Is absolutely terrified when he finds out. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, he had. Having a baby with you seems like a dream. But he had always shot that idea down. And it’s not because he’s a pirate but because who he is, because who his father is.
Does he even deserve to have a child??
You know the answer and gently hold him as he tells you his fears and worries, assuring him over and over again that he will be a wonderful father. He doesn’t completely believe you, but a faint smile appears nonetheless.
Whitebeard and the crew are ecstatic. A new member for their nakama. They’re going to be aunts and uncles! And the idea of being a grandpa? Oh, Whitebeard is ecstatic
Luffy and Sabo? Oh, they are excited. They’re going to be uncles!!! How could they not be excited!?
And he is happy, he truly is. But Ace wonders if he should be allowed to be excited. If he deserves to be happy. No matter what his crew or his brothers tell him he can’t help but think he doesn’t deserve this.
He struggles between excitement and dread until you're four months along and one day hurry over to him, excitement across your face. He looks at you confused as you hold his hand over the soft swell of your stomach. A few moments later he feels a soft tap against his hand. A kick.
The baby is kicking.
And suddenly all those worries, those fears that had been plaguing his mind vanish in the instant he feels the baby kick. A look of awe appears on his face. That soft fluttering from your stomach is answer enough. Your hand wraps around his, looking at him with a smile.
“Looks like they’re saying hi to Papa.”
He swallows and pulls you close, his hand pressed against your stomach. Seconds later the moment between the two of you is interrupted by the crew, all wanting to feel the baby kick.
After that first kick, Ace’s attitude changes towards the baby and the pregnancy.
He was already protective of you (especially after Marineford where you nearly died to save him), but now it’s magnified 100 times more. Forget trying to do anything remotely lifting. Ace is like a Velcro monkey to you and is always within throwing distance so you can barely pick up a box and he’s taking it out of your hands.
Not to mention that at night when he thinks you're asleep he starts talking to the baby bump, soft and gentle, as to not wake you. He tells them about his day, something one of the crewmen did, about his brothers. Occasionally he’ll talk about his fears and that he hopes he doesn’t fuck everything up with them. You can’t help but intervene at that point telling him he won’t. And even if he makes a mistake, he’s not alone.
He may or may not have nearly shit himself at that point.
You become all too aware that wherever you go, if Ace isn’t there, a commander or crewmate is never far behind you.
Ace had asked them, though it hadn’t taken much to convince them. After all this their crewmate and their niece or nephew too. How could they not make sure that both are safe?
You sigh but just accept your fate. You won’t be convincing your family to not follow you around like ducklings anytime soon
There’s a bet going around the crew as to when the baby will be born and whether it will be a boy or a girl.
They try very hard for you to not find out. They don’t have a death wish
If Marco knows during the examinations he does for you, he’s not telling the crew. He doesn’t even tell Ace (‘the damn bird’ Ace mutters angrily all while you laugh)
The food cravings and morning sickness you honestly could do without. Especially the morning sickness as Ace now wakes up nearly every morning to you puking. The ever dutiful lover he is, he holds your hair back and tries to help you out the best he can.
You want to be angry with him, but one look at that face and it dies on the tip of your tongue. Though your glare of annoyance is still there.
Then the moment finally arrives and you go into labor. And Ace is a nervous wreck, but is trying to be strong for you. He lets you grip his hand, lets you scream and curse at him. Making him promise to never put you through this again
He can’t tell if you’re being serious about the last comment, but wisely (for once, Marco would later tease) keeps his mouth shut
And after who knows how long, you finally deliver that precious little child into this world.
A little girl. You and Ace have a little girl.
The first time he holds his daughter, he just stares at her for the longest time, taking in every inch of her. She’s wrinkly and pink, and so tiny (how can a baby be that small), and wailing so loudly. There’s a tuft of black hair on top of her head and her one little hand doesn’t even wrap around his index finger
But he falls in love in an instant and is crying his eyes out. He doesn’t care if anyone makes fun of him for being a crybaby, his daughter is in his arms. Healthy and alive.
The moment Whitebeard and his crew meet the little girl, it’s love at first sight for the entire crew. She’s only been alive for no more than an hour but she is so tiny and so precious to them already.
Sabo and Luffy drop everything to go and meet their niece when they get word of her birth. It’s actually a race to get there before the other.
Because Sabo knows if he doesn’t get there before Luffy, he’ll never get to hold her.
Ace proves to be the ever doting father. He loves watching every little new thing she does. Every giggle and smile is precious to him. The way she reaches and clutches the red beads of his necklace or plays peek-a-boo with his hat makes him smile. He watches her sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath and he thanks whatever higher power that he gets to meet her.
For Sabo and Luffy that little girl can do no wrong in their eyes and she thoroughly enjoys it when they come to visit. She’s one of the only ones that can touch Luffy’s hat
Though her Papa’s hat is her favorite, much to Ace’s joy and his brother’s annoyance.
And if someone threatens his daughter? Or even attempts to harm her?
There won’t even be a body left to be buried. A well placed Fire Fist and they are nothing but ash.
Likewise if they think that Whitebeard’s crew won’t quickly annihilate anyone who goes after their niece/granddaughter they are sadly mistaken.
That’s not even mentioning if Sabo or Luffy get wind of someone threatening their niece.
It will be a bad day for anyone; marine, bandit, another pirate? Doesn’t matter. Go after her and be prepared to meet your maker.
Sometimes Ace worries he’ll be no better than his father. That one day his daughter will hate him as much as he hates his own father. But then he holds the little girl late at night, watching as she curls up in his arms and to his warmth, a tiny fist wrapped around his index finger and knows one thing:
He loves this little girl and nothing will change his mind.
Can you recommend fanfictions focusing some angst during season 3??
The MoreThanThat archive started the summer between Seasons 2 and 3, so S3 angst is kind of our specialty! You could do a search using any episode title from S3, especially pivotal ones like Merger, Return, Cocktails, Beach Games etc and get a dozen good fics from every single episode (our search function is NOT very robust, so make sure to use single words if possible, also make sure to select "summary" from the drop down menu)
Just to get you started though here are some S3 Angst focused fics recommended by our readers:
More recently posted fics:
the evolution of a paper salesman and a receptionist by tinydundie
Jim and Pam’s Season 3 journey, canon compliant
Housewarming by Sam
Karen has a housewarming party, a Season 3 fix-it
The Auction by Donnamour1969
Dunder Mifflin has a Bachelor’s Auction, set late Season 3
Unwrapped by Coley
The Benihana Christmas we asked Santa for
Build It Better by JennaBennett
What if Pam's parents split up during S3? Bit of a canon mash-up and fix-it
Fail the interview by Kuri333
Set during The Job, what if Pam did more than leave a note in Jim’s folder?
An Exercise in Courage and Honesty by NobleLandMermaid
Pam’s Season 3 journey through the eyes of her art instructor (canon compliant)
Some MTT classics
Truth and Consequences by shan21
Post-Cocktails with a twist, Karen does a bad thing and Jim’s about to suffer the consequences
The Distance and the Damage by unfold
After Jim’s move to Stamford and Pam’s wedding they meet up to get closure, but things don’t quite go as expected
Abeyance by callisto
How the week between Beach Games and The Job went for Jim.
JAM FIC: chamomile, rose water, and other unlikely intoxicants
"Your hands are empty," you note in a level tone, palms flat against the arms of your throne.
"My hands are the offering, Your Highness," he says with a grin, holding both hands out, palms up, fingers lightly curled.
an off-the-cuff jam for the Strilondes discord server. in which Dirk is the somewhat reluctant god-prince of Skaia, and his subjects bring him offerings to show thanks. this time, he gets a very bold, strange offering from the alchemy master’s grandson, Jake.
the conceit is dominance through subservience. this miiiight be part one of more, i have a lot of weird ideas for this AU.
In the kingdom of Skaia, the penitent's offering day is upon you.
Out of all of the necessary pieces of your rule over this place, the offering day is maybe your least favorite. You didn't expect the one-time event to turn into a regular event, let alone one that happens on the eve of every equinox. If you'd known, you'd have some up with some way to put a stop to it.
Instead, you sit in your grand hearing room upon your throne as you look over the various representatives of Skaia, each laden with gifts for their Prince.
You can recognize it as necessary. It's your task to go out into the woods when the shadows grow teeth and turn them back, and yours alone. Making you prince was not enough, apparently, and an advisor had suggested you let this fall into step on the Skaian calendar. Like a birthday.
But we already celebrate that too, you reminded her sullenly.
Just put on your nicest crown and try not to look like a sourpuss, Your Majesty, she'd said.
So here you are, trying not to look too out of your comfort zone as the court recorder announced each penitent and their gift.
From the botanists guild, a dark haired girl steps forward to the long table to place her offering: this year, a wide binding of flowering black iris and silverleaf.
From the forge, you get yet another very ornate sword that you know from a glance will find its place up on a wall, not in any serious swordsperson's hand.
From the city's jeweler, a new crown. It looks nice, and much lighter than the one you're wearing. If it wouldn't send a very bad message, you'd ask for it directly. Instead, you just offer a slightly more sincere thank you.
Four barrels of blackberry wine. A gleaming perfect violin with hand-painted details along the body. Five bundles of midnight purple silk. The gifts come in opulent droves, and you wonder how much is out of genuine desire to please you (the violin-maker, certainly) or to grandstand against their peers (a cage of glittering hummingbirds, why did the aviary think you'd like that?).
The penitent from the alchemy house is not the same as last offering day. There is enough of her handsome jaw in the boy's face that you assume he's one of Alchemist Harley's grandchildren. Hopefully he is simply filling in as he comes of age and nothing's happened to the old woman. You always liked to see her and whatever weird curiosities she brought you, like a boy eager to open his Candlenight's gift from a rich elder.
You wish you could ask after her. You hold your tongue instead as he steps forward, smile calm and clear, his hands conspicuously empty.
"Petitent Jacob English, hailing from the Harley Alchemical House," is announced.
He's a full thirty feet away from you, but his eyes are bright bottle green in the candle light. He bows deeply, showing the back of his neck before straightening.
"Your hands are empty," you note in a level tone, palms flat against the arms of your throne.
"My hands are the offering, Your Highness," he says with a grin, holding both hands out, palms up, fingers lightly curled. Immediately there is a murmur behind him.
"Are they." You can't imagine you're being mocked...
It doesn't seem the case as he penitent boy bows his head. "It's not unheard of to offer services to His Highness instead of luxuries. This season, the Harley family offers respite and relaxation to the throne, administered by my hands." His grin is blinding and cocksure. "A skilled swordsman and keeper of our protectorate might benefit from a massage of the shoulders and wrists."
It's a lucky thing that the discussion in the hall grows. It gives you time to sort through what the hell.
The penitent keeps his head bowed, but not enough you can't see his gaze on you over the rim of his spectacles. The gleam in his eyes is alchemic in of itself, hot metal green.
Your fingers twitch against the arms of your chair. Even if your mind is spinning from the offer, you know this script by heart, and as the chatter softens, you say, "Your house always gives generously, and I'm grateful for their place in Skaia's walls."
You incline your head to him, and he bows away, putting those hands away, folded behind his back as he steps back to his place.
You'll have to speak to him again after all this is over. It's inevitable now, and you turn to the next representative more alert, mentally tracking how many are left to see to.
Too few. Too many.
When the hall clears, you make a game attempt to avoid to topic of the House Harley's offering, ducking out through the curtain behind your throne and returning swiftly to your wing of the castle.
Unfortunately, the handmaidens are seeing to getting all the offerings put away, and you barely get five minutes alone before one of them appears in your doorway to ask when you would like see Mr. English.
The answer is vacillating wildly between immediately and never, thanks. You set your crown in its place and take a bracing breath. "Now is fine. See him up."
Momentarily, your penitent arrives, an armed guard at his side. Any visitor this deep in the castle is always watched by a guard. If he's perturbed, the boy doesn't let it show at all. When he looks through the archway as spies you standing to greet him, he smiles. It has less of an edge than his flinty grin before, and you let out a breath you've been holding. Two steps into the room, he bows deeply. "Your Majesty, thank you."
"Rise," you tell him, and when he straightens, you ask, "If I may enquire, how fares your grandmother?"
His dark skin flushes. "Oh, you remember her! She's fine. Old bones a bit whingy in this cold weather, but spry as a chicken, as always! She'll be pleased you asked."
You nod. "So you've come in her stead."
"Well, the offering was my idea." He bites his lower lip and reaches into a satchel lashed to his hip. Out of it comes a brown glass bottle. "I remember the last exhibition, in the summer? You put on an incredible show, sire, and I just couldn't stop thinking about it. You went up against those mountainous knights, took their blows with one-handed blocks, and I was just full of sympathetic pangs about your poor wrists."
You lift an eyebrow. "The way I hear, the Prince of Skaia is invulnerable. No harm can mar his frame. Do you disagree?"
For the first time, the penitent looks uncertain. He clearly thinks it over before saying, "I think the Prince might have a few aches after such a display."
You like that answer. There is a scar around your throat and you remember being dead, if not what it was actually like before you were returned, but you feel the spectre of the fracture in your elbow every time the temperature drops, and your feet ache after any court event, and your hands *do* ache almost every day from how much you use and abuse them. You clear your throat. "Shoulders and wrists, you said? That's... generous, Sir English."
"Not any sort of sir, just Jake." Then, he adds nervously, "If that's alright."
Jake, not Jacob, who has a bottle of presumed oil that he wants to put on you. Steeling yourself, you glance at the guard standing by the door, recognizing them and judging their discretion before you take a step toward Jake. "This is not necessary if... you are not at peace with the idea. It would cause no offense if you preferred to go."
Jake's eyes are wide behind his glasses. He shakes his head quickly. "No, I don't mind at all. It was my idea, and I-- I would be thoroughly vexed if I didn't get a shot at this."
There's a fluttering in your chest, the urge to overrule him and send him away in confused battle with the eagerness to test his confidence. The courtly manners that have been drilled into you win out, and you nod. "Then, how should- what would facillitate this?"
He smiles. It's a very handsome, honeysuckle sweet smile. He waves to one of the chairs in this sitting room. "The low backed chair would probably be best, Your Majesty."
You take your seat, trying to keep a grasp on your nerves as Jake sees himself to the room. There are more items from his satchel that he puts on the tea table: a little votive candle in a clay pot and a bowl set on top. He lights a match against the clay and tends to the wick before waving the match out, tossing it into the fireplace nearby.
He pours about half of his oil bottle into the bowl before carefully restopping it. "There. That just needs to warm up a bit!"
"What is it?" you inquire. You can smell it, but it's a mixture of so many scents, you can't determine anything except floral and something else, also floral.
"Oh, monkshood, oleander, nightshade--" He beams, terrifically pleased at your frozen expression. "No, of course not. That'd be tactless and mean, anyway. It's a concoction of my own devious designs. Almond oil as the base, then some lemon myrtle, good ol' calming chamomile, rose, clary sage... A load of great herbs, I promise."
You've heard of all those things. You don't know much about their properties. The scent is pleasant, though, and growing stronger as the oil heats. Jake dips a finger in and holds out his other hand. "If you would."
You place your hand in his, and he rubs the oil against your pulse point before releasing you.
Lifting it to your face, it... still smells very floral. Soothing, though. The chamomile is easy to find, powdery and soothing.
"It doesn't need much more heating. Don't want it actually *hot*," Jake says, the back of his fingers against the oil. "And, well. Erm." He looks away from you, at his little setup. "If you'll take the suggestion, Your Majesty, I think it'd be a damnable shame to ruin any of your fanciful threads with this. Might wanna take some of that off."
Right. A massage. An offering of hands. Not just to look at and admire the skill of, but actually on you. With oil that, yes, could ruin your regal jacket.
The guard is at the door, discrete and sentinel. If this strange visitor pulls a blade from anywhere, you will be protected.
It's still quite an ask, to have you strip some layers off.
You stand to take your jacket off, folding it and laying it over another chair before unfastening the top buttons of your lavender shirt. At first, you simply want to pull the linen away from your shoulders to offer up the necessary skin but... you have a feeling that would look ridiculous, and you don't want rumors that the Prince is some shrinking violet to walk out of these halls.
You take off your shirt and sit again, resisting the urge to wrap your arms around yourself or otherwise warm yourself. There's a stern chill in the air. You sit statue still and breath steadily.
Jake's eyes whisk quickly over you, and you think his cheeks darken again. It's hard to tell with his complexion, and even if he did, you don't know what it means. The urge to call this all off grows again. You squash it down. You're a grown adult, not a child.
His hands glistening in the firelight, Jake slowly circles around behind you. Your muscles tense, wanting to follow and watch him. "Easy," you hear whispered, and two fingers touch lightly against each of your shoulders, quelling the instinctive, indignant objection.
It is very rare that anyone but the occasional handmaid touches you. You swallow against the knot in your throat.
The penitent of the house of alchemy offered his hands, and you feel him ease them against the slope of your shoulders, palms pressing down. He doesn't move at first, just rests his warm, oiled hands on you. Predictably and a little embarrassingly, you twitch, fingers tightly fisted and pressed to your legs as you consciously try to relax.
Jake lets out a soft noise, wordlessly sympathetic, and drags his palms down to your arms, the back up.
He comes perilously close to your neck before stopping and reversing again. There is a silver band around your neck, laid directly over the scar. It would not be good to get too close to it.
But he doesn't. He spreads the smooth oil across your skin, redipping his hands to gather more and skate it down to your shoulder blades and the straight line of your spine. His knuckles dig in there, just a little, as he drags his hands back up. That alone has you humming, faint and involuntary.
"You have freckles," Jake says quietly as his thumbs circle the knot at the base of your neck.
"I do," you murmur back.
"If His Majesty doesn't mind me saying so, they're lovely."
*The hell.* You inhale sharply. "Thank you. A gift from my parents."
Jake laughs, and works the heels of his hands harder against you. You can feel the oil starting to sink into you as he massages it in, and you are already starting to see where his pride in its creation comes from. His hands are firm and calloused along the edges in ways that are very compelling, but the oil helps you actually enjoy said hands and interesting callouses.
To your measure, the massage is going well, and you feel Jake's hands taking bites out of your wealth of tension. But it's apparently not enough. Jake pauses, and asks, "Can I make a suggestion, Your Majesty?"
"Go ahead," you say, surprised at how your voice has dropped an octave. You clear your throat.
"Shut your eyes."
You do. Perhaps you shouldn't, but you... very rarely indulge in anything, and this is quite the tempting diversion.
Jake stripes oil over your chin with a swipe of his thumb and instructs you to breathe. Now, the rose and chamomile seems to fill your lungs, expanding inside as you take the deepest breath you can. When you exhale, Jake leans hard against you, slowly coaxing warmth into your muscles, and you can nearly feel the pain mist out your mouth. Something loosens, and you didn't even know the pain was there until it's taken from you, it's sudden absence a dull ache. Your throat clicks as you swallow a groan.
"You are a marvel, if you function like this. It might be a little bold, but you don't have knots so much as you are a big knot." Jake's hard touch lightens momentarily as he redips his hands and spreads another layer of sweet oil over you.
"That sounds like a compliment, but I suspect it isn't," you say thickly. He's only worked your shoulders and upper back, but your fingers are tingling, some screwed tight device in your body rattling loose.
"You wound me. You believe I'd speak ill of my liege?"
"I think," you say unwisely, "You can say whatever you wish right now and you'd be forgiven."
He has a laugh as warm as his hands and just as reassuring. "Oh, haha, I... don't know what to do with such a generous offer. Likely something that'd make me look like a right buffoon, like..."
Whatever it is, it's lost when a handmaiden walks in. You hear the sharp startled noise from Jake before it occurs to you that the sound of approaching footsteps means anything. But a woman in pale robes bows as she enter, a pitcher in one hand, a few towels thrown over her arm.
"Begging pardon, I thought you might want to wash up 'fore bed," she says, then fills the basin in the corner with fresh water and sets the towels down. She's gone swiftly with a departing curtesy.
But the moment-- if such a long span of time can be called a moment-- has broken. You straighten from the slouch you've unknowingly sunk into, and Jake's hands fall off you reluctantly.
"They just come and go like that?" Jake asks. You think he might sound annoyed, but you're not thinking as swiftly as normal. It could just be wishful flights of fancy.
"They're... yes. They're my handmaidens. They see to many things I tend to overlook. Their assistance is invaluable." If sometimes poorly timed.
Jake rinses his hands and plucks up at towel, eyes on the doorway the woman disappeared through. "Huh. Handmaidens. Are they always maidens?"
You frown at him. "What are you asking?"
He colors darkly. "Oh, not-- Oh, geez, not I wasn't asking-- just I've seen a couple of them since I arrived and no gents yet?"
It's a very strange question, you think. Are there any men among your handmaidens? No. But... "That's correct. There's no such requirements on the role, but..."
"Interesting," Jake says, brightening. He looks you over, and smiles. "You look a little more loosey-goosey, if I can say so."
"You can. I'm not sure you should, but."
It's a weak joke, but he laughs again, and the sound warms you more than his massage did.
"Thank you," you say, and mean to go on, add something polite and gracious, but your brain is full of warm chamomile and rose hips, clogging the clockwork.
"It is my genuine and heartfelt pleasure, Prince Strider." He bows again, a gentle smile on his face. "If you'd like, I could do your wrists and arms?"
"No. No, that's fine." If he touches you anymore-- you don't know if you can deal with it presently.
"Another time then," he says, and blows out the votive. "Thank you for humoring me. I-- I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did." He's blushing. No, you hope he's blushing. Don't get ahead of yourself. "Perhaps I'll see you again."
You nod, not ready to trust your runaway mouth at the moment. Luckily, he doesn't seem to take offense and bows one final time before departing.
You’ve managed to kill the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionaries. Congrats. The World Government will give you a medal for it.
Joking aside, he’s stunned. He literally is just staring at the doctor as if they’ve suddenly changed species. And to be fair, you were just as stunned, having not expected that that was the reason you had been sick the past few mornings.
You thought it was just you getting food poisoning.
And they’re quiet for several hours, separated as you both sorted out your thoughts. For you coming to the realization that in a few months you’re going to be a mother, and you don’t know if Sabo even wants a kid.
You know his childhood, you know the memories that had come back and what his parents were…what if he didn’t want kids so he would never become like that?
You’re not far off from the thoughts running rampant through Sabo’s mind. A child…he’s going to be a father
His thoughts drift to Outlook III. Of those cruel eyes that were vacant of any resemblance of love, only filled with anger and disinterest in a son that hated every fiber of the noble life. He hadn’t been a father, only a sire. And it’s not like the bandits had been the best in fatherly figures. The closest thing to a father that Sabo can compare is Dragon…and that’s just not the same.
But now Sabo is going to become a father.
What if he’s no better?
You two finally reunite that night. You lay in bed in silence for a long while and you know he’s not asleep because of the lack of snoring. Finally he turned to face you, cupping your face gently, pulling you close.
“I…have no idea how to do this…but…we’ll do this together, right?” He says softly in the dark and you smile gently, curling up to him, nodding into his chest. The decision had been made.
Obviously you’re pulled off of active duty. It’s not a surprise. Even if you weren’t involved with the Chief of Staff (who is proving to be more of a worrywart about the pregnancy than you are…marginally), it can’t be expected that a pregnant woman be one of the fighters in the Revolutionary Army
You absolutely hate it. You never went looking for a fight, but at least out there you didn’t have the overwhelming fear when your friends didn’t come back at a scheduled time. At least then you didn’t have to worry about Sabo not coming home on time and you sit there fearing the worst, only for him to come home. It’s nerve wracking and the only relief is when he gets back to you.
Koala and Hack are supportive, and Koala is happy for Sabo. Maybe this means he’ll stop taking unnecessary risks.
You give her a look and you both start laughing. Like that would ever happen.
Koala, when she found out, squealed at the news practically jumping for joy and already planning on things that need to be bought. And plans to, when the baby is older of course, to train them to use Fish-Man Karate.
“They’ll learn Dragon-Claw Fist!” Sabo argues and you and Hack wind up listening to an hour long argument between the two friends. Hack rolls his eyes, patting your shoulder in sympathy
Hack offers you some advice on what to eat and to do to help with morning sickness and some stretches to do to keep yourself limber during the pregnancy. That’s the ultimate fight and he sees you as incredibly strong for being able to do that
You wind up helping Dragon with paperwork and planning. It’s not as fun as you’d like, but it’s something to keep you busy. And you somehow feel it’s a way for the leader of the army to keep an eye on you. His own form of support for this.
You appreciate the silence and support
Ace and Luffy? That poor Den Den Mushi when they get the news. Probably the entire army can hear the yells of joy when Sabo tells them, and Sabo is quite certain he’s gone deaf.
They keep asking how far along you were, if he knew the gender yet, and a litany of other questions that Sabo tries to answer to the best of his knowledge. He’s grinning, the knot of unease loosening at the excitement of his brother’s joy.
When he’s back at the Headquarters you two settle into a calming routine. Sitting on the couch together reading reports as you are unable to sleep but don’t have the energy to move around a lot. Your swollen ankles rest on his lap and occasionally he’ll massage them. Sometimes your reports are discussions about the baby. It’s just so…calm and quiet.
The first time he’s able to feel the kick is when you’re both asleep, his hand resting on your stomach and the baby kicks. You’ve been able to feel the kicks for a little while now, and either he’s always missed it or the baby wasn’t yet big enough for him to feel it. But this time it’s strong enough for him to feel the jolt and he wakes up as do you, though you're more annoyed. He thinks you tapped his hand wanting him to get something.
His expression on his face when you inform him that no, that would be the baby, is priceless and you wish you had a camera. No sleeping would be had after that as he talks to the baby, hand resting on the stomach, grinning at each soft kick. It was worth it being exhausted the next day.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 7/?
Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Leonardo da Vinci/Sofia Sartor, Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Leonardo da Vinci, Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Sofia Sartor, Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Characters: Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Leonardo da Vinci, Sofia Sartor, Flavia Auditore, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf, Darim Ibn-La'Ahad, Tazim Al-Sayf, Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor, Desmond Miles, Giovanni Auditore da Firenze, Federico Auditore da Firenze, Claudia Auditore da Firenze, Maria Auditore da Firenze, Petruccio Auditore da Firenze, Shao Jun, Yusuf Tazim, Lucrezia Borgia, Cesare Borgia, Rodrigo Borgia | Pope Alexander VI, Original Characters, Kadar Al-Sayf
Additional Tags: Polyamory, Canonical Character Death, first attempt at writing polyamory, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College Student Ezio, Big Brother Altaïr, Big Brother Ezio, Psychic Abilities, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Telepathy, BAMF Ezio Auditore da Firenze, BAMF Leonardo da Vinci, BAMF Sofia Sartor, Friends to Lovers
Series: Part 3 of Spirit of the Eagle
Summary:
Ezio always knew his family was never normal. From his brother's abilities ranging from dreams of the future, empathy, and clairvoyance, to his ability to read minds, there was nothing usual about them. Still, he found himself hoping that normalcy will finally grace his family its presence after everything two years ago and he would be able to raise his daughter Flavia in relative peace with the help of his family and especially his friends, Leonardo and Sofia, who might be becoming more than friends.
However, the peace is short lived when people around him begin to die in what appears to be unrelated accidents and violent murders and Ezio begins to hear the thoughts of the killer warning of more death to come. Ezio, Leonardo, and Sofia find themselves thrust unwillingly into the mystery and it becomes a race against time to find out who the culprit or culprits are before more lives are ended. However secrets find themselves trapped the crosshairs of madmen and Ezio can only hope that he can return to a peaceful life alive, and not amongst the growing piles of bodies.
Set two years after Eagle's Vision. Can be read as a standalone, though some things may not make any sense.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 6/?
Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Leonardo da Vinci/Sofia Sartor, Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Leonardo da Vinci, Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Sofia Sartor, Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Characters: Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Leonardo da Vinci, Sofia Sartor, Flavia Auditore, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf, Darim Ibn-La'Ahad, Tazim Al-Sayf, Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor, Desmond Miles, Giovanni Auditore da Firenze, Federico Auditore da Firenze, Claudia Auditore da Firenze, Maria Auditore da Firenze, Petruccio Auditore da Firenze, Shao Jun, Yusuf Tazim, Lucrezia Borgia, Cesare Borgia, Rodrigo Borgia | Pope Alexander VI, Original Characters, Kadar Al-Sayf
Additional Tags: Polyamory, Canonical Character Death, first attempt at writing polyamory, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College Student Ezio, Big Brother Altaïr, Big Brother Ezio, Psychic Abilities, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Telepathy, BAMF Ezio Auditore da Firenze, BAMF Leonardo da Vinci, BAMF Sofia Sartor, Friends to Lovers
Series: Part 3 of Spirit of the Eagle
Summary:
Ezio always knew his family was never normal. From his brother's abilities ranging from dreams of the future, empathy, and clairvoyance, to his ability to read minds, there was nothing usual about them. Still, he found himself hoping that normalcy will finally grace his family its presence after everything two years ago and he would be able to raise his daughter Flavia in relative peace with the help of his family and especially his friends, Leonardo and Sofia, who might be becoming more than friends.
However, the peace is short lived when people around him begin to die in what appears to be unrelated accidents and violent murders and Ezio begins to hear the thoughts of the killer warning of more death to come. Ezio, Leonardo, and Sofia find themselves thrust unwillingly into the mystery and it becomes a race against time to find out who the culprit or culprits are before more lives are ended. However secrets find themselves trapped the crosshairs of madmen and Ezio can only hope that he can return to a peaceful life alive, and not amongst the growing piles of bodies.
Set two years after Eagle's Vision. Can be read as a standalone, though some things may not make any sense.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 21/?
Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Kadar Al-Sayf & Malik Al-Sayf, Ezio Auditore da Firenze & Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad & Desmond Miles, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad & Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Maria Thorpe (past), Malik Al-Sayf/Original Female Character(s) (past)
Characters: Malik Al-Sayf, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Kadar Al-Sayf, Tazim Al-Sayf, Darim Ibn-La'Ahad, Maria Thorpe, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor, Desmond Miles, Original Female Character(s), Kassandra (Assassin's Creed), Alexios (Assassin's Creed), Rashid ad-Din Sinan | Al Mualim, Abbas Sofian, Robert de Sablé, Rauf (Assassin's Creed), Bayek (Assassin's Creed), Jacob Frye, Original Non-Binary Character, Phoibe (Assassin's Creed: Odyssey)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Big Brother Altaïr, Professor Malik Al-Sayf, Psychic Abilities, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Dreams and Nightmares, BAMF Malik Al-Sayf, BAMF Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Altaïr is a protective big brother
Series: Part 1 of Spirit of the Eagle
Summary:
Altaïr has always had dreams-premonitions-of things to come. Usually he would ignore this sight. But when he begins to have dreams of a little girl abducted from her own front yard and the same girl now older, begging for help, he knows better than to just ignore them. His research into local missing persons suggests that the girl in his dreams is Alya Al-Sayf, the daughter of college professor Malik Al-Sayf. A girl who in the eyes of the public is dead, but Altaïr is sure she is still alive and needs help.
Malik’s world crumbled four years ago when his daughter was abducted and murdered by serial killer Warren Vidic. Barely able to rebuild his life, and emotionally shattered from his loss, he is reluctant to trust a stranger. Instead Altaïr finds he is angered rather than relieved to hear Altaïr’s theory that Alya is still alive. Certain that he’s right and unwilling to give up, Altaïr persists until Malik begrudgingly agrees to investigate the claim.
As Altaïr’s dreams begin to uncover clues about Alya’s disappearance, answers to unsolved questions begin to emerge, answers that those hidden in the shadows are desperate to keep in the dark, and will do anything to keep it so.
