#I’m so happy grateful thankful content elated all the other happy words

[gojosattoru]

hi ana! ♡♡ i believe this is my first time sending you a message and im not really active on here besides to rb while i make gifs but i just wanted to say how elated i am to know we’re mutuals! i didn’t start taking making anime gifs that seriously until i started getting really into it recently and I’m SO happy and lucky that i found your amazing blog filled with so much of your talents. when i learned that you also do it for work with the cute story time you shared i was in awe?? it led me to look at your cute icons and your past themes and omg ur such a sweet and talented soul. i kept forgetting to send an ask and seeing your latest text post gave the biggest reminder to also tell you that slumps or times that can feel like one is creeping up on you are not forever! i know that feeling of being overwhelmed with so many ideas and projects coming while having a huge load to finish but i always try to remember to focus on whats happening now than the past and especially future! and i srsly second what hyu said, isn’t she the best!?! <3 and it really helps to ground yourself in the moment - even taking frequent breaks like solo dates at a cafe or walks to find that spark back again. idk how many times I’ve felt super overwhelmed with everyone and reminded myself to go back to basics that can be as simple as taking a walk :) ILYSM!! remind yourself that you’ll be okay, easier said than done but remember that your unfavorable thoughts will never be true - they are not you! the real you is strong, SO LOVED, and can get through anything unscathed. i adore you, your energy, and art. 🖤

awwww sweetheart this literally made me tear up! honestly you are so so sweet and i felt so speechless when i saw your message darling!! ; A ; gosh i'm overwhelmed!! thank you very much for coming and send me your support too darling!! like you said we are recently mutuals and seeing a message from you to give me some of your comfort and love made me burst in joy bby! i adore adore ADORE your gifs and i was so happy you used my tracking tag hehe that gave me the opportunity to know you, see your awesome content and have the pleasure to meet and speak with you bby! *hugs* i'm super grateful to know how you enjoy my edits and icons, it's super super delightful darling really appreciate your love for them!! ; u ; and don’t worry sweetie, you can always send me a message whenever you have time ^^ this made the end of my week so much enjoyable i really thank you for that bby! it’s been tough and i’ve been trying to focus on what i have been working but my boss is always saying to stop what i’m doing and start on the new ideas so that’s why it made me feel so stressed lately... i just hope she won’t do this so much right now cause i really want to finish everything so that i can work on the new stuff in the future!! to start to sell merchandise we need to have enough stuff to begin our business that’s why i want to work on the projects she gave to me in the beginning and then when we have enough of it done, we can do the new ones.. *sighs* that’s why i am bit overwhelmed with ideas and feeling a bit tired.. but like you said i will rest this weekend and try go outside and go for a walk and enjoy myself! hopefully on monday i will be completely recharged and keep on doing my work 100% ^^ thank you once again for hearing me out, for sending me your lovely message and for being so kind darling! hope we can talk more in the future to know each other better hehe ^^ really will take your words to my heart and think on them whenever i feel down bby! ilysm too sweetie!! this means a lot to me seriously!! *smooches you all over* wish you a wonderful weekned and can’t wait to see more of your works <333 hehe take care too my love thank you again! this was so precious ; U ;

#reply #lovely messages #friends #byuntoro

[hpalways]

Surprises || Childe

a/n: i swear i’ll get to the requests soon akjdhfjfj sorry for the wait dudes. 

BUT YEAHHHHHH ITS CHILDES BIRTHDAY I LOVE U DADDY HAVE A NICE ONE 

THROWING a surprise party for Childe was more difficult than one could imagine. He didn't fully admit it, but he was obviously hurt when no one wished him a happy birthday today. And while everyone went on to set the scene for when you would all surprise him, you were given the role to distract him. As the two of you strolled through the streets of Liyue Harbor, his sea blue eyes darted everywhere agitatedly. Repeatedly letting out a sigh, he combed his gloved hand through his ginger locks. You stifled a giggle at his discomfort, sensing that he was too prideful to outwardly question why his birthday wishes were practically nonexistent this year. 

He peered at you with disappointment, for he wished to hear those words from you more than anyone else. Wondering if his birthday was really that forgettable, he thought back to the day you asked when his birthday was. The two of you shared the dates and he remembered how elated he was on your birthday, buying gifts and spoiling you with his dirty earned mora. He could still see the grin that was stuck to your face the entire day. 

"Thanks for joining me on some errands. I'm almost done," you told him, smiling. Guilt continued to pour into your chest at the sight of him. 

He nodded and forced out a smile, coloring his face with his usual facade. "Anything for you, comrade," he chuckled, ruffling your hair in a habit. "I was bored anyway. It almost feels like there should be something important today, but I suppose there's truly nothing."

You wanted to burst out laughing. He was trying so hard to be discreet about it, but you could easily read behind the lines. "Oh? Nah. There's nothing important today."

"Nothing at all?" he responded, voice hollow. "That's strange. Are you sure?"

"I keep all my important dates on my calendar. It was blank for today."

His flingers curled around his shirt, gripping so tightly they shook. You were very organized, but his birthday wasn't on there. Did he mean nothing to you? Did he care for you more than you did him? He was beginning to feel idiotic -- foolish even. Falling silent as he followed you to the next stall, he watched you buy daily groceries, picking out the biggest fish in the pile and bright fruits from the baskets. He numbly carried the bags, groaning to himself. Maybe he should leave the city and hunt down some hilichurls, skewer them so he could release some of his pent up frustration. 

While he was lost in his head, too busy thinking about his bottled up emotions, you noticed Hu Tao in the distance, making wide signals. She was dramatic as per usual and you glared at her, urging her to hide within the shadows. Quickly turning away from the merchant, you were relieved to know that Childe had not detect anything suspicious. It was showtime. 

"Okay. One more stop," you informed him. 

"I... think I should to go," he responded. "I'll drop your bags back home."

Panic seeped into your expression, your eyes growing wide. Oh no -- this couldn't get any worse. You had to stop him before he could leave, because who knew where he would go next? He was such an unpredictable guy, free to roam wherever he liked with that reputation of his. "It's just one more place," you pointed out, knitting your brows together. "Come on, Childe. It will be really quick. Please?" You gave him the best puppy eyes and slipped a hand in his, squeezing it tightly to feel tingles erupt at the contact.

His head leveled slightly at the feeling of your hand, so he slowly nodded. "Fine. But I'll have to go right afterwards. I have some business to do with the Fatui."

That was a lie. The both of you knew that, but Childe didn't want to seem so lame in front of you. He already felt that enough today to last a lifetime.

You pulled him through the crowds of people lingering on the roads beside buildings, making a beeline to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. You ignored the furrow of his forehead when he saw the building looming ahead of him. Before he could voice out any inquiries, you pushed the dark oaken doors open, stepping into the darkness. He stayed by your side loyally, his muscles strained, ready to protect you from the weird atmosphere of the room. 

The curtains dropped, golden sunlight spilling through the windows to reveal the secret. "Happy birthday Childe!" the entire group called out. There stood in the room were dozens of people, including Teucer, Zhongli, Hu Tao, traveler, Paimon, and fellow Liyue citizens. Tables were set up in the Parlor, banners were hung up on the wall, and food were lined up, including a birthday cake. You turned to look at the red haired man, whose irises took it all in, his mouth parting openly. 

"Teucer. You're here!" he gasped, opening his arms wide when his little brother ran up to him. He hugged the boy tenderly, thanking everyone for the throwing the party. They all began to surround Childe, while others mingled and conversed, for the party was starting. 

You faded into the background, leaning against the cool wall and feeling grateful that it was a success. It was a lot of work, but with everyone contributing, it went very well, which was a little strange, considering you half expected it to fall apart.

Footsteps sounded, so you turned to the left to see him approaching you. He looked breathless, his cheeks rosy, and his dimples showing. "The party was your idea, wasn't it?" he stated, rather than in question form. 

Nodding silently, you took something out from your pockets. "Happy birthday, Childe."

You handed it to him and he took it with a softened expression. Unwrapping the gold, shiny wrapping of the small box, he opened it up to find a keychain in it, blue and twinkling. It was carved into a hydro vision, the details exactly aligned to the vision that sat on his torso. 

He kissed you then, crashing his lips upon yours. Hands faltering to the sides, you clenched your fingers around his forgotten present and returned the kiss. He tasted of seasalt and apples, as well as a scent that no doubt came from his homeland. His warmth brushed over to you, spreading through your system and to the tip of your fingers. Your cheeks burned at the contact and your chest pounded, but eventually, you pulled away, embarrassed by the chance of any onlookers.

"There are too many people here," you said, shaking your head, still feeling flustered by the way he looked at you -- as if you were the only thing he could see in this world. He was so unashamed, willing to do anything to grapple at the goal he sought after. He had always been like that. And always will be. 

He raised a brow, the corner of his lips curving up mischievously. "Are you suggesting we get out of here and find a vacant room?"

You hit his arm and he pouted, laughing at your reaction. "How rude," you sniffed. "I threw this entire party for you and you're already willing to ditch it. Don't think I'll forget how desperate you were this entire day."

Embarrassed, he averted his gaze from you, scratching his head with an awkward chuckle. "I didn't care for a party, [Y/N]. All I wanted was to hear a birthday wish from you. I was scared you forgot it."

"I would never forget it. Not in a million years."

His cheeks grew red and he seemed content at your answer. Swinging an arm around you, he lugged you towards the food. Then he rambled on and on about something regarding stuffing himself so he could slay a bunch of enemies. Sitting down at a table, he declared a rematch with traveler. On the other end of the table was Zhongli, going on long tangents to the poor victim who was forced to listen in. Hu Tao was scaring off another customer, suggesting deals like the sales woman she was and suddenly talking about the afterlife. 

Everyone here was so distinct and peculiar, but in a good way. Grateful to be surrounded by such people, you knew that not a day goes by without an adventure. 

"Hey Tuecer," you said to the boy beside you. He was in the middle of playing with Mr. Cyclops, making sound effects with his mouth. "How are you doing, little guy?"

"Hi [Y/N]!" he giggled. "I'm good. Mr. Cyclops is doing good too. He wants to say happy birthday to my big bro too!"

Childe returned from his conversation with traveler and Paimon, on time to ruffle his brother's head like he did with you earlier. "Thank you Mr. Cyclops," he cooed, petting the top of the toy endearingly. You laughed at the scene and he locked eyes with you. "Hey, don't hurt Mr. Cyclops' feelings like that. Right, Teucer?"

"Right," Teucer nodded somberly, growing real serious. 

Ugh, these brothers. You rolled your eyes and tossed food into your mouth. Childe's head abruptly dropped to your ear, his breath hovering upon your lobes. You shivered at his close proximity. "I love you, [Y/N]. You know that, right?" he whispered into your ear. 

Heart hammering for the millionth time this day, you paused with your chopsticks in the air. "I love you too, dumb birthday boy."

#Genshin #gender neutral reader #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #oneshot #reader #x reader #tartaglia x reader #reader insert #childe x reader #childe x you #childe x y/n #romance #fluff #cute #genshin impact oneshot #Childe #Tartaglia #zhongli

[happyreid187]

Beats working - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: ~2.5 K

Description: Reader’s friends finally make her go to a party, and force a certain genius to attend as well... 

Warnings: SMUT. Explicit, 18+ only! Not gender neutral. Oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex, borderline degradation but not really. It’s sort of Dom!spence vibes but very soft. There is alcohol involved at the beginning but consent is made clear. I named the reader’s friends but they’re only mentioned twice so you can def fill that in with your own friends if you prefer :)

“Thank god, you workaholic bitch!” One minute into the party and Marley was already chastising you. Fair. Though you made time for brunches and wine nights, you had missed many of her signature parties. “I’m sorryyyy,” you sang, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m here now.” “Do you think they’ll survive without you for a night?” she giggled. “No, but I don’t really care. Point me in the direction of the alcohol?”

After some obligatory small talk, you found your way through the party to a slightly quieter area, leaning against the wall. You weren’t having a bad time exactly, but you were definitely reminded why you avoid these things. A tall, slim man made his way over, leaning next to you. You had seen him when he came in, having felt drawn to him immediately - he was greeted with similar fanfare, but by Marley’s boyfriend Ben, who lamented his absence at recent parties. You noticed him from the start, but as he stood closer to you, you really took him in, his messy chestnut hair and sharp jawline. He made your brain go dumb. He was, like... really pretty. He seemed shy, but still spoke first “You don’t really seem like a party person. I thought I was the only person they had to force to these things.” he chuckled. “Yeah, I find that I’m about a million percent - well that’s not a thing - a million times more charming one on one. These things make me quiet, and I’m not quiet.” “I love that you corrected yourself there,” he laughed for real this time, and you were weirdly proud of yourself for bringing it out of him. He seemed so stoic and anxious when he first walked in. “I totally relate - I’m usually dead silent at these things and normally people can’t get me to shut up, and...” he smiled at you, and butterflies overtook you “I think you’re plenty charming now.” 

It turned out he was the charming one, and he wasn’t so quiet after all. After brief introductions, he really opened up. You could see what he was saying about never shutting up as he rambled on and on, but you couldn’t understand why anyone would ever want him to stop talking. You could have listened to him all night, and you did. The hours flew by. You learned his name and title - he asked you to call him Spencer - how smart he is, and that his passion for his job mirrored your own. You learned a lot, listening to him talk, as he lamented the amount of germs at parties; how entirely disgusting he finds the proximity and amount of touching they inspire. Contrary to his words, he was sitting incredibly close to you, and you could feel his eyes on your lips. The feeling of this stranger’s eyes on you made you happy in a way you couldn’t explain. Maintaining his anti-party rhetoric, he started whining about how stupid it is to try to interact with people in a space where it’s too loud to hear oneself think. The space around you was deafening, and only getting worse, as the people around you got drunker while you two became progressively less so. The benefit of this was that it forced him to sit with his thigh against yours on the couch and say everything in your ear, like a secret. But having him that close gave you goosebumps, and you wanted him even closer.

“It is really loud. Do you wanna... maybe get out of here?” you nervously inquired. His eyes lit up at your suggestion as he started to shift to stand, but then a shyness crossed over his face. “Are you sure?” he replied, glancing at the beer in your hand. “Yes, yes I’m sure.” He looked unconvinced. “I’ve had two drinks in...” you glanced at your watch “four hours. I’ve barely been sipping this one.” He nodded knowingly, “Well, yeah, and considering the average person can metabolize roughly one drink per hour, and those have a relatively low alcohol content, your blood alcohol should be well below the legal limit for driving. I know you’re not drunk. But the whole time we’ve been talking you’ve been...” he paused. He looked nervous. “Uninhibited? Are you sure you want to leave here with me?” Your chest squeezed at the emphasis he placed on the last two words. He not only wanted to make sure you were fully able to want him, he seemed to question why you would. There was a lot to unpack there, so you pushed it from your mind. You would find myriad ways to reassure him of your desire after you left. Right now you just needed to get out of there, or you were going to suck face in the corner of your friend’s party, and you were both too old for that. You leaned in close, and spoke slowly placing excessive inflection on every single word, as if that would make him believe you. “I am absolutely certain that I want you.” Spencer seemed satisfied. He stood and grinned, pulling you to your feet.

You made your way out of the room swiftly, with him at your heels, his palm on the small of your back. He trailed behind you as you stepped out the door and through the frigid air, moving towards your car. You were too nervous to turn to look at him. Your thoughts turned to insecurity at the coffee cups, receipts, and work clothes that littered the floor and passenger seat. Before unlocking the door, you spun around to warn him, but before you could even open your mouth, his was on yours. As reserved as he had seemed inside, he wasn’t holding anything back now. His lips crashed against yours, bordering on violent, but it wasn’t messy. Your bodies seemed to know how to link, somehow. He grabbed your waist harshly, shoving you against the door. Leaving one hand with a tight grip on your waist, like you were going to slip from his grasp, he brought the other to the side of your neck, his touch surprisingly soft compared to the rest of him. He placed heavy kisses down your neck and along your collarbones. Without his mouth against yours, there was nothing to quiet you. “Oh my god, Spencer...” you gasped. You weren’t sure what you expected, but you hadn’t quite expected him to be so in charge - it was an extremely satisfying surprise. He pressed himself impossibly closer to you, that gentle hand ghosting down your spine and moving to cup your ass. His mouth returned to yours, probably to keep the rest of the party from hearing you, tongue moving with yours. 

“I thought you didn’t like to touch people,” you gasped with a smile as you pulled away dizzy, needing to catch your breath, though your desire to feel his lips felt stronger than your will to breathe. He snapped away from his powerful state for a moment, the lust fading from his eyes slightly and turning into something warmer, his gaze softening. “Oh I want to touch you,” he muttered, a grin tugging at the corners of his now pink, puffy lips. “I want to touch you,” he said again, both reassuring and frighteningly intense, the softness fading but still present “Like this,” his hand found it’s way to your reddened cheek, flushed from both him and the cold, running across you so lightly he was barely there. “And like this...” his other hand found its way from your waist to your breast, squeezing and eliciting a moan from you as he ran his thumb harshly across your nipple. The hand on your cheek simultaneously shifted to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him - as if you weren’t already. His eyes were dark again, and so fierce that you felt simultaneously consumed and overwhelmed. You fought the overwhelm, following his silent demand that you remain focused on his face. You would do anything he asked, with or without words. He returns your focus and leans in, voice deep and austere, crackling against your ear “And like this.” His hand slipped under your dress, cupping your pussy through the drenched lace. Spencer looked entirely elated. “Baby,” he started. You melted at the name. You were going to die. Your heart was going to explode through your chest, but there are worse ways to go. “You’re already so wet for me. I haven’t even started yet,” he muttered. He was so smug. “Were you this wet for me in there, sitting on our friends’ couch?” You didn’t think you would be able to speak, so the sound of your voice surprised you. “Yes. Just hearing you talk and feeling your eyes on me was enough to completely fucking wreck me.” Spencer didn’t seem to expect that answer, looking shocked and delighted, smiling as he pulled you in for a small kiss, chaste in comparison to the previous. “Mmm, well you’re going to have to be patient for me. As much as I want to fuck you right here, I don’t need anyone seeing you. Let’s get out of here.”

The drive was challenging, but quick. You were both grateful and frustrated that he didn’t try to tease you on the way. At least not much. His hand rested on your thigh through the ride, but he didn’t dare to move it. When you finally walked through the door of his apartment, he led you quickly to the bedroom. He had no interest in taking his time. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that made the room spin. You weren’t sure how you would survive him fucking you when his simplest touches overwhelmed you, but you were eager to find out. Too eager, you began grinding on his bulge, moaning into his mouth as your fingers fumbled on the buttons of his shirt. “So impatient, aren’t you?” Spencer asked. “I just want you so bad, Spence.” you begged. You felt pathetic, but you didn’t care. “Good girls know how to wait for what they want. Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” his voice was deeper than it had been all night, and it edged you even further “Yes. Yes. But please, please don’t tease me.” Your voice shook with emotion and arousal. His teasing was hot, but you needed him now. “We just walked in the door and you’re already begging for me? Either you’re a little slut or I must be really special.” he muttered against your lips. “You are. I’m desperate for you. Only for you.” He had been frustratingly quiet so far, but he moaned at your words now. Spencer shoved you against the bed and moved to hover over you, one hand beside you holding him up while the other made it’s way to where you needed him most. “You are so fucking wet for me. So responsive.” he kissed down your stomach, and you arched your back, moaning so loud you should have been worried about the neighbors, but you weren’t. Your brain was completely empty - all you could do was feel him. With his head nestled between your legs, he kissed your inner thighs, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You guessed he only wanted to mark you in places he alone could see. You hoped he knew he already owned your body - you were his already. You were already ruined and he wasn’t even fully undressed. “Such a good girl for me, y/n.” he breathed against you, before diving in. His mouth was too perfect, alternating between long laps and short flicks against your clit. After only a few minutes, you were already close, but it seemed so wasteful to finish on his tongue before even seeing the rest of him. You locked your fingers in his hair, pulling him off you “You don’t want me to continue?” he asked, insecure but somehow still dominant. “I want to cum on your cock, baby.” His hazel eyes grew wide at your words. “Please fuck me, Spencer. I need you.” You thought he would mock you for being so desperate, for begging, for needing him, but he seemed to return your need. 

With shaking hands, he unbuckled his belt, and you moved quickly to pull down his boxers. His dick was so pretty, flushed and ready for you. You started to pump him in your hands, but he quickly stopped him. “Not right now baby. I need to feel your pussy.” he was panting already. “Need to be inside you.” You laid on your back, as he moved over you. “Do I need a... “ he started, but you interrupted him, “I have an IUD, you’re good.” He looked relieved. He started kissing you again, but you made it difficult, gasping into his mouth as he moved his member up and down your folds. He pulled away from your mouth, looking at you for approval. “Fucking please.” He pushed into you immediately, slowly but all at once, pausing only when he had completely filled you. Again, he wasn’t as quiet as you might have originally expected, moaning loudly as he buried himself deep inside. He started moving, and quickly built to a rapid pace. Neither of you could be quiet, your moans filling the air as you tried and failed to call out his name. “Y/n,” he somehow groaned and whined at the same time, “you’re so fucking tight.” You couldn’t respond, too focused on the knot forming beneath him, trying to put off your release so that you could feel him just a little longer. 

“Spencer,” you managed, “you feel so good.” he groaned at your cry. He was even more vocal in response to your words than to your body, so you found your voice despite feeling completely inundated with pleasure. “You’re so good. I’m gonna be ruined for anyone else. No one else is this good,” you sung his praises, and it affected him exactly as you had hoped. His thrusts grew less controlled, slowing down somewhat as he said “Good. You’re mine. I - I want you to be mine.” His words nearly pushed you over the edge, but you wanted him to be ready first. “Fuck, I’m gonna - ah” you screamed, “I need you to cum with me baby, please please please” your cries were interrupted by your own orgasm, your muscles spasming around him as he came deep inside you. He relaxed on top of you, and stayed there for a while before finally pulling out. You weren’t ready to part from him yet, but fortunately he quickly returned with a t-shirt, and after cleaning up your collective mess pulled you into his arms, spooning you and placing gentle kisses on your face. Again, you weren’t sure what you had expected - it made sense that after being so desperate for your touch he would want to hold you after. But you remained surprise. Being this close to him felt like a miracle. Rather than questioning it, you settled into the comfort of being close to him, appreciating his arms around you. 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #dr spencer reid #dr reid imagine #dr reid fluffy smut #spencer reid fluffy smut #dom!spencer #kinda #spencer reid x y/n #bau #spencer reid fic #mgg #matthew gray gubler #mgg imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid self insert #i'm picturing #season 5 reid #smut #criminal minds smut #reid imagine #reid smut #my fics

[quietmyfearswith]

their love language ; preferences

warnings — fluff (?) couple of swear words

characters — andy barber, steve rogers, jake jensen, bucky barnes, carter baizen, lance tucker, syverson, will shaw (cold light of day), august walker

a/n — just something i put together lmao asks are open for anything

with their little

masterlist

andy barber — physical touch and words of affirmation

It wasn’t unusual that Andy brought home work; but more often than not concerning. Not only was he overworking himself, but it also led him to doubt and question his own capabilities. And Y/N knew when these unwanted thoughts would start to plague Andy’s mind and she knew just how to prevent them from affecting him severely. Creeping up behind him, she placed her hands on his shoulders giving him a massage he didn’t know his body was begging for. “How you doing, handsome?” she asked sweetly as she placed a small kiss on the back of his ear. Turning his head slightly so he could reciprocate the kiss but on her hand, “Making slow but significant progress.” She hummed, moving her fingers from his shoulders and to his temples she tried to rub off the stress that seemed to have its epicenter at his forehead. “Well all that was possible because of you, angel, you and that big brain of yours.” Andy grabbed both her hands and turned to her; she knew what was gonna happen next — he was gonna argue with what she said and instead claim that he wasn’t that good and he could have done it quicker or done more. But before he even had a chance to do so, she slanted her lips on his to shut him up. “I’m gonna shut you up with a kiss every time you talk shit about yourself,” the man’s entire body vibrated with laughter as turned his chair around to face Y/N and grabbed her so she sat down on his lap, “In that case we might be kissing for a long time, love.”

august walker — acts of service

August’s dedication wasn’t only limited to his work; but also to his beloved Y/N. He’d like to think that the reason that he exposed himself to the dangers of the world is so that he could guarantee her safety. But on the instances wherein he wasn’t on a mission and instead was back home with her, he never missed out on an opportunity to make her feel safe and loved. Since he was having downtime from a mission, he took it upon himself to bring you to work and pick you up. It didn’t matter if it was out of his way or he had a busy day, it was something he loved to do. He loved having one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her warm thigh; just like how they were right now following her departure from her work. “I noticed how your laundry was piling up, so I washed it already. Also found the missing sock you were whining about last week,” Y/N looked at August and decided to tease him as she jokingly accused him, “I knew it! You hid it somewhere in our home.” His hand that was comfortably resting on her thigh left its place and went for her sides, tickling her. Hearing her giggles, made him boyishly smile, “That’s not what happened, missy. I was cleaning the house — because you were whining about how cluttered and messy it was getting and you didn’t have the time to clean it up — and somehow found that fuzzy sock of yours in the kitchen.” Upon learning what her man was up to, she was shocked and teased him more by saying, “Are you sure you should be a CIA agent and not a house cleaner? Seems like it’s one thing you absolutely love to do.” placing his hand back on her thigh, August rubbed her thigh warmly as he spoke, “Only for you love, I’ll do anything for you.”

bucky barnes — words of affirmation

For the majority of his life, he was used to hearing gruesome and morbid orders that were tasked for him to carry out. He was so used to hearing yells and harsh voices ringing in his ears; but now since he was free from their abusive hold, he didn’t have to hear the same sounds again. “Wakey wakey sleeping beauty,” was whispered into his ear, snapping him out of his sleeping state. Turning over, he looked at Y/N and smiled, “Are you sure I’m sleeping beauty and not you?” She just chuckled at his rebuttal as she laid her head on his chest and looked up at him, “I’m sure it’s you who’s the sleeping beauty I mean have you seen this face?” She took note  as she ran her finger through his sculpted face, “Jawline that can cut deep, lips that are soft and delectable, eyes that are extremely expressive.” She then let her hand go down to where his heart was and delicately traced over it as she further explained, “And of course, what’s inside of you takes the cake of what makes you the sleeping beauty; a caring nature, compassionate to others, wit that is incomparable, and has so much love to give.” The super soldier could feel his heart swell double its  current size with how comforting and heartfelt her compliment was. Grateful tears threatened to leave his eyes as she placed a chaste kiss on his chest and assured him, “Everything about you is beautiful, Bucky.”

jake jensen — quality time

“Are you free this Saturday?” Jake asked as he directed his focus from the computer to his girlfriend as she placed a mug of coffee on his working table. Curious and hopeful eyes were behind the lensed frame, hoping she would say that she was available. Leaning against his desk she crossed her arms and gave him a mocking look, “Depends on who’s asking and why,” but the puppy of man just grabbed at her forearms and pouted. “Please baby? I was hoping you’d be down for laser tag? Or if you don’t want to do that maybe we can watch a movie?” Y/N could not help but coo at how adorable her boyfriend looked; for a man who was part of the army he was too much of a softie. He despised having to be away from home for missions since he was always aching to spend time with you — and it didn’t really matter to him what it was you two were doing you could be museum-hopping, hiking, having a movie marathon, or just cuddling in bed. Which explains as to why he was inquiring whether or not you were available to spend time with him; leaning down to kiss his forehead, Y/N decided to put him out of his misery, “Yes love, I’m free on Saturday, we can go out for laser tag.” Standing up from where he was sitting down he excitedly wrapped his arms around the woman who was now laughing at how she mimicked the elation of a child. “Thank you, baby, can’t wait to kick your ass then.”

syverson — physical touch and quality time

Having been home from a deployment, it felt odd for Sy to not wake up when the sun was barely up or to not be squished with other men in a small space. Feeling movement in the bed where he lay, he quickly opened both his eyes and looked at the source of it. “Come back,” he groggily mumbled as he pulled Y/N closer and buried his face on her neck. “What if there’s somewhere I need to be, bear?” It was a surprise when she felt him whine, this alpha of a man whined at the thought of having to be away with his girlfriend. “I am gonna have to lock you inside the house, I just came back and there’s no way I’m gonna let you out until we’ve made up for lost time.” As she played with his short hair she pressed a kiss on the side of his forehead, “Good thing I have the week off then, huh?” his head shot up from her neck and looked at her excitedly, “No shit, baby? I get you all to myself for the whole week?” Nodding she busied her fingers again by running it through his buzz cut hair again. Feeling his thick arms wrap around her, she could feel the happiness and contentment resonate through his whole body. “I’m not letting you out of my hold, let alone my sight — I’m gonna need you all close to me and we’re gonna do everything together.”

lance tucker — physical touch

Having been involved in gymnastics at a young age, Lance’s hands were calloused and rough due to vigorous training. This then led him to be quite insecure and apprehensive when it came to physical contact with others, especially with someone he loves; for he fears they might run off once they feel the rough texture of his hands. Coming home from a long day filled with coaching he slumped down on the couch and took a deep breath. His muscles ached and it was starting to reach the point where it bothered him. “Hey bub, you just got home?” Y/N appeared from the kitchen and sat down beside the gymnast. As if on instinct, Lance laid his head on her lap and started to move his face around — as if it was a cat begging to be pet. Chuckling she did play with his hair with one hand while the other held on to his one hand. Letting out a satisfied hum he then began to vaguely recount his day, “Long day of coaching, switching up styles, correcting postures.” At the brief recount Y/N could feel how Lance tensed up and wanted to help him out hence why she offered, “How ‘bout you lie here and let me get that lavender oil you love? Then I can give the god of gymnastics a massage.” his eyes lit up and immediately lifted his head off her comfortable lap and laid down on his stomach as he tiredly mumbled, “Thank you baby, you’re massages are the best and I love your gentle touch.”

steve rogers — acts of service

Since retiring, Steve found himself comforted by having a routine. And much of his routine involves the things he does for Y/N — the love of his life. After finishing his morning run around the neighborhood, he immediately prepares coffee and sets out to cook breakfast. Upon padding down the stairs of their shared home, Y/N smiles at the sight of Steve placing the bacon, egg, and toast on two plates. “Good morning, honey,” she greeted him with a kiss on his lips. “Breakfast for my love,” he said as he placed a plate in front of her and slid to the seat opposite from where she was. “You have a busy day ahead of you, right?” She hummed in response to his question as she took a sip of the coffee he made, “Well I went to the gas station and made sure you had a full tank; I also prepared you your favorite lunch,” he pointed to the small lunch bag he bought her a few months back upon learning she would sometimes not have enough time to buy lunch if she had a busy day from work; so he took it upon himself to prepare lunch for her everyday. Placing her mug down, she held one of his hands in her own and looked at him fondly, “You spoil me too much; I think I’m getting too dependent on you.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he placed a few gentle kisses in the back of her palm and spoke sincerely, “I wouldn’t mind that at all, doll.”

carter baizen — receiving gifts

Luxurious and designer brands were something that Carter always had. It didn’t matter what kind of item it was — clothes, shoes, car, appliance, or electronics — but it was guaranteed that Carter had that object through the most expensive brand they had. So it was a surprise not only to Y/N, but also to Carter himself about how excited and touched he was every time the former gave him a gift. “Carter, I’m home!” Her yell seemed to bounce off the walls of his penthouse; one that was merely a living space but was turned into a warm and comforting home once she stepped foot in it, and in his life as well. “Hey, how was Canada?” he asked as he was seated on the sectional couch and patted for the spot beside him. Taking up on his offer she sat beside him as she placed a paper bag in his lap, “It was great! And I got this for you.” smiling, he thanked her for the gift and opened the bag as he pulled out the stuffed moose that was inside it, “A moose?” She nodded her head excitedly, “Well I don’t know, it just reminded me of you. Like you both have this cold and hard exterior; but really you both are softies,” she ended her explanation with a nervous giggle, fear settling in that Carter didn’t really like the gift. But as if he could read her thoughts he eased her nervousness with a smile and booped her nose, “Well it’s the best gift anyone has ever given me; so thank you, princess.” she sighed dramatically and leaned her back against his chest, and he wraps his arms around you and laughs at her silly antics. “That’s what you always say every time I give you something.” Holding the moose with one hand he shook it around as he talked in a silly voice, as if mimicking a cartoon character, “Well that’s because I do love everything you give me.”

will shaw — words of affirmation

In his pursuit of establishing himself as a businessman and entrepreneur, Will has heard a fair share of rejections and bad news. In fact he was so used to hearing these that it was quite rare and refreshing for him to hear reminders of positivity; and it wasn’t until Y/N came into his life and served to be the breath of fresh air for Will. Hanging up the phone call, Will let out an exasperated sigh and loosened the tie on his neck. Despite being successful in securing a meeting with potential business partners, he felt defeated as it took too much time and effort. The ringtone of his phone made him roll his eyes; though he did pick the phone up and answer the call without looking at the caller ID. “Yes, Mr. Scott?” Instead of the husky voice he was just talking to, it was instead the sweet voice of his girlfriend as she teased him, “Not a Mr. Scott, but should I be worried that you might like him more than me?” Upon hearing her voice he chuckled and shook his head, “No babe, there’s only you.” She laughed as well but despite that she was worried about him, “You alright, babe? Have you eaten?” Sitting up straight, he briefed her on what has happened so far, “Yeah I had a salad earlier. But guess what? I have a meeting with Mr. Scott, and if things go well they’re gonna be our business partners.” Her excited squeal made him excited as well, “That’s great babe! I told you that there was no need to doubt your presentation and skill!” Placing his hand on his chin, “I think you’re being too confident in me, babe” he sighed. “Well how could I not?” she said as she began listing off the qualities she admired about him, “You always get back up despite how many times you’ve fallen down, you’re determined to achieve what you want and will do all means to do so, and of course have you seen how good-looking you are? Mr. Scott would be an idiot to say no to that pretty face.” Her last remark had him roaring with laughter and shook his head at his silliness, “Oh babe, you do know how to boost someone’s confidence huh?”

#henry cavill x reader #chris evans x read #sebastian stan x reader #jake jensen x reader #andy barber x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #lance tucker x reader #carter baizen x reader #syverson x reader #will shaw x reader #august walker x reader #defending jacob fanfiction #the cold light of day #gossip girl #The Bronze #the losers x reader #the losers movie #sand castle movie #MCU fanfiction

[darklove9314-blog]

Symphonia: A Nessian Fanfic

Author’s note: This fanfiction contains major spoilers from A Court of Silver Flames. Please do not read if you haven’t finished it yet. 

“I’m-What?” Nesta asked her eyes widening slightly Madaja’s hand still laid on her stomach as she looked over to where Feyre sat with a two-year-old Nyx in her arms fidgeting at the thought of sitting still.

Feyre and her had been training with Nyx being watched by Elain who had been showing him the House of Wind and the renovations Nesta had been making to it before Nesta had passed out and Feyre had called Madaja. Nesta had just believed that she had exhausted herself during training and not had enough water, but she was far off from the truth.

“You’re pregnant. Six weeks to be exact. “

“I-I don’t understand. I’ve been drinking my tea consistently. How can I be pregnant?”

“Contraceptives aren’t always a hundred percent effective and with the mating bond firmly in place-“ Madaja trailed off. She didn’t need to.

Nesta laid her head back down on the pillow as Madaja continued.

“Did you want to hear the baby’s heartbeat?” She asked before Feyre interrupted.

“Madaja, do you mind if I had a moment with my sister alone?” She asked.

“Of course, my lady.” She answered leaving the room as Nesta laid her hand atop of her stomach.

A baby. Her baby. Cassian’s baby. Their baby. Tears prickled at the edges of Nesta’s eyes as Feyre took her other hand.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked proceeding with caution. Sitting beside Nesta on the bed, Nyx outstretching his arms towards Nesta. Nesta sat up gathering Nyx in her arms and holding onto him tight.

“Terrified. Elated. A million other things. I-I have no idea how I’m going to tell Cassian. I don’t even know how he’s going to react when he finds out. We weren’t planning on having children for a while.”

“Well, nothing ever really goes to plan for us, does it?”

A smile crossed Nyx’s face as Nesta held onto him.

“No” Nesta smiled. “It doesn’t.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

“Thank you.” Nesta smiled, gratefulness filling her heart. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Feyre threw her arms around Nesta pulling her into a hug with Nyx between them. Giving Nyx back to his mother, Nesta placed her hand over her stomach feeling what Feyre must have felt not too long ago. She had barely found out about her child not too long ago, but she already felt such overwhelming feelings for her child. Her love for anyone else could not compare. Not even her love for the father of her child. That’s when an idea came to her.

“Can I ask you for two favors?” Nesta asked Feyre.

“Of course.”

“Will you stay with me? To hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time?”

“I’d be honored. What’s the second favor?”

“I know how I want to tell Cassian, but I may need your help figuring out how to do it.”

Feyre grabbed Nesta’s hand and squeezed.

“Whatever it is, there’s no doubt that we could figure it out together.”

Nesta smiled glad that her sister was there.

 Cassian stepped into the foyer of the house glad to finally be home after a week of being away from his mate. He couldn’t wait to spend every spare moment he could making up for their lost time as he stepped into the kitchen, Nesta was by the stove. Her hair down in loose curls seeming perfectly content and relaxed.

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” He whispered in her ear wrapping his arms around her waist and placing his lips on her neck about to inhale her scent as she whirled around surprise filling her features.

“You’re back.” She smiled. It was one of the most beautiful sights in the world.

“I couldn’t stay away.” He smiled back closing the distance between their mouths and kissing her. His lover. His mate.

“I have something for you.” She said abruptly catching him by surprise as she moved to where a small package laid on the table. He hadn’t seen it when he had arrived.

“I thought you weren’t much a gift giver.” Cassian stated as Nesta put the package in his hands.

“Usually I’m not, but this one was so perfect that I couldn’t resist.” She smiled. “Go ahead and open it.”

Smiling, Cassian carefully unwrapped the paper and laughed slightly at what was in the box pulling out the symphonia he had given her two solstice’s ago.

“Regifting?” he teased as Nesta clasped his hands with her own.

“I may have added something to it. Go ahead and play it.” She stated. Anticipation filling her features.

“So eager.” He answered a kiss to her cheek as he played the symphonia and was caught by surprise when music didn’t play back for him. A chuckle escaping his lips.

“You found a way to put your heartbeat in the symphonia. I’m impressed.” He smiled about to kiss her before she grabbed his hand and rested it over her stomach.

“No. Not my heartbeat.” She whispered, realization hitting him at the impact of her words.

“Nesta-Are you-“ He started not sure how to say the words. All kinds of emotions filling him. At his wife, his mate standing before him telling him this life changing news.

“I am.” She smiled placing her hand atop of his. “I know it happened before we planned it to but I-“

Before she could say more, Cassian kissed her. Saying what words couldn’t convey. The sound of their baby’s heartbeat filling their ears. A beautiful melody.

She pulled away breathless. “Are you happy?” she asked. Their hands still on her stomach.

“I’ve never been happier. “ he answered kissing his mate again, ready to start their next journey together.

Author’s note: I hope you enjoyed this fanfiction and I also want to write more family fics for Nessian since I’m a sucker for them so please let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in, 

@thatsowlmazing @iammissstark

@jungtaekwoohie-is-life @psychicpastathing-dreamer 

@lavendergoomsltd

@champanheandluxxury

#acosf spoilers #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian baby #family fic #fanfiction

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hello! Thank you for answering my Ravage request, I love it so much! Also your last Rodimus prompt really helped me yesterday, thank you.

Can I request some headcanons about how would Megatron, Swerve and Rung react to love confession from their human crush? Free to ignore it if there's too many characters

(sorry if it's not okay to send more than one request in such short amount of time)

Yay I'm glad that you liked what I wrote and that some of my other stuff helped you out! Sorry for the delay in answering these, I've been quite surprised by the volume in my inbox! I have three lovely bots reacting to love here, and feel free to send in requests so long as my inbox is open!

Megatron

·The confession thankfully occurs while he's seated, as the impact force of a thirty foot mech collapsing to the floor would have been... considerable. That's not to say his physical reaction is at all subtle though. Eons of combat training and discipline dissapear in a flash and his expression shows the full extent of his shock. Was he dreaming? Or did his audials need repair? There must be some confusion, because he's fairly certain the little human on his desk just said that they loved him. No matter his own considerable feelings for them, he must be considerably mistaken, because that would simply be impossible.

·Except it isn't impossible. In fact, it's the truth, you tell him more than a few times over once he starts asking if you're confused or perhaps unwell. He wants to be elated, but a lifetime of training keeps that reaction well contained, as he knows from experience that these things simply cannot happen to bots like himself. Kneeling before the table you stand on, he tries not to sound pitiful or ungrateful as he requests clarification one final time, saying that he couldn't possibly expect love from one who had so much to hate him for.

·You're firm but as gentle as you might be with a fragile bit of glass as you make it undeniably clear; you love him. The only thing you're unsure of, and hoping to find out yourself, is whether or not he feels the same. All the expectation in your eyes compels him to act as impulsively as a sparkling, and he emphatically returns your feelings in a hushed reply, raising a tender hand to hold your little body in the rush of emotion shooting through him.

·There's a moment of icy reality to stop him in his tracks. Don't you know what he's done? What being with him could put you at risk of? That there's nothing to be gained from entangling yourself in the mess he's made of his life? Well accustomed to this behavior, you stand your ground and look him square in the optics, affirming that you're well aware of everything he's just said, but that the only thing you want from him is him, so everything you must endure in relation to him is already worth the struggle. In a rare burst of emotion he pulls your little body to his chest for the gentlest of hugs.

·He laughs for the first time in what has to be eons. There's the smallest hint of a fog in his optics as you find yourself tearing up too, overwhelmed by this hulking bot finally opening up to you completely and just being happy. For his part, he can't truly believe any of this is yet real, but he isn't going to bother with that for now. To know you love him is the greatest peace he's ever experienced, but also the most invigorating kind of euphoria. There's youthful hope in his spark again, encouraging his desire to explore and experience the wonders of life now that he has you at his side, but for this single moment he's content to just... be. One bot, one human, embracing through their laughter and tears.

Swerve

·Somehow he forgets he was polishing a glass at all in the second it takes for it to shatter upon impact with the ground. You had been talking, going round in a way that suggested you were intent on getting to a particular topic, but then...? The glass is forgotten as he gently cuts off your attempt at an apology, spark pulsing and voicebox constricting as he asks you to repeat yourself, looking like he's terrified beyond all belief as he does so. A kind of fear he hasn't felt in a long time prevents him from pretending to be okay like he's so used to doing.

·At your careful reassurance that you did indeed say you love him, and that you meant it, he speaks so softly in response you can barely hear him. The questions he whispers are slow and deliberate, and if he could see anything but you he'd be grateful no one else is present to witness him acting so... shy. He has to make sure though, because it just doesn't seem possible; you love him? Beautiful, intelligent, funny, caring you is in love with... him? But he loves you too, and that means you love each other, and how is that possible?!

·Disbelief slowly melts into a happiness he's afraid to let in only because it's so foreign to him, but bit by bit he begins to realize this is actually happening, and his lonely spark lets the feeling in. Tears start to drop from his foggy visor as a trembling smile pulls up his cheeks, compelling you to reach out from your spot on the bar and invite him into a comforting hug. While he clarifies that he's never felt better, he still happily takes the hug, pulling in your tiny body with his large servos and carefully holding you close.

·Feeling the warmth of you against him sends another wave of beautiful confirmation through him; this is real. The loneliness that always plagued his spark seems insignificant now, as if he's gained a kind of perspective just knowing someone like you could care so deeply for him. All of his friends, all of his patrons, and you at the very center of it all... Why wasn't he ever able to see just how much warmth and goodness there was before this moment?

·Tears are streaming down his face when he lets you go, and at your concern he assures you it's nothing to worry about. There are more questions, but they're happy now, and he's smiling like never before as you dutifully answer every query whilst dabbing his cheeks with a towel that's blanket sized for you. He wants to know; when did you start to have feelings? Does this mean you really don't mind his jokes? Can he tell the others? Is he handsome by human standards? There's so much for him to say but, for once, no rush to say it. Somehow he's finally realized that he doesn't need to talk to get your attention, he just needs to be himself, and the banter is simply a lovely bonus.

Rung

·Though he's certain he misheard, he removes his glasses almost on instinct, looking to the little lifeform he's grown so close to with an unguarded expression of apprehension tinged with hope, gentle but rarely seen optics looking to you with that vulnerability he keeps so well hidden from everyone else. You only remain silent because you briefly lose yourself in his gaze, which is as desperate as it is due to him wanting so badly to believe he did indeed just hear what he's uncertain is actually possible. The request for you to repeat is so soft it's barely audible. Thin digits try to polish his lenses as is his custom when concealing stress, but he fumbles so frequently he has to cease just as he begins.

·You stand near the edge of the table, speaking slowly and clearly so there can be no misunderstanding. The confession is indeed irrefutable this time around, the simple words breaking the silence with their surprising weight and drawing a tiny gasp from him in the process. His hand over his mouth prevents further exclamations, though he's certainly not capable of making any in his current state. Something in the depths of his being has always yearned for this, but he never dared to even dream it could happen, that he could love and in return be loved.

·Tears on his precious face spur you to act, if only because they're absolutely heartbreaking, but as he moves his hand from his mouth you see that despite his sobs he's absolutely beaming. You're surprised even further when he laughs through the tears, and at your prompting says that he's just overwhelmed. You, wonderful and thoughtful and brilliantly unique little you, in love with the bot no one can remember? What has he ever done to be this fortunate? Admittedly he's not fully convinced that this isn't a dream, but he has no intention of letting that stop him from basking in this wonderful feeling.

·You can't help but cry a little too, seeing him overwhelmed in a way you never could have anticipated. Tiny human hands take his offered servo and guide the tip of his digit to brush adoringly over your cheek, just as he so often does, but you notice that for the first time ever there's no hesitation to the action. There's only pure, serene affection. Looking into his optics, you see a mech almost made new, as if the validation you give him just by existing and loving him has changed his entire outlook on life. For a bot who does so much for others, you can't even begin to describe how wonderful it is to give him that peace.

·Still as bashful as they come, he blushes when you move in to embrace him from the tables edge on a whim, but the sheepish hesitation quickly gives way to a mutual hug. The hum of his spark is almost melodic in your ears as you press your head into his warm chest. Your tiny heartbeat, just perceptible to the servo he has cradling you close, is equally jubilant to his touch. The beauty of it all is almost enough to make him dizzy; for the first time in his life he feels truly seen, truly heard, truly here. Reality is still moving just as it was before, but now he genuinely feels like he is a part of it all, here with you in his loving arms. You make him certain that he's worth remembering.

#transformers #transformers headcanon #more than meets the eye #mtmte #lost light #idw #tf #maccadam #my asks #anon #requests #my writing #megatron x reader #rung x reader #swerve x reader #human reader #self insert

[ibelongtowrath]

I am so happy to meet another Satan lover such as I, if you dont mind i have an request where Satan and MC gets a kitten together and they raise it together, GN mc is appreciated, but ignore me if this is to weird :)))))) thanks love your work ❤❤❤💕💕💕

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you love it! I kind of focused a bit on their relationship, so I hope you don’t mind.

Adopting A Kitten With Satan - Satan x GN! Reader

Warnings: references to depression, so much fluff, do I even know how to write fluff?! Reader is gender neutral (no descriptors/pronouns), Satan refers to them as “kitten” a few times.

“You’re serious?!”

Satan laughs, loud and boisterous. He reaches a hand forward to cup your cheek before sliding a finger down the length of your face softly, a grin spreading across his handsome face as he watches your eyes widen in both surprise and disbelief.

“I’m serious,” he tells you. “We will visit the shelter tomorrow.”

You jump from where you’re perched on the bed, practically tackling the demon into a hug as you screech happily. He laughs once more, drinking in your elation, reveling in it. Strong arms wrap around you in a tight embrace, a tear falling from your eye to drip quietly on your cheek. Satan notices, softly stroking the expanse of your back with one hand, moving the other to caress a thumb across your face, catching the small drop on his skin. Lips press softly against the now slightly-wet spot, a reassuring touch, and your eyes close happily, eternally grateful.

“I didn’t think it would be possible to love another being as much as I love you,” Satan murmurs, “but this kitten is going to be a very close second.”

“Mm… what kind of kitten do you think will fall into our laps?” you ask, turning your head to look up at him, a shine in your eye. 

Satan chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling you into his own lap and running his hands down the sides of your body. You press yourself against him, back to chest, the rhythmic serenity of his heartbeat kissing your skin. 

“Hopefully, one that’s equally adorable as the one that’s in my lap right now,” he teases, pressing featherlight kisses into the back of your neck. “Of that, I’m sure. Though, that might be difficult to achieve...for the actual kitten, that is. Not my otherworldly beauty.”

The laughter that sounds from your beautifully soft lips fills the still quiet of Satan’s bedroom. It rings out like a wind chime in the soft, cool breeze of a summer day, the lilting notes being carried swiftly, drifting to your ears. Satan closes his eyes, reveling in it, relishing every last second until it fades, quietly praying he’ll get to hear it again soon.

“Satan…,” you say suddenly, turning your head to face him. “Thank you. I-... thank you. I’m so excited.”

I need this.

The words didn’t form, didn’t fall from your lips, but Satan knows exactly what you were going to say. He knows why you felt the need to cut them short, though he wishes you didn’t feel the need to hide your emotions.

“For once, you’ll have to thank Lucifer, not me... he finally agreed to lift the kitten ban,” Satan answers, kissing the top of your head and running his fingers through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp. “It was relatively easy...with a hard promise to not have a repeat of the last time, of course.”

“I’m surprised you managed to convince him, even so.” You tilt your head up to press a soft kiss to the underside of his chin. “I’m going to have to check your coat and every single pocket before we leave, though; otherwise I imagine I’m going to hear several suspicious meows coming from questionable places.”

The beautiful sound of your laughter rings out again. Satan squeezes you just a bit harder, burying his head into your hair. It’s a sound he wants to revel in as long as possible, wishing he could manipulate time, expand those beautiful few seconds just a bit longer. With a sharp inhale and another kiss to the top of your head, he pulls back, placing a few fingers under your chin to tilt your shining eyes towards his.

“A very tempting idea, my love,” Satan murmurs against your skin. “But having the privilege of loving and doting on  two  beautifully adorable and cunning kittens is far more than enough for me.” 

A small smile plays on your lips as he gazes into you, lost in the beauty of love, of each other; the kind of look painters and photographers struggle to capture the sheer emotion of. It comes easy for him, for you. No, love is not always butterflies flitting nervously in your stomach, hearts pounding heavily behind chests. It is the comfort of a safe place in their embrace, the anchor holding you down when a storm surges the waters beneath your feet. A sense of overwhelming adoration and affection, knowing you are each other’s peace, serenity,  home .

A few more moments pass and, reluctantly moving his eyes from yours, Satan lifts you off of his lap, placing you into the bed before climbing in next to you and wrapping an arm around you, pulling your head into his chest.

“Come now, darling,” he says, pulling the sheet over you. “Get some rest. I need that pretty little mind and those beautiful, enchanting eyes sharp for our big day tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you giggle, settling against him. 

Satan’s heart beats gently through his chest and your eyelids flutter as you focus on the rhythmic lull, coaxing you to sleep. Soft kisses press into the top of your head, “I love you”-s murmured in a low, soothing voice against your skin. Your eyelids grow heavier, struggling to keep them open, barely managing to whisper a single “I love you, too” before succumbing to the sweet siren song of slumber.

He stays that way for a while, not quite willing yet to drift off. He’s content to simply hold you for a while, stroking your hair. Blue-green eyes study your peaceful features, the softest, most gentle snore sounding from your nose; he smiles softly, heart swelling with adoration, more and more with every beat. 

Was it possible for a heart to burst from too much love? For once, Satan didn’t know the answer, and he didn’t care. If that was his fate, then a happy fate it would be indeed. Every day, it grows with the way you roll over in his bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, yawning a good morning greeting. It swells each time you smile, hearing every musical laugh, the flutter of your lashes and the way you blush when he tells you that you’re beautiful. His heart grows each and every day, beating for you, more than he ever thought was possible.

It breaks a little when you cry, face streaked in tears running down your cheeks. It shatters when he sees how helpless you feel, so fragile, so broken. How he wishes he could take the pain from you, seeing the way it bears down on you, the look in your eyes when it all becomes too much. He holds you until the teardrops dry on your face, eyes and cheeks swollen from crying, kissing each one away, until you fall asleep in his embrace, your safe place. His arms are your home, your peace, your serenity.

Amidst another struggle in your battle with an invisible enemy who wreaked its havoc on your mind, Satan’s heart breaks into a million pieces as he watches you endeavor, feeling helpless himself. And so, he ran to Lucifer, despite his own pride, pleading with him to relent on his ban. He knows it won’t instantly heal you, but damn, if he wouldn’t do everything in his power to make it known you are never alone, no matter what evil your mind speaks to you.

Unsure of exactly how much time has passed since you fell asleep, Satan feels his own eyelids grow heavy. Face buried in your hair, so soft, the weight of his lids like stones dragging them down over his eyes, murmuring one last “I love you” against the top of your head before succumbing to the sweetly dark embrace of sleep.

---------

Hearing the kittens before you can even see them, your hands clap excitedly as the shelter guide leads you and Satan into the room. Some sleep, not even stirring when your shriek of excitement echoes throughout, others playing and mewling sweetly, running up towards you and the volunteer. Some pad slowly from across the room, silently observing, hesitant. 

Your eyes take them all in, an overwhelming excitement washing over you. Sinking slowly to your knees, you happily reach a hand out, scratching the nearest kitten to you gently behind the ears: orange and white stripes, sweetly meowing, purring so loudly his small body practically shakes with it. You pick him up and cradle him to your chest, looking up at Satan, eyes filled with adoration.

“I was worried about you leaving here with all the kittens hidden in your pockets,” you laugh, “but I think I should we should be more afraid of me doing that.”

There it is again, the musical chime of your laugh. Satan can’t help but to laugh with you, overcome with unbridled love as he reaches down and ruffles your hair gently. You beam a smile up at him before turning your attention back to the kittens, setting the one in your arms down next to you.

Suddenly, you feel the soft padding of a paw swat at your arm, and you laugh again, looking around to find the culprit. In your lap lays a beautiful black kitten, rich, fluffy coat shining in the light, eyes the color of peridot. Feeling your breath catch in your throat, the kitten presses himself to you, placing his paws on your face gently. The sound of his purrs fill your ears, his small body vibrating. Tears pool at the corners of your eyes as you pick him up, cradling him into your arms and pressing your face to his soft back, the soft rumble of his purring against your cheek. Turning your tear-filled eyes to shine up at Satan, you smile sheepishly up at the demon.

“Oh,  Satan … can we take him home?” you plead, standing slowly, stroking the kitten’s soft fur. “Please?”

“You already know the answer to that, my darling,” Satan chuckles, scratching the little kitten behind his ears. “I’ve already signed the papers.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, tears filled with happiness and gratitude fall, trailing slowly down your cheek and onto the kitten’s fur. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly before settling back into your arms, happily purring away, as though he knows. Satan gently brushes your tears with a thumb, a loving gesture, before pulling you into his arms, kissing the top of your head.  Like a little family . Smiling softly, you kiss the kitten’s head, offering him up to Satan. The demon takes the kitten into his arms, cooing at him, and your own heart swells with happiness and emotion and pure love.

“What should we name him?” you ask, wrapping your arms around Satan.

“Hmm…”

Satan debates a few moments, before smiling cheekily down at you.

"How about Luci?” he chuckles softly. “The perfect way to show our gratitude to my dear older brother, and annoy him at the same time.”

Your laugh rings out again, scooping the kitten into your arms from Satan’s embrace. The demon wraps his arms around you once more, kissing you deeply. His kiss feels like love, excitement, peace, tranquility,  home .

“Come,  kittens ,” Satan beckons with a wink. “Let’s get you to your forever home. There are plenty of kisses and cuddles to be had for the both of you.”

#obey me #obey me satan #satan obey me #obey me fluff #Satan shall we date #satan fluff #obey me fanfiction #obey me fandom #shall we date obey me #obey me shall we date #swd obey me #obey me! #obey me swd

[janumun]

Afbranden

Go to Chapters: 1-10 | 11 | 12 | 13 (End)

Game: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Theo/Female Reader, Arthur/Female Reader Rated: NSFW/18+

Warning Tags: infidelity, explicit sexual content, hurt and comfort, eventual second relationship, Arthur main story spoilers, sad with a happy ending

Summary: Slow fractures creep across what you considered a happy, loving relationship; the inevitable break bleeding into your and Arthur's lives, sure and sinister until it's finally too much. The woman Theo holds untoward affections for finds herself lost and he... he is unable to stay and watch from the shadows as he has, all this time.

Author’s Notes: Hey you all! Welcome to the baby (monster) I’ve been toiling away at for months. This particular idea is one I’ve been wanting to write for a long, long while and am elated to finally be able to share here (my Ao3 got this up much, much earlier!). Initially meant to be released during Theo Appreciation Week (organized by the witty talent @humi-and-co​ , thank you! 🙇‍♀️) but here we are halfway through August. 😂

This story was planned and largely penned down before the release of Theo’s route and as such, I apologize for any discrepancies that might not support the actual timeline of canonic events. 

I hope you enjoy your read! [Thank you to Nana, for letting me run away with her request and I apologize LOL]

One: The First Sign (Discord)

“Please leave, Arthur. I can’t do this with you right now.”

Private whispers; the quiet of her voice blanketed further underneath the heavy tolling of the longcase clock indicating the far too late hour for dinner. Theo’s strides dwindle to a near halt at the threshold to the kitchens to hear those words.

A furtive glance into the kitchen reveals the couple’s backs; the sight of Arthur sending a nervous frisson through him: the dark, tell-tale signs of exhaustion beneath his eyes fixated on her back, the man eases a slow hand through his hair as if in consternation — an anxious force of habit.

“Come now luv. Let’s not dawdle over trivial matters anymore and spend our days fighting… please? It’s tiring… for the both of us.”  Quiet words; they lack their usual vigor as if their current argument is a drill he’s been over countless times.

“…You’re right, let’s stop.” A part within, berates Theo to leave the two to handle their own affairs — the gentle quiver that takes her shoulders however, as if she would fragment into dust were she left alone, stifles his sense of reason. Theo steals closer to the entrance to hear the sanguine rise of Arthur’s voice. “So then…”

A dreaded feeling tides slow, all wrong — scotching low within Theo’s belly, churning over with her next sentence. “I… I’m exhausted too, Arthur. I can’t do this anymore. We—” Her voice; splintering at the seams. “We need a break.”

Silence descends; a suffocating cloak drawn over festering wounds — almost deafening in intensity before Arthur rasps out a poor imitation of laughter; grating and torment to hear. Restless fingers his friend moves to scrub across his face as if in preparation, calling out her name. “Please… don’t do this — I need you.” Extending hesitant arms towards her before embracing her, Arthur secures blanched grips against her arms, pulling her back against his chest. Imploring her to reconsider.

“I….” Her voice tapers… then ruptures as if she’s on the cusp of tears herself. “It’s probably for the best. We’re… hurting each other, the way—the way we are.” At that she turns in Theo’s direction; it’s almost too late for him to retrace his steps. He chooses to step into the sweltering kitchen, the two immediately pulling apart. They exchange swift looks of misery before turning away; the sight has Theo raising a careful brow in feigned ignorance at her before her gaze steers away from his as well.

“…I won’t be needing dinner tonight,” Arthur hastens out of the kitchen; signaling the end of their quarrel.

Cautiously watching her, Theo ambles closer; slipping hands into his pockets to conceal the fists wanting to unfurl towards her in comfort. He exhales a quick, quiet breath through his nose, leaning his weight against the counter in casual concern. “Everything alright with you two?”

“Yes.” Her reply is quick, without thought; the response of a liar. Theo’s brows furrow at the sight of her hand quivering around the handle of a knife poised to chop a half-sliced onion. Trying her best to imitate an air of normalcy but as long as Theo has known this woman — she has never been one to be able to mask her emotions, her thoughts flitting across her face: readable as a clear, cloudless sky. As much as he found that naiveté in the past, in this moment it brings him nothing but contemptible respite to know he sees through those clocked motions of hers. The glazed stare she tries and focuses hard enough on her task in an effort to distract herself.

Theo drops the façade of keeping his distance, capturing her shivering hands within the palm of his own, halting her progress on the diced vegetable. Alternate tremors traverse up her arms as she supports herself against the cutting board, stifling tears pooling within wide, unblinking eyes.

A rapid flutter of damp lashes she tries to get rid of them with but fails. “I’m sorry Theo… it’s… it’s just the onions. I’ll be okay. It only stings a… a bit.” Her voice breaks away into muted sobs and Theo slips a hand onto the crown of her head, letting the stilted petting motions of it smooth across her hair.

“Don’t apologize over foolish matters.”  A nod is all she offers and he continues the foreign action for a long, long time; as much as it takes for her to settle. And when she does—

“…Dinner’s late tonight, huh? I’ll have it out soon.”

She doesn’t speak of their disagreement. Not a word. Perhaps he should’ve pushed it even if he came across an importunate idiot. For the next time, he finds her at his door: breathless and close to collapsing under the weight of her distress — knuckles blanched, the skin stretched taut from how tight she’s balling her hands into fists, her one sole query spilling from her lips, “Do you know of Arthur’s whereabouts? He hasn’t been home in two days.”

⚡

Two: Frantic Figure (Chase)

Theo charges out of the mansion, not heeding her desperate protests and the pouring rain. Evening falls fast as he makes the rounds of Arthur’s usual haunts with her quick on his trail.

On his way to the third establishment, he turns to her, pale face obscured by the dark umbrella she holds over them both. “It’s almost dark. Be good and go home, hondje. I’ll find the stupid bastard.”

She shakes her head in denial.

Firming his grip around her shoulders, Theo pulls her close, ducking to meet her gaze “Listen to me. I promise I’ll bring him back to you even if I have to drag him out of whichever sewer he’s gone and holed himself up into.”

Arthur has had those days, Theo recalls with a sickening lurch. Days he used to be out, whiling away hours, even days within the bed of some faceless woman. Returning reeking; the stench of a heavy perfume clinging to him like second skin as if the man was trying to drown out the scent of phantom blood—from days long past— seeping into his gloves. “It keeps me from thinking, old boy.” He had once confided in him, vacant gaze and smiles ghosting over Theo as he had kept him company through those nights.

Theo was a man who knew not how to provide comfort and yet he had stayed, choosing to not let Arthur dig himself deeper into sorrow. He had always looked over from the side, a hand against Arthur’s shoulder — even offered in the sneers and derision he constantly subjected the other man to over his jaunty attitude — until she had stumbled into Arthur’s life and he had seen the changes in his friend. Slowly released from the clutches of a past that still haunted him.

Arthur was a man bettered in her presence but perhaps…  perhaps it hadn’t been enough.

The restless droning in between his ears was louder now and Theo could not discern if it were the sound of rain droplets striking the pavement or his own sickening intuition coiling dark thoughts into his mind.

In front of him, the sight of her lips pressing into a firm line indicating her obstinacy had him ready to try and convince her back home before he caught the look in her eyes. It haunted Theo in a way he had to suppress the shiver it spilled down his spine. She would not relent.

“I’m not going back.” Trembling digits she curled into the sleeve of the arm still grasping her, she met him head-on, gaze alight with emotion. “If something happens to Arthur— has happened to him, I… Theo, I—”

He exhaled, slow. “Alright.” Don’t say anymore.

⚡⚡⚡

The barkeep waved him over in greeting as soon as they stepped foot through the doors of the pub that also doubled as a primitive bed and breakfast.

“Theodorus! Looking for English, I s’ppose?” That familiar nausea stirred within Theo’s throat, beckoning.

“Yeah. Has he been in today?”

“Was.” the ruddy man answers, nodding amicably at her. Theo’s breath seems to seep back into his lungs at his answer before— “Made a nuisance of himself with a pretty gal before the two got themselves a room upstairs and out of my hair.” —the quiet gasp he hears at his side scorches bitter within his throat. No. He could never.

Theo’s mind struggles desperately to find a way — an explanation, anything — around the revelation while another part of him races in futile circles to work out ways to alleviate the blow lest she finds out… something she’s not ready for. Theo unfurls his fingers before tightening the digits closed once more at his side, bracing himself to voice the one question he dreads the answer to but her voice, eerie calm, pierces through first. “Can we know what room Arthur’s staying in?”

For the first time since the two walked in, the barkeep’s smile teeters off his face; owlish gaze sliding first from Theo to her… then back. Realization dawning before he mutters a slow reply, chucking a thumb in the direction of the stairs. “Third door from the end, right side. Just… don’t make a commotion in here, alright? I got a business to run, Miss.” He speaks as if he has seen the exact same sequence play out too often; a harrowed woman chasing a runaway husband down to the club he owns.

Theo’s fingers twitch for hers in that instant, without thought but she slips away from his grasp, mechanic movements guiding her too calm steps towards the stairs. He lets his hand drop to his side, without finding use. Trailing cautious but close after the drifting figure of her as they approach Arthur.

The door to the room’s left ajar, the sounds of giddy laughter spilling through, Theo’s blood curdles over before he shoots a hand out, fingers curling firm around her wrist. “Stop. Don’t go in there, hondje.”

Muscles going frigid underneath that impassive stare she throws over her shoulder, he meets her gaze, refusing to let her venture further. “Why? Arthur’s in there. I… need to see him, Theo. Surely you know that?” His grip falters and she walks on ahead without anything else impeding her.

“Mm… I dearly wish you were my darling instead. I miss her.”

“What a callous thing to say to the woman you’ve just slept with, Arthur!”

“Sto—” His strides are stilted, too late. The door swings open to a scene he direly wished were not true. Halting right behind her to glance at the nightmare Arthur’s drawn up for himself, Theo feels the breath leave her on a juddering exhale before her lover, obnoxiously drunk, catches sight of them in the doorway. Arthur’s eyes widen in shock and dawning horror — Theo sees the steady break of the man before him — the wisps of liquor slowly leaving his mind bare enough to accommodate her presence but in that moment, Theo holds not a single ounce of sympathy for him, choosing to grip her closer to his side instead as she stands there, catatonic, save for the soundless movement of her mouth.

She’s calling for him.

⚡

Three: Holding Glass (Fragile)

You do not remember backing out of the room. You might’ve felt Theo’s hands across your shoulders, your waist holding you steady. Arthur’s cries of your names, reverberating loud and agonizing within your mind. You’d fled from the room, a coward until you’d tumbled out into the rain. 

Breathing, a chore you had to remind yourself of each instant your lungs scorched with the struggle to maintain your breaths. Not caring for how the sleets assaulted your numb body, drenching. Your mind reliving the last, few horrid moments in excruciating detail.

The spill of ebony locks across Arthur’s chest as the woman had sunk towards his parted lips. You knew Arthur had been drunk, from the sheer permeation of the stink of liquor in the room. Perhaps it had been a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake. Burying your face against freezing digits, your scream indistinct under the harsh cacophony of sounds within and around, you tried to pierce through that tormenting pounding at your temples.

The calls of your name at your back: a cruel wrench out of your stupor — and your legs worked once more. You ran.

⚡⚡⚡

“Please! I beg of you, let me in...” Arthur’s murmuring your name over and over across the single barrier of wood separating the two of you. You hear his distressing cries, soft as he presses them into the other side of your door. 

Crumpling onto the floor right against cool wood, not a fraction of warmth remains in the press of your forehead, your cheeks as you curl into your knees, pressing into the ice-cold fabric of your wet dress. Ice prickling across fingertips; your movements are staccato, numbed.

You’d missed him. The entirety of those two days spent away from him — an eternity. Your ill suggestion knells nauseous within your chest — “We need a break Arthur” — a part of you wonders… Were you the reason he had driven himself down into a pit so low you two could never hope to come back from?

His whispered pleas resound within your heart once more, the space beneath your ribs tightening in agonizing, alternate compresses his heartbreak causes you. He’s falling to pieces. You know he is, you’d recognize your Arthur’s grief even if he did not speak of it to you.

Rising to your feet on teetering steps, you reach to steady a hand against the door. Extending shaky fingers toward the knob, turning it over… until you let it swing open, without resistance, without complaint. To admit him in once more. Once more, to let it hurt. You miss him. You still love him.

Arthur’s careworn gaze meets yours, the puckish twinkle in those eyes you so loved snuffed beyond recognition. No happiness lies in that face you lay your eyes upon and in the moment… for the first time you notice just how haggard he truly looks. Tie undone and clinging to the drenched front of his sagging shirt. His hair’s an untamed mess; you draw your twitching fingers back into a tremulous fist by sheer, tremendous force of will alone… curbing your desire to reach out and smooth damp strands back from his face when he calls your name. Coveting digits he extends towards you but you turn away entirely lest you’re unable to smother the urge to run your lips against his fingers in soft kisses.

Arthur follows you inside, letting the door fall shut behind him; an ominous surrender. A wrong decision. Even as your listless steps trawl you further back into the room as if through mire…. he trails forward, finally managing to catch hold of you within his embrace. The nostalgia a deluge; you cannot recall the last time you’d held each other in this manner and the person within—the woman who loves Arthur still—curls into the warmth of him in relief.

“…No, Arthur.” Weak protests, without real strength. Dredging up the pantomime of a struggle and yet; you let his lips, desperate and cold, slide against yours. The hasty sweep of his tongue against your lips dragging a desperate, sharp breath flooding into your lungs and Arthur moves to slip his tongue into your mouth, kissing you reckless and vehement.

“I’m… hmm… sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen...” Your fingers scrabble to fit themselves into the front of his shirt, mouth twisting away from his but Arthur holds; straining will refusing to be deterred. Dragging his mouth down the front of your neck, he presses fervid kisses into the skin as if he’s trying to swipe your mind of thoughts; save for him. Or perhaps, Arthur’s the one trying to escape; a desperate, last fantasy the two of you scramble to hold. 

Arthur’s anchoring himself against the heat of your body just as you are; the mirage of a lifeline. As if he could rescue you when he’s the one sinking and you are left weak, the questions your mind refuses to dredge up answers to tumbling free-fall within your mind.

Why? Why had the two of you been unable to resolve your differences this one time? Was there not enough love?

Even when you had promised to each other, a forever.

“Arthur, we can’t. Please, it’s… it’s over.” The words take quivering form on your tongue, your voice however, refusing to cooperate to voice your hurting accusation. You ruined it with your own two hands, Arthur. Where do we even go from here?

“No…” The sound that scrapes free of his throat; so acute it presses the dagger deeper into your heart. Your eyes, you realize are brimming with the same tears you see mirrored within his desperate gaze. 

Arthur pitches to his knees, beseeching gaze refusing to let go of yours for even a moment’s mercy. “It was but an erroneous judgement on my part! I should not have drunk so much I lost my damn mind and did you wrong… It’s entirely my fault! I shall spend my life making it up to you, luv. I—I wouldn’t be able to live if you weren’t by my side...” Fisting trembling fingers into your skirt as he begs, the sight of him groveling at your feet is unbearable, you cannot stand seeing him this way.

“Arthur, I—”

“I would do anything to atone, please…” Howls of agony fading into redundant whispers. “...I love you, darling.”

A strength you do not possess tonight: the resolve to push the man you so dearly love, away when your heart and soul—deplorable—still yearn for the touch of his fingers against your skin, the desire for his smiles—content and without restraint—at your side. Even if it’s the last time you hold him, you love him much too deep to let go right now. You allow yourself the warmth of him once more; you want him just as he does.

You nod.

Realizing the grave significance of your decision, a part of you acknowledges the sound of your heart giving way and fracturing, the pieces of it scattering underneath Arthur’s kisses as he guides you back against your bed.

Mounting you before his hands seek the buttons of your blouse, flicking them open one at a time, all the while whispering words of love and apologies into your skin. Every place he reveals, each part of you his fingers, his mouth settle against burns and your stomach revolts against the nausea that grips you to feel him over you. 

Bracing a hand against your parted mouth to contain the horror your actions alight in you even as you ask Arthur to continue; to love you and let you forget. Hauling him back over when he withdraws to see your tears; his own incising hot carvings into your naked skin.

This one time, you need. This last time, with him.

The touch of his skin against yours spurting vivid memories within: of Arthur fucking some faceless woman. Touching her, just as he holds you now.

Sinking teeth into quivering lip until the taste of blood bursts on your tongue, nails digging grooves into his back, you rebel against the bile that rises steady within your throat.

I want this. I want you.

Dragging him close to inhale the scent of his skin, his warmth one more last time.

Lashes fluttering against the queasy dizziness that takes you to feel his fingers slip in between your legs to find you wet. Sinking first one, then another into you—the pleasure that rocks through lets your thoughts scatter for a moment’s reprieve. Sweating and trembling within his embrace, you spread your legs farther, accepting him into you. The slick slide of your bodies is familiar; the powerful swing of his hips burying him deeper into you each time he moves has you crying out for him.

In just that last moment, you reach forward, shaping trembling digits against his face and Arthur offers you a smile so desolate you almost weep. He knows... because he understands you well. Just as you know him.

And so you let yourself hang on to that last forgery of intimacy in between the two of you, coming undone beneath him.

⚡⚡⚡

Violet shadows dig grooves beneath his closed eyes, the utter exhaustion in them winding itself like shackles around you, constricting. You turn away from the sight, reaching for the one bag you’d brought along with you from the future. Having stuffed it full of clothes and whatever you’d thought to toss in, in your moment of temporary clarity: your diary and wallet.

An urge tides within as you steal towards the door, careful so as not to disturb Arthur’s slumber—the desire to look back upon what you are leaving. The pain within; as if tearing apart a portion of unhealed wounds.

The door falls closed behind, without you having turned back even once.

⚡⚡⚡

The hallways are blanketed in heavy silence; a quick glance at your wristwatch revealing it just past midnight. You recall a day much, much further in the past when you’d fled from impersonal demons within the dark, except without as much as you carried at the moment—a shattered heart. And now, you were sweeping to escape the fall of a relationship that had meant everything to you in this foreign place. Friends, family, acquaintances… none of it mattered when he was no longer here by your side to hold your hand and smile.

The door leading outside stands just a few feet ahead and your steps hasten in a last, desperate attempt to escape but—

“Where are you sneaking off to this late at night?” A low, grave voice at your back halts your steps and you whip your head to catch sight of Theo watching you from the staircase. The disapproving frown on his face, the striking sapphire of that gaze—harsh and unforgiving—is too much to take in that moment so you settle for staring past your friend.

You know… you know you owe Theo much. At least a word of farewell if not an elucidation of your actions but frankly, you’re moving about on your last reserves of mental fortitude. If you crumple here, escape would be nigh impossible again. You’d be back to living that one horrid nightmare on repeat.

“I’m leaving.”

“Where to?” Theo draws close on quiet, swift footsteps and before you can think to back away, he’s there by your side. “I asked you where you think you can go to at this Godforsaken hour of the night.”

“Theo, I’m not staying. I can’t. Arth— I have to go. If I don’t….”

I’ll never be able to again. You let the words hover unspoken in between. Trembling through rapid short inhales, you stare up into his face; observing the furrow in between his brows curving deeper into skin. Hastening to add, “I have some money on me, it’ll last me until le Comte returns from his trip outside of France. I’ll find lodgings for the night, just please… this once, I—” Theo forces himself forward, hand plunging right for the bag you’re carrying. Sweeping it out of your grasp before he draws back.

“You will do no such thing, hondje. Stop acting like an air-headed idiot.”

“Theo!” You move forward, fingers scrabbling into the front of his shirt as your voice rises in whispered agitation. “Let me go, please…”

“No.” Disengaging your fingers from their white knuckled grip on him, he threads his digits through yours, holding firm. “You’re coming with me.”

⚡

Four: Rock Bottom (Suspended)

A long, winding belt of worn cobblestone and gas-lit lamps. Empty save for the occasional street urchin tucked for the night underneath a narrow awning and flimsy stretches of newspaper discards.

The sight of her—as she takes steady steps through deserted streets—far more melancholic in the limned shadows of her face Theo catches a glimpse of every now and then as she turns to observe their surroundings. Movements deliberate only in the way of a person scrimmaging through a drastic upending of their world; his nails scour aching crescents across the skin of his palm from how he abstains himself from reaching out and secreting her into an embrace—a quiet world without judgement.

An old memory surfaces with the bite of harsh teeth into lower lip; bitter regret dredged over the state Arthur’s left her in—fury and biting contrition fouling each and every breath he takes. He’d harshly catechized her once; questioned the authenticity of her feelings for Arthur; as much for his friend’s sake… as for his own. A dagger directed onto his own self, to cement in the depth of her unshakable feelings for the other man. To sheer through whatever it was he felt for her, but it had held. And he had continued to watch; his only salvation in the absolute knowledge of her happiness.

Destroyed; the rationale he’d set for himself with the demise of their relationship.

Bone-deep sorrow spurts forth to see the woman he cares for far more than was ever appropriate and the man he’d seconded himself to—a better choice, the superior choice Theo had inveigled himself to believe. When he’d witnessed Arthur’s affections and hers in turn grow and mold into each other’s lives—acrid smiles he’d smothered into unwilling submission along with the feelings that had taken root.

The two fools held far greater meaning to Theo than his own life, his own worth. Their happiness: a blaze he wished to tend higher… be it at the cost of his own feelings thrown into the fire as fodder.

Theo pushes himself ahead of her before the weight of coiling thoughts can crush the air out of his lungs. “It’s right around the corner,” he calls over his shoulder, cursing the hoarseness of his voice, pained. 

Leading her up a winding set of stairs up to the third floor of an old building in silence. He fishes for the keys to his apartment, tossing open the door before steering her inside.

Throwing on the lights before he locks the door behind himself, careful gaze trekking the curious surprise of her eyes as she takes in the place: the paintings showcased with care against the walls, Vincent’s and more. The scarcity of furniture save for a sofa he keeps to shack up on late nights and a spare mattress, a few other accessories thrown in. Tired as she is, the soft question that follows is entirely expected. “What is this?”

“A place I bought a while back. I drop in on days it’s far too late to return to the mansion after work. Provides the quiet I need on occasion to work through documentations of unsold paintings and processing of…. Never mind, take your pick, hondje. The sofa or mattress?”

She focuses a mute, owlish gaze his way. “Where do you want to sleep?” He prompts, ambling over to check the refrigerator’s stock of water bottles: just enough to last her the night.

“…Theo, is this really alright? I—”

“Tsk, take the mattress. It’ll probably be more comfortable.” He moves to drop onto the sofa, propping his legs up onto it as he watches her vacillate at the threshold.

“…Are you staying?”

“Yeah. Got any problems?”

“No…” Her brows furrow; a conflicted look streaks across her face at his answer before she tries and smooths it back into neutrality. A disagreeable emotion plucks quick and sharp across the back of his breastbone; Theo recognizes it. The cruel bite of rejection.

“…You don’t want me to?”

“No! I mean—” She hesitates. “Please… stay.” The admission halts his thoughts; his words stolen. He wouldn’t have left her to her own devices in an unfamiliar place even if she had cried and begged him to but her honest words break apart his mind just that bit more. Theo sinks back into the cushions as she makes her way towards him on hesitant steps, sitting herself down beside him.

Folding her legs underneath herself, she tucks herself into the crook of her knees, silent once more.

Theo lets her be. Minutes roll away into hours in between them, without consequence, without conversation. Not once does he hear her speak; not to express her grief or to cry. Her shoulders slumped in temporary peace before he feels her body start to slip forward. Throwing an arm out to fold her against himself— “Hey…” before he discerns the delicate flutter of her lashes, the rapid movements of her eyes behind closed lids. Adrenaline having released its hold on her at long last to exhaust her body into sleep.

Theo exhales, gathering her into his arms before padding over to the mattress. Resting her onto the bedding with cautious precision—she stirs enough to turn on her side—before rocking back onto his heels, watching her descent into dreams. “Welterusten..."

⚡

Five: Dark Spiral (Descending)

Warning Tags: mentions of depression

The distressing hunch of that back is dizzying to witness once more—pain and resignation violent in equal measure—dulling your tongue to words of comfort. Words are not what he needs.  Smoothing a hand across the curve of his shoulder, you try and summon him back to you. “Arthur—” He recoils against the touch as if burned, withering your heart along with his rejection.

“Hey luv…” Arthur moves to curl careful palms against yours—mild tremors take them still, you notice—in an attempt to soothe the hurt he knows his mind is causing you both.

That night, you witness the true horror that afflicts his mind still; a bane without end. The muttered pleas that tumble from loose lips against your skin, the sweat that marks his body with the terror of demons past. Arthur is yet not a man healed—far from it. You rock him into your arms, pressing him close against yourself as you fight against the tears that threaten to see him in this manner.

His sleep, if it could be called as such, the only time he allowed you access into his vulnerability. The times he drifted awake, spent in waving away your worries, a usual easy smile thrown your way but he must’ve known… he couldn’t fool your eyes like this.

He was a kind man; perhaps to the point of folly. Arthur would perhaps see himself crushed beneath the weight of his misery before he ever saw the phantom echoes of it line your face.

Brilliant as he was, failing to understand the dynamics of carrying a relationship, not alone but together—trying to prevent his breaks from being seen, although that hurt you far more.

Slow but steady… the persistent, gentle coaxing of him devolved into arguments. Quick, distressing moments of weakness he always tried dissolving into kisses he laid against your damp eyes, your skin. Murmuring apologies for his inaptitude. Ending with the same, empty words: “I’m quite well, my darling. Don’t you worry, hmm?”

Like stone being disintegrated with time upon drips of water, slow… slowly… his mental fraying bled into his works. And you began to wonder if it wasn’t you being by his side, the fear of losing you that had old memories surfacing this quick and with bitter vengeance. He had more than once touched upon his fears of losing sight of you too, just as he had lost far too many within his time.

And perhaps… perhaps that thought had caused you to hammer the final nail into this coffin—your relationship was headed towards inevitable doom, even you saw the signs, looming clear and menacing—asking to be released from him that fateful night in the kitchen.

And he had drowned himself at last, into the basest of pits, he’d wallowed in before you’d arrived into his life.

Fragments of once possessed beauty—deadly shards left behind for you two to cut yourself onto.

You two had failed to understand the other after all.

⚡⚡⚡

Your clammy skin prickles with warmth, the comforting touch of another body close and you crack your lids open onto cerulean— no, you witnessed sapphire. “...Bad dream?” Theo inquires in a voice, soft in a manner you’ve never heard from him before. Drawing his hand back; you notice the wetness that clings to his fingertips still—your tears.

You drag your body up into a sitting position before he swipes your blanket for a tray of food. “Breakfast,” he states simply before moving away from you. A second empty tray you notice, wiped clean and discarded onto the kitchen counter, the treacly scent of caramel still suffusing the air and despite yourself, you smile. Grateful for the man who does not change… even if you might.

“Theo?”

“What?”

“Thank you.” The only answer he deigns you with is a noncommittal grunt.

⚡

Six: Forward Grind (Ascending)

You’ve witnessed the sun rise from the windows of Theo’s apartment over several weeks; the small window seat affording you a view of the skies with the very first rays of light spilling onto the horizon as dawn touches the Earth on your side of the world. You’re often up and wide awake on most days, the reaching binds of loneliness not far off from crawling up your spine and settling into your heart. Until the sky breaks into bifurcated hues of colors spilled across with the arrival of dawn and the tranquil sight soothes you somewhat, the time passing by in dazed admiration until Theo drops in to check up on you for the day, right before he leaves for work.

You’re apologetic to the man for all he does—he’s hardly supposed to serve you as keeper or guardian. Each day you look upon his face when he arrives—sometimes with grocery on hand—until the moment he leaves, causing guilt to stir heavy within your belly.

Whenever he’s over, he speaks briefly of the mansion’s residents and of their concerns for you, their well wishes, even if he cannot bring them to visit you for… obvious reasons. Bearing offerings and presents from your friends every now and then. Careful to avoid any mention of Arthur, though from what little you do glean from your conversations is that he’s…. well, as well as you can expect the man to be.

Theo never speaks of, or inquires, into the night he found you trying to flee from the mansion: what transpired in between Arthur and you nor does he question your decision to end everything the way you did. He simply… stays. Sometimes… the thought strikes you. You should tell him, he deserves to know.

But when you try tearing through the pieces of your memories, Theo moves to sidestep your attempts, steering the conversation away and you… you’re grateful to him. For so much.

He’s a good man, you realize once more, kind to the woman he holds no accountability for. And he’s an even better friend.

You thank the man in silence now as you watch him haul several heavy grocery bags over the threshold and move to help him stock the fridge. Offering him the paltry sum of money you do have on your person, once you’re done, from your savings but he refuses like every single time.

“Shove that back inside, hondje.”

A few more weeks slip away in futility and helpless wandering, your desire to give back to the person who’s rather peremptory yet watchful support, in large part keeps you grounded through difficult days.

Perhaps Theo senses your restive state for he drops one day with all but a brusque command,

“Enough of wasting your days away moping. We’re going out, hondje. I’m going to have you work your keep for me starting today as my assistant.”

You blink, not having expected the suggestion—well, order.

“What—”

“And just so you know, you have no say in this so don’t even bother yapping out any complaints. I won’t listen.”

Unceremoniously tossing you a beautiful wrapped package you barely catch, he barks, “Strip.”

And your mind spaces for a moment, slowly turning over the package in between cautious fingers before fixing a raised brow at him. “Excuse me?”

The careful edge of a grin, almost deriding, has you momentarily stumped by the way your gaze hooks onto the infuriating, uneven spread of that smile before he breaks through your reverie, “What? Thinking I’d be interested in seeing some mangy pup naked? Those are your work clothes, put them on and meet me outside in five.”

Oh, he can be kind but that facet of him is hard to scavenge for at times underneath the maddeningly rude bastard Theo is.

⚡

⚡

“Good morning, Master Theodorus.”

“Morning, Samuel. Everything alright out here?” The place you accompany Theo to is a small-scale albeit cozy establishment; resembling nothing you might’ve expected of an art trader’s place of business. No sooner do you step foot into the foyer of the auberge that Theo is accosted by a beaming young man. The two of them falling into discussion as soon as they exchange greetings; one you fail to gather much of except that the man called Samuel has quick, precise answers for each and every single one of Theo’s inquiries.

“And the Mademoiselle?” Samuel’s polite indication of you draws you out of your thoughts to focus on the conversation at hand.

“She’s going to be helping out with the exhibition as of now. I want you to show her the ropes, Samuel, entrust her with whatever tasks you find appropriate. The Hondje is a quick study. See that you put her to good use.”

Samuel blinks in mild uncertainty at Theo’s choice of introductory words yet perhaps in respect of his ‘Boss’, chooses not to comment on the odd name. You in turn, carefully tuck back the instinctive frown you feel surfacing at Theo’s words; instead choosing to extend a hand out in courteous greeting, pronouncing your actual name this time. 

Samuel smiles back in return before introducing himself to you as ‘Master’ Theodorus’  subordinate—entirely  civil, you almost wonder how a well-mannered individual like him handles working under a brusque man like Theodorus van Gogh.

Having exchanged pleasantries, you turn a questioning glance at Theo. “So… an art exhibition? Are we having one… here?”

Theo’s thumbing through a thick sheaf of papers; sharp gaze working over the words in grim concentration. “We are. It’s not strictly an exhibition. It’s a betrothal ceremony—more of a social event—for a couple of high society lovebirds, friends of a lesser known artist of mine—tch. The numbers aren’t adding up on filing returns.”

Samuel kindly obliges, going over the rest of the story for Theo’s current project: the couple in question being art enthusiasts had expressed their wish to showcase their friend’s work through the celebratory event being held the following month. The party; being an affair where those of the noble class gathered and commingled, would provide much needed exposure to the paintings exhibited.

The couple, although of the aristocratic class, valued materialistic goods far, far less than their noble counterparts and were rather ‘pragmatic’ as per Samuel’s judgment of the two on the few occasions he’d liaised with them—hence the rather humble wedding venue of choice, Samuel had answered your unspoken question with a smile. 

Having learned of the tireless efforts of one Theodorus van Gogh for the lesser known artists of Paris and having ascertained him as the man who’d been fighting tooth and nail to have their artist friend’s works—among several others—unveiled to the world, the two had been gracious in opening their space up for other artists’ pieces as well.

You observed how Samuel spoke of Theo with much esteem, expatiating on his efforts throughout for undiscovered artists and you found yourself edging furtive glances over at the man in question. Watching how he worked the room around him with ease, a true enterprising devil. And despite his seemingly stern demeanor—as he directed the people around him—you felt yourself realizing the actual depth of Theo’s pride in what he did. He had spoken to you very briefly of his work, once, but it hadn’t truly settled, until now. Your own heart swelling at the thought of being part of even a portion of such passion.

Minute sparks of thrilling anticipation—you couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt even a fraction of what traversed through you in this moment—twining through you at the idea of seeing his dream come true.

Having provided you a brief overview of the exhibition, Samuel requested you join him in inspecting the hall where the event was to be held. In between the two of you, you worked through the intricate details of what paintings and artists would be displayed in which sections of the rather spacious chamber, so as not to overwhelm the ambiance of the actual celebration by turning it entirely into an art exhibition.

Unfortunately, not all of the paintings would be able to be displayed on the day but within these trying times when struggling artists were not looked twice upon, they made do with whatever resources they could scrounge, Samuel elucidated, highlighting once more the actual import of Theo’s role within the art world in 19th century Paris.

With the well-mannered man providing you guidance, you threw yourself into work—never-ending as it seemed to be—and even as Samuel ran out of appointing you minor tasks, you insisted upon doing something, intent on making this an opportunity you repaid Theo for all his support. Requesting he give you whatever meagre or even grueling task he could think of; you’d see it through.

Outside the hall as Theo conversed with the head supervisor of the establishment, he caught sight of a familiar mop of hair slipping past him and into the fast approaching eve; her steps far too eager for an employee on her first day of work and despite the casual exchange in between him and the manager, Theo felt a frown worrying in between his brow at the ‘zealous’ attitude of the woman as she disappeared from sight.

⚡⚡⚡

Twilight had scraped itself upon the city by the time you found your way back to the auberge, carrying your purchases of adhesive hooks and other various accessories Samuel had detailed within the rather extensive list he’d handed you.

Back in the establishment, you drag your feet under the weight of the box over to where you’d caught sight of other stocked equipment. Just before you could however, the package is swiped from your grasp, your arms lighter for its loss and you angle a look up at your savior—Theo—before he strides over to place it down among the supplies. “Decided to take up heavy lifting even with those scruffy arms of yours?”

Exhaling through your nose to try and reign in the acute bout of chagrin his words peg within, you wipe a careful hand across your damp forehead. “A thank you instead would be nice to hear.”

“A ‘thank you’ for trying to work your fingers to the bone on your very first day? Listen hondje. Despite what you think the general consensus might be, I take no pleasure in pushing my workers into exploitation.”

He has his back to you, supposedly as he takes stock of the inventory of items and yet you catch the set of his shoulders, stiffer, angrier for reasons beyond you. 

His strong reaction baffles you. And then a much, much dim whisper drifts towards you, “Are you trying to use this job as a means for escape, for neglect?”

“…What?” His words dredge back the thoughts you’d secreted back into the far corners of your mind and suddenly, his almost accusation makes sense. You’d deceived yourself into believing your mindless devotion to your task was purely out of a desire to pay Theo back but—was it truly? Your mind snags on a blank to that answer as Theo retraces quiet steps towards you.

“Look at me.” He commands and despite the part of you that rebels to controvert his theory—the accusation at the tip of your tongue: What do you really know about me, Theodorus van Gogh?—you comply. 

Faced by those eyes of keen sapphire and veiled blades that seem to effortlessly sheer through masks even you weren’t aware were seared onto your skin so fast it hurt when he moved to peel them away. Until it didn’t anymore.

Theo’s palms—incredibly warm for a man who’s used to cutting himself of a frigid, disdainful mien—curl against your cheeks, tipping your face towards him. Firm and resolute just as his gaze, daring you to turn away and taste the consequences. Challenging you to stand your ground. And for perhaps the first time since your break with Arthur, he broaches the subject with an impatience you’re not used to hearing from Theo. “I’m not telling you to forget the pain he left you with, I’m telling you to grit your teeth and plough through it.”

You listen in silence, his grip on your face keeping you from affirming or denying his words.

“…It’s going to hurt like hell and perhaps, you’ll never be quite alright but you don’t give up living because that’s not who you are. You’ve never tried to figure the easy way out. You’re not a wide-eyed, stumbling puppy needing protection when the world collapses around you. You’re a person who stands her ground and lives through it, damn it hondje. Are you going to make me spoon-feed you crap you should already be aware of about your own self?”

A million responses hurtle through your mind, unable to be grasped. What if I fail this time? What if I am failing this time, Theo?

Fingers finding purchase into the length of his scarf, crumpling pliant fabric between your fingers, you alternately admire and bemoan his frustrating ability to see through you as if you were exposed glass.

How do you do it? How do you unravel me with only but a few words. A touch, a look? It disconcerts me to have you peer into my soul like this Theo.

…How do you know what I want before I do? It hurts to see the truth uncovered in front of me like this.

…I’m so sorry.

“…Thank you.”

“Hey—” His gaze widens a fraction before he settles back into a frown. “Stop sniveling.” And despite his harsh words, gentle thumbs test at the corners of your eyes before you recognize the gesture from a morning not long ago when kind digits had swiped across your skin in reassuring strokes—just as he does now—to scoop the tears from tired eyes. You close your eyes against the onslaught of emotions, afraid he’s going to unravel further parts of you you’re not ready to confront yet.

Theo clicks his tongue in what you assume is mild exasperation at your constant stream of tears before he pulls you tight against himself. Your body goes rigid in temporary, instinctual protest before the soothing strokes of his hand against your back, your hair bring you back to being mollified within his arms. Enough to even feel the strains of a smile—truer than you’ve had afforded to you in ages—against your lips. “…This is the first time you’ve hugged me since that night. A girl could do with some comfort hugs after her horrid break-up you know.” You attempt to tease through the haze of tears.

“Shut up.” You think you feel the press of a begrudging smile against your hair. “I had no choice seeing how a certain pup was about to start bawling her eyes out if I didn’t pet her.”

You thump a half-hearted fist against his back. “Rude asshole. I was not about to start bawling.”

He’s grinning now—probably because he doesn’t believe you—you feel it as he smooths a hand down your hair, tugging you much closer into his arms and you settle into his touch with a grateful sigh, closing your eyes against the sensation of comfort so tender you almost entirely miss the rasp of his voice stifled into your hair.

“….It’s the second time, mijn stompzinnige.”

“Did I hear you call me stupid Theo?”

“Hush, puppy. Do you need me to pet you harder?”

Neither of you are any wiser to the sinister pair of eyes that watch you from the long shadows of the hallway as you remain engulfed within your moment of quiet relief.

⚡

Seven: Unfortunate Encounter (Ill-tidings)

The soft clack of boots against the floor, drawing closer finally shifts Theo’s body away from yours. You move to straighten yourself, a sense of regret plucking at your heart—and pause at the uninvited thought. Regret?

“Pardon the late hour, Monsieur Theodorus, Mademoiselle.” A grainy voice slices through your thoughts and you turn to greet the new arrivals before you feel the firm clamp of a large hand on your wrist, holding you back. 

Glancing askance at Theo, you’re rendered speechless to note the barely tapped displeasure roiling beneath frosted sapphire. Despite the way he looks, as if he’s been forced to swallow bitter poison, Theo greets the two men in kind. “Messieurs.” He acknowledges; the cool stretch of his lips more snarl than smile. “What brings you here tonight? We’re closing shop for the day, I’m afraid.”

The gentleman with the grainy voice and vulpine features smiles. “The same reason that brings us to your humble abode each time…” He says the words humble abode with poorly masked contempt, immediately tipping your impartial opinion of the visitors to dislike.

His companion reaches into a bag, drawing out a sheaf of papers with the words Contract stamped in bold across the front, extending it to Theo. “We’d like you to reconsider our offer of recruitment at Goupil and Cie. Cease these worthless attempts of getting dirt to float where it won’t, Monsieur and join our firm. A man of your talent deserves to be paid far more than he makes in this… this…”

It’s clear what the men are referring to as dirt: the artists Theo so painstakingly supports and you have the sudden, fierce urge to direct these men out and tell them to mind their own damn business. 

Instead you choose to watch, silent and fuming as Theo smiles at them—a specious picture of civility but it’s anything but—not even deigning a look at the proffered documents before turning them down. “And I’m afraid my answer remains the same, Messieurs. I have no interest in partnering up with a business that thinks only as extortionists do, bartering up paintings with no actual benefits provided to the artists. I kindly ask that you leave me and mine alone.”

The vulpine featured man’s expression sours within an instant, the filthy look he angles Theo’s way—not at all what you’d expect from one who runs a ‘respectable’ business—sending an ominous shiver down your spine. Theo continues, unperturbed. “I believe this wraps up our conversation, yes? A pleasant evening to you both, gentlemen. Please excuse us.”

With that, the grip on your wrist slides to wrap around your hand as Theo tugs you away from the furious men. One of them turning on his heel to yell a dark threat at your backs. “You’ll live to regret it, Van Gogh, if you do not halt your frivolous charity activities soon! We shall see you ruined, filthy mongrel!”

Your hand flexes around Theo’s in concern.

“It’s fine, hondje.” He inclines an amused smile your way. “I’ve lived through worse.”

⚡

A/N: Fun Fact (?!): The actual Theo van Gogh did indeed work for Goupil and Cie, a firm very obviously not consisting of evil men in real life as represented here 😆

⚡

Eight: Creeping Shadows (Pitch Dark)

The flickering ghosts of gas-lit lamps, the occasional carriage light outside casting lengthening—then receding— shadows across walls, stay your eyes to the sight. And you continue to watch in silence, curled upon the mattress as you count the slow seconds that pass by into the night.

You don’t dream too often these days—spent instead on helping Theo out with the exhibition. There’s much to do but your workplace nurtures an easy, healthy environment, keeping you content in the pace you’ve found. Long nights you used to while away submerged in restless thoughts and far more restless dreams. Of Arthur, of a time long past when you were happier.

He doesn’t haunt you that often anymore although a part of you admonishes your heart for trying to forget too soon. Insisting you’re not ready, that perhaps you’re coping in all the wrong ways. 

But a larger part of you is accepting of the peace, one you haven’t felt in so, so long. Perhaps you do deserve to let yourself feel happy just as you were, it whispers in forgiveness. And you listen; to yourself and… to Theo.

Theo is… a constant. Sometimes, he brings along letters addressed to you from le Comte on mornings he comes to pick you up for work.

Comte had expressed his grief within the very first letter, insisting on providing accommodations once he returned from his trip abroad. Offering up the services of a friend instead, if you would’ve preferred not to wait for his return and move out of the city at the earliest opportunity.

You had written back: reassuring your gracious caretaker of your current arrangements, of Theo’s kindness and how you were more than happy to work for your room and board in his service—stealing a glance up at the man in question as he sunk a fork into the treacly stack of pancakes set precariously upon his plate. Enjoying his abominable sweet breakfast as you penned your reply at the kitchen counter. You’d fought the smile on your face then over your new norm—and failed— the attempt not escaping Theo’s notice. He’d—predictably—frowned. “What?”

You’d simply smiled back, shaking your head in silence to his muttered complaints of weird hondje.

 On days the sun shined bright and dreary clouds threatening storms did not haunt the skies, the two of you often stopped by to treat yourself—once or twice a week—to breakfast at a sweet, little café. 

Pleasant meals spent ribbing Theo over the barely curbed attention he garnered from the wait staff upon the amount of syrup he drowned his pancakes in. The only answer he afforded you, when not engrossed in inhaling those pancakes of his, a beautiful curt, “Shut up.”

At work, you’d witnessed the person he transformed into: powerful and reliable. Tireless efforts he injected into his passion for art. Hours he spent upon artists, conferring their works and offering advice where they needed—you saw how the others held him as a paradigm of strength and in turn, admired him. You wanted to support this man and with each day afforded in his company, the desire to see him succeed strengthened.

The deplorable men you’d encountered your first night hadn’t returned and every day you witnessed pass on without trouble, saw your heart lighter for it despite Theo’s instructions for strict measures to be taken: none of his staff were to traverse the streets of Paris alone until after the exhibition, as a safety precaution.

As you lie in bed, the image of those men’s sneers congeals within your mind, rotten and derisive. Shaking your head clear of vile thoughts as you climb out of bed, you drift towards the pleasant draught instead, coming in through the open windows. Curling into the seat as you settle to watch the glimmering lights of Paris at night.

Before a faded motion down below on the pavement catches your eye and you press closer to the glass out of faint curiosity. A streak of dark hair, before it rises to reveal a familiar face—your breath frosts within your lungs. Lurching away from the window as if scalded, you tumble down onto the floor, rasping for breath, trying to rein in hammering thoughts and a galloping heartbeat. Your murmur of disbelief dissipating into the quiet of the room.

Arthur…?

By the time you gather yourself to steal a glance out the window once more, Arthur—the man or apparition of your mind—is already gone.

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

It's a long way to Tipperary It's a long way to go. It's a long way to Tipperary To the sweetest girl I know

The song loops within Arthur’s mind as he slows to a halt beneath the old building, having mustered up enough presence of mind at last, to have pulled himself out of the dreary bellows he’d burrowed himself into. And once he’d put his wits to work, piecing together her whereabouts had been easy work. The trails of speckled dirt across Theo’s shoes, an uncommon kind. The invoices of groceries Theo thought he’d rid himself of; Arthur crumples the paper within a fist as he tucks it into the pocket of his jacket.

Before he had any conscious knowledge of it, his trailing footsteps had brought him to where she lived now. His purpose in doing so still as ambiguous as his vacillating steps. At first, it had been an urgent desire to be assured of her safety. Winding into the need to try and talk to her once more, his heart berating itself to try and beg for her forgiveness even as his mind reeled in vivid swatches of memories; their very last night.

He’d left indelible wounds upon the one person who’d mattered more to him than life itself. He couldn’t be forgiven. He would have to live with those scars of hurting his most beloved, bearing them just as the countless memories he’d had within lifetimes long past. Love her along with the burden of his devastation.

Arthur recalls the night Theo had accosted him in the hallways—a day after her departure—a mighty swing to the gut his silent greeting that had Arthur keeling over onto his knees, retching dry air. Letting the bitterness of his tears overpower the bile in his throat; he’d welcomed the agony. 

Raising his jaw in a deliberate motion to provoke, he had rasped through paper dry lips, “Quite the tame punch for you, old boy. Ah. Could it be you’re pitying this despicable cad?”

That had done the trick; the lapels of his jacket finding themselves within violent fists as Theo had hauled him to his feet. “You ignorant bastard. I’ll pound it into your skull if I have to, you son of a—”

“Woah easy there champ.”

Arthur’s acceptance of rightful retribution from the man he’d always known held feelings for her, brutally robbed by Leonardo da Vinci. The large man immediately moving to clamp Theo’s wrist within a vice-like grip, holding the two from grappling any further.

Theo hadn’t resisted his capture, jaw hardening beneath the force of his silence as he had continued to subject Arthur to the weight of his gaze; awful, simmering anger clinging to the man as if a cloak.

He’d heard Leonardo’s slow exhale as if from a distance, the man pressing a cigarillo to parted lips before speaking. “I didn’t sign up to serve Papi to you kids in ‘Comte’s’ absence, you two hear me? You’ve got differences… I see that. But Theodorus,” he turns towards Theo. “You won’t solve anything even if you murder Arthur right here like the man so wants you to.”

The two had blenched then, the fight having been drained out of them.

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

Arthur’s thoughts are wrenched back with the crunch of gravel ahead. Whipping his head up to notice the streets deserted, save for the occasional passer-by, Perking his ears up for the sound once more: softer for normal footsteps, more of a padding, stealthy movement. He draws nearer to her building out of curiosity; edging around the corner to witness a man heavily dressed; obscuring any distinguishable features from sight.

Watching the sky as he stands motionless — no, not the sky. Arthur’s gaze treks across his line of sight to notice where it lands: first, second, third storey — his Oxfords crunch against the dirt road, alerting the man who whips a quick gaze his way. Ramming hands into the pockets of his long coat, he turns the other way and starts walking.

Disconcertion and mild alarm — almost intuition, a feeling of wrong — seems to take form and spurt within his belly as Arthur cautiously moves over to position himself where the man had stood moments earlier. Estimating the target of his gaze as he’d observed from the side, his eyes trek up against the floors, counting until they halt onto a window in clear sight… and freeze.

It’s her.

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

Dawn rises onto the city and your tired body aches in protest as you force it into the kitchen to start work on breakfast. The blade of the knife as it chops upon the cutting board in repeated, practiced motions; the polished surface of it seems to reflect the cerulean of a well-known, once well-loved person.

Your hands grind to a stand-still. The knife you hold poised upon the vegetable; its blade seeming to glint vivid with after-images of last night.

Arthur’s a clever man, it wouldn’t have taken him long enough to figure out where you lived if he truly wished to. And yet, he had taken his time. Weeks had drifted into months before he’d sought you out—if that were indeed Arthur’s figure you’d witnessed outside your window last night.

Was it fear that churned within your belly? Or perhaps a fear of confronting him once more. You were hardly afraid for your safety—Arthur wasn’t a man to cause physical harm to others in a swift moment of grief or anger. Yet you did not understand…

Arthur, what are you thinking?

The click of a lock at your back followed by the sound of approaching footsteps violently startles you out of your thoughts— “Morning hondje.”  —the hand holding the knife you accidentally bring down upon your fingers on reflex; snicking your index and middle before it clatters to the floor. Inhaling sharp to tamp down your cry of pain, you wrench your fingers back to inspect the damage.

Theo’s voice reaches your ears, agitated as he calls your name, a swift moment before he’s in front of you. Prying your hand away from your body, he inspects the wound beading blood across your fingers and stiffens.

“Are you crazy? Were you trying to harm yourself?” The question leaves you dazed— ‘Where is this coming from?’ you mean to ask. Before the dreadful intensity within that turbulent gaze—as if he stands witness to a repeated nightmare—makes you bite your tongue, burying your queries. Instead, you choose to answer,

“I wouldn’t do that, Theo.”

He stares at you in mute scrutiny—harsh and focused; eyes darting across your face for signs of any lies he might catch in your words. Before the tension within stiff shoulders drains at last and Theo exhales his relief. “…For a second I—”

He doesn’t pursue that thought. The two of you locked in the moment before Theo’s body seems to give, head dropping forward onto your shoulder. Your spine steels at the contact; soft, low breaths that cascade over the side of your neck as if Theo’s breathing to gain back composure lost.

It’s an odd vulnerable situation, one you’re not entirely averse to: you realize with some shock. The feeling of him against you; were you to reach a hand and sink coveting fingers through soft locks. Letting the tips of your nails drag against his scalp in comfort. Theo being this close to you; you do not hate it.

Reaching a hesitant hand, you smooth it down the hunch of his back, slow and careful; not entirely sure what it is exactly Theo thought he saw once he approached you. But it’s clear how the thought wounded him beyond measure. The ache of your fingers settles far less than the terror you’d witnessed within his eyes in that one short moment.

Theo’s breath leaves him on a low, shuttered sound before it hitches within his throat. A low, guttural groan escaping him on a labored sound, as if in pain. You move back to inquire if he’s alright before the grip on your injured hand flexes tight—then tugs—you watch how his eyes seem to slip over the edges of your wound. Lust and possession seem to catch fire in that sapphire frosted lake. An uninhibited broken sound, you recognize in shame: a soft gasp, tumbles free of your lips at the sight.

One that doesn’t go unnoticed; Theo’s gaze meets yours before it slides—a slow caress—across your face. Down, before it settles to map the bow of parted lips; he angles forward as if he means to—

“…You need to patch this up.” His voice bursts ragged, as if his throat has been left parched.

You’re not quite sure what compels you: perhaps it’s the barely tapped agony and desire you see burning within him or perhaps—

Extending your injured hand towards him, you watch the way his frown deepens and yet, his mouth pulls apart into a snarl as if on instinct to let you press your aching fingers against his lips leaving a smudge of blood in their wake. “I don’t mind,” you whisper.

Cobalt; previously simmering within the morning light blazes forth with a vengeance at the offering. Dangerous, primal. You stifle a gasp at the sensation of his tongue brushing just shy of your finger as it darts forth to swipe the drop of blood clean off his lip. Shivering as the coil of his arm against your waist tightens: watching, waiting

Before he unfurls his grip at last, pushing away from you for good measure. He turns away. “I don’t need it.”

His rejection—for some reason—aches right along with the throb of your fingers, burning still with his phantom touch.

⚡

A/N: Theo’s supposedly vehement reaction to the way she wounds herself will not tie into the story, rather it’s meant to be a visceral knee-jerk reaction to memories of how Vincent chose to end his human life. It’s believed the actual Theodorus van Gogh’s condition significantly deteriorated after the death of his brother and although that is not a happy nod to add here, that portion of history just clicked with me and made it into the story at this specific point. 

Would I call it an “Easter Egg”? Perhaps!

⚡

Nine: Solace (Rumination) 

“Your work is… breathtaking, Monsieur. I don’t quite have the appropriate words to praise your art.” The woman at his side smiles, her gaze sweeping at intervals to the painting she admires; complimenting the artist as she does so.

Theo admits the excellent craftsmanship of the piece is a sight to behold, her reaction to the paintings they’ve surveyed so far bolsters the pride he bears for these artists and their works: pieces that shall receive their due recognition in time. A step closer to unveiling undiscovered paintings to the world.

And yet.

The scowl Theo sees scored across the reflection that stares back at him from the glass encasing of the painting, divulges the turbulent state of his mind.

He recalls that morning still in vivid splotches of memory. As vibrant as the flow of blood springing forth from delicate fingers she’d pressed against his mouth. The sweet sting of relief singeing through veins—he’d craved it. Hungered for another taste; eager tongue sweeping across the offering of blood, her shallow breaths he’d wanted to pilfer direct from their source. Parted lips; a quivering pink tongue darting forth to swipe a moist path across the edges of it.

The soft exhale of her he’d felt as he’d pressed her body against his; tight, tighter. The shape of her scarring a painful imprint upon him, the phantom weight of her left within empty hands he flexed into fists now.

One more push and he might’ve snapped that day. Taken her body as fiercely as she owned his heart. The single, sound thought of her not wanting him back — bitter as it scorched — had wrenched his sanity back. He’d die before he ever turned into another one of her regrets.

“That’s a dreadful expression to sport while admiring such beautiful work. You’ll break the artist’s heart.” A teasing lilt to her voice, she inclines her head forward, smiling. “Everything alright?”

God verdomme, she’s radiant; her smile — a genuine one, not quite the same as it once was but softer — he hasn’t seen on her face in ages, it renders him speechless to witness it now. Brought about being surrounded by works of art.

His long held silence causes her expression to mold into concern. “Theo?”

He wrenches his gaze to focus back onto the painting; it’s frustratingly nigh impossible with her standing by his side, her scent reminiscent of that wretched morning. Theo curses the way his voice turns gravel. “Just amused by a certain happy hondje who’s been wagging her tail all morning.”

“Well excuse me for my enthusiasm, Boss.”

Her disgruntled moue is a sight that drags the corners of his own mouth into a grin, at last.  “Quit it, hondje. It’s revolting, hearing you call me that.”

“I’d consider it.” She raises a brow, the glimmer of mischief alight in her gaze. “Only if you promise to stop referring to me as your little dog.”

Theo chuckles. “You drive a hard bargain. No can do. I’m quite fond of the name.” His hand reaches for her on instinct, fingers settling to tousle her locks in affection, relishing the storm gathering onto her features in distaste.

“Rude asshole.”

“Whiny hondje.”

Their eyes meet as she moves to bat his hand away; his grin stretches cocksure against his own face to witness how she smiles at their exchange — fierce emotions gather intensity within his heart, to want to preserve that smile for as long as she’d allow it. Witness the persevering woman once more; the one who’d seated herself at the dining of vampires all that time ago and announced her intentions to stay and perhaps gain friends among them.

The warm smile she’d directed at each of them in turn, meeting their gaze head-on before starting on her breakfast. 

Theo realizes, perhaps, that had been the spark that had given rise to a slow flame — mild admiration then affection — for the woman who now held his heart firm within two seemingly fragile (but strong, he knew) palms.

A derisive smile carves bitter onto his face to finally perceive the fact he’s now sure of: he’s never going to harbor feelings as profound for another woman in his long life as he does for her; no matter how time may steal her away slow and sure from his grasp. Folly as it is, the devil within derides, she shall always hold that undeserving heart within her grasp.

Theo watches her grow quiet; forlorn gaze sweeping once more towards the painting they stand in front of, depicting a man pressing a kiss onto a woman’s fingers. An art of love and adoration; the artist had announced as he’d brought it in for inspection the very first time. 

The strokes are soft, the colors well-used; Theo sees the painter’s soul—tender affection for a loved one—within the strokes of his brush.

“Kisses bear a language of their own, you know?”

“Do they?”

“Yes. A kiss on the fingertips signifies love. ‘I care for you’, it means.” Her fingertips trail across glass in soft, slow circles; right over the kiss. Theo watches over her for as long as she stays.

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

The gas lamp nearby sputters and dies as the coachman finally whispers of the departure of the couple from the building; a happy, smiling duo. The scowl sported by the man in the shadows — his master — is unpleasant. Mad rage apparent even to his companions who shrink away in mild disconcertion before he calls for them.

Withdrawing a hefty packet from within the press of his fine tailored suit before tossing it to the waiting minions. “Do as you wish. Leave a warning well enough for Van Gogh to remember even in his nightmares.”

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

She’s enjoying herself; the sight of flushed cheeks and glittering eyes well worth the detour to the pub. Mug in the air, she waves it about with all the cheery propensity of one well on their way to getting completely sauced. “Thank you for the drinks, Boss.”

A happy drunk then, Theo muses, drowning his grin against the cusp of his own drink. “That’s the fifth time you’ve thanked me now.”

The downturn of her foolish, toothy smile into a thoughtful frown stirs immediate regret in him before she mumbles, “Right. Sorry.”

He might’ve considered shelving the knowledge of how swift a myriad of emotions darted across her features — as fickle as the weather on a mountaintop — for future use. Prodded and teased her over her abysmal drinking habits were it not for the uncharacteristic stretch of quietude that took her. Turning the cup over and over in her hands; watching liquid amber swirl within.

“I really am sorry, Theo.”

He frowns. “It’s not that big of a deal, hondje. Lighten up.”

She swivels in her seat, capturing his gaze. She’s not smiling; remorse flickers within wide eyes rendered brave by liquid courage. “I’m apologizing about asking you to bite me… that morning. It was highly inappropriate of me. I–I don’t know what I was thinking and I’m sorry about that.” She’s staring up at him; hope within glistening eyes. Theo notes the tense tremor of her digits; the way she grips the glass.

Taut shoulders, spine of steel; as if she’s assembling herself for rejection. Watching in mute anticipation; she leans just that bit closer for him to catch the delicate notes of her scent — vanilla and amber intermixed with faint sweat and liquor, richer for the blood he feels thrumming just beneath delectable skin. Theo feels the lump turn leaden within a throat gone parched; aching gums burning with the intensity of fangs wanting to rip free.

He swallows. Takes a brisk swig of his drink to banish thoughts of florid skin and wandering hands. The phantom taste of her within his mouth, his dreams conjure every night; sweet nectar flowing onto a tongue famished for a single drop of her.

A quick, sharp bite to the side of his tongue draws the metallic taste of blood —and his senses back, Theo curses the licentious thoughts coursing through his mind over her. Ridding him momentarily of his eternal shame; she trusts him. He’s not blind to her feelings and that wanting itself, Theo considers a betrayal of her whole-hearted faith in him who she considers a friend.

An exhausted sigh escapes him. The way she watches him still: a deliberate hand settled close to his on the bar, the anxiety heightens within wavering eyes the longer she endures his silence, the distracting bite of teeth into plush lip — Theo does not want to pick apart the emotions that linger within those involuntary actions. How she seems to care, perhaps just as inappropriate as his own brand of affection.

“My answer remains the same. It’s nothing to worry that head of yours over…. It’s not like I’m mad at you.”

As easy a task he finds of reading people — an integral part of what he does for a living — Theo’s of no mind to force her into what she may not want yet. Her scars; she may hide them well, but he sees the effects still of what her relationship with Arthur did to her, even healing as best as she is. He may be adept at figuring people out but he’s certainly no mind reader.

The smile blossoms slow but sure across her face once more and for Theo, in that instant; that foolish grin is enough to hold on to. “Thank you, Theo.”

He snorts in derision. “What’re you thanking me for now? You’re really drunk, hondje.”

“Yes…. Yes I am.” Her body seems to lose strength, all at once. That silly smile still in place as her eyelids flutter in exhaustion, body tipping sideways until she’s precariously propped against his side. Slipping an arm across her waist, he settles a hand at the flare of her hip, easing her onto his shoulder. “What a high maintenance woman. Don’t you dare think of dozing off here. You move about a lot in your sleep and I’m not cleaning up after if you drift off.”

Incoherent murmurs reach his ears, a hand she waves off at him before she fixes a hazy gaze his way. “How do you even know I move about a lot in my sleep?”

Theo blinks, speechless. Before he settles for, “…You just look the type. Now zip up you noisy drunk.”

Snorting a noncommittal sound of disapproval, she dozes off right there, head against his shoulder.

Theo’s not able to dredge a single response from her for the entirety of her thirty minute nap.

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

An hour later he deposits her home and onto her bed — she sinks onto the mattress as soon as she’s kicked off her shoes. 

Finding himself within the confines of wandering hands as her fingers reach for and hold fast to the edge of his scarf in sleep. Tugging until Theo lets himself sink to the floor and lie next to her, watching her peaceful slumber. Hesitant to move even as she weaves herself against him, breaths steady against his chest.

The gentle stroke of her locks tickling against his jaw as she moves in sleep, the shapely line of her brows smoothed back, so unlike the perfect scowl she often angles at him for his incessant teasing of her; Theo curbs back the desire to press his lips against her skin, right in between her brows. 

Her scent, overwhelming and endearing, all at once as Theo lets himself breathe deeper. “You’re not going to like waking up next to me, you know. Better let go.” He speaks, soft admonition in words. 

And yet as if in response, her grip within his clothes tightens as she murmurs insensible words.

“…What a troublesome puppy.”

Theo recalls her question to him earlier that night — a memory surfaces along with it. Of evenings long past he often found the sun slipping over the horizon, casting dying shafts of light over the spread figure of a woman on the table in the library sleeping over open journals; her travelogues.

The shifting, restless weight of her in his embrace as he’d carry her over to her room, arms caressing (if he was lucky) or smacking the side of his neck as she’d moan incoherent in deep slumber. 

Theo smiles to relive the faint memory, exhaustion… and the comfort of her warmth close by, shepherding his own consciousness down into slumber.

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

Goupil and Cie.

Arthur notes the fine printing of the card before glancing over at the carriage parked over in a shadowed alcove of the road from across the street where he’s concealed, keeping to the shadows of the wall. Close to where he knows Theo’s workplace is located — the small office space he rents out for handling paperwork and the occasional storage of art.

The wicked looking ruffians he’d caught slipping around the corner just as he’d followed the trail of the carriage in question to Theo’s office. Before Arthur thinks to slink past the waiting carriage, a distant sound shatters the quiet of the night for a moment, silence returning upon the place once more. Alarmed, he pieces the situation together, muttering a soft curse just as the carriage rides away on quiet wheels into the dark of the night — the master instigator satisfied having witnessed his unpleasant deed done.

Arthur rams a frustrated fist into the adjacent wall, swearing once more as he recalls the man he witnessed keeping watch over her that night.

Just what kind of bad lot have you found yourself mixed with, Theo?

Silence is all the answer afforded his question.

⚡

Ten: Raven (Mortal Peril)

The incessant foreign ring of a bell wrenches you out of slumber. Cracking an eye open to note sunlight streaming in through the windows just as the clamoring sound stops followed by the sound of Theo’s voice.  

Disoriented as you are, you realize he’s talking on the phone — the sound of the ‘bell’ that woke you up, the ring of the telephone, the first time you’ve heard it. He’s silent, back towards you as he listens to the person speaking on the other end of the line.  

Scrambled thoughts gaining steady clarity; you climb out of bed, catching sight of the tightness to his expression, the scowl that darkens his brow before he ends the call with a curt, “I’ll be there.”

Fully awake now, mounting dread quietens your hesitant query, “…Is everything alright, Theo?”

Silence stretches in between the two of you as Theo scrubs an agitated hand through his hair. He turns to you.

“...It’s my office. The place was trashed late last night.”  

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the horrifying sight that greets you upon arrival at the office. Windows smashed in; wicked glass fragments you step over to follow Theo who moves further in to survey the full extent of the damage. Papers strewn about and torn. Mud and grime trekked over the entire floor. One of the paintings Theo had left under lock and key — the lock having been bashed in — discarded and trashed to a side. It’s the same painting you’d been admiring with Theo yesterday. The sight is too cruel to take.  

Theo walks over to the painting, sinking onto his knees to inspect the extent of its vandalism, careful fingers working aside broken glass and blackened paper. After several long moments of tense scrutiny, he heaves a sigh. “It’s fine. We can salvage it.” He calls to no one in particular, perhaps he announces his find for your assurance — your heart aches for how the man sees through you and cares even through the crisis you’re sure disturbs him far more. You move forward to do your own part, determined. “How can I help?”

Theo barks a few swift orders to the rest of his help who take off to do what he requires of them before gesturing you over to his side to help clean up the painting.  

Tidying the rest of the place takes up the entire day in between you and Samuel while Theo and his remaining workers get in touch with the artist and help him put together the salvageable parts of the painting, Theo’s guiding voice reaching your ears every now and then as he encourages the artist through uncertain moments.  

Work follows well into the night, the last of his staff dismissed with the request to take up guard duties in shifts until after the event in over a week’s time; the suggestion met with whole-hearted assent and grim determination.  

And as you watch him bid farewell to the last of his employees, the stiffened line of his shoulders stays your gaze still. His exhaustion is apparent, the front he’d been holding, you see it breaking apart even as he tries and holds himself tall — perhaps for your benefit... or his own. Regardless, a strange, abstruse sting plucks keen at your heart to realize he feels the need to conceal himself... even from you.  

To you, he’d always been this proud, audacious man, impervious, brazen... glorious; you’d always known Theo van Gogh to be an intransigent existence yet slow but sure you were coming to realize how that was but part of what he chose to showcase to the world.  

And you’d been fooled for so, so long.  

The great, indomitable Theo van Gogh no one could bring down. But beneath the hardened façade, Theo was just as a man, wasn’t he? Albeit the most rakish, insufferably mulish and kind man you knew. And you wanted this person, in front of you, to rely on you in his time of need. A desire to be there for him... not out of obligation but because... because you wanted to; the feeling so strong it hurt to stand there helpless.    

Hands reaching for him before your courage could desert you; you force him down onto a nearby stool despite his protests and start work on sore muscles underneath your fingers, applying extra pressure when he refuses to settle. “Hondje, I’m fine—”

“Not to toot my own horn but I’ll have you know my massage technique is absolutely wicked. Now shut up and take it.”  

Theo doesn’t protest much after; his uncharacteristic silence worries you much more than the future of the upcoming exhibition. An inexplicable need to see him well once more swells within, unbearable until you break the silence. “Theo.”

His answer is a noncommittal sound, enough to indicate he’s listening. Your words feel inefficient in that moment—perhaps he doesn’t require this or you but you need him to know, “It’ll be alright. Didn’t you tell me you’ve lived through worse? And…” You brace yourself to utter your next words. “You’ve got me as well, yeah?”

The silence drags on too long, perhaps he didn’t hear you after all, lost in thoughts as he seemed and you’re just about to withdraw in dejection before a large hand catches yours over his shoulder, holding you in place. “…Theo?”

“I’ve got you…” His words more of a statement requiring affirmation you’re more than happy to provide.

“Always.” Your nod firm even if he can’t see you. “You have me, Theodorus van Gogh.”

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

A dark figure caught underneath the light of a flickering lamp nearby, seconds before it melds back into the darkness once more. Quiet breaths. Their harsh whispers. All too clear.

Emotions he masks underneath the tipping of a dark hat, careful, neutral. But the fine tremor to fists curled within the pockets of his jacket is unmistakable, to hear the menace in those voices he spies on, as they speak one familiar name.

The man’s head whips up at the information heard; cerulean eyes widening in frantic worry as he slips back underneath the cover of the night, determined to protect what he holds most dear.

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

The days following after witness relative peace save for urgent last-minute preparations for the event and the fact that Theo finds no conclusive help from the authorities regarding the vandalism incident — although he admits to you later on that he didn’t expect much from the police seeing how the higher-ups in Goupil and Cie have ties to the Forces.  

And you’re made aware of the fact once more: how 19th century Paris despite all its glitter and glamour operates according to a cruel strata system where the rich and affluent hold all of authority and control within their hands. The ordinary folks, at times, crushed underneath the brunt of an outdated social class system.  

Theo van Gogh was a name well-known; regarded with great distaste within the art world of the elite. Ones who believed artistic talent deserving recognition and the ensuing fame that came hand in hand with it, were to be bestowed only upon the chosen few, decided well ahead via social status.  

Theo’s principles standing in direct opposition to everything they stood for: artists from every walk of life, regardless of their social standing deserved the same spotlight and appreciation as their fellow famous contemporaries.

And so, Theo’s left to fend for his own; appointing his handful of employees guarding duties in the post work hours of the night in order to see the exhibition through safely.  

The night sky stretches cloudless on the fourth day of your guarding duties wrapped as you and Theo make way towards your regular pub to grab a late bite before heading home. You bring him up to speed regarding le Comte’s upcoming return to Paris; the letters you’ve been exchanging regarding Theo’s business as well.  

“Comte has offered to help should you need it, Theo. I’ve got a letter here addressed to you from him.”  

Theo tips a glance your way as you rummage through your purse for the letter in question and snorts.  “’Help’ you say. That man is not one you’d want as an enemy, huh?”

“I can’t find it. Did I forget it back at the office?”  

Theo halts as well once he sees you search your belongings in futility. “What’re you waiting for then? Let’s head back and get your stuff.”  

Edging a furtive glance his way, you note the dark crescents beneath tired eyes; exhaustion apparent within the broad set of those shoulders: a man carried on by his own dogged will and determination but still... just a man, preternatural abilities though he may possess.  

“No, it’s fine. You go on ahead and order for us. I’m starving.” You answer, tapping your stomach for emphasis, hoping he’d pick satiating your very urgent ‘hunger bout’ as signal enough to stay back. Wanting him to be able to get the rest he requires, no matter how short, at least in the post-work hours of the night.  

“Hondje—” He narrows his eyes in disapproval. You know what he’s going to say; that he’s coming along with, no matter how you protest— the stubborn man — and you quickly move to interrupt.

“Samuel’s on duty remember? He can help me search for the letters. You’ll hardly miss me, Boss, I promise.” You smile up at him, placating.  

That stern gaze stays on you, contemplating whether he should listen or not... before he lets loose a sigh. “Ten. Minutes. Be right back or I’m coming after you and you won’t like me then for wasting our time.”

You snicker, amused at the worry you hear threaded within that ‘threat’. “Terrifying. What a hero. Be back soon.” Turning on your heel, you dash back towards the office.  

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

The lights are on in the first room of the miniature office as you let yourself in on quiet steps, conscious of the late hour; you do not wish to wake Samuel up lest he has retired to bed for the night.  

Weaving through precarious piles of paperwork and piled desktops, you comb through the space for the letters you remember bringing along with you to work that day.  

Mild frustration; to not catch sight of the familiar seal on parchment even as your eyes dart towards the clock to see the minutes ticking by. Thoughts of your great, ferocious ‘protector’ dropping by if you do not find the letters soon, the mental image of a scowling Theo storming in after you makes you smile as you work through several drawers.  

The cool night’s dry chill wafts in through the open windows of the office, scattering papers nearby onto the floor. Tamping down the shiver that breaks across your skin, you move to draw the windows closed. Gathering the papers off of the ground, squaring the stack in order, you rise to your feet.  

The slight flitter of the curtain, the gleam off the edge of a lantern outside.... catching your attention out the corner of your eye. Puzzled, you rove your gaze onto the scape outside the window, a swift flash of movement you think you witness, it disconcerts you. Taking a few steps back from the glass, you realize it’s rather foolish to be scared of the dark; it could be any passerby going on their way.  

Breathing through the hammering of your pulse to try and calm your nerves at your own silly scare, the silence within the office falls heavy — almost too oppressive, quiet — paranoia still creeping into your flesh as you take tentative steps into the adjacent room.  

Your gaze immediately travelling over to the couch in the corner, expecting a sleeping Samuel to be occupying it. It lies empty, save for a thin coverlet thrown carelessly onto the sofa as if its occupant meant to return soon.

“Samuel? Are you awake?” You call out softly, moving to switch on the lights.

A door swings on its hinges — from the direction of the storage closet at the farther end of the room — and you let out a long-held exhale, relief flooding through stiffened muscles. You make your way towards the storage closet. “I’m sorry to disturb so late at night, Samuel, I was just looking for a couple letters I might’ve forgotten he....”

A sound; of something weighty falling over shatters the silence of the office, startling, as you rush towards the closet, yanking the door open. Words of concern for the man ebbing away without leaving your silent mouth.  

It’s a slow unveiling of sorts: the way you catch sight of a hand lying upon the floor and like clockwork, your wide eyes work horrified over the rest of that scene. A prone body lying upon the floor — Samuel — you bite back the scream that wants to climb free of your throat.  

Senses jostling back to motion, automated reflexes honed through years spent at Arthur’s side, you seize the first weapon you can find in sight — part of a straight metal filigree. Grasping it tight to use as a makeshift pole, the sounds of approaching footsteps behind almost drowned underneath your thundering heartbeat.

Sweat slicked palms tighten against metal as you fight to gain grip within trembling fingers. Waiting, breath bated as a firm hand claps onto your shoulder: heavy, scarred. Unfamiliar.

You swing your weapon around with your entire body, landing a hit firm against the intruder's shoulder. A sickening crack followed by a curse of pain as the strange man withdraws several steps, lending enough space for you to dart through.  

A flurry of movements; the world seems to spin with your brief struggle against the man’s reaching grasp for you. Blind kicks you land against him before scampering for the exit.  

The man behind yelling obscenities in French as you fly out of the office, darting down the steps two at a time. You need an ambulance. And Theo.

Fear for Samuel's life freezes the breath within burning lungs — the sight of his pale face underneath the fluorescent lights burns still in your mind — as you stumble out onto the pavement. Almost careening face first into someone. Oh my God.

Leaping back out of fright; you remember the weapon you’d dropped back up in the office. Scrounging for escape before you catch proper sight of the man you ran into—

“What are you...? No, it can’t be...” Your mouth moves soundless over the syllables of his name as Arthur stares back at you, clad in dark unassuming attire. Visions of dark figures and familiar faces you thought you’d been hallucinating of, materialized at last in front of you.

“You’re alright...” You watch him venture a tentative step forward, hands raised as if to mollify your frazzled nerves. Arthur swallows heavily, a hand outstretched as if to reach for you before he curls it back into a fist. Breath juddering through his next, whispered words. “Oh, dear God, I made it. I—I knew Theo wouldn’t let me help but I couldn’t leave you alone knowing—"

The fleeting look of relief that crosses his features morphs into shock — then horror — as Arthur grabs you, taking you down to the asphalt with him. His actions you realize the meaning of a split second later as a burly man standing right behind where you were seconds before, reels back the hand wielding a crowbar, looking down upon the two of you with beady eyes.  

More of his companions seem to materialize out of the dark as they drag Arthur up by the collar, the man taking a heavy swing at him and you open your mouth to scream for help—  

A beefy hand smothers your voice, heaving you back into an inescapable grasp. Pushing a sickly scented handkerchief into your mouth until you can barely breathe; your struggles turning weak with each punch and kick you try and angle at your much bigger foe.  

Your vision giving in to grey at the corners, watching as Arthur tries and turns toward you, his progress impeded by the men who relentlessly plow him down. Harsh blows landing upon skin to leave it bloody — you realize why Arthur’s not moving to defend himself: unable to act as a vampire might lest he antagonizes the men, further endangering your life. This idiotic man. You try to yell for them to stop, for Arthur to stop and run for help in your stead but—

No words leave your drained body, as it succumbs to darkness.  

⚡ ⚡ ⚡

The receding echoes of a scream — her scream — resound within his mind. It’s questionable that he’d be hearing her voice even through the deafening din of the pub no matter how enhanced his senses might be, but the feeling cements itself in place.  

Skating back his chair, Theo slips out through the crowd of bodies and into the night. Out in the streets, he fishes out his pocket watch. The rational thoughts he tries and placates his mind with snuffed when he notes how it’s way past the time she agreed to be back.

She’s well aware of the danger; Theo knows she’d be cautious were she to truly stumble upon trouble. And she’s not alone.  Perhaps she’d simply lost track of time, he tries and reasons but his steps turn hasty with each passing second until he’s sprinting the rest of the way and around the block—

A dark figure crashes into him, sending Theo several steps back with the violent force of their collision until the stranger curls iron grips onto his shoulders, shouting his name.  

Arthur.  

A million questions hurtle through his mind. A myriad of emotions; surprise, skepticism then rage. Before Arthur shears through it all with the mention of her.  He’s yelling at him; several different things at once but the one that truly registers— “You need to go after her right this instant! You recognize the perpetrators, don’t you?! Go after her right now!”  

Terror grips his body, Arthur’s distressing words sinking in unwilling, as if through mire. His mind refusing to grasp the picture his words paint. No.

Not her.

Rage, the likes of which he’s never seen Arthur in as he yells at him. “You stupid arse! How could you let her get caught in so deep with your petty affairs they came after her?!”

White noise descends upon the place — he’s not hearing Arthur anymore; barking instructions at him as he points to a certain road, indicating the route they travelled as they took her.  

Why? Not the paintings, the confidential documents or the money. He recognizes with sickening clarity why exactly it was they chose to take a hostage instead.

The workings of the underworld something he’s not a stranger to.  

They’d wanted to get to him.  

Theo distantly notes the bruises scoring Arthur’s body — evidences of a scrimmage. A quick, sharp ache of worry for Samuel makes him whisper a soft request to Arthur to look for the man before he bolts down the road he’d indicated.

Please. If there’s a God out there, let me get to her before it’s too late.  

Go to Chapters:  1-10 | 11 | 12 | 13 (End)

Author’s Notes: If you stuck around up till this point, thank you! The last few chapters will be uploaded in the upcoming days and I’ll reblog this post with the addition of the chapters.

In the meanwhile, it’s always nice to hear your thoughts, folks, be it a comment or a reblog with your tags, on the story so far. 🙇‍♀️ Thank you once more for reading! 

If you’d like to be tagged in future updates of this story, please let me know! 

#ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire arthur #ikemen vampire theo #ikevamp theo smut #ikevamp smut #ikemen vampire fanfiction #a pickle writes #pickle celebrates #ikevamp theodorus #ikemen vampire theodorus #theo appreciation week

[newtxtinaforever]

Happy Birthday Tina!

Hello there! Today's one shot is sponsored by @neighborhood-newtina-reblogger, a tumblr that I greatly admire. Okay, it's not technically sponsored by the blog, but it did provide the prompt/idea for this one shot, which I will include at the very end in case you want to know what it is. Also, the fanart above belongs to @sydsketch and partially inspires my fanfic as well. Don't want to put the prompt at the beginning and spoil the story, so without further ado, I hope you enjoy this little piece of my Newtina heart. Oh, and happy birthday Tina! ☺️

3rd POV

"Oh, Newt. She's perfect!" Tina exclaimed happily, a smile brightening up her usually tense features. It wasn't that the American witch held a grudge against smiling or having fun; quite the opposite, in fact. She was so used to being responsible that her default look was to come across as a professional who took her job seriously. When she was with Newt, however, she couldn't help but smile. His light-hearted nature simply had a way of making her feel like she could let her guard down and didn't have to worry about what kind of person Newt was. Having fought alongside him in the fight against Grindelwald, Tina knew she could trust Newt. It was a good thing because he had just given her a creature to call her own.

"Really? That's wonderful to hear. I hoped you would like her but I wasn't completely sure if you would be interested in-" Newt was quickly interrupted by Tina's warm words of gratitude. "I love her, Newt. Thank you," she replied. Her eyes sparkled with a light reminiscent of the creature that currently rested in its small glass case. "What's her name?" Tina asked softly as she admired the speckled salamander. Newt blushed before replying, "Well, I thought you might like to name her seeing as she's yours." Both pairs of eyes connected for the briefest of moments.

"Of course!" Tina blurted, although she soon regained her composure. "I'm not quite sure where to start, but I'm sure we can think of something." Newt's tender smile at Tina's inclusion of the word 'we' went unnoticed for the most part, yet the tone of their environment was clearly evident. It was nearly impossible to miss the delicate care each person felt for the other, so alive and tangible was it. The silence that settled in during certain moments of the conversation were not uncomfortable, but peaceful instead. Surprisingly enough, Newt was the next one to speak up.

"Keegan," he uttered cryptically. Tina tilted her head to the right by a dozen degrees. "Who?" she wondered aloud, her sharp eyes fixed on Newt. The famous magizoologist remained quiet for several seconds until Tina cleared her throat. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was simply suggesting Keegan as a name, but I understand if you don't like it. She's yours, so feel free to choose whatever name you feel is best."

Tina lowered her gaze to the ground, then extended her head upward. "The name's fine, Newt. And I want you to be included in the naming process, trust me," she said with reassurance in her voice. Newt smiled. "What about Thea? She's the Greek goddess of light, which is fitting since salamanders feed off of fire, right?" Tina inquired. She waited for a response from Newt, but he appeared not to have heard her. Beginning to wonder if something was wrong with him, Tina repeated the end of her previous sentence. "Right, Newt?"

The man in question displayed signs of life after what seemed like forever. His nose was scrunched as if he had caught a whiff of rotting maggots while his eyes blinked ferociously. What was going on? Tina prompted Newt to explain his behavior, although it took some serious persuading. "The name sounds a bit like... well... like Theseus, my brother." Tina nodded her head in agreement and decided to move on. The last thing she wanted was for her new companion to remind Newt of his older brother.

"Perhaps you might consider Idris. It's Welsh and can mean 'fiery' depending on the language." Newt explained gently. His voice was rich and full of childlike wonder, much to Tina's delight. It was rare to find such a kindred spirit in a world where brute strength and power was often congratulated. Tina tried not to let her emotions become too obvious as she lovingly murmured, "I think Idris is a lovely name. Thank you, Newt." Once again, both pairs of eyes connected and lingered; the result was pure fascination and ultimately love.

With their eyes still fixed on each other, Tina closed the space between them. Her long, thin arms wrapped themselves around the middle of Newt's back. Much like their prolonged glances, this embrace was personal and private, something that was special between them. Tina was keenly aware of Newt's reservations regarding the hug, so she made sure to take baby steps while reassuring Newt at the same time. Her fingers brushed lightly against Newt's back, the warmth from her hands radiating through his pale blue shirt. With a great amount of hesitance and care, Tina tightened her grip on Newt. Hopefully he wouldn't feel uncomfortable; that was the last thing Tina wanted. Nevertheless, she held on to him, refusing to let go just yet.

Nearly a minute had passed before Newt reciprocated the hug. Unbeknownst to Tina, his eyes watered and a huge grin spread across his face. Both sets of arms rested gently on the other's back, a sign of peace and acceptance. It didn't take long for Tina to pull Newt in closer, more confident this time. Any lingering doubt as to whether or not Newt would perceive such intimate physical contact to be desirable was gone. She knew that he would understand just as she had learned to understand the roundabout way he comforted and complimented her.

With an overflowing heart, Newt Scamander enveloped Tina in his arms; pure, sentimental emotion surrounded them. Every part of him wanted nothing more than to freeze that moment and remember it forever. Not only was it rare for Newt to desire physical contact, but it was also rare for him to feel so content as a result of it. In Tina, Newt found appreciation and compassion. Despite miscommunication being a continuous issue between them, the two old souls always managed to make things right. If Newt was honest, Tina completed him — to a certain extent. He hadn't felt that his life was 'less than' without her, but he did notice a change whenever she was around, whether physically or in Newt's thoughts. She was someone who helped him restore his jaded view of humanity, and for that, Newt was grateful.

The embrace continued for several more minutes, Newt mentally recording what it felt like to be so close to Tina.

The scent of her hair, the touch of her hands. Newt was so mesmerized that he even dared to lift Tina off the ground, just a couple inches, and spin her very gently. It was instinct and had occurred before he could stop himself. Never before had he allowed his emotions to come off so strongly in the presence of another human being, and he had to admit: it felt freeing.

As for Tina, she experienced similar sentiments during their embrace. Mind racing, heart soaring... Since when did Newt display such sudden outbursts of affection? While Tina was slightly confused by this, she didn't question it because of her elation. If Newt was comfortable enough to be so physically close with her, she took it as a sign of growth and was proud of him. Each second that passed served as a reward earned by the energy both had spent in order to fight against the evil forces that threatened wizards and muggles alike. After years of fighting, Newt and Tina were given a moment of reprieve. A moment to be still, but more importantly, to be happy.

For Newt, happiness took the form of feeding his creatures. This was nothing new, but having Tina by his side — her eyes full of adoration — made the event much more enjoyable. For Tina, growing closer to Newt served as her main source of happiness, although she also happened to find it in the pursuit of wizardkind's most elite criminals. After all, being an Auror was an important part of Tina's life. The fact that her devotion to justice nearly managed to get her killed was unfortunate, yet Tina had put it in the past where it belonged. She needed her job because it allowed her to protect innocent lives, and that was something Tina would never stop pursuing. Whether it was a sideways smile or a lengthy yet tender hug, both Newt and Tina were fond of the little things in life as well as each other. Nothing, not even Grindelwald, could take those feelings away from them.

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

Author's Note: Below is the prompt for the above one shot ⬇️⬇️

I want Tina to initiate newtina’s first embrace. And I want it to happen in a happy context. I want her to realize that maybe Newt isn’t bold enough just yet to make that move, so she takes control and latches onto him. It won’t be like when Theseus hugged him, arms and back stiff the whole time. It will be at first, while he takes a few seconds to process what’s happening. In those few seconds, Tina is fully aware he’s processing the situation, so she holds him even tighter to reassure him that yes, she’s here. She wants this. She will wait. And once he finally accepts that, I want Newt to reciprocate her embrace with an enormous grin on his face (bonus points for misty eyes). I want him to wrap his arms around her back and tentatively return her gesture. Tina pulls even tighter to erase that last bit of questioning how far he should go. Then, Newt fully wraps her up in him, encasing her with his arms and body as completely as he can (bonus points for a little pick up and spin or something extra cute like that). And they stay like that for a while, just appreciating each other. Wordlessly processing their emotions. Surrendering to their feelings. Just being together like they want.

#AugustNineTeenie2020 #fantastic beasts #newtina #newtina fanfiction #newtina fanart #tina goldstein #newt scamander #salamander #happy birthday tina #tina goldstein birthday

[browneyedhimbo]

The Package Ch. 1

→Package Delivered

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your ordered package arrives earlier than anticipated. Being stuck in traffic and completely forgetting what you got, you let Bucky know it was okay to open it for you until you got home. But the contents inside could change your lives forever.

Warnings: language, slight anxiety attack, fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: First chapter is finally here! Sorry it took me so long. I really hope y'all like this! Enjoy!! 💕

• The Package Masterlist • Masterlist •

You sighed in frustration, hands tapping the steering wheel anxiously. God you hated traffic with a burning passion.

Staring at the car in front of you, another - more defeated - sigh leaves your lips as the back of your head hits the headrest. You looked out the window and cursed at everyone and everything that was walking by, blowing past the congested street. Your phone buzzed in the cupholder, pulling you out of your thoughts. You know you're not supposed to text and drive, but it’s not like you were moving anytime soon.

Hey doll, just got home from work. Also, I brought in a package that was on our step, has your name on it

You stared at your phone, confusion writing itself over your face. Package? You're always online shopping, buying the most random of things. You didn't think much of it, typing out a reply before resting your phone on your thigh.

Hey babe, still stuck in traffic. Thanks for letting me know. Open it if you want. I think its the new kitchen towels

Slowly the traffic started moving. You muttered a 'finally' while sitting up straighter. Your phone buzzed and you unlocked it to see Bucky's text of driving carefully. You smiled to yourself before putting your phone back in the cup holder.

A few more minutes go by and you've barely moved half a mile. You groan in annoyance, head lolling over to the side. You see a dad walking with a stroller and a smile makes its way to your face. Your hand subconsciously placed itself over your belly. You weren't really showing yet, being in the very early stages of your pregnancy. Your mind wandered as you thought of Bucky being the one pushing the stroller and your baby being inside. Only if the package would get here. Package. The package. Your face fell as the realization dawned on you. The package you ordered had baby things inside as well as custom shirts for Bucky. The package Bucky was talking about!

"Fuck fuck fuck!" You muttered, looking around for an opening. Oh god, how could you be so careless? Your hands tapped the wheel relentlessly as you quickly maneuver your way through the cars to head on to another street. 

You thanked your lucky stars there wasn't any traffic on the other street. Sure it'd take just a little longer because it's the long way, but you couldn't be stuck in traffic knowing he'd already open the package.

Oh Bucky, poor Bucky. You didn't know how he was going to react. Would he be mad? Would he be happy? Would he leave? Would he even want to be involved?

Your head was swimming. You kept muttering curses as you raced your way to your shared apartment. Time was completely irrelevant. All you had to do was floor it and try to not break as many laws as you could.

The moment your street came into view your heartbeat intensified even more than before. Your hands started shaking as you pulled the key out of the ignition and grabbed your purse. You didn’t even bother to use the elevator and just raced your way up the stairs to your floor, extremely high off adrenaline. 

You got in front of your door and stared ahead, trying to calm your erratic breathing. You went to put the key in the hole but hesitated, pulling back and leaning against the wall opposite of the door.

This wasn’t how you wanted to tell him. You wanted to bring it up slowly, in a casual conversation. Or maybe even during dinner. But not by opening a random package. You thumped your head against the wall a few times before groaning and standing up. You had to face the music sometime right?

You took a deep breath, opening the door cautiously. Entering the kitchen, you expected to find Bucky there, package ripped and on display. But you didn’t. You set your purse on the countertop, closing your eyes to try and stop being negative about the situation. Your nerves were on edge as it is, so the moment you felt two arms wrap around your waist you yelped, spinning around and throwing a punch.

“Hello to you too.” Bucky chuckled, hand rubbing the spot on his jaw you hit. Guilt flooding every ounce of anxiety you felt.

“Oh my god Bucky! I’m so sorry!” Your hands flying up to his face. He chuckled again, leaning into your touch.

“Wonder what’s gotten you all jittery doll.” He smirked, eyes shining with mischief. You shrugged, looking loosely around the apartment for the package. Bucky noticed this and smiled even more.

“Don’t I get a hello kiss?” He puckered his lips dramatically, earning a giggle from you. You leaned in and pecked his lips. Your worries flew to the back of your head as he deepens it, his hands on your waist pulling you in closer so your bodies are flush together. 

“So I was thinkin we stay in tonight, watch a few movies, call it early. Sound good?” He mumbled, bumping your nose against his. You smiled and nodded, pressing another short kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Sounds great, let me get changed.” You walked to your room peeling off your shirt when you froze. There on the mattress lay the baby clothes, Bucky’s custom dad shirts, and an empty picture frame that says ‘Baby Barnes.’ 

Your heart skipped a beat, automatically thinking the worst. Cool metal and warm skin wrapped gently around your stomach, his chin propped on your shoulder.

“Kitchen towels my ass.” He pressed a kiss to your neck. You peeled yourself away from him, a shiver running up your spine as the cold air touched your now warm back.

“You’re not mad?” Bucky bit his bottom lip, a cute little giggle escaping him. 

“Mad? Doll do I look mad?” You shook your head, shoulders drooping.

“You’re okay with this?” Doubt and insecurity clawing its way back to the forefront of your mind.

“Honey, I’m over the moon!” He practically shouted, engulfing you in a bear hug. “I’m going to be a dad! I can’t even being to explain to you how fucking happy I am!” He picked you and spun you around before plopping you on the bed.

Bucky’s bubbly reaction made all the negative emotions you felt completely die out, being replaced by happiness and excitement. Tears pricked your eyes as the words hit you. Bucky’s going to be a dad. You’re going to be a mom. You’re going to be parents.

“We’re gonna be parents.” You whispered. Bucky nodded enthusiastically, dropping to his knees in front of where you sat on the bed. He reached out and set his hands on either side of your belly.

“We’re gonna be parents.” He looked up at you and smiled so wide. You shared a laugh, foreheads pressed against one another. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, unable to contain his elation. You gently pushed him back, heading to the bathroom to grab something. You walked back with one hand behind your back. You sat back down in front of Bucky, your free hand carding through his hair.

“Here.” You moved your hand to the front, handing the pregnancy test to him. You saw as his eyes started to water, his bottom lip trembling slightly.

He was feeling a million things at once. Grateful for you caring for his child, scared he might mess up, excited he’ll have a little one of his own, petrified that hydra serum will -- he blinked rapidly. He couldn’t think that way. Instead, he focused on the one thought screaming away in his head, ‘he made it.’

He set the pregnancy test down next to you on the bed, his hands grabbing your own. He kissed all your fingers, your palms, the back of your hands. Adoration shining brightly in his eyes. He slowly let go of your hands, placing his over your belly again. His thumbs tracing delicately over your skin. He leaned in, peppering your belly with kisses.

“Papa’s gonna take care of you little one.” He whispered against your skin. “Papa’s gonna take good care of both of you.”

●●●●●●●●

Tags [OPEN]: @white-wolf-buckaroo @cazslaughter @fanfictionarchivee @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @imma-new-soul @starspangledseb @kaithezaftig @marvelofwitch

(who I think might be interested): @wemisshim3000 @this-kitten-is-smitten @disasterbuckley @becausewhyknotme @buckys-blunders @yougottakeeponkeepinon @hp-marvel-starwars-kotlc @starbxcks @thorfanficwriter @propertyofpoeandbucky @babiiface95

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #buck barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #the package

[glenncoco4]

Choices

Alternate plot to 9x23

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

Kensi tries as best as she can to hold back her tears as she, Sam and Callen continue to layout their plan. She’s not sure if they’re tears of anger or sadness but what she does know is that she’s never felt so defeated in her life. 

Walking out the mission door, she heads to the Audi for her go bag. 

Just as she walks back into the bullpen she sees the tech operator running down the stairs. “Kens.”

She takes a deep breath, whatever he’s about to say she really doesn’t want to hear it right now. Get the kid and get back is all she’s focused on. “Not now, Eric.”

“It’s Deeks.”

“Just tell him I’m busy.” Her focus stays on the map before her as she goes over the mission plan one more time in her head.

“Kensi.”

The tone in his voice catches her off-guard and she quickly turns her attention the blonde whose got an unsettled look on his face. “What?” 

For a brief moment he’s paralyzed. He can’t get out the words that so desperately need to be spoken.

“Eric, what happened?” Kensi abandons the bullpen and is about to come up the stairs when his next words stop her in her tracks. 

“I just heard over the scanner…Deeks was driving home and his truck got t-boned by a semi.”

No. No. This is not happening. “What?”

“Kensi, I don’t-“ A ringing interrupts him, cutting him off from finishing the rest of his sentence. 

Quickly pulling her phone out of her pocket, the brunette answers, combing her fingers through her hair worriedly. “Mikey, how is he?”

“It’s not looking good, Kensi.”

She paces back and forth in front of the bullpen trying to gather as much  information as she can before getting behind the steering wheel. “Where are they taking him?”

“Cedars.”

“I’m on my way.” With out saying another word she walks as fast as she can down the tunnel. She’s got to get to him.

Callen brow furrows in concern when he sees a distraught Kensi sprint towards her car and quickly walks over to her before she has time to drive off. “What’s going on?”

Her voice shakes answering him but not turning to look at him as she hops into the drive seat. “Deeks got t-boned by a semi.”

“Go. We have this handled.”

She starts the car with one last parting before driving off into the dark early morning streets of LA. “Thanks, but I was going with or without your permission.”

XXXX

She rushes into the ER looking around the chaotic room when she finally spots him. “Oh my god.”

A frazzled nurse walks up to her alerted when she sees the tears in Kensi’s eyes. “Excuse me, miss, can I help you?”

Kensi’s eyes stay focused on Deeks’ still form as a swarm of doctors and nurses poke and prod at his body. “That’s my fiancé.”

“Oh.” 

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Right now he’s stable but they have to rush him into emergency surgery. A large piece of glass nicked his heart.”

She takes a few strides meeting the gurney as they begin wheeling him down the hallway. Taking hold of his free hand, she has to say something, something that will keep him fighting. “Deeks. Baby, I need you to fight. I need you to fight because I can’t lose you.  I love you so much. Just fight like I know-“

Before she can get another word out the heart monitor goes crazy and she’s pushed aside by a nurse as she grabs the other side of the gurney and they charge the double doors towards the OR. “He’s crashing. Code blue.”

Those are the last words she hears before he’s pushed around the corner and suddenly out of sight. Her legs give out and she crumples against the wall, burrowing her face in her hand. He can’t die. Not now, not ever. 

XXXX

She hasn’t been able to sit down for the past 2 hours. Her mind is all over the place wondering how he’s doing.

“Miss. Blye?”

She quickly spins around at the sound of her name and walks over towards the doctor. “How is he?”

The redhead woman smiles reassuringly at the brunette putting Kensi somewhat at ease. “We almost lost him but he’s stable now. As you know a piece of glass nicked his heart, luckily it wasn’t that large and we were able to close the wound fairly quick. He’s also got a broken arm and some internal bleeding, but he’s gonna make it.”

“Can I see him?”

“Gives us about 20 minutes and I’ll have a nurse bring you to his room.”

Kensi shakes the woman’s hand unbelievably grateful that the man she loves is still breathing. “Thank you, doctor.”

XXXX

6 hours later

He slowly opens his eyes, becoming aware of his surroundings and the incessant beeping in his left ear. As he scans the room his gaze stops when it lands on a the familiar head of hair and the most beautiful face he’s ever laid his eyes on. Her eyes are closed and he suddenly realizes that the last time he saw those mismatched chocolate orbs that he so deeply loves were full of tears. 

That could’ve been the last time he ever got to see her and it terrifies him. 

His eyes roam her features taking her in, her head laying on top of his hand with her ring proudly displayed on her left hand which is kinda surprising to him. 

At the feeling of movement she startles awake, tears already springing to her eyes when she sees his beautiful cerulean blues. “Shouldn’t you be in Mexico?”

“Are you insane? You almost died, why on earth would I be in Mexico right now?” She can’t hide the sadness in her voice at his assumption. How could he think for one minute that she would be off in some other country when he needed her.

“I just thought-“

“No, Deeks, no. I love you and I know we have some things to work out and we may fight some times but know this…if I ever have to choose between you and the job, I’m choosing you.”

“That didn’t seem like the case earlier.” He looks down at their intertwined fingers, his eyes focusing on her ring as he rubs his thumb across the diamonds. 

“Well, I was just frustrated earlier and…”

“And what?”

“I was scared.”

He looks up so fast that he almost gives himself whiplash. “Baby, why on earth were you scared? You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Seeing the concern in his eyes, she bites her lip worried about what might come tumbling out. “Well I was and it has everything to do with you.”

“Me?”

“You just had our whole life planned out and you started talking about having kids.”

His brow furrows he’s not really sure if its the anesthesia that’s making it hard for him to follow or what. 

“And I know you want kids, I do too.”

“You-you do?”

“Of course I do but you have to understand that it’s different for women especially women in our line of work. I love my job, you know how much I love my job.”

“I do know.”

A teary eyed smile crosses her face when he places his hand against her cheek. It may be cheesy but just the feel of his touch gives her the courage and strength to gather her feelings and tell him what’s been running around in her head for so long. “But I love you more and that scares me. Ever since my dad died I’ve only had myself to rely on and I’ve never counted on anyone else for my happiness. For a long time NCIS was my happiness, I knew that I would be content in the life I had if I got to help others, but then I fell in love with you. We got engaged and I was happy-am happy. Bringing kids into our life would make me even more happy but then while I was trying to talk to Mosley to calm her down she said something to me that struck a nerve.”

“What did she say to you?”

“I told her that maybe one day I would understand…but she took it a different way than what I meant. It rattled me because it’s happened to us before.”

Now he’s really confused. “What do you mean?”

“Remember our conversation after you got tortured?”

“The one in the bullpen?”

A soft smile crosses her features when she thinks back to that day, the good part of that day when he told her that she was what got him through probably the most painful time in his life but her smile quickly disappears at the reason for his need to focus on her. “Yeah, I said I know what you’re going through and you said you hope that I never do but a few months later I did.”

That’s when everything starts to makes sense. The way she suddenly changed her mind or rather off-put about the thought of having kids. “And you think the same thing would happen to our kid as Mosley’s.”

She looks down afraid of the disappointment that she may see in his eyes.  “I know its irrational but-“

“No, no it’s not.” His heart breaks at the smallness in her voice. He places his finger under her chin, tilting her head up so that she’ll look at him. “Don’t hit me for what I’m about to say but you sound just like a mother.”

“I do?”

“Kens, the fact that you’re worried about the wellbeing for our hypothetical child - baby, that’s what every good parent goes through. What you’re feeling is normal, I just wish you would talk to me about it.”

“What do think I’m doing now?” Her lip curls into a smirk.

He huffs a laugh. God he loves this woman. “Touché.”

There’s a beat of silence as their eyes stay locked before he finally works up the nerve to ask her. “So we’re gonna work this out?”

She shakes her head. They’re a mess but they’re a perfect mess. “We were never not gonna work this out. But I need you do something for me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Promise you’ll be patient with me.”

He rolls his eyes because even though she’s being completely serious right now he knows she needs a good laugh. “Please, I’ve been patient with you ever since I met you.”

She scrunches her noses knowing exactly what he’s trying to do. Standing up, she scoots closer towards the head of the bed, her hand finding the scruff of his jaw. 

He lays his hand atop of her and relishes in the feel of her touch. “I need you to promise me something too.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll marry me and spend the rest of your life with me.”

This time when the tear falls down her cheek its from happiness…pure elation. She leans forward bringing her lips to his. It’s not the most passionate kiss they’ve ever had, but they have all the time in the world for that. “I can do that.”

“I love you.” He leans in for another kiss, smiling.

Once their lips part they don’t lose contact for long as she places her forehead against his. “I love you.”

#Densi #Kensi Blye #Marty Deeks #Densi Fanfic #NCIS: LA #NCIS: LA Fanfic

[whyralltheusernamestaken]

that he stayed

When a girl comes crashing through the window of Bakugou’s dorm and he has the strongest urge to just keep her with him.

Part 9 of “I feel safe with you”

Bakugou x fem!reader

Words : 1,424

Warnings : mentions of scars 

Series Masterlist

A/N : I forgot to save my first draft ahhhh, so now I have to rewrite it :(

Hope you enjoy!

As soon as lessons had finished, everyone rushed to their respective friends, chatting away as a few curious eyes darted toward the new girl. 

Bakugou walked up to her desk, his bag already packed and slung over his shoulder. She looked up at him with a small smile. “What is it?”

“Are you not going to pack away?” he grumbled, giving her a look of confusion and she sat still in her seat.

“I don’t see the need to rush.” she replied quietly, starting to gather her pen and books. 

“Well if you don’t hurry up and train then you won’t be able to beat those losers.” he declared, grabbing the remaining few textbooks off her desk and stuffing them into her book bag. 

“Shall we go?” he asked, raising and eyebrow at her, to which she pursed her lips and nodded. 

“Is Bakubro ditching us again?” Kirishima wondered aloud as he watched the two leave the classroom together. 

“Yeah, it feel kinda quiet without his constant noise.” Kaminari piped up, a small frown on his face. 

“Well I’m sure he’ll join us again soon.” Mina cheered, giving the boys both a smile before looping her arms around their necks. Sero watched from the side with a smile before suggesting that they too should start training soon. 

Together the four walked back to the dorms, spotting the two ahead. It was mainly Bakugou who spoke, Y/N nodding in response, occasionally letting out a small reply. 

“And your hero work?” he inquired, pushing open the dorm doors and walking to the stairs, her trailing behind him. 

“I’m due to start again next week.” she answered. “I guess they’ll call me whenever and pull me out of class. Kind of a bother to be honest.”

“Do you not want to attend school?” he peered back over his shoulder, slowing down his pace so she could walk up the stairs next to him.

“I just don’t really see the point.”

“Why?”

“Well I’m already a pro hero aren’t I?” Her tone was soft yet her replies were sharp and to the point. 

“What about middle school? What did you do then?”

“I was home schooled." 

He nodded in reply, unlocking his room and entering. She followed and closed the door behind her, setting her bag down on the floor next to his desk.

“So training?” she asked. 

“Yeah. Better to do something productive than stay cooped up in your room all day.” he said. “Did Midnight bring any sports clothes?” 

“No.” she shook her head, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as she watched him run around trying to sort things out for her. 

“Here, you can borrow some of mine for now.” he said, pulling out a pair of joggers and a old t shirt. He placed them in her hands and watched as her eyes looked them over continuously. “They’re clean I promise.” he grumbled. 

She nodded, content, before walking over to the bathroom, locking the door and getting changed. Although half way through putting the shirt on, her reflection caught her eye. Large ugly lines littered her body, each surrounded by a slightly darker hue that only accented the eyesore. She felt her breath hitch at the sight, tracing each scar with her eyes before she felt her eyesight go blurry with tears. 

A knock on the door took her out of her trance, a squeak escaping her mouth in response. 

“Have you fallen into the toilet or something?” Bakugou shouted from outside.

“Wait, I’m nearly done.” she responded, hastily pulling the top down and gathering up her neatly folded school uniform in her arms, unlocking the bathroom door and stepping back into his bedroom.

“God woman, you took forever.” he muttered before pointing to a rather large plastic box set next to the wall at the end of his bed. “You can keep your stuff in there if it helps.” 

She crouched down and eyed the box for any trace of dust, a small hum showing she was happy before placing down her uniform in the corner. 

“You have a few more stuff to put away right?” he spoke up, sighing for dramatic effect. 

“Yeah.” she nodded. 

“I’ll go downstairs and fill up up our water, come down when you’re done and lock the door.” She once again nodded and he turned to leave the room. “And hurry up.” 

“Alright thanks.” she said, hearing him say ‘no problem’ before the door clicked shut. 

She hurriedly unpacked the things from the small suitcase Midnight had brought earlier, finding some neatly folded underwear, some pairs of socks and some other things. Settling them all neatly into the box, she closed down the lid, zipped up the suitcase and left the room, making sure to lock the door before walking down the hallway to the stairs. 

She pondered about the blonde. She felt no ill intent from him or his words. He was simply harsh and abrasive, a little rough in his social skills but that didn’t mean he was a bad person in any way. She had picked up on his way to try and comfort her, something she was very grateful for. He even went as far to reassure her every time she wondered if something was dirty or not. 

“Y/N right?” a voice brought her out of her thoughts and she turned to see a black haired girl walking towards her. “I’m Yaoyorozu but you can just call me Momo, it’s nice to meet you.” she smiled. 

She returned the gesture with a small smile and a ‘it’s nice to meet you too’ before asking the other girl if she needed something. 

“No not really.” Yaoyorozu said, pausing before continuing with a “I was just wondering why you don’t use the lift?”

“I wasn’t aware there was a lift.” She answered truthfully. “But it’s alright, I could do with a little more exercise lately.”

Yaoyorozu giggled at her comment. “I’m sure you don’t.” she said. “Where are you going? I could perhaps accompany you.”

“I’m just going downstairs to the common room I think.” 

“Alright, let’s go.” Yaoyorozu said, taking the lead as the two girls descended the stairs. 

“What are you going to do today?” she asked, feeling a need to make sure the girl wasn’t alone in the afternoons, not just as the classes’ vice president but also as a friend. 

“Some training with Katsuki.” she replied. The use of Bakugou’s first name had taken Yaoyorozu back, despite her seeing their constant interactions during the school hours. 

“Are you two close?” she asked. To pry into someone’s personal life wasn’t something she would normally do, however curiosity was getting the better of her.

Y/N hummed in response as they turned around the corner. She was slightly stuck with having a conversation with someone her age. She didn’t know what they would talk about, or what type of responses would satisfy the other person, however Yaoyorozu was the one directing the conversation and she was grateful that the girl had struck up a conversation with her. 

“Not really.” she said curtly, before spotting him leaning against the wall on his phone. “Alright, I’ll see you later Yaoyorozu.” 

“Momo’s fine.”

“Thank you Momo.” she bowed slightly before running off to Bakugou, who looked up from his phone. 

“Took you long enough. What were you talking about with Ponytail?”

“Nothing much, just introductions.” she answered, taking one of the water bottles from him. “Thanks.” 

“Whatever. Come on let’s go.”

His question was half-hearted. To be honest, he didn’t care what the two girls were talking about. God, he didn’t care half the time when people were talking to him, but for some reason the girl next to him did nothing but pipe his interest. 

Whenever he saw her or thought of her, his mind would be clouded by questions. Was she okay? Why was she such a clean freak? Was his food today okay? He knew she had complimented it during lunch but his insecurities grew with along the pride that prevented him from voicing out his thoughts.

A question that rattled his mind for hours on end was what did she think of him? 

She was utterly thankful. She had voiced her thanks the previous night, but not even words could describe the happiness she felt when she was with her first out-of-hero-work friend. She was elated, although it was hard to tell from her short replies and seemingly uninterested persona. She was so grateful 

that he stayed

by her side.

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Taglist : @imalivebarelystriving​ @falling4fandoms​ @succulent-momma​

#bnha #bnha kacchan #bnha fanfiction #bnha bakugou #bnha x reader #bnha au #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader fluff #mha #mha imagine #mha imagines #mha bakugou #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki

[faintblueivy]

Querencia - BoruSara Royal AU

Written for lovely @miratriarch! It was my secret santa gift for her! I did not have enough time on my hand to post it earlier but here it is now! Hopefully you all will enjoy it!

Genre: Fluff and a little of everything

words: 8k

Ao3 link

Querencia

 The place where one’s strength is drawn from; where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self.

"Have you heard?" 

Normally, Sarada considered herself above doing undignified acts like eavesdropping, but right now, in this tea party she had no other work to do. Suffering from the epitome of boredom, Sarada's ears picked up the talk of some daughters of some lower lords. And despite not wanting to, she found herself unable to tear away from their conversation. 

"Prince Boruto! He's coming back from the front lines. I’ve heard that the King and Queen are celebrating his arrival with a ball arranged in his honour!" 

Of course. They would be talking about him. 

Boruto Uzumaki, the son of King Naruto Uzumaki and Queen Hinata Uzumaki, the heir to the throne of the kingdom of Wind was returning back. After spending two years on the front lines, and four before for his education, trying to suppress violence and protect the citizens of the Alliance, he was coming back Home. Of course, a grand cause of celebration and joy for both - the common citizens and the royal family. One had their Prince coming back, and the other had their son returning home. And obviously, also a blessed occasion for power and prestige hungry lords who were desperately hatching plans to make the young crown prince marry one of their daughters. 

Sarada sighed. It was a sad scenario for their society that everything around them was supposed to be about power, prestige and money. But unfortunately, as much as she loathed to admit it, she was a part of that vicious circle. 

She remembered the wave of happiness that swept over her father’s court when the letter from King Naruto had arrived a week ago. As her father read the invitation himself, she had watched a tiny smile grace his lips. He passed over the letter to her mother and she too, could hardly hold her spirits and bright smile on her face spoke of her joy over the matter. Unaware of the contents of the letter, she had been inquisitive of it. The letter was then brought to her. 

She admitted she had to read the letter twice before forcing herself to believe that this was true because the letter not only had King Naruto’s signature but also the royal insignia. The first half of the letter was the official information but the second part was written in a weird messy scrawl that she immediately recognized as the King’s. It read:

Dear bastard, I’m letting you know this information in advance because I want you, Sakura and Sarada here at least a week before Boruto returns. I won’t take no for an answer. The invitation to the ball will come a week later. Come as soon as you can, Sasuke. Hoping to see you soon!  

Sarada understood the reason her parents were smiling. Both her father and King Naruto had been best friends since their childhoods. The two of them have seen the worst of each other but still remained together through the years of conflict and war, and their bond was one of the most heartwarming things that she had ever seen. 

…

She was back from her low tea, responding to the letters that the citizens of the Fire kingdom had written to their dear crown princess when the news of the arrival of the invitation was conveyed to her. She rushed to her father's chambers, only to find her parents laughing at something. 

"Oh, Sarada!" Her mother exclaimed seeing her. "Come here!" The queen gestured for her to sit and her father immediately slid to a side to give her some space. As soon as she was seated, the invitation was thrust into her hands. And as King Naruto had promised, the invitation was for the Ball - arranged around a month later from the date.  Below, there was personal note of invitation written by both King and Queen, inviting her parents to help arrange the festivity.  

This is how two weeks later, Sarada found herself in premisses of the Wind Castle. The winter was in full swing and even though it was not as cold as her kingdom, but as namesake, the wind castle was windy. Sarada watched the tiny snowflakes dance around, the snow had just begun precipitating. They had arrived yesterday, with a large ensemblement of gifts and presents and were greeted by a warm welcome by the King and the Queen and their daughter - Princess Himawari. The ball was a matter of great importance, so all of the necessary tasks were divided among the supervision of all the royals present. 

Her father and the King were busy sending invitations and scouting for the safety and security of their guests. With a ball this grand, it was obvious that all of the important people of The Great Alliance will be present. Her mother had taken the charge of decorations and arrangements, while the Queen was arranging for food and beverages and, she was tasked with boarding arrangements for the invitees.

The preparations were being made on a massive scale and it was pure coincidence when the queen walked with her party across the room that Sarada had been preparing.

“Princess Sarada?” 

She called out. Her voice was soft, but held enough authority for the maids to bow and leave the room to give them privacy.

“Good morning, your majesty.”

Sarada courtesized to the Queen gracefully and the older woman smiled. “I’m honestly immensely grateful for your help. And undoubtedly,” she turned around to take a look of the entire room, “You are doing amazing.”

“Thank you for your kind words, majesty.”

Hinata nodded and sat on one of the large ornate chairs, and patted the space beside her in a gesture to make her sit. Who was she to deny the royal matriarch so Sarada took the place offered. 

“I think we are above such formalities Sarada. I want you to understand that we see you as a part of our family and I want you to think of us the same way, child. So please, be as free and comfortable as you want.”

Sarada nodded, overwhelmed by the loving gestures of the Queen. If her mother was a bright and encouraging woman, the Queen was a kind, empathetic and loving person. They were vastly different in their codes of conduct, but both of them shined in their respective roles as the Queens of their respective Kingdoms. When Sarada thought about the kind of Queen she wished to become , these two women were her greatest inspirations. 

And Sarada had to admit, having spent a lot of her childhood running through these halls, this place definitely felt like home. 

…

The entire castle is thrust into chaos when the news of Prince's arrival in a few hours is circulated. All the preparations are done haphazardly and the entire castle is ordered to assemble at the east entrance. 

"Wasn't he supposed to arrive tomorrow?" Sarada asked the maid helping her dress up. 

"Yes, your highness, Prince Boruto was scheduled to arrive tomorrow. But the news of his arrival is absolutely true." The maid replied, sorting out her skirts. 

Sarada sighed and stared at her reflection in the mirror as the maids around her flitted, some of them dressing her and others plaiting her hair in an elegant braid. She noticed how sharp her face appeared and how taller she looked. 

Would he notice too?

Last time they had met, she was ten and he was eleven. He was a loud, rambunctious kid with a big grin and bright blue eyes. Had he changed too? It was hard to envision him differently. 

She was dressed up with finesse and up and about and exited her room only to meet a swarm of servants rushing out to welcome their Prince. She had always known how much the people in this castle adored him. The older servants wanted to see their young troublemaking Prince and the younger ones wanted to catch a glimpse of their young handsome future monarch. 

Sarada came to stand with her parents, not close and not too far from them either. The King and Queen of Wind, and Princess Himawari were standing the farthest down the massive stairs, eager to welcome their son with loving arms and it took only a few moments, but Prince's procession was visible. And even from this far Sarada could see him riding at the front, his horse was the fastest as approached the castle gate with a big smile. 

He reined in the horse just a few feet away from the stairs and jumped down. 

"Brother!" The little princess screamed and rushed to her brother who gathered her in a large embrace and the sight was so pure that even Himawari's strict governess did not seem to have the heart to reprimand. Both Naruto and Hinata approached their children and it was honestly, a heartwarming reunion. 

It was then he noticed the presence of her parents, and an elated smile came over his face. He stepped near her parents and greeted them properly with a respectful bow and Sarada giggled as her mother squealed and pulled him in a tight embrace. Sarada had a personal experience with those hugs and was impressed when Boruto did not ask to be released even after a few seconds. Her father said something to him but she couldn't hear, due to the distance and the noise. He replied something smiling and suddenly his gaze flicked up, straight towards her. 

The moment their eyes met, something inside her stomach flipped. She watched as the recognition lit up in his eyes, and he almost stepped forward as if to approach her but the sudden wave of cheer from the castle staff broke them out of their trance. Sarada smiled when the old maids of the castle greeted him with tearful eyes but he was loving in the way he wiped off their tears and talked to them with all the excitement he could spare. And she watched the respect and adoration in their eyes grow for their Prince by leaps and bounds. But what she didn't know was that every time he could, the Prince would definitely steal a glance in her direction. 

…

Dripping with sweat, Boruto was having the time of his life. Battling his old instructor in a swordfight and overpowering the old guy was satisfactory in ways he could not describe. It reflected his improvement and passion for an activity that was not only enjoyable to him but also as a necessary as the royal heir. 

He stepped forward and swung his blade in an arc and the old man used his sword to block it, but Boruto was swift, he slid the sword underneath his master's and tugged it away with strength. A loud clang reverberated throughout the practice grounds as his opponent's sword was out of bounds. 

His master had a delightful smile on his face. He raised his hands and clapped for the Prince and Boruto smiled in return. 

"You did well, your highness. I'm impressed! You've turned into a fine swords master." The man praised him.

"Thank you, Master. Your words mean a lot to me." Boruto bowed, expressing his gratitude to man who taught him this skill. 

"Oh, it looks like it's over! Prince Boruto is unoccupied now!" 

Boruto felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at the distant scream. His body froze and he did not dare to turn back, even for a glance. His teacher was kind enough to understand his predicament, but evil enough to enjoy it to the fullest. He teased, "If I were you, your highness, I would have sprinted away and never looked back." 

Boruto gave him a nod before doing exactly as what he was told to. He sheathed his sword back and broke into full speed. Panic jumped up his throat when he heard a cacophony of shrill voices and pitter-patter of feet following him at a speed they shouldn't. 

It had been the same scene since the day he had returned and got even more out of hand when the guests for the Ball started arriving one by one. After the lords of different states began offering their daughters to his parents and listed off their qualities as if they were livestock and even hinted at the amount of dowry that may be sent, his parents had put their foot down and announced that his wife was going to be the woman he chose for himself. It seemed to calm down the situation a little for a few days only to get worsened when the daughters realised that they could woo him themselves. 

Who knew that the desperation of an unmarried lady was more fearsome than the sword of an enemy soldier on the battlefield. Boruto 

Uzumaki had made the mistake of underestimating these dainty young women. And he was going to pay for it dearly. 

Though, only if they manage to catch him. He smirked. This was his castle. The place he had spent his entire childhood and he was aware of every nook and corner of their estate. He swiftly turned around a corner and grinned. The old oak tree still stood tall. Of course, he knew gardens here like the back of his hand. 

He climbed the tree barely breaking a sweat and praised his luck when the window directly in front of the tree, which led to a secluded room was opened. He walked on a sturdy branch and grabbed the upper one before swinging himself inside the chamber. 

"Oooof!" 

Unfortunately his landing was not as graceful as he expected because the moment he landed, the carpet beneath his boots slid away, forcing him to land straight on his bottom. 

"I had my doubts, but today, you've done nothing but confirmed them." 

He froze up, hearing a feminine voice so close in his vicinity. He gathered a lot of courage and dared to turn in the direction where he assumed the speaker was. 

She was sitting there, on a chair, dressed in plain white and maroon robes, dark hair held in a low bun without any accessories to decorate them. He noticed that she had a book in her hand, the cover definitely written in a forgein language. 

"Sarada? Is...that you? This is your room?" He asked, standing up and dusting himself off as he sauntered over to her. 

She had grown up, even beautifully, if he might add. Her slender figure and dark piercing eyes were noticeable in ways he should not think of, as a gentleman, but he couldn't help himself from the pink blush tinting his cheeks. 

"Yes. You might have noticed had you entered like any sane human does, my prince. A path of entrance called door exists." 

Oh. That sharp tongue did not grow away. A part of him was happy about it. Sarada would not be the Sarada he knew if not for her quick witted sarcastic remarks. But she was not wrong though. Like at all. 

"I'm sorry! My sincere apologies! I didn't know this." 

He bowed to her deeply to emphasize his regret over causing her trouble but she waved him off. 

"Please calm down now. What's done is done." She said calmly, not at all panicky the way a woman should be if a man bursts into her room like he had done. He deduced the reason behind this was the small dagger resting beside her cushion. 

"No! No. This is highly inappropriate. I shouldn't have done this. I'm a grown man now. I should behave like one." He buried his face into his palm and Sarada bit back how he was just proving his own point. 

"Yes, you probably should. But if you don't mind letting me know, what happened? Hope you did not break a vase today." 

She smirked and gestured for him to take the chair beside her. 

"Hey! I did that when I was...six!" He yelled, placing himself on the seat. 

"And how does that help you?" 

"What? Sarada!" 

His petulant expression made Sarada finally break her facade she burst into giggles. 

"Yes, you are still the same old Boruto." 

He paused, eyes wide,"Is that a good thing?" 

"Hmmm...maybe." She gave him a tiny smile. "How was your training, if you don't mind telling me?"  

"Eh? Of course, I don't! It was…" he stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words to describe,"-exhilarating. And exhausting. We learned something new everyday. It was informative... and, uh, fun? I was allowed to meet all kinds of people and understand their ways of living. I liked it there." He muttered the last line with a sense of nostalgia. 

"Oh, you did not wish to come home?" She unconsciously fisted the silk of her robes.

"No! No! Home is Home, Sarada. I longed to see Mother, Father and Hima everyday." He admitted, giving her a small smile. 

Did you think of me too? 

Sarada had the question on the tip of her tongue but decided not to let it out. 

"Enough about me! What about you? As the Crown Princess of Fire, you must have had your fair share of endeavours." 

Almost surprised at his interest for her life, she nodded. "That, I had. I have been trained in several arts of weapons and battlefields alongside music, art and other required assets. But…" 

Boruto tilted his head to a side, a questioning look present on his face. 

"Most people believe that...I'll marry an appropriate suitor and give the Kingdom it's much needed King." 

Boruto felt his brows shot up in immense surprise. 

"Marry and give someone else the crown that is rightfully yours? What kind of dirty politics is that? Are you okay with that?" He asked, clenching his fist and expressing righteous indignation over the matter. 

"Of course not!" She exclaimed, her mouth set in a firm line, "I do not wish to be rude, but I've spent my blood, sweat and tears to become a worthy Queen." 

He relaxed, as if it was the only answer he wanted to hear. "That is a relief to hear. Because I would hate to be partnered with some unworthy misogynistic scoundrel to keep the alliance." 

"Partnered?" She questioned. 

"Yes! After all, I've always imagined you to be one of the heads of the alliance in the future." He said that with so much nonchalance that it made Sarada aware of the amount of the faith he had in her as a capable future ruler. And it made her wanting to be nothing but honest with him. So, she confessed, "I'm not opposed...to marriage though." 

"Huh?" He looked stunned. 

"I do not mind marrying an appropriate match if they are kind to my people and respectful to my parents. I would not mind sharing my throne or my crown if they prove themselves worthy of it. " she said firmly, putting forth her views.

"I see." Boruto nodded in acknowledgement. 

They settled into a comfortable silence and Sarada had to admit that it was not as awkward she expected. She had believed that with how busy his schedule appeared, the only time they might have met would have been the Ball. It was an absolute surprise when he had burst through her window, albeit, not a bad one per say, but she would not tell him that. Her heart felt so warm and full knowing how much he trusted her that she could not stop herself from telling him. He was examining the books she had on her table when she spoke up.

"Thank you, Boruto." 

He blinked. "Is there any reason you wish to thank me for?" 

She gave him a thankful smile. "I'm simply glad to know that you believe that... I'm worthy of my Kingdom's crown." 

He shook his head and returned her smile. 

"Sarada...do not ever let anyone make you believe that you are in the wrong. Because you are not. I have faith in you."

He stood up, and bowed to her grandly, even dipping on one knee as he continued," Your future Majesty, Sarada Uchiha, Queen of the great Kingdom of Fire." 

She laughed at his grandiose gesture, even a palm on her mouth failed to muffle her sounds. And Boruto had to admit, that coy expression on her face was making his heart pound and leave him breathless. 

And the sudden force of his feelings slamming into his conscience made him realise that if he had been standing, his knees surely would have given out. And just a genuine smile from her was enough for the ugly maelstrom of wretched feelings to arise again from the deep corners of his mind. 

As a young child, he had been of a carefree attitude. It was only after he was sent out that he understood the warmth of Home and care of Family. He missed his parents and his sister. But they we're not the only ones. He also missed the cook who would secretly bake him treats. He missed his tutor and his master. 

And he also missed Sarada.

He does not have a memory of the first time they met, but for as long as he can remember, they were together. But stepping away from the safe confines of his parents' sanctuary introduced him to the harshness of life. 

Things changed when he learned that the companions around him had their sisters and friends and acquaintances were getting engaged or married. The realisation was hard to accept. To believe that one day, Sarada and Himawari would be married to men suitable for them and he'd be left alone with a wife he probably wouldn't want. 

It was cruel. It was cruel in ways he did not wish to think of. 

"Are you certain that you're not in love with her?" 

A friend, his senior, had asked him after listening to his jumbled up feelings. And Boruto had spent countless sleepless nights wondering the answer to that question. 

When the news of her debut ball had reached his ears, his selfishness knew no bounds. The entire scenario had simply made him realise how hard it would be to see Sarada with another person. He hoped desperately that the Uchiha Princess had yet to meet any man that she would end up desiring. Atleast not before, he manages to express his own feelings to her. 

And a part of him loathed himself for this selfishness. 

He was deep in his labyrinth of thoughts when a loud knock pushed him out of his musings. 

"Hide!" Sarada whispered furiously, pushing him inside one of the largest almirahs present in her room. 

"Wha-" Before he could even finish his word, the door was slammed shut on his face. He carefully and silently slid the door, only a tiny bit to see the chaos happening. 

"Your highness!" He immediately recognized the shrill voice af Miss Jane, the daughter of one of the Northern lords of Wind. 

"Yes? How may I help you?" 

"I hope we did not disturb you, your highness, but we just wanted to ask if you knew where Prince Boruto is?" 

Sarada made an act of looking surprised, before giving them a smile. And Boruto had to bite back a laugh at how fake it looked. 

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, ladies, but I’m afraid that I don't know where the Prince is." 

She craftily engaged the young women in a conversation and signalled him to escape out of the back door of her room. It was only after Boruto was in the safe confines of his room that it hit him that the gestures and hand signals she had made when letting him know how to escape were the same ones they used when they used to play around as children. 

…

Boruto sighed in relief. After an entire day of dealing with diplomats from all over the alliance, meeting the important lords, reading about the newly signed treaties and laws, he was finally spared. More often than not he had the urge to ditch all these things and run away but that was allowed when he was a child. But now, as a young adult and a future monarch, it would be utterly disgraceful on his part. And especially after making a fool out of himself in front of Sarada yesterday, he had to prove to both her and himself that he has changed. And for the better.

She had been working tirelessly to make the people of her country and the members of the alliance to acknowledge her as the heiress to the throne of Uchihas. And if he slacked up here, it would be a shame for her. 

They were rivals. For as long as he can think off. In studies, literature, music and diplomacy. But the list did not end there. They were opponents in fencing, fishing, horse riding and all the possible sphere of lives he could think of. He could not bring himself to think the way these people do because time and time again Sarada has proved herself to be his equal. She was someone he admired deeply, no questions asked. So, yesterday's conservation had been ingrained in his brain. It irked him to no end. He personally wanted to meet all of these people who ever made her feel inadequate and challenge them for a duel and defeat them so bad that they don’t ever dare to raise their heads again in front of her. 

He huffed. Mood ruined, he walked to the fencing practice grounds, ready to unload himself by swinging his sword around a little bit. It was after he entered through the gate, he heard the tell tale swish of a sword swinging. As experienced as he was, he could tell that the person’s moves were coordinated and contained and even powerful. Entranced, he moved towards the sounds and felt his jaw slack at the sight.  

There she was, Uchiha Sarada, in all her glory. 

Dressed in a plain tunic and dark slacks and hair held in a high ponytail, she had sweat dripping down her chin. She was swinging her sword around and Boruto was mind-boggled over how smooth her moves appeared, how fluid the transition between her moves looked. Entranced, he stood there for god knows how long before her voice breaks through the silence of the training grounds. 

“How long do you plan on standing there?”

He almost jumps and blushes hard in embarrassment and darts his gaze away. After a few seconds of silence, he catches her staring at him from the side of his eyes and she is smiling knowingly, her sword dangling limp on her side.

“I was here to blow some steam off. Would you like to have a spar with me?” He asked, examining a nearby sword.

“I would be honoured to.” 

Boruto grinned at her response. Shedding off his coat and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, he could not hide the glee in his actions. As well as he knew Sarada, she was going to give him a run for his money. She was strong, he knew that. But he wasn’t planning on losing either. He entered the battle space, jumped around a little to warm himself up and then took a stance. Sarada followed his suit and both of them were smirking. 

“Ready?” He raised a brow smugly. 

“Yes!”

“Then here I come!” 

That was all he said before the loud clangs of metal striking reverberated through the entire area and if you ask him, it was music to his ears. To any untrained eyes it would seem as if they were dancing around each other, moving in sync. But Boruto could not hold back his mad smile. Missing each other by hair breadth and revelling in the intensity of the moment was spine tingling. The adrenaline coursed through his veins and oh lord, he was enjoying every second of it. And he was sure that Sarada felt the same way if the smirk on her lips and the feral look in her eyes was anything to go by. 

It was only when the hush of whispers increased to a level where they couldn’t be ignored was when he realised that they were surrounded by people. Mostly peers of their age. Men and women alike. He guessed that ladies might have followed him like they had done a few days before and men might have been interested to do some training themselves.

“I didn’t know princess Uchiha could use a sword!” someone exclaimed from the crowd. The comment would have been fine if Boruto had not sensed a condescending tone speaking it. 

“Poor girl. It’s such a shame that her parents could not produce a male heir. It is just causing her grievances of learning activities that a man should.”

Boruto felt his blood boil at those words. And he was sure that Sarada had heard it as well. The widening of her eyes and clenching her fist was enough of a reaction for him to know. 

“Absolutely true. Ladies look better with fans in their hands, not swords.”

Sarada faltered for a second there and Boruto felt a rush of horror when his sword almost grazed her side. He heard gasps at the almost injury that she might have obtained but it only took people only a moment to start with their gossiping again.

“I wonder if she is trying to score Prince’s affection like this.”

“It is possible. She always pretends as if she does not care about the Prince but we know better. She is as cunning as they come.”

God, what the heck these people are spouting nonsense about? 

Can they not see it for themselves? Or were they being deliberately blind to Sarada’s prowess as a warrior?

He knew he could not allow them to continue this any longer. This was getting absolutely out of hand and he could sense agitation in Sarada’s strikes. He had to protect her honour. This was not only about Sarada’s status as the Uchiha heiress, but also as a woman and a daughter. And his friend. 

And the woman he loved.

Another sharp call for Sarada and he heard someone again and this time he knew what he had to do. 

“There is no way she can beat Prince Boruto. He defeated me in the academy. Any amaetuer Princess running around with a sword is no match for him-AAAAAAHHHH!” The boy was cut off by his own scream of terror as he fell on his butt, a sword lodged in earth less than an inch away from where he stood. Everyone whirled around towards the sparring field and to their immense shock, the Prince of the wind was standing there. 

Swordless.  

But Princess Sarada still had her sword in her hand. It took a few whole moments for the gathered crowd to register what exactly happened. Even Sarada looked stunned. 

Boruto smirked. One wrong move from him was all he needed for Sarada to disarm him and that is exactly what he did. And of course, she was never one to disappoint. 

A combination of a minute mistake from him and a small demonstration of her fine skills.

He lost.

She won.

She whipped her stunned gaze at him and he gave her a knowing wink in return and then stepped forward, casually suntering towards his sword. 

“I always knew you were an amazing swordsman, your highness.” He claimed, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. Grabbing the hilt of his sword,he set his eyes straight towards the perpetrators, as if challenging them to refute his argument, as he pulled it out. “I’m honoured to have battled you.”

The strength in his gaze and conviction in his voice forced heads to bow down. 

“Thank you for being such lovely spectators to our spar.” He announced to the crowd, “You all may leave now.”

Nobody questioned his authority as they began to file and leave one by one, leaving him and his friend the only people last standing.

“Why did you do that?” 

It was the first thing she asked after being left alone.

“What are you talking about? I made a mistake and you exploited it to defeat me. That’s it.”

“No, it’s not!” She raised her voice, anger seeping into her features. “You were defeated by a woman. Boruto, do you not understand how horribly this will damage your reputation?”

They were barely a foot away from one another, the air around them was charged with tension but Boruto was not backing down from this.  

“Does it look like I care? You know it as well as I do, if the match was fair then we both had equal chances of coming out on top.” He argued and sighed,”-And let them talk. I am confident in my abilities enough to defeat each and every single one of the warriors who were present here. In Fact, I am certain you could have defeated them all with only one arm if you wanted.”

Sarada stood their dumbfounded as he proceeded to clean his sword, ready to sheath it back. 

His utmost confidence in her abilities and his adamancy to consider her and value her as an equal made her tremble on inside. He was so stubborn, but in a way where he did things right. His refusal to accept the wrongs happening around him and trying his best to change them made him endearing in ways she could not hope to describe. She admired him. His courage. His righteousness in accepting every individual as his equal irrespective of their status or gender was incredible. 

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled when Boruto waved an arm in front of her face. 

“Uh?”

“I was saying, since you won, I would like to treat you. Say, would you care for some of Robert's lemon tarts?"

Oh, when it came to Mr. Robert, the infamous cook of wind castle and his delicious lemon tarts, then who was she to decline. 

…

“Let me ask again. Why are we, responsible adults, are sneaking around like thieves, in your castle for a tray of lemon tarts that your benevolent cook would gladly offer to his prince.”

She asked acidly, crouching down in the corridors to avoid any mindful eyes, and glared the back of Boruto’s head. 

He turned to her, eyes bright and gave a grin. 

“For old times’ sake Sarada.”

The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn his head back and Sarada could not refrain herself from rolling her eyes. But then again, she didn’t need to follow him around like this, though she was still doing it.

For old times’ sake indeed.   

A few minutes later they were sitting beneath the oak tree in front of her window with a tray full of lemon tarts. She bit into one and almost moaned at the mixture of the sour and sweet flavor of the delicacy blended in such a way that left nothing but more craving on your tongue.

“It’s good? Isn’t it?” Boruto asked, already on his second one.

Sarada hummed in approval, finishing off her first. This moment mirrored the memories of their childhood together when they would sneak around the palace, steal as many lemon tarts as their small hands would allow and run here hoping that their hideout and deed would not be discovered. Because the Queen could be scary when she wanted to be. Maybe nostalgia was the reason that she had requested the queen to allow her this room which was in an entirely opposite wing of the castle.

But she wouldn’t tell anyone that. 

“You know,” she spoke, when on her third tart, “That was quite reckless of you.”

“Hm?” 

“One mistake could have cost you your life.”

He munched on his fifth one and gave her a carefree grin. “Nah, you would have not hurt me. You are too good for that. And even if something happened, it would have just left another scar, nothing much.”

Scar.

Another scar.

Her gaze flicked towards the one plain in view. Over his right eye. It extended from over his eyebrow to the near edge of his nose. She had heard of it. He had gained the injury in a rebellion against the alliance last year. But she never knew how he had gotten injured in the first place. 

Sensing the question in her gaze he gave her a wry smile. 

“The rebels had a group of children as hostages. I infiltrated their hideout and fought a few of them. One was cunning enough to rush to injure kids. I shielded them with my body. That is how I got it.” 

Sarada stared up at him in awe. This man risked his life, so stupidly, to save some little kids.

“Are you insane? Why did you not wait for more people to arrive?”

“Ehhh! One of the kids they took as hostage was very sick. He could have died in that damp and dark place due to his breathing problems. I didn’t have enough time." He explained, his eyes staring at the far away sky "-But it was insane alright." 

He chuckled then suddenly grew silent. He tilted his head towards her apprehensively. 

"Uh...does it look ugly?" 

Sarada blinked twice. The man who is almost always brimming with confidence for almost everything he did was self conscious? About a scar? 

Sarada felt her fingers brushing the bangs over his forehead gently. She knew it was inappropriate for her to touch him like this, but the genuine anxiety in his eyes made her want to convince him in any possible way that it was not a bad thing. 

"No." She whispered, her thumb tracing the scar tenderly "-I like it." 

And how could she not? The scar was a testimony of his kindness and spirit. Something that she cannot help but appreciate as a woman and as a future monarch. 

He is staring at her with wide blue eyes, looking shell-shocked. And Sarada immediately pulled her hand to her chest, face red. A part of her mentally curses herself for her audacity as she is unable to lift up her head. The green of the grass at her feet was much more interesting. 

She does not witnessed the softening of his gaze. He slowly stood up, his sword resting on his hip and the empty tray of tarts in his left hand. He bent

 a little and offered her his hand. Her gaze immediately flickered up to him and he was standing right in front of her with the gentlest expression she has ever seen a man direct at her. It was the same way her father looked at her mother. 

She hesitated for a second but Boruto waited for her patiently, the smile on his face never faltering and his eyes never straying away from hers. She felt her heart hammering in her ears as she placed her small hand into his. And his smile widened at her gesture, his eyes displaying an array of emotions that she could not bring herself to decipher at the moment. 

"Thank you, Sarada." 

He uttered these words with gratitude and Sarada felt her heart swell with feeling that she was too scared to name. Everytime he smiled like that, a swarm of butterflies fluttering inside her stomach seemed to expand upto her throat.

She was not stupid. 

She knew what it meant. Her feelings for him had already surpassed admiration and respect. What she felt now...was a much more intimate feeling. A realisation precious enough that she desperately wanted to hold on to. 

He helped her up but did not let go as they walked down together towards the castle, fingers still entwined. And for the first time in a long while...she did not care about people's opinions anymore. The gentle squeeze of his hand reminded her that he appreciated it. 

Then and there, she made a promise to herself that she will stay by his side as long as he wanted.

…

The ball was the grandest of the grandeur and Sarada had to accept that her mother had done nothing but a fabulous job with the arrangements and decorations. The ballroom was ornamented with a myriad of flowers of white, lavender. The silk curtains in a shade of rich purple enhanced the scene. Anyone who entered the room was left in awe of the colours beautifying it.

The uncountable number of dishes adorned the tables - breads, meats, salads, cakes, tarts, pastries - you name it. Everything tasty enough to be addicting. The wines were of the finest quality in existance and it just showed that the Queen had outdone herself again. 

Sarada tittered around, greeting, meeting and dancing with people. As the future Ruler of the Kingdom of Fire, she had to be in good graces of all of these important people. Dressed in a splendidly beautiful gown in shades of blue, navy and white with golden and silver lacework decorating the bodice and the hem of her skirt, and hair twisted up in an elaborate updo with gorgeous ornaments adorning her and the crown over her head represented her as the heiress of the great kingdom of fire very much.  

She had just been out of her twelfth dance of the night when she felt a sudden tap on her shoulder. She whirled around only to come face to face with the person in whose honour this Ball was arranged. 

He was dressed in a dark cloak in a shade of blue that accentuated his eyes, tunic in stark white with gold lacework and embroidery, and his hair slicked back in a fashionable hairstyle made him look gorgeous in ways she would not dare to describe. 

All she could think was that Boruto looked magnificent. Befitting of the Prince of the Wind.

He smiled and gave her a graceful bow and stretched out a hand, "May I have this dance?" 

"Of course, your highness." She smiled and slipped her hand into his. 

The music started in a slow tempo, and he gently pulled her onto the floor, leading the dance with a confident temperament. Nevertheless, their presence alone on the dance floor together attracted a lot of attention. Sarada wondered if she wanted to be bothered by it but before she could come to any conclusion Boruto leaned in, and whispered gently in her ear, “You look beautiful tonight.” 

Sarada smiled. “If I may say, you look handsome yourself, my prince.”

Boruto chuckled and started a little faster as the pace of the music increased. And Sarada giggled to herself knowing that it was futile to worry about what others thought of when she knew what she desired.

"It was such a shame that I didn't get to attend your debut ball."

He lamented, adjusting their movements in accordance with the music and enjoyed swirling her around the dance floor. His steps were flawless and contained and his grip was steady. He guided her through the crowd smoothly, never misstepping. 

"Oh, is that disappointment I hear, your highness?" Sarada smiled mischievously, dark eyes glinting. 

"Maybe." He grinned, pulling her closer to him. 

"Well, to ease you a little, my first dance was with my father and the last one was with my teacher." She leaned into him a little, aware that the distance between them was less than proprietary accepted. But she couldn't care less at the moment. 

"No random suitors?" He asked with wide eyes. 

"No one was significant enough." Sarada claimed, her grip on his shoulder tightened a little. 

"Oh, are you aiming a little high, Princess?" Boruto laughed, blue eyes boring into hers. She felt a pleasant tingling down her spine. His gaze was soft, but expressing a whirlwind of emotions that she could not distinguish in the moment alone. 

Warmth, affection, tenderness and so much more. She breathed deeply, eyes coming to rest on the sapphire jewel on the centre of his chest. She couldn't look him in the eyes, not with what she was about to do. 

"Well, I'm aiming for a young man with blonde hair and blue eyes." 

Then what followed was silence. They swayed to the beat of instruments floating in the air, but all Sarada could hear was the thundering of her heart. She had been so forward, vulgar if people might say. She could not dare to meet his eyes. If she saw haze of rejection swimming in them, she might break. With every passing second, her fear was spreading through her limbs, the chill of a nightmare that you wish to escape but are not allowed to. 

"I love you. Marry me." 

His words are sudden, crystal clear and Sarada whipped her head up to look at him. He was smiling at her softly, and his eyes looked glossy. 

"Marry me and claim me as yours. And let me claim you as mine." 

He tugged her into his warmth, cradling her gently. "You can answer whenever you wish. I don't mind waiting."

As the music stopped, they separated, but Boruto didn't let go of her hand. He guided her to side, her hand still clasped in his. He turned to her, bending a little and brushing his lips over her gloved hand, his eyes never leaving hers. 

Boruto is then summoned to his father's side to attend some of the guests. He lingered a little but left reluctantly anyway and it allowed Sarada to breathe and contemplate over the recent developments. 

Why hadn't she answered him? When she knew what she wanted, why didn't she accept his proposal? 

Maybe it was because how surreal all of this felt. How the person she had been in love with for so long, loved her back? It was mind boggling. But offered it himself. He offered to hold her hand and stay by her side forever. What more she could ask for? 

She loved him. 

She loved him, oh so much. 

Just then she knew that waiting more was foolish. Seeking him out was not difficult. He was the heart of any show with his handsome grin and welcoming aura. But it's not easy, because every step she took towards him was harder, with more and more people approaching them, it felt as if the Universe itself was pulling them apart. Every new second felt like an eon. 

She did not know if he heard her or felt her longing, but it was a surprise when he suddenly turned to her and their eyes met. looking concerned, he instantly moved towards her, worry wrinkling the edges of skin on the corner of his eyes. 

It took him only a few seconds to reach her but Sarada felt like days passing in between. 

 "Is everything alright?" 

"Yes, but...may we talk?" She gave a glance to the balcony, "Outside?" 

He nodded, and guided her through the crowd of merry people. As soon as they stepped into the fresh air of the night, Sarada whispered, "I do not wish to wait anymore." 

He whirled around, surprised and exclaimed, "What?" 

"I said, I do not wish to wait anymore." 

He was still looking at her as if she was a wonder of the moon but she leaned in and gently grasped his hand into hers. The warmth of his skin seeped through her glove and he looked him straight in the eyes, not scared of niceties of society imposed on them anymore.   

"Claim me as yours, and let me claim you as mine."

The smile that broke on his lips was brilliant than the stars above. Sarada felt her heart skip a beat, and a flutter of untamed feelings rising up at the light shining in his eyes. He did not kiss her or held her close, he simply smiled, and tightened his clasp on her hand. 

And at that moment, Sarada knew, this was what happiness felt like. 

...

I'm, tbh, quite proud of how things turned out for this fic. I loved how they managed to find their homes in each other! They are both precious! haha! Please let me know if you enjoyed this fic! And lots of love for reading it!

#borusara #borusarafics #boruto x sarada #boruto and sarada #boruto uzumaki #sarada uchiha #boruto #sarada #boruto naruto next generations #royal au #adi writes

[calliecat93]

Top 5 Things I Liked About RWBY Volume 7

(Top Dislikes)

Gosh, we are so close to Volume 8 now, and it’s driving me crazy! But we’re not there yet. So let’s continue to remember what Volume 7 delivered upon us. Last time I did the Dislikes post, so now it’s time for the Top 5 Likes post! Which this was so, SO much easier to come up with than the Dislikes list! Like I said there, this volume is so well-written and jam-packed full-on content. It was a rollercoaster of a ride where even though I didn’t want to get back on for a while, that thrill was everlasting. Whether V8 will give the same result will be determined soon, but for now let’s go over the Top 5 Likes of RWBY Volume 7. As always, just my opinion, so take with a grain of salt~

Okay, let’s go!

#5. Oscar Development

By far one of the biggest criticisms against Volume 6 was how it handled Oscar. There was a LOT of good setup concerning his identity crisis as he struggled with keeping control, maintaining his own identity, and the potential burden of just being another of Oz’s wasted lives. While he DID reach a new confidence by the end which was nice, it... was more or less offscreen. To many, myself included, Oscar felt wasted and I specifically criticized how the execution made it feel like depite what Ruby said and what the narrative is trying to say, it DOES feel like Oscar’s viewed as just Oz’s vessel and that’s all his importance amounted to. I was hoping that Volume 7 was going to rectify this like they did with Ruby in Volume 6. Did they do so?

Absolutely yes.

While they still have a bad habit of setting up Oscar in trouble but it turning out to be a fake-out (his disappearance due to Neo), the volume did a LOT to improve his position. With Oz gone, Oscar has to be diplomatic on his own. He’s in a position where he can get close to Ironwood in a way that the others can’t and see him actually vulnerable. Unlike the others, who keep just pointing out to Ironwood how his actions are problematic to varying degrees, Oscar can see what’s really causing it: fear. Which is something that Oscar can relate to. After all, he was terrified when his quest began, but he always faced it and went forward everything to do what was right. Even when it meant leaving home, even when it meant facing unjust anger from others, he did so.

Oscar tries to reason with Ironwood. He tries to have him realize that it’s okay to be afraid. That it’s okay  to be honest with those around him. That it’s okay to be vulnerable. Ironwood isn’t the only one either. In the beginning, he’s worried about Ruby’s lie because of how much it reminds him of what Oz did to them. You could argue that he’s developed into the conscious of the group, but he knows how to reason with these matters in a peaceful way. He’s becoming more of a diplomat similar to Ozpin, which even Ironwood points out in Chapter 9.

Then there’s the finale. Sadly, despite all of his pleas and how much he reached out to him, Ironwood ultimately rejected him and Oz. He rejected the route of trust and embraced fear, sealing the deal by shooting Oscar. But while he couldn’t help Ironwood, he did help someone else: Ozpin. His words convinced the former headmaster to at last return and face his own fears, saving them both. It also allowed Oscar to gain more of Oz’s power and memories. The boy has gone form a scared teenager entering a world he doesn’t truly understand, to becoming a courageous young man filled with compassion and hope for those around him. And this time, we got to actually see that growth unfold. He’s still got a long path ahead of him, but this greatly amended Oscar’s character and I am grateful for it.

#4. Penny Polendina

SHE CAME BACK! YAY!!! I MISSED HER SO MUCH!!!

Every since hr death in V3, I fully expected Penny to come back at some point. And indeed, she did! And with her memory intact, thank goodness! While I do wish we got some more exploration in how she felt about dying and such, her role int his volume was so well done I can forgive it. She has more screentime in this volume than Volumes 1-3 combined, and I love it! A cute new design, her struggling between duty and her own wants, trying to understand feelings and finding them to be a beautiful thing, there is SO MUCH going on with her here.

Penny is part of Ironwood’s inner circle, having been assigned as he Protector of Mantle. She takes her job seriously and does her best to protect the citizens. She’s elated to see Ruby and the others again and tries to assist them as much as she can. But as the volume goes, we see how much she struggles between her dedication to Mantle and Ironwood’s orders. It’s especially clear fter she is framed for the massacre during the elections. The poor girl is mortified, everyone viewing her as just another of Ironwood’s robots. Even Ironwood feels this way with his insensitive comment bout her being ‘under his control’ during the Council Meeting. The poor girl just needs a hug.

But this helps set Penny apart from Atlas. Unlike the others, who are following orders, Penny is trying to follow her heart. She tries to encourage Winter to do the same when she snapped at Jaques, even saying that all she did was speak form the heart and has no reason to feel ashamed of it. After Ironwood declares martial law, she is clearly upset and outright says that it’s wrong. She even asks Winter if this bothers her, and isn’t very convinced by her argument about the general taking on the burden. Penny chooses to embrace her feelings, not reject them as Winter, the Ace-Ops, and Ironwood have done.

It ends with Penny comforting Fria as her Maiden powers go out of control. How does she do this? She simply goes up to her and gently asks her if she’s okay. She shows the old woman more compassion and care than she’s probably had in quite a while. As a result, Fria ultimately transfers the Winter Maiden powers ot her. It proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that despite being a robot, Penny is a real girl. Hell, she is by far the most human of the Atlesian characters in this volume. She ultimately feels disheartened by Fria’s death, but still goes with Ruby and the others because that’s the right thing.

Penny’s character arc was a delight. There were so many expectations with her return, and I am so happy with the result! Penny feels so much more three-dimensional now. She still has the sweetness that made us love her before, but she also grew as a character. She embraced her feelings, she made choices for herself after having to abide by Ironwood’s rules for so long, she even managed to get some payback on Cinder for her death. Her good-heart and kindness was rewarded at the end. I do worry for her, especially since Salem’s Whale Grimm is absolutely a Montstro reference, but I’m still so happy with her in this volume~

3. The Atlas/Mantle Conflict

I am... not good at talking about this kind of thing, so I apologize if this seems rambly or all over the place. The big conflict pf the volume was the division between Atlas and Mantle. We knew going in how Atlas was seen as a bastion of civilization, but also full of snobs and an army leader who doesn’t exactly have his priorities straight. We knew that Mantle was the former capital and it was easy to assume that it probably wasn’t in the best state... and HO BOY were we right.

While Atlas looks futuristic and pristine, Mantle is run-down and out-of-date. The former capital and it’s people have not been treated well and worse, Atlas controls everything including their heating system. Ironwood has forced the city to be without essential provisions for Amity, and has therefore left them vulnerable to the Grimm. It’s easy to see why Mantle would resent Ironwood and Atlas as a whole, and why it was easy for Watts and Tyrian to widen the divide. It’s like the Chorus conflict in the Chorus Trilogy in RvB, only we’re there to see the division outright instead of coming in many years later. Our heroes are trying to mend the divide, but it’s so much easier said than done when neither side will budge.

There’s a lot of contrast with the two sides. Ironwood is a seemingly cold man with an authoritarian streak. Robyn is more laid-back, if a little cocky but her heart is very much set on helping Mantle. Both can be very brash and place trust above all else. But they both run their respective groups very differently. Robyn views the Happy Huntresses as her friends, while Ironwood trained the Ace-Ops to be his loyal attack dogs. Robyn is willing to give her trust until it gets broken, while Ironwood is wrapped by his own paranoia. We see how these two groups function. They have similarities, but are also very different especially when it comes to how their leaders treat their respective groups.

There is a HUGE class issue between Atlas and Mantle. It’s not helped by Ironwood’s plans causing further suffering, and of course in the end he chooses to leave it open to Salem in favor of saving Atlas. The fandom has fought back and forth for months over if this was right or not, which only proves the point of the division. You can see where each side is coming from, and we care for the people on each side. The conflict was presented throughout the volume with the heroes trying to help, but they sadly fail. The moment Tyrian’s slaughter happens in Chapter 6, you can break the tension with a butter knife and it doesn’t let up. We’ll probably only see more of it with Volume 8 now that Mantle has no protection. But as far as this volume goes, it was presented very well and very strongly.

#2. The Fall of James Ironwood

Love him or hate him, Ironwood is by far one of the strongest written characters in the show. Ever since his intro in Volume 2, we have been building up to this moment. The man has a LO of flaws. He’s arrogant, brash, favors military might over being discreet, and has a bad tendency to not learn form his missteps. These flaws contributed to the Fall of Beacon. But we also saw a man who was honest, righteous, respected Ozpin, and for all had flaws seemed to have good intentions. He was always willing to put himself on the front lines and took none of Jaques’ elitist shit. Sure he caused the Dust Embargo and closed Atlas down, but he also defended Weiss in Volume 4 and was clearly upset about the Fall fo Beacon. We saw a flawed, but still good man and if he could just embrace his flaws and open his heart, he could have been the great hero that he appeared to be.

Sadly thought, that wasn’t meant to be.

Ironwood is shown to be dishelved and plagued by paranoia, but he HAS created a plan to re-establish communications and expose Salem. But his police state with Mantle has the heroes concerned, so they lie to him about Oz and the lamp. The man continues to make questionable decisions, like I already said about his treatment of Mantle. But he still seems devoted tot he cause and like despite these calls, his intentions are still good and it will pay off even with the bad press. Heck, after Robyn tells him to trust her in Chapter 9 and with a push form Oscar, he seemed to FINALLY be doing the right thing. he revealed the truth about Salem to everyone, he worked alongside Mantle, and he faced Watts in the same place where his greatest failure had occurred. It seemed like all the begging and pleading had worked.

Sadly though, it all fell apart once Ironwood saw the glass chess piece.

Ironwood’s greatest enemy isn’t Salem. It’s not Robyn. It’s not he council. No, it’s himself. He has closed up his emotions and his hear to everyone around him. He has buried himself in his paranoia and his pursuit in defeating Salem. With every mistake, Ironwood failed to learn and move forward. He just became more and more consumed by his own fear. He wanted to be a strong leader. To be like Oz. But like Oz, he ended up losing himself and unlike Oz, he couldn’t acknowledge where he went wrong. In many ways you can sympathize with him because of the bleak situation and him trying to do what he can with what he has. But sadly, none of that can justify the path that he ended up taking.

Ironwood is angry at Team RWBYs lies. This and Salem’s approach pretty much causes him to snap. He’s going to let Fria die so that Winter had the Maiden powers. He's going to abandon Mantle to their demise in a futile plan to raise Atlas into orbit. When RWBY opposes this, he orders them to be arrested. He even coldly confirms that he’s leaving Mantle to die. However one feels about this choice, as a cruel but necessary choice to save what can be saved, or a needless sacrifice made by a fascist dictator, one can at least make an argument about either point that makes it hard to say who was right. Him snapping at Oscar and knowingly shooting the kid to his demise? No. That one cannot be justified at all, especially since he was as cold as steel when he did it.

This moment has been built-up since we met him all those years ago. We wanted Ironwood to do the right thing. We all hoped that he would. But he didn’t, and it isn’t shocking at all. We saw enough to like Ironwood, but to also be very much aware of his faults that he just never seemed able to conquer. His fall form grace is tragic, yet done in such a satisfying way as well. I felt for him, but there was no justifying his actions. I kept hoping that he’d pull through, but once Chapter 11 hit, I knew we were at the point of no return. The James Ironwood we once knew is no more, consumed by his fear. What will happen to him next? Will he manage to realize his wrongs? Or will he continue to fall until there’s nothing left to salvage? It’s hard to say. But for now, the tin man has lost his heart,. A very sad, but very well done, character arc for sure.

1. The Theme of Trust and Fear

When I first heart this volume’s opening, Trust Love, I liked it... but the more the volume went, the more the optimistic song felt out of place for the dark volume. Considering this IS an anime, that’s probably intentional. But the more I examined the lyrics, especially after the full version came out, the more I truly realized how it fits with this volume. The song speaks of one trying to live in their dream world, but they need to face reality and trust those around them. They need to stop waiting for a miracle, they need to take control of their life now and move forward. hey need to... well, trust in love. Then you have the finale song, Fear, which  outright asks ‘who will you be when you are faced with fear? Will you see the person you hope to see? Or will you see a stranger?” Will you feel proud? Or will you feel betrayed?

This is the theme of the volume. The theme of trust and the right thing against fear. Ironwood claims to trust the heroes, yet he can’t trust anyone else and his own fear is slowly consuming him. The heroes are mistrustful of Ironwood, but they trust each other and want to help mend the divide between Ironwood and Mantle. But at every turn, fear gets ii n he way. Tyrian’s slaughter makes Mantle afraid and enraged. Ironwood’s fear keeps him from opening up and it leads to his downfall as I already described. The Ace-Ops don’t fight together as a team, which leads to Team RWBY who DO trust each other to defeat them. Clover is blinded by his loyalty to Ironwood to recognize that he’s doing the wrong thing, and it leads to his death. Not to mention the mistrust between him, Qrow, and Robyn lead tot he crash to begin with.

As Oz says in his monologue, fear is the greatest thing that everyone shares. We see everyone afraid. Ironwood is afraid. Ruby is afraid. Ozpin is afraid. Even Cinder is afraid. It’s all for different reasons. Ironwood is afraid of Salem. Ruby is afraid of the uncertainty ahead. Ren is afraid of failing Nora and the others. Cinder is afraid of failing to achieve her foals. Qrow is afraid of bonding with others, especially considering what happened to Clover. Ozpin...d o I even need to elaborate on him? The title to Chapter 13 is ‘The Enemy of Trust’. What is that enemy? Fear. Recently, I’ve been feeling that same fear of trust. Fear of being hurt. Fear of being betrayed. Fear of the unknown. It’s a VERY powerful force, and a tempting one at that.

The message of the volume ultimately si that it’s okay to be afraid. It’s perfectly human to feel that way. You don’t need to get over it. It doesn’t matter if you’re afraid, it’s what you do in the face of it that matters. Will you face it? Will you do what’s right? Will you find it in yourself to trust and love again? Or will you succumb to it? Will you end up repeating your mistakes because of your fear? Will you make the wrong choice? What will that say about the person you are? One way or another, we all will find out the answer to that question. We may not know the answers for a long time, but you ultimately need to try and do what’s right. You can’t let the fear control you. You need to decide who you will be when ti comes, and if in the end you will be happy with who you are left with.

Ironwood chose to repeat his mistakes, and is now a heartless tin soldier. Ozpin ultimately chose to return and face it and while only time will determine how that goes, it’s a step in the right direction. People like Ruby and Oscar still tried to do what thy knew was right. Weiss was afraid of her father, but faced him to gain her freedom. Blake feared Adam and the White Fang and chose to run, but eventually decided to fight back and ultimately won. Yang was afraid after losing her arm and of being abandoned, and while she struggled she ultimately faced it, proving herself stronger than her cowardly mother. Even after Ruby broke down when it became clear that Salem killed her mother, she still faced the wicked witch, told her off to her face, and pulled herself together enough to warn everyone about Ironwood and stand her ground. And there’s so any other examples that I could list. 

I think considering the times right now, this message is incredibly important. It’s been a major part of the series since the start, but Volume 7 especially made it prominent. We need to trust in love. We need to be courageous enough to do the right thing. We need to be able to express our fear and doubts with others to become better. In a world where everything 9si uncertain and everyone is on edge, I think that the themes here are more relevant than ever, and was handled very well. Especially with that monologue in Chapter 13. As such, this is my favorite part of RWBY Volume 7 without a doubt.

Well, that’s it folks! It was nice to revisit Volume 7 again after so long~ But as we close the book, we’re about to open another for Volume Eight. What’s gonna happen? I don’t know. Am I scared? Oh big time. But I’ve come this far, I’m not backing out until the very end. So I hope that you all enjoy Volume 8, and as always I look forward to reviewing it all~ See you all on premiere day~!

#rwby #rwby reviews #rwby musings #callie reviews #top likes/dislikes

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 158

Chapter Summary - Danielle and Diana look after Lucy and talk over a few things. 

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine. All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade 

Tom could not help but erupt in laughter at the picture that was sent to him, so much so, people around him looked at him startled, for which he had to apologise.

Emma had been gone for four hours from her home and in that four hours, she had contacted Danielle eight times to check on Lucy, which Danielle informed him of but not in a snide or ridiculing manner, merely a comment in general conversation. To settle Emma's anxiety at being away from her eight-week-old daughter for the first time exceeding two hours, Danielle had taken to taking pictures of the infant to send her mother to show Emma just how calm and relaxed her daughter was, leaving out the fact that Lucy did have a good cry for herself at realising that though she knew the smells of the two women that were caring for her, neither of them were her mother but she settled in the end, thanked mostly by Danielle's idea of the muslin cloth that Emma had used earlier and it having Emma's smell. She also changed her shirt to one she told Emma to wear the day before so that she could settle Lucy better, it seemed to have worked, Lucy was content overall. For all of the pictures, Danielle had a method of telling the time on-screen to show Emma that she was okay. Some of the pictures were of Lucy sleeping or drinking a bottle of expressed milk Emma had left. One was one that Emma had actually sent Tom of Danielle and an awake Lucy both looking at the television, the cycling race on with intense focus on their faces. That one made Tom worried about Danielle's issue with maternal urges. She looked entirely comfortable and content in the picture. But there was one picture, which, going by the message that accompanied it was done entirely in jest, of Lucy, looking a little startled and looking to the side with a still image from the raptors in the kitchen scene from Jurassic Park as the background. It was so ridiculous and silly that it was hilarious, causing Tom's loud laugh in the Wimbledon centre-court food tent that earned the worried looks from those around him, including a momentary startling of the royal bodyguards. Emma enjoyed the picture also, apologising to Danielle for being such a worried but Danielle dismissed her and told her she was more than happy to give her peace of mind.

Danielle, for her time, was spending time watching her cycling, dealing with Lucy and cooking some food to freeze for Emma and Jack since Jack was working full weeks and Emma was still learning to juggle Lucy and her home. She showed Diana the picture she altered that she sent Emma resulting in her erupting in laughter that Danielle knew well was almost identical to the way Tom laughed, something she loved, him having clearly gotten it from her.

She used Lucy's naps as times to sort of few things she knew Emma wanted sorting in her home, including putting up a shelf. As she did so, Diana looked at her almost in awe. “You are a very capable woman, I would not have been able to do that in my day.”

“My Mam was forced to know a lot because Dad would be working the most of the time, especially in the Spring,” She explained as she screwed in the piece of wood in. “And of course, I was there with her, so I learnt a bit from her.”

“What do you think she would make of all of this?”

Danielle sighed. “They'd be really excited. She'd have rung everyone and anyone. Dad and she would have probably come over for a few days because of it. Dad insisting on going for a whiskey with Tom, of course, and I would have her here talking about the finer details of things with us.” Her smile fell slightly and she bit her lips together as she thought of her parents and how they would be elated at her and Tom getting engaged. “I am really going to miss having them for this. This is the first big thing that not having them here for it will hurt. I mean, moving to England was a big thing, I know but I'd probably never have done that if they had been alone and I did it to her away from home. Plus my getting my career, as great an achievement as I know it is, was not like a college graduation or anything, marriage and a family were the ones I felt that if they happened, would be the hardest and being honest, knowing I don't have them for it really hurts and is the only thing I feel is missing from this wonderful event.” Tears began to well in her eyes. “I am so grateful to have you and Emma, I swear but…”

“Don't worry, I understand,” Diana assured. “I have the honour of being here for my girls’ weddings, and for my two granddaughters, I cannot imagine how lonely it feels to not have your parents here sometimes, I wish you had them but not having them here now brought you to our family and gave my daughter a true friend, my son a partner who truly loves and appreciates him and me a lovely neighbour and soon-to-be daughter-in-law.” Diana hugged Danielle close to her, Danielle almost gripping her too tightly. For a moment, Danielle felt like she couldn't let go, Diana said nothing but held her, knowing that Danielle required the contact. It was when Lucy informed them that she woken again that Diana rubbed Danielle's back for a moment and pulled back. “You are an incredible young woman, Elle Hughes and we love you so much. Knowing that you and Tom are taking this step together is wonderful and we are so happy for both of you. We always saw you like family, this only makes it official.”

Danielle said nothing as she went and got Lucy out of her cot, talking gently to her as she changed her, making her smile as she cleaned the mess she had made of herself and bringing her to her grandmother, who had used the time to ready a bottle, curling Lucy against her as she did and loving the smell of young baby against her, knowing it would do her hormones no good yet loving it all the same.

*

“All alone?” Tom turned around to see Benedict smiling at him four feet away.

“Apparently babysitting a goddaughter is far more interesting than tennis.” Tom beamed at his friend, embracing him in a hug. “How are you?”

“Good, how were the few weeks on the south coast? You look as though you went on holiday to the Caribbean. And if Danielle is that excited to mind children, there's two more she can look after any time she is willing.” He smiled.

“Don't say that to her, she already adores those boys. She is wondering when she can spoil them again, apparently, Christmas and birthdays are not enough.”

“You'll have to just bite the bullet and give her one,” Ben joked.

“Not yet.”

“Again with 'yet’, I suppose if you want to do it the conventional way, you're still a few steps off that.”

“We're going through them though.”

“You need to get a ring on that finger, that's the next one.”

Tom could only laugh at Ben's words. “No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do. I mean, Sophie and I did it a little skew-ways but...what's with that grin?”

Tom only continued to grin widely. “Are you and Sophie free any time this week?”

“We have a few things on, would a breakfast work someday, usual place?”

“No, not public, ours.”

“Wait, she's not pregnant, is she?” Ben inquired in a low voice.

“Not that I am aware and going by the swim she did yesterday, I don't think she is aware either if she is.”

“Then why the privacy?” Again Tom smirked. “Tom?” Tom's grin increased. “You've asked her, haven't you?” Tom gave a slight nod. “And?”

“She said yes.”

Ben's face went through the several phases from shocked to elated before he embraced his friend tightly. “Congratulations,” he whispered. “I…fucking hell, congratulations.” he chuckled.

“Thank you. You're the first to know outside of families.”

“Luke?”

“Tomorrow, face to face.”

“Mum's the word,” Ben promised. “Sophie will be delighted. I’m thrilled for you both. How is Danielle with it all, especially with that weird Irish thing of waiting so long?”

“She’s good, she seems incredibly happy with it all, we're talking about next summer,” Tom explained.

“That’s a long time.”

“A year is long in some respects, short in others. If that's what she feels comfortable with, then I am more than happy to wait. Just having her agree is enough at this stage. She…”

Benedict chuckled heartily. “It's great to see you this happy, Tom, it really is,” he clapped his shoulder before the tannoy informed them that the match was starting. “I had best go, I told my father I would be quick. Where are you?”

“Royal box.”

Ben laughed for a moment. “I bet Elle got a kick out of that. We will arrange breakfast one of the days do, check if Thursday works.” He declared as he walked to the stands to watch the match leaving Tom to grin before turning to take his seat.

#i hate you i love you #chapter 158 #wolfpawn #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

[goindownshipping]

Please do #3 for Stony

Take me into your loving arms

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (Stony)

Rating: Teen (T)

Notes: “A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.” In this universe, people have multiple soulmate matches, and people often meet more than one soulmate in a lifetime. Thanks for another great one, @ohwereusingourmadeupnames!

Word count: 3.2k

Summary:

Tony didn’t live with much regret in life. He was proud of his work, he had great friends, he was involved in the community. The darkness only crept in on particularly bad days when he returned to an empty condo, reminded of the fact that he couldn’t find a partner in life. In all reality, it shouldn’t have been that hard for him to find someone. 

Or, Tony has given up on finding a soulmate when he matches with an unlikely colleague.

Feel free to send me prompts!

Tony didn’t live with much regret in life. He was proud of his work, he had great friends, he was involved in the community. The darkness only crept in on particularly bad days when he returned to an empty condo, reminded of the fact that he couldn’t find a partner in life. In all reality, it shouldn’t have been that hard for him to find someone. 

Ever since he was a child he’d been taught about soulmates. He read fairytales and watched movies about when people finally met one of their matches. As a child, he dreamed of the day that he would finally brush hands with someone and everything around them would disappear except whatever his soulmate was thinking at that moment. The movies made it look beautiful; the prince asking the princess to dance, taking her hand, and in that instant, the world would shift on its axis. Immediately the prince and princess knew they were meant to be and they lived happily ever after.

But of course, that’s not how it worked in the real world. Tony met his first match when he was 16 and he was elated. He couldn’t believe he’d found a match already! He couldn’t understand why that first boyfriend dumped him a few months later, claiming they’d met a match with a stronger connection. That was when Tony learned that he didn’t live in a fairytale; meeting a soulmate didn’t mean guaranteed happiness. It seemed like some kind of sick joke that the universe would identify your most compatible partners only to remind you that you’re still not good enough for them.

Years passed and Tony lost faith in soulmates. He avoided people that seemed like they could be matches, resorting to casual hookups, and flings through college. It seemed like the safest way to avoid perpetual heartbreak. Years after college he met Pepper Potts and he thought he’d finally found it. They fit together perfectly and Tony let his battered heart and self-confidence rebuild itself.

That went out the window when his best friend Rhodey got out of the Air Force and came home so Tony could finally introduce him to Pepper. It seemed like a cruel joke when he watched them shake hands and saw the faraway look in both their eyes. As much as they tried to laugh it off and ignore it for a while, it was only a matter of time before things broke down between Pepper and Tony.

Tony couldn’t be too mad about that one. Pepper and Rhodey were the two best people he knew and who was he to get in the way of that. Besides, he had too much fun taking credit for their disgustingly happy marriage.

So all in all, Tony was happy with how his life had played out. He’d long ago given up on finding another soulmate and was perfectly content with that decision. He was grateful that he’d had early success in his career, and now sat in an executive position at a swanky marketing firm. 

Said executive position had him in charge of the annual summer picnic for his division and he was doling out responsibilities to his team. As he went down the list he focused on Steve Rogers. Steve was his second in command in the office and the guy drove him up the wall. They’d started around the same time at the firm, but had always rubbed each other the wrong way. They worked together well, but that was where it stopped. However, just because they weren’t friends, that didn’t mean they didn’t engage in some good office competition.

To: Rogers, Steve

From: Stark, Tony

Subject: Stark vs. Rogers 2020, Stark’s Revenge

Message: Get ready for the annual softball game, I’m not letting you steal this one! - TS

--

Tony knew he had a competitive streak, and he was certainly not going to let his team lose to Rogers in the company softball game once again. Year in and year out, Steve Rogers and his team managed to win the game, but it was always close, Tony’s team just barely losing, never by more than two runs. This year, Tony wasn’t going to let that happen. Team Stark was barely holding on to a tie game, and all Tony had to do was make it from second base to home plate. 

As Clint prepared for his wind-up, Tony took a lead off the base, hands on his knees, and ready to run. He glared at Steve, who was crouched behind home plate, daring him to throw him out if he stole third. Before he could think about it too long, the ball was out of Clint’s grip and sailing toward Natasha. Her swing made contact with the ball with a loud crack, spurring Tony into a full sprint toward third. He rounded third without hesitation, closing in on sweet victory over Team Rogers.

As he sprinted down the third base line, Tony could see Steve poised on home plate, waving frantically toward one of his outfielders. He could nearly taste the victory when he saw the highlighter yellow softball come in to view out of his periphery. Before he could think about it, Tony tucked his left leg under, extended his right leg toward the plate, and used his speed to propel him into a slide. As soon as his foot hit plastic, Tony felt the thump of Steve’s glove against his shoulder. Before he could look to Bruce for his call, everything shifted around him.

Suddenly, he felt as if his head was underwater. The loud voices and cheers were reduced to soft echoes, nothing quite reaching his brain. Through the fog, he heard one voice loud and clear, ringing brightly in his head.

“What the hell?” 

Tony knew that voice. That deep, buttery smooth timbre belonged to none other than Steve Rogers. Tony turned his head slowly, unable to move any faster, and was surprised to see Steve on a knee, his hands pressed to his temples.

“Oh fuck, come on!”

Steve pressed his fingers hard into his temples, willing his body to regain some semblance of balance. When he heard Tony’s gravelly voice break through the haze, he paused. He forced his eyes open and they immediately locked with Tony’s.

In a moment, the world seemed to snap back into motion; noise and commotion rushing around them. Natasha knelt at Steve’s side as Bruce checked on Tony. Before anyone could ask any questions, Tony looked up at Bruce.

“Please tell me I was safe."

Both teams erupted into laughter, the tension leaving the air for the moment.

“Yeah man, you were safe. Looks like Team Stark finally got a win under their belt."

With that, a few team members helped Tony and Steve to their feet, watching both men cautiously. It wasn’t unheard of for people to discover a soulmate in front of a group of people, but it wasn’t exactly commonplace either. Most of the crew disappeared, leaving Tony and Rhodey standing with Steve and Bucky. Steve nodded toward Bucky and whispered something about a quick word with Tony. 

Rhodey looked between the two of them and shook his head with a smile on his face. “I’ll be with Pepper, Tony,” he said as he walked away.

As much as Tony wanted to whine in protest, he knew he needed to get this conversation over with. He turned to Steve, with his stupid blue eyes, unfair beard, and drool-worthy chest. Those were new thoughts for Tony, but damn if Steve looked good with a light layer of sweat and breathing heavily from exertion. He couldn’t help but look Steve up and down, drinking in the man in front of him, evidently, a soulmate. He tried to think through all the years he’d known Steve, unable to believe they’d never made physical contact until that moment.

“Before you say anything,” Tony started, “I don’t really do soulmates."

Steve took a deep breath, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “What do you mean by that, Tony?”

“Exactly what I said, Rogers. You know how I am, I’m not built for relationships, and I’m certainly not built for soulmates."

“Well, clearly you are, given what just happened out here."

“I never said that I’ve never matched with anyone, I just said I don’t do soulmates. Ask Pepper if you want. We tried, I wasn’t good enough,” Tony rambled.

“Do I get a say in this?” Steve interjected.

“What could you possibly have to say, Steve? You know as well as I do that we’re like oil and water, why should we try something we know won’t work?”

“I know that you’re stubborn, and you’re driven. You’re the smartest guy in this division by a mile and you’re dedicated to anyone and anything that matters to you. I think we’d be stupid to ignore what lies under the surface for us."

Tony shook his head hard. “No, Steve, I can’t." Tony took a deep breath and opened his mouth as if he was going to continue, but he snapped it shut.

Before Steve could say anything else, Tony spun on his heel and headed toward the rest of their colleagues and friends. “I’ll see you behind the barbecue in an hour or so!” he called back toward Steve.

When Tony dropped onto the bench next to Pepper and Rhodey he immediately closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the backrest. He hoped for a moment of peace before the interrogation he knew was coming, and managed to count to 30 before Pepper cleared her throat.

“Yes, Pep?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“You wanna tell us what the hell just happened, Tony?”

“I think you know what just happened,” Tony sassed back.

“Alright, alright,” Rhodey soothed. “What did you and Steve talk about?”

“Nothing important. I told him that I don’t do soulmates, he got stubborn about it, that’s it."

Pepper and Rhodey shared a glance.

“I can hear you silently judging me. At least do it out loud so I can join the fun,” Tony quipped.

“We’re not judging you,” Pepper started.

“Don’t you want to at least give it a shot? I mean, it’s Steve. He’s a great guy, I’ve never understood your beef with him,” Rhodey said.

Tony snorted. “Yeah, no way. I don’t want to give it a shot especially because it’s Steve. Now, I have an hour until I have to cook all your lunches with the guy, so be nice to me."

The three of them rejoined everyone else on the grass where several games of corn hole, volleyball, and other lawn games were in full swing. Tony grabbed a badminton racket, happily joining in on the fun. He was surprised to see Steve sitting off to the side; he was usually one to engage in team bonding.

Steve was watching Tony with an unreadable look on his face. At first glance, Tony thought he looked angry. Upon further inspection, Tony could see the slight furrow in his brow and pout on his lips. Tony wasn’t sure what to do with the thought that Steve was upset with him, so he turned his attention back to the match at hand, laughing and distracting himself for the time being.

Steve sat quietly, deep in thought as he watched Tony let loose and have fun with their friends and teammates. He wasn’t sure why Tony never revealed that side of himself to Steve, and he tried not to take it personally. He was just as shocked as Tony was at home plate that afternoon, but Steve couldn’t ignore the inkling in his gut telling him to go for it. He wasn’t one to follow soulmate matches blindly; he’d done it once before and everything was perfect until it wasn’t.

Steve truly believed he didn’t have another match out there after Peggy and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing the opportunity to explore a relationship with Tony. He knew Tony was terrified, he was too. He wouldn’t pressure Tony into anything, but he only hoped that maybe over time, Tony would give him a shot. 

Before either of them knew it, Steve and Tony were situated behind one of the many old grills stationed around the park. Luckily the rest of the team had provided the supplies and all they had to do was grill everything up. They worked quietly for a while, easily moving around each other and alternating between watching the grill and getting the rest of the food set out. Tony may have been somewhat helpless in the kitchen, but he knew his way around a barbecue. 

Steve stood back and watched, happy that Tony seemed at ease around him for once. His fingers itched to initiate more contact with the other man, but he fought against the urge. He was brought out of his thoughts by Tony clearing his throat.

“Steve, can you get all the sides set out? I’ll finish up here,” Tony said, gesturing to the grill.

Steve nodded, “Sure thing, Tony." In his haste to get everything ready to go, Steve turned around too quickly and missed the smallest of smiles across Tony’s face.

Once all the food was set out across the picnic tables, Steve called out to everyone and waved them over. Steve and Tony stood back, letting everyone get their plates of food. They easily refilled plates and platters, passing utensils and empty dishes back and forth. When everyone had their food and had settled at the further set of tables, Steve and Tony quietly made their own plates.

“Hey, Tony?” Steve asked quietly.

“Yeah Rogers?”

“Any chance you’d like to join me here for lunch? I’m not sure I can handle all the energy over there."

Tony hesitated. “I, uh-”

“I won’t pester you about earlier, I promise,” Steve interrupted.

Tony watched Steve’s face. The slight droop in his shoulders and genuinely hopeful look in his eye had Tony agreeing. “Sure, Steve."

They situated themselves next to each other at the picnic table, eating in silence. The sounds of laughter and vibrant camaraderie filled the air, making them both smile. After a while, Steve looked up at Tony, a pensive look on his face.

“What is it, Steve? I can see you watching me,” Tony said with a smile.

“I know that I promised not to bring up the thing from earlier, but can I just say one more thing? Then I’ll drop it, I promise."

To Steve’s surprise, Tony just smiled and nodded, gesturing for Steve to continue.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for pressuring you so quickly. It was unfair of me to ask something of you that I wouldn’t want to be asked of me, and I hate that I handled it that way. To be honest, I don’t do relationships or soulmate matches either, at least not anymore. I was so shocked when it happened, I really didn’t think I had another match out there, and I just forgot myself. I hope you can understand how sorry I am."

Tony stared at Steve, not fully understanding. “What do you mean you don’t do soulmate matches anymore?”

Steve paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “It’s been a very long time since I found a match. The last time I did, I thought I’d found my forever person, you know? But I didn’t and things fell apart. It’s not important, it was for the best, that’s for sure. But in the years since then, I haven’t met anyone else that could’ve even had the chance of being a match. I figured I was one of those people that really did have only one. And then you happened today and I got hopeful for a minute, but that wasn’t fair to put on you."

“Steve, as cliche as this is going to sound, my reaction today really had nothing to do with you. Yeah, you drive me nuts at work with all your protocols and doing everything by the books, but my panic today was all me. I’m- I’m broken, Steve. I’m not built for relationships."

“You said that earlier today, Tony. How do you know you just haven’t found the right relationship. What if it’s really not you at all?”

Tony just stared at Steve. The small part of his brain that had been screaming at him all day was blaring loudly in his head, urging him to just try for once. His entire being begged him to just give this a shot. He couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull he felt toward Steve now that he knew the thread tied between them. 

“Steve, I can’t get hurt again. I just can’t do it,” Tony whispered. 

Without thinking, Steve slid across the picnic bench until there was barely any space between him and Tony. He turned to straddle the bench so he could face the man next to him. 

“Tony,” Steve murmured. “Give it a shot. Give me a shot, please."

Tony couldn’t take it anymore. The bodily need to touch Steve began clouding his judgment the closer the man got and it was all he could do to not climb right into Steve’s lap and burrow into his chest. Tony had never had such a strong reaction to a match before. He’d heard stories from friends about when they found their match that there was nothing they could do to fight that urge when they first matched. Sure, people had multiple soulmates out there, but some connections were stronger than others. That very fact led Tony to swear off soulmates, too scared of hurting his partner or being hurt in return.

But there, in that moment on a bench with Steve Rogers, Tony finally, finally, gave in.

“Steve,” Tony nearly sobbed. “Kiss me,” he breathed.

Instantaneously, Steve pressed his lips firmly to Tony’s as he wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist. He helped Tony turn to face him without breaking their kiss. The new position allowed Tony to tangle his hands in Steve’s hair and slide even closer to him. When Tony felt Steve’s tongue trail along his bottom lip, he gasped into the kiss. Steve took the opportunity to softly press into Tony’s mouth, exploring the warmth and softness there.

Tony was letting out little whimpers that he was completely unaware of, lost entirely in Steve. Those noises spurred Steve on, doing anything if it meant Tony would keep making those noises.

Eventually, Tony pulled back, sucking in a deep breath and resting his forehead against Steve’s. Steve unwrapped one arm from Tony’s waist and ran his fingers up and down Tony’s spine when he felt the man let out a shuddering breath against him.

“Was that okay, Tony?” Steve asked quietly.

Tony pulled back enough to look into Steve’s eyes and nodded. “More than. I didn’t know it could feel like that,” Tony admitted.

Steve smiled and in that instant, Tony felt his heart crack open and fill with warmth. He didn’t know anything could feel like this.

“You aren’t broken Tony, I can guarantee you that. Will you give me a shot to prove it to you? Please?” Steve asked hopefully.

Tony leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder, reveling in the feeling of being in the arms of a soulmate. For once, it made him feel safe and loved, rather than terrified and waiting for the other shoe to drop. He nodded, smiling against Steve’s shoulder.

“You’re already proving it to me, Steve,” Tony said with a smile.

#stony #stevetony #stevetony fics #mine