#and finding clarity in how he wants to live his life or how to manage his career from now on

[louismygf]

lucky again lyrics

[misslovasstuff]

“Goodbye.”

[Sanji x reader]

summary: after getting to know each other, time has come for you and Sanji to part ways.

author’s note: Oda and I would agree that Sanji and angst go well together. I love how emotional he is and how deeply he feels things.

Was there ever a good in goodbye or did someone just inserted it there to make people feel less grief, less pain and more peace?

“You must go.” - trembling hands find their way in his chest, pushing it slightly away from where you were standing. Clenching your fist and jaw from resenting to tears, you turn around, ready to walk away.

Sanji had a look of confusion on his face, however there was a hint of indecisiveness as if for the first time, he was being torn apart. Not because he didn’t know what had to be done but because of the courage he would have to muster with saying good bye to you; his love, the spirit that breathes life into his body, the hands that gently caress every wound, the woman that looked at him in the eyes and decided to love him forever. However,

Does forever ever last for the lovers of this world?

“Wait, - his voice cracks as his hand reaches out to you. - I don’t want to say goodbye.”

His mouth trembles as if he wanted to say something more but the words were stuck on his throat. Shutting your eyes close for a moment as a sigh comes out of your mouth, you turn round slowly to face him; the man that came in your life so unexpectedly and showed you the way true love is supposed to feel like.

To your surprise, true love is found in little gestures that mean the world to you; a simple touch of the hands, a surprise meal you always wanted to try, doing things without expecting anything in return…especially that.

All your life you were always hesitant to ask for help, to ask for any favours knowing very well that those people you show your most vulnerable side to will exploit you and use these moments against your path.

But Sanji? Goodness, Sanji is a sweetheart. He only does everything with a loving heart, out of love and for love.

To you, h’s the clarity of the sky and the warmth of the sun, the light of which managed to brighten up even the darkest of alleys in your heart.

How do you let go of someone like that?

“Sanji, - you approach him and stand stiffly, hesitating to touch his face and caress it to comfort him no matter how much your entire being was begging you to. - that dream of yours…”

The blonde blinks in anticipation as he notices your hesitation to comfort him and yourself. Did you want to make this last interaction less painful that it already feels?

“That dream of yours is beautiful. Go, sail away and find the all blue! - the tone of your voice gets louder as you grab a hold of his two hands, holding the them tight near your chest as you look into his eyes.

Ah, those blue eyes of his which you called your treasure suddenly soften, a hint of blush covering his cheeks. The sparkle you had in yours however, always left him feel at awe, seeing galaxies dancing in them as if you looked at him and saw a universe worth of stars that would fall and burn brightly, turning into nothing if it meant you could have even a small moment of warmth.

Sanji pulls himself in your embrace, taking your hands and kissing them both. He smiles before making your forehead touch his as he whispers the words:

“I’ll go find that dream, - both of your eyes are closed but it felt like you could see how fast your hearts were pounding in sync with each other. It was like your two souls connected with every simple touch, gaze or word. - but I want to live it through with you.”

You’re surprised upon hearing his remark. A wave of pure happiness hits you in the heart, understanding that this time, this very moment might not be the last. Perhaps…

“I’ll come and see you again. - Sanji continues, as one hand of his travels to your cheek, cupping it with his warm palm and caressing it soflty. - so i’m not saying goodbye.”

“I will wait for you.” - a simple reply from you makes the blonde ecstatic, grabbing your waist gently as he looks at you with a smile, approaching your lips.

“You better. - he smugs, brushing your lower lip with his thumb, - as for me there is no other woman in this world but you.”

With your cheeks flushed and your eyes stuck on his gaze, you grab his tie and pull him into a kiss.

Your fingertips brush off his neck as his travel around your back, pulling you closer to his embrace. There is heavy breathing between multiple kisses you’re giving him, to which he gladly reciprocates, getting more and more pulled by you almost effortlessly, like a hungry man devouring his food gracefully served, all for him and only him.

After a bit, you break the kiss softly, watching how his gaze upon you is so tender and heart-melting, completely hypnotised by you.

“A small reminder why that’s the case, love.” - you pinch his nose, as someone calls for Sanji in the distance. He notices and looks at you one last time for a while:

“That seals it.” - Sanji claims, brushing his fingers through your hair while the other holds your cheek. - Take care of yourself, alright?”

You nod, caressing his inner arm while pressing his palm against your warm cheeks, trying to register his touch in your brain so you never forget.

“You too, - now you’re both holding hands as the distance between you slowly grows, your heart takes over your mouth:

“I love you, Sanji.”

The poor man’s heart skips a beat at your confession, now making it impossible for him to move even an inch further away from you.

“Such a beautiful heart you have, - he replies, - thank you for giving it to me. I promise to take care of it whenever I am. As for me…”

A wide smile conquers your face, feeling that special warmth all over that you feel only when Sanji is around. That’s a way you know, you’ll never forget him.

“If I were to express how strongly I feel about you, it might take us decades, love.”

With that statement you chuckle, seeing Sanji walking away backwards, as if he’d miss a chance of admiring your laughter which gives him a boost:

“I love you! I love you like a crazy man! I’m in love with you!” - Sanji shouts out loud, winking and blowing kisses. He looks at you fondly before turning away and running back to the ship.

‘Please be safe’ you whisper to yourself as his figure disappears in the distance.

His back was so wide, as if he was carrying a big weight that no one could see. You got Sanji, understood him to his core which caught him off guard and was the stepping stone to your relationship. At first, he looked at you differently. Of course as he’s a bit biased toward women, but if anyone who knew Sanji would be a witness to how he looked at you, they’d be more than shocked.

Some would say he looked at you with such fondness, with a mixture of awe and adoration, never tiring at the sight of you smiling and looking at him with an honest and sincere heart which he could feel you had. Others would say he looked at you with tenderness and pride, his heart swelling every time you’d talk so passionately about life and your beliefs. When he saw you for the first time, it was as a night flower had found the moonlight, and his life was forever changed. The surroundings disappeared and so did the the past and the present as he prayed silently for his future to be you.

It never changed, up until this moment, as he runs away, a single tear falls from his eye.

‘Please, wait for me. I’ll see you again, I promise.’

Sanji whispers to himself, wiping away his tear and building up the courage to walk forward his path and his life, although a very important part of his was left here.

He’ll miss you, surely, as the flowers miss the spring and as the birds grieve their home while they fly away. For now you felt like home, a place where he could be himself were your arms and a heart that understands him would be pillow he’d rest his head drowned in dreadful thoughts. Thus, the weight of your absence was heavier than any other which he could carry.

But he’ll be back to find you and when he does, you’d be more than ready to give him a life that he deserves to live, the love that he always deserved to have. And you’ll wait patiently for him, as a dry land waits for the rain and as a lighthouse waits for a ship to safely guide it back home.

The good in goodbye?

The good thing is, lovers never say goodbye.

If true in their love they are, surely fate will make them meet again.

[matchadobo]

KÖNIG; someone to come home to

wc: 5859 summary: könig found your cat and bridged the budding relationship between the two of you. warning/s: afab reader, nsfw 🔞 (please read at your own discretion, scars, könig is very shy and has social anxiety, alcohol/liquor

"oh for the love of god why do you keep running away..!" you jogged around your neighborhood, eyes frantically scanning each bush and corner of the street just to find that spotted motherfucker with doe eyes and tiny paws that'd immediately make you forget all the rage you went through while finding her.

you love your cat, she's the light of your life, much more your child. but she has this habit of wandering off during autumn, playing with the fallen leaves in places that were surrounded by many trees. you've traversed the entire neighborhood and you were starting to panic when you couldn't find her. she usually comes back when the sun sets but it's almost past six and she's nowhere in sight.

until you heard a distant purr from that one park you haven't checked since it's mostly occupied by kids so it's unlikely. but you swiftly ran to the park, only to find your cat nestled in someone else's lap. a burly, towering man who cradled her very delicately. he brushed his scarred hands by the head and ears of your cat as she leaned further by his dainty pats.

he then noticed you right away, shot up from his seat like you scared him. you broke into a smile to ease the atmosphere, it kind of freaked you out that he noticed you even though you didn’t so much as make a movement or noise. the man had his face covered with a black cloth of some sort, the only visible features of his face were his vibrant, green eyes. he wore a black shirt that looked way too tight for a man his size, brown denim pants paired with black boots. he backed away slightly when you got closer.

"hey, uh, seems you caught her." your cat jumped off of the man's arms and ran to you, you bent down to catch her. "she's my cat."

the look of clarity was evident in him when he relaxed at your words. "thank god you caught her though, i thought i lost her for a moment." you laughed nervously, hugging your oblivious cat. "i'm name." you started, walking a little closer to him to reduce the tension.

you noticed how he kind of stiffened up but managed to return back your gesture. "k-könig." he responded, thick german accent coating his speech. "sorry for kinda taking your cat." he joked a little.

"oh, don't worry about it!" you laughed, "i think she felt safe with you. cats latch onto people that make them feel comfortable."

you heard a low laugh from beneath his mask, you gave him a look at his green eyes to try and recognize him. "are you...did you just move here?"

"not really, but i'm staying for a bit here. my house is just a block away from this park."

unbeknownst to you, it was taking könig everything to not fold right now. aside from being an extremely socially anxious person, he finds you so incredibly pretty. your demeanor, how you carry yourself towards him, how you smile at him, and most of all how you somehow put him at ease; it's as if it's the first time he really wanted to get to know someone and spend more time with someone even if you two just met. he rarely stays in his house here in austria so he never really knew anyone here, nor was he aware that someone like you lives around here. if he did, he'd actually make an effort to go out regularly.

"staying a bit in here? you travel a lot?" you raised a brow, simultaneously patting your cat's head.

"o-oh yeah, i don't stay in my place much." he laughed nervously, his body language changing. könig doesn't really want to tell anyone about his line of work, much less a woman he's interested in. it's surprising enough that you didn't get scared away by his mask, and most of all how he took your cat. he's afraid he might scare you off and immediately lose you. right off the bat, he wants to take you out for drinks; but his confidence is too low because he thinks  that it wouldn’t go further than that.

but nonetheless! it's been a long time since he felt this kind of rush. musing at you and smiling beneath his mask, his heart ran wild on his chest. your cat was one thing that drew him to you, but your smile and with how your beauty shone with the golden glint of the sky. he somehow managed to hold a conversation with you whilst observing how the colors in your eyes glistened in the sunset and how your hair danced with the breeze and kept it away from your face to give him a better look.

"hey, uh." he garnered all the sprouting confidence you gave him from laughing alongside him with dry jokes and boring stories. you pressed your lips together, muttering a "hm?" as your attention was fully directed at him. he sweated a little before saying, "do you maybe wanna... grab drinks or something? you can bring her if you want." he lightheartedly invited you, laughing a little at that last bit.

your heart thumped in your chest a little too fast; finding this man so cute despite the strange cloth that prevented you from knowing the face behind it and his overwhelmingly huge size. "i think i'm supposed to say that last bit, yeah? i'll bring her if YOU want, könig." you broke into a laugh, hearing his laughter too. "but, of course. i'd be happy to."

you see him perk up a little at your reply. behind that mask, you know that he's smiling from the curve of his eyes.

reaching the nearby pub, a dimly lit place that reeked of liquor and cigarettes. the place was decorated with vintage records, paintings, and trinkets. regulars were playing pool, teenagers were in the far back shoving their tongues down each others' throats, and the old, tired bartender wiping off some cups and bottles. you two sat by the high chairs, secluded in some corner not too far from the bartender.

he ordered a whiskey while you settled for a classic scotch. not too long, you two somehow hit it off for hours: playing with the cat, playing with pool and trash-talking some regulars, getting tipsy and touching each other quite more, playing some old arcade games and destroying each other, and saying things that you two might forget in the morning.

"i'm better at pool than you." he blurted out. "your aim is just hilariously cute." he walked behind you, keenly watching if you'll trip and fall from how you stumble while walking.

"it's the liquor, i'll crush you sober!" you tried talking with no slurring, but miserably failed and evoked a snort from him. he held his alcohol pretty decently, he moved quite wonkily but still managed to walk properly. you however, had too much to drink. what could you say? you could drink a little too much when you're with someone you enjoy!

"right, how do you plan on doing that?" he caught you when you almost tried reaching for your imaginary chair that looked way too vivid in your vision, he had a firm hand on your arm as you sat back down in your previous spot. "can you even get home at this rate?"

"shut up, you're so cocky for someone who won because you're bigger." you mumbled, laying your head down on the table.

"that doesn't make sense, name. accept defeat, yeah?" you grumbled as a response, hearing a chuckle from him.

his phone rang suddenly. könig stood behind you, an arm beside your frame as it rested on the high table before taking his eyes off you and answering his phone. "we've got a mission for you, könig. kortac will be deployed in a week from now, the details will be discussed in hq at the same time. copy?"

"roger."

his heart somewhat sank at the announcement. never had he felt hesitant nor felt his heart waver at an issuing of deployment. he always completed missions one after the other passively. he didn't have anything to miss or look forward to. but when he looked at you, wasted as you almost fell off your seat if it weren't for his arm supporting you from the side, he just felt like he couldn't leave you alone now... or maybe ever?

he gestured for the bartender to bring a pitcher of water. "alright, listen to me. you're gonna drink that until you can walk and think straight, got it?" he tapped at your back placing a glass of water in front of you. you whined, taking the glass from him begrudgingly. "you have a lot of trust for someone you just met, huh."

"why, soldier? gonna do somethin' bad to the citizen you serve for?" you blurted out, chugging the entire glass of water and burping afterward. you saw how his eyes widened and how his shoulders perked up a bit from shock. "yeah, that call earlier proved my suspicions."

"aren't you blacked out drunk?" he looked away, trying to avoid the topic.

"oh please, my head's heavy and i feel like shit. doesn't mean i'm deaf and dumb, big guy." you nudged his shoulder a little. "saw the tag shining when you bent down during pool, lotsa scars for someone ordinary, you rarely live at your house means you get deployed a lot, that sorry excuse for a subtle knife pouch in your pants, and that call earlier." you listed out taking another chug of an entire glass.

"nice catch, know a soldier?" he relaxed a little, watching how you skillfully stuffed all that water down the drain you call your body.

"dated one." you responded, eyeing him whilst drinking.

"so you have a type?" he sounded cheeky, sounding like his face was smugly staring at you. "that why you're all smiley ever since we met, huh?"

you broke into laughter, fanning yourself. thanking god that you can excuse your blushing from the inebriation. "you are acting smitten, soldier. maybe you have it the other way around? no fair your face is hidden though, couldn't see if i got you smiling or something."

"what do you think then, frau?" he leaned fairly close, your knees touching as his gaze traversed your entire face.

"i think my bladder's going to explode, i'll deal with your flirting later." you winked, walking past him to the bathroom. little did you know, you left the big guy giggling stupidly to himself.

you came back and he was patiently waiting for you. "i can walk properly now."

"right, i didn't want to get home all alone when you're all wasted." he stood up too, massively towering over you.

"tch, you're saying too much for a man with a mask." you snubbed, playfully stomping out of the pub.

you two walked home, still talking about useless things and other stories and passing jokes. he held your cat close to his chest while walking, the cat falling asleep in his big grasp. "where's your house again?"

"i can walk there fine, könig. it's okay. you must be tired too, mine’s just a few houses away." you dismissed, a tired smile on your lips.

"ah-ah, i insist. it'd be improper to leave a frau like you walking alone at midnight." he strolled beside you.

"but you're pretty far from here, right?" you looked up at him.

"doesn't matter, it's not far for me." he replied. "getting worried?"

"pft, no." you brushed off, despite the smile on your face. "just don't wanna be a suspect if you were gonna be found dead tomorrow."

after a short exchange of laughter, you reached your house. "well, this is it." you concluded. "i'll be taking MY cat back."

he laughed a little before handing the sleeping feline to you. "i had a really good time, könig. good night." you smiled, musing at the vibrance of his green eyes.

"me too," he waved farewell. "good night." he backed away before finally walking away to where his house was. walking home with a smile on his face, the subtle scent of your perfume on his shirt that was decorated generously with cat fur, and a viciously, fast beating heart. he hadn't felt this kind of high from someone.

the fact that you two may or may not see each other again stayed at the back of your minds. but you two slept it off with a smile, hoping this wasn't the end of it.

that's what you thought, but you hadn't seen him in days. you forgot to get his number and what's worse is you don't know where he lives! there's no way of reaching him now.

you figured that he maybe got deployed or something, maybe that phone call from the night you two were together was it. you sighed in your realization, plopping onto your bed in despair as you reminisce about your fun, little date. slowly accepting that you wouldn't see him again. that he is just another fling or another incident to make you happy temporarily and remind you why you can't settle down with anyone.

that is until your door almost broke down from the force of the knocking down the hall. you opened the door, only to find könig drenched in the rain.

"w-what the fuck?! don't you have an umbrella?! come inside, you idiot!" you panicked, moving over to let him in. the bastard was shivering in the cold so you fetched him a towel before letting him sit on your couch. your cat immediately settled on his lap.

"start talking, könig." you sighed, sitting on the coffee table before him.

suddenly, he pulled the shirt off his head to finally reveal his once covered face. you were about to hand him a glass of water only to accidentally drop it from his gesture. he caught it though, military reflexes.

"thoughts?" he broke into an awkward smile, drinking from the water he caught. he chuckled at the priceless reaction you have. "say something, frau. it's starting to get weird here."

his auburn curls were damp and sat atop his head in a disheveled manner, some of his curls framed the sides of his face down to his jaw. his pale complexion had faint freckles and  prominent scars all over his chiseled face and body where you could see his skin. he had relaxed eyebrows and somewhat sunken eyes, though his bright, green eyes made up for it. his lips were chapped and fairly pink as the natural tint in his cheeks. but what sets his entire face off from the ordinary was the big scar that went from his right temple down to his left jaw that went across his eyebrow, nose, and lips.

"i-if it's scaring you, i c-can cover it-"

"no..!" you impulsively hugged him by his neck, both of you surprised at your actions. "i-it's brave, thank you, könig. that must've taken a lot in you to do."

"just five days of tossing and turning and regretting that i didn't gave you my number." he sarcastically remarked, returning your hug by settling both of his hands across your back.

you laughed a little before pulling away. you then took off your shirt, only in your bra now. you see him pull away immediately, beet red on the face as he averted his gaze from your body. "what the hell are you doing, you idiot! i have something to show you too."

an embarrassed "oh" escaped his lips. he tried to compartmentalize those thoughts and focused on what you were going to say. that's when he noticed the huge scar spanning from your chest down to your abdomen. "it's also my biggest scar from being in the service, i was discharged after i got it."

his eyes widened, "y-you were in the service too?!"

"yeah, that's how i met the one i dated. and how i lost him too." you tried composing yourself and swallowed hardly. "all i'm saying is, we both have these. so... none of that, none of you, is scaring me, könig." you smiled softly, brushing your fingers by his arms that were also rich in scars.

"look i, uh, will be deployed in two days." he broke out, his deep green eyes frantically mirroring his overwhelming feelings. "i was thinking if we could, you know, if you'd want to go somewhere with me to make the most of my leave?"

you teared up from laughing, either from joy or endearment. "you didn't have to be so dramatic and run in the rain about it, though. but yes, let's do that."

a wide smile made its way to his face, the vast amount of scars contrasted the joy he had in his eyes and lips. a putty feeling made his chest tight as he sat face to face with you, your scars and his visible to each other. it's the first time he ever shared something like this with someone. once strangers a few days ago turned into something more because he decided to drag his ass to you and not let his thoughts get the best of him, and he was proud of himself because of that.

you lent him an umbrella and told him to meet up at the airport after packing his stuff. and you carried on with yours too, a sudden trip with him would be a rush you'd never thought you'd experience. you've thrown in some outfits, body essentials, undergarments, and the like to try and take your mind off of him and wipe that lovesick smile on your face. but failed of course.

soon after, you two met at the airport with your suitcases. you waved at him cheerfully, smiling as he got closer. "thought you were gonna stood me up." you joked, nudging him a little. "soldiers are always on time, right? what happened to you?"

"i got lost?"

"save it, let's get our tickets now." he took your suitcases as you made your way to the ticket counter for both of your tickets.you already booked tickets before you packed hours ago so it all went smoothly, soon enough you two made it to paris.

you two had spent an afternoon eating at artisan food markets for lunch, shopping at boutiques (mostly you), taking pictures in museums, and ending the day biking to your hotel. the day was cut short since you two arrived at lunchtime, but you two had planned a lot for the next day.

you two had a problem with the hotel though, "well, we booked a hotel on the same day so... we can't really complain about having only one bed."

"...i'd just sleep on the couch or something. whatever you're comfortable with." he insisted on the elevator, kind eyes looking at you beneath the mask.

"i had fun today, könig." you blurt out, not even thinking you did. your eyes were tired from the nonstop journey from flying to roaming about the lively streets of paris but it all reflected your words.

he stared at you for a while, a smile beneath his mask. he was about to say something when the elevator ding interrupted his thoughts that were already clouded with you.

you insisted on taking a shower first because, god, you felt disgusting and embarrassed sitting next to him while you were this smelly. once you got out, you notice how he doesn't wear the cloth on his head anymore as he waited for you and shimmied through the channels in a language he doesn't understand. he shortly followed after taking a bath, bumping his head by the shower multiple times; you giggled at the sound of his curses and the thumps he made.

the bed was king-sized, so it fits the two of you with enough room for personal space. it wouldn't bother you to sleep with him though as  you feel comfortable with him, knowing that you spent the entire day with him. him taking off the mask when it's only the two of you proved enough for him to trust you, so you could do the same.

könig on the other hand though, was a mess talking about it though. "a-are you sure?"

"100%, it's big enough for the two of us don't you think?" you plopped yourself down the bed, sinking in the sheets. "plus, you're not gonna fit that couch."

he complied awkwardly, not knowing how to position himself nor if he should touch you as he settled on that one spot on his side of the bed. you couldn't sleep while he was being uncomfortable so you sat up and tapped on his shoulder.

"is sleeping with me bothering you?"

he looked over his shoulder, a worried look on his face. "i might crush you or something, or i might touch you inappropriately, or i might-"

"hey." you placed a hand on his arm. "i already told you, könig. i agreed to this. i trust you, okay? you'll be fine." you gave him an assuring smile before telling him good night. you two slept soundly that night, tangled in each other's arms.

the next day, you two went to disneyland and spent the entire day there. going ride to ride, stuffing yourselves with character-themed foods, you and him competing in those booths that have prizes, betting on who will scream first during horror attractions, getting some souvenirs by the shops, and tiring yourselves out from the number of rides in this park. laughing alongside him while enjoying the fun of paris has brought you nothing but that fluttery feeling under your skin and that uncontrollable beat of your heart.

once sunset came, you two ended the day with a boat on one of the canals. an intimate ride where you two didn't notice your intertwined fingers. after buying some bottles of scotch and whiskey, you two made it back to the hotel for the night. he popped the bottles open, drinking from the bottle and sharing it with you.

"so, last day, huh?" you started, downing a sip. the tv in the background faintly dulling the silence.

"you gonna miss me?" he replied with a smile on his face as he winked at you, chewing on some chips you bought.

"hmm, maybe." you shrugged, reaching over for the chips. "it'd suck if we just left it here, though."

"left what here?" he raised a brow. "the mess?" he gestured at the untidy sight of your room.

"are you that dense, könig?" you huffed a frustrated sigh. the puzzled look on his face not faltering, still waiting for clarity from you. "jesus christ, men really are that fucking dumb, huh."

you placed the bottle down, leaned over to him and sat on his lap, placed a hand on his cheek while the other was at the back of his head, and collided lips with him. it went on for a while, you feel him suck in a breath from your actions, making you smile through it.

the kiss got deeper and you wrapped your arms around his neck, his massive hands settled on your waist to hold you as he returned your kiss. the taste of alcohol lulling you closer to him and drunkening the both of you even more.

you pulled away and touched foreheads with him. "so that's what you want, spatzi?" könig remarked, giving the corner of your lips a peck.

"how did that feel?"

"liberating." he replied, "do you maybe wanna..."

"go all the way?" you finished, "thought you'd never ask."

he chuckled before kissing you again, licking your lips, and exploring your mouth. he carried you effortlessly by your bum as he sat by the edge of the bed. only to be pushed down by you as he lied flat and watched you take your clothes off.

you rubbed your core on his clothed crotch, he sucked in a deep breath from the sensation whilst he returned  your kisses. not long after, he was in his boxers and you were only in your bra and underwear. after he discarded the last article of clothing on you and him, he roamed his hands across your body, especially the scar you showed him yesterday. he easily flipped you around and now, he was on top of you.

he leaned down and placed kisses on your chest where the scar began, the middle of your mounds, and down to your stomach where the scar ended. he went back to your face and placed kisses on your cheek then back on your lips, "you sure about this?"

you nodded as his final green light before he dipped down to your sopping crevice. he knelt down on the floor and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed by your thighs before he licked a long trail on your core. you hitched a breath, fisting the sheets as your legs trembled in his grasp. he had a fixed eye on you as he devoured your soaked core, he nibbled on your clit and sucked soundly on your folds while he played with the bundle of nerves on your mounds with his fingers. he took his time with you, he didn’t stop until your legs shook and stuttered as you reach your climax.

he soon came back to you, kissing you once more. your hand trailed down his toned torso, down to his firm length; you felt him shiver a bit at your touch as his lips stuttered on you. you smiled through the kiss and maneuvered him despite his size as you got on top of him. 

you soon admired the beauty of this man, as he lay bare before you. you notice him becoming self-conscious  as you stared at him for a long time that you hadn't realized that you were doing it for too long. "hey, don't get shy with me now. you know why i like staring at you so much?"

"why?" he shyly answered, hands awkwardly placed on your hips.

"because i like you, i like looking at you. i'm savoring the fact that your mask is off, that you're able to trust me with this. it must've been hard for you but you still agreed with me, right?" you said with a smile, a hand on his cheek as he leaned on your touch. 

you began peppering hickeys on his neck, across his chest and abdomen. kissing all of his scars across his chiseled body. until you reach his prodigious length, he grew shy as you wrapped your hands around it. you licked the tip, circling your tongue around it to get him going. until you gobbled him whole, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he threw his head back at the warmth of your mouth. simultaneously pumping his length whilst bobbing your head gave him the pleasure that penetrated every muscle in his body. beneath his abdomen, a ticklish feeling bubbling up that left his member twitching  in your throat. not long after, his sweet release shot ropes down your throat. 

as he unsurely positioned himself on you, he took a while to gaze at you and the comparable size of his length. he placed both of his arms to support his weight by your sides, lowering himself down to give you a peck on the cheek. “tell me if it hurts.” he assured with a smile before wedging his thick length down you. 

he pressed his forehead to yours as he slid in slowly, both of you hitching a breath at the first stretch of your tight cunt. the warm and teeming feel of how your walls tightly enveloped him as he slid further until the head of his length reached your cervix; you squealed at the sensation, he chuckled while tucking a hair in your ear. as he tried and started moving, trying to detect if he’s hurting you in any way while he’s balls deep in you. but the only thing he saw was how you shut your eyes tight and how carnal, melodious moans left your agape mouth. he took it as an opportunity to buck his hips back and forth, sliding his length to your entrance back to the end of where he first settled, his dog tag clinking by its chains in chorus with his filthy movements. 

it was pure fucking bliss to you, it’s like you’re high on some sort of drug. the overwhelming length of him and how he was panting just as heavy as you are from the unparalleled sensation you two are in right now. you pulled him by his dog tag and he met your lips, swallowing all your moans as hips simultaneously tried finding the rhythm you two are comfortable in. 

once you two pulled away, he gazed at how his length disappeared from your crevice from time to time then back at your face which was flushed red. he planted hickeys on your shoulder, playing with your mounds with his tongue, and left handprints on your rear. 

lost in the same ecstasy; you kept grazing your nails across his back with each sinful thrust, biting on his neck with each moan of your name that left his mouth, and clawing at his chest with how good he fills you up. it almost felt like time wasn’t running and you two didn’t care how loud you two are nor how feral the creaking of the bed sounded. 

soon after, you were now on top of him. you bounced on his lap slowly, it’s a rhythm you two got used to. his hands were settled on your waist while the other was on your rear, helping you keep up the motion. your hands were caressing one side of his cheek while the other rested on his chest to support yourself. you bent down where you can press foreheads with him once more as your hips moved up and down, gradually sliding up and down on his length in a manner that drove both of you crazy. you two exchanged breaths and moans at the turmoil of pleasure that lulled both of you to a drunken state of each other, no talking was needed as you both looked deeply into each other’s eyes with much fervor. beads of sweat started budding on the surface of your skin at your nonstop intercourse. 

“you’re sweating, schatz.” he whispered, grinning afterward when he wiped the beads of sweat on your forehead with the back of his hand.

“you’re one to talk, you’re panting like an animal in heat.” you returned, hoisting yourself up as you steadily sat on his length. “want to take a break, colonel?” you cockily raised a brow, hands roaming on the span of his chest.

“you’re just pushing it now, huh.” he sat up too, getting a firm hold of your waist. “that’s lieutenant colonel to you, major.” 

his swift moments almost made you stumble and fall if it weren’t for the large hands that supported you. “ready?” he whispered in your ear and before you could answer, he rammed into you so fast you couldn’t even so much as choke a word. your chest is on the verge of exploding from the unruly pace of his hips as he drilled deep in you. it went on for a while, crude moans that got your neighbors turning their heads and almost disturbing the both of you; it’s not like you’d stop for them though. you later ran out of breath and your body got limp from the overstimulation of his length.

you two just lay in the bed afterward. you were between his legs and he was behind you, rubbing your stomach gently while placing kisses on your neck. “didn’t know you were gonna give up that fast, name.”

you elbowed him as a response, “alright, i know i got too excited. not my fault you got too sexy. i had to do something, liebling.”

there was silence after a little laughter from the both of you, it then occurred to you his inevitable departure would not be too long from now. “hey, what time are you leaving?”

“they’d need me before the day ends.” he cleared his throat, a weighing feeling went back on his chest. “this is the first time i felt like i’d wanna bail on a mission.” he chuckled dryly, gazing at the peeking sun of dawn by the large windows of your hotel.

“we should probably get going now, don’t wanna miss our flight-” you planned on leaving his grasp to stand up and get ready, only to get pulled closer. 

“we can stay for a little more.” he mumbled. “please, mein liebe.” he buried his face deeper at the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent more until he grew tired of it. 

you smiled, complying with his request and staying like that for over half an hour. eventually, you two had to fly back to austria and make it to his headquarters there. it was an inevitable parting between the two of you. it’s not like this feeling is new to you, you knew very well what happens when dating a soldier. you became one and dated one. but this one was extra fucking sadder, you don’t know why but now that you saw what’s beneath that mask and mountain of clothes—you’d never want to let him go, you just had to protect him and give him all the love he deserves. 

you two now parked before the building of his headquarters. after saying bye to your cat, he finally dreaded saying goodbye to you. “come on, könig. it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. you’re not about to let yourself get killed, hm?” you lightheartedly tried calming him down. 

he didn’t say anything and hugged you, pulling you by your neck with one arm while the other held you close by the small of your waist. “i promise to come back, vögelchen. you keep yourself safe here, you got it?” he pulled away, a gentle hand on your cheek. 

“you’ve got some nerve ordering someone who ranked higher than you.” you hit him on the chest playfully. “i’ll keep my promise if you keep yours.” you fished out something in your pocket, it was your old dog tag and handed it to him. “okay?” you searched for any affirmations in his green eyes.

he plucked out his own dog tag from his neck and gave it to you instead, he wore what you gave him. “copy.” amidst the cloth, you can see the tears in his eyes form and cascade down his face. you gave him one last tight hug, got under his mask, and gave him a long, deep kiss before sending him off. he waved goodbye one last time before disappearing into the building. 

“so you found someone, huh?” horangi greeted him by the entrance. 

“quit the snooping and let’s get to the conference room, i’d like to make this shit quick.”

this is my first time writing for könig and cod, forgive my sins my senpais 😭🌷

[amomentsescape]

What if Stu Didn't Kill Anyone?

Stu Macher x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) finds herself losing the love of her life more times than one.

Warnings: Foul language, angst, pregnancy

Word Count: 1,138

A/N: This is a more in-depth version of @stu-machers-girl 's request. You can find the shorter version here. I hope you enjoy!

"This wasn't what we fucking agreed on!" Stu shouted.

Billy simply shrugged. "Change of plans."

He attempted to step closer to (Y/N), but he was immediately blocked by the taller boy.

"You kill Sidney. That's it. My girl's got nothing to do with this!"

(Y/N) instinctively wrapped her arms around her stomach, feeling the rising tension build even more.

Kill?

She didn't know what the fuck was going on. How did a day full of excitement and news to share turn into this?

"She's just another mouth to keep shut. We can't trust her," Billy spat.

The boys were slowly getting closer and closer to one another, and without even thinking, she jumped in between them.

"Stop!" she screamed. She didn't want Stu to get hurt.

However, he immediately pushed her back behind him, not trusting what Billy could do in that moment.

"This is your damn plan. Do what you want, but (Y/N) and I are leaving."

Stu grabbed her hand and began to pull her to the exit, only for Billy to take this opportunity to pounce.

Stu fell to the floor as Billy began to throw punch after punch at him, his anger being felt through each blow.

(Y/N) screamed and kicked her foot up in the air, her shoe colliding with Billy's nose.

He rolled over and groaned, red liquid beginning to spill all over his clothes and the carpet.

(Y/N) ran over to the boy and kept kicking him, the fear of losing Stu clouding her better judgment.

However, that short moment was all it took for her world to be turned upside down.

Sidney had gotten out of her bindings, and she sprinted towards the TV before the other girl even had a chance to notice.

(Y/N) finally broke out of her angered frenzy when she heard the loud smashing sound of glass breaking and the sizzling of electricity crackling.

Her heart stopped in that moment, her eyes glossing over at seeing her love motionless under the weight of a broken TV.

Her throat burned as the screaming began, hot tears leaving messy trails down her cheeks.

She began running towards Sidney, her body colliding with the girl's as they both tumbled to the floor.

(Y/N) began to scratch, punch, hit, anything she could think of to cause as much damage as possible. She never thought she could be any more angry than she was at Billy just moments before, but now she understood that things could always get worse.

Sidney found a moment of clarity where she raised her fist and punched the other girl in the nose as hard as she could.

This dazed (Y/N) for a moment, just enough time for Sidney to push her over and run out the exit, wanting to get as far away from this house as possible.

(Y/N)'s sobs began to increase as she drug herself over to Stu's lifeless body. She threw herself on top of him as she continued to scream and cry, not knowing what else to do.

It didn't take long for the paramedics to arrive however, and they had to physically restrain (Y/N) away from Stu so they could take a look at his body.

(Y/N)'s voice continued to yell, but no sound was coming out anymore. Her voice had been broken by the sound.

---

It had been three weeks since the incident, and (Y/N) couldn't find herself in better spirits.

Stu had survived.

By some fucking miracle, he had managed to live. His face was still swollen, his skull was healing from its fracture, but he was alive. And he was happy.

(Y/N) had finally told him the good news that she was wanting to share with him that fateful night.

She was expecting.

Stu's face had broken out into a huge, but painful, grin. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he would have jumped up and swung the girl in his arms, planting her face with hundreds of kisses.

Stu had always wanted a family. And this desire only increased once he met (Y/N). She was the one for him, and the idea of them raising their own flesh and blood up together made his heart warm.

They could finally have the life they always wanted.

But happiness doesn't last forever.

Now that Stu was able to be released, the law decided to step in and take their chance.

The police came in later that day and arrested him. Stu was being charged for several counts of murder.

Billy had been killed after his attempt to leave the house that night. And with Sidney still being alive, it only made sense that she would turn in the killer's best friend.

Stu hadn't killed anyone though. He knew about Billy and his desires, but he didn't step into the Ghostface persona with him.

He couldn't risk that. Not after falling in love.

But it's not like the police cared. The community wanted justice, and he was their best opportunity at getting it.

(Y/N) screamed and sobbed through a broken voice, realizing that she had once again lost him. And this time, it might be for good.

---

She went to every court hearing. Every single chance she had at talking to Stu through that stupid dirty glass, she did it.

There was no way she would ever leave his side. He was innocent. She argued and fought for his innocence over and over again to the point that she risked putting herself in jail.

But she knew she had to think of their child. She wasn't going to lose them too. So she tried her best to be patient, but every day was filled with pure fear.

During the final verdict, (Y/N)'s heart was going a mile a minute. She felt sick to her stomach as she awaited the judge's next words with bated breath.

Guilty.

Stu's eyes immediately met hers at this, those same eyes immediately began to water as he realized that this was it for him, for them.

His child was going to grow up without a father. His true love was going to always be out of reach, his body forever being separated from her's by metal bars.

Part of him wished that TV would've just killed him that night. Then he wouldn't have had to go through this pain.

(Y/N) was screaming and crying at him, the guards pulling Stu up from his seat and taking him away.

She tried to rush up to him, but strong hands pulled her back as she collapsed to the floor.

"I'LL WAIT FOR YOU!" she yelled. "I'LL WAIT FOREVER IF I HAVE TO!"

She clutched her stomach as the door finally shut.

He was gone.

[yuesya]

in cursed twin AU, how does Satoru react towards Yuta, since he has a cursed spirit of his own? albeit Shiki is a bit of a different situation and is well-behaved compared to Rika, and has more clarity than Rika

it could also be argued that - putting aside that no one except Suguru has lived to tell the secret - Satoru is comparatively more fucked up than Yuta in this regard because he’s willingly housing Shiki for an unforeseen future inside his body, and that’s considered messed up in the head, kind of? because imagine you have the option of putting Shiki to rest somehow, letting her die in peace, but no — for one, Shiki is well behaved and there’s no problems so far in their situation, so there’s no reason for Satoru to just up and do that. shiki isn’t suffering, isn’t too insane, and by possessing him she can eat and see and experience things for her own (even though shes a bloodthirsty little thing)

so gg Satoru be the first one to delete people who denies his sister this second chance (and he already did lmao)

for two, why should Shiki be the one to die? when it was the fault of fucking Gojo Clan and their father that she ended up like this? it’s not fair, his sister died because of some fucktards deciding she wasn’t worth anything and she has to be the one to pay the price, to give up in this lifetime, to die in order her to be in peace? Shiki deserves to live and have a chance to look at and experience this world, and Satoru is making sure of it even if it has to be through using him

In a way, Gojo Satoru really does love Shiki, and I want to see how a Satoru who has someone he loves to the point of, well, housing them inside his body for almost all his life like in Cursed Twins AU, reacts to seeing Yuta and Rika.

Footsteps sound clearly upon the cold stone ground, growing closer and closer, but Yuta can't find the strength to raise his head. Instead, he curls inwards, shrinking into himself where he's sitting on the uncomfortable wooden chair in his prison.

And, there's no doubt that this is a prison; ofuda seals cover the entirety of the enclosed chamber, and the only source of light is from the flicker of yellow lanterns scattered across the ground, arranged in a strange pattern. Yuta does not recognize any of it, as strange and scary as everything is, but instinct tells him that this is a trap, a cage.

... Good. He deserves it. He deserves to be locked up like this forever, because he-

"All of this is a bit overkill for just a kid, isn't it?"

"This was the best I could argue for, while you were still out of the country. It was either this, or immediate execution." Oh. Oh, Yuta recognizes this voice. "Hello, Okkotsu-kun. Have you been well?"

It's only polite to look at the person who's speaking to you. Yuta doggedly manages to summon up the strength to raise his head.

"... Hello, Geto-san," he whispers. The man who'd subdued Rika-chan and brought him in without any further bloodshed offers him a reassuring smile, then gestures towards his companion.

"Okkotsu-kun, this is my friend, Gojo Satoru. He's the one I mentioned before, who I think might be able to offer a unique insight into your situation. Satoru, this is-"

The white-haired man makes a clearly disgusted sound. Yuta automatically flinches, because there's no doubt that it's directed towards him.

"A master-servant bond, really?" he says, obviously disapproving. Yuta has no idea what the man is talking about.

"Okkotsu-kun is not a sorcerer," Geto-san says sharply. "He's lived a civilian life all this time, Satoru. Remember what I told you? He and Orimoto-chan are childhood sweethearts who accidentally cursed each other; neither had any idea of what they were doing-"

"No, the boy's the one who did all the cursing here, Suguru." There's a strange flicker in the white-haired man's striking blue eyes, crystalline blue shifting to abyssal darkness and back again. But it must be a trick of the light. Human eyes don't work that way. "But for something that was unintentional... hmm..."

Geto-san sighs tiredly. "Your recommendation, then?"

"... You're asking for my opinion? I think... ultimately, it depends on what the two of them want out of their relationship," Gojo-san shrugs. "Although that might be a little difficult to hammer out on the girl's side, given her current state."

Geto-san frowns lightly, a hand coming up to rest on his chin in thought. "Is there a way to make her lucid again?"

"Well, it's not like there's a documented process for this or anything, but with the circumstances being what they are, I think we might have a few ideas," Gojo-san gives him a sharp grin. Then, he turns towards Yuta. "Hey, so. If it turns out that there's no helping your Rika-chan anyways and we can't actually improve her state any, then what are you going to do?"

"What am I...?" Yuta blinks, confused. It's precisely because he doesn't know what to do, because he doesn't want Rika-chan to hurt anyone anymore, that he's sitting here in this prison cell unresistingly. That he's accepted the fact that he's going to be executed, because otherwise... otherwise...

The white-haired man shoots him a distinctly unimpressed look. "It's not that complicated a question, kid."

"I..." Yuta swallows roughly. "I don't... I don't want Rika-chan to hurt anyone."

"Cute, but that's not what I asked," Gojo-san says. "Are you just going to try and kill yourself again?"

"Satoru, that's not-!"

"Let him answer the question, Suguru."

The scary man's eyes flick downwards briefly towards where a deformed hand-knife is hidden behind Yuta's chair. A knife that Rika-chan had destroyed when Yuta had attempted to... wait, how does he even know that?

But the question he'd asked... Yuta doesn't...

...

Yuta doesn't want to hurt anyone. And, he doesn't want Rika-chan to hurt anyone, either. The guilt of living like this, causing nothing but death and destruction wherever he goes, accomplishing nothing but bringing pain to other people's lives... that's not okay, and it makes bile rise in the back of his throat just thinking about it.

"You're the one who cursed her, even if it was accidental," Gojo-san tells him mercilessly. "So what is it that you want to do?"

Let's get married when we're older, Yuta.

We'll be together forever and ever!

That's a promise.

...

"I... I want to help Rika-chan."

"And if you can't?"

Yuta's hands clench into fists. "You said... you said that you might have a way. And, if it's my fault that Rika-chan is like this, then I... I have to do something about it."

"Because it's your responsibility?"

"Because I care about Rika-chan!"

The heavy imposing pressure in the air suddenly lifts; Yuta falls forward, gasping. He hadn't even noticed it creeping up on him-

Geto-san clicks his tongue. "You went a little overboard here, Satoru."

"Yeah, we'll take him on," the white-haired man ignores the comment and grins. "Help me draw up the papers? I know that Maki and the others will be just thrilled to have a new student joining them."

"... Draw them up yourself, I'm not your secretary."

"Aww, don't be like that, Suguru-"

[aheathen-conceivably]

Ok so I read the post on your thoughts on Gio and the American Dream and I hate to say it … as an immigrant, I understand him.

I also come from a culture where women tend to their male partner's needs and I don't believe he wants to turn Jo into a subservient wife. He fell in love with a lively, free, and wild Jo and loves that aspect of her.

At the end of the day she loves him too so why would she leave? I understand she doesn't like to be dependent of him but where else would she go? There are no parties or glamour, which was her whole thing, anymore. At least the farm offers stability in the economic crisis.

Point is, I understand Gio as an immigrant, but don't understand Jo as a woman.

BABES! We’ve got another one…

(As in me being touched and having no other means to say how much I love y’all takes other than to give them a standing ovation in GIF form).

But you know…there’s a whole lot to break down here, friend, especially about Jo. I think you know what that means! Under the cut we go….

First and foremost, I very much appreciate you saying you understand that aspect of Gio. I did in part write him as a commentary on the immigrant experience in America (filtered through his own personality/character of course), and so to know that is relatable means a lot to me. I don’t think it’s a spoiler to tell y’all his journey is far from over, and you can already see the cracks in his outlook beginning to form. Whenever Jo is depressed he says this quite vividly:

Because you are very, very correct. This isn’t about molding Jo into some subservient housewife, or even eroding those exact qualities that he loves in her. This is about Gio attempting to square what he’s been taught/believes will bring his life happiness and meaning with his own experience and emotions. It’s about the myth of the American dream and the perfect housewife and the very real struggle of those things existing as actual, lived realities.

Because at the root of it, Gio is amalgamating an understanding of his own family unit and what he knows he doesn’t want in this country. He has seen another methods of “making it” in America, and so he thinks if only he can make the “right” choices, he can avoid that, and become the respected and happy man that he wants to be.

Now onto Jo, boy oh boy, Jo….

I think one of the core misunderstandings here is that Jo wants stability. This is kind of the crux built into her desire for control and her never-ending failure to achieve it. She wants to control her surroundings, to make sure nothing and no one can hurt her, but she also wants to feel in a way that is hard to find in a stable, heavily domesticated life. On the flip side, despite whatever imaginary dream Gio has, he’s the same way. They both want a life filled with excitement and new experiences, new people and rushes of emotions. This is one of the ways they differ heavily from Antoine and Zelda.

Now on one level, this is simply the way Josephine is. She’s high energy, fun loving, and insatiable. But on a deeper level, this is tied into her experiences not only as a woman, but as a daughter. She has a brief moment of clarity in that last post where she realizes:

Now I have chosen not to go too in-depth on Josephine’s trauma, but you can see her lay out the course of events here and also her deep hesitation to any of it here. Josephine is still only a teenager in that second post. Her mother not only told her things like that (“this is the weight that prejudice and expectation have placed upon us”) but also “what do you want to be then? Some glorified maid to a man?” (Which, frankly, I can write another Ted Talk about the juxtaposition here, but I think ya'll can pull some threads).

So when you see Josephine’s struggle with control, this is heavily rooted in bodily autonomy. Now all things considered, Josephine has managed to make great strides toward reclaiming this and reasserting not only her sexuality, but also her sense of self in her body. Gio knows this. We see him recognize and respect it quite clearly in that last post. He’s been part of that process for her, and that only adds another element of love, trust, and safety between them.

But on a fundamental level, neither Gio nor Josephine has made the connection between that trauma, her own personality, and why she hates her life now so much:

Here’s the issue right now: Josephine doesn’t feel like she’s living her own life. We have seen how she would like to live in the 20s not just in the parties and glamour, but when she was managing bands. She wants to be fulfilled professionally, through helping people/places she believes in and bettering her own life by bettering theirs. That’s how she gets her joy, and that’s what she would chose to do if given the chance.

And right now, she does not feel like she gets to chose. You’re correct in that part of that is coming from the current economic situation. Again, she sees that herself here. She knows what demons are waiting outside her window, and how easily poverty can make them rearise. That only makes it worse. It doesn’t make the smell of bread (domestic security) any better or more comforting. It makes it bitter, because she didn’t chose it. She was backed into a corner by circumstance (and, as she can sense, by the choices men made for her without telling her), and now she feels like she can’t say no. That’s her ultimate trigger.

Now whether or not that loss of control is simply perceived, or should be offset by how “lucky” she is to be in a stable position in such precarious economic times, we might all have different options on. Even more, I’m sure each of us would answer differently for ourselves in that situation. I know I would. But for Josephine? Not only is this a life she will never find joy in, because even without her trauma, she is an ambitious, restless, and outgoing person with different goals for herself; but that added memory and pain makes her reaction to it all the more volatile.

Perhaps most importantly, Jo feels as though her life is being controlled again, whether by Gio, the reality of the world outside her window, or by her own guilt/love that makes her feel beholden to the people around her (just like it did to her mother). Because you’re right, she does love him. She wouldn’t leave because she doesn’t. If she leaves now, it would leave because she panicked, because she feels like she’s lost all the autonomy she worked so hard to regain and she’ll never feel the fulfillment she felt when she was successfully independent ever again. That’s the element I hope we can understand, even if it’s not what we would do.

[masterqwertster]

Ok don’t publish it if you don’t have to but man this weekend is bumming me right out with this “

Yeah, there is certainly some aggression going on against people wishing for resurrection because others find it a poignant narrative that a sacrifice can't be undone, that it lasts and has consequences, that it puts weight to the stakes. And they think that coming back to life after specifically doing something you know will 100% kill you cheapens sacrifice.

Personally, I think that being brought back after you willingly and knowingly and successfully gave your life for others tells a story of how much you're loved. It's your friends saying "Fuck that. You're going to live. We're all going to live. We'll keep dragging each other back until we can't anymore, so fucking be here and fight."

It also adds another level of desperation to be stronger, smarter, to not be caught like that ever again because who knows if you can get them back next time (and however many times you fail after that). Resurrections get harder ever time a person is brought back. This is part of what bit Scanlan's ass right before Bard's Lament: the Revivify didn't take, so the rest of Vox Machina brought in his daughter to call him back during the Resurrection (which he hated) and got the chance to be dicks about bringing him back with the dumb pranks, all of which led to setting Scanlan off. And sure, Bells Hells had that desperation to keep each other alive from the Bassuras fight, but that doesn't mean that the sentiment can't be further sharpened even when you've managed to steal back all the lives of your party members that she took.

Honestly, I think that just having Chet and FCG die against the Murder Machine of Otohan after Bells Hells specifically and successfully went to efforts to get stronger still ups the stakes even if both end up revived. "All our might and we still faced that loss. It would have been all of us if FCG didn't make that play. We still cannot face the enemy leadership head-on as we are. We must get stronger still."

And I really think there's some fun character development to be had in giving FCG a flesh body. Will he actually like what they've envied about the others? How does one handle a completely new body that they're grateful for (that they should be grateful for, otherwise they'd be dead) but is just so different from what they know? Yes, FCG had that last moment clarity that he was in fact already fully alive, but there's definitely some "alive in the flesh" things to explore.

And more faith to explore too. Like, did he get to meet the Changebringer and talk with her in the afterlife? The Raven Queen? Speaking of just being in the afterlife, what about meeting Eshteross again? The other members of the Division of Public Benefit that he killed?

Also, I'm not sure how big a fan I am of the heavy breakdowns that will happen if FCG isn't resurrected. Bells Hells is suffering pretty good as is and I'd like them to have some happiness inbetween all the Moon Bullshit. Conflict drives a story, but you need soft moments to wind it down between heavy moments.

Because truthfully, most of what you get from keeping FCG dead is a bunch of breakdowns in the party without it's most optimistic member who actually advocates for communication, which they all suck at for various personal reasons. And a push towards the Villain Arc path that, honestly, a few are walking just fine without FCG staying dead and/or can still be pushed further down it just by the fact that he decided to kill himself to save their asses when no one wants to let any of the others go.

I do think that as far as martyrdom goes, what FCG did took a nice step away from "giving my life because it's worth less than any one of theirs and I think dying for a cause will give me absolution for the people I rage killed" and into "giving my life because it will save them and I don't know what else to do that will save them." There are certainly posts that get into the distinction between those choices better than I have. Which is where I think the "best ending for FCG" idea comes from, as it happened under the "best" reasoning for FCG to martyr himself. And to a certain degree, people have decided that martyrdom was unavoidable for FCG or that he was just highly prone to it and this was a good time/way to do it.

Still doesn't change that a self-sacrificing character did in fact sacrifice themself, though. Or that it didn't have to be the end that FCG met.

And I understand to some degree how Everyone Comes Back to Life if You Try can feel like it undermines the stakes. Because if no one stays dead, what do you have to fear from walking into mortal danger? Everyone will be fine right? Which is wrong. There is still trauma in dying, even when you're brought back. The realization of mortality, the struggle to steal back a life when it's not just a quick prayer in the heat of battle. And the ever looming possibility that you do it right and it's still not enough to steal them back.

Also, from the wider in-the-game-world's perspective: Resurrection is rare as shit and only people with immense wealth, connections, and/or power even have a shot at it.

Even mechanically it's not easy. You have to mind time limits, expensive costs, body conditions, spell levels and slots, not to mention that the dice can always say no.

So yes, Bells Hells probably needs to go to less effort to Reincarnate FCG than they did to resurrect Laudna because all they're missing is components while they have the likes of Keyleth who kind of owe them for Moon Scouting and killing Otohan and should be able to provide.

[calisources]

THE   CW'S   REIGN   SEASON   THREE QUOTES.all   these   sentences   were   taken   from   season   three of   the   historical   fictional   show,   reign.   change   pronouns,   locations   and   names   as   you   see   fit.   

Elizabeth's real war is with me.

I am just as strong and as stubborn as Elizabeth. I will not live in fear of her! 

Are you trying to blame a woman for a man's choices? 

I hope your wings are strong, you vulture. You will be circling for quite some time.

You must wed again. You must love again.

I will take back what is mine, and if you want to stop me, you'll have to kill me.

An outsider? That's because I am.

No matter what you might think, I can't just force men to fall in love with me.

 I am a queen, about to marry a broken prince for power.

It's time to accept my fate.

I will not be chased out of my country before I've even retuned.

I will fight fire with fire. 

The day may come where we may find ourselves on the battle field. What would you do then?

Impressive. Where did you learn to shoot like that?

Well, King Francis was right. Now that I've seen your abilities with a bow, I certainly won't be crossing you.

I will rip out his heart as he did mine.

Help me bring all of my people together, or may God and your queen have mercy on your soul.

I will dismantle her power bit by bit. Every choice I make, who I fight, who I support, who I marry, will be in service of taking her throne.

Who cares about right or wrong if you're dead?

Why would my presence startle you? Oh, because you married my lover. 

You startled me.

You are offering me a kindness and consideration I have rarely shown you through the years.

I feel love toward my dead brother and anger that people think you could harm him. Those feelings lead me to stand here with you.

Like a queen men would die for.

Honestly, Mother! How many people have you killed?!

I am their Queen. Their whispers are treason.

It is a fact of our time. A man rules his wife. Even if his wife is a queen.

 What's the cost of a king's life?

Show people you are worthy of the post you hold, and no one will remember how you rose to it.

To marry you is to defy my king, to risk Catherine's wrath and the judgment of my friends, and yet... you make me feel stronger than I've ever felt before.

Do you treat all your political hostages so kindly?

It's incredible, really. I march to my execution very soon, and yet you are the one to be pitied.

There can only be one queen. And I had to choose mine. 

You may not be king, but your actions reflect on Francis, and he has the weight of thousands of lives, just like this one, on his shoulders. Be wiser next time.

God, I wish mother were here. She manages tragedy with ruthless clarity.

I'm a princess! 

Stop saying you have no choice, Charles. You're the King!

I never said I was a good man, but one can receive good advice from a bad person.

Without him the nights are long and lonely. I can't imagine what they must be like without the man you truly love.

This idea of yours. A bloodless defensive, it's a delusion you talked yourself into.

And because you value power more than anyone else, you will always be alone.

[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

Aziraphale returning to heaven was the only option in which he could grow

At the beginning I was going to explain this opinion I have in this post, but then I noticed that I needed to talk too much about grayscales. So I decided to split it in two. It is probably necessary to read the previous one to understand this one 100%.

Well, the title is misleading advertising. It's not the only way, but it's the quickest way

I feel that the hardest thing for an angel to do, after half of them were demonized, is to get out of the plan that was created for them.

And I use the word demonize with complete clarity of the connotation that it gives to this, because that's what happened. One group dared to step out of the line and they were demonized, they were turned into this grotesque concept that is meant to scare anyone who dares to cross that line again.

As a society we have many such stories, but none is as tangible as being an angel and being able to see these angels that fell from the sky, becoming these grotesque creatures.

So find the scariest (and most realistic) story you can about what you would become if you do something bad... does it get to this point? Probably not.

Now we're a little closer to being able to position ourselves as Aziraphale. Who knows this story, who lived this story. Who saw Crowley before he fell, and now sees him as that demon. And who spends 6000 years knowing Crowley and learns that in the end, this Crowley is not so different from the one he had known in the creation of that Nebula.

And now Aziraphale has this tangible proof that this story is not true, that this demon is not the monster he was told. And that by all accounts, the demon he speaks to is the same angel he spoke to before.

And Aziraphale understands that he has that grayscale, and Crowley has that grayscale. But at no point does Aziraphale understand that that grayscale is not theirs alone.

Aziraphale still sees heaven as the good guys' side, and hell as the bad guys' side. That becomes clear in the last 15 minutes.

Crowley tries multiple times to say that they don't exist on the same side as everyone else, tries to create that bubble where heaven is white, hell is black, and the two of them are grays. But he never manages to convince Aziraphale of that, because Aziraphale has spent 6000 years learning that Crowley is not what he was told, but at the same time he has spent 6000 years learning that he must be what heaven expects of him.

One of the things that hurts me the most is knowing that Aziraphale tells Crowley the good things he does because he misses telling heaven. Notice what that is? Aziraphale enjoys doing good things, yes. But he was indoctrinated to the idea that those good things are done for the purpose of being reported that he is incapable of doing them and not reporting them to someone.

And it's something that is never addressed, and it's something that I feel that being just them in that little gray sphere, out in the world, they would never have been able to address. And it's something that Aziraphale needs to address.

So when he is offered to return to heaven, he first refuses. Because in a way, he is happy with Crowley. It's possibly the happiest he's ever been.

And then he's offered to have Crowley with him in heaven, and that's when in my opinion, Aziraphale understands how much he misses heaven. How much he misses approval. Doing good things and being told you did the right thing. Validation. We all want validation.

So the cravings grow by the second, and there's the conversation with Crowley. And there he notices that Crowley won't go, and he tries to stay. Because that's what he would have done initially. But now that time has passed, and all the things he had been pretending didn't exist, all the things he had been unable to do while out of heaven and had been craving as if they were oxygen (because in a way they were, he'd been doing them all his life) can come back.

And being with Crowley those four years was possibly one of the happiest things that ever happened to him, but it was also one of the most painful, because his whole identity, his whole existence was built on being an angel.

He decides to go back to heaven, because now he notices everything he missed there (and possibly for some other reasons concerning Crowley and the world in general) and how much it was part of his identity.

Aziraphale needs to deconstruct all the ideas he has about heaven, and the easiest (and painful, unfortunately) way is to go back. To come back now that he tried those 4 years of being without them

Aziraphale is not going to like being in heaven. Possibly he will conclude that it is horrible, and he will long for it to be as it was before those four years. But it won't be

And he's going to try to change it, and I don't know what the outcome of that will be, but it's probably not going to be a good experience either.

But when he talks to Crowley again, Aziraphale is going to know, now he does not need heaven. Now he can just be... him.

Because for those four years what he was doing was trying to replace heaven with whatever was available to him. And that wasn't right

[real-jane]

everything, everything

[steve rogers x female reader]

summary: steve and his partner are undercover on assignment, hiding out as husband and wife. the line between reality and fiction is too thin, and steve can't take much more.

warnings: steve is v dumb, pining/longing/etc, smut, canon level violence, smut, and also some smut is in it.

a/n: thank you to @sanguineterrain for the original prompt: "How about a Steve x reader who have to go undercover as a married couple and oh NO, they're pining for each other and don't know it! Whatever shall they do?! 😳😏"

enjoy!

--

He’s too stunned to move when the doorbell rings, so she slips between Steve and the counter with pink-stung lips and hastens to answer it. All the air in the room rushes out with her.

She’s not supposed to kiss me when nobody is around to see her do it.

Three weeks. It’s only been three agonizing weeks. When did the fiction bleed into reality? When did his hands start aching to reach for her? 

‘You get along so well already,’ Bucky had said, ‘it will be nice to be undercover with someone who doesn’t get on your nerves.’ Except… Steve has never had less clarity in his entire life, especially not now, after she kissed the daylights out of him.

The smoke detector is his only saving grace. The pancakes he got up early to make for breakfast are charred beyond recognition, and he throws open the window to let out the smoke… and whatever hot air is keeping his brain from actually processing.

“Everything okay, baby?” she calls from the front room. Steve clenches his jaw.

“Wouldn’t you know it–I burned breakfast,” he replies, in as chipper a tone as he can manage.

“That’s why my husband doesn’t go anywhere near the kitchen. I’m surprised you let him try, Betsy.” Ugh. Sharon. Her husband is on a permanent business trip to live with his other family, a fact that SHIELD had uncovered in the process of vetting the neighborhood. Wayne Carter is also a very good cook. Sharon Carter puts on a haughty face for a woman who hasn’t seen her husband in nine months. Betsy… the alias his partner wears like the Southern Belle she most certainly isn't… she hates Sharon, but she’s a good actress.

“Oh, Steve’s a wonderful cook! But I was distracting him.” 

His ‘wife’s’ little giggle is enough to make Steve snap the spatula in half. He stares at the bisected plastic in shock.

“Bex, what do you say I take you out for breakfast?” Steve rubs his jaw and gives up on the pan, which is entirely unsalvageable. “Mimosas and crepes, yeah?”

“Steven Rogers, you’re gonna spoil me rotten.”

“Impossible.” 

Steve can’t stop the panic rising in his chest. It isn’t supposed to be like this. She’s a fantastic agent, and that’s all. God–he wants to kiss her until she can’t pretend anymore. He needs to have the upper hand, to retain just one ounce of professionalism as Captain fucking America. People know who he is. He’s on assignment. They aren’t married for real. 

And yet.

Realization washes over him and he leans against the counter in despair. 

Every evening, when she bids him ‘goodnight’, he hopes that she skips past the first bedroom and finds her way to his. Cooking for her? His favorite part of every day. He’s googled so many recipes that the app suggests fancy breakfast food. He wears that one blue shirt as often as he can because she smiled the first time he did.

Coming ‘home’ is his only source of comfort, because she is always standing on the porch… waiting. Sometimes a neighbor is talking with her; she’s so kind that it has been easy ingratiating themselves into the neighborhood. Nine times out of ten, she’s got a glass of lemonade in hand, slick with condensation, waiting for him. It’s the weekends that are most torturous, when he has no reason to be out of her presence. Like this particular Saturday morning.

It’s very easy to forget why they’re there. They’re so close to uncovering the ring–she fills him in on the dirt she’s dug up while playing cards, or gardening, or just gossiping with the ladies each day. The women on this street tell her things that he’s struggled to weasel out of hardened criminals. Steve is fairly certain he’s going to burst into flames before they succeed in this assignment. He’s ashamed of himself. She doesn’t deserve some sicko fixating on her, especially not her partner. He’s a public figure, for Christ’s sake! He’s better than this.

Her hand presses against the small of his back. Steve starts and wheels on her. She bites back a smile at the sight of him, and raises a hand to his cheek. 

“You look like you’ve been sweeping the chimney,” she laughs.

He steps away, out of her grasp. “I’ll just get cleaned up, if you wanna go.”

“Oh. You really wanna go out for breakfast?” The surprise in her voice stabs him square in the chest.

“Why not?” he shrugs. “I destroyed the good pan anyway.”

“Are you okay?”

No. Absolutely not, under no circumstances. “What did Sharon want?” He still hasn’t looked her in the eye.

“She went through Zemo’s garbage,” she says, as if she’s impressed by Sharon’s gall. “She found like twenty packs of cold medicine.”

His head snaps up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. She’s got the bags in her garage, she texted me a picture, too. Look.” She holds up her cell phone and sure enough, a black trash bag filled with boxes of off-brand medicine fills the screen. “This is what we’ve been waiting for, Steve.”

“Oh my god…” he can’t help but laugh in astonishment. “This is reason enough for a warrant.”

“I already sent Fury the photo. Can you believe it?”

He wants so badly to pull her into his arms and hold on for dear life. Because if they’ve truly uncovered the lynch pin of the whole organization, then their days playing house are numbered. Worse than loving her is the thought of no longer getting to pretend, and hang all his hopes on precious public displays of affection. You two look so in love, one of the neighbors had said during their welcome block party. Steve had his arm wrapped around her shoulders then, because being the facsimile of a married couple was still too new to know how to comfortably interact in a way that seemed real. She lets herself be kissed by him with a sweet smile on her face, now. Her fingers always entwine with his, especially when they’re over at someone else’s house. 

For one brief second, Steve considers how easy it would be to steal the bags from Sharon’s garage and destroy the evidence… but what would his partner think of him if she found out what he had done? Maybe that was the best way to push away these embarrassing feelings–push her away. Make them strangers, again.

“Steve–hey!” She snaps in front of his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shakes his head, but the heat which floods his cheeks is mortifying. “I slept weird. Not fully awake yet.”

She frowns. “Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll order breakfast in, and we can wait for Fury’s directive.”

“I don’t need to lay down,” he says quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You keep zoning out–”

“I said I’m fine, so I’m fine.”

“...why are you being like this?” She crosses her arms, leaning against the counter. “You’re pissy.”

“Can you just leave it alone?” he sighs.

“We’re in deep cover and you want me to ignore it? I’m gonna nag you until you communicate, Rogers–”

“You’re not entitled to every little thought in my head, alright?” Steve throws his hands up in the air. “This is a sham marriage, remember? Stop pushing me and accept that I don’t want to talk, I’m fine.���

She opens her mouth to press the matter, but thinks better of it. She looks away and nods, but she breathes in raggedly. “Well fuck me, I guess. Fuck my feelings. Crepes?” 

Steve’s heart plummets through the tile floor as she turns away to leave the kitchen. He lunges before he can stop himself and grasps her wrist, staying her exit. Words clog his throat. She waits with one eyebrow raised, but when he can’t make the apology come, she rips her hand from his. Steve is left with the horrible feeling that he has ruined everything good between them… the real rapport they’ve built sharing an assignment, and the fake one which allows her to touch him freely where anyone can see.

And kiss him where they can’t.

He waits for her on the front porch in blue, having scrubbed the pancake ash from his face. She emerges from the house in a sundress. The light pink one which always robs him of sanity. For a moment her face is stony, but then her expression lightens to exuberance and she waves–beyond Steve, to the passing neighbor on the sidewalk.

“Hi Joe!”

“Hiya, Rogerses! Where ya off to on this fine morning?” The old man braces himself on their little gate.

Five soft fingers curl around Steve’s elbow and he remembers that he’s supposed to be helplessly in love with this woman. Well… no acting required, he thinks with a wince. He covers her hand with his.

“Somebody destroyed breakfast,” Steve says, pointing his thumb at himself, “so he’s gonna treat his wife to some French cuisine.”

“Good on you, boy. Betsy deserves the best.”

“That she does,” Steve says, a hair too earnestly.

“Talking about me like I’m not even here!” She giggles. “Joe, do you still need Steve’s help moving that dresser?”

Steve tightens his hand over hers. They’ve talked time and again about how Joe is capable of stealing one’s entire day, and how frustrating it is when he’s trying to keep tabs on Joe’s neighbor to have a two-hour conversation about hydrangeas–

“If he’s offering!” Joe smiles expectantly at Steve, who bobs his head.

“I could do that for ya. How’s this afternoon?”

“You know where to find me!” Joe salutes and totters back down the street towards his small bungalow. 

Once they are seated inside Steve’s car, shielded by darkly tinted windows, he dares to study her. She ignores him, typing away on her phone. “What was that?” he asks lowly.

“You’ve been trying to find a reason to case his house,” she says, not looking up. “I got you an in.”

He clears his throat. “Right. Good idea.”

“You’re not the only influential Rogers in the neighborhood.”

Steve sighs. “‘M sorry–”

“It’s forgotten.” Her phone rings in her hand and she answers immediately. “Hello? No, unsubstantiated for now but Steve is going into Joe O’Leary’s later today while I pop over to Sharon’s. No, he’s just the only house we haven’t found a reason to go inside. It was Steve’s idea, actually.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. It absolutely was not, and if he’s honest with himself, he can’t quite figure out which part of this assignment he’s actually contributed to. She has all of the good ideas, she thinks of things he never would’ve dreamt of. 

“--Yeah. Zemo is hunting this weekend, apparently. We won’t. Nick–that was one time!” she huffs. “I have the scar. We won’t go to his house until you’ve got the warrant. Why does every man around me insist on being so damn stubborn? No–god, I forget you have us triangulated at all times. We’re headed out for breakfast. I burned the pancakes, so…” She glances at Steve and shakes her head. “No, I copy. We’ll stay put. I’ll tell him.”

She hangs up and her head falls back against the seat. “He wants us to stay in place, and wait until he gives the okay to check out Joe and Sharon’s.”

“We already told both of them we’re going out… won’t that look suspicious?”

“I dunno… drive to the gas station. I’ll buy you some shitty coffee. At least our car will have left the driveway.”

“I’m buyin’,” Steve says, starting the car. “Last time I checked, you’re not the one who charred the pancakes.”

“It was still my fault.”

“You can buy me a moon pie, for my trouble.”

“I’ll buy you a whole box.” He can’t help the way his mouth turns up at one side, and when he looks at her, she’s smiling sadly. “I don’t like it when we’re at odds.”

Steve shakes his head. “No.”

“Partners?” She holds out her hand, but before he takes it…

“Why’d you do it?” His voice is soft, pleading. She shrugs.

“I wanted to. Don’t you ever do things, just because you want to?”

“Um. No, I don’t have that luxury.”

“I forgot who I’m talking to.” Her chin dips bashfully. “Just forget it happened, okay? We kiss in front of other people all the time, it’s a habit.”

“...which you wanted to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t overanalyzed it. Like you are doing right now.” She wiggles her fingers and Steve laces his in. “Partners. Do you wanna tell me what was going on with you?”

“Well… I suppose I was thinking about all this being done. It’s, uh. Hard to tell sometimes what’s part of the cover, and–”

“What’s real,” she finishes. “Maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle. We don’t have to answer that today.”

“I like holding your hand,” he admits. “I–shit, sweetheart, I-I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah. But I don’t have enough caffeine in me for that conversation,” he says, squeezing her hand.

“You can do it back, if you want. You keep looking at my lips. It’s okay if you want to, Steve.”

“I don’t want to ruin it,” he murmurs.

“Only way to do that is to shut me out.”

He studies her neatly manicured nails. “I want to. So bad.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. Can’t think straight as it is. What’s it gonna do to me–”

“Hush.” She holds their clasped hands to her lips. “It’s okay.”

“No–it isn’t.” He squeezes. “It’s unprofessional.”

“If you think I haven’t spent the last three weeks relishing the fact that I get to spend every evening watching trash tv with you, staring at your ass, and listening to you laugh… fuck professional, Steve. I didn’t mean for it to happen, okay? You caught me off guard with your sweetness. I knew I was in trouble the first time you kissed me.”

“But this is gonna end…”

“It doesn’t have to. I–” She stops to cup his cheek and brush her thumb over his jaw in reassurance. “I don’t wanna go a single day without kissing you. I don’t care if it started because we’re pretending.”

“It’s never been pretend for me,” he breathes. 

She moves first, because she knows that he can’t do it without real permission, where there’s no question why it’s happening. He moans against her mouth; it’s always felt like his lips were meant for hers, but with nobody watching… It's a gift. She is precious to him. He cradles her face to say as much, without putting voice to it. Kissing her this way strips him of all ceremony. He’s just a city boy with a crush on a beautiful girl, who kisses like a dream. It’s freeing. If anyone saw them making out in the driveway, what would it give away? Nothing which doesn’t show on his face every time he looks at her. Because Steve can’t pretend like she isn’t the center of his world. Not when he has permission to kiss her in private.

His tenuous control snaps.

She keens as his lips traverse her jaw to nip at the tender skin below her ear. “Been holding out on me, Rogers.” He sucks a mark, blooming a ruddy bruise on her throat. Then, he lavs that spot, pulling more heavenly sounds from her lips. “Fuck.”

“I think about that, too,” he whispers against her skin. “But I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“We wouldn’t be the first partners to do it.”

“Remember when we caught Bucky and Nat after Bulgaria?” Steve eases the strap of her dress off the curve of her shoulder.

“God,” she sighs, tugging on his hair so he’ll find her mouth again. She catches his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t look at me.”

He blinks at her through heavy eyelids. “I was thinking about you.”

“You wanna fuck me in a bunk on the quinjet?” she scoffs. Her fingers card through his hair.

“Anywhere. Have forever. Buck knows. ‘S why he suggested you for this.”

She smiles against his mouth. “Remind me to send him a thank you card.”

“Can I touch you?”

“In the driveway?” she gasps, even as she guides his hand towards the hem of her dress.

“Windows are too dark to see in.”

“You’re kinker than I thought–fuck.”

He traces the pads of his fingers over her soft skin. Steve bites his lip, watching her eyes flutter as his hand gets closer to touching her where he wants to, most. “Think I’m vanilla, agent?”

“That is your favorite ice cream flavor.”

Steve stops for a second and squeezes her thigh in affection. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. She chases her lips after his, and pauses just a breath from his face. They smile at each other, drunk on uncorked arousal. 

“Vanilla,” he whispers, tracing the hem of her panties, “is a complex flavor. Goes with everything. Chocolate. Cherries…” Steve dips his fingers beneath the silky fabric. She cants her hips to give him better access. He finds the little bud at her apex, worrying the bundle of nerves enough to make her moan.

“Exhibitionism,” she pants.

“In small quantities,” he chuckles. “Gimme your lips, sweets.”

She does so like a woman starved, but her head falls back as he sinks one finger into her heat. “Steven.”

“‘M here.”

“So good.” She rolls her hips to meet his hand. He thumbs her clit with every stroke. “Had a dream–mmph. You fingered me at a barbeque.”

“I’d do it. Under the table?”

“Mm. No. In the pool.”

“Our pool, sweetheart?” Steve works a second finger with the first easily. She’s drenched, she’s gorgeous. 

She nods. “Yeah. But I couldn’t make a face because everybody was around.”

“What, then?” Steve feels her squeezing him tight. She’s close. He’s never wanted anything more in his life than to make her come. He doesn’t care how much work it takes to clean the seat afterwards. He’ll do it with a smile, as long as she comes.

“You made me orgasm in front of the whole neighborhood. Then you got in the hot tub and you made me sit on your dick.”

“Were you keeping me hard?” He tugs the cups of her dress down with his free hand and bears her breasts. “Christ. You’re so beautiful.”

“Nobody knew, and the bubbles covered us,” she sighs. “Right there, right–oh fuck. What about you?”

Steve groans as her hand finds his straining dick over the top of his jeans. “I’m gonna bust my zipper the second you come.”

“Wanna feel you. Please.”

He nods his consent, but not before flickering his tongue against her nipple. She stays his hand by turning her nails into the skin at his wrist, and forces him to lean his seat back so she can unbutton his pants, but she doesn’t get very far–

The back window of the vehicle shatters. Steve throws himself over her, peering above her headrest. She groans.

“I was so close,” she wheezes. 

“Stay down, sweetheart.” Steve kisses her cheek and then throws the car into reverse, turning the wheel like a madman to dodge their attacker… Sharon. Standing on her front porch with a rifle. She raises the gun to take another shot, now that she has her sights on him. 

“Roll down your window, baby!” 

Steve doesn’t hesitate. His partner yanks the top of her dress up, lays half-way across his lap, and fires her own weapon (pulled from god-knows-where), catching their attacker in the shoulder. Sharon drops her rifle, but the gun discharges, destroying one of Steve’s tires with an explosive POP! The car drops heavily towards the front wheel well. Sharon staggers to retrieve her gun. After one more precise shot, she falls. Steve takes the gun from his partner when it is offered. She retrieves his pistol from the glove compartment, and they each get out of the car warily.

“Do you wanna trade?” Steve calls.

“You think I can’t shoot with your gun?” Her voice is sweet and teasing.

“I said no such thing. Is she dead?” They flank the unconscious woman… sure enough, she’s down for good, with one bullet right between the eyes. Steve exchanges a look of shock with his partner.

“Yes. Must’ve been desperate to risk taking us out like this. I’d say we found the rat,” she says. 

“I guess so.”

“She has the shittiest timing.” She grins at him, which makes Steve’s ears turn red. She retrieves her phone from the car and makes a call. 

Steve keeps his weapon at the ready. Several of the neighbors peer out their front windows in concern, but none are stupid enough to come out and investigate the ruckus. He attempts to stand between the body and the street, at least to obscure the pooling blood below Sharon’s head. 

It doesn't take ten minutes for a dozen black SUV’s to come squealing down the sleepy street. By the time they take over the block, Steve and his partner are leaning against his car, glancing at each other with small smiles. They’ve collected themselves somewhat; he made sure there was no visible sign that she’d been just moments from an orgasm when they were shot at (other than the hickey, which he hopes nobody notices), and they attempt to look concerned that their attacker wasn’t someone they expected. But it’s especially hard for Steve to be stoic, because he knows how it feels to touch her. He settles for looking smug. He is, but who’s to say why?

Bucky accompanies the agents who emerge from the trucks, as does Fury. “Cap. Agent.”

“Director,” she acknowledges. “Sergeant.” Bucky wrinkles his nose at her.

“Walk me through what happened.” She steps forward with Fury and walks him towards the body, while Bucky hangs back with Steve. Barnes leans over and whispers.

“Your fly’s undone.”

Steve sighs. “Shit. Why are you staring at my crotch, huh?” He fixes the aforementioned zipper as discreetly as possible.

“Old habits die hard.” Bucky folds his arms and leans against the car.

“What would Natasha say to that?”

“...you think she doesn’t stare at your crotch, punk?”

“You two are nightmares.” Steve can’t help but chuckle, despite himself. “Carter annoyed the hell outta me, but I didn’t think she was involved.”

“You trying to change the subject?”

“Not succeeding, apparently.” 

Just then, his partner looks up at him, gesturing towards him and then down the street, which is swarming with agents in black suits. 

“Cool it with the puppy dog eyes,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve glares at him. “Shut up. That’s just how my face looks.”

“Not when you look at me,” Bucky says, elbowing him in the side. “Did you tell her?”

Steve’s eyes dart away, and he can’t help but smile. He twists his mouth to keep from breaking out into a full smile.

“Thank God,” Bucky says.

“Rogers!” Fury waves him over. Steve strides towards the director with his hands in his pockets. “I think your partner is a little shell shocked. Why don’t you take her to the house? I’ll catch up with you in a bit. I think it’s going to take a few hours for us to do a preliminary search of Carter’s.”

Steve glances at his partner, who has her hands clasped at her waist, twisting her fingers. She indeed looks quite shocked, eyes wide and unblinking as she stares up at him. “Yes sir.”

“I’m glad you two didn’t do anything hasty and stayed put. This could’ve gone a whole lot worse.” 

Steve nods. He manages the world’s most convincing performance of concern, wrapping his arm around his partner’s shoulders. She leans into his side, letting him guide her across the street to the house with ‘Rogers’ painted on the mailbox. He doesn’t dare look at Bucky, nor does he want to risk saying anything until they’re safely concealed from the rest of the world. But the moment they’re inside, he presses her back against the front door. She smiles softly.

“Did that get your blood going?” she asks. “Getting shot at with your fingers inside me.”

He huffs. “Your mouth, I swear.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Do you want this?” He asks, working his knee between hers until she has to stand on her tip-toes. She nods breathlessly. “Out loud, or I stop.”

“I’ve heard you come,” she laughs. “In the shower. When you think you’re being quiet. I talk myself out of joining you every time, but I wanna see your face when you have an orgasm. I think you’ll be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Steve shivers. “Pretty, huh?” He lowers his mouth slowly to hers, but stops as she gasps. His hands find the globes of her ass, inching under the panties he’s going to destroy. He watches her eyes dilate with arousal. She smirks.

“You’re a pretty man, Rogers. ‘S why I married you.”

Steve gapes at her for just a minute. He shakes his head in disbelief, shrugging off the euphoria which rises in him at the thought of this woman truly being everything. Her fingers creep to his jaw.

“What?”

He sighs. “That’s all I want. To have this. All the time.”

“A wife, baby?”

“And babies, sweetheart.”

“You told Joe you wanted three… you were being serious.”

“I was.” His eyes flick back and forth to study her irises. They’re glassy. 

“You’d want that with… me?”

“How long have you known me?” He asks, kissing her forehead. 

Her hands wrap behind his head, stroking his nape. “That’s a big step. We’re not even together–”

“I’ve been telling anyone in a ten mile radius that you’re my wife for three straight weeks, and nothing has ever felt more right.” Steve levels his eyes with hers. “I want as much as you’re willing to give me.”

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “God. You take a girl’s breath away. I… I don’t know if I want kids, Steve–”

“But you want me.”

“Yes,” she sighs. 

“Then I don’t care. You can think about it.”

“What if the answer is ‘no’? Could you be content with only me?”

“Only–sweetheart. You are everything.” Steve kisses her eyelids as they shut in relief. “We could always have dogs.”

She laughs in surprise, and it’s his favorite sound in the whole world. “Why don’t we start from the beginning, and see where we end up?”

“Where’s that?” He noses her cheek. 

“Give each other orgasms for the first time. I mean, if I’m gonna think about having babies, don’t you think I should know how your dick feels?”

“You make a very good point,” he says with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. “In the spirit of investigation.”

“To make a truly informed decision.”

“Right… if we do this, we’re gonna have to tell Fury.”

She looks at him guiltily. “He… knows. I sorta forgot that the car is bugged.”

Steve freezes with wide eyes. “Shit.”

“...Yeah.”

“Well…”

“We have no reason to hide it, now.” She finds the hem of the shirt she likes so much and tickles her nails across his abdomen. “Besides, I gotta admit that I kinda found it, I dunno… hot? That people heard us.”

Steve locks the front door over her shoulder and walks backwards, tugging her towards the stairs. He spins her so her heels catch on the step, forcing her to sit down abruptly. Steve follows, latching his lips over hers hungrily. He probably should feel embarrassed, but how can he when this beautiful woman wants him? No man in his right mind would be ashamed of her. 

He rends the gusset of her panties. For such a talkative person, she sure has nothing to say when his fingers find her clit again. Just incoherent moans. Steve has three fingers inside her by the time she comes, walls fluttering around his thrusting hand. Her head falls back in ecstasy as she soaks his fingers. He wastes no time working his pants down enough to free his dick; her hands urge his shirt off so she can run the tips of her nails down his chest, flicking against his nipples and making him buck. She’s bringing kinks out in him he didn’t even know he had. 

She wraps one hand around him, making his head fall forward against her collar. He nips at her tendon in retaliation. She guides him until his dick is tucked between her folds, and rolls her hips to take him in. Steve obliges. He sinks into her fully, and groans.

“Fucking hell,” she breathes. 

“You’re tight, sweets.” He teases the seam of her lips with his tongue, inviting her to lose herself completely. She’s still sensitive from her first orgasm, shivering when he brushes her clit, so Steve stays still. Buried deep in the woman of his dreams.

“Was it like this, in your dream?” he asks, stroking her cheek softly. She smiles blissfully.

“No. This is better than anything my brain made up. You gotta move.”

“What if I didn’t? And I made you sit with my dick inside you all day long.” Steve shimmies her dress up her torso until she arches her back enough to let him pull it over her head. But he fists the fabric at her wrists, capturing her hands so she can’t touch him. She whines.

“Jesus. Who knew you were so controlling?” Her inner muscles contract and he huffs.

“If I thought I could control you for one second, you’d know it by now,” he says, rolling his hips. “But you’re the one who’s got me wrapped around your finger.”

“Yeah?” she gasps. “You’ve got me tied up.”

“You don’t need your hands to have me right where you want me, sweetheart, and you know it.”

She kisses him hard. “Fuck me. So I have bruises from these stairs.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He snaps his hips forward to do just that, and he’s in heaven. He’s got little experience compared to some of the agents he hears bragging about their trysts in the gym, but by god, he’s never fucked a woman like this. Especially not someone he loves. His knees burn from the carpet, and his boots attempt to slide off his bracing step–hell, his pants aren’t even to his knees, but he fucks her like a desperate man, because that’s what he is. He wants her to come again, more than anything. Hard. Who cares if he doesn’t, as long as she finds pleasure?

Her hands slip free of their restraints easily, and she grasps his back for dear life. He’ll feel the marks from her nails in the shower, he’s sure of it. Steve doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until she gasps. His eyes snap open–she’s arching up, chasing her release. He reaches between their bodies to find her clit and rolls it as he thrusts. It’s enough to send her over the edge. She cries out, and it’s all he can do not to come at the sight of her. But he thrusts through her orgasm until she’s whining with sensitivity. She grips his ass.

“Baby–please. It hurts.” 

Steve braces himself on his elbows and freezes, kissing her in apology. “Mmm. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You okay?” She nods, kissing him back slowly. 

“You need to come.”

“I’m okay.”

“No!” She protests. “I want you to. I have to see it. Please–pull out, I’ll help you.” 

The moment he rises up, she’s reaching for him… he can’t think with the way her fingers wrap around him, tugging him ever closer towards his own orgasm. He’s kneeling beside her on the stairs, watching her in rapt awe. She worships him, but she’s too gentle. He tightens her fingers with his to show her that she doesn’t need to be so careful with him. She’s a fast learner. She pumps him with as much care as he showed her, her eyes fixed to his face to catch every little expression of pleasure. When he’s close, he falls down onto his elbow, right at her side. She smiles, and he can’t help but smile back because god, he loves her. She’s everything. He’s never felt so good. He’s soaring. She coaxes him through his orgasm, painting her belly with his come. He turns his teeth into her shoulder to keep from bellowing, which makes her wince and laugh all at once. Then, he lets himself fall fully onto the stairs beside her, so they’re both staring up at the ceiling in awe. 

He laughs. 

“Yeah… you’re pretty, alright,” she breathes.

“I should’ve gotten you to bed.” He looks over at her. A faint sheen of sweat makes her glow like a goddess, and she shakes her head.

“I think this was as far as we were gonna make it.” She raises her hand to stroke his cheek but she’s shaking a little. Steve takes her hand and kisses it.

“What’s the verdict?” he whispers.

She giggles. “More research required.”

“Do you think the house is bugged?”

“...Not anymore.”

He can’t help but laugh at the innocent smile on her face. “Shit, sweets. You made me hungry. I could really go for those moon pies right about now.”

She beckons him to meet her in a kiss. “After that, baby? I’ll give you the whole moon.”

--

thanks for reading!

my masterlist - my marvel masterlist

[bamdelune]

In Hindsight 🎼 bonus chapter: "never mind, never mine"

notes. character study-ish narration, not beta-read

Kunikuzushi was one who had the habit of tiptoeing around the depths of his emotions. Either he never bothered to scrutinize them at a closer angle or he was too afraid to do so. See, that was the problem with Kunikuzushi, he was one for fear. He wasn't fond of uncertainty but never liked knowing about his deepest thoughts too much that it allowed him clarity to his intentions. Unfortunately, the somewhat comfortable silence between the two of you gave him the chance for him to slip into a dreaded thought process about how exactly he ended up falling for you like this, at the worse time he thought was possible.

This revelation only took four phases to come into fruition, to the finding that he actually liked you more than just a medical practioner to a patient, more than a friend to another.

One, jealousy.

Kunikuzushi was confident. His life was sufficient, he was living, save for the few major regrets that sat at the back of his head. He never had a reason to be jealous of anyone. Now that the envy he felt for you wasn't coming from a malicious place, no, god forbid he'd ever think of hurting you.

Kuni liked living with no regrets, he always thought about his next move. Much contrast to the first impression of being the impulsive and tempermental guy he was set by people who set their eyes on him, he was considerate of the consequences that his actions bore. Maybe that was why he absolutely loathed the idea of having a puppy crush on you, someone who was supposed to be just a mere patient, someone who he was supposed to forget once you either passed or got better. But that's what you wanted to do too, right? To live with no regrets, only except you were free to do it and he wasn't.

You were aware that he didn't exactly have the best mother-son relationship. He didn't like talking about her. All you knew was that she was the director of the hospital you check into. Kuni thought that his mother should be lucky he still finds the love to call her "mother" when that was the last thing she was. The hospital director liked having control in this one, she believed that everything would be a little better if she oversees what needed to be managed the most. Control was something that Kuni wasn't granted in the major parts of his life. He envied the way you were so free to do anything that you wanted, he felt bad that you were this sick, of course but he was jealous that you had an outlet for that. But thank the archons for you, for you were able to teach him that it was okay to ask for a little.

Two, admiration.

Kuni was someone who took pride in being meticulous. He was picky. He didn't like touching certain textures, he hated certain flavors. Just like that, he also goes through a process of thinking about who he truly admired and respected. Lucky to say, you were one of them. He greatly respected how you continued to live as if your health wasn't worsening day by day, he admired how passionate you were about music. He admires how the lights in your now slightly sunken eyes looked so bright whenever you talked about writing and producing, how you break out into the biggest smiles when you find that some of your songs magically (allegedly, as Kuni says) found their way into his playlists, plural.

Three, denial

You see, Kunikuzushi didn't come to the realization that he liked you romantically on a whim. It's been roughly a month since he started shying away from the idea. Again, he's a meticulous person, someone who thinks before he does something.

He thought it was selfish of him, to ask for such a relationship with you when your life was on a timer. He denied countless times about what he truly felt for you. He blamed it on the thought that he was feeling this things for you just because you were going to be gone in roughly ten months. But with that reasoning, he found it funny on why he would actually put his time and effort into emotionally staying arm's length from you. The day on the beach, he finally just… let himself feel it. It was way easier than hiding it after all. It was easier to accept and act around you, and it was easier to find ways to keep himself in check.

Finally, acceptance.

What else can one say? Kuni has already come to terms with himself. Maybe these four phases are yet to be added to based on what he does next. Would he let you know? Would he keep his heart to himself again like he always did?

He's scared, again. Kunikuzushi feels scared that he's going to lose you inevitably, he doesn't want to go through the pain of standing before your headstone. He fears that a part of his heart will be buried along with you once you pass. He wants to move on with his life, without you being a significant figure in his memories. Kunikuzushi wants to treat you like a patient. Being his friend was enough to already blur the lines of the boundaries Baizhu set beforehand, what more a lover?

Maybe being yours wouldn't be so bad, either. He would feel the traces of the little stars you drew on the skin of his palm. He'd be able to have the pleasure of feeling his heart skip a bit because of you at least a few times everyday.

But as the both of you sit down on the grainy sand, with the waves of the shore caressing the pairs of your feet, he wants to wallow in the silence with you for just a little while. He wants to relish in the silence before the storm.

synopsis. You are a singer-songwriter. Music has always been a part of you, it's a part of your identity that no one can ever take away. However, there's always a catch: you are diagnosed with a chronic illness that puts your life on a timer. Those who have heard your countless melodies have grown to notice that the notes on the sheet played a gloomier tune. Would the snarky and capable medical student you've met be able to bring life back into these melodies? Even as life begins to seep out of your own body? (scaramouche x gn!reader)

tags. gender-neutral reader, angst, fluff, crack, heavy contexts of death and illnesses, friends to lovers, slowburn, profanities, drinking (characters are in college), suggestive themes but no nsfw.

taglist. — @beriiov @alatusorrow @br0oke96 @ohmyfinggod @itzblazekun @featuredtofu @sketcheeee @lazy-sanns @sakurapeach @sheraffim @vxmp-loml @sukunasrealgf @sleepning @yukiipc @thenightsflower @aqvvas (comment/send an ask to be added or removed, please let me know if i forgot to add you since my notification feed can be flooded sometimes!)

masterpost ★ masterlist © bamdelune 2023. do not repost, translate, plagiarize any of my works without permission, thank you so much! reblogs, notes, and comments are always appreciated!

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Hello! Happy 28th! This is my April 2023 fic rec. The first two fics listed were just published this month, so I wanted to highlight those first. The rest are in no particular order. Enjoy!!!

And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom (109k)

For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him?

For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart?

And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

A story of love. A story of loss. A story of fighting for each other, no matter the odds.

Darkest Before Dawn by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose (50k)

Harry Styles has standards. His coffee must be a cold brew with one pump of vanilla and a splash of cold cream. His computer must be catty-cornered on his left. His sketchbook must be directly in the center of his desk. He must have a cork board on his right to pin fabrics, sketches, and other inspirations he finds.

But most importantly, his space,—work or living,—must be organized. He doesn’t understand how people live otherwise. Everything has a place and it must be in its place in order for him to get anything done. Which is why he grits his teeth every time when he walks into the fashion workroom and sees Louis Tomlinson’s workspace.

It’s chaos. He’s chaos personified. He’s annoying, loud, and well… not as creative as Harry is. His designs are unimaginative and plain. Harry doesn’t understand how Louis managed to be accepted into the fashion program, but he supposes some people have to slip through the system.

Best Kind of Bad Something by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (40k)

Nobody really understood Harry and Louis. Not even Louis. But for Louis, the world began and ended with Harry, and there were certain things he just wasn’t capable of explaining.

or Louis is the town troublemaker and everyone hates him except for Harry.

Part one of go ahead, rip my heart out if that's what love's all about

Come Home to My Heart by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (25k)

Harry was always going to be beautiful, he thought. And he knew deep down that his heart still beats for Harry, that he loved him something so terrible, and those two things would never change.

or a chance encounter, four years later, brings Louis and Harry back together.

Part two of go ahead, rip my heart out if that's what love's all about

It Goes, It’s Golden by lucythegoosey / @harryrainbows (150k)

The chaos Zayn left in his wake wouldn't feel so disastrous if Harry had Louis. But everything between them crashed and burned a long time ago. All Harry is left with is a hopeless longing and a fear that the band's current disarray will set in for good.

... And then he finds himself stuck on a sixteen hour plane trip with Louis Tomlinson.

This could either be the most awkward flight of Harry's life, or the beginning of an atonement he's been dreaming of since 2013.

Canon Compliant AU in which Harry and Louis broke under the strain of it all and now, years on, there's a chance to put all the pieces back together. Set in early April 2015 all the way through to October. Written in Harry and Louis' perspectives, alternating every chapter.

Let Your Heart Be Light by cyantific / @cyantific (77k)

Louis Tomlinson, a self-proclaimed holiday-hater, loses his job two weeks before Christmas. Broke and desperate to see his family back home in England, he takes the only job left at the mall as one of Santa’s helpers. Harry is an unconventional mall Santa, the youngest one they’ve had in years, but with as much holiday spirit as any other seasoned Saint Nick. He’s determined to un-Grinch the new guy in Santa’s Village if it takes until Christmas, then he finds out the devastating reason Louis has lost his Christmas cheer. Will Harry be just the thing Louis needs to help him get his sparkle back?

Featuring Liam as the manager at Santa's Village, Niall as an easy-going Irish elf and Harry's best friend, grumpy Grinch Louis and his best friend Zayn and one matchmaking Mrs. Claus.

A 2022 Advent Fic

That Sounds Fake but Okay by dancingontheceiling (112k)

Harry Styles is a rookie journalist forced to work the gossip desk at a major New York magazine. Louis Tomlinson is the A-list actor who doesn't appreciate Harry or his articles.

Twist and Then Collide by bananasandboots / @anylessreal (180k)

"These instances can last anywhere from a few days to a few months," one doctor says. "Or they can persist indefinitely."

"Indefinitely?" Louis questions, the only one of them able to find his voice. He keeps throwing cautious glances at Harry, searching to make sure he's okay, to make sure he's still with them, still breathing. Harry wishes he wouldn't. He swallows the bile rising up the back of his throat, audibly exhaling through his nose, sharp breaths, small breaths. It's all he can do to keep from emptying his stomach.

"Travis is in a coma," the doctor says. "There's no way to be certain how long it might last."

Or, the one where Harry's boyfriend falls into a coma and Harry falls for his boyfriend's best friend.

Into That Goodnight by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (62k)

Once upon a time, there was a boy. But not just any sort of boy. This was a clever boy, the cleverest of them all.

[elvensorceress]

fuck it friday ⚡️

tagged by @alyxmastershipper @sibylsleaves @monsterrae1 @cowboy-buddie @fiona-fififi @spotsandsocks @buddierights @wikiangela @heartbeatdiaz @prince-buck-diaz @panbuckley @ebdaydreamer

tagging @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @bigassdiaz @ronordmann @wh0re-behavi0r @messyhairdiaz @rogerzsteven @spaceprincessem @911onabc @bekkachaos @shitouttabuck @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @eddiesbicowboy @transboybuckley @the-likesofus @jobairdxx @wildlife4life @babytrapperdiaz @thisyearsloveisnow @chaosandwolves @littlebitofdiaz @buck-eddie @gentoodiaz @fleurdebeton 💕💕💕 If you have anything you want to share or talk about or post 🤗💜

More Catching Lightning ⚡️ this directly follows this scene I posted which I have since edited and reposted because ajsdfdkljs it just wasn’t right yet don’t look at me. Have a good long chunk because I haven’t been around much and I miss you all 😘 

CW for some discussion of suicidal ideation (the boys have issues. we’re working on it 😵‍💫)

Eddie’s heart died. How do either of them feel anything after that? 

Isolating yourself, feeling like you don’t belong and can’t relate anymore, withdrawing and detaching yourself from loved ones, preoccupying yourself with death, losing your sense of self and purpose, your life losing meaning when you only feel guilty for surviving… all classic responses to this kind of trauma. And why Frank has a very busy, very full schedule.

Buck half shrugs, half nods. “We talk about it sometimes. Me and Natalia. We talk about death. Because that’s what she does. Helps people come to terms with dying. But I’m not facing down my death right now. It already happened. End of life care is about comfort, pain management, fulfilling mental and emotional needs, whatever spiritual needs someone has. You make amends as much as you can. You say goodbye. You tell people you— you tell people you love them. You make sure they know that you love them. You come to terms with being done and that there are things you never accomplished or got to have. Stuff like that. What I went through is different. I don’t know how much it helps. To talk with her. She doesn’t get death like what I went through.”

Eddie gives him a sideways look. “Is that why you were interested in her? Because she helps people who are dying?” 

“No. Partly. Maybe. I don’t know. Sort of. I figured it couldn’t hurt. She was curious about it and I could talk about what happened and it didn’t make her look at me weird. She thought it was cool.” 

So tales of Buck’s many almost-deaths were attempting to recapture magic. Wonderful. 

“But I don’t know what to think anymore. It feels like something should have come out of it. It feels like I shouldn’t be the same. I should have answers. I should know what the fuck I’m doing. I should be able to choose things and pick a new couch I’m comfortable with. I-I should be able to find meaning in my life. I should know how to be happy. I should know what happiness is for me. I died. I can say I’m going to make every day count and I’m going live my life to the fullest and I’m lucky and thankful to be alive. But what does it even mean? What is happiness? What do I do now? I don’t know what to do. Why don’t I get a moment of clarity? Why does nothing make sense? Why am I still lost and confused and stuck? Why don’t I get any answers?”

“You’re expecting death to give you answers?” That’s— even for Buck that’s bad. All of this is. 

“I don’t know. I keep thinking about Lev and how he said he figured it all out right before he died. But he didn’t come back. Maybe he wouldn’t remember anything if he had.” Buck lifts and drops his hands in utter hopelessness. “I just. I know I was waiting. I wasn’t going to rush into anything. But it made me feel normal. It made me feel something like myself. It’s just fun and lighthearted and I don’t have to worry about anything or—”

“Or feel anything? Because feeling anything is too much?”

“What if it is?” 

“In that case, you get to be me this time instead of Ana. That’s how that works. You tell yourself everything is nice, no pressure, you’re having fun, it’s not serious. It’s easy because nothing means anything. Until she’s invested and you aren’t because you can’t feel anything. And maybe you try and you think you can fake it or that it won’t matter as long as you’re convincing. But you’ll never love her and you know it. And you just end up hurting her.” 

Buck looks at him, studies him for a long moment, and Eddie isn’t sure if he’s analyzing his own life or if he’s contemplating Eddie’s. Maybe both, because Buck doesn’t really respond. He only says, “I feel like I’m trying to swim and I’m treading water and I keep getting hit with these waves that pull me under and then I don’t know which direction is up or if I’m supposed to drown. But every day I’m alive, it feels like it wasn’t supposed to happen. It feels like I shouldn’t be here. I can say it’s a gift. Life. I think it is, and I’m thankful I still have one. But I don’t know what to feel. Or who I am anymore.”

A fracture goes right down the middle of Eddie’s heart and he wishes he could just hold him and protect him and offer any comfort that might help. He wants to reach out. He wants to reach out and touch him, find him solid and alive under his own hands. Where Eddie can pour comfort and healing into all his wounds. But he can’t. They can’t ever touch anymore. Eddie can’t fix him. Eddie can’t even help him. Too much feels severed. What does he say? What can ever help? 

Maybe a safe place where Buck easily falls asleep and a cup of filtered water and hope that there’s something after pain and death and confusion. And a night where they were never apart. 

He never wants to be apart. 

“Everything feels different when you get that close to death and come back from it,” Eddie says, as carefully, lovingly as he did the night Buck hid out with them because it was sanctuary. It was a refuge and he could be at peace. He could be somewhere that is always offered as a home for him. Buck is always part of their home. “Nothing feels real. You don’t know what is real and what isn’t. You don’t know if you’re dying again or if your brain just decided it would be fun to make you panic. Everyone else moves and keeps moving forward, but you can get stuck in that moment where you almost died. It’s all you can think of, it’s all you can feel.” 

Blood and pain and lightning and burning and the agony of separation. It’s always there. It’s wedged between them. And he can’t reach. He can never reach. He tries and Buck is too far away. He tries and he’s not strong enough to lift him by the single thread miraculously binding them together. 

Eddie breathes deeply and it still feels like everything in his chest is broken. “I wish I could tell you how to climb out of that. I never handled it well. Sometimes, all you can do is survive and keep surviving. But you can’t avoid it. And cutting yourself away from people you love and who love you will only make it a thousand times worse.” 

Buck folds his hands together like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He blinks like his eyes are stinging and welling up. “My parents told me I was born to save someone. And when I was in a coma, in that world where everything was fucked up, they actually loved me. I almost wanted to stay just for that. Because here, they had me to save my brother. They had me to save him and I didn’t save him. And here, I’m a firefighter. And I love being a firefighter because I get to help people, I love helping people, taking care of them. But I keep feeling like I’m only here for that. Because of that. And I want to be here for me, not because I’m trying to live for someone else. I want to live for me because I want to live. I want to feel like I’m worth living for. I want my life to be worth living just because it’s mine. I know that’s what I should feel. I want to feel like I should be alive. But I don’t really feel like that right now.” 

Eddie’s heart just shatters all over again. He knows all too well what that is like. Far too well. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even a certain soulless, selfish, demon reporter. 

“It is worth it, Evan,” he says because that lonely, unloved little boy needs to hear it. “Your life is very worth it. Not because you save other people. They might have had you to save someone, but that is not why your life is worth living. You are worth it just because you exist. You don’t have to do anything or be anything. And I know it’s really hard to feel like it sometimes. That’s why I worry. And why I get angry and hate when you hurt yourself. I hate when you act like you don’t matter. I know feeling like you don’t deserve to be alive. That is exactly how I had a breakdown. It’s exactly how I almost killed myself last year. I wanted to.”

Buck’s face contorts and tears spill down his cheeks. “Eddie.” 

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I just—” he stops and pushes away wetness from his own eyes. “I felt it.” 

Buck reaches for him but stops himself before they touch. His breath hitches and he tries to wipe at his face. But more tears fall. 

Eddie offers his hands, open palms in the space between them. Just in case. 

Buck takes them and sinks to his knees on the floor in front of Eddie like he might collapse and sob on Eddie’s lap. Eddie catches him instead and curls down around him, holding Buck’s head to his chest. 

Buck clings to him maybe out of fear. But maybe he never wants to let go. His hands clench in Eddie’s uniform and he holds on with what has to be all of his strength. It’s hard, constricting, binding, and Eddie never wants him to let go.

It makes Eddie’s heart flutter like it’s alive after all. 

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

Theory: Each of the final bosses in Isaac represents a stage of grief.

Satan/The Lamb represents denial. As the first path added (though not the first finished), it’s the first step his mind takes on processing his own impending death and grieving it. It continues with the false narrative Isaac has created in his own head, of being demonic, and completes it. He overthrows his masters, and defeats the demonic part of himself. It’s a comforting lie, that he uses to avoid processing what’s happening. Mega Satan also ties into this, despite being also accessible on the Polaroid path- it’s Isaac either falling deeper into his delusions or regressing into them, and it represents Isaac's internal narrative becoming completely separate from reality- Satan is already a figure Isaac has been taught was real, and the Lamb is himself as the Antichrist, but Mega Satan is a ridiculous concept entirely to look cool. Isaac's no longer even slightly rooted in reality at that point- simply making up comforting delusions that are based off games he used to play.

Isaac/Blue Baby represents sadness. The second final path added, despite being the first finished, this represents Isaac's sadness and fear upon finally being able to comprehend his death. The Cathedral is something beautiful, a monument to a faith he still holds dear despite everything, and the Chest is both literally where he'll die and also clearly something he treasured in life, something he's leaving behind. The bosses here are not only happier versions of himself- representing Isaac losing any sense of happiness and peace at his own death and falling into despair- but also what he’s losing out on- his own afterlife. Isaac and Blue Baby are angels, while Isaac will forever be damned due to his own suicide. He feels hopeless melancholy, and even the happy memories of what once was cannot bring him joy.

Hush/Delirium represent bargaining. Isaac at this point desperately wants to live, and thinks if he can fight off the weakness from oxygen deprivation and the delirium from his brain shutting down, if he just is able to do that, he can escape, and everything will be happy, and he can live. Hush is a representation of his own suffocation- both being literally blue from oxygen deprivation like Blue Baby, but also being gasping for breath. Delirium is, of course, the intense hallucinations and delusions from his oxygen deprivation. Isaac tries his best to fight through them. But it’s already too late- by this point, he’s actively dying, he’s far too weak to be able to free himself. The symptoms are too severe to be overcome, and all he can manage is a glimpse of clarity, a memory of his life beforehand, before he loses all touch with reality again.

Mother represents anger. Isaac, now given up on any chance of escape, is angry- angry at himself for attempting suicide, angry at his father for leaving, but more than anything angry at his mother. She's the one who made him feel like he had to do this! She's why he's dying! In his addled state, he struggles to distinguish between the reality of his situation, the slow and painful suffocation in his toy box, and his fantasy, where his mother is trying to kill him. He fights to get a real weapon, puts together the fragments of the knife, but even after killing his mother and her heart again, he is not satisfied. In the corpse, he mindlessly attacks anything that reminds him of her, his mind conjuring a world entirely defined by her decaying body, and in the end, he kills her again. But no matter how many times he kills his mother, he is not satisfied. His anger has no point, no justification. He is trapped, and he cannot find peace through his imagination.

Finally, Dogma/The Beast represent acceptance. Instead of Isaac following the path of his delusions, he instead desperately fights for the memories that flicker in and out of his brain, to comprehend them. He thinks about his father, and how he left, and the arguments his parents had. He confronts those harsh truths- that his mother is not a monster, but a person. That his father is not a saint, but a person too. That he was never the problem- that his death is pointless, yes, but also that he is not sinful, that he is loved. And then, he remembers his home. His room, the halls, the closet in which he was locked in, the living room. Here, as his memories flash before his eyes as he's near death, he realises he's not at fault for his own abuse, but also that his mother was not acting purely out of evil and spite. He remembers the hateful words he heard on the Christian broadcasts she would watch, and the dogma that lead them both astray, and he fights it, dismantling the hateful preaching but holding onto the things that bring him comfort. He's able to, finally, defeat what remains of his delusions, the beastly and tainted ideas of his mother and Christianity, and he finally passes away at peace, knowing he was loved. Whether the final cutscene is a comforting illusion or his afterlife, Isaac dies knowing that he is loved and that he is worth something. For the first time in his life, Isaac is able to accept that he was never at fault for anything that happened to him, and at the very least he is able to die happy, remembering his games with his father and his mothers love long ago and Guppy. It’s incredibly bittersweet, but Isaac was dead from the moment he entered that chest. This is the best ending the game could ever realistically have.

Was any of this intended? Oh, almost certainly not. But I think way too much about the lore of this video game and you have to think about something when you spend twenty minutes minmaxing in Sheol I guess.

[sequinsmile-x]

Antithesis

Emily goes to dinner with her mother and, as always, is left feeling off-kilter afterwards. It's a good thing she can go straight to see her Hotchner boys as soon as it's over.

-x-

Hi friends!

This fic is very much sponsored by my insomnia and the absolute devil of a cold I have picked up from somewhere. I feel like a reanimated corpse, but my brain came up with this so here we are!!

Please do let me know what you think, comments and reblogs have more healing powers than any store bought decongestant or lozenge.

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 4.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Daddy, I want some water.” 

Aaron stops himself from smiling as he turns to face his son, his eyebrow raised as he looks at Jack. He was standing in the hallway in his pjyamas, a dazed and sleepy look in his eyes that he’d spent the better part of the last hour trying to deny. He knew exactly what his son wanted, what he was putting off sleep for, and the thought of it made him smile, the love his little boy had for his girlfriend warming him from the inside out. 

It had been six months since their first date, since Emily had kissed him on her doorstep after he walked her back to her apartment. The date had been her idea, an edge of nervousness to her voice he’d never heard before when she asked him after dinner one evening. It had become normal for them to spend time together just the two of them and Jack, the friendship between them that would have once seemed unlikely something that was precious to them both. He found himself grateful that she was infinitely braver than he was, that she was the one who had willingly taken that first step towards what they had now. 

He loved her and she loved him and even though they were only six months in he knew she was it for him, his future laid out ahead of him with a clarity it hadn’t had in a long time. Her presence in every step of it brought it to life in vivid colour, everything he once thought he’d never have again within his reach. 

“I’ll get you some water, buddy,” he says, standing up and walking over to the kitchen to get one of Jack’s cups to fill with water, “But you need to go back to bed.” 

Jack sighs as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, “When will Emily get home?” 

Aaron once again finds himself suppressing a smile. She didn’t live with them, not officially, but she spent most of her time at their apartment. His wardrobe now had her suits lined up alongside his, the nightstand on her side of the bed had the book she was currently reading and her favourite hand cream, and the caddy in his shower had more products that belonged to her now than him. 

“After you’re asleep, she’s having dinner with her mom remember?” he says, walking over and placing his hand on his son’s back, guiding him back towards his bedroom, “But she’ll be here in the morning when you wake up.” 

He knew his girlfriend would be tense, to say the least, when she got back from dinner. Elizabeth was the one person who managed to successfully crawl under Emily’s skin every time without fail, aware of how to get to her daughter with a level of skill that was Olympic worthy. He’d offered to go with her, to be silent support at her side, but she’d simply shaken her head at him, smiling softly as she reminded him that would only make things more complex. 

Elizabeth still didn’t know about them. Emily had tried, and failed, to tell her mother about her relationship more than once during the last six months. For one reason or another, she hadn’t been able to, always changing her mind at the last minute. He knew it had nothing to do with him, that it wasn’t because she was ashamed of him or their relationship, but because of how tenuous her relationship with her mother was. It had never been what she wanted, he knew that, but since her fake death, things had only become more strained. He felt responsible for it, his decision to save her life by ending it pulling at an already threadbare mother-daughter relationship, so he let her take the lead, happy to be waiting at home with open arms when she was done.

Jack pouts as he climbs back into bed and Aaron places the water on his nightstand, “But I miss her,” he complains, “She’s better at reading to me than you are,” he says as Aaron tucks him back in, “She does all the voices.” 

Aaron is sure that on some level he should be offended by his son’s insistence that Emily was his preference in an increasing number of situations from story time to who looked after him when he was sick, but he couldn’t bring himself to be. Any time he watched them together he’d be overwhelmed by his hopes for the future. Images of a big house they could all grow into together and another child or two, as stubborn and as beautiful as their mother, sure to keep him on his toes for the rest of his life.

“Well she’ll be here all weekend,” he says, kissing his son’s forehead before he pulls back, “She can read to you tomorrow.” 

Jack nods, any response giving way to a yawn as he snuggles further into his bed, “Night Daddy. Love you.” 

“Love you too,” he replies, kissing his forehead again before he pulls back and stands up, leaving the bedroom as quietly as he can. 

He does some chores to kill some time, excited for Emily to come home, to be back by his side where she belonged.

___

Emily sighs as she parks her car, her eyes closing as she switches off the engine. She leans forward and presses her forehead into the steering wheel, the leather of it cool against her skin. 

It had been a long evening, the minutes feeling like hours as she sat in her mother’s company, wishing more than anything that she’d taken up Aaron’s offer to come with her, even if it would have initially been difficult to explain to Elizabeth why the man she only knew as her daughter’s boss was there. She sits back up and grabs her phone from her purse, shooting a text to her boyfriend before she gets out of the car and locks it, walking towards his apartment building with purpose. 

Just parked up outside. I hope there’s wine. 

She smiles softly as she enters his building and walks towards his apartment, the place that feels more like home than her own apartment. She knows it has a lot to do with the company more than anything else, Aaron and Jack very firmly the centre of her world, both of them providing a level of comfort and safety she thought would always pass her by. At this stage, she was just riding out her lease at her place. Using it more as storage for her things that she hadn’t brought over here yet, well aware that when her lease was up she’d be moving in officially with the Hotchners, whether that was here or in a place they bought together. 

Sometimes she wondered if she should be worried they were moving so fast, that they were only six months in but they’d discussed finding a place together already, but she knew he was it for her. That they were. It was strange to think that not too long ago her future had been so unsure, all the dreams she thought she’d never seen realised lost and broken on a cold floor in Boston, but now it was clear, laid out in front of her in an orderly fashion that would have once terrified her. 

Her smile widens when she spots him standing in his doorway, his hands in his pockets as she approaches. She speeds up, walking faster for the last few paces so she can stamp a kiss against his lips, her hand cupping his cheek as she deepened the kiss on his doorstep. 

“Hi,” she says, kissing him again, feeling some of the weight that had gathered on her shoulders all evening start to ease the moment she’s near him. 

“Hi,” he replies, his arm around her waist as he guides her into his apartment and closes the door behind them. She balances her hand on his shoulder as she takes off her shoes and he steadies her with his hands on her hips, “How was it?” 

She sighs as she sinks into his embrace, her face buried in his shoulder as she breathes him in, letting the scent of his cologne, of him, ease the tension in her chest that just a few hours with her mother had caused. If Elizabeth was the one who knew how to tie her up in knots, looping her anxieties back around each other with a deftness that only the person who had planted the seeds there could, Aaron was the one who untied them. He’d taken time to learn how to, using his expertise of her to unpick every stitch with a level of care and love she would have once not realised he was capable of, his tenderness something that still took her by surprise on occasion. 

“I told her about us,” she murmurs, her words muffled against his t-shirt. Aaron holds her closer and runs his hand up and down her back as he kisses the top of her head. 

“I’m guessing based on your general demeanour and the faint smell of cigarette smoke on your jacket it went perfectly?” He quips, and she pinches the back of his neck, narrowing her eyes as she pulls back to look at him, well aware that she’s failing to suppress the smile that his dry sense of humour had pulled out of her. He cups her cheek and stamps a kiss against her lips, turning her in his arms as he removes her jacket for her, “Come on,” he says, his hand linking with hers as he tugs her gently towards the couch. She smiles at the two glasses of wine already laid out on the coffee table, and she finds herself wondering what she had done to deserve him, “We can either talk about it, or we can watch one of those shows you like with all those rich women yelling at each other.” 

She chuckles half-heartedly as she settles onto the couch, “I want to talk about it,” she says, surprising herself with the admittance, “I just…I never know how to.” 

He kisses the side of her head, “Just start wherever feels right, sweetheart.” 

She nods as he passes her one of the glasses of wine and she takes a sip of it, her head resting against the back of the couch as she swallows, “Well, as soon as I arrived I realised what she was up to,” she says, tilting her head to look up at him, “Why she was so insistent that dinner had to be today.” 

It was something that had been bothering her ever since her mother had called and invited her to dinner, her demeanour and tone over the phone enough to let Emily know she didn’t have a choice in the matter. 

“Why?” He asks softly, placing his hand on her thigh and squeezing reassuringly, “What happened?” 

She blows out a breath, “We weren’t dining alone,” she says tightly, sipping her wine again, “She’d invited her friends and their recently divorced son.” 

Emily knows that he’s picked up on the implication, what her mother had intended for the evening when his grip on her thigh increases. A sense of possessiveness in his touch that makes her smile, his jealousy unfounded, totally out of place when she considers the fact if he moved his hand up just a little higher he’d be pressing on bruises he’d sucked into her skin just the night before. 

“She did what?” He asks, trying and failing to keep his voice even, to hide the irritation licking at his insides. Emily simply smiles up at him and places her wine glass down, her hand coming to rest over his on her leg. 

“Apparently, she thought it was about time that I settled down,” she replies, rolling her eyes as she speaks. 

“What did you say?” 

She smirks, “Oh, I’m already engaged to him,” she quips, her smile turning to a smirk as he half-heartedly glares at her, “I thought this was the best way to tell you.” She adds, and he rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss her, fast and hard in a way that steals the breath from her lungs. She chases his lips when he pulls away and she smiles as he raises an eyebrow at her, “I told her I was seeing someone.” 

She often wondered what it would be like to have a relationship with her mother where she was one of the first people she wanted to tell about a change in her life. She didn’t know how it felt to want to call her mom when something good happened, or when she needed comfort. Elizabeth had never been her first port of call, her presence neither reassuring nor the safety net Emily had often hoped it would be. It was a lesson she’d learnt when she was young, when she’d stand in front of her mother’s desk after a nightmare, her hands clasped around her childhood teddy bear as she was told she was old enough to put herself back to bed, Elizabeth’s eyes barely looking up from her paperwork. 

“She acted a little affronted, made a joke to her friends that I never tell her anything,” she says as she shakes her head, “And then followed me to the bathroom after we’d ordered our drinks and told me I was being rude,” she scoffs, “Like I’m 17 or something, not 41 and entirely capable of making my own life choices.” 

He squeezes her thigh, his thumb running back and forth over her exposed skin, “What did she say when you told her that I’m the one you’re seeing?” 

She clears her throat and rests her head on his shoulder again, “She said it’s inappropriate, and made some comment about how I never learn from my mistakes,” she blows out a breath and tightens her hold on his hand as she says the next part, well aware it would pull a reaction out of him, “She brought up Ian.” 

He goes tense, a mix of guilt and disgust at the comparison swirling in his gut, making nausea climb up his throat as her words settle over him. “Em…”

“I made it very clear what I thought about that, honey,” she says, sitting up so she can see him properly, her legs swinging over his lap as she shifts closer, her smile soft when he wraps his arms around her, “You know it’s not the same, that you’re nothing like him, right?” 

He sighs, his hands firm on her lower back as he hauls her impossibly closer. He had to admit that there were similarities between him and Ian that sometimes made his skin crawl, their joint assurance that their motivations were righteous, their need for revenge against the one person they saw as being at fault for tearing their lives apart. There were moments when he felt like they were two sides of the same coin, opposing forces that were pulling away from each other. 

“I know,” he says, leaning into her palm as she rests it against his cheek, “I do know that,” he repeats, not sure which one of them he’s trying to reassure more, “I understand why your mother would be hesitant though,” he says, kissing her palm as he turns his head, “I am the one who called her and told her you’d died.” 

He knows he’ll remember that call as long as he lives, the silence on the other end of the phone, the regret palpable. He could give Elizabeth some leeway when it came to that, well aware of how he would feel if he lost Jack, but his understanding only went so far. She’d been given a second chance, a miracle of sorts that others could only dream of, and she still hadn’t seemed to learn anything, still taking any chance she could take to belittle her daughter and the choices she made. 

“I told her how happy you make me,” Emily says, pushing her hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp with her nails, “And I told her how much I love you,” she smiles softly at him as she cups the back of his neck, “I don’t think it went in, because she then spent the better part of the evening trying to talk up her friend's son, who by the way cheated on his ex-wife with a hooker,” she says, her eyebrows raised in derision, “But I said it.” 

He sees through the humour she’s tried to inject into the conversation, sees right through to the girl who still wants her mother’s approval even after a lifetime of never quite getting it. He kisses her and then pulls her into a hug, her arms as tight around him as his were around her. 

“I love you too,” he says, his lips against her cheek as he speaks. She nods and holds onto him tighter, her hand grasping at his shirt. 

“I just wish she could be happy for me,” she says, pulling back just enough to look at him, her smile sad, “That doesn’t feel like it’s too much to ask.” 

“It isn’t, sweetheart,” he assures her, kissing her softly, shifting to kiss the tip of her nose afterwards, smiling when she scrunches it up as he does so, “You deserve that and so much more.” 

She hums, “I just hope if I ever get the chance to be a mom I can be happy for my kid, no matter what. That I’m the person they want to tell everything to, not someone they have to announce their relationship to in a busy restaurant with a potential suitor at the table.” 

Her eyes go wide as she realises what she’s said, her words slipping past the vault she’d locked them in. She almost hates him for a moment, hates that he’s able to lull her into such a sense of safety, of security, that he’s broken open all the boxes she’d stuffed all her hopes and dreams into long ago. Easily opening all of them up with the key she’d willingly handed him. Any panic, no matter how brief, is put out when she sees his smile, wide and slightly goofy, something she can’t help but reciprocate.

She smiles at him, but any follow-up is cut off by a door opening and snuffling feet, and they both turn to see Jack standing behind the couch, his eyes wide and shining and his favourite toy, a stuffed cat that Emily had bought him, was hanging from his hand. 

“Jack,” Aaron starts, his admonishment light, his son’s bleary eyes and bright red face a sign that he’d had a nightmare, “Is everything-”

“Emily!” He exclaims, running over and barely giving them enough time to separate from each other just enough for him to wedge himself between them, curled up in Emily’s lap with his back against his father’s chest, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, sweetie,” she says, smiling softly at him before she looks up at Aaron. They exchange a look and she turns her attention back to Jack, running her fingers through his hair to try and flatten it, “You should be sleeping though.” 

He rests his head against her chest and tightens his hold on her, confirming both Emily and Aaron’s suspicions on why he was awake, “I had a bad dream.” 

She holds him closer and runs her hand up and down his back, “I’m sorry, sweet boy,” she says, kissing his forehead, “Do you want to go back to bed or stay here with me and Daddy for a little bit?”

He grips the material of her dress even tighter, “Stay here.” 

Aaron smiles at the sight of them together, well aware that the embrace he was part of was just as much a comfort for Emily as it was for Jack, the two of them able to seek from each other what life had either never given them, or torn away too soon. He drops a kiss on each of their foreheads and slips out from under them.

“How about I make us some hot chocolate,” he says, watching as his son’s eyes brighten up immediately, “And then we’ll sit here for a little while until you’re ready to go back to sleep buddy.”

Jack nods and curls up even further into Emily’s embrace, settling into the warmth that seemed addictive to both Hotchners. 

Emily smiles up at her boyfriend as she runs her hand up and down Jack’s back, “If you slip some whisky into mine I’ll make sure to say thank you later.” 

He swallows thickly at the way she winks at him and he nods, walking towards the kitchen as he continues to listen to their soft conversation. 

“You saw your Mommy tonight, Emily?” Jack asks, his small fingers idly playing with the necklace she is wearing. 

“Yeah,” she replies, smiling softly at him as he rests his head on her shoulder to look up at her, “I saw her for dinner, it’s why I wasn’t here when you went to sleep.” 

Jack nods as he looks at her intently, a seriousness to his gaze that was all Aaron and never failed to make her think of the same expression on a baby that was half her and half him, the thought alone enough to make her stomach flip. 

“Is she scary?” He asks as he yawns, his body getting heavier in her arms. 

She chuckles as she pushes some of his hair out of his eyes, “Why would you ask that sweetie?”

He shrugs, the movement lethargic, finding enough comfort in her arms that he was already halfway back to sleep, “You look sad, Emily,” he says, yawning again, “You never look sad, so she must be scary.” 

She chokes on a laugh, the logic that only a child could come up with making her words lodge in her throat, “She’s a little scary,” she says, hoping it would satisfy his sleep curiosity, “But I’m okay now, I’m back home with you and Daddy.” 

Jack hums, clearly more asleep now than anything else, and he rests his head on her shoulder, “Love you, Emmy.” 

She presses her face into the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, of the innocence that still flowed from him despite everything he’d already been through. 

“Love you too, sweet boy,” she says, kissing the top of his head. She looks up as she sees Aaron approaching them again, only two hot chocolates in hand, clearly having realised his son would be asleep again before he was finished. He places them both down on the table and sits next to his son and girlfriend. 

“I can take him back to his room if you want,” Aaron says, his hand resting over one of Emily’s on Jack’s back. 

“In a minute,” she replies, looking at him before she looks back down at the little boy in her arms, her love for him as overwhelming as it was wonderful, “He’s fine right here.” 

He hums in agreement before he settles his arm around her shoulders, pulling them both into his side, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” 

She looks up from Jack, her eyebrows pinching together in confusion, “What do you mean?” 

He smiles and kisses her, careful not to crush his son between them, “About what kind of mom you’re going to be,” he says, holding her face in place with his forefinger curled under her chin as she tries to look away, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, “From where I’m sitting, you’re already an amazing one.” 

She presses her lips together to stop herself from smiling too widely, to give herself something to focus on so she can try and stop tears from pressing at the back of her eyes. She doesn’t know what to say, words failing her as she lets his settle over her, enveloping her like a warm blanket. 

Instead, all she does is lean in to kiss him, hoping that the press of her lips against his, the feeling of Jack asleep and content between them, lets him know just how much he means to her. When their lips meet she can taste the hot chocolate he must have sneaked a sip of in the kitchen, the sweetness of it mixed in with the whiskey she’d asked for, and a chaser that tastes an awful lot like forever. 

-x-

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summary: For someone so young, the vacancy speaks - if not screams for concern. A soul to live through more than one lifetime. Experienced and damaged from it. Never knowing peace with darkened skin just beneath her eyes from a lack of rest. “What is this?” She asks no one in particular, more so, the universe. It’s a call for help. A demand from the Heavens above to provide clarity, or a plea from the depths of Hell to wipe this image clean from her mind. warnings: parental abandonment, hallucination wc: 2,949

Snow has begun to fall all across Indiana. The winter air bites at your skin like a thousand needles, leaving cheeks blotchy as heavily covered arms wrap tighter around your torso. Her fingers ache without gloves and every step feels like she’s run a mile. The boots are borrowed and too big. Too clunky but perfect in dire times when she’s forgotten her old pair back home. She’s unable to distinguish if her socks are dampened from such a loose fit, or if her flesh has just gone cold from exposure. Either way, she moves with purpose and determination. Forcing each step forward no matter how badly she wants to retreat. The gravel is frozen, unmoving as the shoes scuff along the path. His car was left chilled and untouched, refusing to seek out the joys a weekend had to offer. Instead, finding solace in the quiet shelter of his home.

No lights beam out through parted curtains, instead using the glow of nature to fill the spaces with life. Autumn stands on his porch, kicking at the wooden boards to dust away the heavy snow that’s gathered at her feet, and that’s all she manages to do for a moment. Chewing at her cheek with an unsteady posture, continuously looking elsewhere. Prey looking for an escape as if the door had shown teeth, ready to kill.

Autumn has whispered unspoken conversations to herself during the drive. How she would tell him and then predict his response. Every scenario is prepared for, but that doesn't ease her nerves as she knocks at the Byers front door. Maybe he would still be sound asleep. Grasping at the shredded strings of peace so that he can finally find some rest. Maybe, just maybe, she was lucky enough to be left out in the cold with no other option than to turn her back on the silent home. But footsteps crush that dream as they inch closer, and she has to remind herself that this is what she wants. What they both want. No more lies. No more secrets.

Jonathan is suddenly squinting from the bright assault against his eyes like he hadn’t seen sunlight for days, or planned to for that matter. His hair was disheveled and his clothes a mess, just barely out of his pajamas into something casual. The disturbance leaves him disgruntled for a moment before he drinks in the sight of her and relaxes. “Oh, hey,” he says with a heavy yawn.

“Did I wake you?” Autumn teased with a small smirk on her face.

“Hm? No, no. I, uh, I’m supposed t’be up. I’ve got work soon and I accidentally slept in.” Jonathan laughs despite the joy in her eyes flickering out.

The girl’s shoulders sag and the smile falters, now understanding his chaotic state as he frantically dresses for a shift. “Oh.”

Maybe, just maybe she would be unlucky enough to have worked herself up to this very moment, only to be left disappointed. But she feigns a smile, laughing away the grip on her heart. “Duh. Have t’get back t’real life, and shit.”

An uneasy grin shines from the boy for only a moment, before settling as he wears a look of concern. “Is everything okay?”

Confusion washes in, still forcing a lie to the front. “Yeah, of course. I-I just thought we could hang out. I forgot people have jobs,” she jokes. A hard swallow slithers its way down to burn up her insides.

“Well, what about later? I could call-”

“Don’t!” Autumn interrupts all too quickly, her friend's eyes full of surprise. “I-I mean, our phone - it’s broken.” She rolls her eyes, hoping to further convince him of this false reality. “I’ll be busy, anyway, later. I’m going…out of town.”

Fuck.

“With my dad,” she continues, no matter the sudden pressure of now coming up with another lie. “I just thought we could do something before I go. But, I’ll see you at school! We can make plans, yeah?”

Jonathan seems less certain. His grip tightens on the door, rocking on his heels anxiously as he looks her up and down. He doesn’t buy it, and she can tell. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Her fingers clench inside deep pockets, fidgeting and pulling at the lint. Autumn would scream if she could. She would fall at his feet and let the world know of all that’s happened in such a short time. All she had lost and all she had gained. Her cries would echo the agony, and she would succumb to exhaustion in his hold. A final relief from the weight she carries. But her back straightens in preparation for another load, feet firmly planted as hasty words spill forward. “I’m fine, honestly.” She’s already falling away from her friend. One step after another carrying her backward down the short steps and onto the gravel. “Enjoy being berated by customers!” She calls out, just before turning on her heel to hastily make her way back toward the Jeep.

She knows he’s watching. She can feel his tired eyes dig into her back like claws to rip out the truth. But he finally surrenders to the cold winds and the tick of the clock, and then there’s the sound of the front door finally closing.

It’s all a blur after that. The exit from his home is a forced calm. She even wears a small smile in case the boy happens to look out the window to watch her leave. But as the girl fades from sight, a held-in-breath passes and her body slumps against the seat. Her fingers white-knuckled over the steering wheel, driving aimlessly until the nerves finally get to her. She’s parked on the side of the street, keys abandoned on the dash as she focuses on steadying breaths. There’s no blame in Jonathan for trying to slip back into his old life, and who was she to drag him back out into the chaos? She would tell him someday, sure. He was bound to hear the news through gossip as Hopper escorted her to the front desk of the school's office, going over legal documentation. Bound to stumble upon her front step and find that no one was home.

She’d tell him first. Someday soon.

It just wouldn’t be today.

Gathered slush is pushed aside as a car peacefully roams through the neighborhood. The sudden movement is enough to pull her from a daze, watching as it moves down the winding street toward a home in the distance. Autumn finds herself in a familiar setting, yet not at all comforting as acid degrades her from the inside out. She’s parked a few feet down from her old sanctuary, without his car in sight. There’s a silent debate about whether to turn her back on it. Like he did to her. But there’s an undeniable pull, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she gives in to it. Letting those unseen hands pull her along the sidewalk and up the empty driveway. She’s only released the moment she finds something…off. The front door now has a different shade of white, something no one would notice unless you saw it every day for the last 16 years. The print of Hopper’s boot is gone, along with the splintered wood.

Someone else had been here.

She reacts without thought. Fingers tight around the handle in an attempt to pry it open, though it doesn’t budge. Frantically, she digs through the contents of her bag, searching for the key only to find it no longer fits the lock. Panic sets in, eyes blown wide as she catapults across the yard to prove herself wrong. The curtains are pulled shut in the long stretch of living room windows, keeping secrecy buried within the shadows. She pushes on. Nearly tripping over heavy footsteps as her attention is stolen away by newly replaced windows. No shattered glass or cracked lines. Like nothing had ever happened. The sliding door in the back is sealed shut, too. Once finicky and easy to pry open if you angled it a certain way, but now locked in place.

Trembling hands cup against the glass to shield her from the shocking glare, giving her access to an empty home. The long stretch of the hallway had been stripped of framed photographs. No table to collect the junk mail or keys. The dining room still holds the table she once sat at, but it’s newly polished to hide away any scuff marks gained through time. It’s almost as if she never existed, and that thought leaves her knees weakened.

She can see the railing of a staircase, feeling a phantom pain just at her fingertips as nails once clawed their way down the wood. The place where he followed; that man. The stranger that crept through the halls undetected until she found him. Had he expected her, somehow? Standing among her father's dedicated work, waiting for the girl to stumble upon him. Would things have gone worse if Steve was the one to wake first? Did he know she wasn’t alone and simply did not care? Willing to risk it, no matter the price.

A heavy breath fogs the chilled glass. A ghost to dance along its surface and distort her vision. A near blessing to hide the new emptiness of her old home. But as it fades, something else eases into her view. A recognizable smile paired with sweet blue eyes to hide his malice. He stands in the reflection. Tall and threatening just at her back, waiting with great patience.

She turns with haste, nearly slipping and seeking support against the door as she takes him in and this place of nightmares he stands at the center of. Her world has shifted. The glow of sunlight against fallen snow is now replaced by fluorescent fixtures in the ceiling. Her home has morphed into a long stretch of tiled walls, encapsulating the once soft ground she stood upon. It’s all familiar and for all of the wrong reasons. It holds a feeling of dread as her heart threatens to give out and succumb to the end. Thin lips are moving but there’s no voice heard. No words of promise laced with something sickening and evil. A single hand pries itself free from the confines of a coat pocket, reaching out to her as he takes a small step forward. Autumn is gone before he can take hold. Finding enough strength in trembling knees to carry herself around him in a full sprint. She won’t dare to look back. The only focus was to put as much distance between them as she could. The hallway seems never-ending.

Doors are mirrored across from one another, bolted shut and unmoving as she forces her weight against them. The girl rounds a corner with haste, dampened boots gliding across the polished flooring and ultimately forcing her body to collapse. She feels the pressure of the cold surface against her, but no throb of pain. She looks then, finding the man in a casual stride, yet closing the distance with ease. Autumn scrambles to stand, pushing herself further down the hall and toward the double doors. She’s uncertain if they’ll give way or remain solid like the others, but she still charges forward, eyes tightly shut as she throws herself against them.

Quickened steps react in panic. They skid and separate to balance out the weight shift, her focus now locked on the eerie space. The rainbow screams loud against perfectly painted walls, bleeding out into the flooring. But it’s not the room that holds her attention, or the chess board with scattered pieces, the players having just left. It’s not the roll of crayons as they fall from the nearby tables, or the fear of fire flickering just beneath the furthest door.

A figure waits for her in the mirror; short and dressed in gray-toned sweats. From afar, Autumn could swear it was the same girl that once invaded her mind, somehow finding her again to seek help. The teen chances a glance just over her shoulder, finding the space empty and free of threat. No footsteps to echo down the hall or soul-piercing eyes to strip away her life. With that minimal comfort, she advances. And the child does the same. The same foot with the same pace, and it leaves her frozen on the spot. It’s a trick of the mind - it’s all a part of the illusion she’s trapped within. But every motion is mimicked. Step after step, they grow closer to the mirror's surface. At first, she believes it to be that unnamed child. Then, a boy. The hair buzzed down to soft fuzz with no real defining facial features. It isn’t until Autumn takes in the color of their eyes as they stare up at her, expression unreadable, that things become more alarming. She recognizes the girl. The marks along her skin and the hue in empty eyes. Younger than she remembers. Never seen in photographs but easy to picture as her face morphs through time.

She stares back at an unknown version of herself, only more hollow.

For someone so young, the vacancy speaks - if not screams for concern. A soul to live through more than one lifetime. Experienced and damaged from it. Never knowing peace with darkened skin just beneath her eyes from a lack of rest. “What is this?” She asks no one in particular, more so, the universe. It’s a call for help. A demand from the Heavens above to provide clarity, or a plea from the depths of Hell to wipe this image clean from her mind. Their lips move in sync, though such a frail voice remains unheard from behind the shining barricade. But there is a voice. Not of a child, or of her. Not of the man lingering down the hall. Autumn’s name echoes through the room, pulling the child's attention away to instead look toward the double doors at her back. They swing and he emerges from the shadows, standing proud in the glimmering light with eyes locked on the child. Now feeling his presence creep in like a predator, Autumn turns to meet him with blood frozen in her veins. She can feel the small hairs rise beneath her layered tops, her chest aching and releasing a hazy cloud as a hard exhale turns to mist.

It’s a stark contrast to the eerie hallways she raced through. Her eyes were forced to squint from the pain of brilliant light, shocking her back into reality. She stands on the same snow-covered concrete slab, hands and back pressed firmly to the new glass door, slowly slipping as her knees shake from tension. The rushing currents of blood fill her ears with a sharp ring, gaze unfocused as she struggles to settle. It’s hard to know if anything was real. If she only surrenders to familiar surroundings, letting her guard down to be thrown back into darkness.

She waits.

A muffled noise somehow breaks through the deafening barrier, only becoming more clear with every call. Autumn follows the noise with hesitance, finding a neighbor leaning further into her view to gain some attention. The elderly woman raises a hand in greeting, wearing a timid smile. The sight of her brings a sudden awareness - a jolt to the body as she pushes herself away from the surface. Lips tremble as they try to mimic the other woman. “M-morning, Mrs. Collins.”

At the sound of her name, her shoulders fall to rest and there’s less concern in her eyes. Now more gentle, yet curious. “You’ll catch a cold out here,” she states. Her arms crossed tight over her chest, bundling up her husband's jacket as she inches closer with care. “D’you leave something behind?”

The question lingers in the air. Heard, but not fully registered and her mouth hangs agape in search for a stupefying response. But the woman fills the space between them with ease, a small chuckle heard as she moves through every memory made. “I used t’leave things behind after every move. The rush of it all leaves your mind so frazzled, you barely know what’s happening.”

She’s lost within her own world, while Autumn stands without guidance in a vacant field. The horizon stretches on forever, never giving closure or providing answers. She’s simply lost, though Mrs. Collins does all she can to pave a rocky path. “I didn’t think I would get the chance to say ‘Goodbye.’ Your father was in such a hurry. He barely spoke a word t’me. I even tried t’offer up my grandson t’help load up the trucks. Awfully stubborn, your father.” She waits a moment, eyes fixated on the empty dining room that once echoed with laughter. The glow from within breaking through closed curtains, allowing silhouettes to dance along the ground. “I had no idea you were even moving. It’s so exciting, isn’t it? Making new memories.”

Winter has stolen life from more than vivid nature. It snuck inside - silent and without warning as it filled the girl's chest. The unseen reaper, casting out pieces of her collected soul with every breath. Left as a shell. Without thought and unfeeling, picturing her father loading up their entire life so that he could vanish into the night. Autumn could hardly find the strength to hate him. To loathe or pity him and this unknown story he writes out for himself. There’s only a wilted smile, uttering a soft, “Goodbye, Mrs. Collins,” before closing this chapter in her own story, leaving it behind for good, so that she can begin another.