome to the shitshow.”

Tess chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Son of a bitch. We fucking did it.”

“What the hell do you mean we?” You rolled your eyes in a joking manner. The truth of the matter was that you would forever be in her debt for all that she had done to help you, not just through childbirth—through everything. 

You then glanced over at Joel, who stood silently behind her, hands planted on his hips.

He said nothing, but his dark brown eyes were glued to the newborn.

Tess cleared her throat lightly, breaking the momentary silence that had suddenly fallen over the three of you. “I’ll give you a minute to take a breather while I go clean myself up. I’ll be back to show you how to feed her.”

She excused herself, heading off towards the kitchen.

Joel shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. “You—uh, you sure you’re alright?”

“Mhm,” You replied with a nod, unable to contain the small smile that crossed your lips as you drank in the sight of the beautiful baby girl in your arms. She had been born with a head full of dark hair—instantly, she reminded you of Joel. “She’s so little.”

Joel said nothing.

Looking up, you noticed the way his eyes took her in—the same way yours did. 

Part of you almost wanted to ask him if he wanted to hold her.

But you knew better.

“We’ll radio Bill and Frank tomorrow in the morning to let them know she’s here ,” Tess said, coming back into the room. She used a damp cloth to wipe away the blood and other fluids from her forearms. “As soon as you’re able to move, you’ll have to get her over to them.”

Your face fell slightly. “Wait, how soon are we talking?”

“Thinking maybe in a couple days—soon as you can walk.”

Your heart sank deeply into your chest.

Just a couple of days? 

That’s all you would get with her?

Noticing the crestfallen expression on your face, Joel nodded. “Tess is right,” he agreed. “We can’t hide a cryin’ baby in this apartment for too long without someone catchin’ on. The sooner we get her over to Bill and Frank’s, the better.”

You somehow managed to swallow the lump of emotion that had risen in your throat as you looked back down at her tiny face—your daughter’s tiny face.

“Think of a name for her yet?” Tess asked you, tossing her dirty cloth aside.

Joel quickly stepped in and answered for you. “Best you don’t.”

“What?” You stared at him in disbelief. Although neither of you had discussed it, you’d thought that at the very least Joel would allow you to name your child—his child.

“The less attached you are to her, the better.” His tone was short, almost curt. “Less harder it’ll be.”

Even Tess was taken by surprise. “Joel, come on. Are you fucking seri—?”

He held up a hand to stop her. Whirling around on the hell of his boot, Joel said over his shoulder as he left the room, “I’ll be outside. Need some air.”

Your lips pressed together in a thin, tight line. “I guess he’s right.”

The mattress squeaked, shifting slightly as Tess took a seat right next to you on the bed. “You know it’s going to hurt him too,” she told you, quietly. “He’ll never admit it. But when the time comes, it’ll hurt him too.”

“I know,” You whispered, grazing the baby’s cheek lightly with the tip of your index finger.

“Joel loves you, you know.”

Tess’s words caught you by surprise. “Tess—don’t. You don’t need to do this.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You know, I never thought that man could be capable of loving anyone else ever again, not in this life. Hell, I tried for fucking years just to get him to feel a fraction of what I felt for him and nothing.” Her voice became thick with the emotions that she’d undoubtedly been suppressing for the last few years. “I don’t know what is about you, what drew him to you. But he does love you. More than fucking anything.”

“He’ll probably never admit that either.”

Tess smiled sadly. “I know.”

The five hour trip on foot from the Boston QZ to Lincoln was one that you had gotten used to over the last couple of years, but this trip had been something of a struggle for you, to say the very least.

Between being only a couple of days postpartum, having to make frequent stops to feed the baby, and having her strapped tightly to your chest in a makeshift baby carrier—which in reality was actually just a bedsheet that wrapped around your upper body—you felt quite worn out by the time you and Joel finally made it to Bill and Frank’s.

“Come in, come in,” Frank placed a hand gently on your back as he ushered you inside of the house. “How are you doing? Are you okay?” He tossed a little glare over his shoulder at Joel. “Shame on you for making her walk three days after giving birth! Surely you could have waited at least a few more days before making the trip?”

Joel let out a small, impatient huff and rolled his eyes in response.

“We didn’t wanna risk being caught with her,” You quickly explained as he led you both into the living room. “Our walls are paper thin and she cries real loud. We didn’t wanna risk having the neighbors reporting us to FEDRA.”

“She’s a crier?” Bill, who kept his distance, scoffed. “Great.”

“Oh, stop it, Bill. I’m sure she’ll be a very good baby,” Frank waved his hand dismissively at him. 

“Can you guys help me unwrap?” You asked, lightly tugging at the sheet. “This thing is so uncomfortable.”

Both Joel and Frank helped untie and remove it from around your body.

“Oh my word.” Frank’s hand flew to his mouth and tears instantly welled in his eyes as soon as saw her. “I never thought I’d see—” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. He never thought he’d see another child ever again, much less a newborn baby. Frank knew better than to overstep or to push you too quickly, and despite his immediate urge to ask you if he could hold her already, he simply settled for lightly touching his fingertips to her tufts of soft, dark hair. “Oh, she’s so beautiful! Isn’t she beautiful, Bill?”

“Looks like an ordinary baby to me,” he grumbled, though as he eyed the child, there was a strange little glint in his eye. Bill, like Frank, also never thought that he’d ever see something like her again.

Frank sniffed, dabbing his tears away with the back of his hand. “Oh! I have some onesies from the boutique, let me grab one for you,” he stated, realizing that the baby was naked, with the exception of the improvised diaper you had her in. “She’s kind of small, even for a newborn. Do you think she came early?” He asked over his shoulder as he walked over to the other side of the room towards a pile of cardboard boxes. “I know it’s hard to tell what week you reached gestation.”

“We think so,” You said, carefully taking a seat on the couch. “She’s small, but she’s healthy. She eats well, she mostly sleeps through the night unless she wakes up hungry or needing to be changed.”

“Here.” Frank walked back over to you and handed you a cream colored onesie printed with yellow sunflowers. He also handed you a matching cloth diaper. “They’re preemie size, but I have a box of newborn sizes too if they’re too snug on her. You let me know what you think is best, alright?”

It didn’t take you very long to realize that Frank was allowing you just a taste of what it was like to properly and normally care for your baby, just like any mother would in a pre-outbreak world. 

Part of you wished that he wouldn’t bother, but you still appreciated his kindness nonetheless.

Frank laid a soft, pink blanket on the couch for you to lay her on.

As you changed her, you felt Joel watching almost intently.

Since she’d been born, he still hadn’t held her. You didn’t take offense to it, nor did it hurt your feelings that he refused to touch her, because you knew how he was feeling—what he was feeling. You would often catch him stealing long, lingering glances at her whenever he’d think you weren’t paying attention. Deep down in your heart, you knew he ached to interact with her, that he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and give into his paternal instincts. But he was simply trying to make this process as painless for himself as possible. Joel didn’t want to risk developing any kind of attachment to her. 

“Does she have a name?” Frank asked, holding his hands behind his back as he watched you button up the onesie. At this point, he was itching to hold her for the first time, but he wanted to respect what little time you had left to interact with her.

Sure, you would be able to see her every now and again, but Joel was adamant of keeping visits to a minimum.

“She doesn’t,” You replied in a soft voice. “We didn’t name her.”

Joel, who had taken a seat in the rocking chair next to the couch, raked a hand through his hair as Frank shot him glare, as if he knew whose idea it had been to not give her a name. “S’only right for you two to choose a name. We ain’t got no business givin’ her a name.”

“He’s right,” You said, before Frank could protest. “It’s best we leave that to you and Bill.”

Frank touched your shoulder. The sympathy in his eyes nearly made you burst into tears on the spot. Wanting to allow for a brief change of subject, he offered, “How about we all have a bite to eat? Hmm? Surely you must be starving after that long walk.”

You forced a small smile. Food was the last thing on your mind. “That would be nice,” you fibbed. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you refused to put the baby down.

Your arms ached from holding her for so long—but you couldn’t care less. It was one ache that you would happily deal with for the rest of your natural born life if it meant never having to let her go.

Frank had been completely understanding of your desire to keep her with you for as long as you possibly could. Being the incredibly sweet, kind soul that he was, he showed you nothing but patience and didn’t question you, nor did he push you or grill you on whether or not you had changed your mind about leaving her in their care. Bill, being Bill, had muttered a few, passive aggressive incoherencies towards you under his breath over lunch—something about how for someone who claimed they wouldn’t have a problem giving up their baby, you sure as hell seemed to have a hard time letting her out of your grasp.

However, once the late afternoon finally rolled around, you knew that the time for you to say goodbye was on the horizon. As much as you fucking wished you could, there was no changing your mind, not if you wanted your daughter to live safely, happily.

“Bill? Frank? Do you think we can have a minute with her, just the two of us?” You asked them. You had all moved back into the living room after lunch. Knowing time was running out, you hoped that you and Joel could have one last moment alone with her before it was time to leave.

“Of course.” Frank nodded and tugged on Bill’s arm. “We’ll be out in the front yard—the plants need some watering.”

You shot him a tiny, grateful smile. As they disappeared, you leaned back into the couch and made yourself comfortable with the baby.

Joel, who sat over in the rocking chair as he had earlier, pursed his lips. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he said, shaking his head at you. “We really should just hand her over and go home.”

“It’s going to be hard no matter what, Joel. May as well enjoy her for a while longer.” You glanced down at her just as she started fussing herself awake. She looked up at you with her dark eyes. “Hello, sweet girl,” You greeted her in a soothing voice as she cooed. 

Joel watched with a heaviness in his heart as you kissed the infant’s cheek delicately. How he wished you would just fucking listen to him.

“You’re going to be safe here,” You told her, lifting your hand to her hair; the ends were beginning to curl slightly. “I know you might grow up and have questions one day, and who knows, maybe when you’re all grown up, you’ll know the truth about everything and you’ll understand why we did what we did.” You paused. “This is the right thing to do, sweet girl. It's the best thing for you. Frank is going to make a great dad, and Bill—well, Bill is Bill. But I know you’ll have him wrapped around your little finger in no time. I promise there’s a softie underneath that grumpy exterior, just have to bring it out of him, is all.” Despite it all, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

Joel craned his neck ever so slightly to get a better look at her. “She’s so alert,” he observed. “Y’know, for bein’ a couple days old and all.”

You glanced up at him. Somehow, you mustered up the courage to ask, “Joel? Do you want to hold her?”

Joel hesitated. But you were shocked he didn’t immediately decline.

That meant that he did.

You carefully stood up from the couch and slowly walked over to him. Giving her another kiss on the cheek, you held her out towards him.

Joel looked at her reluctantly, but then gave in and took her into his arms. He leaned his weight back into the chair and started rocking, knowing the movement would be soothing for the baby. “She’s got your nose,” he murmured, watching as the motion started luring her into another slumber.

“That head of hair is all you, though,” You told him with a tiny, sad smile. “I’m going to go get a glass of water from the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Moments later, when you’d returned, you stopped in your tracks out in the hallway when you heard Joel speaking. Furrowing your brows, you leaned your back against the wall and listened in to what he was saying.

“Hi babygirl,” he started, his voice low but gentle. “Everythin’ your mama just told you, well, she’s right. We’re doin’ this to keep you safe. We wanna give you a chance at a decent life. She doesn’t wanna give you up. Neither do I,” he confessed. “But we can’t—I can’t keep you safe. I can barely keep your mama safe most of the time, y’know.”

You hung your head, willing yourself to hold back the tears.

“I didn’t want you, at least not at first,” Joel continued to say, an ever so slight tremble to his voice. “Thought you were the biggest mistake we ever could’ve made. But now that you’re here and I’m holdin’ you in my arms, I realize I was wrong. I’m glad you’re here, babygirl. This world is ugly, but you remind me that there’s still beauty in it. Not a whole lot, but just enough to shine a little light in the darkness.”

Joel paused and as you peeked around into the living room, you saw him press his lips carefully to her cheek, right where you’d kissed her too. “You won’t be ours after today, but that doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day, you’re always gonna hold a place in my heart. Right next to your big sister. Alright?”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away with the back of your free hand. As soon as you were certain that he’d said all he had needed to say, you walked into the living room and offered him a sip of your water, behaving as if you hadn’t just heard him pour his heart out to his baby daughter. Joel moved over onto the couch with you and for the next couple of hours, the two of you took turns holding her. By the time early evening arrived, you realized that you and Joel were really pushing it. And knowing Bill, you were absolutely overstaying your welcome.

“So, we just wanted to check in with you two,” Frank said tentatively, nervously wringing his hands together as walked into the room with a very unhappy Bill trailing behind him. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”

You and Joel stood from the couch; he handed the baby over to you.

Your heart lodged in your throat, you walked over to Frank and eased her into his arms. “Here you are.”

Taking a step backwards, you watched as he looked down at her, his face beaming.

“Fatherhood looks good on you,” You couldn’t help but tell him. And you meant it.

Frank was going to make the most incredible, loving father. 

“Does it?” Although he was smiling, he sounded nervous.

“You’re going to be a natural,” You touched his arm lightly. “We know she’s going to be in the best possible care.” Dropping your hand back down to your side, you glanced over at Joel, who stood there silently, his jaw clenched. “We’d better be going.”

“You know you’re more than welcome to come and see her whenever you’d like,” Frank offered. “We really wouldn’t mind that.”

“Don’t take that too literally,” Bill gruffed behind him. “The less visits, the better.”

You nodded, your voice cracking slightly as you said, “We know.”

“Let’s get a move on.” Joel nudged you lightly with his elbow. Did you just hear his voice break a little too?

After one final goodbye, about five minutes later, you and Joel found yourselves on the other side of the fence.

Joel noticed the expression on your face. He could see you crumbling right in front of his very own eyes like a pastry. He didn’t know what to say or do to make it better—hell, he knew nothing was going to make it better. He wanted so badly to reach out and put his arms around you, but he was afraid that one touch would cause you to come undone. “C’mon, we need to get movin’ before it gets too late or we’ll freeze our asses off,” he reminded you quietly. He started leading the way, but turned around when he realized you weren’t following behind him. “Baby—”

And just like that, the sob you’d been fighting finally escaped you.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” You quickly shook your head, trying desperately to stop the tears, but it was too late.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s alright—”

Before Joel could reach out for you, you sank down to your knees on the gravel. You placed your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your cries. You knew it would be hard, but nothing could have prepared you for the god awful feeling of leaving Bill and Frank’s empty handed, without your baby daughter in your arms.

Joel sighed softly and crouched down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Shh, baby. I know,” he tried soothing you, one hand around your shoulders and the other gingerly stroking your hair. “I know.”

Though nightfall was fast approaching, he didn’t push you. He simply held you until you eventually ran out of tears and little hiccups were all that was left. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop fuckin’ sayin’ you’re sorry,” Joel said, squeezing your body against his to keep you warm against the chilly, evening breeze. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for, alright?”

“It hurts. I know we did the right thing, but it hurts so fucking bad.”

Joel pulled away and looked down at you. The sadness was evident in his gaze. “We did do the right thing. She’s going to be safer here than she could ever be with us in the QZ,” he reminded you, as if you didn’t already know that. “At least here, she’ll be well fed. She’ll have running water. She’ll get to enjoy fresh, clean air. She’ll get to run around the front yard and play in the grass. She won’t have to walk home from fuckin’ FEDRA school past a fire pit full of burnin’ bodies every goddamn day.”

“Maybe it’s just me being selfish, but that doesn’t make it hurt any fucking less, Joel,” You confessed, the guilt causing a fresh batch of tears to brim your eyes. “I know we’ll still get the chance to see her every now and again, but it’s not enough. It won’t ever be enough for me.”

He leaned down, leaning his forehead against yours. “I know. Won’t ever be enough for me either.”

You closed your eyes, another tear finding its way down your cheek. “How the fuck are you supposed to go on when you feel like a part of your heart is missing?”

“You just do,” Joel whispered. “You just move on. Try to, anyway.” He rose to his feet and pulled you up with him. “When I lost Sarah, I had nothing. Nobody. Tommy wasn’t someone I could count on, he was too busy thinkin’ he could save the fuckin’ world.” He chuckled bitterly. “So I carried that grief with me for years, all on my own. Like the weight of a thousand bricks strapped to my fuckin’ back.”

“Joel…” You opened your eyes, your gazes meeting together.

He lightly brushed his lips against forehead. “You ain’t alone, darlin’. You have me and I ain’t gonna let you carry this pain alone. You understand me? Never.”

“I know that,” You choked out. 

Joel pulled you against him once again, his arms wrapping themselves around you. 

“I love you.”

It was just above a whisper, barely audible but you’d heard him.

Clutching fistfuls of his jacket, you buried your face into his chest, uttering, “I love you too.”

[buckymorelikefuckme]

how to marry a millionaire | chapter one

mafia bucky x spoiled brat reader

words: 3k

warnings: sexual language, no smut (yet hehe)

a/n: eeeeep!!! i'm so excited for this fic, y'all have no idea omg. with that said, though, i don't have a posting schedule for this, so pls be patient with me while i write it and post chapters whenever i can ♡ any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated! xoxo

masterlist

This club is doing absolutely nothing to lift your spirits. Honestly, you hadn't had high hopes that it would when you'd decided to come earlier in the evening, but you were fucking bored sitting at home all alone and feeling sorry for yourself. After all, pity parties are much more enjoyable when you have at least one other person to share the pity with. Instead of bitching to someone else, though, you sought to drown your sorrows in Amaretto Sours and loud music.

You sigh heavily, swirling your straw in slow circles in your drink as the news you received that morning paraded in the forefront of your mind.

Henry Spofford III, your most recent sugar daddy, died in his sleep at the ripe age of 88. He'd been in excellent health, mostly because the best doctors and healthcare money could buy were at his disposal—which had been the deciding point in you coming to an agreement with the old bastard—so to hear of his passing had come as a shock. Your lip curls in annoyance when you recall the conversation you'd had with his lawyer over the phone.

“Henry died in the early hours of the morning,” he said in lieu of a greeting when you accepted the call. “I'm sure this is hard for you, and I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“I—what?” you stammered, coming to a standstill in your massive closet where you'd been trying to pick out an outfit for the day.

“I regret to inform you that, while Mr. Spofford had intentions of including you in his will, his untimely passing prevented him from doing so.”

You suddenly felt like the room was spinning, taking staggering steps over to the chaise in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook Central Park. Before you had a chance to utter a response, he continued.

“As you are aware, Mr. Spofford paid the lease on your penthouse for the year. Since we're approaching August, you have five months left until the lease is up for renewal. Obviously, what you choose to do then is entirely your business, but you will no longer have his money to support you.”

“Right,” you replied faintly, bringing your clammy palm up to your forehead, feeling a migraine coming on. “Of course.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” he repeated, and you were pretty sure he wasn't talking about just Henry.

You drain the last of your drink, slamming the empty glass on the bar probably a little too forcefully. What a fucking joke. You knew you shouldn't have gotten into that relationship. Not that there was anything romantic about it, not for you.

“Another?” the bartender asks, raising his voice to be heard over the music, nodding to your glass.

“Keep them coming,” you instruct.

See, the thing is, Henry dying is terribly inconvenient. He was the wealthiest sugar daddy you'd had so far and was so easy to manipulate into giving you whatever you wanted. You'd had your eye on a brand new Bentley Continental GT and were so close to convincing Henry to get it for you. Looks like that will have to wait a little while now.

God, why was the universe so cruel to you?

A fresh drink was placed in front of you and you grabbed it, taking a long sip without thanking the bartender.

This puts you back at square one. Searching for replacements always made you cranky. You'd have to kiss so much ass to find somebody as rich as Henry, and you were already dreading it.

“You are much too pretty to be pouting like that.”

You don’t try to hide your eye roll. “How original,” you drone, not even looking beside you where the voice came from.

The man laughs. “Oh, this one has bite,” he muses.

You look heavenward for patience. “Listen, unless you have obscene amounts of money to support my truly heinous shopping habits, I’m not interested. Fuck off.”

“Would a Birkin get you to actually look me in the eye?” he asks.

With an aggrieved sigh, you let your gaze fall to the man occupying the seat to your left. And then you promptly feel your thighs clench involuntarily.

Holy fucking shit this guy is gorgeous. Dark hair styled expertly, stubble across his sharp jaw lightly peppered with gray, light blue eyes dancing in amusement. He's leaning casually against the bar, his arm resting on top of it, dressed in an admittedly expensive looking suit, no doubt tailored to his exact measurements. Your eyes catch on the watch on his wrist and you nearly moan. You know a sixty thousand dollar watch when you see one. Perhaps you were too hasty in blaming the universe for your misfortunes.

Interest sufficiently piqued, you shift slightly to face him a bit more. His lips quirk up on one side.

“I don't want just any Birkin that every other basic bitch has. I want the diamond encrusted crocodile one,” you say, tilting your head and smiling sweetly.

“A woman with taste,” he praises, smirking.

“Clearly,” you acknowledge as you raise a challenging brow.

He laughs again, his eyes crinkling on the sides. It makes him look charming, but if there is anything in your years of being a sugar baby has taught you, it's how to read people. This man reeks of power, and not in a typical CEO or old money way. Even the way he's sitting screams easy confidence. He’s oozing danger and normally you would take that red flag for what it is, but you're just tipsy enough to ignore it.

You rise from your barstool, smoothing out your dress and fluffing your hair. He watches your every move with extreme focus. Thank god you picked a curve-hugging dress that showed off your body.

“I expect my Birkin within the next two days,” you inform him, blowing a kiss as you turn and walk away.

A man like that will know how to find you. Call it a gut feeling. You knew, one way or another, he'd come across your path again. Whether or not he would have the promised bag remains to be seen, however.

~

You're returning home from some retail therapy. As much as you absolutely adore spending money, especially when it's someone else's, you weren't completely irresponsible with it. You always saved at least half of whatever Henry gave you in a separate bank account from the one he'd wire your allowance to. So, with a fat chunk of change collecting dust in the aforementioned account, you figured you deserved to treat yourself to some goodies after the previous harrowing day you had.

“Hi, Walter,” you greet as you enter your building with arms laden in various shopping bags.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the doorman returns with a pleasant smile. “I believe your friend stopped by while you were gone.”

You pause, frowning. “My friend?” you ask.

He nods. “Yes. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes.”

“Oh.” A smile tickles your lips. “Is he still here?”

“No ma'am. He said he only wanted to drop off some things for you.”

You're practically vibrating in your skin. “Are they up front?”

“He said he had a key,” Walter replies with a knowing grin. “Finally settling down, miss?”

A key? That has your smile faltering, makes something unsure twist in your stomach. But as soon as the feeling appears, your mind recalls that Walter said he’d dropped off things, as in plural, and just like that, you dismiss whatever uneasiness that tried to make itself known within you.

“Thank you, Walt,” you say sincerely.

You quickly make your way to the elevators, impatiently pressing the button for one of them to open. It only takes a few seconds and then you're ascending to the top floor where the penthouses reside. There's only two, and you have the one with the better view, because fucking duh.

You dart out of the doors before they're even opened all the way, jostling your shopping bags in the process. You huff, adjusting your grip on them as you make a beeline for your apartment. It's a struggle to dig your keys out of your purse and unlock your door, but you eventually do and hurry inside, carelessly dropping your shopping bags in the entryway and kicking off your heels. Rounding the corner, you stop in your tracks once you see the display in your living room.

“Fuck,” you whisper, heart hammering.

Not only do you spot the beloved Hermès logo on a tan velour dust bag in the center of it all, but there are also Dior boxes, and Chanel, Prada, Givenchy—there are so many brands in front of you, and the sheer amount has your panties growing damp. You bite your lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Your hands shake when you pick up the Hermès dust bag, slowly opening it and taking a peek inside.

“Oh my god,” you whine upon seeing the specific diamond encrusted crocodile Birkin you asked for.

You have no fucking clue how he managed to actually snag one of these. Not only are they one of the most expensive designs, but they're fucking rare and hard as shit to find. God, he really must have so much fucking money and connections to have acquired it in less than a day. You've hit the goddamn jackpot.

The next thing you reach for is the small Tiffany & Co. box, opening it to reveal the Victoria Vine drop necklace that you know is at least twenty thousand dollars. After that, you're like a kid on Christmas morning, and soon you're sitting on the floor in a sea of empty boxes, bags, and tissue paper, the smell of luxurious leather filling the air. Your earlier purchases are all but forgotten on the entryway floor at this point. Glittering jewelry and clothes and perfume and so much more all around you. You could weep, honestly.

There was an envelope resting on top of one of the boxes that you had ignored in favor of finding out what the contents were within. Now that there's nothing left to open, however, you finally rip it open to pull out the card. Jesus, even this fucking stationary smells luxurious.

In scratchy handwriting, the card reads: Have I passed your test?

An address is listed, followed by, 8pm. Don't be late. -JBB

You run your fingers over his signature, suddenly realizing you don't even know this man’s name, or anything about him for that matter, other than he's ridiculously wealthy and even more ridiculously handsome. But you're much too intrigued by him to pretend like you have to think about whether or not you’re going.

Checking the time, you curse under your breath when you see you only have four hours to get ready. You already have an outfit in mind, and you smile smugly to yourself as you undress and step under the warm water. He's not gonna know what hit him.

If you take an extra ten minutes to use the showerhead to get off, no one else is around to know.

~

Whoever this man was, he was doing everything possible to show off his wealth. You'd just been putting on your finishing touches to your makeup when you'd gotten a call from the concierge downstairs saying a car had arrived to pick you up.

When you stepped outside and saw the black SUV, an Escalade to be sure, you had to tamp down the excited thrill that wanted to rush through you. The driver was waiting by the back door with his hands clasped behind his back, dressed in an all black suit and tie. He'd greeted you with a polite nod and opened the door for you to slide into the backseat.

Now, as you’re driven through the bustling streets of the Upper East Side, you allow yourself a moment to appreciate the car. You’ll always love the feel of buttery smooth leather against your bare legs.

A gratified smile toys at the edges of your lips. You've had a taste of what this man can offer and you'd be damned if you let him slip away. You will make sure he's wrapped around your pinky finger before the night is over.

Fifteen minutes later, you arrive at your destination. While the driver is making his way around to let you out, you check your reflection in your small compact mirror and quickly put it back in your gold clutch. As you step out of the car you gain the attention of a few passers-by. Honestly, you’d expect nothing less. You know you look like sex on legs.

You're wearing a cream colored dress that has a high neck, but the back dips low, resting right above your ass, and the hem is more on the indecent side. For your hair you'd gone for a very 90s Pam Anderson updo, looking both effortless and sexy. You kept your makeup simple yet sultry and your jewelry is tasteful, a few dainty gold bands on your fingers and some teardrop diamond earrings.

The stars of the outfit, though, are the Kate Strass Louboutins he'd gifted you. The way they sparkle makes it hard for you to keep your eyes ahead of you because you just want to stare at them. These aren't your first pair of red bottoms, and you're positive they're far from the last, but they are your new favorites.

Upon entering the restaurant, you immediately notice how quiet it is. A peek into the dining area explains why. It's empty, from what you can see. You huff a quiet laugh. Oh, he’s trying hard.

The hostess rounds the corner and greets you with a smile. “Good evening, Miss. Mr. Barnes is waiting at his table for you. Follow me.”

Barnes. Now you're getting somewhere.

You walk behind the hostess quietly as she leads you to a table where a lone man waits patiently. He's wearing another form fitting suit, all black and incredibly sexy, and the same watch from the first time you saw him is glinting on his wrist in the low light of the room. He stands as you approach, coming around to pull your chair out for you with a small smile.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly,” the hostess says as you sit down and Mr. Barnes returns to his own seat.

As she walks away, he relaxes back in his chair, crossing one of his legs over the other as he takes you in. “You look stunning.”

“I know,” you reply, smiling when he laughs. “Thank you.”

“I'm surprised you're not using your new Birkin,” he replies.

“That's not a date bag, silly,” you inform him playfully.

He grins. “My apologies. I do see that you're wearing the shoes, though.”

“I am,” you confirm, delicately sticking one foot out to admire the sparkling heels. “I can't stop staring at them,” you sigh wistfully.

“I'm happy to see you like them.”

You hum and return your gaze to his. He’s staring intensely, his blue eyes calculating.

“Do I get to know your name now?” he asks.

You smirk. “Are you pretending you don't already know it?”

His lips quirk up on one side. “Yes,” he decides.

You roll your eyes. “I think you should tell me your name.”

“You don't like the mystery?” he wonders, tilting his head.

“Something tells me you'll want me to know for later,” you tease coyly.

He laughs. “Touché.” Sitting up straighter, he leans in. “My name is James Barnes.”

Your brain perks up, trying to recall where you've heard that name before. You know you have, but honestly, it's hard to keep up with who's relevant in Manhattan anymore these days.

“It's a pleasure to officially meet you, Mr. Barnes,” you purr.

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

You grin. This should be fun.

James lifts a hand, beckoning someone. The waiter rushes over, introducing himself and asking what you'd like to drink.

“We’ll have the Montrachet Grand Cru,” James replies without even looking at a menu.

“Very good, sir. I’ll be right back with that.”

After the waiter leaves, you cross your arms and rest them atop the crisp, white tablecloth. James matches your stance.

“So,” you begin, a slow grin etching across your lips, “how much did it cost you to rent out the whole place?”

“Why would it cost me anything to rent out my own restaurant?” he asks in mock curiosity.

Your eyebrows raise ever so slightly. His restaurant? Impressive. That still doesn't explain the absurd amount of money he spent on those gifts, though.

“You won't lose profit closing it like this?” you prod.

With a secretive smile, he explains, “I have my hand in quite a few… business endeavors.”

“I see,” you respond.

You have a feeling his other so-called “business endeavors” aren't quite as legal or upstanding as a high dollar restaurant. It should send off more warning bells in your mind, but it only proves to further pique your interest.

“Besides,” he continues, “shouldn't a spoiled princess like you get the royal treatment?”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “Spoiled princess?” you repeat.

“Don't act like you're not,” he says with a knowing grin.

“You say it like it's a bad thing,” you reply.

“Oh, on the contrary, I love it.” His smile turns sly. “I love when a woman knows exactly what she wants, and how to get it.”

You lick your lips, noting how his eyes drop and follow the movement. “Well, it's a good thing I do then, huh?” you say quietly. “I've got my sights set on something big, too.”

“Bigger than you think,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “God. I guess I set myself up for that.”

He leans back, elbows on the arms of his chair and rubbing at his bottom lip. “I've got my sights set on something, too,” he tells you, voice low and contemplative.

A pleased thrill hums throughout you. This man is the whole package. Everything you could ever dream of wanting in a man, conveniently wrapped up in a perfect, little bow is sitting right in front of you. Handsome, funny, and most important of all, filthy fucking rich.

You're gonna sink your claws into him and never let go.

[idfendyr]

Sweet Nothing's

Borte was the first to come out just as Kadara and Sulkhi landed in the great hall in the quirlet of the night, his Ruk going as gentle as possible. 

“About time you brought her here,” his hearth sister grumbled, though her eyes lit up when her eyes landed on the carrier wrapped securely around his chest. 

Houlun came up behind her just as Nesryn chuckled, a sound that, to this day, made his heart flutter, and began unbuckling herself from her saddle, making him do that same. “At least let them put their feet to the ground, child.”

“You can hardly blame me, they kept us waiting this long.”

His wife dismounted, graceful as a dancer, “You didn’t see the fight we put up just to come here,” she said as a way of explaining as she gave them both a swift but tight hug before making her way over to him. 

“What, did they think the Ruks would eat her,” Borte snorted.

“I was sure they were going to lock her away from us by the end,” he mused as he carefully handed the sleeping babe over to Nesryn before dismounting himself, just as Houlun and Borte came around Nesyn. The babe, their little Ayla, only made a small sound that he was sure was a grumble before resting her head on her mother's shoulder, her arms lightly wrapped around her neck, completely at peace as she slept.

She’d fallen asleep on the flight over. A flight that may not have happened had he not argued endlessly with his family first, then reassured Nesryn over and over that it was safe enough to bring the babe to the Rukhin. 

She tried to argue against it, but he’d seen how much she had needed it. How tired she was, of everything. 

They’d been married three years now, and though they hadn’t talked about children, Ayla had been a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, not at all. Sartaq’s overwhelming joy aside, he’d never seen Nesryn so…happy before. Or happier than she had been. He saw it, since finding out they were having the babe, which nearly took the knees out from under him, to the hard pregnancy in which he’d never seen her so tired, exhausted, to the moment they placed the screaming little girl in her arms. Through it all, she’d had this joy that made him fall in love with her over and over again, each time he saw her.

But the past six months had been tiring. For both of them.

For him, with his responsibilities as Heir, and with taking care of a newborn with many sleepless nights alongside his wife. And for her. Though she never said anything, never complained, but he saw it. Both mother and daughter were attached, so much so that Ayla would get cranky or cry if Nesryn so much as put her down, not that the babe cried often. And Nesryn was just as protective of their little one, but when it came to her duties, it was difficult. 

And as much help as she had with his and her own family, he saw how uncomfortable it made her, how she didn’t seem to like handing their daughter over all day for someone else to handle. It didn’t help that due to the families, there was always someone wanting to hold the child, especially when he and his wife were alone. He’d take in the flash of annoyance on her face, the slight twitches of her hand. And though they both appreciated the help, it got rather… stifling. Suffocating. 

So when he had suggested they finally come to the Rukhin, the relief that had flooded her face, despite her worries, had him arranging for them to leave as soon as they were able. There had been protests, but there was not much they could do to stop them now was there. 

And he saw it now, he was right to bring them here. It seemed as though a weight had been lifted off of Nesryns shoulders, how much more relaxed she looked here than back in Antica. 

“ I would have liked to see them try,” Borte said, as she lightly stroked Ayla’s cheeks, “I was one more week away from coming down there myself. Oh, she’s adorable.” A smirk as she glanced at the two of them, “Thankfully she looks like her mother. It would have been unfortunate if she poor thing took after Sartaq.” 

Nesryn laughed, to which he gave her a teasing glance before being pulled into an embrace by his hearth mother, alongside words of congratulations before pulling away. 

“You two seem like you’ve seen better days,” she said as she looked them over.

“Of rest,” Nesryn muttered. Houlun chuckled. Borte made to say something but was cut off with a sharp glance from her grandmother. 

“Go on, sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

…

Nesryn didn’t know who was nice enough to have a crib placed in their room and she wasn’t going to ask around tonight anyway. She carefully laid Ayla down, tucking her in as gently as possible to not jostle her. 

She wanted at least a few hours of sleep tonight, especially after the long flight here. It wasn’t that her daughter cried a lot, the problem was that when she and Sartaq had to attend to their duties, they had no choice but to have someone else look after her, much to her dismay. Even more so when they had her sleep through the day, making her wide awake at night. And the two of them having to stay awake with her, until she eventually falls asleep with only a few hours for them to sleep through.

To be fair, as much as the two were attached to one another, her Ayla tended to be cranky when she was out of her arms, eventually leading her to cry. So the only thing for anyone to do to calm her was to put her to sleep. It didn’t sit right with her, broke her heart each time her little one reached for her. 

She never complained though. Not even to Sartaq, who she knew felt the same pain each time just as she did, if only because he had enough to worry about as is, but also because he stayed awake with her every night, even when she insisted he could sleep. At one point he just said, “I won’t be the father who sleeps peacefully while my wife stays awake every night. You too are my heart, I can’t rest until you both are.” And that had been the end of it, and so they stayed awake, and she enjoyed those moments the three of them spent together, just them in the quiet of the night. But all of it was certainly taking a toll on both of them, she hadn’t dared to say anything. 

But when Sartaq had suggested coming here, she hadn't put up too big of a fight. At the very least, she didn’t have to consistently worry and be on her feet. She was hoping they could spend some time together, without the constant weight of having to attend to their duties every few minutes. 

She sighed just as the door opened, “Here’s to hoping she sleeps through the night,” she said as she turned to Sartaq. 

He chuckled, the sound making her chest flutter, even after all these years. “She was awake most of the day ride here, I think she just might,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her.

She closed her eyes, resting her head on his chest as she returned the embrace. She felt him lose a breath, one hand stroking down her back, the other on the back of her head, placing a kiss at the top of her head. She leaned further into him, his hair wet from the bath he’d taken, likely as quickly as possible. 

She wanted to stay this way forever. This quiet, peaceful kind of moment. Just them. In each other's arms. 

“Sometimes I feel terrible,” he murmured into her hair, “For bringing all this upon you.” Another kiss. “This life and duties you never wanted.”

She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. “I knew what I getting myself into,” she whispered, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. He leaned into it. “I knew what was expected, that things like this would happen. But I didn’t mind it, I still don’t.” 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to rest his forehead to hers, “I don’t mind any of it, not as long as I have you at the end of it.”

He closed his eyes, eyes she’d gotten lost in so, so many times. “You’ll have me,” he murmured, lips grazing hers, “For as long as you wish. I could deny you nothing, Nesryn.”

She smiled at that, stealing a kiss. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who was rather insistent-”

He cut her off, crashing his lips to hers. She closed her eyes, returning the gesture in kind. Gods, she would have him forever, could never get tired of it. Of the press of his chest against hers as he pulled her tighter against him, the hand tangling itself in her hair, holding her ever so close to him. She let out a little moan, which only encouraged him further, not that she complained. 

His tongue had just grazed hers when a little whine had them instantly pulling away, necks snapping as they turned to the crib. They didn’t dare breathe too loud, but Ayla only twisted a little before settling down once again. 

She turned to Sartaq just as he did before smiling, laughing, albeit a quietly as they could. She buried her face in his neck, trying to stifle her laugh, he buried his face in her hair as he tried to do the same, his chest shaking from the effort.  

Eventually, they calmed down enough. He pressed a kiss to her hair and said quietly, “Best to go clean up while she is still asleep.”

She snorted, looking up at him, “ You make it sound like she’s going to wake up any second.”

He smiled, giving her one last kiss, she’ll never get tired of it, before pulling away. “I’ll look after her if she does. Now go.

She frowned. “That's not what-”

“Shh, I said I’ll do it, my love.”

“You are just as tired as I am,” she argued. 

He only smiled, as if it was a joke. It was infuriating, she thought as he gently nudged her. She sighed, not in the mood to argue this over. At least not at the moment.

…

 Nesryn awoke to soft hands on her face, and a sound that sounded suspiciously close to “ma.”

Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes to find an identical pair of dark brown eyes on her with a smile that could’ve melted the coldest of hearts, the one that turned into a laugh. She couldn’t help her smile at the sight, even more so at the laugh that sounded from the other side of the bed, behind the babe. 

“Look who's finally awake,” Sartaq teased. Nesryn looked over Ayla to find Sartaq leaning on his side on the bed, both dressed for the day, it seemed. 

Nesryn could care less at the moment, not when she finally felt rested after so long. Funny how good one slept knowing they didn’t need to be awake as the sun rises. Though she had woken up once at night, only because Ayla was hungry, after which she went right back to sleep. She was sure she slept in, and would likely get teased by Borte relentlessly, but Nesryn couldn’t find in her to care. 

She stretched out her arms, awake, but not as willing to leave the warmth of the bed, so she wrapped her arms around her babe, who let out those addictingly adorable giggles, and let herself be wrapped in her arms. 

Nesryn pulled her in close, breathing in the baby's soft scent she couldn’t get tired of. Ayla didn’t seem to mind either, she lay content in her arms, head on her chest, and let out that sound that sounded like “ma” again. She knew she would start making those little sounds around now, alongside the little jousts of crawling. She has enough nieces and nephews to know that. 

Even so, she looked over at her husband when she did see it, a smug look on her face. 

He only gave a mock sigh before moving to wrap his arms under her, pulling them both into his embrace in blissful comfort. “I try not to get jealous of that,” he said, feigning hurt. 

She laughed, her voice still raspy from just waking up, and kissed her daughter's hair. “I think your da’s jealous, Ayla,” she mocks whispered. Sartaq pinched her side, making her laugh. 

“How long has she been awake,” Nesryn asked as Ayla sat up on her lap, babbling and grabbing at anything at arm's length.

“I told you I’d take her if she did, don’t worry about it.” Frowning, she glanced up at him but he cut her off before she could say anything. “You were rather deep in sleep, love. The fact that I got her up and ready without you so much as moving was enough.”

She waited for the rush of guilt, but it didn’t come. Maybe because she had wanted that sleep, or she wasn’t fully awake enough to feel anything yet. 

She sighed. “How long did I sleep in?” She was afraid, not really to hear it. 

“It’s a little past noon. Oh, everyone already came and went after meeting her out in the great hall,” he explained, stroking Ayla’s hair, making her pause and look up at him, giving him a toothless little smile before continuing in her little world. 

They smiled at that before he continued. “I know you hate the passing-her-around, so I thought having it done and over with. Also, the teasing is only reserved for me it seems, since no one seems inclined to give you a tough time for sleepin' in.”

She couldn’t help her laugh at that. She felt good about that, maybe even smug, considering the stories he had told her about how relentless the Rukhin had been with him. 

Sartaq tried to act annoyed, but he couldn’t hide the amusement on his, or the smile.

Ayla had no idea what was happening but laughed all the same. Nesryn grabbed her under the arms, lifting her and bringing her down to blow kisses on her cheeks, making her laugh and squirm, the sound making her heart soar in her chest. 

…

“She didn’t fuss much earlier did she?” she asked after changing, standing in front of the vanity as she braided her hair. 

Sartaq, on the bed with Ayla, a picture book open in front of her, said, “No. I think she was more focused on the cap she kept trying to take off.” An amused look at that, “I don’t think she liked being this bundled up.”

She snorted a laugh. “She’ll get used to it. But-”

There was a knock on the door then, and opened without waiting for an answer. Borte smirked at her, “You think you can join us for lunch this time.”

“I was debating a nap just now,” Nesryn said, finishing her braid. Her hair was longer now, past her shoulders, which surprisingly she didn’t seem to mind. 

“Well,” Borte said, sitting down next to Ayla, who looked up at her, curious, “If you're so inclined, but just give this one too us.”

“I think you have your husband for that,” Sartaq teased. 

A snort. “As if the bastard is good for anything.”

Nesryn and Sartaq shared a look that Borte chose to ignore. She never understood how these two worked, only that they did, in their own weird way. Honestly, she'd stopped trying to keep up with them. If only because everything they did changed every other day, after saying something completely different the before. 

“But I still think you could've brought her over sooner,” Borte started. A pointed glance at her as she came towards them, Sartaq sitting up. “You haven't been back in over a year. Instead this one kept coming and going.” 

Sartaq laughed. “Just say you missed me, Borte. I won't tell.” He grinned, then reached out an arm, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her closer to him.

A snort, which made Ayla let out a little laugh. Borte looked over and smiled at her. “As if,” she said, “but just so you both know, I'm holding you accountable for the glares and badgering my dear grandmother is sure to give me.”

“Won't you listen to her,” Nesryn teased her, moving to pick her daughter, who had started to crawl towards her, or was trying to,  the picture book forgotten and shoved to the side, gave her a laugh, the smile on her face contagious as she wrapped her arms as best as she could around her. “I think Ayla wants a friend, don't you, love,” she said, tickling her little cheek, making her giggle as she squirmed in her arms. 

“I think she has plenty back in her little palace.”

Sartaq grinned, “Not one here.” 

The pillow on his face came so fast she didn't even see it, followed by a humph before she got up and left, leaving her and Sartaq laughing. 

She only peaked back inside to say, “Oh just so you're aware, the other clans would be dying to meet their captains child. Better get to it.”

-----

For all the Nestaq shippers like me out there. I'll probably do a part 2 to this. Maybe. We'll see.

[eleanorblythe]

Romantic Homicide - Anton Chigurh x Original Female Character - One Shot

This is a supplemental to my first three chapters and explores Anton and Her before the events of Romantic Homicide

Three times they met. Three times she survived him.

Also on Ao3 with author notes and translations - here

Summer of 1977

He had seen her several times during the summer. It was unnerving. It was like he summoned her. Every time her face flitted into his mind, she appeared.

The first time it happened was about a month after that night in the motel. She hadn’t seen him. They both happened to be in the same gas station.

He mused that they both now had different cars.

He watched from his car, as she filled up her tank, made small talk with the cashier in store, all beaming smiles and easy laughs, before settling in her car, where a blank expression washed over her. She opened up a folder on the passenger seat and read and flipped through the documents and pictures.

Contract.

He watched her drive away. He briefly thought about following her.

Why? He shook the thought out of his head and drove away.

___________________

The next time it happened, it was only a few weeks later. This time she saw him first. He was settled in a booth in a diner and felt a shadow pass over him, expecting the waitress with his food. Until that voice…

“Hey handsome.”

He looked up, keeping his face as neutral as possible. She smiled down at him then slid into the seat opposite him.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were following me,” she purred.

Confusion must have flashed across his face because she laughed and placed a warm hand on his fist, resting on the table.

“I was kidding, but you could have said hello at the gas station, I don’t bite…unless you like that,”

She had seen him. And why was she flirting with him? He absently wondered whether she did it because she knew it would make him uncomfortable. But with her hand on his - it was so warm. So reassuring.

So, right.

“If you’re on a job or just, don’t want company by all means tell me and I’ll go,” she was conscious he hadn’t said anything and was staring down at her hand on his.

“I’m not on a job.” He met her gaze. It was as good as an invitation she was likely to get out of him, so she removed her hand and flipped through the diner menu.

“What’s good?” She asked scanning over the lists.

“It’s a diner off the highway. None of it’s good.”

“You say that, but I once had an excellent sundae in a place like this, just after this huge shootout. It was like the perfect reward.”

Another shadow passed over him, and this time it was a waitress with his food.

“Here we go, sir - oh sorry, ma’am, would you like to order?”

She peered over her menu at the plate that had just been put down in front of Anton.

“I’m good, we’ll share, won’t we darling?”

Anton considered killing her right then.

“No, thank you.” He gritted out.

She smiled apologetically up at the waitress.

“Sorry, my husband gets very cranky on long car rides. We’ll be fine thank you,” instantly putting the young girl at ease as she moved to serve other patrons.

“Does look good,” she mumbled as she took a fry off his plate.

“I take it back, I do mind you sitting here,” he said lowly.

She merely rolled her eyes. She. Rolled her eyes. At him? His fists clenched until the knuckles turned white.

“Anton, dear, if you’re going to strangle me you should know, my safeword is peach,”

“Why should I know that?”

“You seem like the type.” She helped herself to another fry.

“Maybe I’ll just shoot you.”

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, then seemed to remember something.

“Oh your native tongue is Spanish, sí?”

“Yes.”

“I had a run in with a very angry Mexican recently and he said something to me that for the life of me I couldn’t figure out, my Spanish is a little rusty,”

She said a vague approximation of what she had obviously overheard. She was right. Her Spanish was appalling. The corner of his lips lifted slightly as he translated back to her:

“Blonde cunt bitch.”

“Well, it’s not blonde, but close enough, I suppose.” She took a further fry before Anton muttered.

“I’m inclined to agree with him.”

She paused mid bite then shuffled closer to the table, speaking conspiratorially.

“You seem tense,” Anton ignored her and took a sip of his coffee, then she added, unhelpfully, “Do you want to fuck it out in the restroom behind me?”

Anton hid his surprise well, but he did burn his tongue. He placed his cup down a little too hard and glared at her.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What? I was trying to be helpful,”

“No. You’re not. Why are you doing this?”

She smirked.

“Because it’s so fun to watch you squirm.”

“And you know who I am.”

“And you know who I am.”

“I’m not interested in your games.”

She leaned back in her seat with an, almost smug, grin.

“Yes you are.” She said quietly. “If you weren’t, you would have killed me that night.”

“There’s still time.” He was lethal. His whole body vibrating with silent rage.

She hummed pleasantly and took one final French fry off of his plate (leaving him with approximately, six left) and slid herself out of the booth.

“Yes there is, Anton.” She leaned over him, brushing against him, to take a sip from his coffee. “Come and find me, when it is.”

She then proceeded to lick around the entire rim of the cup before delicately placing it back in its saucer. She gave a final wink, her finger ghosted over his cheek and walked away.

Anton sat for several minutes, allowing his food to get cold. He simply couldn’t understand why he would allow this woman to get under his skin. Or was that, what this was at all?

Over the years he had met many different types of people. She didn’t fit cleanly into any one category. She could be sweet and sour. Friendly and savage. Between them they had racked up more dead bodies than all of their other “colleagues” combined. They were both ruthless. Heartless. Fearless.

He didn’t fear her.

But he was wary of her.

He wanted to write her off as crazed ninfómana, but he knew she wasn’t. She was too good at what she did to simply be crazy. He knew how that felt.

“Come and find me, when it is,”

He had a sinking feeling, that time was fast approaching. What concerned him, was he wasn’t sure what he would do. He dug around in his pocket and flipped the quarter he found in there. Staring down at the side that faced him, he was almost ready to abandon everything he once believed.

He reluctantly put the coin back in his pocket and tucked into his, now, cold burger and leftover fries.

He didn’t touch the coffee again. No matter how much he wanted it.

___________________

The time after that, Anton knew. Fate was absolutely fucking with him.

It was a couple of months after their last encounter. Anton did everything in his power to avoid her. He worked odd hours, he took jobs outside of his normal remit and always out of his usual state of operations.

A client had asked Anton to recover some files from a former associate, he owned a nightclub.

When he arrived. It was a bloodbath.

Apparently this former associate had a good many enemies and a rival gang had arrived, baying for blood. Most of the public managed to get out before the gunfire started, but some had been trampled and some simply got in the way of the flying bullets.

Anton didn’t have time to discriminate who would and would not attack him, so he resolved to kill them all. He systematically made his way room by room, floor by floor. The office was at the back of the third floor. He tried to stay close to the shadows but, like a moth to a flame, people were drawn to him, determined to come out on top. They never did.

The third floor was significantly quieter. There was only the dull thrum of music drifting from the main floor, and the distant sound of gunfire. He stood outside the double doors to the office, and could hear shouts and the sound of furniture being moved around - or more accurately, being crashed into.

Anton kicked open the door and shot at the nearest person. Sending him sprawling across the carpet. This alerted the others who took cover behind sofas and desks. There was another two behind a frosted glass screen, but they were already engaged in a close quarters fight.

He quickly disposed of the others scrambling to escape and was about to turn his attention to the two left behind the glass when a man came crashing through the glass landing on his back, covered in cuts and bruises.

“That bitch…” the dying man rasped.

There. Was. No. Fucking. Way.

Anton watched, almost in disbelief, as she stepped over the shattered glass holding a dangerous looking shard in her hand, Anton could see the glass was cutting into her palm and blood was starting to bead and spill down her hand. She almost didn’t look human. Her eyes were completely black and her lip was curled in such a way it reminded Anton of a snarling wolf. She was so completely focused on her prey she didn’t even notice Anton watching on.

She knelt down, towering over the man on the floor.

“Where is it?” She spoke so softly, but her tone was venom.

“I don’t know!” He choked out.

She took the shard of glass she was holding and stabbed it into his gut. He howled in pain and tried to turn away, but she slapped him back to face her.

“Not good enough.” She said over the screams. “Lie to me again, and I remove your balls,”

“Alright! Alright, the code is etched into the underside of a drawer in his desk, now let me go!”

“No.” And she slit his throat.

She seemed to come out of her haze and finally saw Anton watching from the corner of her eye. Her eyes immediately lost their hard edge and glinted a little with mischief. A small smile gracing her features.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she huffed out a laugh and stood up from her knelt position. “You just can’t keep away, can you?”

He remained silent and unmoving.

She walked over to the large desk dominating the office and began carelessly pulling out the drawers, allowing the contents to spill onto the floor as she checked under every one. When she found the safe code she ripped away the painting that hung in pride of place and started spinning the mechanical combination lock, listening carefully to the clicks.

Once opened, she ignored the stacks of money, duct taped bags of cocaine and pistols and fished out a stack of Manila files. She sifted through them until she found one with her name on it. She quickly found a nearby trash can and dumped her file in it, unscrewing a bottle of liquor and pouring that too into the trash can.

“Got a light?”

Anton wordlessly tossed her his lighter. She lit the file on fire, she turned to pick up the overturned desk chair and took a seat, lifting her legs onto the desk top and started to pick small bits of glass out of her clothes and skin. She finally relaxed and looked up at him.

“So what brings you here, Anton?”

His eyes flicked to the pile of documents.

“Hopefully not the ones I just burnt?”

He ever so slightly shook his head.

“Just as well, you never know, that creep may have your file mixed in there,” she gestured to the scattered pile of Manila folders.

Anton could see from his position the file he was after, but he refused to move. Couldn’t move. He was half convinced he was hallucinating. Why her?

She put her legs down and leaned forward on the desk, resting her cheek on her palm.

“You don’t say much do you? I like a good challenge. There’s a motel around the corner…”

Anton finally moved.

He levelled his shotgun at her head.

“Ah. Has that time finally come?” She didn’t seem very surprised. She slowly rose from her seat and walked around the desk as he slowly approached her. “And you’ve made your decision?”

Anton kept his grip on his gun with one hand and dug a coin out of this pocket with the other. He flipped it and slammed it down on the desk beside them, fingers covering the coin face.

“Call it.”

She looked down thoughtfully at his hand then back to him. An indecipherable look flashed over her face.

“This is what you do?”

“Call it.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Call. It.”

“If you want to kill me, just kill me. Use your hands, if you like,”

His eyes burned her. He didn’t understand how she was looking at him. Was it sadness? Pity? Eventually she breathed a deep sigh and gave him what he wanted. Anton slowly lifted his hand off the coin and they both glanced at what stared back at them.

That was three times.

Three times she had cheated what was coming to her. Every choice she made should have killed her long ago. He should have killed her the second he saw her. But he didn’t. He didn’t know why, then.

He didn’t know why, now.

He tossed his shotgun on the desk and grabbed her throat, slamming her into the wall so hard the painting next to them fell to the ground and shattered. She hissed in pain as her skull connected to concrete.

“You.” He snarled “Why do you, get to live?”

She gasped for air, as he tightened his grip, but she never rose her hands to try to pry his away. Which only infuriated him more. Was she so willing to throw her life away?

“I should have killed you when I saw you,”

“Then why didn’t you?” She breathed.

“Not for your games.” He admitted to her.

She gave a small, sad smile.

“Then why?” She whispered. She was losing oxygen, soon she would black out. Or he would finally succeed in killing her. He wondered if he had the strength in him to snap her neck.

He, almost imperceptibly, shook his head at her.

She closed her eyes and allowed a tear to escape the corner of her eye. When she opened them her eyes were misty and the life was draining from them. She took a shuddering breath.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

To this day, he doesn’t know how she did it.

How she knew.

How her words were the very thing he needed to hear in that moment.

How she seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

He knew then, why he was right to fear her. She could see into the deepest parts of him, locked away, long since forgotten and abandoned and bring them into such glaring and startling clarity that it left him feeling something he had never felt.

Vulnerable.

She was somehow, both his strength and undoing. That rarest of creatures.

Too precious to snuff out.

Just as she was about to breathe her last, he released her throat. She tried to gulp in some air but was cut off by his mouth descending on hers.

She tried to raise her arms up in an attempt to push him away, but he pinned them to the wall, holding her there as he now tried to suffocate her in a whole new way.

Eventually he broke away from her mouth and kissed the sore red marks on her neck that he knew would soon become bruises. She took greedy breaths, groaning and panting as the air and life returned to her body.

“I should fucking kill you,” she rasped.

Anton lifted his head from her neck and met her eyes, noses touching. Breath mingling together.

“But you won’t.” He said.

“No, I won’t.” She closed the small distance and kissed him desperately, she bit his lip hard enough to bleed then pulled back. “And neither will you.”

“No, I won’t.” He said echoing her words.

They didn’t make it to the motel, instead he had her there in that office, among the dead bodies they left behind.

She was pleasantly surprised to learn Anton, in fact, could be very vocal.

Afterwards, they left together - easily dispatching anyone who was left in the building - and made it to their cars. He once again watched her drive away into the night before picking up the file he came for, flipping through the contents when a scrap of paper fluttered onto his lap.

He picked it up and allowed himself to smile.

‘Come catch me…’ It read, and below - her address. She lived in his state. His city.

He promised to himself he would visit sometime soon.

She was his rara avis.

He would keep her.

[the-archangel]

Sense

CyberHanami Day 1 prompt, 'Born to Die'

V feels like a ghost in his  own home as he mooches from room to room unable to settle or focus. Kerry has been gone for hours and with no word from his mainline V doesn’t know what to think.

“He prolly just got high at the studio and lost track of time,” Johnny tells him unhelpfully,

“Nah, he wrapped up last week, album’s comin’ out next month.” V thinks about the songs he’s heard from Kerry’s latest record, some leave him with a smile, others with tears, but they’re all fucking amazing – it rocks like nothing Kerry has done in years. “It’s gonna go nova when it comes out J, they’re gonna love it.”

Johnny nods, he’s got to agree, his old bandmate is back on form to be sure, it’s just a shame it took what’s happened in the last few months to get him there.

The two men turn to face the window as the sound of a car draws their attention, sure enough Kerry spills out, clearly in no state to be driving, he stumbles through the side door barely making it to the couch before collapsing onto the seat.

“Ker, finally, I was worried.” V sweeps over to sit next to his gorgeous Rockerboy, “I missed you.”

Kerry seems to be finding it difficult to focus, “I love you V,” he whispers before drifting into a troubled and uncomfortable sleep.

“See he’s fine,” says Johnny gesturing to his clearly not fine friend, earning a glare from V.

“ I just wish he’d talk to me,” V says sadly, “whatever’s been bugging him, he won’t talk about it. We used to talk about everything, but it’s been weeks since we’ve had a proper conversation.”

Johnny bites his tongue, unsure if this is a good time to tell the ex-merc what’s going on – again – or to save it til morning, he decides on the latter.

-

V doesn’t remember waking up, he feels like he’s been lying here staring at Kerry’s sleeping features forever – maybe he has – the blare of the radio alarm pulls him out of his reverie and he watches his mainline leave their bed with a grumble and a stretch and go into the bathroom, Johnny appears next to the distracted man, “V, c’mon things to do, gotta delta.”

“Shit Johnny, ever heard of boundaries?”

“Hmm, not in relation to me no,” the rocker muses.

V realises he must’ve slept in his clothes again, but he can’t get the energy together to get changed.

“Where are we going, don’t remember having plans?”

“You’ll see, get yourself downstairs,” Johnny tells V as he hustles him towards the staircase, his hurry not entirely because he doesn’t want the younger man to hear the sobbing from the bathroom.

-

“What’re we doing here Johnny?” V asks as they stand watching the clouds gather over North Oak.

“You mean philosophically or actually?”

V glares at his friend, “You’re a fucking annoying asshole sometimes y’know,”

“Shit, only sometimes? Must try harder.”

The sun’s not been up for long and the overcast sky hints at coldness, but neither man is really feeling it, despite this both have their hands deep in their pockets and shoulders hunched against the weather. As the first drops of rain fall a car appears and stops a few feet away from them.

“He’s here.” Johnny states.

V had recognised Kerry’s car as soon as it came into view, he would’ve driven if Kerry had asked, seems dumb them going separately to the same place. Johnny held his arm tightly to stop him from running towards his lover as the door swings up and he makes his way onto the footpath.

Kerry seems older than he used to, thinner, drawn, maybe even limping a little on that cranky knee he was always griping about, V aches to go to him, to hold him tight, but Johnny’s chrome hand  keeps a firm grip as Kerry sweeps past them without a second glance.

They follow keeping a few feet behind, Kerry is virtually radiating a need for personal space right now and they respect that.

“I don’t like it here Johnny, it’s …dunno…creepy.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” the older man mumbles under his breath.

Kerry stops at an alcove near the back and after spending a moment seemingly staring at the wall, sinks onto the floor with his head between his knees and sobs uncontrollably, V breaks from Johnny’s grasp, running towards the distraught man, but stopping short of the hug that was his initial intent. Johnny catches up to the ex-merc, casting a concerned look at his worryingly blank face.

“Jeez Johnny, I forgot, how the fuck could I forget?”

“It’s been a year, you’re fading,” the other man says with a shrug.

Kerry lifts his head, wiping his face on the back of his arm, there’s a fond half-smile there that mingles with the tear tracks and breaks V’s heart.

“Never fade away V,” Kerry whispers touching his fingertips to the stone.

[underworldqueen13]

I just really have chubby Tech on the brain so I wrote a fix it fic for my favorite little nerd.

Tech wants to tell Phee how he feels. But each time he goes to say it, he loses steam and sidetracks to something else.

If Phee tries to coax it out of him, he'll conveniently take the opportunity to get something to eat. Can't answer questions if your mouth is full of food, a logical solution.

Except Phee is persistent. She wants to know what Tech was trying to say. He can't possibly use meals and snack breaks to avoid her every time.

But Tech is also stubborn. There couldn't possibly be a downside to this. Phee can't get mad if he has to eat. And there is no short supply of different foods he can try and enjoy. So he continues this routine. Dodging Phee's inquiries with fruit, sweets, fresh breads and stews.

When they're preparing to head for Tantiss, that's when Tech notices what his routine has done. A soft layer of fat pushes between his belt and armor. The plating ill fitting in places where his once firm flat physique has thickened and rounded out.

All he can do now is adjust his armor and plan to fix his gear properly when they return.

Except the mission doesn't go as planned. Tech falls, hard. He feels the stinging of snapped bones as he slams against the rocks. The metallic taste of blood lingering long after his body hits the ground. His right side burns but he can't get his arm to respond. He can hear the sound of a ship landing somewhere near him but can't tell who is coming.

He's surprised to see Phee's worried face when he opens his eyes. Even with his glasses off, he knows her features.

"easy brown eyes, I got you. We're going to patch you up."

Phee notices when she's fixing Tech up how he has softened in a few places.

"all that food had to go somewhere," she thinks.

But without it, AZI mentions his injuries could have been fatal. Instead he's sustained a concussion, two broken legs, broken ribs, and his right arm has been severed just above the elbow.

When Wrecker and Hunter finally come back with Omega and Crosshair, they're surprised. It's been almost a month and while healing, Tech has certainly been taken care of. His stomach rounds out, his thighs are thicker. Even his chest seems to be softer.

"guess you're mouth still works," Crosshair jokes.

Tech blushes when he realizes what his brother means. He hadn't even thought about that. He definitely wouldn't fit into his armor now. So he stops eating some of his meals. He gets cranky and snappy when everyone tries to ask what's wrong. When he's able to actually get out of bed, Phee keeps a close eye on him. He's started his regular morning routine of training but she sees how he winces with each movement. He's still adjusting to his cybernetic arm and gets frustrated when he can't handle tasks that take more finesse.

"Ok you need to stop before you kill yourself." Phee finally intervenes.

Tech is lying on the beach, chest heaving and out of breath. She can't tell if the tears she's seeing are from pain or something else. She sits down beside him on the beach and stares quietly towards the water.

"What's been going on with you? I get wanting to get back into your routine but you're smart enough to know the process should be eased into. A walk on the beach, maybe some pushups.

Tech sits up and looks out where Phee is watching. His body protested the movement.

"I'm out of shape. And I've increased in mass beyond an acceptable number. I am simply trying to shed the excess and prepare myself for missions."

Phee doesn't laugh. She doesn't even speak as she looks Tech over. Her hand reaches out and lands on his softer stomach. She gives it a squeeze and smiles.

"I actually kinda like it. You look comfortable, like you've been kept safe by someone who cares about you."

"you do care about us don't you," he muses. "It's no surprise I've fallen in love with you. At least I think I have. I'm quite new to that feeling but I know I feel different when I'm with you."

"Is that why you started the random binges when I tried to get close? I get it, feelings are complicated. You can't always determine how things will go if you act on them. Not to mention getting attached with the life you live can be a liability."

They say on the beach quietly for almost an hour before Phee eventually stood up.

"Alright Brown eyes, let's take a walk and get something to eat. Like it or not, I'm going to take care of you and if that means you getting a little soft then you're brothers will need to get used to it."

[ofiends]

send BLUSHED for a scene from my muse's past in which they received a compliment that really got to them

Yelena has been in London for 4 months. And it's fine, She supposes.

Yelena recounts her days, sometimes, like she is drafting a text to a loving spouse. Someone hot who was just waiting, at home, to hear all about her day. Yes dear, work was fine (it was crazy busy for a Wednesday), no dear nothing exciting happened (I killed a guy with a Desk lamp), yes dear chicken for dinner sounds fine. (I can't eat another mac 'n' cheese ready meal or I'll throw up).

She has these little conversations with herself because making friends is hard. She struggles because she's never had a friend before. She finds the small talk awkward, and her English still isn't the best. The Jolly Rogers are a gang, first and fore-most and she of course, part of that, but she finds herself on the peripheral of it at the same time, looking in at all the love and the orders and the comradery. Perhaps one day, it wouldn't be like this, but today, it is. She feels a little like a ghost sometimes, taking her orders and carrying them out and then just loitering in that tiny, terrible apartment above the butchers on Neilston street.

She's in the co-op one evening, tierd and cranky and arms overflowing with stupid little boxes of ready-to-eat mac'n'cheese (she really hates the stuff, but the mushroom Tagliatelle is always sold out. She really has to find a friend that can cook) when she feels a presence at her elbow. Her first response is to drop the pasta and gather whoever it is into an arm lock so tight it'll fracture something. She doesn't of course, she just looks at them.

He's young and she recognising his face from gang meetings, a plain, red haired boy with a missing front tooth. He grins at her and Yelena isn't quite sure what to do. She shifts awkwardly

"I heard about you, what you did in Soho last week."

Yelena just nods because what else can she do, they're in public after all.

"It was SO cool....you're so cool-all that blood..." his eyes were shining brightly, two muddy lamps set deep in his skull. He was taller than her, and Yelena felt her attention shifting to his missing tooth. She stared hard at the gap, but his compliment was breathing life into something warm and fuzzy in her chest. She felt a happy buzz start behind her eyes and it might have been the start of a migraine, but that didn't matter, because this kid thought she was cool.

The next day, at the next meeting, Yelena sat amongst her colleagues and made the first, real effort she had at making friends since coming to London. Yes, perhaps one day it would not always be like this.

[evitascarlett14]

The Guardian - Chapter 1

A/N: This story is set about a month and a half after my previous Halloween story, A Gift From the Great Pumpkin, in which Kate has her third child on Halloween…and names her after her great grandmother Sarah who often pops in for a visit whether her relatives want her to or not. Usually Sarah visits Johanna…but in this story, she’s going to be hanging around Kate and the kids a bit…and there may be a few other visitors as well!  I hope you’ll enjoy it!

*Posting chapter 1 here since FFnet can’t get it together this weekend and keeps making my story disappear. Let me know if you enjoy the chapter, either here or drop me a note on Twitter (or X, whichever you call it).

Chapter 1

Kate Beckett sighed softly, feeling slightly frazzled, holding the small form of her son as he whimpered sleepily in her arms. She had hoped that by the time December had set in that things would be more settled within their household…that Sarah’s schedule would be set and working seamlessly with Landen’s and McKenzie’s. Things were slowly getting better…but not fast enough to make her feel as if she had complete control once more. A warm huff of her son’s breath landed against her neck. Landen was still adjusting to having a baby sister…and while his jealousy was easing and he was willing to be more involved with her, he still had days when he struggled. Today was one of those days, she mused as she brushed a kiss against his hair. Her little boy was cranky…missing his daddy who would be out of town for a few more days doing holiday promotional tours for his newest releases just in time for the last minute holiday rush.

She missed Castle too…it was her first time being completely alone with all three kids for more than an afternoon or evening. She missed the comfort he gave her, assuring her that things would be fine, that they’d have the kids settled down before she went back to work in the New Year. She missed the sound of his typing in the office…his warmth at night. She felt lonely…out of sorts…and she knew that she could call her mother for backup but she didn’t want her to think that she felt like she couldn’t handle things…she could…she just still felt a little out of sorts…and she didn’t want to depend on her mother too much during her leave; after all, she figured her maternity leave was a break for her mother, despite Johanna’s hints that she was bored without her grandchildren and wouldn’t mind coming by to help out with Rick out of town.

Another sigh crossed her lips; she had been tempted that morning to call…Landen was cranky, Sarah…or rather Lizzie as she was called more often than not to Castle’s chagrin, had been fussy from a stomachache…and McKenzie was antsy, tired of being cooped up in the house thanks to a string of snow days that had cancelled school. She had gotten Lizzie’s stomach settled and had put her down for a nap in the nursery. McKenzie had gone willingly to her own room to play with her Barbie dolls with the instruction to help listen for the baby so that she could get Landen down for a nap as well. If Landen and Lizzie both stayed down for their naps, then she could cross the hallway and settle down with McKenzie and her dolls for some much needed girl time with her oldest daughter.

A small squawk of a cry sounded from across the hallway, making Kate close her eyes as Landen whimpered against her shoulder. “Oh, Lizzie, please,” she silently murmured. That child just did not like to sleep…and if she started wailing, Landen would be back up as well and she wouldn’t be able to carve out a little one on one time with McKenzie. Speaking of her eldest girl, she heard her swift little footsteps in the hallway, heading in the direction of the nursery. Kate breathed deeply, McKenzie would go look in on the baby…she’d slip her hand through the slats of the crib and allow the baby to curl her hand around her fingers, murmuring assurances until she could get there. She really didn’t have it together if she was counting on a five year old to be her backup.

“Mama,” Landen sleepily cried in his sleep.

“Shhh,” she soothed, rubbing his back. “I’m here, buddy.”

He settled under her hand and she rose from the chair and moved to his toddler bed, tucking him in and then quickly returning her hand to his back as he stirred; hoping that the baby would stay settled with McKenzie in her room for a few minutes more as she made sure that Landen would stay asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah McKenzie glided across the floor of the nursery at that first squawk from her great-great granddaughter. She smiled as she looked down into the crib, the baby’s green eyes flicking open, her small mouth puckering into a cry because she had lost her pacifier. “There, there,” Sarah murmured to her, picking up the pacifier and slipping it into the baby’s mouth. The infant wiggled, her small face crinkling up in anticipation of a cry.

“No need to cry,” Sarah murmured as she reached into the crib and scooped up the baby, cradling her against her chest as she carried her to the rocking chair. “Granny Sarah’s got you, little one; no need to cry.”

The baby stared up at her and Sarah smiled once more. “Don’t worry, darling, you’re perfectly safe.”

A gasp at the doorway drew Sarah’s attention, spotting the eldest child of the home staring at her with an open mouth. “Oh, dear,” the spirit muttered; she hadn’t counted on being caught. “Close your mouth, darling,” she gently admonished. “It’s not a good look for a little girl to have her mouth hanging open.”

“Who are you?” McKenzie asked, her voice quivering as she stepped into the room, observing the shimmering being that was holding her baby sister.

The woman in a green silk dress smiled as she regarded McKenzie. “Do not be afraid, little one. I won’t hurt you.”

“Who are you?” she repeated.

“My name is Sarah,” she answered. “And you are McKenzie.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh I know all about you and Landen and little Sarah.”

McKenzie studied her. “Why are you shiny? Are you a ghost like in the Halloween movies that my Daddy watches?”

“Well…I guess you may call me a ghost but I much prefer the term spirit…but I know a small girl like you doesn’t quite understand the difference, so yes, you may say I am a ghost. You saw me before, remember? You saw me at the hospital when your sister was born. I watched over her in the nursery.”

Fear rippled through her. “Mommy!” McKenzie cried.

“Oh, darling, don’t be upset,” Sarah soothed. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you or baby Sarah.”

“Mommy!” McKenzie yelled again as she ran from the nursery.

“McKenzie, darling,” the spirit called after her but the little girl had already dashed across the threshold.

“Oh my,” Sarah said as she glanced down at the infant in her arms. “I’ve frightened your sister, dear one. I always get myself into a pickle…that’s hereditary you know…you will also get yourself into a pickle or two one day but have no fear, Granny Sarah will help you all she can.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Upon hearing McKenzie’s anguished cry, Kate leapt to her feet and hurried into the hallway, nearly colliding with her daughter. “McKenzie, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Mommy, there’s a ghost lady holding Lizzie!” McKenzie exclaimed.

“What?” Kate replied, surely she had misheard her child.

“There’s a ghost in Lizzie’s room!”

She shook her head. “There aren’t any ghosts in our house…and if there was, it wouldn’t be able to hold the baby.”

“There’s a lady holding the baby!” her daughter all but yelled; her small face full of panic. “She saw our baby at the hospital.”

Kate didn’t like the sound of that as she broke into a run for the nursery, sliding across the threshold with McKenzie hot on her heels, cursing the fact that her gun was locked in the safe downstairs.

“Oh, Bunny, you don’t need a gun,” the woman stated as she slid into the room.

Kate’s eyes jerked toward the voice, there in the rocking chair was the shimmering being of Sarah McKenzie…and in her arms was Sarah Elizabeth Alexandra Castle, content as could be. She felt her heart clench at the sight, fear rushing through her as her stomach felt like it dropped to her toes.

“See, Mommy!” McKenzie said as she pointed at the being.

“Do not be afraid,” Sarah said once more with a smile. “You know who I am, Katie; we’ve met before.”

“Yes, I know who you are…what are you doing with my baby!?”

“I’m just visiting, darling.”

Kate’s hands shook as McKenzie pressed against her leg. “She said she’s a ghost, Mommy. Is she a real ghost?”

“Yes,” Kate murmured although she hated to admit it. “She’s a ghost.”

“I prefer the term spirit,” Sarah remarked.

“I don’t care what you call yourself,” Kate said, her voice trembling. “I don’t want a ghost holding my baby.”

“She doesn’t mind me holding her,” Sarah replied. “She doesn’t know the difference yet and I think she rather likes me. She doesn’t mind at all.”

“I mind!” Kate yelled, making the baby flinch.

“Hush now,” the spirit admonished as she cuddled the baby. “You’ll wake Landen and he needs his rest; and little Sarah doesn’t need to be startled.”

“You stay away from my kids,” she said tersely. “Why are you here?”

“I told you; I’m just visiting. You don’t need to carry on so much. I’m not finished holding the baby but I’m going to put her back in her crib so you’ll calm down, alright?”

Kate’s hand brushed McKenzie’s head. “McKenzie, go downstairs and get my phone, call Grandma; tell her to get over here right now. I don’t care what she’s doing, she needs to get over here now, tell her that.”

“Okay, Mommy,” McKenzie said as hurried from the room.

“Oh, Katie, you’re going to terrify your mother,” Sarah said as she rose from the chair.

“She’ll be fine, she needs to come deal with her ghostly relative who popped into the wrong house.”

“I did not pop into the wrong house; this is exactly where I chose to be. I wanted to see the baby.”

“Put my baby down gently,” Kate said as Sarah moved to the crib.

Sarah giggled. “Oh, bunny, I know how to put a baby down. I had four of my own, you know? And as a spirit who roams where she wishes, I have at times been granted the privilege of holding a grandchild here and there. I even held you once.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Oh but I did; you were no bigger than little Sarah,” the spirit explained. “Your mother had put you down for a nap, and she was so very tired that she went across the hallway to her room to get the laundry but ended up laying down and falling asleep. You must’ve sensed that she dozed off because you let out a squawk…but I was there and I scooped you up and rocked you, holding you for awhile as you slept so that your mommy could get a well needed nap too. I cherished that moment, Katie…just as I cherished the time when I scooped your mother up from her cradle and cuddled her for a little while.”

Kate moved to the crib and checked the baby over as Sarah remained in the room. “I didn’t hurt her, dear. I would never hurt any of you, you’re all my grandbabies, I love you.”

“Does Mom know you supposedly held me?”

“No; there was no need for her to know. I hadn’t planned on you knowing that I was visiting baby Sarah…McKenzie caught me off guard.”

“You shouldn’t have been holding my baby,” Kate said harshly.

“Why ever not?” the spirit asked. “She was going to cry and Landen needed his mommy for a few moments more. It’s not the first time I’ve been here, dear. I always look in on the baby.”

Fear struck her heart, her hands reaching for her baby, lifting her out of the crib. “Is something wrong with her?” Kate asked, her voice trembling. “Is something going to happen to her?”

Sarah shook her head. “No! Nothing is wrong; little Sarah is a healthy baby. No need to worry.”

“Then why are you looking in on her? I thought you haunted my mother.”

“I do not haunt your mother, I visit her.”

“Whatever,” Kate said. “You should be at her house.”

“She doesn’t have any babies at her house right now…which is why she was taking a nap, she’s bored…but now she’ll be in a panic thanks to that phone call.”

“She’ll be fine…I want to know why you’re so interested in my baby.”

“I’m interested in all of my grandchildren.”

“Maybe you’re too interested.”

Sarah shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I thought this was your thing with my mother,” Kate said, patting the baby’s back as she began to fuss a little.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t visit other members of my family,” Sarah replied. “You need to relax, darling, your upsetting baby Sarah.”

“We’ve been calling her Lizzie,” she said sharply.

“Yes, I know, but I prefer to call her by her first name…which is Sarah.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Grandma’s coming, Mommy!” McKenzie exclaimed as she bounded into the room with Kate’s phone in her hand.

“Good,” she replied as she kept the baby cradled against her, her free hand moving to rest on McKenzie’s shoulder. “Grandma needs to take care of this.”

“Does Grandma know about ghosts?” McKenzie asked. “Grandpa always makes the monsters go away.”

“Grandma knows how to make this ghost go away.”

Sarah gave a soft laugh. “Darling, you really don’t need to be so upset…and really, there’s nothing that your mother can do about me. She’s tried before and it didn’t do her any good. Do you have the candy game on your telephone? May I play it?”

“No, I don’t have it,” Kate said firmly. “You need to leave…go bother Mom.”

“Well I can’t do that now; she’s on her way here now…and I don’t go anywhere until I’m ready. You once said that it was nice to know that loved ones were watching over things.”

“Yeah, the ones I personally knew…and you know, watching from a distance, not being in my house, touching my kids!”

“There’s nothing to fear, Katie,” she soothed. “I’ve been roaming and visiting for more years than I care to admit. I was there the day you were born.”

“That’s very nice for you but you need to go.”

“No, I do not wish to go yet. Are you sure that you don’t have the candy game since I can’t hold the baby right now?”

“Grandma has the candy game,” McKenzie replied.

Sarah smiled. “Yes, she does…I guess we’re going to have to wait on her to get here so everyone can settle down and then perhaps she’ll let me play that candy game…she’s not as stingy as your mommy,” she said lightly.

McKenzie gave her a small smile as she studied her. “We need to tell Daddy that we got a ghost. Daddy will like us having a real ghost, he likes ghosts. He said he was going to write a ghost story.”

Kate shook her head. “No, we shouldn’t tell Daddy.”

“Why not?”

“Because he would like this entirely too much,” Kate remarked.

“Because he knows there’s nothing to fear,” Sarah remarked.

“Mommy, can I touch the ghost?” McKenzie asked.

“Of course you can, darling,” Sarah answered, holding out her hand. “Come and see Granny Sarah.”

“No,” Kate said, catching hold of McKenzie’s arm. “You stay right here next to me.”

“But, Mommy, I want to touch it…she’s shiny.”

“I said no.”

Sarah sighed. “We better wait on your grandmother, dear…she’ll take care of everything.”

“She better,” Kate said, willing her mother to hurry. Johanna Beckett needed to get there and run off her wayward relative…and maybe take a turn holding the baby…because there was no way her baby was being laid down in that crib while there was a nosy, baby snatching ghost running around.

“I am not a baby snatcher!” Sarah said with indignation.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Kate replied. “You just go back over there and sit in that chair and wait.”

“Very well, dear,” Sarah replied as she moved back to the rocking chair. She sighed deeply, family…what a pain they could be when they wouldn’t let you enjoy the time you had decided to give them. Now Johanna was on her way and when she saw that the problem wasn’t the panic inducing issue she was most likely envisioning, she’d be angry with her too. Yes, once again, she had gotten herself into a pickle…oh well, she took her job seriously and no one would keep her from doing it.

[lgcjihan-archive]

hello! thank you everyone for the lovely welcome messages, i must sleep since i’m flying out tomorrow but will respond to everyone as soon as i get some rest! down below are some facts about jihan, along with her bio and profile. i opted out of a plots page for now, currently brainstorming unique things that can fit our muses a bit better. however, i have some small plots that i do want for her ♡ if you are interested in plotting, please give this a like and i will come to you!

                                                                 BIO & PROFILE.

she grew up as the younger sibling with three older brothers, alongside both parents and their siblings as well. jihan grew up on a small farm that harvested oysters, green onions, and crabs! she is a country girl at heart and an extremely sweet girl who cares deeply about others. she was very content with living on a farm, being one of the boys, and having a carefree life talking to older adults as they all worked together.

jihan is a tomboy at heart. she never really dressed like a girl until it was time for school, wearing a skirt was part of her uniform. but any other time, you will find her wearing very baggy clothing and overalls with band t-shirts. you will never catch her wearing makeup unless it’s for a job. she was never one to really care about her appearance or anyone else’s, it was always about someone’s personality and their heart.

while she is a sweetheart who couldn’t really hurt a fly, her mouth is very reckless. she has a truckers mouth, extremely expressive with how she describes her feelings and... curses a lot. jihan will also be the person who will say things that others won’t, you know, the stuff you never want to hear but need to? yeah, you count jihan for that.

OVERALL: jihan is the softest girl you would probably meet with a very dangerous mouth/thought process. she is the caretaker of the group and will push her feelings aside to make sure her loved ones are okay. she also craves excitement, always looking for new adventures to try out, and just having fun. and while she is a social butterfly, she struggles to be alone because she depends on people’s company too much.

Mini Facts!

wearing messy buns, ponytails, and damp hair/air drying is her go to these days.

has been 7 months clean from smoking her vape! she got the addiction from her brothers. curiosity killed the cat.

her favorite color is green, seafoam green #B2D2A4, to be exact. 

likes to drink black coffee every morning before she goes to class, without it she’ll be a little on the cranky side. jihan is not a morning person at all

even though jihan is a tomboy, majority of her personal items have some girlie charm to it. whether it be the lockscreen of her phone being Cinnamoroll from Sanrio, or just keychains hanging from her bags.

Small plot ideas!

A close friend who listens to the deepest confessions that flow through Jihan’s mind.

On and off exes who don’t know when enough is enough.

Breaking free from a friendship that never benefited her or the other person. A somewhat toxic relationship.

Someone, she can be her true self around, no matter how goofy she may act.

Fellow troublemaker. Jihan will faithfully follow the rules on any given day, but she does have a bit of a rebellious heart. She wants to explore the city more often.

Someone who calls her out for being too laid back and not taking training as seriously as everyone else.

[probablylostrightnow]

Chaos and Adventure (ME Fic)

I was @qbert0​‘s Holiday Harbinger gifter, and wanted to write something to go with the dice bag. You mentioned that you liked fShep/Liara and Garrus/Tali as a secondary pairing, that you enjoyed the whole gang’s adventures in the Citadel DLC, and requested no heavy emotional angst, so I tried to write a bit of fluff that captured some of those themes. It was a fun piece to write and I hope you enjoy it!

Post-game, ambiguous as to ending but Shepard is alive, pretty much pure fluff.

Judging from the length of the line outside, the rebuilt Ryuusei’s Sushi Bar was even popular than the old one. Even in civvies, Shepard was quickly recognized and waved to the front of the line. Liara had wondered if she would prove to be on some sort of restaurant blacklist, but if the maître d’ was aware of Shepard’s role in the demise of the sushi bar’s previous incarnation, she gave no sign. “Welcome, ma’am, Ryuusei’s is honored to have you,” she said smoothly. “This way, please, the rest of your party is waiting for you.”

Liara took a moment to look over the place. The renovation had been extensive (and doubtless expensive). Fish swam contentedly below her feet, unaware of the tragic fate of their predecessors. The wood paneling was carefully aged as if to suggest that the restaurant had been in continuous operation for decades, and certainly had not been invaded by mercenaries or swarming with Reapers at any point.

The maître d’s brow was furrowed in a look Liara had learned to interpret as impatience. She fell in beside Shepard as they made their way across the restaurant. Garrus Vakarian gave a quick wave from across the way – of course, he had spotted them first. Tali’Zorah’s attention appeared to be completely absorbed by the “NEW Dextro Menu!” in her hands, but she quickly glanced up as the maître d’ pulled out Shepard and Liara’s chairs.

“Shepard! Liara!” she said. “It’s so good to see you!” Liara didn’t need to be able to see Tali’s face to know that she was smiling. “It’s been too long.”

“Well, if some people could tear themselves away from their homeworlds more often…” Shepard said teasingly.

Garrus spread his hands. “You know how it is, Shepard,” he said ruefully. “One meeting after another, datapad after datapad filled with decisions to be made… It’s enough to make a turian think about resuming his vigilante career. I’d have thought the Reaper advisor would be, eh, off the hook with the Reapers gone…”

“Ah, ah!” Tali waved a finger in mock indignation. “No Reaper talk.”

Liara thought back to the vidcall she’d received from Tali. “We’re coming to the Citadel!” Tali had blurted excitedly as soon as Liara took the call. They’d brainstormed about plans, and Tali had proposed a double date. “Some casual time together,” she’d suggested. “No fate-of-the-galaxy stuff, no Reapers, no bringing each other up to date on every aspect of rebuilding this and that. Just friends spending time together. Do you think you can get Shepard to sign up for this?”

When Liara had mentioned the location Tali had in mind, Shepard had countered with a “no discussing past sushi-restaurant shenanigans” condition, which Tali had accepted. Joker would be so disappointed when he heard they’d passed up the chance to rib her.

“I wasn’t talking about the Reapers,” Garrus complained mildly. “I was talking about my job, the one I still have for some reason. The position seems more escape-proof than Purgatory. Do you think the Admiralty Board would accept my application for asylum?”

“I’d have to ask the Admirals,” Tali said primly.

Liara brought to mind the reports of the Shadow Broker’s agents in the no-longer-Migrant Fleet. “I hear a certain young Admiral is the deciding vote more often than not, these days.”

“Time to upgrade our security systems again,” Tali said. She sounded rather as if she was looking forward to it.

The waiter arrived to take their order, and the conversation paused. Liara ordered something called the “Asari Delight,” which the waiter assured her was carefully selected to please to asari palates. He seemed unamused when Shepard asked if it contained any actual asari.

“Really, Shepard?” Liara asked after the waiter stalked off.

“Just looking out for you,” Shepard said unapologetically. “For all you know, Javik could be the head chef.”

“I can’t imagine that he could find the time,” Liara said. She turned to Tali and Garrus. “He sends me a new book chapter every week or so. Usually with instructions to throw the previous draft of the chapter out of an airlock.”

“How are they to read?” Tali asked skeptically.

“Arrogant, but interesting,” Liara said, smiling. She definitely found Javik easier to deal with at a distance.

“I guess you must be keeping busy, between editing and your Super Secret Other Job.” The capital letters were audible, and Tali went so far as to make air quotes. “What have you been doing, Shepard?”

Shepard waved a hand in the air. “Oh, you know. Lots of rehab, consulting on that thing we’re not supposed to be talking about, following the research on those other things that are banned from this conversation…”

The table was silent for a bit. Liara wondered if she should bring up their news, or if Shepard would. She felt oddly nervous at the prospect.

“So, ah, biotiball?” Shepard ventured. Apparently it wasn’t just Liara. “How about those Seattle Sorcerers?”

Garrus shook his head. “I don’t really follow the sport, Shepard.” Tali and Liara shrugged their agreement. “Has Cortez made a fan out of you?”

“I’ve really just watched a game or two,” she admitted.

Silence fell again. Maybe now she should…

“The, eh, weather has been nice,” Garrus offered.

Tali elbowed him. “We’re on a space station.”

“That’s a fair point,” Garrus granted. If he’d been a stranger, Liara might have thought the comment a cranky grumble, but she knew his subharmonics well enough to hear the underlying affection. So did Tali, clearly, as she inclined her head toward him. Liara glanced at Shepard and found her smiling fondly at her friends.

“I’m so glad you two are doing well,” Shepard said.

Tali said a warm, “Thank you.”

The waiter returned with their drinks. Shepard raised a glass. “To friends who fell in love.”

Tali and Liara clinked their glasses against Shepard’s, but Garrus’s attention seemed to be drawn by something to his right.

“Ah, don’t all look at once, but that turian tending bar – isn’t that Rolan Quarn?”

Liara, Shepard, and Tali glanced toward the bartender, more or less surreptitiously. The bartender did look rather like the turian she remembered from the casino. Quarn appeared to be engaged in animated conversation with a few of the patrons, but Liara couldn’t catch any words.

“Sure looks like him,” Shepard confirmed.

“Hmm. Think that he’s gone straight and is now earning an honest living serving drinks in a sushi bar?” Garrus asked.

Shepard snorted. “Want to make that a bet, Garrus?”

“I should go check in with him. Let him know I’ve got an eye on him.”

“Or,” Tali countered, “you could enjoy our date, and not plunge us into chaos and adventure.”

“It’s not as if you’re in C-Sec anymore,” Liara said.

Shepard added innocently, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his being here.”

“Perfectly reasonable and highly illegal, at a guess,” Garrus said. He stirred restlessly in his chair.

Tali put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure he would never break the law. If it weren’t for a good cause, I mean.”

“How long are you two on the Citadel?” Shepard asked.

“Nice change of subject, very subtle,” Liara teased.

“Not very long, I’m afraid,” Tali said, keeping a firm hand on Garrus’s shoulder. “Just making some diplomatic contacts, attending some meetings, then heading back to the homeworld.” She sighed. “I think I preferred it when you were in charge and I could spend all my time in engineering.”

“Daniels and Donnelly got married last month, did you hear?” Shepard asked.

“I did,” Tali said. “I sent Gabby a card saying, ‘Good luck.’” Shepard barked a surprised laugh.

“What about you two?” Garrus asked, finally looking away from Quarn. “Are you here for long? I thought you were going to be on Earth a while longer.”

“We were,” Shepard said. “But the Extranet connections are still pretty unreliable, and that was making it too hard for Liara to get work done. And, uh” – she paused, smiled a bit nervously, and went for it – “there are much better asari physicians here.”

“Asari doctors? You aren’t ill, Liara?” Garrus asked. His visible eye narrowed. “Your vitals look all right…”

Liara shook her head quickly. Trust Garrus to wear his visor to a casual date. “No, no! Nothing like that, I’m fine.”

“Then why…” he trailed off.

Tali got it first. Liara could have sworn to the Goddess that she saw Tali’s smile radiating from under her helmet. “Oh, I’m so happy for you two!” She looked Liara up and down. “Is this something you’re planning, or are you already…”

Garrus looked back and forth between the women, still wearing a puzzled expression.

Liara nodded. “Yes.” She patted her belly. “Early days yet, but I can sense her in there.”

The light dawned for Garrus. “Oh!” He raised a glass. “Congratulations, you two.”

This time Shepard was the one who didn’t clink. Liara turned to see why and found her staring at the waiter taking a nearby table’s order, brow furrowed.

“I think he’s packing a sidearm,” she said with a frown. “At least, there’s a suspicious-looking bulge in his pocket. Liara, can you…”

“No,” Tali said, quietly but emphatically. “No chaos and adventure, remember? If he pulls a gun out, Garrus can overload it and Liara can dangle him from a singularity until he spills whatever he’s up to. Let’s talk about the important things. Do you have a name picked out? Have you told your father?”

“Not yet, and not yet,” Liara said. “It’s traditional to wait until there’s enough of an empathic connection to get her reaction to the name.” And as for Aethyta, or any asari for that matter, Liara was dreading the potential for aren’t-you-too-young-for-your-matron-phase conversations.

Garrus looked fascinated by that. “Your children get to vote on their names?” In the background, the suspicious waiter was conferring with a member of the kitchen staff.

“Mmm, it’s more of a vague empathic feeling, as I understand it…” Liara trailed off as she realized who the waiter was talking to. “Wait, what is Maya Brooks doing here?”

The words came out louder than she intended, and Brooks turned their way. As soon as she saw their table, she frowned and reached for something in her pocket, and the muffled thump of an explosion came from the direction of the kitchen.

“Chaos and adventure it is, then,” Tali said ruefully, as all four diners pushed back from the table and sprang to her feet.

“Someday I will actually get to eat here,” Shepard grumbled as they ran for the kitchen.

[softwebss]

can I request a peter parker reader where the reader is on her period and peter does what he can to help her feel better? ily azzie <333

🌸 flower anon

that is very slay of you to request flower anon- ilyt! also im like 99.99999% sure that ik who you are 😏 so beware anon... beware- also I kinda sorta went out of the lines on the 'helping her feel better part'

PAIRING – tasm! peter parker x female! reader SUMMARY – peter parker finds out you're on your period GENRE – fluff, romance, peter being soft WARNINGS – soft petey, periods + mention of blood

You were laying on your back at the end of your bed, stuffing nachos in your mouth letting 'star wars' play on the television.

Your stomach pained with cramps, which was the worst feeling to ever exist. It was that time of the month. Your period.

You let a sigh out, and leaned forward to change the movie. The sounds of lightsabers were starting to annoy you. Before you could change the channel, you heard a slight tap on your window.

"May I?" a familiar voice whispered, hanging at the edge of your window.

"It's open," you mumbled, suddenly having the urge to sit up straight and fix your clothes. Did you just notice you looked like all hell broke loose?

The masked vigilante swooped down, having crawled through. His eyes widened underneath his mask, seeing you in such a... messy state.

He took his mask off, revealing his mop of brown hair. A grin was plastered across his face. "peter parker, you adorable idiot" you thought to yourself.

"What do you want, spidey?" you mused. Peter ran a hand through his curly locks, and sauntered over to you. He put a hand on your forehead. "Is anything wrong?" you inquired.

"Nothing, love," his tone was concerned. A flock of butterflies swarmed your heart, as he called you that. You loved it when he called you that. "I should be more or less asking you that," Peter mumbled. You raised an eyebrow.

He frowned, sitting on the hem of the bed now. "Are you sick?" Peter asked.

"No," you retorted a little too quickly, "Why would I be?"

you pulled the blanket more over your heating pad, so he couldn't see. He glanced at your... area and smirked.

"I think I know why you've been so cranky and tired lately," Peter said, slightly pulling the sheets to reveal your heating pad, and the pool of blood beneath it from the night earlier. You just had to be too lazy to wash it, didn't you.

You hung your head back and smacked his shoulder. "I hate you," you grimaced. He shrugged aimlessly and wagged a finger in front of your face.

"You could've just told me you were on your month, y'know," Peter rolled his eyes. "I wasn't gonna overreact, I'm not some douché like Flash."

"I know you aren't," You flushed, your cheeks reddening at the fact that he knew. "I was just- I thought that you would- erm... probably.. probably avoid me-"

"And why would I avoid the love of my life?" he asked playfully.

"I dunno," you fumbled, "It's kinda disgusting that the fact I'm bleeding out and-"

"It's not disgusting," he snapped, "Don't degrade yourself like that, dumbass. It's a small price to pay for being able to have children of the most beautiful girl in the world."

You blushed, and draped your arms around him, resting your head on his chest. "I love you..." you giddily reminded him. The smell of his cologne was heavenly to you.

Peter patted your head and landed a kiss on your head. "I love you too, dumbass..."

[lamptracker]

Omg yay! Would you write something with reader acting all moody due to her pregnancy hormones and tom is always following her around to make sure everything is ok, and the boys film the reaction of a very confused tom after you well: YOU KNOW WHAT? THIS IS YOUR FAULT, YOU SHOULD BE THE ONE PREGNANT

You were, in a word, cranky.

Being nearly eight months pregnant will do that to you, sometimes. And it sure was, at least today. You were tired, you were always hot, you felt bloated and swollen and you're not sure where your ankles disappeared to.

Not helping matters was the fact that Tom was never more than a few feet away from you. What was he doing back there, exactly? Even when you went to the bathroom, or took a shower, he was right there. You love Tom, truly, but you'd reached a tipping point: If he didn't give you five minutes' peace, you were going to snap.

"Thomas," you said through gritted teeth. "I am perfectly capable of walking to the refrigerator for a glass of water all by myself."

"Oh, I know."

You raise an eyebrow. "So... let me walk to the refrigerator for a glass of water all by myself, maybe?"

Harry, who'd come by to work on some things with Tom, snickered quietly to himself as he pulled out his phone. No doubt to film something, he's always filming something.

"Well, I... uh... I think I need some water too, love."

And that did it.

That tipped you over the edge.

"Okay, listen here, fella," you said, voice slightly raised. "You have been following me around like a lost puppy for seven months straight! I can't eat by myself, I can't sleep by myself, I can't even go to the fucking bathroom without you right outside the door! What is your fucking deal?!"

Tom's eyes grew wide as the color drained from his face. "I... er..."

"What, forget how to talk all of a sudden? Just spit it out."

Tom sighed. He'd never, never ever, seen you anywhere even close t this angry before. And, well, he had no idea what to do.

"Um... okay, well. What if something happens to you? Or the baby? I want to be right close by if anything happens, you know? To be completely honest I'm surprised you didn't say anything sooner, I..."

"Oh, you are not turning this around on me, Thomas Stanley." You glared at him through narrowed eyes. "Being pregnant is hard enough as it is without being followed around all the time. Anyone who says they love being pregnant is a damn liar, they are."

This is the point in the conversation where Tom made a fatal error:

"Really? It's not that hard, is it?"

"NOT THAT HARD?!" you roared; Tom stumbled backwards a little as Harry made no effort whatsoever to hide his amusement. "I'm tired all the time, I'm nauseous, I feel like a manatee that suddenly sprouted legs and learned how to walk, and my hormones are all over the place!! You know what? This is your fault, you're doing it next time."

Tom's eyes suddenly filled up with tears. "You... you want to have another baby with me?"

"Well, of course, dumbass. Just because I hate being pregnant doesn't mean I hate you. I love you, more than anything." Just like that, tears rimmed your own eyes and a sob landed in your throat. "I'm sorry, Tom, I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"No, darling, I'm sorry. I should have let you have your space. You know what? Harry and I are going out for a few hours -"

"We are?" It was Harry's turn to be dumbfounded.

"Yes. And you can do whatever you like. Take a nap, have a long shower, whatever you want to do completely uninterrupted."

"You'll have your phone?"

"Of course."

You smiled warmly at him. "Okay. I love you, Tommy."

"Love you too, darling."

As Harry and Tom headed out the door, you decided that long, uninterrupted shower sounded heavenly. You readied the water while you mused to yourself.

If only you'd exploded sooner...

[wbficaholic]

Fireworks, a SessKag shortfic

Happy 4th of July! 🧨💖

---

"Like this, Kagome-chan?"

Kagome glanced down from the set of sparklers she'd been about to light. Beside her Rin stood, trailing her own lit sparkler in a hesitant line before her. Warmly, the miko smiled.

"Yep, just like that, Rin-chan. If you make different motions, you can also see different shapes. Try drawing a circle." The little girl drew a circle of light with the sparking stick. "Now draw several more, quick in a row."

The little girl spun the sparkler in rapid succession. Her dark eyes glittered, wide with wonder at the funnel of golden light that formed. Gap-toothed, she beamed, effervescent.

"Oh!" Rin exclaimed, now painting the darkness of evening in radiant waves. "It's like the light is dancing!"

Kagome beamed back. "That's exactly what it's like, Rin-chan. Why don't you go show Shippo-kun and the others? I'm sure they'd like to see it."

"Okay!"

Forgotten sparklers in hand, Kagome crossed her arms lightly at the chest, watching with a smile as Rin raced off to where Shippo, Kohaku and a gaggle of the other village children were setting off firecrackers in the rice field—under Sango, Miroku and Kirara's close supervision, of course. As fearless as Rin was around demons, she still tended to be shy and withdrawn around her own kind, especially in large groups. But in the little girl's excitement, she'd forgotten her reservations. Kagome was glad to see Rin mingling with the other kids. She felt proud that she'd found a subtle means of encouraging her.

It was difficult, adjusting to a new way of life. Kagome knew that firsthand.

Her eyes strayed unconsciously to the part of the field where Inuyasha stood. Crouched, with his ears flat, he cursed as he struggled to get one of the staked rockets to ignite. The short fuse had already vanished into the body of the rocket, and still no dice.

With his prickly ego in mind, Kagome had charged him with the task of setting off the biggest firecrackers for the main event. The bulk of the village was gathered loosely along the fences to view it. As Inuyasha leapt to his feet and began angrily to stamp, the men sighed, the kids booed and the women shook their heads, shifting cranky babies in their arms—all of them disappointed at the lack of a better show.

Kagome's smile slipped, in a disappointment all her own. It had been some months now, but the wound still felt a little raw. Not long after she'd returned to Sengoku Jidai, her and Inuyasha's romantic relationship had fizzled out. Perhaps the heat of constant battle had fanned the flames of their attraction to disproportionate heights. Maybe it was a girlish crush she'd simply outgrown. Maybe it was misplaced infatuation on his part.

Or maybe it was all of the above.

Who knew. Whatever the reason, it was over. Yet Kagome still found herself here, on this side of the well. Sometimes, she had to wonder why. What was holding her here, now that her dream of marrying Inuyasha was gone? Somehow, her heart still felt anchored to this time in a way she couldn't place.

"Damn piece of junk!"

Lost in her musings, Kagome didn't realize Inuyasha had ripped the dud rocket up from the ground and sent it flying in his annoyance. This wouldn't have mattered, except that he'd launched it back toward the crate he'd first dug it out of. This really wouldn't have mattered, either, except that the crate was still pretty full of unlit firecrackers—

And that the dud rocket apparently wasn't such a dud after all.

Inuyasha's face fell as the crate began to smoke. "...Shit."

Before he could reach it, the contents of the crate went off in a chain-reaction of explosions. Men, women and children ran shouting as firecrackers of all sorts and sizes zipped off glaring and screeching in all directions. Most flew off over the open rice paddies, which was no problem. Kagome had picked this site specifically because of all the standing water about.

Unfortunately, however, more than a few hurtled off toward the village—sped on by the wind which Kagome berated herself for not considering earlier. Unlike the damp fields, the thatched and planked huts of the village were like so much standing tinder. As the firecrackers landed sizzling atop straw and dry wood, the homes started to smoke in record time. Like a wicked bellows, the errant breeze stoked the budding embers quickly to flame.

Hunched with her hands covering her head, Kagome gaped in horror. "Inuyasha!"

"I'm on it!" he shouted back, already ripping off his fireproof haori as he and Kirara streaked away toward the burning village.

Luckily, all the residents were out in the fields. But Kagome's heart sank as she looked to them. The men stared on in helpless dejection. The women and children wept at the prospect of their homes and all their worldly possessions going up in flames. Inuyasha and Kirara were doing what they could to smother them, but it seemed hopeless. Too little too late.

As Kagome started to despair, a pinpoint of light appeared in the hazy night sky. The pinpoint grew, taking on a form that made Rin cry out in elation. Kagome felt the echo of it, as Sesshoumaru soared into view atop Ah-Un. Lightly, he leapt down into the center of the smoldering village. His eyes shrank to slits as his youki billowed out from him in dark crushing waves, snuffing and dampening the worst of the flames.

"Jaken," he said, "see to the rest."

"Hai, milord!"

Rising to her feet, Kagome watched in boneless relief as Jaken and Ah-Un sailed about. The two-headed dragon sprayed water from its twin mouths like a living, breathing firehose, extinguishing the stubborn fires that remained. Shaking the ash from his haori as he donned it, Inuyasha scoffed, glaring toward his elder half-brother.

"Showoff..."

Sesshoumaru ignored him. As Inuyasha bounded away to hound bossily after Jaken, the relieved villagers dispersed to assess the damage—which looked mercifully light thanks to Sesshoumaru's timely intervention. From the cooling village square, he crossed over to where Kagome lingered by the fence.

"I suppose this was your doing," he said. "Those fires had a strange scent."

Strange. Kagome grimaced, his brisk assessment hitting her in a double-whammy of accusation. "I suppose you're right."

"Trouble seems to follow you, miko."

"Well," she said, twitching a grateful smile, "luckily, you were near."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." Sesshoumaru's golden eyes seemed to glimmer as they trailed her face. "Your cheek is burned."

"Oh..."

Kagome blinked, raising a hand to her left cheek. The scorch mark from an flyaway firecracker had left a shallow, blistering streak an inch below her eye. Gently, she prodded at the stinging spot. Her breath escaped her in a short hiss of pain—a pain she hadn't noticed before in her acute distress.

"That's going to leave a mark," she muttered, her shoulders sinking in chagrin.

"I think not," Sesshoumaru said.

Her breath escaped her shortly once more, when he took her lightly by the chin and angled her burned cheek up toward him. His lashes lowered slightly as his smooth lips met her skin. His warm wet tongue traced the wound, salving it over. Kagome went rigid at the numbing sensation, though her heart pounded wildly.

The pair of sparklers still hung unlit in her limp, dangling hand. But all Kagome could feel was fireworks.

---

Photo by Mike Enerio on Unsplash  

[airashisakura]

My last entry for @ssskmonth | Prompts used Festivals and Family

Kin

Summary: When Sasuke struggles with letting go of pain from his past, Sakura and Sarada remind him that he doesn't have to do this alone.

Rating: Mature

_

“Anata?”

Sasuke stopped dusting off the shelves and looked over in Sakura’s direction. He frowned though, seeing Sakura perched on a stool dangerously, trying to clean the cobwebs of their apartment.

“I was asking…” Sakura scrunched her face in displeasure. She hadn't realized when she had left with Sasuke on his journey that it could bring this much work.

A week ago, when they unlocked the door of their apartment, back after a year with their three-month-old daughter, they had realized making their home habitable again wasn't going to be easy. The exhaustion of their journey back to Konoha hadn’t left their souls, but the Uchiha couple prioritized cleaning over resting.

Sasuke walked over to her and steadied her wobbling stool.

“What?”

Sleep deprivation had left him cranky. He had hoped that Sarada's wailing would cease after they had moved from roads to Konoha. Although he was glad that she was more safe under a roof, it hadn’t stopped her from crying the whole night.

Sakura caught the irritation laced in his voice, and considered whether she should say what she was about to.

“Obon is in two days..." She spoke cautiously, busy with her work. "I was asking if you want to…” She trailed off again, not sure how to phrase this.

“Obon?” Sasuke looked up in her direction. He was about to ask her again, when he realized. “Obon.”

Sakura turned, facing him, and asked nervously, “Should we?”

In all these years, he had never celebrated Obon. When he was a child, he remembered his mother strictly following rituals, preparing to welcome the spirits of their clan's ancestors.

He realized that although he always carried his long gone family in his heart, he never had given any damn about the festival.

“Aah,” he agreed.

Sakura's face lit up with a wide grin, but that died off when they heard Sarada crying at the top of her lungs.

While Sasuke rushed to attend Sarada, Sakura wrestled with more dust and ended up coughing.

Although Sarada’s shrill cries bore holes in his eardrum, all the chaos of his new-formed family had settled down all the internal chaos that he had carried for years.

_

Sasuke stirred out of his slumber engulfed with warmth . Sakura's body was pressed against his back, her arm snuggly thrown around him. Sarada had been quiet after days, and he felt fully rested, refreshed after a sleep devoid of nightmares too.

The light filtering from the curtain told him it was still early, and Sakura's breaths on his neck made him want to wake her up and kiss her numb. He had lost count of the number of days he had felt her bare skin on his, slowly and passionately driving her crazy. The days and nights after Sarada’s birth went by changing diapers and trying to understand the meaning between different kinds of cries, which he hadn't quite mastered yet.

Sasuke was tempted even further when Sakura pressed her lips on his neck and murmured 'morning,' her pert nipples brushing against his muscular back. Sasuke suppressed a gasp, his twitching member, and the urge to reciprocate his wife's desire. He gently pried away from his wife's leg, and regretted it when Sakura retracted herself from him.

"Anata?" Sakura sat up with a myriad of emotions on her face — confusion, hurt and rejection.

Sasuke didn't want to make her feel like that.

"I… I'm going to visit my parents' grave."

Sakura nodded and smiled, her features relaxing.

Sasuke never thought that gulping down the guilt of neglecting his dead family could be that easy.

_

Sasuke sauntered through the path that led to his parents' grave. The place was cold and distant like his heart had been for many years. Neglected even, he mused.

He stopped when he found the stone that bore his parents' name. Uchiha Mikoto and Uchiha Fugaku — names engraved with such beauty that was ironic considering the way they had died. A surge of rage and emotions pumped through his veins in a way that he was too familiar with — it had made him a person of sins that he was still redeeming for.

He stood there unable to repress the painful memories that had seeped from his past like a poison. His surroundings reverberated with the screams and blood that painted his nightmares.

Years of redemption had seemingly healed his wounds, but the sharpness of the past always cut, and the wounds bleed as they always had.

Unable to anchor himself, he looked anywhere but his parents' name. His eyes darted across the ungrazed grass, wild flowers, and puddles formed by summer rain. Stubborn weeds creeping over his parents grave, like the past that was attached to him.

His eyes caught something. And there it is, he mused again. A small pink wildflower intertwined with weeds, facing the sun. A gentle breeze that made its petals gleam in the sunlight reminded him of Sakura's unwavering love. The love that had waited for him through his sins and redemption — love that assured him every day that he no longer was in the darkness alone — love that gave him Sarada.

He crouched down, sighing. The summer heat was getting unbearable, and beads of sweat rolled down from his forehead. This reminded he should get going. Sometimes Sarada got all fussy, and it was hard for Sakura to manage her alone. Although his heart was heavy when his eyes glided over the name of his parents again, he smiled thinking about his new family.

Sasuke traced his finger on kanji of his mother's name, dirt gathering on his finger tip. He picked up the rag that he had brought with him and scrubbed the dirt and mud from the stones. With every swipe of the rag, the images of lifeless bodies of his parents became clearer in his mind. His fingers twitched, but he did his work diligently. The dirt from his parents' name was gone now, like the blood from the wooden floor that had pooled out from his parents' bodies.

Shaking his thoughts off, he held his shirt sleeve with his teeth and rolled it upwards. He went on plucking the weeds, wishing if it was this easy to pluck away memories of his past. There was a hopeful part of him — a little part — thought that with time, the pain of his lost family would wash away, but maybe hope wasn't a thing for Uchiha Sasuke.

He bid adieu to his dead parents, and got up to leave. As he walked away, he looked back over his shoulder to get a peek of the pink flower that remained. The pink flower that had grown in his life — accepting him and his past.

_

As he reached the threshold of his house, he stiffened when he couldn’t feel the familiar chakras he was accustomed to.

He looked around and found Sakura had almost finished cleaning their house. Bookshelves no longer had cobwebs, the white sheets had been removed from the furniture, and the floor was polished.

“Sakura?”

He was answered by the empty hallways and a note. It was a note from Sakura that said she was going out for grocery shopping.

He ran fingers through his hair, sighing, and walked towards the kitchen. He decided to cook a proper lunch. They had been surviving on simple food after they had returned, courtesy of Sarada's fussiness. It amazed him sometimes how their child managed to command all their attention.

Sakura always jokingly complained that it was something Sarada definitely had inherited from him. Sakura boasted that she was a quiet infant, and her parents always backed her up. Sometimes he felt a tinge of jealousy at that.

He opened the fridge and grabbed the leftover rations that they had, and he remembered Naruto grumbling about something similar. He knew he shouldn't find that soothing, but he realized in that aspect he wasn't alone.

In fact, he wasn't alone at all anymore.

Sasuke delved into cooking, but as time ticked on, he got impatient. He decided to go out and look for them. Something made him scared that he couldn't pinpoint.

As he was going to turn the stove off, he heard the click of the door knob. He heard Sakura calling him and responded.

Relief washed through him as Sakura approached him. He had been worrying over nothing. Perhaps his heart was still as fragile as his younger self's. Too afraid to lose, yet too afraid to accept his weakness.

Sakura kept the bag of groceries, grinning widely at him before she complimented the smell of the food. He was captivated by her green eyes, but his daughter seemed to have his attention now. Sarada happily clapped her hands on seeing him and wiggled in her baby sling to reach for him.

Sasuke bent down, and Sarada reached for his cheeks and patted them with her small hands, grinning toothlessly. This was Sarada's way to embrace, Sakura had told him once. Sasuke kissed her little palm before straightening himself.

"When did you return? We were sort of feeling alone, so we decided to make a quick trip to the market. "Ne, Sarada-chan?" Sakura cooed, rubbing her nose on Sarada's head, and Sarada giggled, agreeing with her.

"But someone had more fun than she expected." Sakura tickled Sarada, and she joined her in fits of laughter.

A smile slipped past his lips, and all the heaviness that had settled in his heart from that morning began to dissipate.

"She seemed to be in a good mood," Sasuke commented, looking for something from the bag.

"Yes." Sakura hummed, sifting her fingers through Sarada's hair.

His eyes lingered on them, before he started grating ginger.

"Umm, Anata? Isn't that too much?" Sakura pointed out.

Sasuke nodded, but he added it to the pan and said, "Father always liked it this way."

Sakura blinked. She didn't know how to respond. Sasuke rarely talked about his parents, so she stood there just nodding.

The space between them stilled, with only sounds of food sizzling on the pan and Sarada's squeals.

"Father used to love the spice of ginger, so Mother used to cook like this," Sasuke explained.

"I see," Sakura replied, excitement spiking in her voice.

"Mother also added less Mirin than required," Sasuke went on, and Sakura listened raptly, watching him while he cooked Gyudon.

Sakura didn't miss the melancholy in his eyes when Sasuke said that Gyudon was his father's favourite, and it stirred Sakura's heart

Sakura knew the things which are gone always hurt, but she knew too it took time to heal them. So when Sasuke told her bits of his family, she was glad that Sasuke talked about them without any resentment — sharing his lost happiness with her. She wanted to thank him, so Sakura tiptoed, her arms wrapping around Sarada, and she pecked on Sasuke's cheek.

It was unexpected, and Sasuke stared wide-eyed at the contents in the pan, while the tips of his ears turned red.

"I'll remember this when I cook next time," Sakura blushed.

Sasuke nodded, smirking.

Sarada wiggled in her sling to reach for Sasuke again while Sakura giggled and commented on how restless she was growing.

The house, the people, and the meal he had once shared together with his parents were long gone for him, but now he saw himself in Sarada who was trying to get her father's attention like he used to. He realized time had its own way to fix things.

_

Sasuke watched the sky, summer clouds lazily drifting and strings of smoke whirling between them. The smell of smoke from the neighborhood mingled with the evening breeze, and he felt nostalgic.

His clan breathed fire, and where there was fire, there was smoke. He remembered tasting the bitterness of smoke that lingered on his tongue when his lungs had flamed out a great fireball in childhood. He’d been excited to share his experience, and Itachi had confirmed with his too gentle smile that he had felt the same way

It was a memory that had been long forgotten. Years and years of using katon jutsus and chasing his older brother for revenge had made him ignorant to these feelings that he had held precious in his childhood.

The orangish hue of the setting sun told him it was time.

It was the first day of Obon. He looked around and saw the lantern that was tied at the entrance of their house swinging with the wind along with a windchime.

The lantern will guide them home, Sakura had said when she had tied them.

He knew that too. His mother had told him during childhood while Itachi had set up the bonfire for mukaebi. He had complained that bonfires are for winters, not for summers. His mother had laughed and had corrected him.

Sasuke, this bonfire and lanterns are for the spirits of our ancestors to guide their paths back home.

He had shrugged back then, because he thought he wouldn't have to bother about this in future.

Sasuke set the twigs, and lit them using a small fireball jutsu.

He sat there, remembering that Obon during his childhood had never been so solemn. Lots of people visited during that time. He hadn’t remembered any of them, though Itachi remembered some of them. Sasuke had challenged Itachi: Just you see, nii-san, next time, I'm going to remember everyone's name. Itachi had chuckled and had flicked his forehead.

The next time hadn't ever come. Before he could add more people to his growing list of people he knew, Itachi had wiped out everyone. And then Sasuke was alone.

He realized after all these years how much he had missed his older brother. He always wanted to bury the feeling because it came with the realization that Itachi was dead because of him. Itachi was dead because of Konoha.

Itachi was dead because he wanted his otouto to live.

"Anata?"

Sasuke lifted his eyes from the flames to Sakura, who looked worried. He looked back to flames.

"Are you okay?"

Sasuke nodded. He knew they had spent enough time together for Sakura to know he wasn't alright. His eyes were fixated on flames, so he didn't notice the way Sakura's eyes softened when she sat beside him.

He didn't want to ask her, but he found himself talking anyway. "Do you think Itachi can find his way?"

For the second time in the day, Sakura blinked in confusion.

Sasuke clarified again, "He doesn't even have a grave."

For a second, Sakura felt like she couldn't breathe. She had never seen Sasuke so vulnerable before.

"This place… Konoha…" He gritted his teeth. "I- I don't know how to call Konoha my home after what they did to my clan… to Itachi."

"I can't," He said, his voice louder and filled with accusation.

But as soon as these two words left his mouth, his eyes widened in the realization of what he had done. He shut his eyes and apologized to Sakura.

He felt Sakura's palm on his left cheek. It reminded him of his daughter's gentle touch — that they were his home.

Sakura smiled when his mismatched eyes met her green, and spoke softly, "Hate it till you can love it back, Sasuke-kun."

_

Sasuke swallowed the soft moan that fell out of Sakura's plump lips before he moved down on her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. When their house turned silent from Sarada's cries, they both sought comfort in their bed, limbs tangled innocently. Sasuke was comfortable enough now to delve into his wife's gentle touches. Gentle touches soon turned greedy when he kissed her the way he had wanted to that morning. It wasn't too long before their clothes were scattered across the polished wood of the floor.

He nipped her neck, eliciting a whimper and a delicious clench of her walls around his pulsing cock. He groaned and pushed deeper into her wet velvety cunt. The air from the ceiling fan cooled their sweating bodies, but the heat where they were intimately joined made both their spines tingle.

Sasuke leaned down to capture her lips again, and Sakura reciprocated wantonly meeting with his thrust. They gasped for air when they parted, saliva smeared across the corners of their lips. Sasuke held his gaze with hers, which was always soft, assuring, and accepting. Like a wanderer on a cold night regarded the flames that kept him warm, Sasuke tried to emanate his gratitude for her through his mismatched eyes.

He inched deeper, relishing the warmth of her skin. Sakura's lips parted in a silent cry when he hit the spot that he knew made Sakura come undone. Their rhythm became more erratic, and the heaving and slapping of wet skin was driving Sasuke to his own finish.

Sasuke angled his hips and thrust roughly. Sakura shuddered, her nails digging deep in his bare shoulder. He closed his eyes, focussing on the pleasure unknoting in his belly, he pushed roughly again, and felt—

Sarada's whimpers reached their ears. His eyes snapped open reflexively like he was waking in the midst of a nightmare, and Sakura's grip loosened on him. Sakura winced as he reluctantly pulled out of her. He wasn't sure if it was because Sarada's cries intensified, or if it was because they’d been interrupted.

She smiled weakly and slid out of bed. Sasuke huffed and dropped onto the bed, watching Sakura hurriedly putting his shirt to cover her curves.

When he made his way towards them, Sakura was pacing along the room, cradling Sarada in her arms trying to calm her down.

"I fed her, changed her diapers, and still she is crying," Sakura said, expression etched with worry and irritation. Sarada shrieked louder, and Sakura's patience was waning thin.

Sasuke stretched his arm towards her, and Sakura handed the baby over. When he took her in his arm, rocked her and carefully nuzzled his nose on her forehead, she stopped crying. Somehow, it felt strange yet so good that someone needed him.

He was sure Sakura was red with envy and embarrassment when she mumbled something and walked away. He couldn't help himself but let out a chuckle, and Sakura turned and laughed too.

_

Konoha's streets were overflowing with families, people enjoying and dancing around the yagura stage to the beats of Taiko drums on the second day of Obon.

"Ino and I always loved dancing to this rhythm."

Sasuke didn't remember anything from his genin days. Maybe Sakura had told him back then, but he never paid attention to it like the other things he had missed while chasing blindly after revenge. This festival, this tradition, and Sakura were always there, and he had always been a piece out of the puzzle.

But Sarada with all her charm had made him fit in the puzzle. And now he and Sakura sat on the engawa, basking in the comfortable silence that they shared while the sound of Taiko drums reverberated with his heart beats.

Sakura held Sarada close to her body. He smiled, eyes falling on the Uchiha fan on her little back.

"I sprained my ankle the previous year. It was all stupid Ino's fault."

Sakura went on telling him about her Obon experiences while his eyes lingered on the swell of her chest, the bindings tugged down for Sarada to suckle. Sarada fed herself without any complaints, her little fingers clutching on folds of the beautiful green yukata Sakura was wearing.

The beautiful cherry blossom print on her green yukata accentuated her beauty, but it was the Uchiha crest that she sewed on her yukata in the afternoon that accentuated her beauty.

Sasuke's eyes trailed upwards to her exposed skin, and he noticed the hitch in her breath when his eyes stayed on the purplish mark he had given her the night before. They locked eyes, trapping her green with his mismatched ones.

Sakura blushed furiously under his gaze. Sasuke smirked and asked, "Want to go to the festival?"

_

The sound of heavy breathing disturbed the silence, as both of them came down from their high, basking in the afterglow. A sheen of sweat covered them like velvet, limbs entangled and limp. Sakura's yukata lay crumpled between their bodies, tugged upwards and sideways unceremoniously.

Sasuke had committed to memory the way her pink hair seamlessly smudged with the green of her yukata when he had pushed inside her from behind, losing himself to pleasure. His fingers lightly traced her pink nipples, and Sakura gasped.

She turned her head back, and Sasuke pulled her closer to his body, his palm now resting over her beating heart. Sakura smiled, and Sasuke realized there were so many colours that adorned his life now — the red of her lips, the pink of her hair, the green of her eyes, and that mirthful smile.

His heart skipped a beat when he felt Sakura's heart dancing under his palm, synchronising with his. Their lips found their way to each other, the uchiwa on the Sakura's garment silently observing their love.

_

A wisp of smoke rose into the air while twigs in the bonfire crumbled down to ashes. Sasuke sat in front of the extinguished bonfire, looking above at the dark sky.

The moon hid behind the clouds and stars twinkled, trying hard to compensate for the overcast skies. A breeze touching his skin gave him a familiar feeling. He had spent more time under open skies wandering than under a roof with a family. However, tonight he felt the same heaviness that he had carried for a long time.

After they had dinner, Sakura had reminded him that it was the last day of Obon. Reluctantly, he had lit the okokuri-bi — the bonfire that sent the spirits back to their resting place. Maybe he didn't want to part with his dead family. Maybe holding on to the illusion where his father, mother and brother were with him was easier.

The breeze swept the hair that covered his eyes, his mismatched orbs growing wet. It wasn’t because of anger anymore, though. It just hurt. He clutched at his chest, fingers digging into his shirt, trying to soothe the pain that was there. An invisible pain that he only owned — that Sakura and Sarada couldn't replace.

"Sara-chan, did you like it?"

Sasuke snapped out of his thoughts as Sakura approached him. Sarada fiddled with a toy that Sakura bought recently for her. Sarada cooed in excitement, and Sakura giggled.

When she reached closer to him, Sakura stretched out her hand towards him. Words were not their way, and Sakura smiled gently, coaxing him to take her hand.

And Sasuke did.

Because there were things Sakura and Sarada couldn't replace, but he could relive and recreate memories with them. Severing bonds would never ease his pain, he knew now; instead, new bonds would help him embrace the old ones.

They were there for him — he wasn't alone, and he didn't need to do this on his own.

_

FFN | AO3

Obon is a Japanese custom to honor the spirits of one's ancestors. This custom involves a family reunion holiday during which people return to ancestral family places and visit and clean their ancestors' graves when the spirits of ancestors are supposed to revisit the household altars. It has been celebrated in Japan for more than 500 years and traditionally includes a dance, known as Bon Odori.

Credits: Inspired from Warm by @catflorist . For those who haven't read, please read this wonderful piece.

Thanks to @fm-white for telling me more about rituals of Obon.

Thanks for @fictionalquacker's headcanon that Fugaku loves beef, which helped me making an assumption that it could be Gyudon. Also thanks to lovely @birkastan2018 for giving some tips about cooking Gyudon 💪. A big thanks to @theredconversegirl for naming my fic 🥺. Believe me, I would be forever grateful to you for this❤️

Thanks to @something-like-air for beta-ing this. 🤗

Last but not the least, @thatsakurastan :") with her constant support and nagging, I was able to complete and post this fic. You deserve big slabs of chocolate!🍫🍫🍫

[after-witch]

(Horrorfest)  Be Good to Him (The Boy Au!Shigaraki x Reader)

Title: Be Good to Him (The Boy AU!Shigaraki x Reader)

Synopsis: The Boy!AU. You’ve come to accept that the live-in ward you were hired to nanny is a doll--no, more than a doll: a ghost, the ghost of a poor boy who died in a tragic accident. But escalating possessive behavior from your spectral responsibility has you rethinking your plans to stay. And Tomura doesn’t seem to like that very much.

Inspired by a quote from The Boy (2016): “You wouldn't hurt me, would you Brahms?”

Word Count: 2796

notes: inherent yandere, creeper Shigaraki

The sound of slamming cupboards and pounding footsteps jerks you out of a grey, dim sleep. Your brain, still foggy and restless, takes a few moments to get adjusted to being thrust out of rest. 

You've been losing so much sleep lately, trying to keep up the large house and take care of Tomura and follow the rules, all while dealing with a new, bizarre reality: ghosts are real, very real, and you've been assigned to care for one.

This sudden awakening is just one of many, lately. Tomura normally kept quiet at night, when you put him to bed just right, following the rules: pajamas, bedtime story, tuck-in, kiss goodnight.

If you missed a step, he got cranky, but could you blame him? The tormented ghost a little boy, forever doomed to wander the halls of his home, trapped in the body of a lifelike doll. It was your burden to bear, it seemed. But lately the burden has been taking a mental and physical toll, grinding you down, down, down to the bone.

It makes you think of your friend. The only one you have left, long-distance, since all your new local friends got tired of you refusing to go out with them months ago. You weren't supposed to leave, except for special errands, or else Tomura would feel neglected. You didn't want him to feel neglected. Texting, at least, didn't seem to bother him. 

You reach for your phone, grasping blindly on the bedside table. It's not there. The table, where you always set it before you go to bed, is completely empty.

Fuck, you think. Was it Tomura? It wouldn't be the first of your things he's taken, sometimes as a game, sometimes to show you that he wasn't happy you were slacking off. Ghosts, you realize, can be very particular.

You toss your legs over the side of the bed, bringing you fully out of the hazy remnants of sleep and back to reality. You have to find your phone. The thought of being without it makes you feel helpless and even more alone. You grab your robe and pull it over your thin white night-gown, then slide your fuzzy slippers over your feet to keep them warm on the cold wood.

The house is dark, barely lit here and there by electric candles jutting out of the walls; they were probably replacements for real antique ones that were there when the house was first built, you once mused. They're fine enough to keep you from tripping in the hallway, but you'll never find your phone like this, in the near-dark. You decide to head to the kitchen and call your phone from the landline.

As you enter the kitchen, however, you spy something new sitting on the counter: a slip of paper. You approach the note with trepidation, a quiet anxiety which only increases when you see what's on the page. It's a printed list of the rules, the rules you were given when you first came here, the rules you now followed as closely as possible. On the bottom of the page, however, scrawled in ink: "No phone unless Tomura gives you permission."

The sight of the words, hastily written, makes your blood freeze. Tomura had never... that is, you had never seen him write anything. You had experienced unusual, then-unexplained occurrence. Your clothes went missing, only to reappear somewhere else. Gifts were sometimes left at your door. Tomura's clothes or shoes would appear on the end of his bed, as if he picked out his own outfit that day. And footsteps--you sometimes hear footsteps, unexplained until you'd realized the truth about Tomura and his spirit residing in the house, in the doll.

But this sudden development makes your stomach twist, and you feel the first prickings of tears in your eyes. It's getting to be... too much. Too much to handle. Taking away your phone? Wanting you to get permission? You sigh deeply, rubbing your eyes, and think on what to do. You can't call the police--they will think you're crazy. You don't know your friend's phone number without using your phone--a fact which inwardly makes you cringe as your mother's voice tut-tuts in your memory: "One day you'll lose your phone and you won't be able to call anyone!"

You don't know exactly what to do, but you do know one thing: you don't want to stay in this house without your phone all night. You feel more uneasy than you have in the months since you discovered the truth behind the doll. You weren't exactly scared of Tomura, most of the time. But the lack of sleep and the constant demands and eggshells you walk on to follow the rules--and now this, on top of it all--has you overwhelmed.

You'll go into town, you decide. Just for the night. You'll book a hotel, find somewhere with a computer in the morning, then message her on Facebook and... maybe. Maybe accept her offer. Or talk to her about it. Ask her advice.

For this, you'll need your purse. Your keys. Your regular shoes. You head back the way you came, ignoring the slight rattling of the photos hanging on the walls. Could be the wind--could be Tomura. Either way, you didn't want to deal with it tonight. You reach your room and flick on the light, squinting in slight pain as your eyes adjust. You grab your purse and stuff the keys on the desk inside them. You head to the dresser and start throwing out a few things, socks, underwear, that you'll need for a day (maybe two, you think, two nights sleep doesn't sound bad) away.

All the while, a nagging feeling of guilt begins to build up inside you. You were just going to leave Tomura, leave this poor ghost, all alone? Just because you're... what? Annoyed at not having your phone? No, you correct yourself. You're leaving because it's not acceptable for anyone--ghost or not--to deprive you of your phone, but you're too tired and stressed to have a serious conversation with Tomura right now. With a good night's sleep, you can come back (maybe) and deal with it then.

You're fishing around your closet when you hear it. Stomping feet. You glance up to see a framed photo of flowers on your wall rattling like crazy until it falls down, sharp glass crashing when it hits the floor. You jump and take a few steps back.

"T-Tomura! Stop it right now!" You say, clearing your throat to give it an inch of nanny-esqe authority.

But he doesn't stop. The noise doesn't stop. The rattling only gets worse, as anything pinned or hung on your walls begins to fall down, one after the other, as if Tomura is going around the room in a circle. There's a dreadful, loud, angry pounding on the walls that begins to mimic your growing heart-rate. He's never done anything like this before.

"Stop it!" you yell, practically shrieking. "I've followed the rules! I've followed all the rules! Just stop it!"

The sound of a voice cuts you to the core.

"I know. You've done so well. I like you more than the others."

It’s a childish voice, high-pitched and thin.

You drop the bag you're holding and feel your knees turn to jelly. You're not crazy. You're hearing a voice. This is not items missing or stolen phones or shadows out of the corner of your eye. This is a tangible voice, one you think you could record if your phone hadn't been taken.

You swallow, thick and bitter. "Who's there?"

The voice giggles. There's an unnatural raspiness to the sound that makes you shiver.

"Who do you think, silly (Y/N)?"

You know who it is. But you whisper, anyway: "Tomura?"

You hear footsteps. You hear footsteps coming from behind the walls. You follow the sound of them until they reach the large vent on the wall facing away from your bed. Your heart hammers in your chest as you hear rattling--hear the vent rattling--until the golden grate is suddenly pushed out of the space. The clattering sound as it hits the floor makes you want to jump, but instead you're frozen to the spot, unable to look away.

A hand reaches out from the darkness behind the vent, curling around the wall and giving leverage to the figure that emerges from the dark. You try to make a sound, try to scream, but only a faint breathy gasp escapes your lips.

You watch as the figure goes from crawling to standing. It's Tomura--but it's not Tomura. It's not the doll you've been carrying around, tucking in at night, a doll you've been kissing and reading stories to at bedtime. It's a fully grown man, who seems to tower above you even at a distance. There's a mask over his face, a simple doll's mask, which you think must have once been white but is now streaked with dirt. He simply stares at you through the mask, breathing heavily.

Your body moves backward involuntarily, wanting to get away from the icy terror in your skin, and you bump into the wall. You can feel the picture that fell down earlier at your ankles. A piece of glass from the shattered frame crunches under your slipper.

The movement catches his notice, and he stalks towards you until he's practically pressed up against you. You look up at him and try to think of something, anything to say, anything that might make sense of the bizarre, horrific situation you've found yourself in. You take in his face, or rather, the mask that fills most of it. Limp, dirty hair clings to the sides of his face, clings to the mask; there's a sheen of sweat and a stale smell that permeates the air. Old clothes, stale air, and a clear lack of proper bathing.

He leans in, and you can now make out his eyes, red and intense, behind the holes of the mask.

"You can't leave," he says. His voice is awkward and muffled by the mask. It lies somewhere in between the strange childish voice you'd heard earlier--you realize with a shudder that he'd been putting on the voice of the little boy you'd assumed him to be, sweet and cheeky--and the voice of the adult man standing before you. Raspy and clearly underused.

You realize he's waiting for an answer and take a few shuddering breaths, trying to ignore the stale air that you suck in with each breath. "I wasn't... I was just... I needed to go get--"

"Liar."

Your eyes are suddenly blinking away a bright light, and you see that he'd pulled a phone out--your phone. The screen is showing the last text message conversation with your friend, the offer you'd been mulling over since you received it the day before. They offered to pay for a plane ticket home, offered you a place to stay until you got back on your feet. "Maybe," you'd texted back. "Idk. This is all getting to be too much. I don't know if I can stay."

He tosses the phone on the floor. You consider reaching down to grab it, maybe you'll be fast enough--but his arm suddenly juts out, slamming against the wall next to you. You scream without thinking.

"Mine. You're mine," he rasps. "The letter says so."

You shake your head, aware that you're now crying. "I can’t--I can't stay here."

He presses a dirty finger to your lips, shushing you. You can taste grime and salt. You’re afraid to talk, lest he stick it inside.  

"You don't get to leave. It's in the rules. It's in the rules." His voice has taken on a childish, whining tone again.

The situation leaves no room for argument as you realize, helplessly, how can you hope to argue with a man who’s currently got you trapped in a bedroom, in a big house, so far from town that you have to drive?

So you nod, slowly. If you can placate him long enough… you can grab your purse, or just the keys, even, and get the hell out of there.

He slowly removes his fingers, and your mind whirls as you think of a plan to distract him. “Tomura, it’s… it’s way too late, isn’t it?” You stare up at him, offering a shaky smile. “You need to get back to sleep, young man. It’s past your bedtime.”

He looks down at you. You can hear his breath hitch.

“Did you hear me?” you say, taking on a haughty tone you used to use playfully, back when you thought he was just a wayward, lost ghost--and not a fully grown man who clearly had been living in the walls. You push down the revulsion that comes with realizing that he’s been watching you all this time. “I’m in charge, and--”

His hand is on your cheek, suddenly, and you flinch before you can help yourself. He strokes your cheek, petting you like a precious thing.

“Can I tuck you into bed tonight, (Y/N?)” He’s back to using the childish tone, sweet and syrupy. You stare at him, stuttering out something before he continues. “Please? Then I’ll go back to bed. I promise.”

You swallow and take a deep, sighing breath. Then you nod, smiling and hoping it’s not too much like a grimace. “All--all right. Just this once, because it’s a special night, right? I got to see you for the first time.”

He nods quickly, an affected gesture of giddiness. He giggles.

You just have to get through this. Let him tuck you into bed. Then wait until he’s… retreated, grab your things, and tip-toe to the front door. It’s doable, you think. It has to be.

“Let me just put these on the desk,” you say, grabbing up your purse and clothes in a deliberately casual gesture, dumping them on the desk like you’re not giving them a second thought. He doesn’t seem to notice or care, which gives you some slight relief.

You keep your eyes on him and you sit back down on the bed and slowly pull your legs up, stretching them out and giving your best careless smile, considering the circumstances. “Well? Tuck me into bed, then it’s off to bed with you, okay?”

Tomura takes a few tentative steps forward. You almost jerk your legs away when he reaches for them, but the knowledge that you need to keep him placated until you can get out of here keeps your legs still. He gently lifts up one foot, almost studying it, before slowly pulling off the slipper.

“Mustn’t wear these to bed,” he says, trailing a dirty finger up your soft naked sole. You do flinch, then, letting out a shaky breath.

“Don’t,” you say, “I’m ticklish.”

He giggles. “I know.” But he takes off the other slipper without further fanfare, to your relief. Next, he lifts up the crumpled comforter, and you let your legs slide underneath as he pulls it up closer to your chest.

Your heart is hammering as he leans in close to you. The goodnight kiss. His closeness is unwelcome, not only for the fear but for the increased awareness of the stale, unpleasant smell; sweat and body and what is probably years of living in grime.

His fingers ghost against your thin satin nightgown, toying with the straps and gently tickling your shoulders. 

His eyes are wide open as he leans closer. The mask presses against your lips and your fear reaches its peak in that moment. What if he doesn’t stop here?

But in the next moment, he’s back to standing. He softly tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Good night. Sleep tight.”

You smile primly. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite?” He nods and you shoo him away--playfully, you hope. “Okay, okay! Now off to bed! A… a growing boy like you needs his sleep.”

You turn slightly over on your side, as if preparing to fall asleep yourself, and close your eyes. You listen as his steps walk away from your bed, thinking wildly: please-let-this-work, please-let-this-work, it’s-working-it’s-working-it’s--

Your stomach drops when you hear him jangling the keys--your keys--in his hands.

“Good night, (Y/N). I’ll see you in the morning.”

The locks to your bedroom are as loud as the hammering of your heart.

[eclipsebythedawn]

Smothered Flames & Shadows (Part 1)

Hi guys! So this is my first fanfiction ever, and I’m honestly not sure if it’s even good but I thought I wanted to share some Gwynriel with you all :) I have a sort of story planned out and this will likely have more parts. I’m pretty sure I will continue this story since I have more stuff planned out (hence the part 1) but right now it’s just some Gwynriel crumbs. Hope you guys will enjoy it and stay safe wherever you are. 

(How are we gonna wait like ten years for the Gwynriel book because I believe in you SJM you MUST MUST give us Gwynriel ??!) 

Ps. This is the updated version, I added a new chunk for Azriel’s reaction. (Updated on 26 April 2021)

Azriel's wings flapped as he patrolled the skies. The dense cloud cover as well as the fading sunlight disguised his presence and he needed minimal effort to remain hidden. His shadows could taste the looming chaos and flitted around him warningly.

Be careful, be careful.

He could hear through their thoughts and saw through their lingering words. All was quiet here, it seemed. He would much rather preferred to be stationed at the ethereally beautiful Dawn Court, their High Lord serene but with an inner strength that was unflappable, instead of... here.

The Autumn Court held no such delights. Yes, the scenery was more than picturesque -- its flora suspended in eternal autumn, the golden-brown leaves swirling leisurely through the air, their russet color so much like a certain male that was mated to a certain girl he could never have.

Allow me to make one thing very clear. You are to stay away from her.

Unbidden, his brother's fury-driven words cut into his muddled thoughts. Azriel knew that he was old and cranky and Rhys didn't deserve his anger and resentment after what he went through for all of them, but he was... gods, he was so damn tired.

The first female outside of Mor who had caught his eyes -- of course she had to be denied from him. Cauldron knew that the Mother had never shone its light on him, not that he even deserved to be embraced by Her warmth.

His mind finally allowed him to remember the beautiful brunette always on the back of his mind. Her doe-like eyes, sweet smile and that alluring scent, so pure and innocent and arousing and --

Fuck.

Azriel adjusted himself, his pants stifling and uncomfortable. Shit. He was in deep shit. But he couldn't stop himself from fantasizing about how she would taste, how she would look when he made her come.

Rhys's words from the other day, during solstice so many months ago, hadn't helped. Azriel's desperate lust had only grown even more to the point that he was actively avoiding the second Archeron sister so she wouldn't scent his arousal.

For that matter, so his two brothers wouldn't catch him lusting after her especially after the warning he was given.

And she seemed to be avoiding him too.

Azriel made one more round in the skies, the night as chilly and familiar as his own shadows that seemed strangely subdued now. His thoughts continued to stray towards...

Elain.

Beautiful, clean, pure, worthy Elain. He was none of those things, he knew that. Had resigned himself to it after five centuries of futile pining for a female that never returned his desires. He did not blame Mor. Could not blame Mor. He was tainted and she deserved someone better than him.

But when he saw Elain... Their unlikely friendship had gradually turned into something more. It had only continued to develop after Elain was Made High Fae and he became even more attuned to her, constantly sharing the same space. And for the first time since Mor, he wanted. He wanted to have what his two brothers had. It was wrong and it was selfish, but he saw Rhys and Cassian and he wondered --

Maybe the Cauldron had made a mistake. Three sisters of blood and three brothers of choice. Two thirds fulfilled, and somewhere deep down inside, he had been uselessly, worthlessly holding onto hope.

He had not dared to whisper it out loud until Rhys caught him just before their kiss. And Rhys reaction had only served to remind him why he was wrong for her. Why Elain deserved someone else.

But for the first time in his life, he wanted to throw caution to the wind.

Deciding that all was well and not wanting to remain a second longer, Azriel gathered his shadows and prepared to winnow back to home. He frowned when his shadows flittered over him... disapprovingly?

Yes, that was disapproval. His lips tightened as they swirled around him angrily.

What the hell was wrong with them tonight?

Azriel yanked on his petulant shadows. They continued to ignore him, some even going as far as to ignore him.

He scowled. His shadows were stepping out of line more and more frequently as thought something was bothering him.

Or someone.

He shoved aside the image of tendrils dancing and singing around a certain redhead, her bright teal eyes laughing and --

Azriel forcibly winnowed and dragged his disobeying shadows after him, leaping across the miles between the Autumn Court and home within a single step, resigning himself to a lonely night -- as always.

~~~

The night was alive.

It was a comforting blanket draped over her, Gwyn mused silently.

But she felt dead.

It was going to be one of those nights, then. Those nights when she woke up screaming, drenched in sweat only to realize it was just another nightmare. That reality was like a noose tied around her neck, dragging her further down into the pits of Hell where she belonged.

She would never meet Catrin even in death. Because her lovely, beautiful sister who had shone like the brightest star was amongst the stars in the heavens. That single thought was the only thing pushing her forward on the worst of nights.

On nights where flinging herself out of a high balcony on the impossible chance that she would see Catrin again seemed possible. Gwyn had thought that that was before.

Before Nesta, before Emerie, before meeting her Valkyrie sisters whom she knew would and had walked with her through pain and darkness and led her back.

But even after so much training, nothing had changed. She was still the cowardly, timid, broken doll she thought she had left behind.

Gwyn sighed even as sadness and pain, always so much pain, swelled inside her. Logically she knew she wasn't thinking straight. If Nesta or Emerie were here, they would be chiding her for her thoughts, the former sharp but mindful, and the latter firm but gentle. A small smile came onto her faces at all the memories they shared.

The cutting of the ribbon. Winning the obstacle course that served as the Blood Rite Qualifier. And then winning the actual Blood Rite itself while Nesta -- unyielding, unflinching -- held the lines for Gwyn and Emerie to be crowned as Carynthians.

And now, Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony. Despite everything she was feeling, Gwyn was happy for her friend.

Her sister by choice.

She knew Nesta deserved Cassian as he did her, and she felt genuine happiness for the pair. It was obvious during the long months of initial, grueling training that there was a spark between the two. An attraction that could not be denied.

She longed to find that love though in truth Gwyn knew she might never be ready for it.

Her point was further proven yesterday when Nesta had invited them during a break in training to her mating ceremony, held in a week's time. Gwyn knew that preparations were already underway and she was as honored and grateful as Emerie to be invited, but still she had hesitated, especially at the list of invited and accepted guests.

It wasn't mortifyingly long since Nesta only wanted close friends and family and Cassian only wanted the High Lord, Rhysand and Azriel, but the guest was filled with important names that made Gwyn nervous just to hear them.

The High Lord and High Lady were enough to make her dizzy. And then there was the High Lord's Second and Third, both formidable females in their own right. Gwyn thought wryly though that Emerie had seemed flustered and even blushed a little when her ears caught on a certain someone's name in the list Nesta had shared.

She was happy for her friend too. Emerie deserved friendship -- and love, if that relationship could blossom. But she knew better than interfere when her own relationships were so precarious.

The Prince of Adriata was coming, along with Mother above, the High Lord of the Day Court, Helion. Nesta's younger sister Elain was on the list as well though Nesta's face had clouded a bit when she read her name out loud. And then there was her mate -- Lucien Vanserra.

The supposedly exiled son of the High Lord of Autumn, who had ties to numerous Courts and was a valuable ally.

It was silly and stupid but amidst this sea of important names, Gwyn had wondered on more than one occasion what she could even do there. She had immediately scolded herself mentally, that she would be attending the ceremony for Nesta and even Cassian, who had become a bit of an older brother figure to her, and she would have Emerie with her.

She knew Emerie would fight anyone who dared to even look at her the wrong way.

But the larger part of Gwyn was scared. So many people would be attending, especially the males. It wasn't as if Helion or Lucien would randomly pounce on her, and that her fear was irrational, but she couldn't stop thinking about them. Couldn't stop thinking about that day where so many males surrounded her, where that hateful Hybern commander had ordered her held down, had pummeled into her as silent tears fell down her face, had laughed in her face and --

Gwyn counted the stars in the sky in time to her quickened breathing. Deep breaths, she told herself. When she couldn't sleep on nights like these she would train until nearly the breaking of dawn. She should get up from her position on the ground.

Probably.

But lying on the cold floor of the training area atop the House of Wind was a refreshing change. After having been coped up in the library for two years, she had finally decided to join Nesta in her morning training sessions with Cassian.

It was quite possibly the best decision she had ever made.

But still... But still, the doubt lingered. It festered. It thrived on her pain and self-hatred, quietly growing on nights like these.

It thrived at the fact that Emerie had accepted the invitation immediately, but Gwyn, worthless, selfish Gwyn had not. Was she so pathetic that she couldn't even congratulate her friend on her special day?

She should really get up. Perhaps train a bit more, instead of lying here wallowing in her dark thoughts.

Then a tiny tendril of shadow-kissed power gently prodded her arm. She startled, turning around and half-getting up.

She already knew who would be standing before her with his usual contemplative silence.

Azriel.

He was before her and she froze for one second. A twinge of fear crept in at his closeness, at the nearness of another male, so suddenly and unpredicted --

Azriel took a step back, saying softly, "I'm sorry if I surprised you."

Gwyn blinked. The shadowsinger was nothing but the epitome of manners and he had likely scented her fear.

"It's fine." And that was true. Her fear had instantly washed away as abruptly as it had arrived upon realizing who was here.

Azriel would never hurt her, Gwyn was sure of that.

She cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the awkward silence that had descended.

"Are you here for something?" She winced slightly at her choice of words. This was his home. She had no right to even utter such a question when she was the outsider.

Before Azriel could reply, another shadow darted out and wrapped itself around her arm before rushing back to its master. Gwyn felt the corners of her lips twitched up as the shadowsinger blinked once, twice in... shock.

"Did you forget your favorite dagger again?" She teased and was rewarded with a faint blush on his cheeks. His lovely and if she dared say, adorable shadows had given her the courage she needed.

To her surprise, he played along. "Have you seen an eighteen-inch dagger anywhere?"

Gwyn burst out laughing at the ridiculous statement.

"May I remind you that it's a dagger you have misplaced -- not a sword?"

"Forgive me if my memory fails sometimes." Was she seeing things or was there a twinkle in his eyes?

"Well, you do seem to forget things rather easily." Oh, she was certain! Amusement ran deep inside his hazel eyes and Gwyn felt breathless for a second, mesmerized by the beautiful male.

Staring into his eyes... She smiled at him, a genuine crinkling of her eyes. He had lifted her mood within seconds of his arrival.

Azriel seemed to freeze for a second, his usual stillness somehow magnifying. Intensifying. His shadows writhed around and she had the odd feeling that he was struggling to control them.

She blinked, and the moment passed.

"Were you training?" Azriel motioned towards her sweaty body. She nodded mutely, still caught up in what had occurred. Was it just her imagination? Looking at the stoic Illyrian standing before her, Gwyn decided she was just too tired, and her mind was playing tricks on her.

"...My help?"

Gwyn snapped out of her thoughts, head jerking up. "What?"

Azriel cocked an eyebrow at her obvious inattentiveness and she felt herself blushing. She chided herself mentally.

"Do you require my help?" He repeated the question, that faint amusement still dancing in his eyes.

"Wait. Are you asking to train me?" Another eyebrow raise.

"Were you expecting me to teach you the benefits of lying on the cold floor in the middle of the night?" He replied dryly.

Gwyn scowled and immediately stood up.

"Uh-huh. I was expecting you to fling your arms about and start serenading me."

"Is that a demand?" Azriel chuckled quietly. Gwyn thought that might be the most heavenly sound she had ever heard.

"Is that a challenge?" Gwyn shot back, not missing a beat.

The corners of his lips twitched up. Gwyn wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, her competitive streak setting in. She was also excited for this match because truth be told, she had been training everyday in anticipation of wiping the floor with the shadowsinger. It was her secret fantasy.

Not that it would happen anytime still but... Still.

"You can help me with my training. But on one condition."

Azriel contemplated her more seriously before he nodded his head.

"We fight now. Hand-to-hand."

~~~

The night was alive.

And Gwyneth Berdara was the full moon that accompanied it, shining brightly even amidst the darkness. She was so lovely, yet he sensed something pure and burning thriving inside her. His shadows yearned to flit around her, touch her, dance and sing for her. He had to keep them on a tight leash, and they were unhappy.

Little tendrils of darkness swirled around him petulantly. They wanted to go to Gwyn. Would have gone to her without his intervention. One stray thread snuck out and nearly coiled around Gwyn's wrist before he snatched it back in time. He could have sworn his own shadows growled at him. But he had bigger things to focus on.

Like the fact that Gwyn had just challenged Azriel to a duel.

Once again, his shadows had failed to mention that she was here. There was no quick escape that didn't end in awkwardness so he had stayed -- and so far he was... contented. Being around her seemed to have that effect on himself.

She was humming to herself as she stretched, preparing her body before their fight. His shadows buzzed around excitedly, seeming to forget about their earlier disagreement. He supposed there was no question who they were rooting for.

"Ready?" He asked Gwyn. She nodded, then held up a hand.

"Wait." She retied her ponytail, not letting even a single strand of her coppery chestnut obstructing her vision. He admired her competitiveness, her courage and strength in always fighting for the best.

Meeting her by chance here again reminded him of solstice, and his mind wandered to Elain before he slammed down his thoughts.

Focus. He had watched and trained Gwyn enough to know that she was a threat: an emerging dark horse that proved unpredictable and cunning. He also knew she had silently studied his fighting style enough to know more than just a few of his preferred tricks.

They circled each other, neither one of them making the first move.

He had drilled into her what signs to look out for, what feints and what blockings would be an unexpected yet effective counterattack that he was more than a little wary.

Still, he decided to make the first move, which was so out of his usual style that he hoped she would be unprepared. He had the feeling that she already knew he was going to attack first though as she sidestepped him and threw a punch.

Like he was expecting. He grabbed it and pulled her towards him to jilt her balance, but she was already expecting that and swept out her leg, forcing him to move unless he wanted to end up on the ground. The next move he had perfected to mastery.

He pretended to feint left when he was actually aiming for the left. A cheap shot, but he had also taught her that no real fights were clean and honest. She twisted her body but they both knew she wouldn't dodged in time.

At the last moment, his shadows decided to move and --

Capture his fucking hand. They wrapped themselves around him and his eyes widened as he was stopped mid-throw by his own shadows. The scenario would have been laughable if he wasn't in so much disbelief. They had never outright hindered him in any battles before.

He cursed, barely dodging the next kick Gwyn sent his way. They broke apart again and Gwyn asked, "Something wrong?" She glanced towards his wayward shadows and he had a strong feeling she knew.  

He shook his head, glaring at his swirling shadows. They just blinked up at him innocently.

Don't hurt her. Don't hurt her. Lovely mistress lovely mistress lovely mistress.

He gritted his teeth. Their fancy for Gwyn had reached the point of obsession but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she squinted and then broke into a grin.

"Aha. I thought I saw your little friends earlier." At her words, his shadows flew towards her joyfully, happy to be recognized. Azriel rubbed his neck as his shadows neared Gwyn, knowing that she had to secretly hate them for being so ugly and tainted and unworthy --

Gwyn bent down. What she did next would stay in his memories forever. Holding out an arm, she let his shadows coiled around the entire length, wisps of midnight trailing her as she walked towards Azriel.

His shadows were happier than he had ever known them to be. He could feel their joy with every step she took, sense the way they were telling him to look look look look.

Then Gwyn smiled at him, her teal eyes so clear and large.

"Your shadows are beautiful."

~~~

"Your shadows are beautiful."

Azriel stood still. His entire body was frozen, and even his heart seemed to cease its beating.

Gwyn took a step back at whatever expression was on his face. What she said... Did she understand that what she said -- no one had ever deigned to voice before?

Did she look at his hideous soul and scarred hands?

Did she see how truly stained he was?

He wanted to believe she did. He had never wanted something more than Gwyn seeing him, truly seeing him be true. But if it were true...

How could his shadows be beautiful?

"I'm -- I'm sorry for stepping out of line." She stuttered out, her eyes wide.

Azriel glanced up sharply, snapped out of his trance. She looked horrified and was stammering out another apology, her pitch high and wobbly.

Shit.

Before he could process what he was saying, words tumbled out of his mouth, aided by the push of an impatient shadow desperate to right all things wrong.

"It is I who should be apologizing." His voice was a soft whisper in the night breeze. Gwyn paused halfway through her long speech and she stood there gaping at him.

"I am sorry, Gwyn." Azriel truly was. He could feel the shame gnawing at him. Yet another mistake. Yet another disappointment. He was a lowly half-breed bastard. His "little friends" curled around his tightening fists anxiously. He could not quite meet her eyes as chagrin dragged him down and whispered,"I should not have reacted the way I did."

He did not know what to expect. The infamous spymaster that was Azriel could never anticipate any of Gwyn's actions. She was an enigma, a mystery that constantly evaded him, the light at the end of the tunnel that shied away from him at every twist and turn.

He saw Gwyn take a deep breath from his peripheral vision and steeled himself. He gathered the remnants of his scattered mask, ready to return to just the High Lord's spymaster.

And then Gwyn spoke.

"I... I do not know your story. I do not know the dark tales that define your past. But I know you. And I know that whatever it is... It does not define you. It does not define the male I see standing before me. It cannot define the male who saved my very life, who --" Here her voice caught and she had to stop for a moment.

Azriel's heart clenched painfully. He did not know why but... He wanted to hug her and show her that her past had never defined her. Not for him, not for Nesta or Emerie and he wanted her to know that it shouldn't for herself.

"Who placed that cloak upon me with such gentle hands." She continued softly, gazing down at his scarred palms. And for the first time in a sea of forever, Azriel did not feel the urge to hide his shadow-kissed hands. Those same shadows began to swirl towards Gwyn and she did not flinch.

She only continued staring at him with those eyes that could see through everything. Did he want them to see through him? Yes.

She sees. And she is not afraid. Azriel's shadows basked them in a cocoon of living darkness.

"I refuse to let your past define you. I do not accept that. So fight. Your story... even if it never comes to me, there is nothing it can tell me that I don't already know. You are brave, thoughtful and so, so kind. You and Cassian trusted me to survive and conquer the Rite as you two had trusted Nesta and Emerie. If not then both of you would have stormed in immediately, and no law could have overruled you. So please... Please believe in me like you did. Just this once, if nothing else." Gwyn finished a little breathlessly and he knew she had rushed through the last part because she was nervous.

But somehow the bit that stuck out to him was her thinking he used to believe in her. He did, but used to? He still did. And he wanted her to know that, more than anything. He wanted Gwyn to know that he had never stop believing in her.

And seeing Gwyn's crestfallen face as each second passed and he still remained silently, he knew she was thinking the worst.

He wanted her smile back. His shadows wanted that too.

But more than anything, they both wanted her to sing again. And looking at her dispirited expression, at that moment even his shadows were unsure whether she would find her voice again.

She had spilled her thoughts to him, and he was standing there like an idiot.

Your words, Azriel. Use your words.

His shadows were begging him to say something. Anything, please please please.

As she turned to leave, he finally found his voice. The voice she unknowingly helped him find.

"Gwyn, I'm sorry -- please wait." She paused, hesitating as her eyes met his. Azriel did not know what to say. He was incapable of saying anything but "sorry", that word so pathetic and useless. Sorry was not enough when Rhys was captured by Amarantha. Sorry was not enough when Feyre was forced to sacrifice herself for their -- for his sake. Sorry was not enough when Elain was taken away by the Cauldron in the middle of the night.

Sorry had never been enough and never would be. Azriel was a stupid, foolish idiot.

"Azriel." Gwyn spoke his name softly. He tore himself away from his useless thoughts and looked at her.

She... did not look upset. She did not look angry, nor sad, nor frustrated. Instead, understanding lay in those warm teal eyes.

"I'm not pushing you to share about yourself. You are not obliged to just because I rambled on about my thoughts." Gwyn's eyes were indeed filled with apology and remorse though she had a small smile.

"You will always be my friend. And I will wait for you, even if the day you want to share about yourself never comes. Because I know you will do the same for me."

Somehow, in that moment when even time seemed to have held its breath, when even the Mother seemed to be watching, Azriel felt something in him shifted. In the distant, he could have sworn a phoenix's song filled his veins, a song of smothered flames and shadows.

"Besides, I think the silent, brooding type fits you better than Cassian's I-wrecked-one-tiny-unimportant-useless-building hotheadedness." Gwyn teased.

The distant calling seemed to grow louder, and Azriel could have sworn --

He could have sworn that a faraway glow beckoned him. And his shadows were more restless than ever, nearly tearing away from their master in their excitement.

So when Gwyn grinned at him, he smiled back.

The stars twinkling overhead seemed to beam back too. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt contented. It was a feeling he had not experienced since... Since solstice. And back then he was with Gwyn, too, he realized abruptly. It was this female before him who had brought him not once, but twice such longed-for peace and quiet.

Gwyn was wrong. It was not his shadows who were beautiful.

It was her.

It was the Valkyrie who had walked beside Death -- and never cowered.

Never feared, never faltered.

Gwyneth Berdara was a secret, lovely beauty.

Sorry for any grammatical errors (or just errors in general) since I’m writing on my own right now. Thanks for reading and stay tune for part 2 <3

Updated comment: Hi guys, so I added a new bit about Azriel’s reaction. I was planning out the whole story so it’s taking a while and I’m sorry about the wait. I’m nearly done with planning things out chapter-by-chapter so part 2 is on its way. Thank you for staying with me 

xoxo

Dawn ~