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ann-writes-universes · 2 years

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Memento Vivere (Azriel x Reader)

A/N: I wasn't going to give a part 2 to "Memento Mori" but here we are. Hope this mends the heart ache a tad <3

Warnings: Angst (ish)

W/C: 2.2k (short and sweet <33)

Pain had never been so palpable, so real.

You had experienced grief, had felt those inky tendrils wrap around your heart and squeeze until you were sure you too would die. But never, never had you grieved for someone that was still attainable, still sitting here in front of you scooping peas and lamb onto their plate. Dinner was going as it always did. Wine was flowing and laughter was echoing amongst the walls of the river house dining room. Yet it was so different, so raw. Azriel sat across from you, silent and unnervingly still as he ate.

From her spot near the end of the table, Mor watched, watched as you watched him and bit your tongue. She had heard the argument in the kitchen days before, they all had heard it. Yet no one commented, no one pried. What could they have even said?

“(Y/N)?” She spoke, everyone quieting a bit when she addressed you. You hummed as you looked up, peering at her over the rim of your crystal glass. Smiling softly, she cut into her food and watched it as she continued speaking.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Clearing your throat you glanced at Azriel who was now staring at you, and placed your glass down.

“Uhm. Yes, I have actually. I’ll go.” You nodded with a smile, pushing the carrots around on your plate. Everyone else was smiling, nodding softly. Azriel just looked confused.

“What offer?” He spoke around a bite, looking at his food once more. He was cutting the lamb with a stiffness that was foreign to him.

Everyone watched the two of you with bated breaths, poised to up and run if you erupted once more.

“Mor asked me to travel with her to the Steeps to survey some camps. Make sure they are following the laws.” You replied, not once looking at him as you replenished your glass and quietly asked Elain to pass the potatoes. His silverware clattered to the table top and his hands were clasped in front of him, squeezing together so hard his knuckles were white.

Rhysand let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair, effectively pushing away from the firing zone if you decided to throw something at his brother.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Azriel grit out through clenched teeth. Raising a brow you looked up at him, twirling the dark liquid in your glass.

“Excuse me?”

“I said absolutely not. You won't be going with her.”

“Since when are you making decisions for me Azriel?”

“Maybe we should step outside.”

“No.” You replied firmly, setting the glass down and staring straight at him. He held your gaze as you flattened your palms on the table and leaned towards him, highly aware of the eyes on you, “I’m going with her to the steeps, because it is my job. Lest you forget I have one.”

“(y/n)...” Elain called softly, reaching to gently grab one of your flattened hands. You shook it off, perhaps a bit too violently. The Archeron sucked in a breath and retreated into her seat, you made a mental note to apologize later.

“What was it you thought I did again?” You asked, getting some sick form of satisfaction from the way his eyes shuddered and he leaned backwards in his seat. Scoffing, you stood from your seat and began to clean up your plate. Without bothering to ask if he was through you snatched his plate and glass from in front of him stacking them with your own.

“Oh thats right!” You laughed, fighting off the angry tears that burned your eyes. They were all watching you, looking utterly defeated. “Play Housewife. That's what you said I do. Well let me just do my fucking job then.” You growled before exiting the dining room with a slamming door that had Feyre jumping in her seat. Azriel sighed and slumped in his chair, rubbing his temples to ward off some imaginary migraine. Cassian whistled slowly with his brows raised as he and Nesta stood and made their leave, Elain following shortly after.

Mor watched him with narrowed eyes, absolutely itching to take her dinner knife and lodge it in his thigh if the pain would just open his eyes. Had he not heard the hurt and anger laced in your words? You had been practically pleading for him to listen to you, to fight back, to do something.

“Youre a fucking asshole.” She whispered, meeting his gaze for a moment before stalking off to find you. He watched her go through the corner of his eye, and stiffened as Rhysand and Feyre leaned impossibly closer.

“On with it then.” He spoke with a sigh. Rhysand’s lips thinned into a tight line and Feyre smiled sadly at her friend. The trio sat in silence for a moment before Rhysand spoke.

“Have you spoken to her?”

“The other day, yes.”

“No Az…” Feyre butted in, her voice urging his eyes to meet her own. The look she was giving him reminded him much of a sorrowful mother, unsure of how to help her child. “Have you spoken to her.” She urged, folding her arms on the table. The spymaster made to retort when Rhysand cleared his throat and fixed him with a pointed look.

“Speaking at her and speaking to her are two very different things brother,” Rhysand looked to Feyre then with a soft smile “Take it from me.”

Mor had found you in your room, and had stayed with you until she was sure you wouldn't break into sobs or begin to break the nearest items you could set your hands on. When she had left you weren't sure those options were entirely out of the picture.

How could he opt out of your life for months and then be upset that you were finally picking it up again?

Going to the steeps with Mor was risky, yes, but enforcing laws set by Rhysand was your job. A job you hadn't done in full capacity since the end of the war. It had been too hard, too heartbreaking to go into those camps and see those girls be brutalized and maimed. Agreeing to go and seek out wrong doings was a step in the right direction. A step in living your life again instead of taking the backseat position you had reduced yourself to.

After the argument you had in the kitchen with Azriel you had begun to lose hope that he would ever be present again, found it useless to keep mourning someone who had no interest in coming back despite how badly you craved him.

You curled further into your sheets, let their silky coolness envelope you and wrap around you tightly. Perhaps if you crawled far enough beneath them they would swallow you whole and the issues of the months past would cease to exist.

He had told you no.

Azriel had never been a fan of you dealing with the Illyrians. He had hated it before you were mated, before you loved. He knew you could handle yourself but hated the idea of you being caught off guard nonetheless. You wanted to cling to the anger he had shown tonight, the concern. But it had been so fleeting, so semipermanente that you shrugged it off and closed your eyes.

“You can't go.” Azriel spoke into the darkness of your bedroom, effectively having you sit up right with a gasp. He was leaned against the door, watching you through hooded lids. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his trousers and his wings were pulled tight. He looked nervous.

“I'm not doing this right now.” You muttered, rolling away from him to watch the stars outside of your window. You heard him move towards the bed, felt his side dip as he sat with his back to you, hunched over to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Just talk to me. Please?” He whispered.

“I have been trying to talk to you, Azriel. I'm beyond talking now.” You whispered, eyes racing between constellations beyond your room and the floor, unable to turn and look at him. He took in a shuddering breath and reached a hand backwards, resting it mere inches from your body.

“I know.”

“Why did you leave?” You asked, letting the question slip through. Your breaths were coming in achingly fast and the cavity in your chest was twisting with anxiety thick as tar. His hand retreated and if at all possible he sank further into himself, his wings falling around him. Rolling over you tucked your own hands beneath your head and watched him. Studied him.

Azriel swallowed thickly and turned his head to watch you over his shoulder, his eyes were roving over your own looking for something.

“Because I was terrified.” He breathed, eyes open wide and glistening. You swallowed your words and sucked in a breath. Terrified? Had you not all been? The fear that permeated the river house for weeks after the war had been so fresh. You had all been terrified that it wasn't over, that Hybern was not truly dead but laying in wait for the world to settle. Yet-... yet none of you had left each other.

He frowned knowingly. He had watched as your family stuck around for one another, laid awake with each other at night when the nightmares were brutal and the sobbing was too strong to handle alone.

“We all were Az.” You sat up then, tucking your knees into your chest. Suddenly you reminded him of a wounded fawn, retreating into the corner of the bed and beholding him with such wide eyes that he felt nasty and horrifying.

“I didn't want…” He trailed off, brows furrowing and mouth falling open as he searched for the right thing to say. “I didn't want you to see me terrified. I'm not supposed to be that for you.”

He straightened and a muscle in his jaw ticked. You realized then that he was still terrified.

Slumping forward you gently grabbed the hand he had laid out once more, noted the shuddering of his arm as you touched him for the first time in months. His eyes fell to your intertwined hands, and stayed there, studying.

He let it rope its way down the bond then, those inky tendrils of fear that had been wrapping around him for so long. It was hurt and despair so thick it nearly threatened to suffocate you. When you gasped in surprise the feelings faded completely, and his fingers tightened around your own.

“That's why I closed it off. I couldn't-” He looked away from you, towards the wall but kept his grip on your hand firm “I couldn't control it. I didn't want you to feel that.” His voice was hardly a whisper in the dark of your shared room. Barely breaking over the sound of the wind beyond your window.

“This isnt about me going to the Steppes is it?” You muttered then, refusing to break eye contact when his amber eyes found yours once more. Lips thinned into a tight line he shook his head ‘no’ and you only nodded. Using the grip you had on his hand you pulled him towards you. He relented but relaxed, allowing you to pull his body into your own. Legs still planted firmly on the ground you cradled his head against your chest, wrapped both arms around his shoulders and rested your chin in his inky black hair. He shuddered as your breath fanned his forehead and your fingers traced the patterns of his tattoos.

“We were made for one another shadowsinger. And that doesn't just mean we were made for the good of one another-” You silenced the words he threatened to speak with a hand gently pressed to his lips. “We were made for it all. And I promised you that much ten years ago.” You let the bond crack open on your end, let the love and aching pain you had felt leak through and wash over him. Highly aware of the tears spilling down his cheeks you pressed a firm kiss to the crown of his head and hugged him close. He wrapped his arms around your own and sucked in a shuddering breath, letting his fear crash like a tidal wave into the bond once more.

“I dont know how to come back from this.” He whispered into your arms, his words cracked with a sob. You stretched your legs and wrapped your body around him, curling your limbs until they were twisted safely around his large frame. He too pulled his aching body onto the bed and melted into you, allowing you to be his safety.

“We’ll figure that part out together, Azriel.” You pressed into his hair and squeezed your arms impossibly tighter around him. “For now we rest.”

And you reveled in the feeling of him relaxing against your body, in the thud of his boots hitting the floor as he kicked them off, and the slow thrum of his heart as he fell into sleep for the first time in months. Tucked into one another you laid awake, watching the moon pass over the Velaris and the stars twinkle brightly beyond your curtains. You pet his hair and whispered to his sleeping form for what felt like hours before you too fell into sleep. And for the first time in months you were blissfully unaware of the humming sidra outside. Replacing its harrowing melody was the steady beating of Azriel’s heart and the soft rise and fall of his chest pressed into your own.

TAGS:

@brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @younxii @momlo @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @highladyofillyria @crimsonandwhiteprincess @purplevitagen @isthataknuck

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middleearthpixie · 10 months

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Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-One

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all.

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle.

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

When Sophie woke up the next morning, she was alone and her flat was eerily quiet. She got up and padded into the great room to find Thorin had left her a note on the table, tucked beneath the small crystal duck she kept in the center of the stone:

I took H. to Miss Oakmane’s this morning to let you sleep.

She smiled, folding the missive to bring back into the bedchamber, where she tucked it into the teak box where she kept special mementos, then went about getting ready to meet Bifur for his session. He’d come such a long way since her first days at Erebor, and now, his outbursts were fewer and further between and he spoke Westron as if it was his native tongue now.

It was a crisp, cold morning, with heavy gray clouds overhead and a hint of snow in the air. Still, she didn't mind as Bifur came out, grinning as he greeted her with a hearty, “Good morning, Mrs. Asharm,” in perfect Westron. “Lovely morning, don’t you think?”

“It’s cold out here and you know it.” She rose from the bench as he approached, slipping one hand from its glove to clasp his. “Is this your way of getting back at me for all of the times I forced you to use the Common Speech?”

His laughter boomed out across the courtyard. “Why would you think that? Do I seem so vengeful?”

“I would not have said yes, until this morning.” She hastily tugged her glove back on. “Did you truly wish to work out here this morning?”

“Is it too cold for you?”

“A bit, yes, I’m afraid. Unlike you, I am soft and not built for this cold.”

He squinted up at the clouds. “It will be snowing before long. Winter is almost upon us.”

“So early in the season? It’s not winter yet, after all.”

A nod accompanied his, “I think so, yes. The air has a feel to it, before it snows. I feel that now.”

As he lowered his head and met her gaze, she smiled. “You’ve come a long way, Bifur, and it won’t be long before you’ve forgotten you ever forgot Westron. Why, I think it safe to say you hardly need me any longer.”

His smile faded. “Will you leave Erebor, then? If that is true?”

She shook her head. “I won’t, no.” She hesitated, remembering their last conversation where Thorin was concerned. She had no desire to upset him or embarrass him again.

But he took the lead. “Has Thorin asked you to stay?”

She nodded. “He has, yes.And if you need me—anytime, that is—you need only come and find me. But, for now, I think you have come far enough that you no longer require my help.”

His eyes widened and he caught himself as his jaw started to go slack. “I—I don’t?”

“Not really, no. You speak fluently in both languages once more and I haven’t heard you stutter in some time now. I told you that once the pressure was lifted from your shoulders, you would find speech came to you far more easily, and you’ve proven me right.”

“So, I cannot come and see you any longer?”

“Of course you can.” She smiled, tucking her arm through his to give his a quick squeeze. “My door is always open, Bifur, and for any reason. It doesn’t have to be because you need me as a therapist. I like to think you and I have become friends. Feel free to stop and see me if all you wish to do is sit and chat a while. In Westron,” she added with a wink.

“As do I, like to think we’ve become friends, that is,” he said softly, bobbing his head. Then, his dark eyes grew soft. “I owe much to you, Mrs. Asharm,” he murmured, his voice going gravelly and low, “for without you, I would not have regained my words.”

“I was glad I could help you.” She gave his arm one last squeeze, then slipped free.

“And I apologize for all of the times I cursed you or grew angry with you. I was not the best of patients.”

“Nor were you the worst and you’ve nothing to apologize for. It can be frustrating, when there’s something you so overwhelmingly need to speak, but cannot find the words you know are right there, if only your tongue would behave.” She stepped in front of him. “Do you remember what I said to you the first time we sat down to work together?”

“That I would get this and you were patient.”

“Looks like I was right, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled. “It does, yes. And I thank you. For all of it.”

“You are very welcome. Now, why don’t you go and do whatever it is you do in your free time, and I will finish my paperwork on you and I will officially close your file.”

A hint of sadness fluttered through his eyes. “I did enjoy working with you, even on those days when my anger outweighed everything.”

“You had every reason to be angry and for the most part, you did not let it stand in your way. And I enjoyed working with you as well. And as I said, any time you need me or you just wish to pop in and visit, you know where to find me.”

A hint of color rose along his cheekbones, disappearing into the salt and pepper of his beard. “I will keep that in mind.”

“Good.”

With that, he took himself off, going back indoors, while Sophie turned with a soft sigh and crossed over to the corner where she and Bifur had spent so many hours working together. Closing a case file was always so bittersweet for while she was always happy to see a patient achieve their goals, she usually became very fond of the people with whom she worked and missed not seeing them on a regular basis. Their victories were hers, and she celebrated each accomplishment, but she also missed them when they’d moved on.

Of course, this would be different. Unlike in Dale, she would still see any of the dwarves with whom she’d worked, and with whom she would work in the coming days. She turned back toward Erebor, taking in how the stone gleamed and glinted like polished onyx when the sun struggled through a break in the clouds to hit the surface just right. In the short time she’d been there, she’d come to love the dwarven city almost as much as the dwarves themselves loved it.

And soon it would be her home. She and Thorin and Heather would be a family. Nothing in her wildest imaginings could have prepared her for this. It was as if things happened they way they had on purpose, that this was all part of some greater scheme the universe had for her.

Her smile faded.

Sten was still there. And until he either agreed a divorce or she hit him with a cast iron pan the right way, she and Thorin would be on hold. Her family would be on hold.

Sten still had the power to make her life miserable.

Only now, she had the power to do the same to him.

“Are ye certain he’s here?”

Thorin glared at Dwalin as they stood at the far end of Cedar Street, overlooking the Long Lake and the pilings and boardwalks and the new buildings that were in all stages of construction from skeleton frames to nearly finished, that would soon be homes and businesses in the coming days. Raw, frigid air whipped in off the water, whose surface rippled as if Smaug himself swam in its depths.

It was on a night much like this where Thorin had stood on the steps of the Master of Laketown’s gloriously ramshackle and drafty house—and yet somehow still the nicest house in all of the town, no less—and promised to share with Esgaroth’s people the riches of Erebor if only they would help him and his Company in their quest.

He almost didn't keep that promise.

He almost lost his life in the process.

The scars on his belly twinged at the memory. Dragon sickness. War. They very nearly ended him. And yet, Mahal saw fit to let him survive all of it, to let him survive all of it and find his One in the process. It was so unexpected. After Elmaya’s death, Thorin thought he’d remain alone. He had no idea what awaited him.

“Thorin?”

A tattooed hand swept first up, then down, before Thorin’s eyes and he started, jerking back as he snapped, “Stop that!”

“Well, ye didna answer me.”

“Yes, I’m certain he’s here. Where else would he be? Esgaroth is not yet inhabitable and Erebor is impenetrable.”

“We are certain of this?” Dwalin leaned against the low stone wall at the end of the street and twisted to stare at Esgaroth over his left shoulder. “Was she there that night? Mrs. Asharm, I mean.”

“The night we attempted to break into the armory?”

“And found ourself arrested for our efforts.”

“I cannot say,” Thorin told him, shaking his head slowly, “but I would wager she wasn’t. She had her hands full with Miss Heather and her beast of a husband.”

“And what will ye do, should we find him?”

“To be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Dwalin sighed softly, folding his arms as he stared up at Thorin. “If he won’t give her the divorce she wishes, is there anything ye can do about it?”

“No. He is beyond my rule. The most I can do is hope his contempt for Miss Heather and Sophie is greater than his need to possess them.”

“And do ye think it is?”

Thorin stepped up alongside him, staring out at the wooden skeletons in the center of the lake. The faint thuds and bangs of construction wafted across the water, along with the low buzz of workers’ voices. A heavy feeling settled over him as he tried to image what had happened the night Smaug torched the town, tried to imagine being in Sophie’s shoes that night. Impossible. The entire scenario was too horrid for him to imagine. She had no idea how strong she was,

“Honestly?” He looked over at Dwalin and shook his head. “No. But, I will cross that bridge when I come to it. I need find him first. I’m certain it will come to me by then.”

“We’ve hunted high and low in town,” Dwalin pointed out, turning away from Esgaroth to stare now at Dale itself. As dusk settled around them, lights glowed to life in the windows along Cedar Street, down the side streets from houses to shops to the livery at the opposite end of town. “No one has seen hide nor hair of him, and most seemed fairly certain the man died when Esgaroth burned.”

“But we know differently. Miss Heather knows her father. She would not make it up and I do not believe she imagined it. You did not see how frightened she was.”

“Had I, we both would have gone after him.”

“No doubt.”

“Excuse me?”

Thorin and Dwalin both turned at the same time to see a young boy emerging from the shadows of the buildings across from where they stood. From the corner of his eye, Thorin watched as Dwalin straightened up and his expression went decidedly unfriendly. “What do ye want?”

“I heard you down near the livery, asking if anyone seen a man calls himself Sten Asharm.”

The hairs along the back of Thorin’s neck prickled to life as Dwalin replied, “What’s it to ye?”

“I know where he is. I can take you to him.”

“Sure ye can, junior.”

“I can. I know where he sleeps now.” The boy stepped closer. “I’ll take you there, if you like.”

Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a look and then Thorin turned back to the boy. “Why should we trust you?”

“I knew his wife. Mrs. Asharm helped me winter before Smaug. I had an accident and forgot how to say even the simplest things. She helped me and wouldn’t take a cent from my mama because she knew we had no extra money. I know what he did to her. To their little one. But she was always kind to me and if I can repay that, I will.”

“What’s yer name?” Dwalin growled.

“Why?”

“I’m curious.”

“Jora. Look,” he glanced down Stone Street, first over his left shoulder, then his right, “if you want my help, meet me at Lucy’s. I work there most nights, clearing tables. People don’t notice you when you do menial labor, and so I hear and see a lot of things. Sten Asharm is one of them. I’m there until eleven most nights.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Thorin asked as the boy backed away from them.

“You don’t, I guess. I gotta go now. I’ll be late otherwise. If you want my help, you know where to find me.”

Thorin moved to grab Jora by the arm, but the boy was too quick and darted out of reach. Moments later, he disappeared seamlessly into the shadows and it was if he’d never existed.

“Yer not thinkin’ of going to Lucy’s?”

“I am, actually.” Thorin nodded, still staring at the last spot where he’d seen Jora. “Lucy is a friend of Sophie’s and I’m curious as to why she said nothing to Sophie when we were there the other night. Especially if one of her employees saw him.”

“But then again, our new friend didn't say where he saw or heard Asharm, either. The lad could be lying to us.”

“That is also a possibility. But,” Thorin pushed up and away from the wall, “we aren’t going to find out by simply standing here. So, why don’t we go and have some supper and perhaps find out just where our phantom fisherman might be hiding his sorry skin?”

Sophie finished her notes on Bifur’s case and flipped the folder shut to write Closed along the tab, then rose from her chair to move to the cupboard where the files were kept. There weren’t many there, but she had the feeling that wouldn’t always been the case. There was a good chance she might be as busy in Erebor as she had been in Dale and before that, Esgaroth.

The infirmary was quiet. Thankfully no accidents or mishaps had taken place throughout the course of the day and considering how dangerous the forges could be, that was quite an accomplishment.

Narnerra was in her study, in conversation with Óin, who was Erebor’s primary healer, when Sophie poked her head in to bid them a good evening. Both smiled, wished her the same, and went back to their conversation.

From the infirmary, Sophie made her way to Miss Oakmane’s ward, where Heather rocketed toward her with an excited, “Mama!” and flung herself into Sophie’s arms.

“Easy, love,” Sophie chuckled as she staggered back several steps. “You’re almost too big for this.”

“Mister Thorin says the same thing.”

Miss Oakmane shook her head, seemingly trying not to laugh as she said, “Miss Heather, we’ve talked about you throwing yourself at people, haven’t we?”

“But it’s fun,” Heather told her, twisting about in Sophie’s arms to look at Miss Oakmane. “And Mister Dwalin throws me into the air when he catches me. But he doesn’t drop me, so Mama doesn’t mind him doing that.”

Sophie’s cheeks grew warm as the caregiver’s smile fade and her expression turned stern. “That’s so dangerous, Mrs. Asharm. You should speak with him about that.”

“It’s fine,” Sophie told her, smoothing Heather’s wild tangle of curls away from her face. “He will not allow any harm to come to her, isn’t that right, Heather?”

Heather nodded. “He won’t, Miss Oakmane. He promised.”

“Still… accidents happen.”

“Mister Dwalin is careful. Mister Thorin would be mad otherwise. He says I’m precious to him, but that’s not the word he uses. He says rack-something.”

Sophie bit back a smile as Miss Oakmane’s eyes widened and the caregiver asked, “Raklûna?”

Heather’s curls danced wildly from the force with which she bobbed her head. “That’s the word!”

“Well, he muse be very fond of you, then.”

“He is. He never yells at me and I don't even mind it when he kisses Mama.”

Now it was Miss Oakmane’s turn to fight off a smile, judging by the way she sharply pressed her lips together. Sophie gave Heather a squeeze. “We should go, Heather.”

Miss Oakmane ruffled Heather’s dark hair. “You, little one, are quite the chatterbox, you know.”

She nodded. “Mama says the same thing.”

“I’m sure she does.” Now Miss Oakmane smiled, then added, “You have a good night, Mrs. Asharm.”

“Thank you, Miss Oakmane. And you as well.” She shifted Heather in her arms. “Are you ready, love?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good.”

They were halfway to the Great Hall when Heather’s expression grew dour. “Am I in trouble, Mama?”

“Trouble? For what?”

“Saying Mister Thorin kisses you.”

“No, but… perhaps that’s something we should keep between ourselves for now.”

“Like when he sleeps over?”

“Exactly like that, yes. Can you do that for me?”

“Is it a secret?”

“Not really. But it is… complicated.”

Heather’s forehead creased. “What’s complicated?”

“It means there is no easy answer or explanation. Sometimes it’s simply better to not tell people everything.”

“I should keep secrets?”

“Not exactly. It’s not a secret that Mister Thorin and I are fond of one another. But, his kissing me is no one else’s concern, either. It is between Mister Thorin and me.”

Heather stared at her for a long moment, then her eyes went round and she nodded. “Oh… I see…”

“I hope so,” Sophie told her, giving her another squeeze, “for I am not at all certain I can explain it any better.”

“It’s like how you didn't want me to tell when Papa would yell. Or when he’d—” She stopped, her eyes shiny. “I’m sorry I told a secret, Mama.”

“You did nothing wrong, love,” Sophie murmured, stroking her hair as Heather laid her cheek against Sophie’s. “I am not angry with you at all and neither would Mister Thorin be angry with you. You told no secrets, but I think you surprised Miss Oakmane.”

“Will Mister Thorin be angry with me?”

“I just told you he wouldn’t. And he won’t. You did nothing wrong.”

“He told me a wonderful story the other night,” Heather murmured. “About a princess who beat a dragon. I love him, Mama… I wish he was my papa.”

Sophie tightened her arms about Heather and pressed a kiss into her temple. “I know you do, love. But, in all of the ways that matter, he will be one day. And that is the important thing. And you know something, I think perhaps you should tell Mister Thorin you love him. I think he might like hear it.”

“I will, Mama. Is he coming over tonight?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If he does, I will. Promise.”

Sophie smiled, giving her daughter another squeeze. Heather wasn't the only one who wished Thorin was her father. All she could do was hope Sten would let her go, let her and Heather live this new life they’d found.

But she knew Sten and because of that, she just knew it would never come to pass.

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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anand07723 · 6 months

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Crafting Elegance: Handmade Jewellery in Dublin, Ireland

In the heart of Dublin, amidst the bustling streets and rich cultural tapestry, lies a gem of creativity and craftsmanship - Ertisun Jewellery Dublin. Nestled in the vibrant cityscape, our boutique proudly stands as a beacon of exquisite handmade jewellery, showcasing the finest artistry and passion for adornment. With a dedication to timeless elegance and personalized service, we invite you to embark on a journey through our captivating collections, where each piece tells a story of ingenuity and style.

Handmade Jewellery in Dublin: A Tradition of Excellence

At Ertisun Jewellery Dublin, we believe in the enduring allure of handmade craftsmanship. Our artisans, seasoned masters of their trade, infuse every creation with meticulous attention to detail and a reverence for tradition. Each piece is born from a synthesis of skillful technique and artistic vision, resulting in jewellery that transcends mere accessories to become cherished heirlooms.

Drawing inspiration from the enchanting landscapes of Ireland and the rich tapestry of Dublin's cultural heritage, our collections celebrate the beauty of nature and the ingenuity of human creativity. From intricately designed Celtic knots to contemporary interpretations of traditional motifs, our handmade jewellery encapsulates the essence of Irish craftsmanship, resonating with both locals and visitors alike.

Jewellery Ireland: A Celebration of Diversity and Heritage

As ambassadors of Irish jewellery heritage, we take pride in curating an eclectic array of designs that reflect the diversity and richness of our nation's cultural legacy. From the rugged beauty of Connemara marble to the delicate filigree work of Waterford Crystal, each piece in our collection pays homage to Ireland's storied past while embracing the spirit of innovation.

Whether you're drawn to the timeless elegance of Claddagh rings or the whimsical charm of shamrock pendants, our jewellery embodies the essence of Irish identity, serving as wearable symbols of pride and heritage. With a commitment to sourcing ethically and sustainably sourced materials, we ensure that every purchase not only celebrates Irish craftsmanship but also supports local artisans and communities.

Jewellery Near Me: A Destination for Discerning Tastes

Conveniently located in the heart of Dublin, Ertisun Jewellery offers a sanctuary for discerning patrons seeking bespoke creations and personalized service. Our intimate boutique welcomes visitors into a world of refined elegance and unparalleled craftsmanship, where each piece is imbued with a sense of individuality and charm.

Whether you're searching for the perfect engagement ring to symbolize your love or a unique gift to commemorate a special occasion, our knowledgeable staff are dedicated to guiding you through our curated collections with warmth and expertise. From custom design consultations to expert gemstone sourcing, we strive to exceed your expectations and create an unforgettable jewellery experience.

Beyond our boutique walls, Ertisun Jewellery Dublin extends its reach through an immersive online platform, where customers from around the world can discover and acquire our exquisite creations with ease and convenience. With secure shipping and flexible return policies, we ensure that the magic of handmade Irish jewellery is accessible to all, regardless of location.

Experience the Magic of Ertisun Jewellery Dublin

In a world of mass-produced commodities, Ertisun Jewellery Dublin stands as a beacon of authenticity and artistry, where each piece is crafted with passion and precision. Whether you're a connoisseur of fine jewellery or a curious traveler seeking a unique memento of your time in Ireland, we invite you to experience the magic of handmade elegance at our boutique in Dublin.

Discover the perfect expression of your style and personality with our exquisite collections of handmade jewellery, where tradition meets innovation, and beauty knows no bounds. Join us on a journey of discovery and delight, as we celebrate the art of adornment and the enduring allure of Irish craftsmanship at Ertisun Jewellery Dublin.

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xpertawards · 7 months

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Outstanding With Trophies and Awards

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The value of medals and trophies is immense in a society where teams and individuals are motivated primarily by recognition and admiration. These material representations of success encourage others to pursue greatness by serving as a reminder of the value of perseverance and hard effort. Selecting the appropriate trophies and awards to recognize achievements is essential to ensuring that the occasion is genuinely memorable.

The Value of Trophies and Awards:

Trophies and awards are more than just ornamental items; they are effective mood enhancers and sources of motivation. These honors serve as a constant reminder of the work required to achieve a goal and serve as a sign of success in the workplace, sports arena, educational institutions, and community activities. Giving out awards is a means of encouraging a culture of excellence and commitment in addition to honoring the accomplishments of a person or group.

Selecting the Appropriate Trophies and Awards:

It’s crucial to choose premium trophies and awards to properly convey the spirit of the achievement being honored. There are several possibilities available on the market, spanning from current and inventive styles to traditional and classic designs. Trophy that not only convey the importance of the accomplishment but also display artistry, robustness, and a hint of refinement are the highest caliber.

Reputation, customisation choices, and the caliber of the materials used are all key considerations when selecting the best provider of medals and trophies. A trustworthy supplier has to provide a wide selection of styles to accommodate different tastes and events. Personalization and engraving are examples of customization choices that provide a closer bond between the recipient and the award.

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The finest trophies are made from materials that have an air of refinement and robustness. In addition to offering an amazing aesthetic appeal, materials like crystal, glass, acrylic, and premium metals guarantee that the award will endure throughout time. The trophy is elevated even further by fine craftsmanship and intricate details, turning it into a treasured memento.

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Personalization through Customization:

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In the business sector, encouraging a happy and productive work environment requires acknowledging and valuing employees’ contributions. A well-thought-out trophy or award is essential to corporate recognition initiatives. These material rewards, which range from milestone accomplishments to Employee of the Month awards, act as strong motivators by raising spirits and promoting sustained excellence.

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classicachievements · 8 months

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Classic Achievements Inc.: Get Well Deserved Recognition with Stunning Acrylic Awards in North Carolina

Introduction: In the world of recognizing excellence and achievement, Classic Achievements Inc. stands as a beacon of quality and sophistication. The brand's commitment to celebrating milestones is exemplified through their exquisite collection of acrylic awards. This article delves into the significance of acrylic awards, explores the craftsmanship behind Classic Achievements Inc.'s creations, and guides you on finding these exceptional accolades near you.

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saintdiamondsusa · 10 months

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Transforming Memories: Turning Cremains into Diamonds with Saint Diamonds

In the realm of commemoration, there exists an extraordinary and deeply personal way to honor the departed: transforming cremains into diamonds. Amidst the traditional methods of preserving memories, the innovation offered by companies like Saint Diamonds stands out, offering a unique path to eternal remembrance.

Losing a loved one is an experience that touches the very core of our being. Memories, photographs, and mementos offer solace, but what if there was a way to encapsulate their essence in a tangible form? This is where the concept of transforming cremains into diamonds emerges as an exceptional tribute.

Cremains into diamonds represent the convergence of science, artistry, and sentiment. The process involves extracting carbon from the ashes, which is then subjected to high-pressure, high-temperature conditions mimicking those deep within the Earth where diamonds form naturally. Over time, this process crystallizes the carbon, resulting in a genuine, lab-grown diamond. What's remarkable is that each diamond created carries a unique hue, a singular fingerprint reflecting the individuality of the departed.

Saint Diamonds, a pioneering name in this niche, has redefined the way we perceive memorialization. Their commitment to craftsmanship and sensitivity to the emotional significance of their creations sets them apart. They guide families through the entire process, ensuring respect, transparency, and empathy at every step.

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One of the most compelling aspects of this process is its ability to provide comfort and closure. Unlike traditional means of preserving ashes in urns, diamonds offer a tangible and beautiful representation of the deceased. They can be worn, held, and passed down through generations, ensuring that the legacy and spirit of a loved one persist through time.

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nocrumbsonmyjewellery · 11 months

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thinking about objects for nostalgic adornment.

i was getting caught. i grew excited about the knife, the seedpod and the fossil, their connections in my mind and visually, their place in the world, then realising they had little technical relation to my idea. i was feeling stuck in my original idea that these objects must be those found at a beach, collected and pocketed on a rainy day. but, the whole point of design is that it evolves, and if i'm excited about this avenue it ought to be explored.

the above objects were gathered from around my home, where they've sat since they were given, made or came home, in pocket or hand. each one has importance to me, though it is only i who could see that. i thought i might write a little description for them, one by one.

the knife brooch - one of my mums keepsakes from her and my dads time abroad. when they were in their mid twenties, after saving for years, they sold nearly everything they had and took off traveling for as long as they could. as long as they could, turned out to be about two and a half years, living off a frugal ten pound a day with any excess going towards a box of wine at the end of the week, or trinkets, like this one.

bridesmaid necklace - my parents married after 14 years together when i was 10 months old. as freshly emigrated englishman they got married at a local beach, of course, on new years eve (dad says this is so he could always remember the date, to keep him out of trouble on anniversaries). the blooming pohutukawa trees matched the red of mums wedding dress, handmade by grandma, and my dads button up, bought from farmers, most likely. i remember nothing of the day, having been only 10 months old, but the photos live on as memories, as well as the carved shell necklace i wore as a bridesmaid, along my two older cousins. a talisman of a special day.

purple shell - this is one of the first shells i can remember being fascinated by as a child. anytime we visited bethels growing up, my pockets came home with a good few of these and ramshorn shells. (really they're the vertèbre of a type of squid, so not shells at all, but lovely all the same) they have decorated my room for many a year.

hagstone - this one's story has already been told.

citrine crystal - i believe i got this from a sandbag at crystal mountain. i was attached to it from the get go, and carried it around with me for the rest of the day. family was over from the uk, so we were out seeing the sights. after a visiting par homestead, we were pulling out from the carpark when i realized i didn't have it. dad begrudgingly allowed me to run back inside and look for it, luckily it was waiting were i left it. i've not lost it since.

fossil - i have always collected rocks, stones and shells, as you can likely tell by now, but i went through a short faze of fossil love too. this was bought from a side of the road market, sold by a couple of rock hounds making their way around australia. they were a fascinating pair, and gained a good chunk of my pocket money that day.

geode - one christmas, dad bought me a few geode rocks. together we smashed them open with a hammer, to find what sort of crystal made have been hiding within. i still love them.

baby's breath - mum bought this for me to wear in my hair at my first school ball. there ended up being a power cut part way through the evening when i and near everyone else from our school was getting ready, to everybody’s horror and amusement. believe it or not getting ready in the dark was a lot harder, and I forgot a few things, this being one of them. so i didn't end up wearing it that year, but it has sat dried in a jar as a memento either way. it would have matched the flowers in the corsage bought by ethan, who i went to ball with a year or so before we got together. he had asked, and i'd said yes, under the promise that it was only as friends. he obviously didn't pay any attention. i'm glad of that now.

ring - this is the first ring i ever made for my partner, given on our first anniversary. i had been in uni for maybe a month, which is very much reflected in its craftsmanship. alas, he loved it all the same, at the time it was one of my most advanced pieces. it marks a beginning in many senses.

a lucky life, really.

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writer59january13 · 2 years

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Personal vicissitudes pronounced irrepressible self loathing

Ever since mine late boyhood

when unstoppable coded

cellular processes did segue I experienced abhorrence

toward yours truly,

an extremely introverted kid,

whose parents nor siblings

(one younger and older sister) could

not arouse him

out of his emotional torpor

(even enlisting powers of druid)

akin being on par with Peter Peter pumpkin eater...,

whereby he (meaning

author who crafts this poem) kept himself isolated,

quarantined, and xed out

within self made

certifiable, formidable, impermeable,

lockable, and objectionable shell.

Me mum mollycoddled her only son

bathed him in maternal love

omnipotent motherliness

figuratively guillotined

(unwittingly) healthy maturation,

thus development sabotaged

courtesy figurative apron strings.

No matter his filial relationship woeful after attaining emerging adulthood

(to thee woman who birthed him),

he registered sentimental value

regarding keepsakes bequeathed

courtesy said maternal parent,

he still keeps cherished mementoes

redolent when she lived.

Call him a mama's happy go lucky boy,

whose later ambivalent feelings

tarnished, undermined and vitiated

short lived tender loving care,

which inherent human bondage

briefly vouchsafed, linkedin,

and cocooned wellbeing

regarding idyllic, kinetic, and opportunistic

rapport between parents,

got staind, suppurated, sundered, sullied...

in later years by incrimination

against being a long haired

pencil neck geek gainfully unemployed.

February twenty eighth ninety sixty eight

marked a tectonic seismic shift as moving vans

transported our household freight

to (at that time) R(ural) D(elivery) 2,

Level Road Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426,

a sprawling (summer) mansion

(pleasantly sounding estate named Glen Elm),

plus included whittled down fraction

of original Hundred Acre plus wood.

Though relocation to

above mentioned domicile

(from Lantern Lane in Audubon) within Lower Providence School District, approximately half dozen mile distance

between former and latter home(s),

nevertheless psyche of mine

(property of extremely introverted kid)

severely hijacked to Cuba.

Invisible to the naked eye traumatization (courtesy

chastising and reproaching -

by fellow classmates nsync with anorexia nervosa, and later in life

dealt hefty figurative jab

courtesy birth parents and inlaws)

tremendously impacted yours truly analogous to him

having moved bajillion miles away

compounded by his withdrawn demeanor

diagnosed when present

youthful looking sexagenarian

reached middle adulthood (approximately midway present age) as schizoid personality disorder,

thus exhibiting, jump/kick starting

and promoting obvious developmental delay

bullied courtesy nasty

not so shortish brutes,

who scapegoated and rejoiced

with hip hip hurray,

meanwhile I experienced

terrible psychological melee

escaping to safe confines of bedroom,

where I wanted to stay

for mine remaining years of life.

Retrospective review,

now approaching my doddering old age

finds me beating hasty retreat

searching for fountain of youth over yonder near Lost Horizon I gauge

constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick

played on super tramping urchin,

who traipsed across virtual global stage

ensnared within webbed wide world

ofttimes spends hard earned

itty bitty social security disability wage

purchasing mega million

or powerball tickets

subsequently building

connubial and proverbial

castles in the air

incorrigible lottery dreamer

erects big plans

to relocate self and spouse to some tropical island paradise

by the dashboard light

(the above line credited

to late musician named Meatloaf),

where pristine landscape

bubbles cold mountain spring water and blue skies crystal clear

edenic haven closest place to heaven

I lovingly, happily,

and effusively declare.

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shriatharvaayurveda · 3 years

Link

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alj4890 · 3 years

Text

Prompt Request

(Liam x Riley) with the prompt: "I can't believe you still have this." as requested by @neotericthemis. In celebration of 500 followers.

Rated G for nothing but fluff.

@gkittylove99 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @amandablink @neotericthemis @mm2305 @sfb123 @iufilms

Masterlist

Memento

"Riley?" Liam called out. "Where did you put that trade agreement Amalas sent over?"

He continued to search through her desk drawers.

"Isn't it on your desk?" She called out from the nursery.

"Not that I saw." He responded, pulling open a bottom drawer of hers.

He went through the many files and papers she had placed in there, pausing at some of the more surprising.

He first came across a set of old blueprints for Valtoria adding both a larger kitchen for Hana to bake in and what appeared to be a disco for Maxwell.

Grinning, he then found a folder of ultrasounds of Eleanor and their soon to be born son. He marveled at his two miracles before finding something that surprised him.

Lifting the well worn brochure out, he sat down as memories overcame him.

************

Seven years ago, Paris...

Liam got to his feet when Riley walked into his opera box. He took her hands in his while studying her pinched face.

"You talked to Regina?" He asked.

"Yes." She took a shuddering breath. "Liam, she wasn't the one to have Bastien set up the photos."

Liam felt his heart sink. He had doubted his stepmother had done such a thing. He selfishly hoped she had to make certain Madeleine was picked to be his bride, yet he knew how honorable and kind Regina truly was. That left only one person who Bastien would have taken orders from.

It hurt to even think of it.

Riley stepped closer to him. "Liam, your father must be the one who made certain you couldn't choose me."

So many emotions went through the young king's mind. Betrayal of the worst sort. Heartache that someone who claimed to love him would deny his one chance at happiness. Bitterness that he shared a bloodline with the very one who destroyed his dreams in one night. And finally, anger that his father had caused such harm to the woman he loved.

"Why would he do this?" Liam muttered.

"Maybe he thought I was a threat to you." Riley tugged him down beside her.

"You? A threat?" He shook his head. "You have been my strength, my love. You were the one to encourage me throughout that entire nightmare of a social season." He lifted one of her hands to his lips. "I can't believe he didn't see that."

"What do we do now?" She asked.

"We confront him." He decided. "As soon as we can."

"Is he here?" Her eyes scanned the dim theater boxes.

"No, he had a dinner to attend." Liam laced her fingers with his. "We'll talk to him tomorrow night."

Riley slumped somewhat at knowing their wait had to continue.

She noticed how depressed Liam was becoming. Her heart ached at the sight while her mind whirled with ways to cheer him up.

"Is Madeleine not joining you tonight?"

He shook his head. "She decided to stay behind and work on our plans for the next leg of the engagement tour."

"So you're alone this evening?" Riley leaned forward with a smile.

He noticed and couldn't help but return it. "I had hoped to enjoy tonight's opera with your company."

"I suppose I could stay here." She teased. "After all these are incredible seats."

He chuckled, feeling his heart grow lighter with having her near.

"Whatever I have is yours, my love."

She noticed the desperation had yet to leave his crystal clear blue eyes.

"Liam, let's not let this scandal investigation ruin our evening." She squeezed his hand. "It's our last night in Paris, and I for one can't think of a better way to spend it than with you."

Liam leaned over. He captured her lips in a long, tender kiss. "I want nothing more than to spend tonight with you, Riley."

She pressed another kiss to his cheek then settled back comfortably in her seat. As the lights dimmed, Liam leaned over to whisper.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"I wouldn't mind a playbill." She motioned toward the stage. "What opera are we about to see?"

He handed her his.

"The Magic Flute." Her eyebrow lifted.

"Have you seen it before?" Liam asked.

"No. I used to get into The Met years ago whenever I wanted. A friend of mine worked backstage and was always giving away free tickets." She set the program beside her. "But I missed seeing this one."

"I think you'll enjoy it."

"Please tell me it isn't one of the tragic romance ones." She pleaded.

"It isn't." Liam took her hand in his. "It is the story of a prince who must overcome all obstacles to rescue and be with the woman he loves."

Riley squeezed his fingers. "Sounds familiar."

His smile dimmed as he thought of what was ahead of them.

"I promise you," he stated in a serious, heartfelt tone, "we will be together and have our happily ever after." He refocused on the stage. "We must."

Riley scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Tears filled her eyes when he wrapped his arm around her. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head, causing the stray tears to fall down her cheeks.

"Then what will happen?" She whispered. "Once we fix this scandal and we're able to be together?"

His arm tightened around her. "We'll be married."

She could practically hear his smile forming as he continued to talk about their future.

"The entire world will see how lucky I and Cordonia are to have you as queen." He rested his head against hers. "Then we'll start a family."

"We will?" She swiped at her tears. "What will we have?"

"I would love to have a little girl who is just like you." He replied. "One I could spoil and dote upon."

"I'd like to have a miniature you too." Riley nestled more against his shoulder. "A little boy with your heart and blue eyes."

"We'll have all of that and more." He vowed. "We only have a few more hurdles ahead of us, just like Tamino and Pamina in The Magic Flute."

The couple fell into silence as they watched the opera and compared it to their own story.

**************

Present day, the palace...

"Did you find it?" Riley poked her head into the study.

"Hmm?" Liam looked up at her. "No."

She came in and began to search the papers on his desk. Pressing a hand to her back, she held the trade documents up.

"Right under your nose." She teased.

His eyes drifted over her contented face then down to her very pregnant belly before dropping once more to the crinkled program.

"I can't believe you still have this."

"Still have what?" Riley came around to her desk to see what he held.

He slipped his arm around her when she paused.

"I wanted a memento of the night you predicted our future." She admitted.

She looked up at him and smiled into the kiss he gave her.

"That night helped me see the scandal to the end." She explained. "Once I imagined the future you described, I knew I would fight every battle we came across just to have it."

Eleanor's sweet voice drifted in from the nursery. They could hear her talking for her toys as she played tea party.

"I should have known you would have your way with having a daughter first." Riley teased.

Liam rested his other hand on her belly, feeling the movements of the next person to steal his heart.

"From the moment I met you," he smiled softly at his wife, "I've done nothing but dream what I once thought impossible." He tenderly kissed we. "Then you showed me that together we can bring these dreams to life." He rested his forehead against hers. "How will I ever be able to thank you for that rare gift?"

She looped her arms around his neck and sighed happily. "Just love me and keep imagining our fairytale life." She gazed into his eyes. "Everything you promised me that night has come to pass...and I love you so much for it."

#choices the royal romance #liam x riley #trr #choices trr #choices trh #prompt request #play choices fanfic #choices fan fiction

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icylook · 3 years

Text

I will see you again

Pairing: Leon x Leri (MC)

Rating: Mature; Word count: 1655; Read on AO3

Tags: Spoilers for the AMR demo; Not canon compliant - Leon and Leri (MC) started their relationship half a year before the final battle; Established Relationship; Angst and Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Feels; Implied Smut

A Mage Reborn demo 👑 ✨ @mage-parivir

The sound of his footsteps echoes in the hall, torches illuminating the space. All the guards he passes by either nod their heads at him or don’t react at all to his presence, avoiding eye contact. He pays them no mind, answering the subtle greetings with a small tilt of his chin now and then. There are two guards at the door Leri goes for. They shift slightly when he nears but don’t stop him when he knocks lightly, muted murmur of conversation behind wooden door disrupted with strong “Come in”.

He doesn’t hesitate stepping in, leaving the door open so the one talking with Leon would have a clear message of his intentions - your time with the Prince is over, now leave. Especially when the person is Ante, standing in the middle of the sitting room. Light armor on, all in black and the scowl on her face is like a lightning - there and gone - when she sees him.

“Your Highness, please reconsider-”

“No. And it’s final.” Leon’s stern expression clears when he turns to look at him. “Took you long enough. I thought you'd gone missing.”

Leri ignores Ante, as they agreed all this time ago in the clearing during the rebellion. She was doing her job, observing him closely from the shadows. He was doing his job, making sure they all came out of the mess alive. They had a mutual agreement of not stepping on each other's toes if possible. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t rile her up now and then with his behaviour.

“Saine got a tip about lemon muffins in kitchens. I had to check.”

Green eyes brighten in a hopeful spark. “Did you bring me some?”

“Should I?” Leri asks playfully, twisting his wrist in a lazy display of magic, summoning one of his pocket dimensions with a small crystal attached to his ring. The enchantment appears in wisps of purplish smoke, revealing a pastry in pristine condition sitting on his palm. When Leon reaches for it, he steps back with a tut.

“Where are your manners, Your Highness?” His smirk widens when Leon’s confusion slips with a flash of want when he purposely lowers his voice and adds, “Say please.”

Leon opens his mouth to response when someone clears their throat. Pointedly. Leri glances at Ante staring daggers at him, before her eyes meet Leon’s.

The tips of his ears redden a little. “Thank you, Ante. Dismissed.” Ante’s back straightens so impossibly fast when she salutes him, Leri is silently amazed it doesn’t crack.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Leri dips his head at her with one word goodbye. “Spymaster.”

“Royal retainer.”

The corners of his lips curl upward at the spite veiled in her carefully neutral tone. She looks at him for a few long seconds, her gaze piercing. Only when he doesn’t falter in his amusement she marches past him, mindful of leaving space so as not to touch him.

“Let me guess, she wanted you to approve sending people after me.” He says after the door closes with a click. Leon’s by him now, gentle fingers seizing the wrist with muffin holding hand. His other hand rests on the belt over Leri’s hip, steering him to lean on Leon’s side. He smiles at his not so sneaky attempt at getting the pastry via distraction. He humors Leon into thinking that it’s working, tilting his head closer to his neck to get a whiff of his clean scent. Rich and comforting.

Leon hums in affirmation.

“She’ll probably do it anyway.” Leri murmurs.

“No she won’t.” Leon prepares to take a bite of the pastry, hand carefully holding his own in place. Leri watches as Leon closes his eyes, savouring the cream with bits of sour fruit. Mesmerized by the up close view of pink tongue chasing the taste as he swallows a bite. Half a muffin is gone in a blink and he huffs a laugh.

“I guess some of them were right.” Leon’s brow goes up in silent question. “The Sun Prince is eating straight from my palm.”

He smiles widely before he leans in. “I guess he does.” Their lips meet, softly and slowly. Hints of sweetness sneak into the kiss, mingling with the taste of the pastry Leon just devoured. Leri closes his eyes, nuzzling into the palm that cups his cheek when they part. The roughness of Leon’s skin on his face is a reminder of what they went through. Every callous and scar on his hands is a memento he wants to cherish as long as Leon lets him. He tilts his head to the side until his mouth brushes the middle of Leon’s hand, golden eyes holding intense green.

“You really depart tomorrow.”

Leri nods.

“Anything I can do to convince you to postpone that until the coronation?” Leon’s smile is endearingly sheepish, like he clearly knows the answer but still tries anyway. His brave, stubborn man.

Guilt twists in his gut. He wants to tell him. Tried to, many times, testing the boundaries of the spell. Choking on words even before his thoughts formulated properly into them, the invisible collar tightening with unnatural force. Its ominous weight sitting at his throat, a reminder of the time wasting away like sand in an hourglass. Grain by grain, closer to their end.

Once, alone in his chambers, he took it too far when attempting to speak of what he knew, of the great danger hovering over the kingdom. The collar throttled him until he lost his breath, on the brink of consciousness. He fell to the floor, blinking through the tears, black spots dancing in his vision with whispers of blood frantically pounding in his head. Clawing at his neck, curled on the cold stone. Desperate for air as his lungs burned painfully without it. The spell is simply impervious and any knowledge about it is buried in the ruins of the place he hopes to find other answers to. He doesn’t want to, but he has to go. It’s the only way for salvation, for him and for his Sun. For the kingdom.

He can’t tell him that.

So he crushes their mouths together again, swallowing Leon’s surprised noise. Pushing and taking, until he answers him back with the same urgency. Just like the first time ages ago - the kiss as an answer to the question he couldn’t find the right words for. But as the first clumsy kiss felt like giddiness and relief, this one is full of desperation and need. Leri wants to get closer, needs to get closer and he clings to Leon when they blindly stumble through the door to the next room. Clothes thrown without much thought to the floor, marking their hurried way to the bed.

Leon lets himself be pushed onto his back, Leri crawling over him. He runs his hands through the long ashy strands of Leri’s hair, sighing when their lips meet.

They don’t leave the bed until much later.

/////

Leri’s standing near the high window overlooking palace gardens in Leon’s bedroom. Now barely seen because of the night’s darkness.

“I wish you’d stay.”

Leon is only a bit taller than Leri, loose trousers low on his hips. He can openly admire the expanse of his uncovered skin and the marks he left on his body because Leri stole his shirt. And it’s the only thing he’s wearing at the moment.

With arms wrapped around him, the height difference is nonexisting. It’s easy to meet his gaze when he leans back to peer at his face. His eyes meet emeralds, full of warmth and longing. Leri’s fingers gently trace the pale line of a small scar hidden with the hair at Leon’s temple. Evidence of one of too many close calls during the war.

“Leon.” I wish to stay too. I don’t want to let you go, not after everything.

“I will see you again.” The words taste like lies, spilling easily like ones. But they hold the truth, one he wants to believe in. Something hot pokes at the back of his eyes so suddenly, he quickly covers it with exaggerated sniff.

“Besides, I can’t let any of those stuffy nobles take away my rightful position, can I?” His smile feels a little bit too wide. A little bit too forced but he holds it on, just to see the sadness clear from Leon’s expression.

“So I should hold it open for you then?”

“Hold and defend it. Because I’ll be back for it.”

Leon snorts a laugh, hiding it in Leri’s hair. “I feel like it’ll be a battle worse than everything else so far.” He shifts his hands on him, resting them at the small of his back.

“I expect compensation.” Leon adds playfully, murmuring the words on the skin of Leri’s forehead. His lips feel like a brand when he presses a long kiss to it and Leri has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep his tears at bay. The tenderness of the gesture digs up the storm of emotions he desperately tries to shut down. A prick of sorrow grips at his throat unexpectedly and he can’t hide the shaky exhale in time before Leon notices.

Because Leon does notice, his body stiffening when Leri starts shaking in his arms.

“What’s wrong-” He doesn’t let him finish, doesn’t want Leon to see him like this. Not now, not when the dread starts to rear its ugly head again to cloud his mind. But he doesn’t hide, because it’s useless with Leon. Even if he wants to. So he leans back, his sight a little blurry. His smile’s wet around the corners but it’s more real.

“I will see you again.”

Leon’s lips part, any words stuck to his tongue. Then his face brightens with a smile of his own, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I know. I’ll be waiting.”

And Leri will do everything to keep his promise.

Everything.

#amr #a mage reborn #icy is writing #Valerian Virtanen #oc leri #writing with good music in the background gives the best effects #:D :D :D #especially for angst

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

Note

hey you any canon compliant angst no happy ending recs

Hey Lovely!

Ah, you’re an evil one, aren’t ya, LOL LOL!! Hee hee! No worries! I’ve had this one waiting for literal years, finally going to use this post as an excuse to post it up! Enjoy(?)! LOL <3

UNHAPPY or AMBIGUOUS ENDINGS

See also:

Major Character Death / Heavy Angst

Major Character Death / Heavy Angst Pt 2

One Lives, One Dies

John’s Suicide Before TEH

Dies After the Fall and Becomes a Ghost

John Has Cancer

I don't mind by beltainefaerie (G, 221 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Stag Night, 221B, Post-TRF, Angst, Longing) – Sherlock is more vulnerable than he pretends. Part 4 of Bel's Tumblr Ficlets

Pervasive Quietness by LittleLongHairedOutlaw (T, 545 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Friendship, Pining Sherlock, First-Person Sherlock POV) – The hollowness left in Baker Street seeps into everything.

Human Error by YakuzaDog (G, 571 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Missing Scene, Angst) – Sherlock goes on a brief shopping trip.

The Hollow Man by HHarris (G, 639 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Chair, Introspection, Sherlock’s Big Feelings™, Post TRF, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, POV Sherlock, Pining / Sad Sherlock) – Still reeling from the apparent loss of his one and only friend, Sherlock returns to 221B for the first time after the events of The Reichenbach Fall.

Five Seconds by xXLadyLovelaceXx (K+, 658 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Introspection, TGG Pool Scene) – In the half-second before Sherlock shoots the jacket, John notices something.

Promise of Sussex by LittleLongHairedOutlaw (T, 705 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Angst, Pining, Ambiguous Ending) – John tries to keep Sherlock conscious after he's been shot on a case.

Message Not Sent by Queerasil (K, 762 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, One-Sided Texting, Pining Sherlock) - Sherlock texts John after the fall and during the hiatus. The messages are sent, but never received. Sequel to WORDLOCKED, TSTM, and Wait, How Do You Play This Game Again?

John Will Never Know by bloodsoakedleather (E, 775 w., 1 Ch. || Fantasy John, Masturbation, PIning Sherlock, Sexual Fantasy, Rimming, Cock Sucking, John’s Red Pants, Pants Sniffing, Coming in Pants, Mild Kink) – Sherlock indulges in a spot of self gratification with the aid of a stolen pair of red pants. Part 2 of Johnlock Porny Ficlets

Words Were Never Useful by Jenn1984 (K+, 819 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, John Whump, Friendship, Ambiguous Ending) - ALLEY BEHIND THE BOOKSTORE, JOHN STABBED. HELP NOW. SH

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove - (NR, 1,053 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Angst, URT, Post-TSo3) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

The Signs of Loss by LitLocked (NR, 1,103 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TSo3, Pining Sherlock, Self Reflection) – Sherlock's internal monologue after he comes back from the wedding.

Velvet by headlessjess (G, 1,155 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining, Angst, Jealous Sherlock, Loneliness, Sad Fic, Friendship, Bi-Curiousity, Dancing) – It's the day, the wedding day - John and Mary, getting married. And then there's Sherlock, in pain and in love, without knowing how to deal with it.

Imminent by LoyalPaddler (K+, 1,187 w., 1 Ch. || Kidnapping, Open Ending) – What did it say about a person if he recognized the feeling of waking up concussed, blindfolded, and handcuffed to a chair? Probably not good, that.

The Simple Separation Will Not Come Between Us by The Circus (T, 1,278 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, MCD, Violence, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Prose) – The choice is simple. Real, and No John. Or Not Real, and John. For a prompt that says 'John dies and Sherlock loses himself in his Mind Palace’

Hold On by Jennistar1 (T, 1,300 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Hiatus, Friendship) – Alternative ending to Reichenbach Falls - John knew all along.

The Talons of Sentiment by dearcst (G, 1,463 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV, Angst, Unrequited Love, Pining Sherlock) – I promised myself long ago I wouldn’t succumb to something so degrading, something so vicious. I promised I wouldn’t let myself fall. But that was before him. That was before I met John. In sleep there is such bliss and peace, and as John slept on my shoulder, it killed me inside to know I was so close yet I could never touch him.

Love and Bombs by Spark_Writer (T, 1,696 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, POV Sherlock First Person, Post-HLV, Pining Sherlock) – Love and bombs aren’t all that different, John. In the end, they’re almost indistinguishable. Part 3 of Human Error

BBCSH 'Poor Mary' by tigersilver (M, 1,839 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Missing Scene, Sherlock POV) – As the tin says above, this is a missing scene, set directly after Sherlock awakens in hospital after having been shot by his best mate's wife. Minor angst, some pining, nothing nasty; please don't be alarmed unduly.

Dying Changes Everything by whitchry9 (K+, 1,919 w., 1 Ch || Sherlock POV, Suicidal Ideation, Near-Death, Hospital, Sherlock Whump, Gunshot, Unhappy/Ambiguous Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) – Sherlock is having an existential crisis and wants to have a near death experience like John did to gain some perspective. “Shoot me John!” he insisted, gesturing to himself. John just looked at him. “Are you completely mad?”

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone's physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn't think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn't hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

glimpses through a closing window by radialarch (T, 2,430 w., 1 Ch. || Hiatus / Post TRF, Vlogging, Pining Sherlock, Angst, BG John/Mary) – John starts a domestic vlog. Sherlock watches it on stolen phones, over flickering wi-fi, and aches.

It's After That Hurts by jonnyluvssherlock (T, 2,791 w., 1 Ch. || City of Angels AU || Fantasy, Fallen Angel Sherlock, Soldier John, Pining Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Permanently Incomplete Fic) – Sherlock's an angel stuck as a guardian to danger addict John Watson. Everything is fine until he gets too involved. Now he has to make the choice, eternity alone or one life time with a man who may or may not love him.

You Paid Me Well In Memories by Ballykissangel - (K+, 3,149 w., 1 Ch. || Heavy Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Grief) – It's Sherlock's birthday and John is not doing well. No matter how hard he's tried to keep on living, he knows he is going to give up soon and he isn't going to make it. Today is his last and only chance to visit Sherlock's grave to talk and give him his gifts: His dog tags, a book full of notes and memories and the meaning of love as Sherlock watches on in grief.

Out of Time by westernredcedar (T, 3,163 w., 1 Ch. || Wedding, Angst, Pining John, Sad Ending) – Somerset is a lovely place for a wedding, but what John hadn't accounted for was the getting everyone there.

fulfilling for other people by missselene (E, 3,957 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, Unhappy Fic, Unrequited Love Confession, Virgin Sherlock) – When Sherlock decides to act on John’s advice regarding romantic entanglements, the results are far from what John expected. Part 1 of fulfilling for other people

Sink Like a Stone by pennydreadful (T, 4,348 w., 1 Ch. || Angst / Dark, Cuddling/Snuggling) – After defeating Moriarty at the pool, life isn't quite the same around 221B Baker Street...it's more peaceful. And stranger.

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dancing, Pining Sherlock, URT/UST, Romance, Angst, POV John) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

Anticlockwise (Ask Time) by TheBookshelfDweller (G, 3,752 w., 1 Ch. || Metaphorical, Angst, Time, Unhappy Ending) – "Let me tell you the truth: Sherlock Holmes cannot beat Time." Time only flows in one direction, and we are stranded in it, carried by currents we mostly never notice are whirling around us. No one can walk backwards along the timeline, and maybe that’s for the best, because what if someone could? Where would they go? Or, better say, to when would they go? Most importantly who would they leave behind (or is it ahead)? In the end, despite the truth, Sherlock Holmes decides to fight Time, for John, for himself - for himself with John.

On the Steadfast Approach of an Oncoming Darkness by 2bee (T, 7,772 w., 1 Ch. || Apocalypse, Minor Character Death, Sort of Parentlock) – The world is ending. Not fast, but slowly, like falling asleep with a fever.

In The End by whitchry9 (K+, 9,677 w., 17 Ch. || Memento Fusion || Amnesia, Growing Old, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Heavy Angst) – When a brain injury leaves Sherlock unable to make new memories, John wonders how Sherlock will cope, and what it will mean for The Work and their life. Because after all, how can you live if you can't feel time passing?

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 w., 1 Ch. || Major Character Death, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim's hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

The Gilded Cage by BeautifulFiction (E, 326,887 w., 31 Ch. || Omegaverse || Omega Sherlock / Alpha John, Friends to Lovers, Dub Con, Reproductive Rights) – In a world where Omegas are the property of the elite Alphas, locked away and treasured by those wealthy enough to buy them, John never questioned his flatmate's secondary gender. Sherlock Holmes was an Alpha through-and through. Wasn't he? A chance discovery turns the world on its head, and John is left grappling to come to terms with Sherlock's past as events conspire to threaten their future.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #angst fics #unhappy endings #my fic recs #69-toojay #long post

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 13)

(gif by me! I use the iphone app momento)

tw: language, angst, mentions of drug use (relapse), mentions of miscarriage

word count: 7.3k (im sorry)

masterlist

series masterlist

Spencer got up from the cold tile floor, fuzzy unicorn in hand, and faced the window above the kitchen sink. He stared out of it, admiring the snow that was still falling lightly, wondering if it was raining in Seattle. His memory flashed to the last time he stood in the rain with you, but he tried to shake the images away. Instead he watched the snowflakes hit his windowpanes and melt. He hoped that maybe you were somewhere staring out of a window, admiring the dreary weather, and thinking of him too.

He found his place against the dishwasher again, sliding down as his mismatched socks gave way so he could stretch his long legs out fully. He pulled the nearly empty box onto his lap and appreciated the light weight of it, as he continued with his twelfth letter and thirteenth item. Thirteen, a number whose history of unluckiness stems all the way back to the thirteen attendees of the Last Supper, and tracks through the number of steps leading up to the gallows, all the way to the number of letters in the names of some of the most infamous criminals.

Thirteen was a haunted number, which rightly accompanied a haunting letter.

“This one’s long. It’s a month of tarnished memories packed into a few pieces of paper. So far I’ve gone through half of a college-ruled one subject notebook and I’ve had to change pens twice. It’s nearing 2:30, and the wine is finally hitting my empty stomach. Sorry in advance for the way my handwriting will be. I’ll try to make this make as much sense as I can.

If you look at your thirteenth item it is the notepad I stole from that resort in Florida. There isn’t much around to signify this letter. You don’t keep mementos from one of the saddest days of your life, but for some reason I took this useless paper and shoved it in my purse on my way out. Good thing I did, or you’d have no item to attach to these memories. Though I suppose that might be better.

The resort was where we were going to be at for our ‘babymoon,’ whatever that is. What a dumb idea, I’m still mad at myself for letting Garcia talk us into one. She just made it sound so appealing.

Once everyone knew I was pregnant, Hotch pretty much sat me in Quantico with Penelope. There were a few local cases where I was lucky enough to go visit the ME’s office, but usually I kicked my feet up in her lair while you were out in the field.

“A what?” I said one day as she ran DNA through CODIS. The two of us were drinking herbal tea, and I was barely 16 weeks. I just looked like I had a big lunch in my stomach, not a baby the size of an avocado.

“A babymoon. It’s like a honeymoon, but you go when you’re pregnant. It’s one last trip for mommy and daddy to go on and spend quality time together. How many trips have you and Dad-Wonder even been on?”

I shrugged. We didn’t travel much for pleasure. We traveled for work, so on our rare days off we liked to be at home.

“I mean we’ve gone to Vegas and Connecticut a few times.”

She rolled her eyes, “Visiting family, my dear, is not a vacation! I was thinking you two would go to the beach. You guys relax and wade in the ocean and Spencer can build sandcastles that defy every law of physics!”

I laughed at that. You and the beach? It just didn’t feel natural to me. Probably because you aren’t capable of actually relaxing.

“That does sound fun,” I said and I spoke to my barely there stomach, “And it would make daddy take a few days off.”

Penelope squealed and started clicking at her computer, “I’ll find a resort online right now! Okay so how about Marco Island? It’s gorgeous and in Florida, so it’ll be like eighty and sunny, even in the beginning of December.”

“I’ll have to talk to Spence about it. I mean I know it would be fun and all but we really should be saving money for a crib, and car seat, and bassinet, and high chair, and a rocking chair, and a baby swing, and a—“

Garcia stopped me from spiraling out of control, “That is why you throw a huge baby shower! People buy those things for you.”

I rubbed my tummy again, “Oh no, Daddy is very particular about what things are bought.”

“That’s why you have a registry, Momma Bear. Now, no more excuses.”

Before I could even call you, she had put in both of our requests for days off and we had a week long reservation at this fancy resort that you see listed at the top of this notepad, the “Crystal Cove”.

I was only slightly mortified that she did all this without me asking you. Mostly, I was happy. I was afraid you wouldn’t say yes, but if PG already booked it, you kind of had to agree. And to my surprise, you did.

When you got back from that case we were at home, you eating something I had poorly made from a random cookbook on a shelf. I had decided to start cooking more, so I could make homemade meals. I wanted to be that mom who cuts sandwiches into flower shapes and always has fresh baked bread and cookies laying around. I wanted us to be those parents; the ones who are so sickeningly in love that their kids roll their eyes every time they kiss. We were those parents, kind of, if we could even be considered ‘parents.’ At that point, I don’t think we were. But we were definitely in tooth-rotting, sickeningly sweet love.

“So, I have a surprise for you,” I said, coming up behind you and rustling your hair.

“Hm?” You said, stuffing your face like you hadn’t eaten in days. You probably hadn’t. You’re the king of forgetting to eat. Maybe that’s how you stay so skinny.

“I booked a trip, well I guess technically Garcia did.”

“A trip?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, a trip, to the beach. Penelope called it a ‘babymoon.’”

You laughed, “A babymoon? I’m not familiar."

I smiled and sat across from you, “It’s like a honeymoon, except it's just me and you relaxing and spending quality time together before this lil dude makes his appearance.”

You smiled, “I’m telling you, it’s a girl.”

I rolled my eyes, “It’s definitely a boy, but stop ignoring my offer.”

“Well, it’s not really an offer so much as it is you telling me that we’re doing this.”

“Okay, yes Garcia helped me book it already, and yes she put in our requests for days off, but you can say no.”

You did your little nose twitch scrunch thing, “I’d never say no to quality time with you, Love.”

You leaned over and kissed me, and I squealed, “I’m so excited! I have to buy maternity bathing suits now! Oh and a sunhat!””

Spencer smiled fondly, recounting that day. He was thrilled to go, minus the part where he’d have to wear shorts, and flip flops. Something about the piece that goes between your toes makes him squeamish. He was looking for the right opportunity to use something special he had bought for you, and you had just given him it. A week on a beautiful beach with the love of his life? That would be the perfect time to ask you what he had been waiting to ask you since JJ’s wedding. He was going to take Hotch’s advice; stop waiting, start doing, and get down on one knee with a blue velvet box.

He never got the chance to. The trip was supposed to be in the beginning of December, around your week twenty-four. You never got that far.

He got up from the ground, immediately digging around in a drawer full of pencils and compasses and rulers, finding the blue box in a corner. It was covered in pencil shavings and dust. He hadn’t looked at it in months. He held it delicately in his hands before opening it.

It was plain, but he remembered you said that was what you wanted.

“Oval, of course and silver,” You had explained to Penelope and JJ at a night out years ago. Derek and Spencer sat on the opposite side of the table, but his ears perked up at the mention of rings.

“I like just the band,” JJ said, admiring her own ring, “And I have Henry’s birthstone, the citrine, so I didn’t need another one.”

“What kind of stone Y/N? I’d love a pink diamond! Or a ruby! Imagine!” Penelope gushed.

You shook your head, “I’d take cubic zirconia, if it was coming from the right guy.”

Both Penelope and JJ stuck their tongues out, “Nuh-uh!” Garcia said, grabbing her phone to scroll through more pinterest photos.

“Spence will be getting you a diamond.”

You rolled your eyes and whispered, “Don’t jinx it JJ! And I don’t want a diamond.”

Her mouth dropped, “No diamond? Really.”

“Diamonds aren’t ethically sourced.”

“Lab grown! Get lab grown!” PG piped it, showing you a picture of a ring, just an oval in a plain silver setting.

“That! That’s the one!” You said and Garcia giggled, going on a rant about her dream wedding.

Spencer had gotten that exact ring. Lab grown, oval, classic, beautiful. It was what you wanted, and you deserved everything you ever wanted.

Spencer looked at the notepad. He could tell you had a hard time picking an item for this letter. He knows this letter is the end, the other two are the epilogue of a story he wishes you kept writing. Crystal Cove is the place where he had planned on asking you to marry him, but it ended up being the place where your love story ended. He tossed the notebook to the side and decided that the souvenir for this letter was now going to be this ring. This ring that sparkled and shined, even in the dull incandescent lights of his kitchen. This ring that belonged on your finger, and not in the back of a drawer. This ring that you didn’t even know existed, but if you had, maybe you’d still be together.

“I did buy three maternity bathing suits, and you bought shorts. Spencer Reid in shorts. It was going to be the best trip ever. We were going to snorkel and look at sea turtles and sunbathe and drink virgin piña coladas by the ocean. We were going to get couples massages and spend every moment loving and appreciating each other.

The actual trip? Much different than the one we had planned on paper, but let’s first discuss that time between the hospital and the trip.

It was four weeks. Four weeks of me sitting at home while you were off at work. Four weeks of the door opening and Derek walking through, not you. And on the odd chance that it was you opening the door, you’d be appearing at odd hours of the night to grab a new suit or a file or a snack and then getting back in your shitty car and going to your apartment. Each time I heard that comforting sound of your satchel hitting the floor, I’d crawl out of the cave of blankets I was in to find you, and you’d act like I wasn’t even there.

For the first few days, you asked me how I was and if I was feeling better, then you’d check your phone and wave goodbye. After that, I was lucky if you’d say hello, then I was lucky if I even got a glimpse of you. You never held me. You never kissed me. You never told me you loved me.

I got all my information about you from Derek. Every day I texted you, “Have a good day at work! Talk soon?” And everyday you didn’t answer, so I’d ask Derek if you were okay. He’d always tell me what you were doing. Usually you would take a stack of files of cases to a dark room and make preliminary profiles to send back to the departments, alone. I’d tell him thank you, and the next day would be the same nonsense.

Those four weeks dragged. It was like every minute was an hour and everyday was a year. I was healing, even without you, everyday I felt better and better. But that’s relative to the day before. I haven’t felt ‘good’ yet. I haven’t felt ‘happiness’ yet. But I will. And I’m counting on that.

My mandatory leave was four weeks, and at the end of that Hotch called me in for a ‘mandatory psychological evaluation.’ I didn’t tell you about it because you weren’t speaking to me, and even when you did you were angry and snappy and rude.

I didn’t pass the evaluation. Even though the BAU wrote those damn questions, I still didn’t pass. When my four weeks were up, you were expecting me at work, and I never showed. You didn’t notice how not okay I was because you were too busy handling your own feelings, which I understand. You have to take care of yourself first, deal with your own trauma before touching anyone else’s. So, your trauma was none of my business, a concept you should've applied to my healing process.

I was supposed to come back on a Monday and when I didn’t show you came to the house. You opened the door and yelled my name. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in weeks, and it felt good. I thought you had finally come home. I thought you were finally ready to heal with me, but you weren’t. You were there to judge me.

I think I ran to where you were, a smile on my face that I didn’t think I was capable of making, “Hey!”

You looked so put together in a neatly pressed suit, but your eyes exposed you. They were bloodshot and the bags were so large they almost reached the end of your nose. I had on one of your shirts; it was comforting at the time. Not so much anymore.

You looked me up and down, a small scowl forming on your face, “Where were you today?”

I took a deep breath, and I lied, because lying to you felt easier than telling you the truth. The truth that I was not deemed stable enough to come back, even though I wanted to. I needed to be distracted. I was ashamed, scared, confused.

“I-I didn’t go.”

“Didn’t go? You’ll get fired Y/N.”

I sighed, “No, my leave got extended.”

I could feel the way your eyes bore into my skull as I dodged eye contact.

“Extended?! It’s been four weeks.”

“I’m not ready!” I desperately wanted you to see through it. I thought I was ready, but the papers disagreed.

“Hotch let you do that?” Your voice was increasing and I found myself inching away from you.

“He encouraged it!” Another lie. He didn’t ‘encourage’ it. He forced me.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag and opening the door again.

“You’re leaving? Spencer c’mon I-”

You cut me off by slamming that door in my face.

That’s when I started closing myself off. I started dreading the sound of your feet against the floor at three am. I started to put my own walls up, but they would dull in comparison to the Great Wall of Spencer you built around yourself to keep me out.”

Spencer was always good at putting walls up. In fact, you were the only person to ever get him to take (almost) all of them down. There’s a side of him he doesn’t show anyone, a side of him that he reserves for himself, and when something happens, that’s where he goes. He goes to the corner of his brain where he feels safe, and the walls come up to protect him.

And in those last four weeks, he did just that. He put the walls up, shut you out, and decided that was better. Except it wasn’t better, it just was easier. It was easier for him to bypass you and find a new outfit for work tomorrow. It was easier for him to disappear in the office until the odd hours of the morning. It was easier for him to hide away from you, because when he’s exposed he always gets hurt. It was easier to act like everything was fine, even though everything was the opposite of fine.

He never needed to go to the house, part of him was drawn there like a moth to a lantern. He was drawn to you. As much as he didn’t want to see those four walls, he still needed to check on you. He just did it in his own damaged way. He’d get a glimpse of you in old sweats and a shirt with a hole in it, hair a mess and mascara from two weeks ago adding to your eye bags and he’d be reminded that he couldn’t be there for you. He would never be enough, and he’d retreat into the comfort of solitude.

He was so preoccupied with being hurt, that he didn’t realize just how much he hurt you too.

“I had forgotten about the stupid trip, and so had you. You were too preoccupied with work and not speaking to me and I was preoccupied with crying and trying to speak to you. I only remembered the trip when I got an email from the airline about the flight, they had to move our seats or something stupid. I decided that was a reason for you to actually need to speak to me like I was a person, so I took advantage of it.

I intercepted you at home one day. I had been sitting in the kitchen waiting for you. You came home at two am.

“Hey,” I said, immediately as you walked through the door. You looked surprised that I was up.

“Hi, I’m just gonna—“

“Spencer, stop. We have to talk.”

You crossed your arms, not leaving the threshold of the door, “No. I told you a million times Y/N, I don’t want to talk.”

“Not about...” I couldn’t find the words and you started up the stairs.

“Are we going on this damn trip or not?” I said, my voice cracking from lack of use.

You stopped, looking over the banister at me, “You didn’t cancel it?”

“I didn’t think of it until now. We’re supposed to leave in two days.”

You groaned, “Why didn’t you cancel it?”

I threw my hands up. As if all of this was my responsibility?

“I was preoccupied! Did you cancel your days off?”

You shook your head, rubbing your face, “No, God. Can we still get a refund?”

I was hurt that you didn’t want to go, but not surprised. As I stared at the front door from my spot at the kitchen table I decided that I was going to go no matter what. It was going to be refreshing to look at the ocean instead of an empty nursery. That would be my distraction.

“I-I’m going. I’ll pay for your half, but I’m going. I’m losing my mind here, Spence.”

You looked at me again, still contemplating your options.

“I get it, okay? You can’t be in this house, but neither can I. Maybe we can talk and stuff on neutral ground. I-I just want you there with me, the way it was supposed to be.”

Then you took me by surprise, you nodded, “Yeah, yeah we’ll go.”

I’m sure I lit up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas, “Really?”

You rubbed your eyes, “Yeah, we can go Y/N.”

I was feeling lucky, so I pushed it, too hard, “Are you staying tonight?”

Your voice went from sleepy to sour, “No.”

And you vanished up the stairs, taking all my hope in us with you.

I knew deep down it wouldn’t end well. I knew it was going to be fighting and yelling and arguing, but any time with you was good time with you at that point. And I favored the little bit of serotonin and dopamine you flood my brain with as opposed to staring at the gray walls of the kitchen alone.”

Spencer only agreed to go because he thought he was getting there. Everyday he felt a little better when he’d walk through the door, but he still wasn’t ready. He thought a week of no work and no one to talk to except you would bring the walls down. This would finally be the catalyst in a reaction that was taking far too long to complete. He also couldn’t stand the thought of you flying and spending a week alone. He felt better about you being alone here because you weren’t really alone. You had Derek visiting, Garcia dropping off baskets, phone calls from Emily, the odd visit from Rossi, and apparently phone calls to Hotch, but on that island you’d really be alone, and he was worried about how you’d handle it.

“So two days later we got on a three hour flight to Miami, and I drove our rental car to this resort. We didn’t talk much the whole time, besides some small talk about the flight and other odd comments. It was painfully awkward, and I regretted even coming.

We didn’t speak until I used the keycard to open the door, and we stared at the one king sized bed in the room.

“Oh,” was all you said when you realized you’d have to share with me.

“What?”

“There’s only one bed.”

I rolled my eyes, “Spencer, we’ve shared a bed for three years.”

You just stood at the door with your hands fidgeting on the handle of the suitcase, “I’ll call down and ask for a cot to be brought up.”

“A cot? Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe you, “Why come if you wouldn’t even share a bed with me? I said I’d be fine alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but changed your mind.

“Great communication skills Spence. Really, I’m impressed.” You rolled your eyes and finally started to unpack your bag, “I came because I was worried about what you’d do here all alone.”

Part of me was happy you were worried, but a bigger part was annoyed, “I’ve been handling being alone fine, thanks.”

You scoffed, “Yeah. That’s why you need Derek to bring you food everyday, because you’re doing so well.”

I bit my tongue and tried to speak calmly, “Well at least someone checks on me everyday.”

That shut you right up.

The three days you were there went as follows: we slept as far apart from each other as we could, despite how badly I wanted to cuddle into your arms. We’d get up in silence, eat breakfast in silence, walk to the beach and read in silence, eat lunch and dinner in silence, and each night we’d yell at each other until we fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

Remember what I said to trigger the fight on December third, your last day there? How could you forget? It’s the fight that broke us up.

“So, I was thinking of going to a counselor,” I said, staring at the waves lap the sand from the balcony of our room. The air felt cold for eighty degrees. But maybe that was just because the air between me and you had been cold for weeks.

You were sitting next to me, but I could tell you were worlds away.

“Spence,” I nudged, trying to snap you out of your daydream.

“Hm? What?”

“I said I’m going to go to a counselor.”

You twisted your face, “A counselor? What for?”

I shrugged, “I-I think it’d be good for me. It’s a grief counselor.”

You turned to look at me, your brow covered in sweat and your eyes watery. You were incessantly bouncing your left leg, rubbing at your nose, and you seemed disinterested in every single thing I was saying or doing. In fact, you’d been acting that way since the first day you disappeared to your apartment.

“Counselor? Yeah,” You were fidgeting, barely making eye contact.

A feeling I can only describe as pure dread formed in my stomach. I thought I might puke, but I swallowed the feeling and kept talking, “I got a recommendation from Hotch. He said he went to Dr. Stevens after Haley died. He said it really helped.”

You were still not listening.

“I think it’d be good if we went together.”

That finally got your undivided attention. “Together?” You snapped, “No.”

“Why not?” I said it with an air of exhaustion and despair. I was tired of this. So fucking tired of it.

“I’m not going to a damn therapist, Y/N,” You seethed, your metal deck chair scraping against the concrete as you stood in front of me.

The sky looked stormy, palm trees whipping in the wind as you came before me. The bags under your eyes looked like bruises, and you had on sleeves. It was eighty and you had on sleeves.

“Okay, I’ll go alone then. I think he could really help us though.”

I was giving up on fighting. I didn’t understand how when I was at my absolute low you could just keep kicking me while I was down. All I wanted was for you to go to someone and talk about it. That’s it. You were acting like I’d asked you to move a mountain for me, which, might I add, at one point you would have done.

“He? You really think a male therapist is going to help? You lost a baby, Y/N—“

“WE,” I clarified, for what felt like the fiftieth time, “We lost a baby.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored me, “You lost a baby. How does a male therapist help you through that?”

I was angry now. It was bubbling up to the top and I thought I might explode.

“He’s a grief counselor! He’ll help me through my GRIEF! And I think you should go because clearly you have a lot going on. You always have! You should’ve been seeing someone for years.”

“Oh, I have a lot going on?” You sneered, “Of course I have a lot going on! I go to work everyday to bring you home a paycheck so you can sit around all day and do nothing.”

I stood up, got close to your face, “I’m on leave.”

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

You bypassed me and went inside, and my hot anger turned into wet anger and fat tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“Do you know how traumatic this was on my body? Do you? Everything hurts and you were supposed to be there! You were supposed to take four weeks off too! You were supposed to be there for me!”

“Yeah and who’s there for me!” You yelled, louder than I think you ever had; at me at least. You had thrown your suitcase on the bed, haphazardly grabbing your clothes from the drawers and shoving them in.

“I would’ve been,” I said softly, coming up behind you to grab your arm lightly, “If you had let me.”

You pulled back, “Don’t touch me!”

I reached up to wipe my eyes and crossed my arms in front of myself defensively, “I want to be there for you, Spencer. I do. Why won’t you let me?”

You didn’t answer, because even you didn’t know why. You just stood over the suitcase, one arm on either side of it, hair matted to your sweaty face, panting and panting.

The facts I had chosen to ignore were staring me in the face again. Or maybe I was just that oblivious.

“I’ve never seen you like this. This isn’t you, Love,” I tried to say in my most soothing voice. The dread had clawed its way back up to the back of my throat.

“Or maybe this is me,” you said softly, and I swear you were crying. Or maybe I hoped you were, that way we were both sobbing. That’s as close to togetherness as we could get.

“Maybe this is who I am now, or who I’ve been all along.”

I reached out for you again, but stopped myself, “No, Spencer. The real you isn’t this angry, and bitter, and mean.”

You slammed your hands against the bed, “Yes it is!”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” I said sadly, shaky breaths between words, “Is that what you’ve been going to your apartment and doing?”

You turned around, skin sweaty and eyes red, “What? What are you talking about now? God, do you ever stop talking?”

I snapped, ignoring your last jab there, “Are you using?”

Your face contorted into a sour expression, “Am I using?”

“Yeah, Spencer! Are you? Because I can’t see any other reason for why you’re so irritable and sweaty and out of it! So I’ll ask you again, are you going through withdrawal?”

You looked like I had literally punched you in the gut, and I kind of had. It was a low blow, I’ll admit it, but I was seriously worried about you. If an event would trigger you, this would’ve been it.

“What? No!”

I wasn’t sure whether or not I should believe you, but I knew I had to support you either way. I love you, even when you’re angry at me, I still love you. Even when you throw clothes and seethe at me through gritted teeth, I still love you. That’s my fatal flaw. No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, lower lip pinched between his teeth. Was he really that terrible? He didn’t remember being so spiteful. Reading it back, he understood why you thought he was high, and he had thought about it more than he cared to admit. But he hadn’t touched the stuff in seven years, and he wasn’t about to start again now.

‘No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.’

That line made him want to cry, hands clenching the ring box as if it were a stress ball. That line simultaneously felt like a stab in the gut and a breath of fresh air. He had given you so many reasons to walk away, and the one reason to stay was there in his palm, unused.

““It’s okay if you are. I understand this is a... hard time. I’ll support you through this,” I put my hands out to touch your chest.

“I’m not high and haven’t been in years!” You swatted my hands down.

“Then what the hell is going on!?”

“I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m heartbroken!” You yelled, going back out onto the balcony to stand in the rain that had started pouring down in sheets.

“Spencer! Stop!” I followed you out, tears mixing with rain to the point that I didn’t know which was which.

“I’m just confused! It’s hard to see the point in all this anymore. Maybe it’s just not worth it,” You said, yelling at the ocean not at me. Rain soaked our clothes instantly. Part of me was hoping this scene would end like the ‘notebook’ we’d kiss and you’d spin me around. I guess this is kind of like the notebook, it’s a story to help you remember us. Except you don’t have Alzheimer’s and I wrote 15 letters, not 365.

“Maybe what’s not worth it?” I was yelling too, just so you could hear me over the sound of the wind and the rain.

“This!” You gestured between us. I felt like you knocked the air out of me, my whole body stinging.

“But I love you!”

“All of this has made me realize that love isn’t everything! I love you too but we need more than that!”

That was the first time I’d heard you say ‘I love you’ in a month, but it was a double edged sword. I bit my lip so hard I think I started bleeding, “Love isn’t enough? Are you kidding me, Spencer?”

You swallowed thickly, “No! I’m not kidding. I’ve never been more serious!”

“So what? That’s it?” I said it quietly, but I wanted to scream at you. I wanted to scream that you were being an idiot. You were being ridiculous. You were being unnecessarily cruel. But I didn’t. I was tired and water logged. I had finally given up.

You ran your hands through your hair, “No–it’s–we we aren’t over Y/N. I’m just saying that it’s gonna take more than love to fix us.”

“Well maybe if you were ever home, we could actually try. But you aren’t. You’re always gone! So explain to me how we’re going to fix this. What’s it gonna take Spencer? What do you want from me?”

You took a deep breath, uttering words I was so sick of hearing, “We need space and time.”

“Space? Time? It’s been a month Spencer! I let you go to work. I let you spend every day at your damn apartment. I stopped calling. I stopped checking in. How much more space and time do you want?”

“Thirty-four days,” you mumbled, just so I could barely hear. The thunder rolled, mostly drowning it out.

“What was that?”

“It’s been THIRTY-FOUR days, Y/N. Thirty-four. I don’t know how you expect me to be okay after only thirty-four days.”

“I don’t expect you to be fine! I expect you to speak to me! To look at me! I want to go to bed crying and have you there next to me. I want to be there for you when you’re crying. The only way we get better is if we do this TOGETHER!”

The anger looked like it melted off of you, and I took that as my opportunity to approach. I threw my arms around your soaked body as you shook with sobs into my shoulder. I held you like my life depended on it, because in a way it did. You wrapped your arms around me too, and everything felt okay. We were standing in the pouring rain, holding each other as we cried, and somehow I felt more okay than I had in the thirty-four days prior. It felt like maybe you were coming back to me.

You weren’t.

We stood like that for what felt like hours, and eventually I pulled you inside. I wish I didn’t. I wish we stayed there, holding each other in the rain until the sun came up and dried us off. I foolishly thought the rain washed our sins away.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said, my head on your shoulder as we wrapped ourselves in towels, “I promise.”

You shrugged me off of you, going back to packing your bag.

“Spencer, stop packing, please,” I begged, grabbing the items you were putting in and taking them back out.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said plainly, taking a shirt and putting it back in.

“I-I thought—“

“Thought what, Y/N? That because I cried to you and told you I loved you that we were magically okay?”

I stammered, “No. No! But I thought it meant we were in this together now.”

“You just accused me of relapsing an hour ago.”

“And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but that’s not a reason you should go,” I pleaded, reaching for you again. I thought if you walked away I’d never see you again.

“You don’t trust me,” your voice cracked.

“No, Love, I—“

“Don’t call me that.”

The pain in my chest bloomed, sending a wave of heartache through my entire body. A heartache I still haven’t been able to shake. It’s still there. Some days it's a thunder crack and sometimes it's a low grumble, but it’s always there. The rain hasn't stopped.

I hadn’t even realized that you were completely packed until you zipped the suitcase shut.

“You’re really leaving?”

You stopped at the door, hand on the handle, to turn and face me. I didn’t need to use my profiling skills to see how much pain you were in, and my pain doubled at the sight. I’ve always been an empath when it comes to you, feeling what you feel like it’s my own.

“I am.”

I crossed the room and threw my arms around you, sobbing into your chest. To my surprise, you wrapped your arms around me lightly.

“I understand,” I said, looking into your eyes, “We can’t be there for each other the way we need to.”

You nodded into my shoulder, “Stay. When you get home from this we’ll talk. I just need a few more days.”

I shook my head, finally coming to the realization that we didn’t work anymore. We weren’t healthy anymore.

“Don’t bother. The writing’s on the wall, Spence,” my voice wavered, and I regretted every word as they left my mouth, “I’ve been waiting for that person from the hospital to come home to me. I’ve been waiting for the Spencer who lends me his shirts and fact dumps and eats IHOP and ice cream with me to come home.”

I felt your breath stop under my arms, “But that Spencer, the Spencer I love, isn’t here anymore. We need to be alone.”

I felt you shake with tears under me, and that triggered mine, “We have to break up.”

I wish I never said it. I wish I gave you those few days, but we both know those few days would’ve turned into weeks and months and we would’ve ended up here anyway. I wish you didn’t let me say them. I wish you kissed me to shut me up and told me I was being stupid. I wish I didn’t watch you go down that elevator, tears on your cheeks. I wish I didn’t spend the other four days in an empty king sized bed, crying for you.

I realize now that you changed. I did too. Instead of wishing for the old you, I should’ve learned to love the new you. I think I would’ve, if I had given it a chance. Actually, I know I would’ve. I think I’d fall in love with every version of you that could ever exist or has ever existed. You and I, we’re meant to be together.

I know you probably don’t believe in it, but I like to think that we’re twin flames; we’re two halves of one soul that somehow ended up in two bodies and constantly pull to find each other again. I’ve read a lot about them recently. Twin flames don’t necessarily end up together. They can even just be two people with an intense friendship. They’re people who help each other grow, even if that means they’re only in your life for a short time. I like to think that we are that case, and that in some parallel universe I’m with you and we have our daughter and we’re happy. I just wish that I was in that universe now.

I know it’s for the best that we went to the damn Crystal Cove and broke up. I’m sure someday in the future I’ll be pleased with that decision, but for now, I still regret it.”

Spencer stared at the notepad, eyes flicking between that in his left hand and the ring box in his right. He took the ring out and admired it in the light. It glinted and glimmered, delicately refracting light onto the cabinets. He slid it halfway down his ring finger because that’s as far as it would go. He imagined it was on your slender, perfectly manicured hand instead of his, but an ache formed where his heart was when he realized it’d never end up here.

Spencer grabbed the notebook. It was unlined and the paper felt flimsy and thin. He got up from the floor to find a pencil in the drawer the ring had been hidden in, and took it out to scrawl his own letter to go with his own memento. A sixteenth letter for a sixteenth item you had no idea even existed.

“Y/N,

I’d like to consider this letter sixteen, to go with the engagement ring that’s in my palm. I bought this ring the day after we ate dinner at Rossi’s and showed everyone tiny FBI onesies. I have your perfect ring here in my hand, a plain silver band with a lab-grown diamond in a four-prong setting in the center, just like you told Garcia you wanted. I should’ve given it to you the day I bought it, but I waited until the perfect opportunity presented itself.

What you didn’t know about the trip to the Crystal Cove was that I was going to propose to you there. I was going to get down on one knee in the sand at sunset after dinner. I even had a whole speech planned. I was going to tell you that I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you, or that anyone would ever love me the way that you do. I was going to say that it amazes me how everyday, I wake up and love you more than I did the night before. And everyday I think it’s be impossible to love you and our daughter more than I do right now. I wanted to tell you that I want to wake up every morning and feel that for the rest of my life. I want the good, the bad, the ugly, I want it all. I want Korean film festivals and IHOP breakfasts and to talk to the moon. I want tubs of ice cream and overly sentimental flowers hanging from the wall. Most of all I wanted to say that I want to spend every day of my life making you happy.

That speech still applies today. I still love you enough to ask you, but I don’t think you love me enough to say yes.

It’s okay. It really is. I haven’t decided what to do yet, but if you do read this, just know that it’s okay. I promise you, it’s okay. I’m not the bitter, angry man I was at the Crystal Cove anymore. I changed again, and I hope you’re right. I hope we are twin flames and your soul will come looking for mine, and I hope it happens in this universe, not the infinite parallels that may or may not exist. I miss you and I want nothing more than for you to come back. Come home, Love, please come home.

-SR”

He stared at the notebook page, before tearing it off and folding it in half, placing it in his pocket for safekeeping. He went on his computer and bought the cheapest one-way ticket to Seattle that he could find. He needed to see you. He needed you to see this letter, see this ring. He needed to make this right.

The flight was a red eye, leaving at midnight, so he’d get to the Seattle field office by eight. He looked at the leather watch and saw that it was nearly nine. He decided had to finish, and he had to finish now, as he grabbed letter #14.

PART 14

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #cm #matthew gray gubler #mgg #dr spencer reid

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