#sitting on a windowsill like a widow...

[softgreengrass]

would you be willing to do a sad nat one shot? sorry I just need to feel something 💀

Punishment

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary: you are dead (sorry) and nat has to live with that 😞 (most of this takes place inside of a dream hopefully it’s not too confusing)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: death,, referenced torture

Author’s Note: sorry this is on the shorter side! tysm for requesting ☺️ i also use fanfiction to feel so hopefully it’s sad enough for you

It’s a nightmare, like always. You’re there, like always.

“Nat!” your voice rings out, light and sweet in the hazy morning light, and Natasha rolls over, burying her face in your side of the bed. It’s still warm. “Nat!”

“Five more minutes,” she grumbles back.

Your footsteps come to a stop next to the bed. “I made cinnamon rolls, you know.”

Natasha smiles to herself. It all feels so, so real. The sheets smell like your lotion, and the sun is pale through the curtains, just like it always is in winter. How it was the last winter you were with her.

You poke her shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be a superspy? Get up.”

“I’m off the clock,” she says, sitting up anyways. The glimmer in your eyes looks so real. Her lungs tighten at that, and she wraps her arms around your waist, hugging you tight.

You laugh and run your fingers through her hair. “Missed me that much, huh?”

She closes her eyes and sinks deeper into you, praying as hard as she ever has. Begging for just one more life with you. She remembers how to breathe again as you scratch her scalp gently and lean into her embrace, and she inhales you again.

After far too little time passes, you rest your hands on her shoulders. “Come on, baby. They’re gonna get cold.”

She lets you lead her out of the bedroom, hands intertwined. The apartment looks just how you left it. Because it’s so easy to, she slips back into routine. Like you’re there every day when she wakes up. She tugs open the blinds over the sink and waters the plants on the windowsill; you pour two cups of coffee. You sit down at the table together like it’s any old Saturday.

“What’s with you today?” you ask with a slight smile, immediately pulling a cinnamon roll from the pan.

“Me?” Natasha replies.

“No, the milkman.”

She grins, shaking her head. “Sorry. I don’t know, I’m just out of it.”

“Well, you’re not too out of it to talk crossword, right?”

God, she had forgotten about that. You’ve been on a crossword kick lately, though you heavily rely on Natasha’s knowledge bank of language and policy and science. Really, you mostly cover the pop culture clues. “Never.”

You spread the newspaper out between the both of you and drop a pencil in front of her. “I’ll start with down, you’ll start with across?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You scribble down some answers, eyebrows furrowed.

Natasha stands up for a moment, just to get the cream, but when she turns back around she’s not in the kitchen anymore. She’s strapped to that chair, staring at you in that cell. Your eyes are bloodshot. The dreams always wind up here, no matter how innocently they start, and Natasha’s stomach churns.

“Nat,” you croak, and her heart shatters for the millionth time.

She thrashes against her restraints, but they must be made of fucking vibranium because they cut into her wrists without budging. She doesn’t have any tricks up her sleeve — she’s in her pajamas, for God’s sake. No widow’s bite or portable EMP. Not even a way to signal Clint.

“Nat, please,” you beg, your voice as raw as the bruises on your face.

“I’m going to-” she says, struggling against the restraints again. “I’m going to get you out.”

But of course, she can’t. She might as well be a bronze statue in that chair. They’re going to make her watch you die again.

She racks her brain for as long as she can, fights the excruciating dejá vu. Maybe something will be different this time. Maybe she can get someone’s attention, some lackey she can convince to let her out. She’ll murder them all, then. Murder them and take you home.

A vent catches her eye, in the corner of your cell. You don’t have much at your disposal, but there’s a food tray on the floor that might work. She has to say your name three times before you recognize it.

“What?” you ask suddenly, eyes wide.

“I need you to try something, okay?”

You’re weak. You’ve been there for days at the minimum, been under intense interrogation lights and an array of torture methods. Natasha was the one trained for that, not you. “I don’t know…”

“Please.”

You swallow iron-tinged spit.

“Can you break that in half?” Natasha whispers, flicking her eyes to the tray. She doesn’t remember if you’re under surveillance or not. She figures you must be.

Your hands shake as you reach for it. It must be tin, that’s how flimsy and light it is, but you know you don’t have the strength to break it by hand. That ship sailed about three gut punches ago. You’d vomited out everything but your will to live, though that was fading fast too.

“Use your legs,” Natasha hisses like she can read your mind. “Stick it under something, get leverage.”

The sight of you stumbling to the bunk sends fire up her throat. She’s going to burn them all alive.

You wedge the tray under one of the bunk’s legs and pull up on the other side before stepping down on it as hard as you can. All it does is fold in half.

“Fuck,” Natasha mutters. “Can you rip it? With your teeth or something?”

You’re pretty sure your teeth would fall out if you so much as bite an apple, so you drive the tray down on the sharpest edge you can find: the corner of the tiny sink. Later, Natasha will think about how strange it was that the cell had so many amenities. She’ll come up with triple the ways to escape. All too late.

The corner pierces it, and you claw at the hole until the tray is split in half. It slices your fingers in more places than you can count.

“Use it on the vent,” Natasha says. Despite herself, she feels an ember of hope in her chest. You’d never gotten this close before. She can barely watch as you balance on top of the sink, trying to shove the sharp little metal sheet into the seam between the vent and wall. It’s slippery with blood.

A door in the cell she hadn’t even noticed swings open. A man in black storms in. Before she can get a word out, he grabs you, throws you to the ground.

Natasha recoils, forcing her eyes back open as quickly as possible. He kicks you, over and over, and you cry for mercy.

Her restraints seem to tighten. They cut off her circulation, so that not even dislocating her wrists would let her save you. She’s absolutely helpless. You sob and curl into yourself, and she’s sure she’s never felt such anguish before. But she has, and she certainly will again.

Her eyes shoot open to dark ceiling. She’s in the living room, using the couch like a cot. She still hasn’t brought herself to touch the bed you made. She probably never will.

She drags herself to her feet and shuffles to the kitchen counter, turning on the electric kettle. Only chamomile helps her breathe now.

All those people she’d managed to kill. All those missions she’d executed to perfection, for the Red Room and HYDRA and Fury. All of the people caught in the crossfire of her tunnel vision. And yet, in the single most important moment of her life, she had failed. Failed.

She figures it could’ve been karma. A cosmic punishment for the arrogance of trying to wipe her slate clean. With that much sin to atone for, she shouldn’t be able to live happily. That’s what the universe seems to think, at least.

[agoodfictitle-shadowban]

From Vormir, With Love - Part 6

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Tags: strangers to lovers, love in space angst on earth, slavery mention, alien abduction, post Endgame, survivor guilt, suicide ideations, will add as we go on

Summary: As you're being chased you crash on Vormir. So far, so bad. But things take a turn when you come face to face with a marooned Black Widow.

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: it's hard to realize how fast time goes by sometimes. Also i know some people are asking for a tag list but i kinda lost track so i'm sorry but i won't make one i think :/

You go back to Clint's the same day, late at night, in the car you borrowed while everyone else went to Tony Stark's funeral. Your dad's words are still resonating inside your mind, despite trying your hardest to ignore them. You don't know what to do, or what decision to make. Lucky for you, something is there to distract you when you arrive in the form of the lights being on on the porch of the house. You frown; it's almost 2am, so you expected everyone to be asleep at this point. But no. You recognize the redhead sitting on the bench and a slight wave of worry washes over you. Why was she still awake? Did something happen? You exit the car and close the door as silently as you can before you join the spy on the porch. She's holding a beer in her hands, and you guess it's not her first one seeing a few empty vessels are down on the windowsill behind her.

"Did something happen?"

Natasha looks up at you with a questioning eye at your worried tone, then it dawns on her she must look pretty miserable, so she shake her head to answer you.

"No, nothing happened. Just… grieving. It feels weird after arboring so much hope." The high of hoping to see their plan succeed against the cost of it. She clears her throat that started to constrict again, and offers you the seat next to her. "Care to join me?"

You agree, and she grabs a bottle to give to you from the cooler on the other side of the bench. You take it and open it in one swift move. She bring her bottle closer to yours for a small toast.

"To saving the world, and the heroes we lost."

"To coming back to a life you don't want," you answer in kind.

You clink your bottles together. Both of you drink. There is a lull in the night that you both enjoy, before you break the silence first. You're hesitant at first.

"You know… for what it's worth, I'm really sorry. It must be really hard."

She sighs after taking a swig of the beer. It stings, the loss, but more so, the what ifs. What if she'd been there, what if she could have saved him. Obviously, it likely wouldn't have changed the final result, but maybe, just maybe… she lets out a sigh.

"Sorry about your reunion with your parents. Sounds like it didn't go so well." She prefers to change the subject. No point in wallowing now. You take the change of topic gracefully, understanding she wishes to talk about something else.

"It went well, actually. We're having a barbecue on sunday. You and the crew are invited."

She snorts, then raises an eyebrow when she realizes you're serious. She tilts her head and pinches her lips. "You know what? Sure, I'll be there. Maybe I can go as your date," she offers with a wink.

Your heart skips a beat at those words and you blink a few times. Your date? Wait, is she serious? You look at her, trying to read her and make sure you're not hallucinating. There is a bit of a blush on her cheeks, but you quickly attribute it to her drinking. She's probably just slightly drunk and teasing you, you reason before you roll your eyes.

"Sure, why not," you answer, now certain that there's nothing serious there. "Just get ready 'cause my mom is going to ask you a lot of questions."

"I faced death and came back, I'm sure I can deal with her. I'm very charming."

You both laugh and you shake your head, drinking more of your beer. You were glad to see that at least she could still laugh even on this heavy day. You have no idea that it's because she feels so much lighter now that you agreed to have her be your date, after she got to reflect on the fleeting nature of life some more, and finally decide to take the plunge one way or another.

"Well, as charming as you are, I think I need to get some rest," you admit with a yawn that you hide behind your hand, your eyes watering with your need to sleep. It is 2am after all. It makes Natasha smiles at how cute you are, right as she nods.

"Alright, I'll join you soon. Oh, and careful in the living room, someone is sleeping on the sofa."

"Explains what you're doing outside." You put your hands on your knees, ready to get up.

"Truthfully? I was also waiting for you," she admits with a slight blush. You're surprised at the admission and almost lose your balance trying to get up. You almost can't believe your ears, but as usual, you decide to ignore the way her words make you feel. You turn around to look at her and try to not notice the way the pink of her cheeks makes you want to caress them and lean forward to kiss her, or how fragile she suddenly looks from where you're standing.

"You were?"

"Someone had to tell you we had another guest." She arches a teasing eyebrow. There is another reason, not so obvious to you, but she likes to keep you on your toes. You laugh behind your hand and nod.

"Obviously. Alright. Good night, Natasha."

She smiles at you, it is more tender than anything she ever said to you so far. "Good night. And thank you for checking on me."

"Anytime."

You then disappear inside the house, careful not to wake up the sleeping form on the couch, and go to your room. You easily fall asleep, and after you do, you're joined by a sleepy redhead who, after a minute of internal debate, finds a way into your arms. After all, you said yes to a date with her, didn't you?

*

You frown as you awaken, feeling something tickling your face. You scrunch up your nose and get your face out of… what was it even? You opened an eye only to be met with red and blond hair everywhere up in your face. That's when you notice that Natasha is in your arms, keeping you warm and cozy and, oh god you're blushing like crazy now that you notice what your hand is. You quickly take it off and get a groan from the smaller woman.

The sound of protest makes you blush even more, so you decide to find a way out of there really fast, or as fast as you can considering that extracting yourself without waking the woman is as easy as taking a bear cub from its mama bear. But, against all odds, you succeed and leave for the bathroom. There, you take the time for your heart to calm down and your blush to recede before heading downstairs.

How did you end up in that position? You aren't particularly cuddly during the night, at least not accidentally, so something must have happened. You just hoped Natasha didn't notice anything.

When you arrive downstairs, you notice that you're not the first one awake. There is a woman with long red hair there too, and you recognize Wanda Maximoff. She must have been the surprise guest who was staying on the sofa last night. You offer her a nod.

"Hi. Y/n," you introduce yourself.

"Wanda," she goes, and you grab some of the coffee she made. She seems lost in her thoughts, and you notice the rim of red around her eyes, like she cried. You're unsure about what to do before you take a seat opposite from her.

"I'm sorry for your loss," you try, and it startles her. She scoffs.

"Everyone keeps saying that, it doesn't feel like it means anything anymore." You nervously wet your lips and play with your mug. She's not done. "You don't even know me, you know nothing of my grief."

She's being a bit of an ass, but you decide it was okay considering she looks at the end of her life.

"I don't, you're right. Doesn't mean I can't feel your sorrow and want to take a chunk of it away for you."

"Is that what it is? Or is it just pity?"

With those words, she stands up, jaw set and tears filling her eyes. She leaves the room, and you sigh. You have no idea what she's going through, and you feel bad for her, but there is nothing you can do about it. You stay in the kitchen for a few minutes longer, when Clint joins you. He notices Wanda is missing and sends you a questioning look in case you know anything.

"I tried to be civil," you simply say, and with a frown, he goes outside to try and comfort Wanda. Once again, you stay inside. Clearly you're not close enough to be of any help whatsoever, no matter how bad you feel for the woman.

Lucky for you, you don't have to think about it much longer when other people start to pour inside the kitchen. Apparently being able to properly rest is conducive to getting up early. You make small talk while you drink your coffee peacefully, until Natasha shows up.

You blush upon remembering the way you woke up, and try to act natural when she comes and sits next to you.

"Good morning," she says your way after greeting everyone else, her hand ghosting over your thigh briefly. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest and you tense slightly, awaiting the contact, but it never comes. Feeling your tension, Natasha decides against touching you. Maybe it was too soon for you, and she doesn't want to push you. "How are you doing?"

You force yourself to relax slightly, and a smile comes naturally when you answer her.

"Pretty good, but I don't think the new girl likes me."

"Give her time. She needs to heal first." You nod at Natasha's wisdom, even if you have no idea what she's talking about.

"I guess Tony mattered a lot to her, huh."

"Not really. It's more complicated than that. Don't worry about it too much." And with that, she captures your hand briefly. You can only nod in answer, and breathe again when she lets go of the contact. You immediately miss it and the way it makes you feel. The conversation from yesterday comes back to you and you think it's a good idea to actually ask what she meant when she offered to be your date, especially since you agreed.

"On another note," you start, "what did you–"

Before you can ask anything more a crashing sound came from outside and you both immediately stood up ready to fight. June comes running and turns to Natasha.

"Your friend is losing it, you need to do something."

"I need to go save Clint's ass. Talk later?" She offers and you nod, dumbfounded. Seems like you actually could have gotten in a lot of troubles by upsetting Wanda.

"Yeah, definitely. Hum, good luck. I feel like you might need it."

Natasha smirks, then puts her game face on before she goes through the door. There is a beat of silence between you and June before you decide that you might as well ask her opinion.

"So, I have a question," you start very hesitantly. Your friend gets her hand up almost in your face, as if she already knows what you're about to ask.

"Don't bother, I already know."

"You do?" You arch an eyebrow, and it doesn't stop June.

"You need to bang it out with superspy."

You sputter, blush, frown, and look at the woman in front of you.

"What the hell June?!"

"What? Don't tell me it wasn't about her!"

"It was, but come on!"

"I said my piece then." You bang your head on the table, and June looks out the window to see how the situation is going. She sees she still has time to keep going and sits opposite from you. "Okay, just, listen, I think she likes you, and I know you like her! Don't let it go to waste. We lost enough of our lives like that."

Of course, June has a point, whether you like it or not. You feel something for Natasha, but you're too scared to act upon it, and if she feels the same - which you doubt - she isn't going to wait forever for you, so you have to act. Or at least ask if you're right to doubt there is anything there instead of assuming. Be brave. You owe it to her.

"Alright, alright," you concede with a sigh. "I'll talk to her."

"Finally." She looks up at the sky in silent thanks and you roll your eyes at her theatrics. You decide it's time to give her a bit of a heart attack in turn.

"How is it going with Carol, by the way?" You ask in turn, a smirk adorning your lips. A very light blush takes root on her cheek. Got her.

Her answer comes in the form of a finger.

*

"Do you need some help with that?" You offer when you catch Natasha alone in your bedroom.

You came upstairs to tell her food is ready, and she was taking care of a cut in her back. Calming down Wanda went poorly, and even if she seemed apologetic after the facts, it wasn't going to heal the redhead's bruises. It was unfair, but you understood that grief could make you do crazy things.

"I could do with some help." Her admission is small.

You approach Natasha slowly and sit on the bed next to her, a leg under you, grabbing the first aid kit for some disinfectant and gauze. Carefully, she surrenders the material she's holding on the side of the kit and turns around so her back is facing you. You look at her skin which is peppered with scars, and you can only imagine all she went through. All the hurt, all the trauma, everything that led to her being in front of you right now, so vulnerable.

You start your work carefully. You learned how to take care of cuts and bruises during your travels.

"Do you ever wish you could take someone's place?" She asks you in the religious silence. There is a tremor in her voice that clues you in how serious the conversation is. You swallow your jokes and answer truthfully.

"The first few months after the abduction I did. Then I realized it meant someone else would be in my place so I stopped."

"I do. To take off the pain from my friends." Her words made no sense at first, but as you thought about it, you realized she is talking about lessening the pain of Wanda. Taking the place of her lover who died long ago now, but only moments before for the witch. Carol told you everything in a way only someone who wished they had been there could.

"Displacing people's grief wouldn't really lessen the pain. Just make it different."

"I still think I could have… maybe if I stayed…"

She can't bring herself to finish her sentence, but you understand. If she were dead maybe things would be different.

She hangs her head low. You sigh, almost groan at her truth. You finish patching her up, and lay your hand against her back. Against her scars. Her past laid bare against your palm.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here with us." With me, you don't add but still think so loudly you're sure she can hear you. If she understands the subtext, she says nothing about it.

"Thank you," she simply answers, still looking away, but relaxing against your touch. It's a moment of vulnerability, but more importantly of trust. It lasts until a shiver runs along her spine with the cold. She smoothly puts back her shirt and you put your hand away. She gets up, and when she turns around, she has a shy smile directed at you.

"I can smell the food, should we join everyone?" She extends a hand towards you, and you take it. In a swift move, she helps you up and brings you against her in a hug. "Thank you."

You hold her, hum when she rubs her nose against your neck, your heart ready to burst. You wish for this moment to last forever against your better judgment.

Damn you're in deep.

[shwazzberryswriting]

The Promise of a Duke

Pairing: Jaehyun x F Reader

Genre: One Shot, AU - Regency Fantasy Romance (Not Period Accurate), Fluff and Smut

Summary: Lord Jaehyun Jeong, newly wed, won't stop smoking until a baby is on the way…

Word count: 3k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature/Not Beta Read, Not Period Accurate (specifically the cigarette smoking), Explicit Sexual Content: Vaginal Fingering, Creampie, Cum Play, Multiple Orgasms, Breeding Kink, Exhibitionism

Minors DNI! 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note:

First: Part 2 of my Neohub Kinktober Event!!! I had a free day and I found that this fic fit under the "Breeding" kink for the event, fell on the same day as my first Kinktober fic, so I utilized my free time to post 2 fics in one day! Check out my own personal Kinktober List** which has a couple fics that won't be a part of the Neohub event!

Second: This was requested!!! Nonny OP Please forgive me for taking so long to fulfill this request!! 😭 🙏 I hope this fulfills your fantasies! I read the request when Bridgerton teasers were coming out and inspired me to make this fic regency fantasy romance!!

Apologies in advance for any mistakes!! 💚

Happy Halloween! Enjoy this awesome holiday! 🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡

Please let me know of any technical errors or if you have feedback/questions

    Sweet tobacco tickled her sinuses, waking her. Sitting up, she placed a hand over her mouth. Curls at the front of her bonnet unfurled as she sneezed, loosened tendrils blocking her vision.

    Pushing them behind her ears, she saw her husband at the foot of the bed. The thick curtains were pulled back. Illuminating full moon radiating into her bed chambers.

    The right side window swung open as he stared out into the indigo night, bare back to her. Top of his trousers hanging off his hips, threatening to slip down.

    His lean statuesque pose was breath-taking. Perfect model for an Italian Renaissance artist with every muscle flexing and glowing.

    “Jaehyun, dear,” she called out, stepping out of bed, “you’ll catch a cold without a tunic, or robe at least.”

    “It’s hot,” he replied, opening his left arm to her, turning around slightly. Smooth, gentle voice to match his gaze. Eyes so dark she fell into an abyss, consumed by his focus on her. “I was admiring the moon.”

    In nothing but her nightgown, her whole body lit up with goose pimples. The night’s chill seeped into her skin. His embrace warmed her shoulders.

    His cigarette smoke infiltrated her senses, her mind hazy and flustered. She sneezed into her hands, multiple curls coming undone with her bonnet deflating over her forehead.

    “I wish you’d give that up,” she said, looking at the moonlight reflected onto his milky skin, pushing her bonnet out of her face. The contrast of his black tendrils over his porcelain forehead reminded her of the earthy taste of Jaehyun’s skin. Saliva building at the back of her throat. “My father left my mother a widow when I was 8. He’d coughed blood, and still smoked. Do you wish to make me worry so much?”

    “Come, my wife,” he said, exhaling a puff of smoke out the open window, “I promised you on our wedding night that I’ll give up my vices once we start our family. I fully intend to keep my word.”

    Fingers at her hip pinched, the grip painfully sharp even with the layer of fabric covering her. Goose pimples flared up to her tits, fire rushing into the pit of her stomach. Their eyes locked, a shadow over his eyes as his lips curved up gently. Her mouth dried as her heat engulfed her face.

    “How can we start a family when you’re smoking and not in bed with your wife then, husband?”

    He chuckled, eyes squinting as his set of perfect teeth shone in the moonlight.

    “How do you want to try our family planning tonight, my love?”

    He let her go, snuffing the cigarette against the ashtray on the windowsill. She ran a hand over his chest, appreciating the warmth and softness of his skin. Lady Masscaster described her husband’s skin like worn leather, rough on the fingertips. but the Duke of West Goroa, Jaehyun Jeong, was of the most expensive material on earth: gold.

    He was smooth, strong yet pliable. Her right hand palmed over his hip, pushing his trousers down his hips.

    Tongue licking her husband’s chest, gliding toward his nipple, her senses filled with his metallic musk. His skin tasted fresh and cool. Minty with the mossy dew she’d inhaled in the forest during wet morning horseback rides.

“Careful, love.” He grunted, hand slipping away from the curtains to her wrist. His manhood was warming up in her fist. Heat rushing to her head blurred her vision. “Squeeze me too hard and my seed will spill all over that pretty gown.”

    “This old thing?” She laughed, releasing his stiffening member. He pulled her front up against his. “Just an old nightgown for bedtime. Are you going to sleep in bed with me for once, Jae?”

    She turned away from the hot touch of his fingers pinching her breast. His guffaw into the crook of her neck lit up her body in goose pimples.

    “Do you find it humorous that you’re still called the Cad of West Goroa?”

    “Are you unsettled by the name calling?”

    She yelped as he scooped her up in his arms, throwing her top half over his shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist.

    “Beast! You feral beast! I am your wife and you’re carrying me like a-like a Neanderthal!”

    “That’s your husband you’re slandering,” he said with a heavy sigh, as if her words were wearing him down, not his lack of sleep. “What sort of beast did you marry?”

    He laid her onto the bed, dying flames from the fireplace the only source of light in the room. His face was hidden in the shadows but she felt his smile against her skin, a sweet chuckle into the crook of her neck. Resting his body over hers, his knee widened the parting of her legs.

    “Well, you’ve spent your evenings at the gambling halls, coming home when I’m rising to prepare for us to break fast. How am I to trust you aren’t gambling away our fortunes? Where have your hands and your…your honor been at all hours of the night? Your dainty wife is asleep at home.”

    “Do I not make love to you enough?”

    She moaned as his hand went between her legs, fingers gliding up and down against her slit, curling the thin cloth of her nightdress into her folds. Hips thrusting against his touch, she failed to resist her desires. Hands pulling her gown up to give him better access.

    Jaehyun didn’t often make love to her at night in their bed chambers, but he always fucked her after they broke fast. Often, he’d lock them in the bath together and spill his seed into her.

    Other times he’d have her in his study, on his large oak desk before settling down to focus on his paperwork. When he’d rise for supper, they’d make love not just in his chambers, but hers as well.

    Her chest swelled at the thrill of the rare opportunity to fuck late at night in her bed chambers.

    Wet tip sliding up against her folds, he hissed. Her spine shook, nipples aching. One hand gripping her fleshy thigh, he pushed his cock into her. Their lips connected, his arms hooking under her thighs.

    Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him hard. Tongue shoving against his teeth, lips sucking his. Every push of his hot manhood into her encouraged her to hold him tighter.

    “You’ll give me as many children as I want,” his breath was at her throat. Her arms loosened with her nails creating pink trails along his milky shoulder blades as his pushes quickened. “Fill you with my seed, wife. A house full of babies, this is my dream for us.”

    “Jaehyun!”

    His smokey breath consumed her. Alcohol on his tongue filling her senses. Her insides lit up with his cum.

    He refused to release her lips. Hands grabbing her face, his tongue thrust in and out of her mouth. The weight of his hips were heavy as he kept himself deep inside of her. Softening cock still making her feel full.

    “Has Doctor Kim visited?” His gentle voice was at her ear. A heavy kiss on her shoulder. “Florence befriended the Parisian healer-”     “They’ve all visited Monday,” she replied, hand caressing his neck. “I’m well. Flo said it can take time. The healer suggested that I take a little honey in my tea for blood flow.”

    “Do you still believe that will encourage more babies?”

    “Her advice has helped at least ten couples. The Duchess of Waignberg had twins.”

    He pulled out of her, sitting up. Eyes shut, she threw her hands up to quiet her moan. Jaehyun thrust two fingers deep inside of her.

    “A personal theory of mine.” Her walls instinctively constricted around his long fingers as he rutted shallow pushes into her. “I need to hold you like this to ensure my seed remains inside of you.”

    He was silent as his fingers stilled. Her pussy walls continued to squeeze his fingers, her hips shaking.

    Quivering breaths echoing along the walls, she thrust against his motionless wrist, riding out her orgasm. Both hands held onto his wrist between her legs. Nails marking him with more pink scratches.

    “Let’s go to sleep, Jae.”

    “Like this?” He spooned her. Middle finger in her cunt, he kissed her shoulder. “You’re so hot down here. I need to appreciate feeling you while I can.”

    “If you’d just come to bed with me every night,” she said before moaning loudly. Her throat tightened as his thumb encircled her cum covered clit. “Jae!”

    “After our first born arrives, it will be this every night, love.” Hand cupping her heat, he pressed a kiss on her shoulder again. “Once your body is healed. It’s my family before anything else.”

*

    “Thank you, Stuart,” Jaehyun said to the stable boy. Handing Stuart his whip and cap, he pulled his gold plated watch from his pocket. “Prep the staff for dinner for the usual time. The Lady and I will put the horses away. We’ll need to have a bath drawn up in my chambers. Not hers.”

    Stuart left abruptly as Jaehyun helped his wife dismount from her horse, a beautiful Connemara steed. Eloise had been Jayhyun’s wedding gift to his bride.

    Elegant with beautiful shiny locks that radiated everywhere she went, Eloise matched her owner perfectly. Thanking the horse for a fun ride, she took the reins and led Eloise to her stall.

    “I daresay, my Lord, you let me win today.” Her lovely locks were coming undone. Loopy tresses fell down, covering the nape of her neck. Dark forest hiding her luscious skin from his lips. His fingers curled against his leg the same ways her perfect skin caressed Eloise’s pearly silk fur. “Beating you by a whole five seconds? I haven’t ever beaten you by more than two seconds to spare. And matching your speed is difficult enough as it is.”

    “You’re much too modest, my Lady.” His hands were on her hips. Planting a kiss on the crook of her neck, he inhaled. Sweet floral dew with a sharp sourness cutting through, he sucked up her sweat. “How can I keep up with you when you’re besting me day after day?”

    “My Lord?”

    “I need you,” he grunted, hands pulling up layers of fabrics to get to her cunt, “right fucking now.”

    Fisting her skirts tight, he pulled her front against the stable wall, chest pinning her under him. One hand quickly undoing his breeches, he freed his painfully hot and aching rod. Nipping a trail of sharp kisses along her shoulders, he glided his wet, precum covered tip along her ass and slit. Fire shot to his balls as she remained quiet, hips thrusting gently against him.

    “Every day-” his tip pushed against her hot entrance, mind spinning like a fever “-I need to fill you up more and more.”

    They took in dry breaths of air together as he pushed into her. The squeeze of her walls forced his mind blank.

    Sour manure. Sweet hay. Musty oak.

    The pliable flesh that clung onto his cock was all he could focus on. Every fucking time he was inside he was instantly lost. Sucked right into her. Going in deeper. She clung tighter with every push.

    He’d stopped going to the gambling halls. Every night, his need to fill up his wife before her bedtime took precedence. He enjoyed dinner more when he was depleted of energy from fucking her in his study in the late afternoon. A need to create something beautiful with her.

    Now he was finding it difficult not to fuck her after watching her hair fly widely on horseback all afternoon. Focused only on her eyes lighting up as she passed him. Thunderous laughter echoing through the forest in utter ecstasy as her steed flew past his.

    “I need you filled with my cum,” he rasped into her ear, balls deep inside of her. Cock feeling the all consuming squeeze of her succulent walls, he came into her. Hands grasping her hips tight he rutted shallow pushes into her. “Milk me!”

    The pressure of her walls was so tight, the weight in his balls twisted up into his guts. Body rigid, he pressed her flat against the wall. The intense heat in his body slowly deflated, his grip at her hips loosening. They remained connected as he felt their mixed fluids dribble down their legs.

    “I need to fill you with my seed the moment I think there is none left in you.” He pulled out of her. Immediately, his hand cupped her core, feeling the fluids seep through the cracks between his fingers. “Do you think we’ll have a boy or a girl first?”

    “With you manhandling me so often lately,” she said softly, fingers from one hand wrapping around his wrist, “if we have a girl first it will be my way to remind you that I control your silly little dick.”

    She cried out as he thrust his rock hard stick into her. It was too much too fast. He came into her in two gut punching spurts.

    “I need you filled up with me,” he said, giving one harsh push into her. She grunted and he failed to suck up a high pitched mewl. Heavy breath with another hard jerk, he cleared his throat. “Our baby boy will be a reminder how much my cum has been inside of you for the past month.”

    He released her. She turned around. Their lips were together instantly, her arms around his neck. Fingers grabbing his tresses, she hummed against his lips.

    “I love you, Jae.”

    “I love you, too.”

*

    She wrung the handkerchief, knuckles throbbing with every twist. The sun was disappearing, and Jaehyun was still not home.

    “Thank you, Marie.” Jaehyun’s plate was covered as her barely touched bowl of beef consomme was cleared away. “Prepare a glass of warmed milk with just a drop of honey, if you please.”

    “Yes, ma’am.”

    “I’ll take my milk in my chambers. No need to draw up a bath for me. You can go to bed after the house has been cleaned and prepared for tomorrow. I’ll take care of the Lord when he returns.”

    “Yes, ma’am.”

    Bidding the Lady of the house a good night, Marie left the dining room to execute orders for the manor’s night chores.

    She paced before the fireplace until her cheeks burned from the heat. She was walking toward the front of the house when the front door burst open.

    “Perfect timing!” Jaehyun’s eyes were tiny slits with his mouth wide open in a grin. Pearly square teeth gleaming. His arms were thrown out in the air. Like a jester on stage. “I’m in need of my wife’s sweet, comforting embrace.”

    The acidic burn of tobacco singed her nostrils. Silver ash coated her mouth, the smoke taking up all of her senses. Eyes shut, her knees buckled.

    Jaehyun called out her name, voice soft, but as clear as ever. Strong arms wrapping around her waist, he pulled her up against him, scooping her legs under one arm. The other hooked under her back, holding her firm.

    “Are you ill?” He pressed a sickeningly sour breath against her lips. “Doctor Kim visited this morning, you said.”

    “Jae.” She could only manage a soft sigh. Eyes shut, it hurt to even move. Her whole body spun. She wanted to retch what little soup she managed down for supper. But she mustn’t. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

    His grip tightened. His breathing slowed. Heavy breath inward, slow even breath out; all through his nose. She pressed a palm over her eyes as he began to walk.

    Doctor Kim and his wife - a midwife the doctor befriended through Jaehyun - Florence had assisted in an unexpected birth at the port. A French merchant Jaehyun worked with. The babe had arrived a month early, inside a rocking fishing boat.

    It was years ago. When she thought of Jaehyun as a cad. His reputation was well known before they’d even laid eyes upon each other.

    And yet. They’d fallen in love. Gotten married despite apprehensions from both families. Now they were truly starting their own family.

    “How was that determined?” He laid her down gently on the bed. Kisses warming her cheeks and neck. Down her decolletage. A final kiss on her lips.

    “They inspected the shape of my belly. It’s grown. My breasts feel so tender, Jae. That’s why I’ve been cumming so fast.”

    “What filthy language from a mother.” He began undressing, fingers unfastening his cape. “I’ll have to fuck you with my mouth on your tits to shut myself up. And I don’t want to be too hard on you with our baby in you.”

    “My lack of energy isn’t from you overworking me, love. I’m sharing my energy now.”

    He was naked, cock glistening with heavy shadows from the fireplace’s flames. She shut her eyes, soft sigh puffing her lips before they parted. His body radiated against her, soothing her as they sunk into the mattress together. Reaching behind her, resting her hand against his stubbled cheeks, fingers prickling.

    “I smoked for the last time hours ago. Had my last drink before coming home. Won my last gamble. I beat Viscount Nakamoto at poker when I received your letter.”

    “Do you promise you’re giving up your vices?”

    “I promise.” His arms around her waist squeezed her for a second. Lips on her neck. “It was hell waiting for Stuart to arrive with the letter.” A gentle hand caressed her belly “All night, I wanted to come home. Lay here with you. With a child on the way, we’ll have to prepare our home for them, and all the others to come after.”

    Slowly, she turned around to face him. Hands on his shoulders, she kissed him. The tobacco turned her stomach worse than even just the day before. But she wanted him with her.

    “I love you,” he said before kissing her. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll discuss everything tomorrow.”

    “I love you so much, Jae.” She held him close, hands warmed by his bare skin. Silky skin with droplets of sweat collecting at her palms. “Good night.”

    A final kiss on the lips he returned the affection. They came together, arms embracing each other.

---

Thank you always for reading!

[thesuncitysworld]

A little bit of lovin

This is my work and I would appreciate it if you didn’t steal it for your own use!

Characters: Rafe Cameron X Reader

Summery: Rafe crawls through your widow at night in need of a little bit of lovin.

Warnings: Ward being a shit father, blood, cuts, fluff and mention of abuse!

Masterlist

This gif isn’t mine

My bedside light was on and there was a book in my hand. My phone screen started flashing, telling me someone was trying to reach me, as I went to pick it up it stopped. It became silent.

Until there was an uninvited knock on my window. My initial instincts told me to hid under the cover but this has been going on for a while and now I know it’s only my boyfriend.

Rafe. We have been going out for almost a year, he’s the only person that I truly trust with anything. Setting my book down on my bed i throw my legs of the bed, onto the floor, walking towards the noise.

The widow lifted up and his face came into view. Blood dried up under his nose and his lip. Cuts in his eyebrow and cheek. Rafe didn’t make any move to get into my room, his hands on the windowsill, bruising throughout his knuckles. He was frozen.

I have seen him all bruised and beaten but never still, not moving, no words were said as I pulled him in my room. No eye contact he avoided my face looking in every other direction.

I pulled Rafe to the bathroom sitting him on the toilet lid. I spun around to go and grab the first aid kit from the cupboard, opening the door I heard a hiss come from his mouth.

“Rafe, darling, you wanna talk about it?” I asked as I pulled out some cotton pads, dabbing some alcohol onto it. He shook his head, hands resting on my hips as I moved closer to his face.

I instinctually straddled his lap taking one of my hands placing it on his jaw, moving it to look at my face. There was nothing said as I cleaned Rafe up except for some noises of hurt from his end.

I was putting everything away, he still hadn’t moved from on top of the toilet seat my feet dragged me to my bed leaving Rafe there hoping he would follow.

I didn’t get as far as to crossing the border of my bathroom to bedroom before I felt Rafe behind me and his hands on my sides.

“No, no, no” he whispered in my hair. “Don’t go please” was the next strands of words to leave his mouth. I turned around holding his face in my hands placing his forehead onto mine.

“Sweets I’m not going anywhere, I here for the long run! If you will take me?” Rafe’s eyes glassed over and he blinked nodding his head.

I dragged him to the bed, he was laying between my legs, arms round my waist and head in my chest.

“He kicked me out.” Was all he said. I became stiff, my hands going to run his back.

“Is that why you face looks like that?” I felt the movement of his head shake, taking it as a yes, but before I could ask anything else he quickly spoke.

“Let’s stop talking about this, yeah? What this about?” He picked up my book turning it around to look at the blurb.

“Want me to read it to you, my love?” I didn’t wait for a reply. Opening the book and starting to say the words on the page.

This was my first one shot what do you guys think :)

[lumiereswig]

a different curse: instead of being forced together for ten years as objects, everyone gets amnesia and disbursed to the far corners of the world

love love love

lumiere wakes up back in Paris, in his hometown bed, staring with a weird despair at his linen sheets. Surely they were silk—surely there was someone here beside him, someone soft and beautiful—and then he looks to his garret window, and the parisian sky beyond, and by the time he looks back to his bed it's the one he's always had, with the sheets he sleeps in every day, and it's another day working at the corner bistro

cogsworth is in London, he looks up from the papers he's sorting for the prime minister, and something in the way the candle flickers distracts him. It looks like it was dancing, for a second, and he has to chuckle—dancing candelabras!—then the thought slips off again, and all thoughts of dancing, and all he remembers is that he has never danced.

mrs. potts had a husband once, but where he went no one knows. she had a child, too, but no one ever speaks of him. the widow potts lives at the edge of the lane, in a witchy tumble-down house that's the disrespect of Yorkshire, and she sits in her garden with a cup of tea in her hands going slowly, slowly cold.

theres a wild-child running loose in Villeneuve, and his father tries to keep him safe but he just runs back toward the woods, speaking to the trees like they can speak back to him. thistles brush his shoulders and he pretends they're her touch. the village women shake their heads. he talks to the white owl in the oak tree, nearly walks straight into the woods, saying give her back, give her back, give her back

on a street corner in vienna stands a man so mute and slender many people mistake him for a lamp-post. every day he pulls out a fiddle and delights the children, but he never says a word; simply stands there playing, then slips away to who knows where, the quiet man without a family or home. they say he just showed up on the streets one day to make music, but who he is—who can tell?

in a tiny apartment in Moscow, plumette unbraids her hair. once she was a princess, a little girl running away the plague of paris—now she is here, working as a waitress in a soldiers’ bar. she knows she once dreamed of better things. but staring at the candelabra she keeps perched on a windowsill, it’s hard to remember anything beyond her lonely, all-alone life.

[kpoppwriter]

Ukiyo | pt.1

❧ Genre: Sorcerer!Yuta x Diviner!reader fluff/angst

❧ Words: 1.7k+

❧ Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, and death, amnesia

❧ Synopsis: The question of how you got on the ground in the middle of the woods wasn’t the biggest question on your mind...it was why.

❧ A/N: so this is based in the D&D campaign I’m working on I actually have a character called Yuta in the game as an NPC but he’s different than this Yuta and I’m veeeery passionate about this campaign so of course I had to write something about it

~※ Main Masterlist ※~

You were warm. Your body felt so warm. A sliver of light hit your face making you flinch away from the brightness coming through your closed eyes. Something cut your arm as you moved. Your eyes opened suddenly, your body swiftly sitting up. You pressed your hand against the cut only pulling away to check if you were bleeding, which you were but it wasn’t too major. You looked around trying to figure out where you were. Surrounding you were vines and flowers. Trees towered over you, the leaves rustled as the wind swept through them making little rays of the sun peak through. You slowly stood up and dusted the dirt off your body. You let out a low groan. You were stiff, like really stiff. Like you’d been asleep for a while. You decided to just pick a direction and start walking. You didn’t know where you were or why you were laying in the middle of the woods but you just needed to find someone. 

You walked until you reach a clearing. The woods slowly turned into a large field of flowers. You watched the flowers dance along with the breeze in the air. In the distance you spotted a small house. Your eyes went wide at the sight of a house in the middle of nowhere. Who was living out here? Was there anyone living out here? You made a beeline for the house hoping there was actually someone there. 

You stared at the house in front of you. The place looked a little run down but still adorable. There was a small garden in the back of the house filled with herbs and other plants. You admired the small flowers sitting in a flower boxes just underneath the widows. They looked a little wilted but nothing a little extra care couldn’t fix. You slowly walked up the stone path to the front door. You raised your hand up to knock on the door but before you got the chance, the door opened. 

“Y/N?”

In front of you stood someone you didn’t know but he apparently knew you. His eyes quickly became glassy as he stepped closer to you. There was a hesitance to his movement like he couldn’t believe you were real. His arms enveloped you in a tight hug, a ragged breath leaving his lips at the feeling of your solid body against his. You stiffened in his embrace. You gently wriggled away from him taking a step back. The man looked at you in confusion.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry I just...I don’t know who you are.”

You sat at the table in the middle of the warmly lit kitchen, the soft scent of cinnamon and honey wafting around you. The kitchen was small yet had all the amenities a home chef would need. The man, who you learned was named Yuta, was standing at the stove heating up some water in a kettle. Even though he didn’t need to watch it, he kept an eye on the kettle. You assumed he needed a moment to think things over so you just gave him some space. It just gave you more time to look over around this cute home. The windowsill was lined with little jars filled with spices, plants, and liquids of various colors. You couldn’t quite tell what any of them were but they looked quite interesting. The kitchen as a whole was a bit messy but there was still a certain organization to it, like whoever lived here had lots of clutter but it was arranged meticulously. 

The high pitched whistle of the kettle rang through the kitchen. Yuta pulled the kettle off the hot burner and poured the boiling water into two mugs already prepped with tea leaves. He picked the mugs off the counter and sat down at the little kitchen table with you. 

“Here, this is your favorite blend,” he placed a mug in front of you

You thanked Yuta and took a small sip of the hot drink. Your whole body immediately felt warm and tingly, butterflies even began fluttering in your stomach. You felt at home in this feeling that was enveloping you. You hummed in delite at the lovely sensation. Yuta smiled sadly to himself. 

“You asked me to enchant these tea leaves so you could feel loved even if I wasn’t here.”

Yuta’s fingers played with the handle of his mug, his eyes focused on the tea leaves floating around in his mug. 

“I’m almost out of it now. I ended up needing to use it more than you ever did.”

The lump growing in your throat was a stark contrast to the warm feeling in your body. You felt so loved and safe but you also wanted to cry...why did you want to cry? You tried to swallow the lump by taking another sip of tea. 

“So, what’s the last thing you remember?” Yuta asked

“Oh, well...” you hunted for any memories you had stored in your brain, “I woke up in the woods and I didn’t know where I was and I just walked until I ended up here.” you looked up at Yuta, “Besides that, I can’t remember anything.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” he sighed

“Makes sense? How?” 

Yuta finally made eye contact with you, his eyes glassy again. He was hesitant to say anything but he figured he might as well as tell you the truth. You would have to find out eventually.

“You..you died, Y/N. You’ve been dead for a year.”

The wind was knocked out of you. You set down the mug on the table a little harder than you’d meant to. You couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of the man’s mouth but you couldn’t remember anything before woods. Clearly you had a life before this - Yuta knew who you were despite never meeting him before - and it was infuriating that you had no memories. 

“Hey,” Yuta’s voice pulled you back to reality, “We’ll figure this out ok? We’ll figure out what happened.”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped your eye. A feeling of calmness rushed over you from the simple touch. You involuntary pushed your cheek against his hand. He smiled softly but it was soon wiped away when he remembered you had no idea who he was. He was a stranger to you. He pulled his hand away from your face. 

“You can stay here if you’d like,” Yuta sipped the rest of his tea before getting up to put his mug in the sink, “You can use the bedroom.”

“What about you? I don’t want to put you out,” you said

“It’s okay. I’ve been sleeping on the couch a lot recently.”

You tried to take the couch but Yuta refused over and over. Eventually you just gave in and accepted using the bedroom. You followed Yuta as he showed you where the bedroom was. On the way, he pointed out the bathroom in case you wanted to shower. 

“So this is the bedroom.” 

Yuta stopped in front of a closed door, opening it for you. You stepped inside and immediately felt at home. The room was warmly lit with candles and the sun streaming in the windows. The bed was neatly made and covered in pillows and soft blankets. You wanted to bury yourself underneath all those blankets. They looked so cozy. 

Yuta pointed out a dresser and told you that you could use any of the clothes inside. You thanked him for his kindness. He only nodded and closed the door as he left. Now that you were left alone, your curiosity got the best of you. You walked over to the dresser and opened the drawers. Inside the first two drawers were women’s clothes. You weren’t quite sure why all these clothes were here when it seemed like Yuta lived by himself. Maybe he had a girlfriend or something. The bottom two drawers were filled with clothes that you assumed were Yuta’s. On top of the dresser was a small ring box and a face down picture frame. Not wanting to be too noisy, you left the items alone. You just grabbed some clothes and headed towards the bathroom to wash up.  

The warm water washed away all the dirt and sweat from your skin. You’d hope some of the tension in your body would flow down the drain with the dirt and debris but sadly it stayed with you. After you got out of the shower, you patched up the cut on your arm with a bandage and put on the pajamas you’d found in the dresser. You were surprised with how well they fit. Thinking nothing more of it, you left the bathroom. You started walking towards the bedroom but spotted Yuta sitting on the couch. You wanted to give him some space but something pulled you towards him. You took hesitant steps toward him, the floorboards creaking under you. 

“Hey,” you spoke quietly breaking the silence

“Hey.”

Yuta scooted over on the couch to give you some room. You thanked him as you sat down. He looked at you for a moment before going back to staring down at his hands. Seeing you beside him filled him with joy yet so much heartache. He knew what happened before your death but you didn’t. Your naiveté to the whole situation broke his heart.

“What’re you thinking about?” you asked

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” he lied

“I’m not dim. I can tell something’s on your mind,” you shifted on the couch, “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” 

"I...”

He stopped. The large lump in his throat rendered him speechless. He cleared his throat and looked up at you sending you a fake smile.

"Don't worry about it,” he stood up, “You’ve had quite the day. You should get some rest."

" Yeah, I guess so.”

You stood up as well. The two of you walked down the hall, Yuta stopping at the bathroom before getting to the bedroom. He bid you goodnight before going into the bathroom. You laid down on the bed underneath the plush duvet letting the warmth pull you into sleep. You swore you heard crying coming from the bathroom as you drifted off.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

you kept me like a secret (but i kept you like an oath) 

all too well (10 minute version) kanej remix // read on ao3

"She knew how she sounded - stern, fussy, like an old crone making dire pronouncements from her porch. She didn't like it, but she also knew she was right. Besides, old women must know something, or they wouldn't live to gather wrinkles and yell from their front steps" - Six of Crows/ Inej and remembering

“Memory is like a curse. We fall into eternity, and memory is a weight that keeps pulling us to where we can never go back to.” ― José Luís Peixoto

In many ways, old age is kinder for Inej than her youth has ever been.

She’s just one of the dime-and-dozen crones on the crowded streets now, more invisible than ever. Passersby respectfully call her Oma, tip their hats in greetings and offer her beat-up apples at half-price on the market – the most charitable concession Kerch can do in terms of business, she supposes. All of the scars that litter her skin dissolve in a map of wrinkles, even the one on her wrist which still, on some deeper level, hides a peacock feather brand. It’s almost as if they were never there in the first place.

Her faithful body still obeys her more often than not; there is no wobble in her hands, no stumble in her step. She keeps her spine rod-straight. Her vision remains stark clear and she can still recognize the hour of the day by watching how the sun climbs the brick walls of Ketterdam. She has slipped gracefully into the sixth decade of her life the way her parents did before her – into the smell of zavarka, into long skirts and woolen mittens, into feeling the rain in her bones.

Yet, Inej walks when she used to run and sticks to the ground when she used to fly. One day, at some point and without her knowledge, she climbed down from her beloved rooftops and never made her way up again.  And her hair – her pride and joy, her Mama’s hair – never recovers the vicious hacking she subjected it to after the funeral. It does not grow back. Turns brittle. Now, it is just long enough to reach her chin and is almost completely soft dove grey. She covers it with a widow’s veil she has no rights to and pretends it doesn’t bother her that she does not have a wedding band to wear on her neck as a memento like old Kerch ladies.

She supposes she should view her old age and all that comes with it as some kind of blessing, a gift from Saints of sorts. On good days, she almost manages to. Who would’ve thought she would live long enough to gather wrinkles, after decades on roofs and decks with a blade between her teeth?  Certainly not her.

On bad days though, even the sight of her face reflected the mirror, with those deep laughter lines carved into her flesh, fills her insides with bitterness that is impossible to swallow.

Her house in the University District is small and comfy, a bit messy, always overheated. There are deep windowsills in which she can sit, swathed in blankets, to watch students roughhousing on the streets. In a very weird way, it feels a bit like listening to the sounds of the Barrel, only much safer – no bite, no blood, no true exhilaration, just the warm carelessness of youth. Of course, the Barrel is much different now too, or at least Inej is told it is. She hasn’t walked these crooked, narrow alleys for over thirty years now.

I could still find my way through them. Eyes closed, hands tied behind my back. Blind and deaf, I could find the place where the Slat once stood. – crosses her mind sometimes, as she’s reading in the morning newspaper about the newest pet project of some rich mercher who wants to make a quick dime under the noble and cheap pretense of modernizing the slums. – I know the Barrel like I know my bones.

It’s a silly thought, and a lie on top of that. She knew the Barrel like she knew the uneven rhythm of Kaz’s step, like she knew the shade of his eyes, his lips brushing her neck and that unruly strand of hair falling on his forehead; like all of the other things that now exist only in her memory. She knew the Barrel like she knew heart, once. But her heart is long gone now, buried far away from this wretched city along with the cruel boy who stole it from her chest. No mourners, no funerals fell from their lips ten million times and more, and for what? There were mourners, more than he would ever expect, and a funeral, in the driest month of the year, in a sun-warmed solid soil, under the shade of an old chestnut tree. No Reaper’s Badge, no filthy water of Ketterdam’s harbor for Kaz. Never again.

She has a lot of time for such silly thoughts now, though. The days are long and the nights even longer. Inej kills the time like most old women do, doing boring and small things she did not have a place for in her life earlier. Leads the life she was perhaps, once destined to live, before her fate changed its course irreversibly, so many years ago. She cooks, listens to the radio, tends to her plans, pets her cat.  She reads a lot – books and newspapers too, but mostly the letters which contents she knows by heart by now.  Some are from Ravka, some from Fjerda, some from Novyi Zyem. Some are signed yours and no name follows.

She tries to keep in touch with reality, although the world seems so much different than when she was young, moving so fast it makes her head spin. Automobiles completely overruled horses on the streets, there is electricity in all the nicer parts of the city and the steam engine has conquered the seas. Wars come and go, old squabbles and new conflicts all across the map. Inej hears that the Queen of Ravka is still as blindingly stunning as she was the day of her coronation, even with the grief of her husband’s passing stealing gleam from her eyes. And of course, according to the newspaper reports, the Queen of Fjerda also looks surprisingly well for her advanced age. Inej rolls her eyes every time she reads such a remark, although she supposes she cannot blame Nina for her vanity. It would be like blaming a cat for killing a canary.  

Jesper and Wylan visit her every Thursday; Jesper, still spring as a grasshopper, and Wylan, almost bald now but just as kind and brilliant as a teenager. They reminisce about good old days, drink wine and always make sure to mention all those who are not with them anymore, even if it hurts and even if the memories of their faces are long faded and blurry.  Jesper never fails to make Inej laugh in his relentless efforts to get her to live with them. Wylan never fails to make Inej tear up when he quietly smiles at his husband above the rim of his teacup. They come and they go, and every time when they get up from her sofa it is harder to say goodbye. It would be easier, more bearable perhaps for all of them if she just packed her handful of old mementos and moved to the mansion. But, as much as Inej is happy for their friends' happiness, there is a small but relentless part of her heart that hardens every time a thought they got to grow old together crosses her mind. She refuses to feed it.

She still prays. Sankta Alina, the patroness of orphans. Sankta Margeretha, the patroness of thieves and lost children. Sankt Juris, the patron of those weary of the fight. Sankt Valentin, the patron of the lonely. Sankta Magda, the patroness of abandoned women. And Sankta Maradi, the patroness of impossible love, although she, for one, must be already weary of Inej’s prayers at this point and probably has no idea what Inej wants from her. Sometimes, she almost manages to pray through the whole night and welcome the dawn on her aching, benumbed knees. It’s far better than laying in her warm bed and being in a new hell every night, watching the glorious parade of memories dancing in front of her eyes without any else to share the burden of the past with her.

The nights are Kaz’s. All of them. Every single one.

He made her his own at night, and so the nights are always full of the ghosts of him. Every little thing comes back to haunt her, leaving her paralyzed in nostalgia so potent, so powerful, it can knock the breath out of her lungs the way his rare smiles used to. It’s all so real she can almost feel his fingers in places he has never managed to touch her.

It feels pathetic now, how she kept on waiting for him to call it love, right until the very end. He never did. She mourned it, for a while. And then she started to mourn her own blindness, the disbelief in the wisdom of her own faithful heart, the stubborn insecurities when Heleen planted in her and which Inej then nursed. She grew up loved; she should’ve known how to spot love when it stared at her as if she was holy and haloed. Love is in seeing and understanding, and she could hold everything against Kaz but this one thing.

He always saw her. Quietly, from the shadows. Constantly, unwaveringly.  

They were looking at each other and seeing each other for so many years and now she stares into the darkness of the night and only darkness stares back. It’s so unbearable that she feels bruised and maimed by the mere echo of this rare thing between them.

So truth to be told, most of the time Inej just tries to count her blessings and not wish she went down fighting with him, twenty-five and with a knife in her hand. No amount of silent prayers can stop her wishing Kaz was still around, no matter the cost. People of Ketterdam still talk of Dirtyhands and maybe it’s some kind of immortality in it - but now he is more legend than flesh and bones and the image of him this street talk paints is far, far away from the boy living in her memories. His fairness forgotten, his gentleness omitted, his brilliance weaponized by people’s tongues when he used to be impossible and magic, and used to touch her as if she was magic too. An ever-lovely jewel.

With old leather gloves on her lap, she drinks her coffee bitter and watches the snow glisten as it falls on Ketterdam from a sky dark like a crow’s wing. White flakes covering the rooftops, the chimneys, the window sills, all of her lost kingdom. She's so tired of missing the past.

And yet she remembers, she remembers it all, oh, all too well.

[oldguardhc]

Old Guard hc #135

Warnings: Temporary Major Character Death, Alcoholism, Depression

AN: @sunshineandchemistry wanted hurt inspired by Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) by The Decemberists. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. 

They have a plan. 

They’re supposed to stop healing together. They’re supposed to retire from the action and live out the rest of their days in Malta. They’re supposed to have decades to prepare for the inevitable day. They’re supposed to go together. 

Not-not like this. 

Joe stares down at his own body. A puddle of blood has formed around it, bright red and barely deep enough to splash if someone were to step in it. His light blue shirt, now a deep maroon, is sticking to his chest and his fingers itch to pull the fabric away before it can dry. His eyes, open and glazed, he wanted to see the stars before this death, pierce through him in a way his reflection never has.  

This feels like a joke. 

He’s bled ten times more than this and was back in the fight a minute later. When his leg got blown off, he was walking not an hour later. So why the hell is the hole in his chest, barely an inch wide and four inches deep, not closing? This is nothing but a scratch in the long list of injuries his body has sustained. 

When he first woke up, he had laughed. He just got killed by a purse-snatcher. A purse-snatcher. They weren’t even smart enough to burglar a house; how the guy got the jump on him was a goddamn mystery, not to mention insulting and mortifying. Booker was never going to let him live this down. 

It was only after he sat up and patted his chest, still chuckling to himself at the sheer absurdity of the situation, that he realized something was wrong. That he was wrong. 

His hands, normally a warm brown, like wheat just before the summer harvest, were gray and pale, every inch of life snuffed out of them. Joe had stared at them, flipping them over and over, flexing and shaking his fingers to stimulate fresh blood flow, but no matter how much he moved them, how many times he blinked, they remained the same. Cool brown and utterly wrong. 

That wasn’t even the worst part. 

No, the worst part, the worst fucking part, was when he stood up, ready to shake off this awful day in the comfort of Nicky’s arms, dinner be damned, they’ll just eat another sandwich, and his body remained on the floor, still and bleeding and-and separate. 

He freaked out. 

He immediately laid back in his body, lining his arms and legs with the body on the floor first, before sitting up. When that didn’t work, he tried picking his body up to drag back home, only his hands had passed through his own arms and chest, like he was nothing more than a cheap light show. 

It was then that it sunk in, with his hands buried in his sternum and his own lifeless eyes staring back at him.

He was dead. 

He was dead and he wasn’t coming back. 

—

Nicky hasn’t eaten in days, not since he shared the small sandwich with Joe. 

“Just a snack!” Joe pleaded, batting his eyelashes with a wide grin. He looked ridiculous, like one of those Bratz dolls that once lined every shelf in the toy section at the supermarket. Nicky was more annoyed than charmed as Joe continued to beg; he was blocking the TV and his voice was getting progressively pitchier the longer Nicky continued to ignore him in favor of watching National Treasure. 

Nicky gave in, of course he gave in, if only to get Joe to shut up now that he was reaching dog whistle levels. He went to the kitchen, Joe right on his heels and made the fastest sandwich in history, a ham and cheese sandwich on one slice of bread. After folding it in half, he stuffed as much of the sandwich into his mouth and handed over the rest to Joe. It wasn’t much, barely bigger than the bite-sized sandwiches that are usually out on the buffet tables, but it was better than nothing. He almost choked when he saw the wounded expression on his husband’s face. Joe took the half-sandwich with a pout and spent the next fifteen minutes nibbling on it, savoring each bite like it was the best thing he’s ever eaten. It was cute and charming and Nicky kissed him when he finished, swatting his ass as they broke apart because dinner wasn’t going to get itself.

He should have made a regular sandwich. 

He should have just cooked with what they had in the pantry. 

He should have gone with Joe. 

His stomach twists and Nicky cries. 

—

Nicky’s not living. He eats, he sleeps and sometimes he even goes out for a walk, but he’s not living, he’s functioning and that’s enough for Andy and Booker. 

They don’t talk much to him; then again, no one talks much these days. It became glaringly obvious early on who initiated the conversations, who had the loudest voice, who kept the discussion flowing from one point to the next. 

He doesn’t blame them; they were engulfed in their own grief too, both fresh and scarred. 

They’ve become the liquor store’s best customers; between the three of them, they easily put away six bottles of hard liquor every night. It’s the only time they’re together, late at night into the early morning, drinking with a desperate fervency to get lost in their own memories of better times. 

“The widow club,” Booker joked one night, mouth curled into a snarl. 

“I never wanted to be part of this fucking club,” Nicky spat, taking an aggressive sip from his bottle. It was whiskey that night; it tasted like shit, it always tasted like shit, and Nicky didn’t care. It made him warm and muddled his thoughts and while he was drunk, he could forget, could ignore how empty everything was. 

There was a moment of silence and then Andy laughed, sharp and vicious as she raised her bottle to clink with his, “Cheers to fucking that!” 

During the day, Nicky sleeps. A lot. 

Nicky sleeps, because if he sleeps, he can dream. In his dreams, Joe is still with him, leading him through the world with both hands and promising to never leave his side. In his dreams, Joe is bright and warm, kissing him like he never left, loving him like they had all the time in the world. In his dreams, he can savor the weight of Joe’s loving gaze, anchoring him in this sea of madness. 

Most days, he wakes up around three in the afternoon. He stares at the ceiling until his stomach grumbles, and only when the pain becomes unbearable does he get up to get something to eat.

Sometimes, the stupid wind chimes will wake him up before three and those days are always the worst. Joe had loved those wind chimes; he would run his fingers through them every morning just to hear them sing, laughing as the house filled with its tinkling sound. 

Nicky hates those fucking wind chimes. 

He hates how every time he hears them, he thinks that it’s Joe, gently pushing one tube into another, creating a new song only for their ears. He hates how he turns his head with a sleepy smile towards the chimes, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, only to be splashed with the bitter reality that he’s alone, has been alone for awhile now. 

Nicky hates those wind chimes and he wishes he could melt it down into something useful, something quiet, but it was Joe’s and Nicky can’t. He can’t destroy something that Joe loved so dearly. 

But God does Nicky loathe them. They weren’t even under a vent and they still made noise. 

Other times, the birds will wake him up. They never had this many birds before Joe, but after, Nicky sometimes wakes up to five birds on his windowsill, chirping and chirping and chirping. They’re loud and they arch up into nothing and Nicky hates them almost as much as the wind chimes because Joe would have loved them. Joe would’ve sat in front of the windowsill for hours, sketching and observing the birds, swallows, or were they sparrows, tossing them little seeds to keep them there longer. Hell, Joe would have set up a bird feeder to accommodate their many visitors. To Nicky, those birds are just another reminder that Joe’s gone and he wishes that they would just leave this house of grief alone. 

So Nicky sleeps and he drinks, because if he does, he doesn’t have to live in a world that’s constantly screaming Joe’s name. 

He’s not living. 

It’s not really functioning either. 

—

It works. 

It works. 

Joe gasps back to life and he’s in the quiet comfort of Nicky’s arms, just like he wanted that stupid day and everyday since. The weight of his arms, solid and warm across Joe’s chest, it’s enough to make him burst into tears.  

“I missed you,” Nicky sobs, pulling him into a tight hug and Joe can’t wrap his arms around Nicky fast enough. He clings to his husband, taking in the twin scents of Irish Spring and cheap cologne, a combination he never thought he would miss; it smells like home. 

“I was always there,” Joe whispers, “The birds, the chimes, the damn towel on the floor. I never left.” I never left you. 

They’re both shaking apart in each other’s arms, but for the first time in months, it’s ok. It’s ok. 

Nicky laughs, it’s choked and brittle, but it’s the first time he’s laughed since that day, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world to Joe’s ears right now. “I hated all those things.” 

“I know,” Joe confesses, pulling back just enough to look at Nicky. He wipes away the snot and tears with the back of his hand. Nicky stares at him through red-rimmed eyes, a new kind of desperation shining in them that Joe knows are reflecting from his own. “But it got you out of bed, out of the house, and so I never stopped.” 

They have a plan.

They’re going to stop healing together. They’re going to retire from the action and they’re going to live the rest of their days in Malta.  

They’re not straying away from it this time.   

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 3:

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

Previous

Read chapter 3 on AO3, or read below:

“Sherlock Holmes.”

I barely have to think about it. “Sherlock Holmes was an omega.”

“No.” Cardan sounds totally affronted. “No way. How can you even say that?”

For lack of anything better to do, we have been playing this game for nearly an hour. Mostly fictional characters, but some historical figures, too, who are up for debate. As much as alphas would love to lay claim to every known conqueror, it just isn’t realistic. Cardan and I have already gone back and forth on Alexander the Great and Ivan the Terrible and Ghengis Khan. Designations live in a kind of middle space between gender and sexual orientation, so people make assumptions based on the way you present in society, but also whether you’re an alpha, an omega, or a mythical beta is, technically, no one’s business but yours. So, especially in older stories, these things go unsaid or are discreetly left for the reader to surmise.

“Why would he be an alpha?” I challenge.

Cardan is sitting in his corner, one leg propped up, elbow on knee, same as before. He shrugs. “I mean, he feels empowered to take charge in crime scene investigations, he’s assertive—”

“You’re thinking of the BBC reboot,” I scoff. “The way Conan Doyle wrote his Holmes wasn’t like that. He was an expert, yes, and knew it, but he admitted it when someone bested him, and he went out of his way to help vulnerable people. People who had been scammed, or… single women.”

As bad as it seems for omegas and women—especially omega women—now, it would have been even worse in the stratified Victorian era. We still have our strata, but they were more codified then:

Alpha men

Alpha women/omega men (depending on the situation)

Omega women

And, of course, it was all way worse when race and class got thrown in. The point is that someone like Violet Smith of “The Solitary Cyclist”—a woman, assumed omega, and poor—would have been in real trouble without Holmes’ help.

“So he’s an omega because he’s nice to widows?” Cardan asks, with a glare.

“No, he’s an omega because he pays attention,” I reply. “Alphas don’t need to pay attention the way Sherlock Holmes does. You just waltz in and traipse all over whatever or whoever and always get your way. Who cares about the details when you’re an alpha? But Sherlock Holmes looks hard at the little things. You don’t do that if you don’t have to, if you’re not used to walking into a room and assessing threats, figuring out the balance of power. All the time. Because it’s exhausting, but you have to do it.”

Cardan is quiet for a beat too long, and I realize I may have actually said more about myself than about Sherlock Holmes. But he spares me by saying, “Surely we’re not all that bad.”

I make a noncommittal sound.

“Your dad’s an alpha, right?” he continues. “He took you and Taryn in after your parents died. He didn’t have to do that.”

I have to keep myself from snorting. No one who’s met Madoc would ever describe him as particularly nice or even giving. “Did you know Vivi has a pet conspiracy theory that he killed our parents in the first place?”

“What?”

“Not himself, obviously. That he hired someone to sabotage the car we were in.” I don’t know why I tell him. The second it leaves my mouth it feels like a family secret, or an in-joke I’m not supposed to share. But I can’t stop talking. “I mean, it was just luck we weren’t killed, Taryn and Vivi and I. But my parents’ car was new. The brakes shouldn’t have given out like they did. Anyway, Vivi thinks he took us in because he felt guilty.”

“I mean, that’s… crazy to think your dad was involved.” But Cardan says it too slowly, and hastens to add, “He isn’t a supervillain.”

“Yeah, I know. Just with everything that happened after, the way he swooped in, she was always suspicious.” I feel my mouth twitch, but I don’t know whether I want to smile or scowl. “I think she wanted us to be like The Boxcar Children and run away to live in the woods.”

“Well, you’re getting the one-room, no-running-water experience now.”

I catch myself smiling—he’s funny—and force my mouth into a frown, scouring our little room again for anything useful. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Even the socket that would hold a bare lightbulb is empty. Finally, my eyes settle on the one tiny window, set close to the ceiling, letting in a meager amount of natural light that does seem to have grown brighter as we talked.

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

“You want to what?”

“Step on your back,” I repeat, exasperated. “Are you tall enough to reach that window without a stool?”

“No?”

“Well, neither am I.” I fold my arms. “So I’m going to need you to give me a boost.”

He arches a critical eyebrow. “Why don’t you just sit on my shoulders?”

I blink at him. “Because… I thought you wouldn’t want to put your head anywhere near my crotch? Given how I reek and all.”

“But you thought I’d want to be stepped on? Jesus.” Cardan rubs a hand over his face. “What do you think I’m into? Look, I’ll crouch down, you get on my shoulders and look out the window. It’s not like I’m putting my face in your vag.” I shudder, and he adds, “We’ll never have to talk about it again. Okay?”

“Sounds great to me,” I say.

He nods and crouches down. I am not prepared for the way my heart thumps in my chest at the sight of the guy who made my life miserable since I was in seventh grade, who pushed me during gym, who whispered vile things in my ear whenever he could, who empowered other kids to do the same or worse waiting for me to climb onto his shoulders with his head bowed. It’s not real power, it’s just temporary, but it is intoxicating.

Then Cardan says, “Taking your time, huh?” and I snap out of it.

“Why the rush?” I ask. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I was thinking anywhere but here would be great.” He looks up at me. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I swing my legs over him and let him hoist me up on his shoulders. I haven’t exactly been invited to participate in a ton of games of chicken fight in the pool, so it’s been some time since anyone carried me like this. Maybe not since Taryn and I were very small, just after our parents died, when Madoc would help us get things from high kitchen shelves. I gasp when I’m lifted. Cardan is strong enough that it seems effortless, but I also hear him let out a small grunt.

“Not a word,” I say, dreading the jab he might make about my weight. “Move me closer to the window.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Cardan mutters, but he obliges.

I am extremely conscious of his hands on my bare thighs, the way his muscles shift under my shoulders. Some alphas, like the guy who tried to grab me at the party, are kind of muscle-bound in an unattractive way. Not Cardan. Cardan has just the right amount to be fit and lean, with the bare minimum amount of body fat, but not so much muscle that he tips over into ungraceful. He’s a sports car of a person, lithe and elegant. It’s no mystery why his shirtless TikToks get so many views.

I get my hands on the windowsill so he’s not bearing my full weight, and then I groan. “Bad news.”

“What?”

“Well, I definitely can’t fit through here. I can kind of see the sky, so I would guess it’s maybe ten a.m. Otherwise there’s just a window well. Plastic and dirt. I can’t make out our surroundings at all.” I sigh. “We’re in a basement.”

There’s an awkward pause, and then Cardan says, “At least we know for sure.”

“Yeah. Put me down?”

He does, and we go back to our respective seats, mentally reviewing what we know. The only door is, of course, locked from outside. The floor is bare concrete, the ceiling exposed insulation and tubing, so we might be in a storeroom of some kind, or an unfinished basement in an older house. Our kidnappers left us with absolutely nothing, so no phones. Even my keychain, with the Swiss army knife Madoc gave me before my first summer at sleep-away camp, is gone.

We are growing hungrier and more sullen with each passing minute when there is a knock at the door.

Cardan and I glance at each other from our opposite sides of the room. “Um,” I say. Are kidnappers supposed to be polite?

Cardan shrugs one shoulder, then straightens up, lifting his chin in a decidedly imperious way. Trying to summon some air of command, some macho alpha-ness that will help us out of this. It could work—it is half working on me, I begrudgingly admit to myself, because my stupid brain is wired that way—if we weren’t both grimy from sitting on the floor and still a little woozy from the drugs.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door is opened slightly, and the first thing to poke through it is the barrel of a pistol. A 9mm, by the looks of it. Cardan’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“You kids willing to behave?” comes a voice. It’s a man’s voice, strangely melodious. I was expecting the sandpapery roughness of an old-school gangster. I know it’s stereotypical, but I’ve never been kidnapped before, and it’s not like they make a manual.

Cardan and I glance at each other again. I’m not sure what we’re looking to find in each other’s faces.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re good.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to shoot you.” The man pushes the door open the rest of the way, and I have to press my lips shut to keep from gasping. There are disfiguring scars that cut across his cheeks, down his jaw, even one across the bridge of his nose. I’m not even sure what makes scars like that, jagged and rough-edged. If it was a knife, it wasn’t clean work. Someone was making a point.

I am immediately relieved, though, because his resonant voice had made me think we could be dealing with a real alpha, someone whose words hold command. This man is of average height, average build. If not for the scars, for the obviously broken nose, he would be totally unremarkable.

“Who are you?” Cardan asks. I am reluctantly impressed that he manages to sound haughty in this situation. He’s sitting up straight with his back against the wall, one leg outstretched, the other bent, his foot planted on the floor. He’s resting his elbow on that knee, like it’s all effortless.

“Breakfast service,” replies the man, still pointing the pistol at us. He tosses a McDonald’s bag into the room, then he and the gun retreat, and the door shuts behind him. We hear the click of a lock and then, to my horror, the sound of a deadbolt sliding into place.

Cardan exhales and reaches for the bag.

“Don’t!” I exclaim. “Seriously, it might be drugged.”

“It—what?” he asks. “Now you decide to care about whether the food is drugged? This isn’t Flowers in the Attic, Jude. We’re hostages. They want to ransom us. They’re not going to poison us.”

I blink at him. “Flowers in the Attic? You’ve read a book?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the bag. “Well, if you’re not going to eat it, I will.”

When he opens the bag, the smell of sausage grease and egg hit me like a truck. My stomach growls. I am suddenly very aware that the last time I ate was before the party, and my nerves had kept me from eating much then. “What… is it?”

“Two McMuffins.” He looks up at me. “See? They don’t want to starve us. They’re keeping us alive.”

“They could still tamper with them. Sedatives or something. Keep us complacent, keep us from doing what we’re going to do, which is try to escape.”

Cardan arches an eyebrow. “Has anyone ever told you you’re unbelievably paranoid?”

I think of Taryn and purse my lips. “Did you know it wouldn’t kill you to take something seriously?”

He holds up one hand, fingers spread wide. “Okay. How about this. I eat a McMuffin because I am fucking starving, and if they put anything in it it’ll get me and work through my system faster. You can stay up scheming or whatever. If nothing happens after like fifteen minutes, you get to eat yours. Or if you decide to be stubborn, I’ll eat it. Deal?”

“It’ll be cold and gross.” I cross my arms. “But fine.”

“Good.” Cardan takes a McMuffin out of the bag—his hands are so big that it barely looks like enough food for him—and devours it in what must be record time. I turn my head away.

“Where’s the nearest McDonald’s, do you think?” I ask

“Huh?”

“We were in East Hampton. They don’t have one there.”

“Uh-huh. That’s a good point.” I look back to see Cardan sucking grease off his thumb. “Dunno. Closer to the middle of the island, maybe?”

“Maybe,” I echo quietly. Without knowing how long we were out, it seems impossible to figure out where they could have taken us. “You’re right. We couldn’t be in the city.”

Cardan shakes his head. “Nah, don’t think so. Too quiet, and like you said, that’s definitely daylight, so people’d be out and about.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at the window.

He looks at the window, too, but doesn’t say anything, and we lapse into silence. It’s strange, to be sharing space with him, to be quiet. I could never have imagined anything like it, not with our fraught history. There’s no world in which Cardan Greenbriar and I could be friends, but, at least temporarily, we are not enemies.

“Did you like it?” I asked at last, when the silence stops being neutral and begins to make me feel anew how tired and tense I am.

“Like what?”

“Flowers in the Attic.”

“Oh.” He blinks twice, his dark eyelashes fluttering. “I read it a few years ago, but, yeah. I did. You know, it was nice to read about a family that was more fucked up than mine.” He raises his eyebrows. “Spicy, too.”

I scoff. “How can your family be so fucked up you’d read a gothic novel for catharsis?”

Cardan drums his fingers on his knee. “How much do you know about my family?”

“You’re old money. One of those alpha families that claims they’re pure alpha for generations.” Which is pretty much impossible, but everyone in that tier of society tells the same lie. Half the kids in my school claim to be pure alpha, and on paper both of their parents are alphas. But while alpha men and women can reproduce—they have the right gametes—it’s not easy. More likely omega egg donors, and, before that, omega surrogates who were well-paid. It’s no wonder they see us as breeders.

I start ticking off additional facts on my fingers. “Your great-grandfather was one of the great American magnates, but it was his alpha daughter, Mab Greenbriar, who really made something of his millions. Your dad was her only son, so he inherited the whole corporation. You have five older siblings: Balekin, Elowyn, Dain, Caelia, Rhyia—”

Cardan holds up both his hands. “Yeah, yeah. I get the point.”

“It’s all on Wikipedia.” I shrug, and to sound less like a weird stalker, I add, “And Vivi and Rhyia are like best friends.”

“You know, and I know you said it before, but I do forget Vivienne’s your sister. She’s so cool.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

I get it, though. He probably thinks Vivi’s cool because she’s an alpha, but she also gets points for being the family rebel. Her biological dad, Madoc, adopted us all after the car crash that killed our parents, but she never wanted to be the natural successor he hoped for. Now she plays rugby at an all-girls’ college, has three cartilage studs and a septum piercing, shaves half her head, and is defiantly, unapologetically queer. It’s a different path than I would take, but marching to the beat of your own drum is definitely something that appeals to people.

“By the way,” Cardan says, “it’s been a few minutes and I feel fine. Well, as fine as one can feel having eaten only one McMuffin. I don’t feel any worse.”

“Okay.” I hold out my hand. “Toss me the bag.”

The bag crinkles when he picks it up, then he looks inside. “I think I’m owed a poison taster’s fee.”

“Huh?”

Cardan takes my McMuffin out of the bag, takes a bite out of it, then drops it back in the bag, which he proceeds to lob at my head. I catch it, face wrinkling in disgust. “Ew!”

“What? I need the calories more.”

I shake the bag at him. “I am not eating this,” I huff.

“We split the water bottle. That didn’t kill you.” Cardan sits back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Besides, who knows when they’re going to decide to feed us again?”

“You’re all so gross,” I mutter as I open the bag and pull out my breakfast. He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. I also hate that my hunger is enough to overcome my revulsion, at both the stolen bite and the undeniable fact that my McMuffin is now cold. I stuff it in my mouth, devouring the rest of it in only a few bites.

“Who’s gross?” he asks. “Alphas? Boys?”

“Alpha boys,” I inform him, with my mouth full.

“Big words from somebody whose designation’s known for leaking fluids everywhere.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “We’re not the only designation that leaks,” I point out. “We’re just the only one that gets shit for it. We’re the ones who’re thought of as gross while you and your type get to go around ruling the world.”

“Oh, sure. That has nothing to do with the way you guys are totally incapacitated for three straight days if you don’t take your drugs.”

“If we don’t get out of here, you’ll be just as screwed as I am,” I snap. “Stuck in a room with me? You won’t have a chance. We’re both going to become brainless fuck machines if that happens, so… shut the hell up.”

He does, to my surprise. I do too. I wipe my greasy hands on the McDonald’s bag, then crumple it into a little ball and toss it into the corner of the room. My anger is a living thing, running through my veins like electricity, vibrating under my skin. It’s been there for so long, but I would never have dared to say that to his face before. The rest of our situation is so absurd, so dire, it feels like there are no consequences for mouthing off at him.

That’s dumb, of course. There are always consequences. But at least they won’t be coming anytime soon.

“‘Brainless fuck machines,’” Cardan whispers quietly, and then he snickers.

“You—shut up,” I say, feeling unlikely mirth bubbling at the corners of my mouth. Cardan lets out another huff of laughter, and then I am giggling, and he’s laughing outright, clutching at his stomach. It’s ridiculous, all of my nerves coming out like that, but he’s laughing and it feels like there’s nothing for me to do but laugh too.

“Oh, man,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”

“I’m serious!” I squeal, my abs cramping from laughing and trying not to laugh harder all at once. “That’s what happens!”

“God.” Cardan lets his head fall softly into the corner. “We are so screwed.” He points one finger up in the air. “Metaphorically. So far.”

“Jesus.” I cover my face with both of my hands. “Jesus.”

“Jesus was an alpha.”

I peek at him through my fingers. “He was not. He literally said ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega.’”

“I’m just fucking with you.” Cardan grins, his hair flopping in his face, but then his cheer vanishes abruptly. “Wait, you’re not actually religious, are you?”

I shake my head. “Not really.” But I still know that common theology holds that Jesus—and angels, and any other holy beings I don’t know about—are not alphas or omegas, but they aren’t betas, either. They are all things and nothing. Must be a good life. I pull my hands down and squint at him. “Were you worried about offending me?”

“Me?” Cardan shakes his head to toss his hair out of his face. “Nah.”

“Well, good.” I cross my arms again. “Because you’ve never cared before, and it’d really freak me out if you started now. Then I’d know we were both losing it for real.”

“I just thought…” He shrugs. “I mean, it’d be nice if one of us believed in something. That praying could help. I’d like to believe that. Seems tidy.”

“Yeah.” I let my cheek fall against the cold wall, too, and blink away the memories of screaming at the night sky, demanding someone give me my parents back. I can’t fall into that pit. I will not.

I just say, “I stopped believing that anyone was listening a long time ago.”

Cardan scratches at the wall with his finger. “Me too, Duarte,” he said. “Me too.”

Next

[whispersafterdusk]

Prompt #2: Aberrant

"That is an aberration, is what it is."

Gaelle sighed and resisted the urge to sling her spade-full of mud at her brother.  "Not all things in nature are perfect, Gaethan."

The brightlily plant he was fussing over was a sight to behold; what should have been pure white flowers had, for some reason, come in with smatterings of red as though someone had attacked it with a paintbrush.  There were only white brightlily plants in their garden, and so far as Gaelle knew no one else nearby even had the plants so there wasn't a clear explanation for how this one plant in particular had grown so differently from those around it.

"How could this even happen?  It's not like we were given bad seed - these came from our own plants!"

"Why are you getting so worked up over this?  I think they're quite lovely."

"Because they shouldn't BE," Gaethen growled.  "A sudden change in growth patterns or coloration can mean sickness, sister - or have you forgotten?"

Gaelle gave him a sour look.  "No, brother, I haven't forgotten anything recently, thank you."

Gaethen paused, then rubbed at the back of his neck.  "...sorry.  I know that's a touchy word with you..."

Gaelle didn't answer; she sat the soil on her spade aside and went back to trying to tug out an especially stubborn weed that had taken root underneath one of the rose bushes.  There had been many things she'd forgotten in that time between the Calamity and coming to her senses years later but botany had been perhaps the one thing she'd actually managed to cling to with any sort of clarity in a time where she didn't even know her own name or where she'd come from. For nearly five years she'd lived with the widow woman who had found her near death on her doorstep and had nursed her back to health - Gaelle had barely been able to even speak then, but she knew how to tend the woman's farm.  After everything had finally come back to her it was a terrifying realization that it really was that easy to forget oneself.  Gaethen knew she loathed thinking about that time or being called any variation of forgetful for any reason but it didn't stop him from hurling it as a barb at her if he was annoyed enough, whether he meant to do it on purpose or not.

"If it so affronts your sensibilities that you can't even stand looking at it then I'll dig it up and keep it in the cottage," she said finally.

"Fine.  It'll at least lessen the chance of cross-breeding," came his grumbled answer.

She went about her weeding and by the time she'd finished her "assigned" stretch of the garden Gaethen had gone inside to wash up.  There were spare clay pots in the shed and she filled one with fresh soil and approached the variant brightlily.

"You might be strange, but so am I," Gaelle said with a smile as she began to carefully dig around the plant.  Where to put the plant though...she wasn’t home that often anymore so she couldn’t leave it in her room, nor could she trust her brother to keep it watered.  Perhaps Urianger would like it?  At least he or Tataru would be there to keep it watered, and there was plenty of sun to be hand at the Waking Sands.

She carefully settled the plant into the pot and hefted it up to rest it on her hip.  For now it could sit on the windowsill in her room and when she inevitably was called back to the Sands it would go with her to find a home there.

"I guess we're both something of aberrations, compared to what we're supposed to be, aren't we?" she asked aloud as she headed toward the cottage.  "Count yourself lucky you're incapable of suddenly having visions...all you need to do is be happy in the sun.  I wish life were that simple for me."

She brushed away some soil she'd accidentally dropped onto one of the blooms and shouldered open the door to the cottage.  She could hear Gaethen splashing about still as he scrubbed the dirt from himself; the pot was slightly too big for the width of the windowsill so Gaelle sat it on the floor in front of the window instead before kicking off her boots and sitting down in the floor beside the plant.

Imagine getting so worked up over an unexpected flower.

[itsmoonphobic]

🗝️ 𝕽𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝕽𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖘𝖔𝖉𝖞

"𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆?𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒖𝒔 𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚.𝑷𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆,𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈.𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕."

Listen to this song if you want extra vibes while reading :) ❗TW: Death | Corpses | Angst

"Death is the opposite of life,that's not true.Death is a part of life that catches up to us at any given time."

His life was turned upside down in a matter of days.After the tragic death of their ruler and friend Techno,the blond boy would lock himself in the king's room and declined to come out,unless it's highly necessary.Neglecting both his mental and physical health during the time of Techno's departure,he refuses to talk to another human being,doesn't eat even if the chefs prepare his favorite meal they knew he never turns down.But even by that he seems unfazed and just picks around his plate and leaves it on the table while excusing himself so he make his way back to the king's chambers and sulk in despair.

Hours and hours worth of sleep only then became evident when he crawls out of Techno's room to get a glass of water and scurry back where he came from.His eyes would turn red and dark valleys painted themselves under the blue orbs,who seemingly grew with every sleepless night. He thinks other people around him don't notice but everyone in the castle sees the dried tears that ran down his pale cheeks.Phil and Wilbur would leave him alone and only occasionally check up on him to make sure he's doing okay and not having an existential crisis.Most of the time Phil finds him sitting on the windowsill,longingly staring out the pink stained glass and loyally waiting for the king's return just like he remembered doing when Techno left for one of his many journeys,traveling out into the far lands. Everytime Tommy would see a carriage approaching over the hills he would run outside and excitingly hope it's Techno who arrived.Only to be disappointed when he realizes that it's not the person he is wishing to welcome. Phil would try his hardest not to let the tears escape but after seeing Tommy devastatingly staring out into the far stretching hills and forests,he gives up fighting the urge.

Tubbo would visit the castle and inquire Phil or Wilbur if he can step inside to see Tommy.They hesitantly let him in and make sure to warn him beforehand that he doesn't mention the king or anything regarding him around his miserable best friend.Tommy was practically a ticking time bomb,one word or mention of Techno could set off an explosion.So to prevent that from becoming reality everybody in the castle is ensuring how they act around the sad blonde.His usual bubbly and cheerful energy drains out which is concerning to others around him for the reason that it's unnatural for Tommy to behave this strangely.Tubbo makes sure to keep in mind the instructions that were given to him,carefully and gently taking care of Tommy while letting him cry his heart out into one of his many green tunics.He tries to cheer him up by taking him outside to breathe in some fresh air and clear his mind from distracting thoughts.

Tommy couldn't and didn't want to accept the truth.He didn't want to admit to himself that the first person who showed him love and tought him valuable lessons in life that he would always treasure deep in his heart,died.It felt so surrealistic,so unsettling,that feeling of something missing. It was as if somebody took away a piece of him,a piece of him that kept Tommy going,a piece that reminded him of the person he wanted to become one day.Techno was and always will be the boy's will to live on and continue seeing the wonders of the world he still yet has to explore himself. He will never forget the memories they collected along the way of building up their friendship,from the moment he first spoke to him to their last shared words.He didn't like reffering to the king,nevertheless he payed a visit to his grave.The smooth,polished stone displayed itself in the center of the cemetery.A marble crown was sculptured by it's side as a representation of power and respect for their once ruthless but nonetheless caring ruler.Flowers of all kind which have been picked from widow's gardens layed on the gravestone filling it up with vibrant colors and making it come to life amongst the other dull monuments surrounding the meaningful tombstone.

Many children came along with their caretakers,leaving behind drawings and letters for the king.People came and silently stood by the grave,some cried others kneeled down and shared their prayers.Either way,Bladestrom was in a depressive state,shops got closed during the funeral which was held a few hours after his passing,schools got shut down and the majority of the kingdom's citizens didn't talk or leave their houses unless they visited his grave.The king's death was something nobody could have predicted to have happend so early into his rulership,the young king has been in control for only ten years which was nothing compared to how long his father and grandfather ruled.

Tommy,Wilbur and Phil would never forget the adventures and shenanigans they went through with their friend.Their friendship was a bond that not even death was able to break and tear apart.So many memories came rushing in once the priest spoke his ending line.Countless tears have been shed that night the coffin was burried underground, all sorts of reactions and emotions were shown.It was hard. King Techno Blade's funeral was an occasion everybody would carry on their backs like a heavy stone keeping them from walking straight,till the rest of their lives.

Tommy had it the hardest.Techno was like a father he never had,a person he could rely on,a person he trusted with all of his secrets,fears and insecurities.Somebody he saw himself going through life with,a person who changed his way of looking at all things around him.A person who cared for him,protected him and most importantly loved him.The young orphan was drowning in sadness,he was devastated. All of this new chaos and information was thrown at him out of nowhere,his brain had tried to process what's going on but failed.It just didn't make sense,only a few weeks ago the two of them were playing around in the castle and now here he was,standing infront of Techno's grave.A place where a corpse could rest,give up it's soul and carry on their destiny in the afterlife.His pale blue eyes pooled up with salty tears,the idea of giving up and joining Techno wherever the king is right now had crossed his mind multiple times in the past few days,but he kept bringing forward a promise he made with Techno.Tommy was never the type of person who took promises or pacts seriously,he either forgets about them or simply changes his mind on them and doesn't care anymore.

But this was a whole different story.This promise was something Tommy will never leave in the dust,a promise he engraved into his heart just like two lovers their capitals into the wood of a tree trunk.

"Never give up Tommy,great things take time."

Those eight words structured into a sentence stuck with Tommy the day he heard them.He wasn't sure what the king met when he told him the saying back then,but now he was completely aware of it's meaning.Techno knew that he couldn't always be there by his side even if he wanted nothing more then to see him grow up into the man he dreamed to be.He knew Tommy had to continue his experiences and reach his goals alone,he never doubted Tommy's abilities or his strange,yet effective determination that kept him going.Techno may have never said it out loud but he saw a picture of himself in Tommy.He saw the boy who once strictly followed his parent's expectations,who let himself be pushed around for no apparent reason,a boy who also had a dream,a dream he later on accomplished.

Now that Tommy was by himself in the world with his dreams,without Techno next to him,he was scared.What was he supposed to do?Where was he meant to start?How do you figure out when the right time comes?He had so many questions running wildly in his head,all of them he wanted to ask Techno,wanting to hear his opinions.

A petite gesture on his shoulder brought Tommy out of his daydreams.He didn't even notice his spacing out,he had been staring at the king's grave for the past half an hour. Silently wishing that it didn't exist.The blond boy hesitantly retrieved his eyes away from the stone looking behind him to witness none other than Wilbur.The musician was waiting for him to finish placing down the pink roses they had brought along with them,which Tommy was still steadily holding in his grip.Wilbur's eyes darted towards the fragile blooms in the orphan's hands,back to the grave as a mute signal to let them go.At first a bewildered look crossed his face but after seemingly getting the hint he gave the roses one last look and gingerly deposited them on the smooth stone.His hand lingered on the thorn filled flowers but after his fingertips left them he stood back up.

The two of them shared a moment of silence and peace. Tommy didn't have to glance at the man beside him to know that he aswell must have been struggling not to cry. Wilbur was the first to speak up:"C'mon Tommy,let's go." Blue eyes scanned the guitarist's features,his jaw clenched and his nose flared.Tommy knew if they stayed a second longer Wilbur would flood the cemetery with tears.He nodded,following Wilbur back to the castle,or atleast that's where he thought they were heading to.

Wilbur didn't take Tommy to the castle.He was suprised to see that the orphan didn't even question why or where they were going.He may physically be behind Wilbur but his mind was constantly thinking about Techno.The brown haired man stopped in his tracks,admiring the view from the cliff they were located on.Tommy came to a halt next to him,almost stepping over the edge if Wilbur didn't stop him with his arm.His pale orbs scanned the area around them, he wasn't familiar with this place but he couldn't complain about the breathtaking rivers collapsing together beneath their feet.The turbulent and foggy waves danced across the river's indigo,silk coat.The rain from the night before fed the carefree water flowing under them.

"Don't you see Tommy?" A stray tear fell down Wilbur's cheek,a small sob escaping his lips.He looked at Tommy who seemed confused and concerned.

"The waves are crying with us in harmony." Wilbur's eyes traveled back to the rising rivers willed with dangerous mountains of water.

"People say that death is the opposite of life,but that's not true at all." Tommy followed Wilbur's view,locking his eyes on the beautiful water.

"Death is a part of life,that can catch up to us at any given time or moment.It comes at unexpected times."

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉 ☔︎

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 26: Telling Stories

Chapter 25

Read on AO3

In late February, the Redcoats came back.

They were evidently not satisfied that Claire was who Jenny said she was the last time they were here, when Jenny had shown off the potato-baby.

Claire was in the middle of changing Brianna’s diaper in her bedroom when the front door burst open. Claire’s heart leapt into her throat and her hands froze for a moment. She carefully continued tying off the diaper as she listened to the hushed voices from behind her slightly ajar bedroom door.

“...rumors in the village…”

“...a healer that lives here…”

“How is your cousin, Madame Murray?”

Claire swallowed, feeling like prickly sand was running down her throat as she did so. Her bedroom was no priest hole, but she felt it would be wise if she and Brianna stayed hidden. If they decided to search the house, well...she’d worry about that when the time came.

“Kitty play!” Brianna shouted.

“Shh!” Claire hushed. “We must be very quiet, Brianna.”

In deliberate defiance, Brianna gave a loud shriek, and Claire thought she might vomit. Brianna dissolved into a fit of giggles, quite amused with herself.

The voices downstairs stopped briefly, and Claire’s pulse only returned to normal when she heard Jenny’s voice again:

“One of the bairns. Ye ken how they are.”

Once Brianna was dressed again, Claire rushed to the windowsill, where Lambert had been left.

“Let’s play with Lamb, darling. How does that — ”

She turned around and Brianna was no longer sitting on the bed, and the door was slightly more open than before.

Fucking hell.

Claire dropped the lamb and sprinted out of the bedroom and down the hall after Brianna, toddling with impressive speed toward the stairs. Claire hiked up her skirts and reached her in four quick strides, scooping her into her arms, eliciting a shrill yell from the toddler that halted conversation at the bottom of the stairs again.

Claire looked over the banister at the three Redcoats cornering Jenny, who remained calm and level-headed as ever. All four of them were now staring upward. Claire wet her lips, her heart bruising her ribcage. She forced a pleasant smile and curtsied slightly before quickly turning around with the intention of slipping back into her bedroom and keeping Brianna occupied until they were gone.

“Madame.”

Fuck.

“Do come downstairs, if you don’t mind.”

That is not a request.

Claire took a shuddering breath, and her chin began to tremble.

“Brianna, love, we’re going to play a game, alright?”

“Play game?”“Shh...yes, a game.” Claire was whispering into her hair, quiet enough that she barely heard herself. “A quiet game. You must not make any noise. If you win the game and stay quiet, you may have as many biscuits as you want.”

“Biscuit!”

“Shh...quiet, lovie. Yes?”

Brianna nodded silently, pursing her lips together absurdly. Claire slowly made her way to the stairs and descended, clutching Brianna tightly. No doubt the soldiers had heard Brianna’s half of the conversation, but thankfully what she’d said could pass as a child making unprompted requests.

The other children were likely in the nursery with Mrs. Crook, aside from wee Jamie, who was likely outside with Rabbie and Fergus. If only Claire had changed her diaper faster, had been able to get her to the nursery before they were noticed…

“Good day, Madame,” the captain greeted. Claire smiled woodenly.

“This is the very same babe ye saw the last time ye were here, Captain,” Jenny interjected before he could prompt Claire to speak. She stretched out her arms, smiling brightly as she took Brianna in her arms. “My wee Brianna Murray.”

“How very charming,” the captain said dryly.

“Lizzie is her godmother,” Jenny continued, flashing a secret look at Claire. “Ye remember my cousin.”

Elizabeth. Jenny’s cousin, Brianna’s godmother. The role I’m playing right now.

“Indeed,” the captain said, eyeing Claire suspiciously.

“Mistress Fraser is visiting us again just now,” Jenny went on, rocking Brianna gently, keeping her smile wide.

Thank God Brianna would do anything for a biscuit. If I hadn’t pulled the quiet game out of my arse she’d have called me Mummy eight times already.

“And does Mistress Fraser have any healing abilities?” he pressed.

“Oh, aye,” Jenny said warmly. “Whenever she visits she offers what help she can to our tenants. We’re very grateful to her.”

“Tell me, Mistress Fraser,” the Captain said, turning to address Claire directly. “Where did you learn such abilities? Family trade?”

“She — ”

“I’d like to hear her myself, Madame Murray,” the captain said, clipped and aggravated. “Go on, Miss.”

Claire was trembling head to toe. She cleared her throat and answered in a raspy whisper: “Aye, Sir.” She took care to emphasize the ‘r’ the best she could.

“Do speak up, please.”

Claire exaggeratedly cleared her throat again, then touched her throat before forcing herself into a coughing fit. Jenny immediately caught on.

“Apologies, Captain. My cousin has caught something from one of our tenants, and she’s been having trouble wi’ her voice lately, ye ken.”

Claire carried on with her coughing, and the three soldiers unconsciously stepped back a few paces.

“Collins. Get the lady some water, for God’s sake,” the Captain ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dangerous for the child, is it not?” The Captain said. “Having a sick woman hold it so close?”

Claire finally let her coughing subside, and she allowed herself to start panting.

“Och, the bairns have all had the sickness already. Canna catch it again,” Jenny said offhandedly, and despite the situation, Claire swelled with pride.

She’s been paying attention when I speak of these things.

“Ah. I see.” The captain took a step forward, unclasping his hands from behind his back. “Such a...vibrant color.” He reached a hand toward Brianna, and wrapped a curl around his finger. Claire’s stomach lurched. “Quite...red.”

Red Jamie.

“Aye, my mother’s color,” Jenny said with pride, though Claire could see the fear in her eyes. 

“None of your other children have it,” the Captain said, amused. “It’s astonishing, really.”

Collins returned then with a glass of water, and Claire accepted it with a polite nod, having to concentrate very hard to keep the water from sloshing out with the force of her trembling.

“My wee Maggie has a bit of it as well,” Jenny said dismissively. “Bits of red woven in wi’ blonde — ”

“Remarkable isn’t it,” the Captain went on. “The resemblance. Don’t you think, Collins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Resemblance, Captain?” Jenny asked uneasily.

“To her...uncle.”

“Och,” Jenny said quickly. “Unfortunate that the traitor inherited much of our mother’s beauty as well. Suits the bairn much better, don’t ye think?”

“Indeed.” The Captain’s finger was still woven into Brianna’s hair, and Claire had never before felt such a deep urge to kill somebody.

Jamie would cut his bloody hand off.

“Are you a widow, Mistress Fraser?” The Captain said, abruptly turning his head to face her, his hand still touching Brianna. “And a mother, perhaps?”

Claire shook her head.

“Lizzie’s never been marrit,” Jenny said lightly. “I often tease her about it.”

Jenny made a move to shift Brianna, to inadvertently get her away from his grip, but he very abruptly seized a fistful of her curls and held on tightly, forcing Jenny to cause Brianna pain by pulling against his hand. Brianna yelped and began wailing. Jenny’s face turned white, and Claire’s vision went red, pressure building between her temples.

“Are you quite sure, Mistress Fraser?”

“Captain, please, ye’re hurting her — ”

“I’d like the truth, please, from Mistress Fraser’s tongue.”

Brianna shrieked again.

Claire forced herself to start coughing again, using all the breath in her lungs to create as realistic a hacking sound as she could manage.

“For Heaven’s sake, Madame. Enough.”

Claire let the glass slip from her grip and shatter at her feet, then rolled her eyes to the back of her head and dropped to the ground.

“Lizzie?” Jenny called. “Captain, please, she needs help, she’s ill — ”

“Get her up onto the sofa!” The Captain barked, beyond irritated.

Brianna’s shrieking was growing louder and louder, likely distraught to see her mother topple over. Claire’s heart was in her throat, tears gathering behind her closed eyelids, her arms aching to press Brianna into her.

Claire was roughly lifted by the two soldiers and laid out on the sofa. Jenny called for Laura and ordered her to take Brianna into the nursery with the other children. Claire bit her lip to stifle her sigh of relief; this meant that the bastard no longer had his hands on her daughter.

Jenny began fretting over Claire, putting a rag on her head, dabbing at her neck.

“She’s burning up,” Jenny cried, distraught.

In a different century, Jenny would make quite the actress.

“Captain, I’m heart sorry, I’ll be happy to answer any questions ye have, but my cousin is no’ well, as ye can clearly see.”

A heavy, tangible silence followed, and Claire could hear the Captain sigh heavily, almost giving way to a growl.

“Very well. When she wakes, offer her my well wishes and a fast recovery.” His voice was thin and tight.

Three sets of footsteps retreated, and then there was a great crashing noise that made Claire jump on the sofa. The footsteps continued and the front door opened and slammed shut.

Claire immediately shot up off the sofa, and Jenny firmly grabbed her shoulders. Claire vaguely registered that the contents of the mantle had been swept onto the floor, creating a mess in the parlor in the Captain’s rage.

“Stay, sister. In case they return.”

“Brianna...I need her…” Claire’s eyes were wide and frantic, her breathing shallow and panicked.

“She’s alright, Claire. She’s wi’ Mrs. Crook. He didna hurt her.”

“I could kill him...disgusting, loathsome man…” Claire spat, her entire body trembling under Jenny’s hands.

“I ken. It’s over now, sister. It’s alright.” Jenny wrapped her arms around her, and despite the urge to run, to kill, to scream, Claire simply melted in her arms, weeping bitterly.

“That was...horrible, Jenny…”

“I ken, mo ghraidh. It’s over now. Ye did well.”

“Her screams…Oh God…”

“I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.”

I cannot bear her pain.

“She’s alright, Claire. She willna even remember this.”

Claire nodded against Jenny’s shoulder, sniffling. At least there was that one small comfort.

“I think it’s been long enough, now. Let’s go,” Jenny said, smiling weakly. “I feel I must hold my own bairns just now, as well.”

That night, and every night thereafter, Claire wondered how much longer they’d be able to keep up this act.

——

March 19th, 1749

It was one of those rare moments of peace, a crackling fire accompanied by the glowing moonlight. Claire was knitting new arm warmers for Maggie, as she’d outgrown her old ones yet again, passing them down to Kitty, who passed her old ones down to Brianna. Brianna was restless beside Claire in bed, tossing and turning back and forth, Lamb tucked under her arm.“Mummy,” Brianna blurted.

“Shh...quiet darling,” Claire whispered. “It’s time to sleep.”

“Story, Mummy.” Brianna sat up and began tugging on the sleeve of Claire’s nightgown. “Story, Mummy.”

“Story, Mummy...what?” Claire looked up from her knitting, cocking an eyebrow at the demanding toddler.

“Story Mummy please?” Brianna said, her ocean-eyes widening, and her bottom lip sticking out in that irresistible pout.

“Well, alright,” Claire grinned, setting aside her knitting on the side table. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Brianna grinned a crooked, toothy smile and clapped her hands.

“Come here, lovie.” Claire opened her arms, and Brianna crawled into her lap, nuzzling herself into Claire’s breast, resting a pudgy palm on the soft flesh at the top of her nightgown, the latching instinct apparently not having left her just yet despite being recently weaned.

Claire hummed with contentment, feeling her little girl settling into her, safe and protected in her mother’s arms, where she belonged.

“Which story do you want to hear, darling? The one about the little princess, and the seven dwarves?”

Claire was not brought up on fairytales at all; any tales told to her by Uncle Lamb were folklore of whatever land they were currently occupying, based in culture, religion, or scientific fact. She hadn’t been raised on princes and princesses like other girls had. She hadn’t gone to see Snow White in 1938 for any reason other than curiosity at its novelty: the first full-length animated motion picture. She’d enjoyed it, and teared up more than she’d liked to admit during the dwarves’ funeral for the princess, mostly because Uncle Lamb had been openly weeping, surely remembering the funeral that Claire was too young to be affected by, a funeral of matching coffins.

It was a fond memory she kept tucked away, something she stopped speaking about after Uncle Lamb had passed. She found herself speaking of it again, telling Brianna the little fairytale as best as she could remember from her one viewing of it. It was simple enough: little princess runs away from an evil queen, lives with seven little men, is saved by her prince, and off they go to happily-ever-after. Brianna enjoyed it well enough, and it made Claire smile to think of telling her about motion pictures someday, and revealing that her favorite of Mummy’s stories was actually created by a man named Walt Disney, each frame individually drawn and painted with as much care as the portraits done by her Grannie Ellen and her Auntie Jenny.

“No Princess. No dw-avs,” Brianna says simply. “Queen, Mummy.”

Claire smiled wistfully, a quiet sadness settling in her chest.

The tale of Laird and Lady Lallybroch was another one of her favorites.

“Alright, lovie.” Claire kissed the crown of her head. 

“Once upon a time, there was a brave, dashing warrior.” Claire felt her little girl smile against her breast. “He had hair like flames and eyes like deep water. Just like yours, baby. He called himself Laird Broch Tuarach, and he lived with his Lady.”

“Lady Bock Too-wack,” Brianna cooed, and Claire gave a watery chuckle.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Lady Broch Tuaroch. She was the most important thing in the world to the Laird. She was…”

“Queen!” Brianna said.

“And he was…”

“King!”

“That’s right, lovie. Their own little kingdom. They loved each other very, very much.” Her voice got tight, and she wound her arms tighter around Brianna. “So very much, that they decided to bring a little princess into the world.” Brianna gave a little giggle. The more she heard the story, the more she began to process that the little princess in question was her.

“The Laird had to go away, leave his Lady and their little princess. But, he left behind a special gift before he had to go away. Special for his little girl.”

Brianna proudly held up the little lamb, and Claire chuckled again.

“That’s right, darling. Fraser colors, so that your father will always be with you.” She pressed a fervent kiss to the top of Brianna’s head.

“The end,” Brianna said contentedly, pressing Lamb back into her chest.

Claire didn’t say anything for a moment. She rocked Brianna silently, her chin resting atop her wild curls, feeling her squishy cheek pressed into the crook of her neck.

“Brianna?” She broke the silence. “Do you know that the warrior, the Laird, the King...do you know that he’s...he’s your Da?”

Brianna had heard the word before. Her cousins said it every day to Ian, about Ian. She wondered if her little brain could grasp it yet, what it meant to have a Da. Or to not have one.

She didn’t expect Brianna to say anything, didn’t expect her to understand well enough. This story was Claire’s way of telling her daughter that she had a father that loved her, even before she would understand. Someday she’d understand.

Claire thought she was hearing things again when Brianna’s little voice said:

“Da.”

She’s just parroting. She’s only two-and-a-half years old. She doesn’t understand.

But logic was powerless to stop the raw emotion that slammed into Claire at the sound of Jamie’s daughter calling out to him.

“That’s right, baby,” she croaked, squeezing her as tightly as she dared. “Da loves you.”

“Da…” Brianna cooed once more, before the sound morphed into a little snore, and she was fast asleep against her.

Claire allowed the tiniest of sobs to escape her lips before she clenched her entire body to silence herself. With the greatest care, Claire laid Brianna on the mattress beside her and then clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling hot tears run over her fingers.

How many tears must I cry? How many nights must I burn alive with this pain?

And yet...how blessed have I been…?

She took a shuddering breath, running her fingers lightly over Brianna’s downy soft curls.

How blessed am I to have you here still? How blessed am I to raise her in your honor, to teach her to love your memory as much as I loved your flesh and blood?

Could she? Could Brianna ever understand the depth of her father’s love for her, the depth of her mother’s love for him?

I’ll do my damndest, Jamie.

I will never stop telling our story.

[labyrinth-runner]

Hauntober Day 23: Candle

Summary: When you have to keep your meetings secret, what better way to signal than with a candle?

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Padmé Amidala, Ahsoka Tano, Barris 

Warnings: None? Ummm implicit smut? Like it’s implied but it’s not stated

Word Count:~1000

The house on the hill was haunted. Everyone in town knew that. After all, what other excuse was there for a candle to be lit in a different window every weekend? As the legend goes, the house was haunted by the ghost of the old owner who’s husband went off to sea and never returned. She’d leave a candle lit in the window every night in case he came home. Or so the legend said. 

When candles showed up again years after the widow died, no one batted an eye thinking that perhaps the widow was back and looking to be reunited with her husband in death. However, they would be furthest from the truth. The house was passed on to a living relative of the widow, a great niece named Padmé who was the state’s governor. She had the house cleaned, and would host parties there from time to time, although her actual residence was further in the city. Or so everyone believed. Few knew the truth. In fact, only two. It was a secret that had been kept for years, until one night.

That night, Padmé lit her candle, placing it on the windowsill in the parlor overlooking the back of the estate. Then, she settled onto the couch and she waited, unaware of the observer across the street.

“Don’t you think its weird how the candle only appears on the weekends,” Ahsoka commented to her friend as she looked through her binoculars.

“So the ghost is busy during the week,” Barriss shrugged, not even looking up from her book. “Do you always spy on empty houses? Surely you have something better to do.”

“I’m telling you, Barriss, there’s something really wrong here,” Ahsoka said adamantly. “Something’s just not adding up.” She shook her head and put the binoculars down and went back to studying, taking Barriss’ advice.

Padmé looked into the fireplace, admiring the warm hearth when she heard the sound of the window being pushed up. A small smile came over her face as she turned to watch a man blow out the candle before hoisting himself into the room and shutting the window behind him. He picked up the candle and walked it back over to her.

“Darling, I believe this belongs to you,” Obi-Wan winked.

“You came,” Padmé grinned.

“I always do.”

She stood up to let him envelope her in his arms as they embraced.

“Do you think there will ever be a time when we won’t have to sneak around?” she asked softly.

“I hope so,” Obi-Wan admitted, cupping her face.

“Just not as long as I’m in office and you’re head of the police department,” she sighed.

“It would ruin your image and mine, making people think that you promoted me to play favorites,” he replied, kissing her softly.

“I promoted you because you were good at your job. This didn’t come til after,” she replied.

“The people won’t know that,” Obi-Wan sighed, sitting on the couch and pulling her into his lap. “Besides, sneaking around like this is the closest to being a criminal I’ll ever get.”

“You’re terrible,” she giggled, kissing his nose. Playfully, he picked her up and brought her to the bedroom to continue their reunion.

Across the street, the girls were studying when Ahsoka absentmindedly looked out the window.

“Okay, you won’t believe this, but the candle is out,” Ahsoka said, dropping her textbook. “Barriss, we have to go investigate.”

“Ahsoka, that’s ridiculous. What if it’s just the governor coming home for the weekend?”

“Why would she be there and not at her house?” Ahsoka asked, pacing the room.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how those rich people think, or how they split their time between multiple houses. I only have one.”

“Touché,” Ahsoka said, wagging her finger at her. “We have to go take a look.”

“If we take a look, will you finally give it up and let me do my homework?”

Ahsoka nodded.

Barriss sighed. “Fine. Let’s get going.”

The two teens made their way to the house, creeping along the shadows to where they had last seen the window.

“It was definitely in this one,” Ahsoka said before peeking up into the room. “Look! The fire’s going.”

“Alright, I’ll admit that’s suspicious,” Barriss said.

Ahsoka tried the window, finding it to be unlocked. Quietly, she lifted the window, opening it wide enough for the two of them to slip through.

“Is that....”

“A shoe?” Ahsoka said, picking up a man’s loafer from the floor.

“There’s a trail,” Barriss commented.

They shared a look.

“Okay, ew. I do not want to follow where that trail leads,” Ahsoka admitted. 

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Barriss murmured, picking up a badge from the coffee table. 

Ahsoka’s eyes widened. “No way!”

“I’ll be right back, darling, I’m just going to get some water,” a man’s voice said from upstairs. The two girls froze in panic, hearing footsteps come down the stairs and get closer. 

“We’ve gotta go,” Ahsoka whispered.

“Quick, out the window!” Barriss replied.

The two of them went to sneak over to the window, stepping on a creaky floor board.

“Is someone in there?” the man said, coming closer to the room.

The girls’ eyes widened as a man in his underwear stepped into view.

“Chief Kenobi!” Ahsoka gasped.

Obi-Wan blushed, “Listen, little ones, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but breaking and entering is not something I would like to put on your records. How about you get out of here and go back home.”

“Obi? Who are you talking to?” A woman called from upstairs.

“Yes, Sir. We saw nothing,” Ahsoka said before crawling back out the window followed by Barriss and running home.

Padmé came down the stairs behind him, robe flowing behind her. She smoothed her hand up his bare chest. 

“Dear, who were you talking to?” she asked.

“Just myself,” he smirked, turning back to wrap an arm around her. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

He scooped her back up, causing her to chuckle as he carried her back to bed.

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

C'est Si Bon

Summary: Jack frowned, going to sit on his windowsill with a bitter expression. His mind filled with pictures of a lost boy in the middle of a yellow brick road. Only, it was not the green pastures of Oz. No. It was the place where Jack somehow knew was called ‘The Territories’(?). The great & terrible. 

The ‘dreams’ had stopped attempting to fade and now just stick to the vulnerable parts of Jack’s brain. He no longer felt the place was a dream. But a memory, yes. That was right. He only couldn’t tell Rational Richard...his best friend and...whatever it was they were to each other now. 

Ships: Jack Sawyer/Richard Sloat

Word Count: 4,442

Tomato sauce coated Richard Sloat’s tongue in a disgustingly thick pile which slid uncomfortably down his throat. 

Coming close to their Senior Year Winter Break was nice & all but who in their right mind wanted a pizza party served to them at eight o’clock in the morning? Classmates of theirs filled the room with laughter while ol’ Rich got his answer...

Jack Sawyer shoveled the triangle slices into his mouth, folded in the middle just the way he liked it. A mess of cheese & sauce squeezed out the sides but his best friend never stopped claiming that was the best way to eat it. 

The mild stare was quickly caught by Jack’s travelin’ eyes that never seemed to be satisfied with their view. The smile he shot back pulled Richard Sloat back into a memory with a strong & muddy grip on his cold arm. 

--Shooting daisy air rifles in Jack’s backyard while miss Lily Cavanaugh Sawyer prepared iced tea despite the cold weather. Richard had been so afraid he’d catch his death from the wet air but Jack’s breath flew over his shoulder in visible puffs...yeah, Jacky taught him how to shoot.--

The sly movement of Jack’s blunt pencil brought him out of old thoughts and into something a little more...uncomfortable. There were occasional slinky moods which came over Jack like waves of cool blue water. 

They could strike him at any moment, it was never a picky type. Jack would just begin to roll his tongue in a low bounce that sounded like pop thundering into a fountain glass. ‘HollywoodLand Jack’. That was how Richard referred to his risky persona though it made his best friend feel sort of annoyed.

Jack slid his note across his desk and into Richard’s view. 

‘I know all the lyrics to C'est Si Bon now.’ was smudged in pencil 

Richard pushed his thin frames up his nose and shook his head, unwilling to participate. He kept his eyes forward on their teacher who was attempting to ease back into a lesson or two. He was quite sure Jack could be patient enough to wait for his trademark response of ‘that’s nice, Jack’. 

But as he so often did these days, Jack pressed on. 

His pencil danced once more across the paper. ‘Payin’ attention to me, sugar?’

Richard huffed quietly, he stole the pencil and wrote quickly so the teacher would not notice. 'Would you stop it, Jack?’

Jack Sawyer peered over Richard’s arm with an amused but loving grin. It said, ‘Oh Richard, you freak. Live forever.’ to anyone who listened. He did not write that in response however. No. Instead, he wrote; ‘Marry me!’ just for the sake of teasing. 

Surprisingly, Richie whispered his response before the note was passed again. “If only you make me a widow quick, Jacky.” He rolled his eyes and faced forward again. 

The Jacky boy laughed. 'You wouldn’t be a widow long, Chum.' He wrote carefully though he figured it was safe to speak anyway. 

'You bet I wouldn’t.' Richard printed on the note carefully before handing it back, reluctantly. He was in the middle of writing ‘And don’t call me Chum!’ when their teacher called out to them, legs stretching before him. 

“Mr. Sloat, Mr. Sawyer, I hope your note passing was important enough to interrupt our lesson.” He frowned, wrinkles forming around the old mouth. Anyone who thought serving pizza & trying to continue teaching at the same time was a bright idea...well they deserved to be interrupted. 

Richard froze, dropping the pencil as he did so. Jack looked at him with pain and guilt which doubled at the next sentence. 

“Would you like for me to read that important note out-loud?” 

Jack, ever so quick with his loudmouth, tried to think of a response but found himself too late as the paper slipped out from Richard’s binder and into the hands of their old teacher. 

An old, old man might still recognize flirting when he saw it behind thick frames. He may even share it with joy to embarrass two sorry closeted gay kids in his class. 

His sunken eyes flickered over the words and crumpled the sheet. “Consider this your first and last warning. Everyone turn your books to-”

Jack stopped listening but heard the sad ‘aw’ sounds of the kids around them, sad to be missing a chance to embarrass their classmates. He was glad to have dodged that but he just knew Richard was likely going to be steamed...

                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Of course I’m mad!” Richard wiggled his arms wildly as they walked towards the Sawyer household which had been housing ol’ Richie for some time since his father...passed away when they were twelve. “We could’ve been...exposed to our whole class.” 

Weather-wise, it was a lovely sunny almost summer day. Jack clutched his books tighter and frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he’d-”

Richard shrugged. “I already forgave you so I suppose we don’t need to bicker about it anymore.” He huffed like that frustrated him before smiling softly at his friend next to him. “I suggest the notes need to stop. Might be good for your health.” He chuckled. 

Jack bounced. “That a threat, Richie boy?” He pulled Richard’s arm. 

“No. Just a thought. You should take care of yourself.” 

“Why I think the little man does care!” Jack pulled him again and giggled. 

“I don't care. It's just that I'm used to you, that's all.” Richard smirked and quickened his pace, hoping Jack would gallop on over to catch up. 

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miss Lily, victim to a new & happy routine, was again gone out for tea in the hour just before her son came home from school. 

Jack had encouraged his mother’s hesitant belief that she needed to get out more with something of a prideful yet relieved attitude. 

Richard knew not to question his best friend on the topic, not only because he believed Jack to be correct to have hope for his mother starting to enjoy life again, but also because the topic of dreams almost always followed. 

The young boys had been sharing a bedroom since Richard’s trouble left him homeless. And since their nightly routines joined, Jack had begun to mumble in his sleep. Strange things of his mother, werewolves and hell sometimes Richard’s name even slipped out ( Known as Richie to the sleepy Jack). Years of being the kind of best friends who breezed in-and-out of each other’s homes lead Richard to knowing this was a new development, most likely brought on by stress of his sickly mother falling ill & recovering so quickly together. 

But Jack did not like to discuss that. So Richard tried not to bring it up anymore. 

“Come on, Sugar. Time’s a wasting!” Jack smirked brightly and rushed towards their doorway. 

“Slow down, Jacky.” 

Jack came over a step or two & watched Richard pull a diet coke from the fridge. He sipped at the rim, eyes peering over his glasses with his own special innocence. He completely ignored Jack’s impatient stare. 

He laid against the doorway like a TV cowboy. “Bring you & your coke over here, Richard.” He tilted his grin and chuckled. 

Another sip & Richard finally strolled over, going right past him. He fought a blossoming blush as Jack smoothly kissed his cheek and stole the can for his own drink. “I am dying to make-out with you until we fall asleep, Chum.” He never did have a problem with voicing his feelings as of late. 

Richard appreciated that in a sense but a bit of strange discomfort nipped at his skin. He licked his lips because he couldn’t realistically hold back his charmed reactions. “You make this so easy, Jacky.” 

Jack swallowed a second drink and handed to coke back over with a genuinely curious expression. “What do I make easy?” 

Richard shrugged and with a push of a button, the TV static revealed a half clear image of that actress Jack liked so much...Myrna Loy. “Liking you.” Was about the simplest and most correct way to put it. 

His friend’s face melted...the sentiment apparently rendering him speechless. Richard tried not to take a selfish pride in that reaction but it was hard not to. He found himself giggling, popping up to his knees on the edge of the bed. 

He threw his arms around Jack’s neck and continued laughing against his neck. 

“It’s all about you, Richie baby.” Jack gently pulled Richard back and stroked under his chin, pressing a kiss against his temple. He then rested his own chin atop his friends hair and froze there for a moment or two. 

There was obviously something on that creative mind of his which Richard craved to ask for. He always went about things like that the same way since the boys were tots. Curving back so he could look him in the eyes, he gave him an old look. 

Jack pulled away. “I wish you’d keep that mouth of yours closed, buddy.” He said, no venom in his tone at all. Just a sad...and sort of content(?) sounding sigh. 

Richard leaned back on his palms and smiled. “Are you still dreaming?” 

Jack frowned, going to sit on his windowsill with a bitter expression. His mind filled with pictures of a lost boy in the middle of a yellow brick road. Only, it was not the green pastures of Oz. No. It was the place where Jack somehow knew was called ‘The Territories’(?). The great & terrible.  

The ‘dreams’ had stopped attempting to fade and now just stick to the vulnerable parts of Jack’s brain. He no longer felt the place was a dream. But a memory, yes. That was right. 

He only couldn’t tell Rational Richard...his best friend and...whatever it was they were to each other now. 

“Bad dreams?” Richard questioned farther. 

“C’est Si Bon.” Jack answered smugly and hopped onto the bed, deciding to be chummy again. “So nothing to worry about.” He sat next to him and brushed some of his featherlight hair from his face. 

Richard opened his mouth but it fell shut when Miss Lily Sawyer could be heard coming into the living room. Jack slouched against him, head resting on his shoulder with a mixture of expectance and disappointment. 

“So long HollywoodLand Jack.” Richard mumbled quietly, pushing his glasses back up and kissing Jack’s cheek as he sat up. 

Jack huffed but smiled nonetheless. He attacked Richard’s cheek and neck with kisses. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the first time in a long while, Richard dreamed of his Father among other things. 

Not nice dreams. 

‘The closet with the folding doors...his daddy going inside and not coming out. No matter how long he called for him...’ Richard stirred in his bed which went unnoticed to his sleeping friend on the other side of the room. 

‘Shooting daisy air rifles--yeah, Jacky taught him how to shoot.’ Richard let out a whimper. ‘Richard was there in full-body now. A small degree of a fever burned under his skin--Jacky was teaching him how to shoot in the closet. They were in there together.’

He shot up in his bed, sweat pouring down from his temples. The wide world of unfamiliar beauty had almost been painted behind his eyelids for a moment there. He hardly was aware of the scene his waking up had been until he glanced up to see the concerned face of miss Lily. 

Her beautiful face was close by as she knelt on the carpet, robe pooling at her knees. He wanted to cry. Cry for his lost daddy but knew with all his heart that he very well couldn’t do that. Especially with Lilly Sawyer just there next to his bed. 

“My word.” She smiled gently. “You were just about inches from plopping onto this old carpet.” Their relationship hadn’t been all sunshine & rainbows considering what old Morgan Sloat had done to her & her family. But credit to Miss Lily. She always treated him kindly. 

“I’m sorry for waking you, Mrs. Sawyer.” He frowned, blinking into the dark room. She shook her head and set down a glass of water onto his nightstand. 

“I was already up. Drink some and go back to sleep, will you?” She tapped the glass and looked onto him with what might’ve been fondness. 

And just like that, she was gone from the room. 

Richard slurped down the water, attempting to slow down before he gave himself the hiccups. He was about to settle in for sleep again when Jack padded over, pajama pants a bit long for him. Richard wasn’t quite sure when the boy had woke. 

He sat down next to him and looked down with a curious expression. It was nothing like any of his usual faces which unsettled Richard immensely. He shuffled closer and rested his cheek against Jack’s arm. 

“I’m sorry, Sugar.” Jack mumbled, shifting down so they could lay face-to-face instead. Richard simply hummed. 

“Just bad dreams, Jack.” He blinked his eyes closed, long lashes free from behind his glasses, and nearly drifted again. 

His partner just continued to frown, drifting closer. “I hope you can remember the time I fell in love with you, Richard.” Jack spoke so softly that Richard barely heard. He figured he really wasn’t supposed to hear that. Jack thought he’d gone back to rest. “When and where.” An afterthought, he spoke aloud. 

Jack kissed his temple and returned to his own bed. 

                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Myrna Loy was on the cheap TV again the next Saturday morning. Jack watched her move about William Powell as he shoveled dusty cereal into his mouth. He’d even picked up Richard’s habit, no milk but still using a spoon. 

“G’Morning.” Jack mumbled into his bowl. 

Richard could tell from the missing keys on the hook by the door that Miss Lilly had left, he hoped she was treating herself to a quiet breakfast. So he slowly started on his toast, kissing the top of Jack’s head for a greeting. 

“I want to talk about us-”

“Can I ask you about your dream last night-?”

The boys spoke at the same time, not unlike them at all, but felt a flicker of pre-tension. Richard frowned. He didn’t want to talk about the useless dream, he knew he was a big fat hypocrite but there really was no point in chatting about something probably induced by a heavy dinner or stress. “It was a nightmare. About my dad.” He shrugged. “It’s nearing his Birthday, now that I think about it. That’s probably why.” He rolled his lips together and forced tears back in. 

Jack gently took his hand and rubbed circles on his skin. “Any other details you remember-?” 

Richard ripped his hand away and scuffed, moving to the other side of the kitchen area. “I don’t know, Jack. What does it matter anyway?” His eyes narrowed. 

Jack shrunk back but kept a stoic expression. “I just want to talk about it, Richard.” His tongue clicked. “You always want to talk about mine-”

“Yeah! But that’s because I can help you figure out the real reasons for your dreams.” He finally pushed his glasses (which had been hooked onto his sleep shirt) onto his face. “I fear for how you might encourage my odd dreams.” 

Jack groaned. He took slight offense at the comment. “I’m not insane.” His friend frowned, clasping a coffee mug close to his chest. 

The room was silent for another twenty minutes or so while Richard finished making his neatly plated breakfast and sat across the counter. “I still want to talk about us.” 

Jack blinked up at him and then...shrugged. As if to say; ‘Go ahead but I’m still pissed. Might even win this argument because of it.’

“You love me?” Richard hated the phrasing of his question. It made him sound childish but...he felt as nervous ever. “As in...in love...you know? Are you in love with me? That’s what I mean.” He was embarrassed that he lost his ability to articulate. 

Jack wanted to be angry still. That much could be seen in his initial expression but it melted shortly after. His cheeks flushed a light red color. “Yeah. Of course I am.” 

‘Not thinking, Jack came back in for a moment and kissed Richard’s cheek. Richard put his arms around Jack’s neck for a moment and hugged fiercely. Then he let Jack go. Neither of them said anything.’

Richard felt that spike of memory hit the middle of his forehead and he squinted from sheer pressure. “What did you mean then? Last night? When & where?”

“Are you sure you want to hear about that, Sugar? Might encourage your odd dreams.” Jack went back to pissed rather quickly from smitten. Richard felt a pang of guilt. He rolled his lips together and sighed. “If you know, you know-” He started, leaning over the counter to claim some of Richard’s body heat.

“What does that mean-?”

Jack chuckled. “It means...maybe one day, you’ll remember. I hope so. But-” He cut himself off and tilted his half-grin. 

‘And you won’t always be reminding me? You know...jogging my memory?’

‘Not if you want to forget.’

‘I do, Jack. I really do.’

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know that I should just keep reminding you.” He felt a sudden burst of dizziness and fell back on the seat of his fading jeans. 

Richard took a deflated bite of toast. “You make me happy, Jack.” He swallowed, speaking earnestly. His buddy had a way of telling if he wasn’t. 

Jack’s face came over with another beautiful smile. “Just the four words I wanted to hear, Richie.” He reached over, wiped a crumb from his friend’s lip and kissed him softly. 

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside the crystal clear windows, flakes of snow danced through the air and pelted the ground. Jack Sawyer’s mind nearly recalled every bit of his twelve year old self’s adventure. There was an odd bit of a mourning period after the most of it rained down on him. The Territories seemed so close yet so far out from his reach. 

He folded the laundry and kept himself entertained with a thin novel, cracked open in his free hand. Richard was working on a fresh pot of coffee and his mother was in her morning shower. 

Though, Richard came from the kitchen in mere seconds with his light-blue mug clutched in a steady hand; which he then used to turn the knob on the Television down. Jack watched him settle gracefully on the carpet with a smile. He folded one of his shirts and took it upon himself to start singing ‘Love & Marriage’ quietly...

Richard peeked up at him with an amused smirk. “Who are you saving that lovely singing voice for? Your actress...” He raised a brow and sipped his coffee. He tipped his chin to yet another Myrna Loy movie playing on the screen.

Jack smiled. “Not my type.” 

“You have a type?” He chuckled. 

“Only you, Sugar.” Jack threw another shirt into the basket. “A Lanky brunette with attitude.” He winked and enjoyed the way Richard rolled his fond eyes. He crawled onto the floor next to him and kissed his cheek over & over. 

Richard chuckled and pretended he didn’t love the soft attention. He curled closer after a few seconds of gently swatting him away. Once he was basically between Jack’s legs & leaning on his chest, he sighed. 

Jack hugged his boy a little tighter and heard himself speak in his head. ‘I’m going to take care of you Richard. You’re the herd now.’ Air just barely made it past his lips as they thinned together, nestling his face into Richard’s hair. 

A second voice spoke in a nasty tone. ‘Do you know what the bible says about homosexuality, Jack? Well, all boys are bad. It’s axiomatic.’

The door to the bathroom flew open & just like that, his old chum jumped back onto the couch. It left a cold feeling of disappointment deep in Jack’s gut while he watched Richard straighten himself out. 

                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Failing to start his car in the middle of the movie rental parking lot was where Jack began to realize he was genuinely worrying for Richard for the first time in a few years. 

His chum was curled up on the hood of the old car, sneakers flat on the metal as his knees curled up to his chin. The sun gave his skin a shiny glaze which was reminiscent of the old days they’d used to spend playing at the park. But the chill was unmistakable.

Rich was in the thick pine green sweater that Jack simply adored because it was like cuddling with a pillow. 

‘I want to be awake, Jack. I don’t want to have this dream anymore. No. I don’t want to.’

Jack stuck his head out the window and enjoyed the view he was gifted for the few seconds he had left. Richard turning to look back at him with the pale winter sun shining on the roads behind him. “Are you still having those dreams?” He dared to ask. 

Richard frowned, legs sliding down the hood. “Yeah. But things pass as time goes by.” He looked as if he knew that answer would only disappoint Jack. He shook his head. “Where did you get these ideas about my dreams being...real?”

With the inflection on that question, Jack was positive now that Richard remembered his time with Travelin’ Jack & the Territories. He was just masking it as he’d done when it was a current event in his life. 

Richie knew Jack knew this too. But hell if he’d admit to it. 

Jack rolled his eyes and stood from his seat, shutting the car door behind him. “I don’t want to fight about this, Chum.” He spoke earnestly, sounding a bit like a black-and-white film star. “I just want to know if you’re hurting at all?” 

“I was.” He tilted his head. “Most of them were nightmares about my dad...or me getting hurt badly.” 

Jack tried not to picture those gray moments where Richard had been grotesquely injured in the Territories. 

Richard’s eyelids fluttered from the weight of a long afternoon. “But some...” He leaned into Jack just the slightest. “Are you & I speaking of how we love the other before going on another leg of some journey. Those ones are nice.” He nodded. 

Richard, who’s eyelashes were short but his eyes were huge, looked up at Jack with so much love in that moment that Jack might’ve swept him into a long movie kiss if they weren’t in public. “Maybe I don’t remember a lot about the where, Jack.” (He remembered more each night) “Hell, maybe I don’t even want to-” (he didn’t) “But I love you. So much and so seriously.” (He did. More than he ever loved anyone.)

Jake softened, opening his mouth-

“I just don’t like thinking about that time.” Tears started to fall down Richard’s cheeks. 

“But you admit...?”

He swallowed something thick and nodded with annoyance. “It happened. I know that.” He looked Jacky in the eyes. “But I don’t want to remember it because it scared me. Badly. What my dad did...” 

He shook his head. “I hate him. But when I think back about that time in my life...when you came in through the Thayer window. Well, I remember how I used to love him. I don’t want to give his memory that satisfaction. And I sure as hell don’t want to live through the heartbreak again.”

Jack glanced up at him and almost died of fright. For when he looked up, he briefly saw... ‘Richard’s poor, tired face was covered with running blood...He could see the naked gleam of Richard Sloat’s skull’

“I’m sorry, sugar. I’m so sorry-” Jack rushed forward, momentarily forgetting they were definitely in a public area, and kissed his boyfriend over-and-over. 

Richard hummed. “It’s ok...” the hum turned into a chuckle. “Jack? Jacky? C’mon before people stare. Or throw shit.” He patted his back and smiled when Jack pulled away. “I’m sorry I can’t remember some if it as fondly as you can. But just know that I’m so amazed by you for what you did. And I’ll gladly hear more of your Wolf stories anytime.” He pushed some of Jack’s sweaty hair back. 

Jack positively glowed. “You remember me telling you about Wolf?” 

Richard nodded. “I wish I got to meet him.” 

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilly fixed the boys some hot tea before bed & told them earnestly that she knew. She knew about them being together & for a while. It’d shocked Richard to no end but Jack just grinned. So, so happy to have his mother in his life. So thankful for the chance to save her. 

She said her goodnights and headed off for bed. 

So Jack figured he’d gotten a gentle permission to lay in bed with Richard...at least until he fell asleep. Then he’d move to his own bed again & give his boyfriend some space. 

He laid there next to him, brushing his hair back and enjoying Richard’s quiet ramblings. 

“I’m sorry if I...” He started. “If I worry too much. I know I have a lot of anxiety and that can be difficult to deal with.” Richard mumbled as Jack softly removed his glasses for him. 

“Don’t apologize, Chum.” He kissed Richard’s nose when it wrinkled at the nickname. “I know that there are people who might think that’s a bad thing about you...but I get it. And I love you for it.” He leaned down to kiss him. 

Jack chuckled at his own sudden nerves. “I don’t want you to ever end up with someone who makes you feel bad about yourself...who would want you to be more of a ‘normal type person’ or some shit.” He felt an odd bunch of tears start to drown his eyes. “Who wouldn’t know to leave your greatness alone. Ok? So I just want to say that I can do that for you...for the rest of your life, if you wanted.” 

Richard pushed himself up to a sitting position and was dead silent for a few seconds. “We can’t get married, Jacky.” 

Jack grinned and nodded his head. “I know. But I think maybe one day we’ll be able to. Would you like that?” 

Richard wiped his cheeks with his sleeve and giggled. “Yeah! I would. You dork.” He smashed their lips together and enjoyed the way they melted together. 

They laid together just long enough to hear ‘C’est Si Bon’ play on Jack’s record player 1 time and then were off to sleep...

[blackhillverse]

December 1st.

1. Decorating Christmas tree.

Words count: 1075

This prompt but on AO3: *click*

Natasha is in the middle of watching Harry Potter on the TV when she hears the lock click. She does not really bother to look in that direction, she knows it is Maria who has just got back home from work. She throws a quick ‘hi’, her eyes glued to the screen. Her lips curve in a small smile when the Weasley twins enter the Great Hall on their brooms, throwing fireworks.

“Stupid tree,” she hears Maria huff and Natasha realizes that the door to their apartment has not been closed, letting the cold wind wander around their house.

She turns her head to see what is taking so long for Maria to come into their apartment. Natasha sees her wife fighting with an enormous Christmas tree on their doorstep, trying to push the tree inside of their house. Natasha moves her eyes back to the TV, but it takes her a moment to realize that Maria is actually fighting with a goddamn Christmas tree in the hallway. She immediately pauses the movie and turns once again to Maria.

“When you said you would go shopping after work, I didn’t think you meant buying a hulk-size Christmas tree,” she says and gets up from the couch. “Don’t tell me you hoisted it by yourself, Maria.”

“Two fucking floors. Forgot we don’t have an elevator in the building,” Maria pants and finally manages to push the tree through the door.

Natasha shakes her head and takes the weight of the tree from Maria and leans it against the wall. She flicks the pine needles from her hands and moves closer to Maria, slowly reducing the space between them. She places both of her hands on Maria’s cold cheeks. 

“You didn’t have to, Maria,” she whispers and places a kiss on her wife’s frozen red nose.

Maria puts her hands on Natasha’s waist and stares at her. She gently brushes her nose against Maria’s, one of her hand slotting into dark hair.

When their lips connect, they hear a loud bang that makes them turn, Natasha’s wrists ready to eject the nonexisting Widow’s Bites. But it was just the Christmas tree that slid from the wall and crashed to the ground. They look at it in silence and burst out laughing. Natasha takes pine needles out of Maria’s hair. When her wife begins to strip down, Natasha moves to the kitchenette and puts the kettle on. She smiles at Maria when she sees her trailing the Christmas tree to the corner of their living room. Maria walks out on their balcony and moments later returns with a big brown box and a metal Christmas tree stand. 

Natasha makes them two cups of coffee and leaves the kitchenette, holding two mugs in her hands. She places them on the coffee table and moves to the box and opens it.

“Lights first?” She asks and Maria nods.

They untangle the cable together and Natasha smiles when she wires the lights up to see if the golden bulbs work. When they are about to start wrapping the lights around the Christmas tree, Natasha changes her direction and quickly wraps Maria with them. She laughs loudly as she does it and in the end, she sticks the plug to the nearest outlet, making Maria unsteady on her feet.

“Natasha, you stop this mess now,” she says but Natasha does not listen.

The redhead takes her phone out of her back pocket and takes a picture of Maria, wrapped in Christmas lights with a grumpy face on.

“Oh common! Cheer up, Hill!” She says while sending the picture to Clint Barton. “You’re no fun, my grumpy Christmas tree,” she whines.

Natasha helps Maria to break free and they wrap the proper Christmas tree with the lights. 

When both of them reach for the ornaments from the box, they run smack into each other.

“Ow,” Natasha rubs her forehead and stands upright. “It has to happen every damn year, doesn’t it?” She says and reaches for the box again.

She sits on the floor and hang silver Christmas balls on the bottom of the tree. Maria hangs the rest of the ornaments on the higher part.

“Can I put the tree topper?” Natasha asks, already reaching for the golden star.

Maria lowers herself and piggybacks Natasha so the tiny redhead can place the tree topper. After everything, Natasha gets off her back with the grace of a cat. Maria turns to her and Natasha wraps her arms around Maria’s neck, kissing her tenderly. They stay like this for a moment and Natasha takes advantage of a peaceful situation to let her mind wander and eyes focus on the most important person in her whole life.

She knows that if Maria could, she would give her the world and nothing less. She knows that every year, Maria tries to make her feel like a part of society by celebrating Christmas.  To help her feel more human.

 Natasha loves December. She loves to sit at the windowsill with a mug of hot chocolate, pet Liho and stare at Maria who is sunk into reading another crime fiction on their couch. She loves to go out for walks to the near park, holding Maria’s frozen hand because she hates wearing gloves. She loves to stare at Maria, whose face is lighted by the moon only, and observe snowflakes sticking to her hair and scarf. She loves the feeling of Maria’s hot lips on her own, mixing with the icy-cold wind that wraps around them as they stand in the middle of an empty road.

Suddenly, Natasha feels the weight of Maria on her and panting, they both land on the floorboards. Maria lays on the top of her and with a laugh, Natasha realizes they are both pinned down by the Christmas tree. She tries to lift her head to see anything in front of her and busts out laughing when she sees Liho, entailed in a white tinsel.

“Liho!” Maria turns her head and snaps at their cat but Liho does not seem to be thrilled by Maria’s commander voice as she carelessly plays with the new fluffy toy.

Natasha laughs again and putting her hands on Maria’s cheeks, she forces the woman above her to look at her.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too. Now, help me get this thing off my back.”

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Marry for Love

Summary: If you love someone let them go, if they never come back they were never truly yours. But if they come back, they were meant to be. 

Oneshot

Yugyeom X Reader

This is kind of based off of Krogstad and Mrs. Linde’s relationship in “The Doll’s House”.

When I was younger I fell in love with the sweetest man of my life, things were wonderful, we even got engaged. Things took a turn for the worst, my mother fell ill and I needed to take care of her. I dropped everything including the engagement to care for her and my baby sister. My heart broke the minute I had to tell Yugyeom that I could no longer be with him, we were high school sweethearts that lasted. And here I was flushing that whole relationship down the drain. It broke my heart to pieces he would write sometimes hoping I would change my mind. I would read them earnestly and then they just stopped coming. I was torn, it was my fault I would never reply because I had too much on my plate. I love Yugyeom to pieces but that was years ago now, I had married for money while juggling two jobs. The man was older than hell, and he had left me with nothing when he died. No children to keep me laughing, and by then my mother was long gone, and my baby sister had her own family. I was left on my own, no grief to take my heart just the sounds of my own hollow heart.

The last job I had dropped me for someone younger, I was 28 how much younger did they want? Turns out an 18 year old can do a better job than I can. I moved to a new town my heart in shambles. With nothing to keep me going, moving seemed to be the only option for me. The day I moved, my old friend Nari took me in until I was stable with a job and a place to live. 

Who would have guessed that my high school sweetheart would have had kids, and was now widowed. Certainly not me but when I saw him on the streets and his three little ones trailing behind him. My heart sank, he would never see me the same. And as I stared he turned his neck looking dead at me. I ducked under the windowsill, too late, but maybe he would think it was a figment of his imagination. 

Still after all this time he made my heart pick up. He had changed though, he was now something otherworldly; and he still had to care for his kids while being a vampire. He didn't want his kids to suffer the same fate. He was hanging out at his wife's grave when he was turned, she had just recently past. It still kind of hurt, even if he didn't marry for love, and he had married for status. While he was sitting there, they shoved against the gravestone, drained him of blood and poisoned him to become just like the monster they were. 

He has desperately tried to conceal it from his kids, but you can't hide much from a child. They found out quickly, but promised to keep it a secret if he would take them flying. How could he tell his kids no? And so he did, and it became a monthly thing out in the woods. For they had nothing to fear as long as daddy was there. He was thankful for his kids keeping him on his toes and happy even with his disease. 

To see (Y/n) in his town made him feel terror and it made him reminisce in the past. For his heart still belonged to (Y/n) even if his heart no longer beats. His heart caught in his throat and he quickly took his kids home. Investigating if this was really who he saw, sneaking around the town was easy for him with his lightning fast speed. He didn’t use them often to appear normal in the small town he was currently living in. Seeing them standing there in the little shop, awoke his heart, what could he do? Avoid the situation at all costs? Or run straight into the problems and deal with the repercussions later. Wealth and status no longer mattered to him, did it matter to them? All of these questions were running through his head, he sighed deciding to avoid it till another day. Turning back and heading home to his three little ones, he needs to care for. But that would come later it would seem because there they were, standing right in front of him. “Is it really you Yugyeom?” His breath caught in his throat, if his heart could beat it would be beating out of his chest. He nods, “I didn’t expect to see you,” “Nor I…” 

He catches his breath, “Where’s your wedding ring?” They look at him, “I can ask the same of you” “Widowed?” They nod and he agrees to his own statement. “Did he give you any children?” “No, what about your lover?” “Three” They nod, and with that they were gone with the wind. They left as fast as they came in, if he was actually paying attention they went around the corner, and put a hand over their heart. Their heart beating out of their chest, to see Yugyeom again, put so many things into perspective. Thinking that he has three little ones from someone else hurts. But the world is not like that huh? It does not let you live your stupid fairy tales, just because you want to. No, it is much more horrendous than that, he moved on, and I guess I should too. If only my mother hadn’t gotten seriously ill, maybe we could have been wed, and had our own three little ones, adopted or not. For I could not marry him, neither him or I had a stable job, when I got one he was still going through practice to become stable enough for a successful job. And I couldn’t wait, my heart ripped out when I sent him that letter, nothing else in the world could ever hurt as much. For I could never be who he needed, and at the time he couldn’t be the man I needed. But now all my thoughts are caught up in the fact that I could be with him. 

Shit I fucked it up didn’t I? Yugyeom internally screams at himself, I should have not asked if they had kids, that was messed up of me. But I had assumed, that they loved that man more than me, that they would have kids. With a broken heart, I became a dance instructor eventually finding a woman close enough to my dreams. I married her for the noble status she had, for the fact that she would be able to give me kids to succeed me in the business I opened for dance. I was so greedy and selfish about it, not being able to be with (Y/n) made me heartless. Maybe that was why it was so easy for the vampires to turn me like them. Because I too, was heartless since they left me, that I was already that much closer to being a monster. I had tried so desperately to love my wife, and when she died from a sickly disease my heart didn’t weep as much as I thought it would. It mostly weeped for my kids, who would be left without their biological mother. Without the loving nature she always had for everything, sitting at the gravesite and supposedly talking to her, cleared up bits of my conscious and gave me the confidence to raise my three little ones. But seeing the love of my life, or what once was, brought all my feelings back, all the memories of when I was once content with my life. With them destroying my heart, I felt nothing but despair, although I had happy moments, nothing could compare to them. 

If they knew that I was a vampire she would leave me quicker than I can move. They were my everything, and now I’m left with nothing, for all I am is a monster trapped in a human body. I drag my feet to my home, my kids running up to me and talking to me. I smile at them, for some reason no matter the mood I am in, they can always bring me back. I sit on the couch and we gather around the television and talk about anything they can come up with. Delving into deeper topics, then they ask the question, “Who was that you went looking for?” I sigh, “Do you three really want to know?” “Please, Daddy!!” I roll my eyes, they don’t even have to plead to know, they truly own my heart, other than that person who was standing in the little bookstore. “Daddy knew them a long time ago, way before you three would be born. They were Daddy’s high school sweetheart, the love of his life,...” “What happened?” I look down at my lap twiddling my thumbs, “While we were engaged, their mother fell ill, they had to care for their mother and their baby sister now, they were anything but selfish. But Daddy was broken when they broke off the engagement to marry to a man with money.” “But Daddy, you have money now” Darrian, my oldest tells me, “I know sweetheart, but that’s not the point. Your Daddy wasn’t well off when he was younger, he came from a poor family, your mother was rich and wealthy beyond my dreams. Why she married me was because her father didn’t like the idea, and wanted to prove something to him, while I married her for status. My sweetheart was the same way in the sense of money, to be rich and lonely is poisoning to be poor and in love, is worth every struggle. I want you three to marry for love and nothing less, if you do not love them, do not marry them okay.” “Daddy,... what are you gonna do now?” “I’m not sure, my internal heart says to chase after them and give them my everything. But my brain is saying no, because they still probably love their deceased lover.” Fred looks at me quizzically, “If you love them, go after them-” “Do you forget what I am?” “That does not matter in love’s eyes, Daddy!! Love is blind and if they really love you they won’t care about that” My little girl, Areum tells me crossing her arms and sternly nods her head. “What if-” “Don’t you dare second guess yourself, Daddy!” Areum says with a glare, “Jeez I raised you kids right” They laugh at my expense, and I grab them up into my arms, “Let’s head to bed okay, and we’ll talk about it in the morning” “Fine” Darrian scoffs at me, these kids are gonna be the death of me. Once they are set to bed with a bedtime story, I go downstairs and pull out a blood bag from the fridge. I slump into a chair, and groan at myself, I could have just told them how I felt. That my nonexistent heart still beats because of them, but that would have been creepy wouldn’t have it been. 

I could have just talked to him about everything, maybe on another day, and we can figure out our feelings. Nari looks at me when I come into the house, “Is something wrong?” “Remember Yugyeom?” “Oh yeah, you two were high school sweethearts, those were the days…” She smiles softly at me, “Yeah they were--I saw him today” “Oh, he does live in these parts” “Um that would have been nice to know, you know…” “Oh, I’m sorry dear that completely slipped my mind, but did you two talk?” I nod shoving my face into my arm, “I wish I would have just married him, back then…” “We all make mistakes dear, after all, if I hadn’t tripped and fell right in front of my wife, I would have never met her…” I sigh, “Yeah but that was a cute mistake--” “Not when it happened, but yeah, you’ll make amends don’t worry dearest, things happen for a reason. Now do you want to help me knit a scarf for our soon to be son?” I nod, helping her, at least I landed a job, that means I can rent an apartment, and start my life back up. 

First day at work, and I’m excited that this will be a change of pace for me. They teach me the ropes and I catch on fairly quickly, it’s quite easy to run this little bookstore. On the first check, I manage to get my own apartment, and I have yet to see Yugyeom since I ran into him the first day I was here in town. Which that I’m glad of, but at the same time, my heart is anything but content, always searching for his black hair and his long black trench. He still wears the trench I bought him for our first anniversary, the big hole on the left elbow being the biggest indicator. He slipped and fell on the ice in front of my porch ripping it and crying about it, he was so sweet, not wanting to damage something that meant so much to him. I laughed it off and helped him patch himself up, everything but the coat, to see that he still wears it made my heart flutter. But I wasn’t about to say anything, for fear of what he could say. 

I got off later than usual, my eyes droopy and tired, I go home the fastest way, down the side streets. I was doing fine, I’ve never been scared of the back-ways, but this, this was about to change everything. Yugyeom sitting on the ledge of a fence, a dead cat in his hands, and his mouth to it. The next thing I know is that I'm not in my apartment, and this place is freaking me out. What happened last night? Wait, could that be reality? And I didn’t just dream that up? I mean I could have, but then it can’t be, because that was so vivid, and did I really pass out because of that? I sit up on the couch and there stands Yugyeom in pink robe with pajamas on, “I can explain!!” He waves his hands in front of him, “Um?... You should…” He sighs and sits next to me, “You see a lot has changed since we parted ways… Now believe me or not, but after I was widowed I was sitting in front of her grave, trying to figure out how I was gonna care for my three little ones… I was slammed against a gravestone and turned into a vampire…” I click my tongue, “I can believe it, but it seems a little far-fetched, my soft Yugyeom is now a vampire?” He nods, ready for me to walk out of the door, and I softly put my hand on his cheek, “Can you show me?” His eyes glint red as his teeth sharpen, I nod my head, well, he wasn’t lying that’s for sure. “Do you want to talk about everything?” I ask softly, and he nods.

A little girl runs down the steps, “Daddy!! It’s almost time for school!” “Go get ready and wake up your brothers for me okay?” “I will, but who are you?” She pertains the question to me, “I-I-I… I’m (Y/n)” I say not expecting the question, she gasps and looks at Yugyeom before quickly running up the stairs. “Um? Okay?” “That’s Areum for you” He laughs, “She’s my baby girl, the youngest of the three” I nod, “She’s cute” He grins, “I know” I roll my eyes, “So…” “Yeah?” “I wish I never left you,…” I say softly, “but I guess you’ve moved on.” He shakes his head, “That’s where you’re wrong.” I tilt my head, “I tried everything to get over you, I married for goodness sakes. Although it was the money and status, and for her it was to prove her parents wrong…” I look down at my hands, “So you did the same I had?” “In a way” I look up at him to see him staring at me, “I… If you’ll have me maybe… We can start over again?” He tilts his head at me, “Why do we have to start over?” Words leave me, “When we can pick up where we left off?” I looked at him quizzically, “What do you mean by that?” “I mean, um,... that we can become friends and then something more… That we don’t have to completely start over again, because it’s not like we don’t know each other…” It catches up with me what he means, I smile at him, “I would like that…” 

His sons come rushing down the stairs, their sister in tow, when a kid puts his hand out to me, “I’m Darrian!” I smile, “It’s nice to meet you, Darrian, I’m (Y/n).” He grins, Fred and Areum introduce themselves to me. And I grin, “You guys are so cute, much like your father” “Yeah Daddy is the best ain’t he!!” Fred grins at me, I nod, and Fred high fives Areum, and Yugyeom is gone and back in his clothes, “Let’s go kiddos” And without a further word they climb onto him, and he takes them to school, and I’m left all alone. 

I’m in Yugyeom’s house, and I feel uncomfortable, but I don’t want to be disrespectful, thankfully I had my phone and respond to a few texts. And scroll through social media to hear the door open again, and there is Yugyeom. Standing in all of his glory, “It feels lonely without them…” He sighs, I look over at him and nod, “Yeah I understand” He sits next to me, “I’m sorry I didn’t take you to your apartment, I didn’t know where you lived exactly…” I nod, “It’s okay, I’m sorry I fainted.” “If I was in the same situation I would have fainted…” I giggle, “You were always faint of heart like I was” He pouts, “It’s changed me…” “Do you want to talk to me about it…” He shrugs, “The minute you left me I felt heartless anyway, what brought back parts of my heart were my little ones. They kept me happy, always bringing me up, if it weren’t for them I don’t know where I would be now… It was funny because I was already like a vampire, heartless, soulless, although the wound started to scab over, it was too late. It’s not your fault, its mine for never having the heart to get over you. To only reminisce, when I was turned I was expecting to hide it from my kids for as long as I could. But you can never keep secrets from kids, they catch on quickly. And now, they make me fly them in the woods every month to keep it as a secret. Because vampire don’t exist, at least to the average person.” “But you’re sitting right next to me, also your kids pulled the same exact thing you did.” He looks at me with a weird look, “What do you mean by that?” I giggle, “You don’t remember?” He shakes his head at me, “When I ruined the new clothes mom got me by accident, by falling on my ass in mud, and it ripped a big seam. I got you to shut your mouth by writing you love letters every week. I fixed the dress, of course… you did the same thing your kids do now” He laughs, “I remember that, and you were so pissed at me… But you didn’t stop, even after you fixed the clothes… I kept them all.” I blush, “Remember when we broke up and you still kept mailing me love letters?” He nods, “I kept them and read them until they ripping at the folds, and the tear stains were ruining them” He brings me into his arms, “I’m sorry if it’s too soon… I just wanted to feel you in my arms again… That’s all I wanted to do for eight years.” My arms wrapping around him, “I loved you so much, it ripped up my heart, my mom was so mad at me when she found out, she didn’t talk to me for three weeks… I should have just went back to you, but I was already married to the old fogy… You writing letters didn’t help either, the nightmares didn’t stop for years. I tried everything in the books, before I started holding that little teddy bear you gave me… I never got over you either, Yugyeom. I’m sorry for what I put us through…” Putting my head in my hands, ashamed of myself, I loved the man so much, but I couldn’t wait, and my mother said she’d rather die than let me be unhappy. She did, just before the old man would die, he had me as his show and tell, look what I got, and you don’t have. My heart was torn from that, I wish I just stayed with Yugyeom, my baby sister thankfully didn’t make the same mistakes as me. Marrying for love, but it seems neither Yugyeom or I made that decision. 

I didn’t notice the tears streaming down my face, I’m so ashamed of my decisions, until I feel Yugyeom pulling me further into him and tear droplets hitting my face. We just stayed there crying for a good amount of time, before I softly tell him, “Yugyeom?” A broken ‘hmm’ comes out of his mouth, “I still love you, and I can’t change that…” He lifts my face to look him in the eyes, “Say that again…” “I still love you--” He kisses me, and my heart feels this complement it hasn’t felt in years. I turn myself around, to wrap my arms around him, when we break away from each other, our foreheads touching. He tells me softly, “Areum was right,... Love is blind…” I laugh, “Love is a cruel mistress too” He shrugs at me, “You’re here that’s what matters… You really don’t care that I’m a vampire?” I shrug, “That makes you hotter even if you’re cold blooded now.” He laughs and kisses my nose, “If you’ll have me, and my kids, they seem to like you, would you want to be with me?” I give him a grin, “I would love too, Yugyeom, you’ve been my dreams for years, if you and your kids want me here,...” He kisses my nose, “I do value their opinion a lot” “I’m glad, you should look out for them first.”

Two hours went by and we talk about everything, from what happened to our high school sweetheart days. He picks up his little ones, and they look at me, “Are you gonna break Daddy’s heart again?” Darrian says with a steely gaze analyzing me, “Never again” Fred looks at me with the same gaze, “Why did you decide to come back into his life? Now of all times?” Oh man, these kids are gonna eat me alive, it makes me smile internally that they are so protective of him, “I was married to a man I didn’t love, my heart always belonged to Yugyeom, but divorce in these parts will brand you, and I wouldn’t be able to get a job. That marriage was to take care of my mother and my baby sister, my job couldn’t support either of them. Yugyeom was still finding his way, and it broke my heart, my mother was mad at me for marrying that man. She had a right to be, she couldn’t be as mad at me as I was at myself. For I had lost the love of my life, my mother preached back and forth to not marry for money but to marry for love. She told me after that fact, but I had no other choice, I thought, I wanted my mother to live a long and happy life. But she wasn’t happy if I wasn’t, she would pass before I got out of that man’s grasp. I was left with nothing but an unhappy heart after he left me. I come to Yugyeom now,... I didn’t expect to see him ever again, I was sure he moved far away and started a beautiful happy family. Never to remember me, for me to be just a distant memory. Everything came flooding back when I saw him in the bookstore, my whole world went upside down… You see I’ve never loved someone like how I love Yugyeom. He’s been my only true love, for twelve years if you add our high school days. My heart never truly left him, seeing him again brought everything back. He has always been the one, and after talking to him in streets, that first day and not seeing him for weeks… Killed my heart, it left me in shambles, and he scared me to pieces when I was taking side streets home, and there he was… I will never believe that I got a chance with him again... “ 

I trail off, they take a minute to process what I said, before Darrian asks me again, “Do you really love him or are you just saying it to get his money?” I look deeply into Darrian’s eyes, “I’m in no need of money, I’m in need of happiness, love, and a family. My family left me a while ago, my husband and I were never in love; and I never had any little ones to care for. My mother said to only marry someone for love. That is better to be poor and happy than rich and lonely…” Areum whispers something to Fred who whispers to Darrian, and Areum speaks up, “Why do you love our Daddy?” 

“It started a long time ago, when I first met Yugyeom when we were thirteen… And he bought me an ice cream,... and to a thirteen year old, that meant that we were friends. My heart fell for the simple act, and it only blossomed from there. I started writing him love letters and he would write them back, and my heart was sold. That he was the only one for me, and the last thing he ever wrote to me was a love letter… My heart still aches because of that…” They nod, Yugyeom looks at me and carefully grabs my hand, “I still read your love letters, like you do with mine…” I blush at him, “Mama used to say that you can tell if a couple is meant to be, when they form a perfect heart together…” Areum tells me, “And you two,... form a perfect heart… Daddy and Mama used to form a triangle…” 

Fred looks at me and shrugs but with a daring look in his eyes, “I’m willing for you to be apart of our family, but if you break Daddy’s heart. You have another thing coming… Daddy says he’s a monster, but we’re his little monsters, and we’re 10x worse” I grin, “You remind me so much of your dad, Fred” He laughs, “I’ve been told.” 

I entered that family that night, we were dating for another four years before I popped the question to him. He squealed in delight, and we married a few months after, Darrian, Fred, and Areum our flower kids, his friend Jinyoung being his best man, Nari and her wife being my best women. If my mama could see me now, I wonder if she would smile and be proud. For I’m happy now, with Yugyeom, and his three little ones, his vampire qualities not even bothering me, even if he does drink too much from me. Thankfully, he knows how to drink properly and always wipes his mouth afterward. Darrian is always the best dressed no matter the occasion, Fred likes to make people laugh, and Areum is our little dancing queen. Damned and determined to take over her Daddy’s company, Darrian always goes shopping with me, and Fred likes to write little letters for people. And he has a crush on the jock in his school, learning how to write love letters from looking at ours. Which we still write everyday to each other, reminding each other constantly of the love we have for one another. 

Yugyeom is the man of my dreams and to think that after all that time, I finally ended up with him, makes my heart flutter to this day. Even though we have been married for three years now, he still makes my heart forget how to function. I always tell him this, and how no matter that he is a vampire that I love him dearly, and nothing could ever change that. Waking up to him, brings a smile to my face, without even trying he makes me smile. I’m glad that love in the end decided to treat me right, letting me have this, for as often as she is a cruel mistress, she is a kind woman when you treat her right, and she will never lead you down the wrong path. She does just right in my books now, I say as I carefully brush my fingers through Yugyeom’s hair, and kiss his nose. Love gave me hope, a family, and love all over again, and for that I’m thankful.