#LEARNT TO OPEN THE FILTERS.

[checkadii]

one of the first stray that we have / currently our only one died last night :( got a message from my mom

she outlived like. all her children so that’s a feat but. mghhgkngnngn

Here’s the diva sleep well ma’am we’ll wait for you to break into the kitchen again you menace

[hana-no-seiiki]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐒 + 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐱 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟏)

“Athanaxious. We are going back right this instant!” An adult male siren called out to his brother. His beautiful gradient tail of obsidian to violet shimmered underneath the water filtered sunlight.

“Oh stop being a prickly pufferfish for once, Vasileios. We’ll be in the deep once again in a moment. I just have to—“ ‘Athanaxious’ replied with a huff. No matter the uncountable times he had come to the shoreline, it was still difficult navigating through shallow water on such a rocky beach. His tail, an exact opposite of his companion with its sandy ivories and gold, flicked in all directions as it tried to propel him away from harsh terrain.

His hands gripped tightly to a leather sling bag across his exposed chest.

“Have to wh—“ The albino creature attempted to ask but was thwarted by a hash tug on his arm, “Hey!” He stretched out his arm to slap Athanaxious in retaliation only to pause at the sound of singing.

“All I ever wanted was the open sea and sky; freedom from the life I always knew.”

Both men froze. A chilly delight crawled through their spine, their limbs and eventually the tips of their fingers and fin. Vasileious had never heard of a voice that entrancing. He has heard several of his fellow sirens luring humans to their demise, but none of them could even hope to compare to this sound. It echoed within the chambers of his heart, the matter in his brain, and the longing that lied dormant within.

But then he saw it’s source and the features on his face soured.

A human.

You.

“Now all I am is haunted as days and hours roll by…” You continued with your song, and then you abruptly halt. The next line wouldn’t come out properly. Your eyes run over the words, slowly getting frustrated with how it wouldn’t fit in.

Athanaxious doesn’t waste a beat. He knew that adorably annoyed sneer you’d make and what would fix it. “All I ever think about is you.”

Vasileious gasped. Athanaxious never sang. Always going on and on about the safety of the sailors on sea and how he didn’t want their blood on his hands. Yet here he was freely providing his — quite literally — magical voice to this human.

“Athanaxious, what are you—“

“Than! You’re back! I was just thinking on ways to improve that verse. Thank you.” You ran, the ruffles on your chiffon blouse flowed through the wind. You flinched and stumbled as the pebbles scraped the sole of your bare feet. Your luxurious leather heels long forgotten.

“Of course, your highness. I wouldn’t miss our reunions here for anything.” Athanaxious winked, just like how you taught him a while back.

You chuckled. The siren had noticed how the clothes you wore contrasted to those he’d usually spot at sea. ‘Couture’ you called it. But all he could think of was those pictures of human prince and princesses, and thus the little inside joke started. “I told you I’m not . . . “

Your eyes trailed from your raven haired companion to the albino. Athanaxious’ tail always fascinated you, but the new siren’s looked out of this world. Further reminding you of how different the worlds you lived in actually were. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, him?” Athanaxious rolled his eyes, another mannerism he learnt from you, “Just one of my older brothers.”

“You didn’t tell me you have an older brother.”

“Y-you didn’t tell me you were fraternizing with a- a- human! What would father think about this?Not to mention mother . . .” Vasileious’ fins shivered at the thought.

“Father knows.” Athanaxious shrugged whilst looking throw the bag he’d wrapped around him. You have gifted him many things, tangible or not, throughout your friendship. So he thought of bringing something back to you.

A pearl necklace. He was actually going to give you the clam it came from but judging from what fishermen looked for and spoke about, he thought giving you the biggest, shiniest pearl he could find would have been more appropriate.

As soon as you received the gift, you swiftly embraced him in an attempt to hide the empty look on your eyes before mustering the most sincere ‘Thank you.’ you could do.

“In any case, don’t humans have siblings as well? I just didn’t think it would be interesting enough to mention in our conversations. Our time together is often far too brief.”

“Far too brief it is.” You stared at the iridescent pearl. A sigh escaped your lips. “Than, I have an event scheduled on a beach—“

Vasileios attempted to cover his little brother’s mouth but it was too late.

“Magnificent! We’ll be there!”

“Excuse me, I didn’t agree to this—“

“—across the continent.” Your cheerful temperament dissipated.

Athanaxious asked, confused at why you seemed so upset about such a fact. Didn’t more events meant you get paid more in those currencies you spoke about? He shook his head, perhaps you were forgetting he wasn’t human like you always did and said, “Your highness, do I like I wouldn’t be able to swim there?”

“No, of course not. You seem quite capable.”

Athanaxious’ cheeks turned a dark shade of blue at your words.

“Besides you must have plenty of royal duties to accomplish.”

“I have no such thing—“

“Thank you for reminding me, human.” Vasileios’ patience had ran out. He loved his brother to pieces — he really, truly did — but feared the wrath of his parents much more. “Mother asked us to survey the reefs. If we come back without a proper report. . .”

“Oh fine.” Athanaxious slapped the other siren’s hand away, and then faced you with his sharp teeth. “Fare thee well, your highness.”

“You too, Than. Twas a pleasure to meet your brother.”

You sighed one last time. Annoyed at your lack of confidence in conveying the message you wanted to.

Athanaxious will find out sooner or later that it was your very own wedding he would attend by himself,

and the nickname he gave you? Might have some truth to it soon.

[ AUTHOR’S NOTE ] - status: unedited

Have an old ass draft that has collected dust atp.

If this gets idk, 1000 notes I’ll make artworks of our siren brothers and switch out the one I have featured on the header.

This fic will have three-five acts in total. Of which the story I’ve already planned out. It’s pretty much just a twist on the classic little mermaid story to end our pride month with a bang. We love our historic gays as much as our contemporary ones 🏳️‍🌈

reader is amab and will have more stuff alluding to their masculinity in later acts.

[ LINK TO NEXT ACT HERE ]

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[soracities]

Hi, how do you manage to see children as good? I would like to, but I only see them as inconsiderate and terrifing in a way a military robot would be terrifing. Not evil, because they are wired that way and it's just who they are, but everyone would be better off avoiding them. I've been to therapy because I was bullied, but I didn't change my mind. I kinda feel like it's an elephant in the room and I am right. I'd like to hear the good stories as often as possible tho, maybe sth will change

I'm not coming for you, but with all due respect it's not "just who they are".

Children aren't military robots because they aren't lifeless hunks of machinery incapable of thought or feelings; they are human beings (like you were at that age) who are trying to make sense of the world around them (like you did at that age), and who want to be a part of that world and feel welcome in it (like you did at that age). They are not coded to do the same thing over and over with no input from anyone else, they are not machines singly wired for carnage: they watch, learn, adapt, respond and interact with things around them because these are smaller, younger versions of you and me learning what it means to exist on this planet in the first place with barely any filters, impulse control and absolutely no guidance on how to do this except what the environment around them (parents, friends, family, teachers) tell them is and isn't okay.

I don't believe this is a matter of inherent goodness or lack thereof--I don't believe anyone is inherently good or bad: what I believe is that we are all inherently social creatures who desperately want to be part of our communities and involved with other people. Children are no different. They want to learn, they want to help, they want to figure out where they belong in their little social units and they look to you to tell them where that is because they don't know yet. And if they are in an environment where bullying is okay (either because they were treated horribly and no one did anything or they see and hear others being treated horribly and no one did anything or they treated someone else horribly and no one did anything) than that is what they'll accept.

If you follow your logic that everyone is "better off "avoiding children--what then? How do you expect them to learn right from wrong if no one is volunteering to teach them? How do you expect bullying to stop if no one is taking the time to instill it in them that bullying is not okay? How do you expect them to ever learn to be kind and considerate when everyone around them makes it clear they're not wanted? How do you expect them to learn what any kind of care and responsibility looks like if everyone is avoiding them to begin with? How do you expect them to think for themselves and reach their own conclusions if you treat them all like a monolith? Every single adult is an ex-baby, an ex-child, an ex-teenager--how do you expect decent adults to come into this world if you avoid teaching all three of those?

I'm not saying any of this to dismiss what you went through or undermine the horror and the impact of it, and I genuinely am sorry you were put through so much. But the best way I can answer your question is with full honesty: and I think it is going to be difficult for you to find those "good stories" and be open to them if you are already convinced that you are right because of what happened to you, that children are automatically feral terrors and that everyone else is just pretending otherwise or ignoring the reality. I believe what I believe because I've spent years around kids and seen all sides of them. I know they can say horrible things. But I also know they learnt those horrible things from a careless adult, or another child exposed to a careless adult. Children can be terrifying--but they are terrifying to other children. And that terror is coming from a reactive and limited understanding of the world where so much of what happens to you often feels like it's coming from large, hidden, horrible forces you can't wrap your head around (because you can't, because your head is 8 years old). But the fact is adults are also terrifying to children. And which of those are you now?

I can't speculate on what you went through or how you processed it, but I think it's worth considering that you may still be looking at children through the eyes of the child you once were and the horrible experiences you had. Again, I'm not dismissing that pain--it's real and it happened to you, and I can absolutely understand your feelings and conclusions--but that doesn't mean they equate to objective conclusions or generalization about all children, especially since you were a child: would you look at yourself like something similar to a military robot? Would you want to have felt the adults around you thought it better to stay away from you? And what about the people in your life that you care about most? Can you imagine them when they were children, like you were? Would you think the same thing about them?

If you want to change your mind, you need to put yourself in situations where that opportunity arises without expecting that your belief is the default. If you can, ask teachers what their fondest memories are of teaching--what's the funniest thing they've heard, what's the kindest thing they've seen, what's surprised them most about kids? What have they learnt from kids (because you do learn--you learn all the time). Ask people who love children why they love children, or simply see if you can find discussions on forums where people share those stories. As I said, I've heard and seen kids do some awful things--but those are tiny compared to everything I've seen that is the opposite (boys giggling face to face on a hill, a tiny toddler waving at me on a bus, a child naming a slug that crept in through his window, a 9 year old boy trying to teach me morse code after having known me for 2 minutes despite how long it took me to understand). It might also help if you give yourself the opportunity to learn a little about child psychology--if people's experiences aren't enough for you, then maybe getting insights into how children's actual brains and minds work might. If you're curious, there's a documentary series from 2015 or so that follows 4, 5, and 6 years olds as they play and engage with each other here to try and understand what their world looks like.

Sincerely, I don't mean for any of this to sound harsh and I really hope it doesn't--but at the end of the day there isn't a secret, pure anecodte that will magically make you change your mind. Change isn't passive; it's something you decide to do and actively work on and that includes challenging your own beliefs by providing them with new and wider information. I'm not saying you have to become a kindergarten teacher to do this, or start spending all your time around children. But if we are going to survive in this world and forge any kind of lasting connections we have to be able to offer some amount of grace and understanding to each other and the people in our lives--and that goes doubly for the people who have barely even begun learning to be people at all.

[stargirlygirl]

their omega

જ⁀➴ chapter two: touching grass

alpha! bakugou, kirishima, denki, sero x omega!fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — angst, hurt/comfort, smau + fic, katsuki's kinda mean, 2.1k words

m.list

a/n: '🌽⭐️s' gc from denki's pov

fic underneath smau

It’s been a week since you were sold to your alphas. It had been absolutely shocking to find out that you had been bought to share between FOUR alphas. Not one, not two, but FOUR?!

You had stayed in the bathroom until nightfall, crying and washing your face and then crying again. When you came out, the two alphas you met earlier told you their names and those of your other alphas. You learnt that Eijiro was the tall, sharp redhead and Denki was the sheepish blond. You met Hanta that night when he came back from patrol. He, like the rest, seemed okay. Not too pushy or aggressive like most alphas. Or was that all an act?

Eijiro told you that you could have his room and that he would be moving things out over the next couple of weeks. The next morning, you crept out of his room, wearing Denki’s ‘THUNDER BOLT’ t-shirt. You intended to go to the kitchen but failed miserably since you have no navigational skills. You ended up stumbling into an empty bedroom. There was a bed in the centre of the room and All Might posters on the walls. You saw a shelf of the grinning hero’s figurines and walked over to it. As you inspected all the little All Might’s, the door slid harshly open. Its hinges rattled loudly as a spiky blond stalked into the room.

He was in a black shirt that hugged his godly muscles and had a scowl on his face. He threw a duffel bag in the corner, making you jump and yelp. Hearing you, he stopped in his tracks and looked right at you. He growled at you and asked what you were doing in his room. You stuttered out that you were lost and he gave you directions to the kitchen. You nodded and ran out of the room, thoroughly unnerved and afraid of your final alpha, Katsuki.

Since then, you’ve avoided him like the plague. Most days, you spent curled up in Eijiro’s your room, trying to process everything that’s happened. The redhead would come in and out, saying ‘Hi’ and talking to you as he packed his things. You offered to help him on more than one occasion, but he always turned you down, saying that you shouldn’t have to lift a finger as his omega. His… chivalry made you smile but it also frightened you. Would he turn out to be one of those alphas who thought that omegas only existed for breeding? You hoped not.

Today, the sun was bright overhead. The chirps of birds and insects hum filter into your room from the open window. This morning, Eijiro told you that you would have the house to yourself today.

“And don’t stay in ‘ere all day, okay? Get out. Get some sun. It’ll make you feel better,” he said grinning. You nodded and wished him and everyone else a good day before he left.

Now, you are contemplating whether to take his advice. You know you can’t leave. You’re all alone in a foreign country except for the alphas that own you. Who can you run to? Where else can you go? And this isn’t so bad, you think. Not yet, anyway. You take a deep breath in and resolve to stop rotting in your bed. You get up and slide the door open. Leaving the room, you decide to walk around the house. You haven’t since your first morning when you encountered a certain someone.

You open almost every door you come across, very curious about your alpha’s house. You stumble into Denki’s room. You can tell it’s his because of that citrusy scent… and because of the lightning bolt iconography and animal prints. You don’t want to stay too long in case he can smell you when he gets back. But you can’t help yourself. You wander about the room carefully so you don’t trip on dirty clothes strewn about the floor. You notice a yellow electric guitar in the corner. It draws you in and you kneel beside it. Your fingertips lightly caress the strings.

Next, you find Hanta and Eijiro’s room (you assume by the opposing styles). Gaming set-up vs ‘manly’ motivational posters. It makes you giggle. And it makes your heart flutter. Eijiro has sacrificed his personal space so you could have some. Is that the action of someone out to hurt you? You’re not so sure.

You come across the home gym, laundry, store room… By the time you’re finished exploring, your tummy rumbles. But now, you can’t remember the way to the kitchen. You try walking back to Katsuki’s room which you peeked into but all of sudden, you can’t remember which one that is either. You huff in frustration and try your best to navigate the hallways. But to no avail. You swear you’ve seen that same vase of flowers now in the last three hallways. Or are they all the same hallway?

Sighing, you slide open the door closest to you. Your eyes are closed as you push it to the side. You hope it’s the kitchen. You open your eyes one at a time and find yourself in a large room. At the centre is a square wooden bath. Hesitantly, you walk up to it. Coming closer, you make out little jets lining the inside of the bath, and you realise that what you’re looking at isn’t a bath but a hot tub. The sight of it, sunlight streaming in from the windows illuminating the clear water fills you up with warmth. Part of you wants to jump in while the other part knows better. Maybe later, you think.

You’re uncertain how to turn the hot tub on anyway so you decide to ask Eijiro about it when he gets back. You then leave the room. Shutting the door behind you softly, you trudge down down the hall with slumped shoulders. You eventually find the kitchen and cut up some fruit for lunch, filling a bowl with berries, mango, and figs.

Smiling, you take it with you as you open the glass back door. You step out and take a deep breath of fresh air. You leave your house slippers on the short porch and wander around the untidy garden barefoot. After finding a large rock to sit on — moss climbing the sides of it — you munch on your fruit and take in the cacophony of insect calls, the faint whirring of cars, and the birdsong. You watch a ladybug crawl up a blade of grass and the pigeons flap overhead. It puts you at ease. Something you haven’t felt in a long time.

Maybe life isn’t so bad, you think. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. A gift. Of a domestic life. But is that what you want? To just stay home all of the time, take care of the kids, and do all of the cooking and cleaning?

You’ve always wanted to pursue a career despite being an omega. You didn’t want to be tied down by your secondary gender. No, you wanted a rich and fulfilling life. To work and to be proud of your independence. But after graduating and facing the harsh reality that is the workforce for omegas in industries they “don’t belong in”, you couldn’t help but question your place in the world.

Secretly, you have relished in the thought of living an ‘omega’ life. But now that you’ve been thrust into your daydream, is it truly what you want? Have the aggressive alpha bosses and lack of omega inclusion in the workforce turned you off from it completely? Or, do you just need to “toughen up”? Is that something you’re capable of? Is that a denial of who you are? Could this new life you’ve been given somehow be a good thing?

Maybe you are getting ahead of yourself, you think. What does enjoying nature have to do with any of this? But you feel helpless. You’re bordering on the edge of a decision that’s practically been made for you. And you’re not as opposed to it as you were a week ago. Is this what locking yourself up in an alpha’s bedroom does to you?

Once you finish eating your fruit, you continue to walk around the garden. You duck below branches and step over shrubs, looking up, down, and around at anything and everything you can see. And you do so until the bright blue skies fade into apricot silk and violet.

You manage to find your way back to the house. As you slip on your house shoes, you hear clacking and thudding from inside. You gently push the door open and close it quietly behind you, sneaking back into the kitchen.

The sounds come from down the hallway. They’re loud and you can hear the muffle of your alphas speaking. You tiptoe on the wooden flooring, doing your best not to disturb them as you head to the bathroom — you’re eager to wash the dirt off your feet. You’re passing the screen door of the living room when it abruptly opens. An oh-so-tall and intimidating blond stares down at you harshly.

You laugh nervously as you stutter, “H-hey.”

He scowls at you, “Where were you?” He grabs your upper arm and drags you into the room, your other alphas watching with wide eyes. You cry out at the tightness of his grip as he thrusts you forward, and your back hits a solid wall of muscle. You’re whimpering as you turn around and see your favourite alpha (so far). You notice he’s not wearing a shirt, his rippled muscles on full display. The belt of his pants has a red ‘R’. Must be his hero attire, you think.

His large, tanned hand comes to your shoulder, and he rubs it gently. He says to you in a gentle voice, “Are you okay? We were so worried about you.” You shake your head and look back at Katsuki whose glaring daggers into you. You let out another whimper on instinct and your scent sours. It’s painfully obvious by the way you stay close to Eijiro’s exposed, warm body how afraid you are of the man across from you.

Eijiro raises a hand as he says, “You’re freaking her out, Bakubro. Lay off.”

Katsuki barks out, “Little brat deserves it after how much trouble she’s caused us.” Hanta places a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder which the angry blond immediately shrugs off.

“Bro, you need to calm down,” Hanta says. You look back up at Eijiro and take in the tightness of his jaw from this angle. You let out another whimper, upset and confused by this situation. Eijiro tilts his head down to glance at you.

He gently coos, “It’s okay. Katsuki is just a bit worked up right now because we couldn’t find you.” You shake your head.

You say quietly as you point to the side, “I was outside. Just like you told me.” Eijiro nods and gives the other alphas a look. You gaze down as you bite the side of your lip, chewing on the soft pink flesh in your discomfort. You notice just how dirty your feet are.

Eijiro clears his throat and says softly, “We were calling you, but you mustn’t have heard. Just don’t stay out so late next time, okay? Especially if one of us isn’t with you.” You look up at him and nod, silently praying for this conversation to be over so you can run off to the safety of your room.

The room remains silent for what feels like a century but in reality is a minute or two. During that time, you realise that Eijiro’s hand has slipped from your shoulder and his arm now curls around you protectively. You let out a little whine as you shift.

You almost whisper, “Can I go now?” Eijiro lets go of you as he nods. You scamper out of there and run down the hallway to the bathroom. You slide the door behind you with a sigh and quickly wash your soil-covered feet and hands. Once you wipe them dry, you peek your head out from the bathroom to see if the coast is clear. Certain it is, you power walk back to your bedroom.

Once you step inside, you run over to your bed and flop down, sighing. For the rest of the night, you ignore Eijiro’s knocks and coos to come have dinner. Instead, you let that painful feeling of hunger mix with the sadness lingering in your heart.

taglist - @qyuin @nervoussangel @xxdiaqiaoxx

[jayke0]

Nicotine Lust

Pairing: Jake Lockley x afab reader

Summary: Your attempts to keep your smoking kink under wraps become futile once you're reassured that your boyfriends’ lungs aren't at stake.

A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction 's smoking Steven, so i wanted to do smth from Jake's perspective ❤️.

Also if you know which tiktok lady Jake’s talking about then bonus points to you!

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: smoking, g/n nicknames, I've never smoked so forgive me if literally all of it is wrong, blowjob, face fucking, ‘fucktoy’ nickname, ‘slut’ nickname, Dom!Jake, Sub!Reader, p in v, unmentioned protection, riding, doggy style, creampie, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 4,020 (yeah… I'm pretty sure this is my longest fic yet.😅)

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily. And Fen ofc ofc.

…………………………………......................………….

You hate to admit it, but when Jake smokes, it's like an automatic switch is clicked in your brain; like you're literally being turned on.

It's wrong, so so wrong. You don't want to be getting turned on by something that is ultimately ruining your boyfriend's lungs, all three of your boyfriends’ lungs.

It's only when you mention it to him one day that he settles your worries.

“The suit heals ‘em.”

“What?? For real?”

“ ‘Course! That's the whole point of it.”

You raise a brow. “It's not for you to heal your black lung.”

“Well no, but it's for healin’, ain't it?” He pulls out his packet of tobacco and places it on the windowsill, along with his papers. His fingers work meticulously as he lays out the paper and lines up the tobacco, sprinkling it onto the paper like he's decorating fucking cupcakes with chocolate sprinkles.

“I thought ya liked it anyway.”

You have to drag your eyes away from the man's hands as he rolls the cylinder between his fingers. “What? No... that's weird.”

Your boyfriend cocks an eyebrow at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Really? So that look that ya give me, or the way ya watch my hands ain't got nothin’ to do with ya gettin’ all hot and bothered?” He brings it to his lips, running his tongue along the edge of the paper in a way that makes your cheeks heat up and your arms fold over your chest defensively.

Jake is easily the best at reading you and your body, especially when it comes to your not-so-subtle arousal.

Your eyes move back to his hand, watching him push the filter into the end with his middle finger before rolling the other end shut.

“No, I just find it interesting. It's good for me to know how to roll a cig… I guess.” Your words trail off as you realize how dumb that sounds; there's no way in hell that Jake lockley is going to believe that lie.

“For who? Ya side piece?” He jokes, the smirk turning into a full-grown grin while he brings the now formed cigarette to his lips. It's only when he flips open his lighter and the flame lights up the end that you come to the conclusion there's no point in hiding it… not now that you know they're safe.

“Alright!... I like it, is that what you wanted?”

“Show me.” His lips are pressed together tightly to keep the cigarette in place, but he's learnt how to talk out of the gap in his lips.

“Excuse me?”

“Show me how much ya like it.” The man's voice is deeper now as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke, considerately not blowing it in your direction; and fuck if it doesn't make you squirm.

You want to sink to your knees right there, rip his black jeans from his thick thighs and suck him dry, but your stubbornness stops you. “I'm not some kinda fuck toy, Jake!”

“Ya weren't sayin’ that last night, were ya?” The cigarette meets his lips again and his chest expands as he takes in a long drag, not being as considerate with where he blows it this time.

You irritatedly waft the smoke away from your face, but his gaze, oh lord the way his eyes glare at you, a dark stare that pushes you to your knees anyway as if he has the fucking force. Resting your hands on his knees, you part them slowly, keeping your eyes transfixed on his as you slide your hands up his bulky thighs and over his crotch, all while he takes another drag.

“Good fucktoy.” He says with a playful tone as he pets your head condescendingly, the name and gesture ultimately turning you on more while you toy with his belt buckle to pry his jeans open. “Eager, ain't we? I love it when you're this eager, mi vida.”

The smell of the smoke is starting to sting your nostrils, but all worries of second-hand smoke fade when you pull his boxers down his thighs and reveal his half hard cock. “I'm not the only eager one," you raise a brow at him, taking his hardening length in your hand to hear a soft groan from him.

“Oh c'mon, what guy doesn't love gettin’ his dick sucked? Especially from a slut as pretty as you, cariño.” His thumb runs over your cheek, and then your bottom lip. “Now, open up for me, okay?”

His hand replaces yours as you obediently open your mouth and lean forward, wanting to feel him grow hard in the heat of your mouth. His length is heavy on your tongue, the familiar tang of his skin and pre-cum making you hum softly to send vibrations through his cock, resulting in a pleasured grunt from the man.

“Mmm that's good… good angel…”

The calmness in his voice and the way his shoulders drop indicate that even his trusty old cigarettes can't relax him like you can. You always know exactly what makes him tick, what buttons to press to get him coming down your throat in minutes, but despite that, he continues to take drags from his damn deathstick.

Your eyes are fixated on his lips as he brings it to his mouth again, holding it loosely between his two fingers before inhaling the nicotine. He meets your gaze, a shallow thrust from his impatient hips making you pull back with an annoyed squeal; you're not willing to admit how turned on you also get when they're impatient with you, though you're like 90% sure that Jake has caught on anyway, as usual. A string of drool falls from your lips and lands on his head, spreading down the thick, tanned length before your lips follow.

“Thaaat’s it, just like that, darlin’.” He groans, feeling your lips stretch and the warmth of your mouth envelop him. His fingers caress your hair before his large hand eventually comes to rest on the back of your head; an exciting threat that he could push you down on his girth at any point.

Of course, though, he doesn't. He's more patient and collected than the other two, even when you manage to relax your throat and sink all the way down on him.

“Oooh cariño, that's new. Ya been practicin’?” Jake's back arches off of the window, his cigarette back between his lips so his hand can join the other on the back of your head. You pull off with a pant, nodding proudly, “Steven loved letting me practice on him, did you know he's into throat training?”

Your words warrant a growl from your boyfriend as he tightens his grip on your scalp. “C’mooon, stop teasin’ me,” his lip is cocked up in a scowl as he take another drag from his cig and blows it out.

You don't spend any more time fucking around, your own thighs pressing together just from the situation and sight in front of you. You lower your head on him, but don't take him fully, wrapping your hand around what you can't fit in your mouth so you can start bobbing your head. Your tongue glides over his slit each time you almost pull off, with just your lips wrapped around the blunt tip before you dive back down.

“Fuuuck, that's so good. Shit you're so good at that, mi vida.” His praises go straight to your core, making you speed up your actions.

The man tilts his head back and takes the cig out of his mouth, the end now getting dangerously close to his fingers, but he couldn't care less, all he cares about is the wet heat of your mouth already pushing him closer and closer to his orgasm. He takes one last drag and puts out the butt as it reaches his fingers, taking in a sharp inhale when you deepthroat him again just as it burns his finger tips. “Such a good fucktoy, goddamn angel…”

His groans get louder, your head now bobbing up and down on him rhythmically as you twist your fist around his throbbing length in just the right way.

Hand joining the other, he pushes you down once, then twice. “Just a little more darlin’, ya can do it, I know ya can—,” his pants are heavy, low moans cut off by gasps. “Gonna come down that pretty throat, just a little further, sweetheart.” You feel his hips lift off the window sill and towards your face, the gesture making you choke a bit before you take him fully again, fingernails digging into his plump thighs enough to leave marks as your face scrunches up.

It's only a few more seconds and he's coming down your throat, just as he said he would. You can barely taste the saltiness as he moans loudly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat with his back arched enough to feel his tummy on your forehead. You pull off after a few moments with gasps, your chest rising and falling quickly as you take in the air you'd briefly missed out on.

“Ay cariño… ‘m sorry, are ya ok?” Jake's gaze is still lidded and dopey, though a lot softer now, and you feel his thumb run over your cheek.

“Yes,” you say hoarsely, giggling afterwards at the sound of your voice while you wipe the spit from your chin. “It was hot. I liked it, honey, don't worry.”

He sighs, a smile replacing the worried frown his had on his face just seconds before. “Ah, good, angel,” he leans down and kisses you, not caring about the taste of himself on your lips. “You owe me an orgasm though.” You mumble on his lips, feeling the low chuckle rumble in his chest as he joins you on the floor without even pulling away from your plump lips.

”I can do that, cariño.”

+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+｡+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡

Jake hasn't been out since that morning, and now it's getting to 3 days, and you're worried.

Did your odd little kink freak him out? Maybe the thought that his lover gets off on him damaging his lungs made him uncomfortable.— No, that's not the sexy part, because that WOULD be weird. It's watching him carefully, masterfully, assemble the tobacco. Watching the way he rolls it between his thick digits and runs his tongue over the edge before lighting it. You'd noticed how his eyes close in satisfaction with that first drag, and how his eyelids lower to a more relaxed manner, giving him that deadly lidded gaze that is sure to be the death of you.

The presence creeping up behind you breaks your train of thought, and you sigh contentedly as you feel large, warm hands run over your shoulders tenderly. You drag your eyes away from the tv screen to tilt your head back and look at one of your boyfriends, whichever one it is.

Jake always insisted on growing his facial hair out, but Marc and Steven are so strongly against it that you'd think they have some kind of personal vendetta against it. That being said, it's hard to tell them apart sometimes, especially when you're looking at them upside down.

“Hello, handsome.”

“Hello, angel.”

Blood instantly rushes to your face, and you know Jake notices it, given the way his lips quirk into a grin.

“Took you long enough…” You mumble softly, lifting your head to avoid his burning gaze.

“Ay, I know I know. I ain't really got an excuse.” He gives your shoulder one last pat before moving around to the couch and placing himself down next to you, arm promptly resting on the couch behind your head. “Did ya miss me, though?” His fingers toy with your ear, a gesture that he'd quickly and delightedly learnt annoys you.

Your silence is met by a dark chuckle from the man. “Did ya miss these?” The sound of cardboard rustling grabs your attention, your head slowly turning towards him before your eyes focus on the box of cigarettes in front of you.

“I thought you didn't like ‘pre-rolled bullshit'.” You quote his words with a scoff to hide the excitement already bubbling up inside you.

“I don't, but they come in handy, don't they? ‘Specially if I'm tryna rile ya up again.”

His left leg is crossed over the other in a casual sitting position, body angled towards you invitingly with his arms spread wide enough to make his t-shirt stretch across his toned chest.

“So… you didn't find it weird then?” Voice tentative, you shuffle over to him, having missed his tight bear hugs and calming tone of voice… even if his cockiness does get on your nerves sometimes.

A small frown replaces the grin that almost constantly adorned his face. “No, mi vida, ‘course not.” His hand reaches towards your face, calloused thumb running under your eyes softly. “I'm just as into it as you are, hell, I thought that was obvious.” His low chuckle makes your chest warm and a smile break the pouty look you had plastered across your face, especially when he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Thank fucking god.”

A deep laugh from your boyfriend only makes your face and body grow warmer, the smile widening before you lean into his lips to place a kiss on them.

“Ya could've spoken to the other two.” He says, hands resting on your waist to pull you closer for a cuddle.

“Didn't wanna worry them.” It's almost remarkable how quickly you melt into their arms, quicker than you have with any other person… ever, really.

Jake's fingers trace your face gently, eyes roaming all over your features and drinking them in as if he hasn't seen you in years. “Ay cariño, you're too kind for ya own good.” He chuckles softly, pressing another, slightly longer kiss on your lips.

That slightly longer turns into much longer, which then turns into you panting into eachothers's mouth, craving one another as if it's integral to your survival.

“Please do it again, honey, wanna see you do it again.”

The friction from your bodies grinding relentlessly together has him dazed, his brain taking a few seconds to compute.

“Oh, angel, so impatient,” he teases as he grabs the box of cigs from the table and pulls one out. He runs it under his nose and takes a big whiff, letting out a loud, pleasured groan afterwards to make you giggle at his silliness, which you do.

You bite your lip, and he puts the stick between his rosy lips, looking up at you hungrily. “This what ya wanted, darlin’? ‘S this what you've been waitin’ for?” His tone is almost condescending, but his words roll off of his tongue in such a smooth way that you're quick to forgive him.

Your hips automatically grind down on him as you nod, biting your lip hard, before you feel his hands land on your waist again, traveling underneath your shirt and over your warm skin until you feel his fingers just brush over your left nipple. The hem of your shirt moves past your face before you can even think about it, your eyes still glued to his pretty mouth as you roll your hips on him to pull those soft grunts from his throat.

“Look at ya, I've barely touched ya and you're all worked up.” He grins as he brings his hand down to the waistband of your sweats to slide them lovingly down your thighs. It's a little mortifying how you don't even question him, how you don't even need anymore working up thanks to a heated make-out session and the sight of the cig hanging from his lips loosely. You lift your ass to help him pull them down, your underwear following suit.

That's when you realize he hasn't even taken his grey t-shirt off, and you're stark naked in his lap.

“This has got to have a name...” You rest your hands on his chest, the feeling of your bare cunt grinding against his jeans making you tilt your head back.

“Hmm?” He asks, undoing his belt buckle and fly.

“Your thing for having me completely naked while you can't even be bothered to take your shirt off.”

He laughs at that. “Maybe, ya should look it up later. See if it's on that woman's TikTok page.” He pulls his twitching cock out of the confines of his boxers, running his thumb over the ruddy tip. The gesture makes you take in a soft inhale, inching your hips closer to him so you can let his cock slide between your folds and through your arousal.

You both groan at the movement, and you watch Jake shuffle in his pocket for his lighter moments later, bringing the small flame to the end of the cig to light it. His chest expands, and then deflates as he blows the smoke away.

“You're so gorgeous, mi vida.” He says softly, two fingers holding the cigarette tightly as he runs them across your flesh to make goosebumps prickle across your arms and your cheeks heat up.

“And you're so handsome, Jakey.” You moan softly as he brings his mouth close to your chest and places kisses all over the expanse of skin, guiding your hand down between your bodies to help him slide inside you.

He pulls away and places the stick between his lips again to take in another drag and admire the picture in front of him. “Such a pretty angel,” he reiterates, feeling your warmth envelop his aching length as you sink down on him.

Your thighs shudder just a little, a pant escaping your lips as your hole stretches around him with ease, used to their girth by now.

“Love the dumb little look on ya face when ya take it, cariño. Ya like havin’ me stretch ya open like this?” Jake's words travel straight to your core, fueling the fire in your tummy as you lift your hips just to sink back down on him.

“Yes, baby, I love the way you stretch me open.”

The moan that comes from his lips is wonderful, and it's followed by another billow of smoke, the cig back in the corner of his mouth so he can guide your hips. You can see him already gritting his teeth around it, taking in sharp inhales as you start a deep rhythm on him.

“Oh baby…” You moan. You desperately want to close your eyes to enjoy the feeling, but the sight of him fucking you with that deathstick between his teeth is too glorious, penance for the time you spent worrying. “Shit, you look so hot, Jake. So fucking sexy…” You groan as he grasps your ass, gripping the flesh and dragging you down on his cock with growls.

“Ya look even better takin’ it, darlin’, ya take it so well; my pretty slut.”

You grip his shoulders, cursing him for being able to push your buttons and make you whine at the most humiliating of names. Your body always tells him different, though, especially as you start bouncing faster on his cock, feeling it hit that fucking sweet spot each time you come down on him.

Jake is panting too now, and he has to hold the cig between his fingers again to stop it from dropping on you. “Ya feel so good squeezin’ me like that, cariño… Fuck this cunt is magical–.” He still has a grip on your hip, and uses it as leverage so that he can start bucking his hips into your wet heat.

Needless to say, you aren't going to last much longer.

“J-ake! Honey… Fuck I'm so close–agh!-.” Your walls clench around him while your hand slips between your legs to circle your clit, eyes opening briefly to get a glimpse at the sight you'd been waiting to see for what felt like weeks.

That's it, that's all you needed as you sink down on him and grind your cunt against your hand, panting and moaning with your head thrown back. Waves of pleasure rush over you and soak through your bones entirely, your toes clenching like your walls.

You release the grip you had on his shoulders, not that he seemed to mind, that is, before leaning forward to kiss him. You don't care about the smokey taste on his tongue because all you want is him, his taste.

“Mmnnn… We ain't done yet, darlin’,” Jake pulls from the kiss and gestures to the half burnt cigarette as he places it back between his lips.

He gropes your waist and pulls you off of his cock with a soft yelp from you, instead pressing you down into the couch, face turned outwards so he can lean down and look at your face. This position always makes you whine, always makes your legs shake as you try to keep yourself up, and Jake never goes easy on you. He likes seeing the way your ass and thighs bounce as he brings you back on him, and loves hearing the filthy noises that are produced in the process.

The feeling of him splitting you open again has you biting on the cushion, your thoughts from before being true as he ruthlessly fucks into you, loud growls and grunts rumbling in his chest and ringing in your ears.

It's hard to ignore how good it makes you feel when he uses you like this. Sure you love the soft and tender moments you get with the three of them, but once you'd felt what they can really do to you, there was no going back.

You're surprised you haven't ripped the cushion cover from how hard you're gripping it, dumb, cock drunk whines and whimpers falling from your lips as the man fucks you closer and closer to another orgasm.

He leans over you, cigarette barely staying between his lips as he watches your eyes screw shut and random gibberish fall from your mouth.

“Ay, my pretty little fucktoy. Ya love it when I'm rough with ya, don't ya?” He pants and strokes his hand down your chest, running all the way down your tummy till he reaches your swollen clit. “Love it when I… when I use ya.”

His strong and composed facade is faltering, just as it usually does when he's getting close, sitting up again to throw his head back and take puffs of his almost completely gone cigarette.

You can see colours dancing behind your eyelids with how tightly they're screwed shut, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit being almost unbearable as you let out cries and pleas to come again.

“Yeah cariño, that's it, cum all over my cock, lemme feel ya twitch.”

An even stronger wave than before crashes over you and wracks your whole body. Your moans get stuck in your throat as you milk Jake of all he has, his own orgasm having hit him after you'd shrieked his name.

Thankfully, he's quick to remove his fingers from your throbbing clit, knowing it gets a little too sensitive after two mind-blowing orgasms.

”AH FUCK-”

Your post-nut bliss is interrupted by a pained yelp from the man, making you crane your neck to look back at him frantically pulling the cigarette butt from his lips and putting it out in the ashtray.

You laugh, albeit sleepily, and watch his dopey gaze drift to yours as he chuckles lowly. “Fuckin’ cigarettes… maybe next time I should get some of those fake ones.” He jokes as he pulls out of you and touches his sore lips.

You giggle and sit up wobbly, turning to wrap your arms around his neck. “I did think when we started that it was a little dangerous.”

“Ay, ya live and ya learn.”

You both laugh and Jake presses his face into your neck, placing soft kisses as he falls back against the couch with a thump, taking you with him.

...........................................................................

Tags 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @ominoose @mynamesstevenwithav @rinverse

[ravel-puzzlewell]

Things in Pathfinder: WotR that I learnt to appreciate after playing BG3

SHARED INVENTORY OH MY GOD

when you click on something that requires skill check, party member with highest value of that skill automatically goes to do it. you don't have to select your rogue every time you need to open a chest or disable trap

game doesn't despise you for playing evil characters, and you get different content instead of no content

you can play combat in real time, so you don't have to wait for all 20 goblins, 30 imps and 1500000 rats to go before your rogue misses another crit shot. i mean you can play in turn based if you want to.

no but i cannot overstate shared inventory. you still have max load, so you still need to manage weight. but you don't have to spent half of the play time hauling items from your 8 str characters to your fighter and back.

player character is always the one who will speak in the dialogue, no matter who triggered it. so you don't have to reload and reposition bc your companion happened to run past you or was on front lines bc they are a tank and you are ranged

speaking of your tank running past you bc they saw a butterfly while your archer is on front lines is getting punched, you can use party formations, so tanks are always upfront, ranged in the back

in dialogues, when you do skill check, the highest value in the party will be used. which means if you want to play diplomatically, you're no longer tied to charisma-based class if you make sure that companion with high charisma is present. same for all checks for other stats, bc there is a lot of different stat and skill checks. which means that you still need to make sure that your party has type coverage, but you don't have to save scum, bc specialized characters will generally always have stat high enough to succeed.

inventory management is just so, so much better. different type tabs instead of clunky filters that don't even group properly.

woljif and tiefling politics

[tinydefector]

Heyyy again i was the anon who requested for a Jazz smut a while back and im here for more

(this bot need more recognition and I love how you write him!)

anyways i was wondering if you could do another smut fic with him and a cybertronian reader it can be male or gn I don’t mind.

As for kinks maybe the reader dominates him or puts him in his place for acting like a brat? Only if you’re up for it 🩷

Secrets

Jazz x cybertronian reader

Word count : 1.1k

Warnings: smut, valveplug, Sub jazz, slight breeding kink, enermies/ lovers, Brat jazz

Masterlist

Jazz masterlist

______

"Oh look, I've caught myself a spy " they mech hums in amusement. Optics locked on the Autobot spy they had pinned underneath themself. Jazz grinned up at his captor, all easy charm even pinned beneath their bulk. "Aw cher, don' be like that, jus' wanted a lil peek is all. Didn't mean t' stir up trouble." 

He gave an experimental wiggle, testing their hold. Sure enough, their powerful struts don't budge. but he catches the faintest hint of amusement sparkling in their optics. “Yet here you are stirring up more trouble. Your Prime know you're out here?” They inquire. 

" Ain't no fun if he knows im ere?" Jazz tilted his helm, considering the mech above him a lil' closer this time. Strong and loyal to a cause, sure, but anybody worth their bolt had layers. But he also knows their guilty pleasure. They purr in amusement leaning down and tilt their faceplate inches from Jazz’s.  "Snooping through my things again Jazz,  though you learnt your lesson last time " it's just above a whisper as it filters through his audials. that sends a shutter down his frame. Jazz grinned innocently up at the looming mech, enjoying their close scrutiny. "Aw, c'mon - snoopin's in my job description, ya know that sugar." He wiggled teasingly beneath their weight. 

Hes bolder now with his movements, he tilted his hips in a subtle roll. "And if I recall right, last time ended real nice Sweetspark” his visor flashed as his optics flicker under. "Can't blame a mech for wantin' an encore." One hand crept free to trail boldly up their waist "Whaddaya say. play nice and I'll make it worth your time. Got all kinds a' new tricks I been dyin' t'try..." His field pulsed eagerly hoping they would take up the proposal. A little charm and they'd forget all about snoopin' infractions real quick. He relished the chase. but the catch was pretty fraggin' great too.

They are quick grabbing the servo dancing on their hip platting, pinning his arms above his helm roughly, grasping his faceplate with their other. "You're like a scraplet, being a pest in the most inconvenient of places" they muse before pulling him into a kiss.

Jazz made a muffled hum of pleasant surprise against their mouth. He squirmed just enough to test their grip. He hooked one leg around a thick hip strut, tilting wantonly into the kiss. His captor wasn't the only one who liked to tease and he was determined to win this fight. 

When they broke from the kiss, he grins cheekily up at them. "Careful now babydoll, keep kissin' me like that and I'll never want to leave." His fans had kicked on, venting warm and eager against their frame. Jazz rolled his unrestrained hips in a blatant invitation. They let out a deep rumble that builds up in their chassis,  grinding back against him for a moment. grab his hips roughly twisting him and flipping him over, pressing him face down onto the scattered tarps on the ground. "You'd crawl back even if I didn't kiss you, you're like a circuit booster addict" they beam in amusement at how easy he was being. One servo slides down to brush against his interface panel. "Gonna open that panel for me?, or are you going to be a pain in my aft" they hum into his audial receiver. Pressing a kiss to his shoulder plating.

Jazz let out a muffled noise of agreement against the floor, plating warming under caresses. He offered a coy wriggle in response, content for now to deny them access to anything hidden under the panel. Jazz cycles a whined vent as they grind against the panel, he can feel the transfluid basically leaking into the panel, his spike pressed against the plating uncomfortably. They huff lightly before wedging his panel open enough before it releases. "Slaghelm" they grumble to him, pressing two digits into his valve, teasingly slow, dragging another over his flickering node which has him whining into the tarp as his thighs spread wider. "You going to behave pretty mech?, you get rewards when you're good for me Jazz," he can hear the smirk in their voice without even looking at them. 

" ya got me, whatcha gonna do with me, hot stuff?" Jazz purrs, trying to regain some sort of composure only to mew as they shove their digits back into his valve scissoring him open. visor flashed bright as his optics short out with arousal. He arches up with a whine, grinding down on the servo between his thighs. It has him nearly speechless ask he moans, groans and whimpers with each touch. 

"Got you speechless already pretty mech. Didn't know all I had to do was stuff my digits in your valve. You're already dripping " they inform before thrusting their digits in again, watching the way his transfluid drinks down to his node as they tease and rub it. 

They slowly pull their digits out. Spreading Jazz's thighs.  "Primus you're pretty like this Jazz" they hum, interface panel snapping open as they grind their spike against his valve coating it in the pretty pink fluid, the teasing makes Jazz whimper and whine as he grabs the tarps. He tries to turn his helm to watch only for them to press his face back down into the tarp. slowly pressing their Spike into his Valve sinking in with small rolls of their hips. It has Jazz's engine choking and stuttering as if he had stalled. 

They moan loudly as they bottom out in Jazz's tight valve. Grinding deeper as they grip his hips dragging him back onto their spike. "Mmm look at that pretty little autobot spy spread nicely on my spike, might just have to keep you all to myself" they chuckle with a rough thrust.

Jazz couldn't help but let out a muffled keen, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through his systems making his plating shutter in delight. his hips involuntarily moving to meet their thrusts. "Mmm, Frag Cher," Jazz managed to stutter out, his voice overwhelmed with pleasure coursing through his circuits. "Look at you, moaning like a pleasure bot. You like being used as a little frag hole don't you pretty mech" the degrading comment has him clenching around them as their servo wraps around his spike. Each thrust has him rutting into their fist. 

 ", ain't no pleasure bot Sugar!," Jazz quipped, only to arch back into each thrust. A yelp leaves him as they pull him up to rest on his knee plates as they continue to thrust up into him, their servo working his spike as they littler kisses up his neck cables. 

"Mmm think your Prime would be pissed if I fill you tight valve, send you back to the Autobot base dripping my transfluid, mmm bet it be a sight to see, spark you up,  make Prime lose his best field mech" they hum in thought, it was a tempting idea but they both knew it wasn't something either of them could afford. But for now they would just enjoy the secret meetings. 

___________

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[louweenier]

Hello there! I would love to read a cute Sirius x reader OS where they end up in detention together. They don't really like each other but get closer and closer...

Hope that sounds interesting to you as well :)

Thanks in advance💕

notes: hi ! so this definitely took a while for me to get to (so sorry about that) but here it is (pls have mercy, it has been so long since I wrote anything). i tried to compensate by making it detailed and lengthy. for writing sake, I tried to make the annoyance more on the reader's side, and Sirius his usual, charming self, enjoy <3 if you want a part 2 with fluff or just a continuation, then lmk !! word count: 3845 part 1 | part 2 (in prog)

The Trophy Room - Sirius Black x Reader OS (Pt 1)

The insufferable prat sauntered into detention like he owned the bloody place — mind you when he wasn't surrounded by the other idiots he called his friends, it was usually the first port of call for where to find him.

“Hello, stranger.” He said in a bemused tone, as though he were oddly pleased to find Y/N here, of course he’d be, the twat. She rolled her eyes in sheer displeasure, an annoyed and large exhale through her nose - an attempt to not rip her hair out or swing at his face (not that it would necessarily be a bad thing).

“Go away, Sirius.” She grumbled as he conveniently chose the other end of the back row Y/N was sitting at. The clock clicked quietly with every agonisingly slow second that passed as he mumbled a "Sorry, sorry, just trying to lighten the atmosphere." in that sing-songy, unfailingly insufferable tone of his, as her face burned up slightly, the blood pounding in her ears.

The door pushed open, and in walked Professor Minerva McGonagall, her lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed as she walked in, though Y/N's eyes were practically burning a hole into the dent on the desk that her eyes had trained onto as a form of distraction from the black haired boy on the other end of the row.

"Miss L/N, Mr Black, please get up and bring your things with you." Her voice cut through the silence of the classroom. Which was shortly rebroken by hers and Sirius' chairs scraping against the floor as they both moved to stand, grabbing her bag from the floor in the process. Trying to block out Sirius' relentless pestering of McGonagall as they walked through the corridors to wherever the two were being taken for their task to detention proved to be a challenge. "Do you ever shut up, Black?" She griped, only loud enough for him to hear, which she also assumed he ignored or didn't hear at all as it didn't elicit a response other than the smirk on his face widening ever so slightly and he continued to pester McGonagall.

The torches on the wall flicked and danced in the blanket of winter darkness that filled the corridors of the castle, which Y/N took note of, it almost being a comfort to her as she walked in silence. But his voice continued to filter through her thoughts, the way his laugh bounced off the walls of the now narrowing corridors. How... frustrating. How frustrating that he was treating being guided to detention as an excursion. How he never took anything seriously, even in classes, but still managed to come out on top, or in the vicinity of it. Y/N subtly shook her head, an attempt to somehow clear her mind, as though shaking it would detract from the fact she was trailing behind him and McGonagall with what was a more than sour expression on her face.

They eventually came to a stop in front of a familiar room, the trophy room. She internally groaned, the dread filling every crevice of her body. Her hands were going to be dead by the end of it.

"- that's enough chatter from you this evening, Mr Black. Now, both of you are well aware of where we are." McGonagall gave them both a pointed look "You both know the rules. Have everything polished and done by dinner. I'm sure you're both exceptionally experienced by now and have learnt to do this efficiently. You in particular, Mr Black." To which Y/N saw Sirius' smirk widen into a wolfish, mischievous grin from out of the corner of her eye, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, shirt untucked, tie loose around his neck, hair unfailingly messily styled. Sirius' eyes flicked over to Y/N, her own eyes instantly averting the minute she realised she may have been caught.

As McGonagall's footsteps echoed as she left Sirius and Y/N, an odd silence between them as they stood in front of the door. Sirius, with his bag slung casually over one shoulder, started to roll his sleeves up as he walked in first. She tailed him and chucked her bag into a corner as she rolled her own sleeves up, blissfully unaware of the weight of his eyes on her back as he leaned against the wall, between 2 of the trophy cases.

The silence filled the room as she opened the cleaning supplies cabinet, she grabbed a rag, throwing it over her shoulder and the polish spray, when she heard "I never took you for the eager type, L/N.". His voice was a lazy drawl, an almost amused lilt to his otherwise deep and smooth voice.

Her jaw clenched as she moved to the farthest trophy case, near the door, but despite her resolve, she shot back— "Well unlike you, some of us have better things to do and don't live in detention.". She didn't bother to look back at him as she opened the trophy case and pulled them all out, placing them safely on the floor. Y/N picked up a quidditch trophy from the floor first and started to work on it absent-mindedly, silently fuming that she was there, to begin with, internally monologuing how this was all Sirius' fault.

As she worked on the trophy, she noticed it had been awfully silent and she turned back to glance at him, where he was still leaning between two of the cases, but his eyes were trained on her.

"What're you looking at, Black? Don't tell me you still don't know how to polish? With your reputation, aren't you meant to have done this a million times by now?" She questioned, her face slightly scrunched up in both scrutiny and confusion, ignoring the way her eyes kept trailing down to his forearms. How stupid. Rolled up sleeves to not even actually do any work. Could he get any more obnoxious?

"'Course I know how to polish, L/N, I reckon I'm better at it than you are. I just prefer to supervise." He mused as he watched her eyes narrow, the frustration on her face obvious. However, he did notice how her eyes kept flitting to his forearms. A thrill of satisfaction ran through his body as his charming, lopsided grin made its way onto his face. He subtly flexed them, his veins rising slightly.

Her hand tightened its grip on the trophy, the other clenched into a fist around the damp rag as she glared at him, her eyes cold and unfailingly held his gaze. They stayed like that, their eyes connected across the room from each other as the air in the room crackled. They were at a stalemate as she was determined to win. They stayed like that for a solid 30 seconds as she watched Sirius' grey eyes flick through a cycle of emotions. Surprise, amusement, then finally, resignation.

"You've got an attitude, L/N, you realise that, right?" He mused as he sauntered towards the supplies cupboard, grabbed a rag of his own and sprayed some of the product onto it. He walked to the trophy case next to her, and opened it, putting all the trophies on the floor, the same way she did. She side-eyed him as she internally cursed him out, before she retorted back, rising to the bait "And what? You think you're Merlin's gift to wizarding society? You've got so much bloody attitude you could share it with the rest of the wizarding population and still have enough left over to remain an insufferable, stuck-up prat."

Sirius' shock, turned into a shit-eating grin "Oh yeah? That's what you think of me, L/N? An 'insufferable, stuck-up prat'? You do know how to wound my feelings, darling." He clutched his chest dramatically, as he kept glancing towards her, trying to gauge her feelings and reaction to his own dramatic display of antics, which despite her anger, was mildly amusing. She fought to keep her expression painfully neutral, though she couldn't quite stop the way her mouth slightly twitched upwards.

"You're not funny." She said curtly as she quickly stamped away any amusement she may have felt.

They settled into a comfortable silence as they worked, her eyes occasionally flitting over to him. Just to check his progress. At least that's what Y/N told herself, just to make sure he was actually polishing. She took note of the way he hummed familiar riffs under his breath, catching notes of certain lyrics, a lot of Queen and Bowie, she noticed. He had good taste. She'd give him that. The way his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as he worked on a particularly dull plaque. The way the smell of polish filled the room as well as the smell of... leather, smoke... some form of oud...? The smell of his shampoo. She blinked rapidly a couple times as she realised what she was thinking and flushed slightly

"You missed a spot." He murmured as he leaned closer to her, causing Y/N to jump slightly at not only the sudden proximity, but the sheer surprise of him breaking the fragile silence.

"No, I didn't." She replied as she glanced at him, then looked back to the plaque, her eyes running over it just to confirm her own belief.

He said nothing, but with a graceful and swift move of his hand, swiped his rag over a spot, the metal gleaming under the candlelight that filled the room. "You were saying?" He raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his lips. He clucked his tongue, as he shook his head in mock disappointment "I thought I was meant to be a 'stuck-up prat'? Told you I was better at this than you." He gloated with mock cockiness. She looked up at him their faces now only separated by a few inches as he leaned down. His grey eyes locked onto hers as they glinted with amusement, that stupid smirk plastered onto his face.

"Pretentious, cocky arse, too." She grumbled, "Add that to the list of adjectives people would use to describe you."

The more she snapped back, the more Sirius tried to dampen the feelings of genuine hurt that stung, his smirk faltering. He knew he played up an act, a persona to everybody. That was very much part of his whole personality, what made him who he was to the rest of the school, nix James, Remus and Peter. He tried to keep the mask on his face but he faltered for a second when he heard her add the last bit. 'Add that to the list of adjectives people would use to describe you.'. He didn't understand why it stung so much. Sure he had shared classes with her for so long, but he'd always acted like this. This wasn't exactly new behaviour. The rest of his classmates found him amusing to some degree, but not her? Why not her? It confused him, how she was immune to it.

She felt instantly bad when she saw him withdraw and settle back into silence, a different type of silence this time. They continued to polish, making their way in a circuit around the trophy room. Sirius' quiet humming and mumbled lyrics stopped, the only sound was the occasional opening and closing of trophy cases, the clink of trophies against the glass shelves. The silence dragged on until they were both on the last 4 trophy cases, 2 cases each.

"Why do you hate me-" "I'm sorry-"

They stared at each other for a second, both their hands stopping any motion of polishing as they looked between themselves and the trophies they each held.

Sirius spoke up first before she could even process what he had asked her, repeating his question. "Why do you hate me so much, L/N?" which caused her to blink a couple times in shock. She couldn't tell if he was being serious but she gave him an answer anyway.

"You're so... unserious. About everything. About people around you, about your studies, about who you hurt in those stupid pranks of yours. You lack of consideration for others. Basic empathy. You're... you're arrogant and reckless. And... and... you're just an arse, okay?" She ranted, Y/N's chest rose and fell a little faster as she tried to catch her breath from the sheer speed at which she spoke.

"Our pranks don't hurt anybody unless they deserve it!" He replied defensively, his face now shaped into a scowl, his knuckles turned white from gripping the trophy so strongly.

"And who are you to decide that? You aren't a higher-up being. Just cause you come from the family you come from doesn't mean-"

He froze, and a white-hot rage burned through his body. It seared through him — nobody but his best friends knew about his family and home life. Sirius knew exceedingly well the stereotypes that followed his last name. The fact that Regulus was the pinnacle of what was meant to be 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black' didn't help his case. Especially since it had been spread around that his place as heir had been handed down to his younger brother, though it was kept under wraps as to why. "Finish that sentence. I dare you. Don't you dare bring my family into this. You know fuck all about me."

Y/N in her own rage, didn't see the warning signs, the way his pupils shrunk, his body language resemblant to that of a dog about to bite. "So tell me then- what makes you so special that you get to decide who gets to be the target of your and your friend's stupid pranks. They're childish and obnoxious and quite frankly, distasteful."

"What makes you so fucking special that you get to decide if they're childish or obnoxious? Cause from where we're standing, the only person who seems to have a stick up their arse about it is you."

"Yeah well, they're idiots too. Birds of a feather flock together, Black."

The air was thick with unsaid words, the anger heating what once was the ice-cold trophy room. She took a breath and tried to calm herself. She let her eyes trail over him, reading his body like a book. His silhouette was oddly familiar to her, from watching him slink in late to class, or from him being in her eyeline in their class' seating plans. His usually relaxed body was taut, tightly strung like that of a bow. Her heart sank and her expression faltered. She'd hit a nerve and she realised it too late.

"Sirius-" she started, the use of his first name unfamiliar to her tongue. Unusual, yet not quite unwelcome, her heart raced in her chest as she looked up at him, her head cocked ever so slightly to the right "I'm sorry. I didn't realise-" She tried again, but the words refused to come, tangled between thought and feeling.

Sirius took a step forward, opening his mouth to speak when the door to the trophy room aggressively swung open, revealing Filch.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here." Filch delightedly wheezed as he leaned against the doorframe to support his weight. He stood there, his rounded frame prevented the light from the corridor from flooding into the otherwise dimly lit trophy room.

"Caught red-handed." He said gleefully, crooked yellow teeth beaming at Sirius and Y/N as the smell of mildew, dampness and sweat filled the room. "Detention won’t be enough this time. Oh no, I’ll see to it myself—proper punishments, the way things should be."

Y/N and Sirius' heads snapped towards the door at the sudden intrusion, their eyes flitting from Filch, then to each other, before Y/N spoke up in an attempt to pacify Filch, unaware of their close proximity to each other. "We're nearly done," She said quickly "We have these last few cases then we'll leave for dinner, Sir."

Her voice was steady, polite and practiced. Though Sirius was ignoring the exchange, uncaring of any threats of further punishment Filch threatened them with. Sirius' eyes never returned to look at Filch. For a fleeting moment, he forgot Filch was even there.

Instead, they remained trained on her, the flickering torchlight cast a warm glow across her face, adding a glow to her skin he had only ever noticed occasionally, like when she'd lounge by the fireplace in the common room, laughing with her friends. His frustration from earlier—the heat of his anger—seemed to melt away, tempered by something else entirely.

He wasn’t sure what it was. Only that looking away felt impossible.

"If you're not done by dinner, I'll make sure your second punishment is worse." Filch sneered, spittle spraying onto the floor.

Y/N gave a curt nod. They both watched as he huffed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. His grumbling echoed down the corridor, the sound seeping in through the crack beneath the door.

"Let's hurry up and get out of here. I don't fancy being stuck in another detention." She said quietly as she turned back to her trophy case.

She reached for her rag once more and instead found her fingers brushing against his, as he picked it up to hand to her, his gaze averted as he held it out towards her. A feigned nonchalance. She took it from him, muttering a quiet thanks. A fleeting touch—barely there, but enough to send a spark up her arm. He didn’t pull away immediately, nor did she. His fingers reluctantly released the rag and she slowly started to polish her trophy once more. Only now, she was under Sirius' gaze, a new curiosity had been sparked in him.

The act in itself now felt, awkward. Unnatural. The weight of his gaze was heavy on her shoulders, though she wasn't imagining it. He had gone back to leaning back against the wall, absent-mindedly and lazily polishing his own trophy, though his eyes were focused on her. He eventually gave up the pretense of polishing the trophy and instead just stared at her. He wasn't even pretending to work anymore. His gaze was no longer teasing, menacing, nor angry; instead it was thoughtful, almost considering, though his lips carried the same insufferable smirk she was well acquainted with.

"You’re staring," she murmured, not looking up from the trophy she was polishing, focused on a particularly difficult smudge that she was failing to remove.

Sirius tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. "You really don’t like me, do you?"

Y/N sighed, rubbing at it, getting progressively more frustrated with the fact it was unfleeting. "You make it very easy."

"And yet," he mused, watching her, "you almost sounded sorry earlier."

She continued to buff out the trophy, Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as she delved into her thoughts. After a moment, she spoke up "I am. About me making a jab about your family. It was a low blow." She sighed. "I'm not entirely sure what the deal is there — not that it's any of my business, y'know. Everybody has their own crap to deal with. It wasn't right of me to make an assumption. So yeah. I'm sorry, Sirius."

Sirius blinked, taken aback and caught off guard. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that definitely wasn’t one of them. He had braced himself for another sharp retort, another exasperated sigh. Instead, she was… apologising. He didn’t know what to do with that. From what he had heard of her in passing from watching her, he knew she didn't apologise and not mean it.

His smirk faltered, just slightly, before he quickly pulled the mask back over and redressed his bravado.

"So you are sorry," his smirk widened as he tilted his head, and a glint of satisfaction flicked in the silver depths of his eyes. "And here I thought you just enjoyed taking the piss out of me."

She huffed, going back to her polishing. "I do." Though her eyes flit to meet his, a flash of amusement and what seemed to be warmth seeped through.

His lips curled. "Ah, well, that’s reassuring." He lazily ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall however he pleased. Annoyingly gorgeous. Could he get any more frustrating?

They lapsed into silence again, but this time it wasn’t thick with tension or resentment. It was… different. Warmer, somehow. As though the weight of any lingering resentment or confusion had been cleared. A breath of fresh air.

By the time 6pm rolled around, it was time for dinner and Y/N had finished polishing the last plaque. She let out a soft sigh of relief as she clicked the glass cabinet shut and lightly shook out her hands in an attempt to alleviate the cramp that she knew would inevitably set in. As she clicked the cabinet shut, Sirius stretched with a lazy groan, arms high over his head. His shirt lifted just slightly at the movement, and Y/N forced herself to focus on anything but that. Anything but the slither of skin that was exposed.

"Finally free," he drawled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Come on, then. I’ll walk you down." He slinked towards the door and opened it.

She glanced at him as she walked towards the door, one brow raised. "Is that a kind gesture I hear? I should pinch myself."

"Don’t be ridiculous," he smirked. "I’m just making sure you don’t go around badmouthing me again, or find another reason to label me an 'insufferable prat' before we even make it to dessert." To which she rolled her eyes at him and walked out, the sound of her footsteps bounced off the walls of the corridor. The tension still clung to the air between them. Y/N told herself she imagined it—that it was nothing. But then she felt it.

The faintest brush of his fingers against hers as they walked.

Sirius fell into step beside her, their shoulders barely brushing. It was an innocent touch, the kind that wouldn’t normally matter.

So why did it? It shouldn't... have an effect.

She begged her heart to stop racing and for her stomach to settle, playing it off as excitement for dinner. Nothing more. Surely not.

When they finally made it to the Great Hall, Sirius and Y/N stood and stared at each other for a second, glancing over at the spot where either of them sat, and discovered that today, their friend groups had merged, most likely as a result of the fact that one key member of each had detention. Y/N slid into her usual seat next to Lily, reaching for a goblet of pumpkin juice. Across from her, James nudged Sirius with his elbow, an exaggerated waggle of his brows.

"So. You two looked cozy coming in together," he teased.

Sirius scoffed, shoving a roll into James’ mouth before he could say anything else. "Eat your dinner, Prongs."

[littlest-w01f]

Loving

Rhysand x Evelyn (See Evelyn here)

For @officialrhysandweek

Rhysand week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Lord of Night

Summary: Evelyn's learnt there is more to the High Lord of Night than she knew.

Cw: Fluff, cuddles, horny, pregnancy

Rhysand was the male her father had wanted her to marry. Rhysand was a cruel High Lord. Rhysand was the most horrible male. That's what Evelyn knew all her life.

Evelyn sighed, turning in her bed, well, Rhysand's bed she had slept in, her eyes opening to the sight of Rhysand asleep. Blood red roses grew on their headboard, flowers she'd created out of nothing in her peaceful sleep.

But, Rhysand was her mate. Rhysand was one of the most kindest High Lords. Rhysand was one of the gentlest males she had ever met. Rhysand was caring. Rhysand was loving.

She watched his features, and he didn't look a bit like the cruel image of him everyone else would see.

The High Lord's broad chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his lean muscles relaxed through the exposed torso. A hint of stubble dusted his strong jawline, adding to the allure of his masculine beauty. Even in sleep, there was an undeniable aura of power about him, yet it seemed tempered by an underlying gentleness that Evelyn had come to appreciate during their time together.

Evelyn gazed at Rhysand's peaceful face, illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the ornate windows of their opulent bedchamber. His chiselled jawline was relaxed, his full lips parted slightly as he breathed deeply in slumber. A lock of onxy blue-black hair fell across his forehead, adding to his rugged yet endearing appearance, being mated had done him so well if Evelyn were to boast about herself.

As she studied Rhysand, Evelyn felt a pang of guilt for having believed the vile rumours about him for so long. Her father's words echoed in her mind, that Rhysand was cruel just like his father, and heartless, and that she deserved a male like him for being a bad daughter. But now, seeing the tender lines around Rhysand's closed eyes, the way his fingers curled gently beneath the coverlet, reaching for her even in sleep, she realized how wrong those assumptions were.

Evelyn reached out tentatively, her fingertips hovering just above Rhysand's cheek before lightly brushing against the warm skin. He stirred softly at her touch, eyelids fluttering open to reveal those striking violet irises that seemed to pierce straight into her soul. For a moment they simply gazed at each other, a thousand unspoken words passing between them in the charged silence.

Rhysand lifted a hand to cover hers, pressing it more firmly against his face as he turned to place a gentle kiss upon her palm. "Good morning, elskan," he murmured, voice low and gravelly from sleep. The endearment sent a shiver down Evelyn's spine, the intimacy of it both thrilling and terrifying.

The High Lord's gaze held a warmth that contradicted everything Evelyn had been led to believe about him. There was no cruelty, no heartlessness, only genuine affection for her reflected back in those mesmerizing violet depths.

"You're awake early today," Rhysand noted, his voice still thick with sleep but filled with a contentment that mirrored hers. He shifted slightly, pulling her closer until their bodies touched intimately along the length of their joined forms. "Did something disturb your rest?" he asked, concern lacing his tone.

"Oh just this baby that keeps kicking," Evelyn mentioned nonchalently.

Evelyn's casual remark made Rhysand smile, a slow curve of his sensual lips that held no small amount of pride. He placed a large, warm hand over the swell of her belly, feeling the tiny flutters of movement within. "Ah, so our little one is eager to greet the day," he observed, stroking gently over the taut skin. "No doubt she takes after her mother, always ready for adventure."

Evelyn hadn't been pregnant long, nearly three weeks and the babe seemed to have figured out she could move and hadn't stopped for even a second.

Evelyn remembered the first time she slept in the same space as him, she'd truly rather be anywhere but there back then. And now, nothing could be close enough.

Elation swirled within Evelyn as memories flooded her mind, the initial night they shared a bed, when she had been terrified by Rhysand's proximity, convinced that his cruelty would manifest itself physically. Now, the very thought of being apart from him filled her with a profound sense of loss.

Rhysand's gaze softened, violet eyes shimmering with affection as he brought her hand to his lips once more, kissing each knuckle reverently.

His thumb traced idle patterns over the delicate knuckles of her hand, the other giving soothing stroks her slightly swollen belly, an innocent act filled with deep affection and unspoken promises. "You have nothing to fear from me. You've never had."

Evelyn began to speak but she couldn't find the right words, so she simply nestled into his warmth.

"You're never allowed to doubt who I am again," he declared sternly, though there was unmistakable warmth behind his words. "I know I may not have been easy to understand… but remember always…" He leaned closer until his breath whispered against her earlobe "… I am yours."

His whispered declaration hung heavy in the air between them, thick with promise and raw emotion. Rhysand's eyes held an intensity that seemed to burn right through to her very core, making her feel both seen and cherished.

Slowly, deliberately, one strong arm slid around her waist pulling her flush against him while the other tangled itself within her loose curls. His head dipped lower until their noses brushed and his mouth hovered mere inches away from hers.

"And I am hungry," Evelyn whispered cheekily, giving him a gentle peck.

Rhysand chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that vibrated through Evelyn's entire body. "Hungry, darling?" He sat up, pulling Evelyn with him so that she straddled his lap, facing him. "Well, I suppose it's the perfect opportunity for breakfast."

His hands slid under her loose nightgown, palms grazing the smooth expanse of her thighs before finding purchase on her hips. With a firm grip, he guided her down onto his hardness, letting out a low groan at the sensation of her wet heat surrounding him.

"I'll feed you, my greedy little flower," Rhysand promised huskily, his lips seeking hers in a searing kiss that left no doubt about his intentions. "And afterwards, perhaps you can return the favor…"

With a possessive claim, Rhysand's lips crashed against hers in a fiery display of dominance and desire. His tongue swept past her lips, demanding entrance and tasting every inch of her mouth with hungry need. His free hand roamed up along the curve of her back, gripping tightly at the fabric of her nightgown as if trying to pull her even closer than physically possible.

Evelyn gasped into the kiss, feeling overwhelmed by both the strength of Rhysand's arousal and the tenderness that radiated off him in waves. She returned his passionate embrace eagerly, wrapping herself around him like ivy clinging to a tree trunk - secure and unwavering despite any attempts at separation.

Their bodies melded together seamlessly, every contour fitting perfectly against another creating an intoxicating blend of pleasure and comfort unlike anything either had experienced before.

Evelyn then pulled away, "Alright, food first. Sex later, ok?"

A mischievous glint lit up Rhysand's violet eyes as he heard Evelyn's conditions, but he didn't argue. Instead, he gave her a playful wink before easing her off of himself completely.

"Your wish is my command," he murmured, releasing her only momentarily before standing gracefully from their entwined state. He offered his hand towards the large dining table, where with a wave of his hand, breakfast awaited.

As they moved towards the decadence laid out before them, Rhysand stole glances at Evelyn’s form, her curves outlined by the thin fabric of her nightgown, the way her tender breasts rose and fell with each breath she took, her body was changing little by little every day, and he loved each development, the flare of her hips leading down to the roundness of her pregnant belly which bore silent testament to their love.

Before Evelyn could take her seat, Rhysand pulled her on his lap, "Stay right here, my flower," he purred in her ear, kissing around it, a hand over her stomach "Let me feed my darlings. What would you like? Something sweet? Spicy? Sour?"

"The skewers… Sweet." Evelyn smiled softly, pointing to the fruit skewers, mixed with all kinds of fruits.

With a pleased hum, Rhysand obliged, selecting two skewers of fresh fruits from the spread and handing one to Evelyn. Their fingers brushed against each other in the exchange, sending sparks of electricity coursing through their connected bodies.

"Eat up, my love," he urged softly, guiding the fruit to her lips with his own. As she accepted the morsel, he watched her intently, his violet eyes sparkling with admiration and lustful promise.

Feeling bold, Rhysand dipped his head lower, nipping gently at the exposed column of her throat before trailing kisses upwards towards her jawline. "You taste sweeter than any fruit I've ever known," he growled against her skin, his voice thickened by desire.

Rhysand was many things, but the one certain thing was that the Lord of Night was hers. Their gazes locked, violet meeting hers in a piercing stare that spoke volumes without needing words.

Evelyn's hair tumbled wildly around her face, framing her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Rhysand's chiselled features were etched with desire, his lips parted and eyes glazed with lust. The room around them faded into insignificance. They only had eyes for each other.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{RhysandWeek Taglist - @andreperez11}

[dxckgrxsonx]

Out of office is ON. Absolutely ZERO customer service duties until Monday and I am sososo relieved!

May i give you all a look at my exbf!dick WIP?

**

Watching that first edge of your relationship catch at the precipice of failure felt so much like grief it was alarming; letting go has never been something you’re good at, especially not when it comes to him.

But you couldn’t stop Dick Grayson from slipping through your fingers the same way he couldn’t stop you from slipping through his.

Ending the relationship was a mutual decision. But that fact brought no relief. He was still leaving you, and in the terrible reflection of that, you were leaving him too.

There was no coming back from that.

**

Your relationship ends on a Tuesday and first thing Wednesday morning you walk into Titans Tower to find Dick standing at the kitchen counter.

Time stalls, your whole life stuttering in a furious backfire.

Whatever you were expecting. It wasn’t this.

Memory blooms against the palms of your hands and it’s tangible, focus hard enough and your fingers could trip along the interlocking bones of his spine. It’s historic recollection, almost twelve months eclipsing the time it takes to blink; one trip around the sun together and your life comes back to you irrevocably changed.

Three hours of sleep isn’t enough to deal with this; you don’t think any amount of sleep is enough for this.

Dick stares at the wall just past your head, mug held halfway to his mouth. He’s still wearing the same clothes as last night, doesn’t look like he’s slept for even a minute, and you could throw a dart at what you’re feeling about that and still not pinpoint it exactly.

Silence seems to echo, then swell, and you can't help but fumble in the face of it, caught in foreign territory. You wasn’t quite sure what you were expecting, but seeing him again so soon wasn’t really on the list. For a moment you consider turning on the balls of your feet and leaving, and yet, you know that won’t solve anything.

A cup of coffee is pushed across the counter in your direction and you stare at it, bewilderment shoved up against the roof of your mouth. You know it’s made exactly the way you like it; know with the same sort of certainty that you bring into mission briefings, the same concrete accuracy you display in combat.

It feels like you’re going fucking crazy.

Glancing at Dick you try to gauge the look on his face but you can’t.

When you first starting dating it was hard to read between his lines–difficult to spot the miniscule changes in his mannerisms–you could stare him straight in the face and miss the switch; miss the split second where emotion filters through the cracks and he shuts it down, hides behind a smooth facade of indifference.

After all the time you spent together it got easier. You learnt. But you look at him now and you might as well have never known him at all.

Dick opens his mouth and every muscle along your spine flexes in preparation, "Let’s not make this weird, yeah?"

Your teeth grind.

What a fucking diplomat.

One thing about you is this: you’re petty. Hand on heart you can’t help it. You get wronged and hit back in the lowest form you can think of–the most inconvenient way your mind can conjure up. The satisfaction you get from it is unparalleled.

Years ago, your uncle told you to leave your own house after a disagreement and in retaliation you parked your car so close to his bumper he couldn’t get out of the space. Then you blocked his number and didn’t come back for three days.

Not once did you regret it.

Dick knows exactly what you’re like; who you are on the inside, and yet he arrives at the solution of damage control. As if that would have ever gotten a positive reaction out of you–as if there would be any moment in your life where you wouldn’t bite all the way back to your molars into something glaringly spiteful.

There’s a split second where you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

He knows you on a level you can’t speak about–knows you through all four seasons and right down to the cosmic dust that interlocks with the fabric of your being–and he’s so brilliantly clever. Strategist since he was a child. You don’t have a doubt in your mind that he knows what you’re about to do before you do it. The revelation stings the same way a papercut does, wound superficial and with clean edges, yet painful no matter what.

Dick Grayson knows you, and in a fit of something helpless and tearful, you wish he didn’t.

The mug of coffee tips in your fingers and you pour the whole damn thing down the drain.

“Yeah.” You say, blinking furiously, refusing to acknowledge the wobble in your voice. “Fuck that.”

Dick stares at you the whole time–the blue of his eyes almost flashing with something un-named–his free hand tightening into a fist. The exhilaration is damning, blood rushing up to greet the sick satisfaction sparking in the hollow of your throat.

Fuck him.

Fuck him so goddamn much.

**

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Absolutely adored your last story!

If you don't mind, I'd like to request something too. What about Miguel's reaction to the reader telling him they are with child? 👀 Feel free to write this to your heart's content 🩷

Have a great day! x

I'm not usually a fan of writing pregnant scenes unless and until it is absolutely required. Given Miguel's backstory, it is definitely required haha. So hope I did your ask the due diligence.

Hope you like it 💖💖💖

---

Magic

The digits in the clock changed with a click. It was past midnight and somehow, you couldn’t sleep. You laid still, soaking in the silence and taking comfort in the soft pale light that filtered into the room.

Arguably with what you learnt yesterday, your mind should have been a warzone but instead it was a question paper staring back at you, waiting for you to choose the right answer. You preferred the battle field. You sighed, the warm hand that rested on the peak of your hip trailed up higher making your skin feel smooth as if you were made of butter.

He pulled you closer to him, even in his sleep he craved for you presence. You had been warned about him, to not marry him and yet you heeded to no one’s advice. Instead, only choosing him when any struggle arose. He was always the answer, you couldn’t be without him and with how he nuzzled into your neck seeking comfort, you knew you held some value in his life too.

So if you were going to choose him again, you were having to say goodbye to a different chapter in your life.

“You're still awake aren’t you?”, he asked you, his voice raspy as he stirred from his sleep.

“How could you tell?”, you asked still laying as you were.

“Reading you has always been a part of my reflex.”, he mumbled with pride as he placed a soft kiss on your exposed shoulder.

You let out a quiet chuckle, now turning towards him to hide deeper into the panes of his chest. Skin on skin, there was no telling where his limbs intertwined with yours. The steady rhythm of his heart only made your throat drier.

“A charmer, even in the dead of night.”, you traced your finger over his collarbone to tuck your hand beneath his arm in the end.

“My spells won’t work on anyone else.”, he spoke with his eyes closed, still caught in the in between.

You didn’t intend to wake him, he was tired as is and now you were keeping him up. It stung you, the one thought that had been on your mind since yesterday. You were failing, in being a wife and now, as a mother.

“Because you’re the magic.”, his words dripped like candle wax, beautiful and yet it burned your heart.

“Only you think so.”, you closed your eyes, hoping to fall asleep as his hand rubbed your back, the soft gesture easing you to relax.

“Puedo preguntarte algo?”, his words had a little slur to them as you hummed in response.

“Why did you hide you were sick this morning?”, the calm in his voice made your eyes pop open as you drew in a sharp breath, now with him holding you so close, he could read you like a book.

“There was nothing to hide, Miguel.”, you were digging a deeper hole.

“It wasn’t all too concerning to trouble you.”, you were now wide awake.

“Mi cielo.”, he murmured.

“Come to me with all your troubles, por favor.”, even as he spoke you could tell this had weighed him down.

You were still thinking it through when he prompted you again, “So?”, he was lulling you to give up the truth.

“Why did you then sneak off to the doctor’s?”, now he was awake too. There was a certain bite to his words, crisp with tension and worry.

You didn’t need to see his eyes to tell that he was afraid, you could feel it in the way his muscles stiffened. The thought propped up again. That you were failing, at being his lover and his wife by keeping things from him.

But was your guilt and fear more important than his feelings?

To have put him through the worry of fearing he was going to lose you too.

He was always the answer, he would give up everything for you if you asked and you would do the same. Selfless for eachother that it often put you in a spot to make decisions for him.

But what would he say?

Did you want to put him through the pain of his past by placing a child in his hands?

“Because,”, you looked up at him, to note his gaze was already on you, hooked on your every word.

“I’m carrying your child.”, you let the words slip from your tongue, like you were letting go out the helm of your ship towards what could be the point of it’s destruction.

You were sure, that having lost his daughter once, he wouldn’t want to put himself through that heartbreak again. You watched as he tensed up again, to slowly rise up to rest his back against the head board.

“Oh.”, he said, but you couldn’t tell from his sober tone.

“So nothing life threatening.”, he reached out to caress your cheek.

“No.”, you drew yourself close to him. Ironic, that many believed you lit up his world but he was the fire to your winter. You only found respite in his arms.

“When did you come to know?”, he rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Yesterday.”, you told him, to which he hummed taking in the information.

But his eyes slid to yours, “Why didn’t you tell me?”, the way his eyes looked pale in the dim light, you not confiding in him had hurt him.

“Miguel, you know the life I come from.”, you turned serious, that somehow in his presence you couldn’t continue to lie anymore.

“What if I’m not a good mother? What if instead of building this family, I wreck it instead?”, you asked, your blood turning cold with images of this fear manifesting in your mind.

“And it would result in you being heart broken, over the child you lost.”, you slumped into the cover like a little pebble, giving in to the pull of your panic.

“I love that you think of me always, mi ángel.”, he reached for your waist to pull you up over his torso such that you could meet his eyes.

“But in this circumstance, you’re wrong.”, his index finger smoothed the wrinkles on your forehead as you fought back tears.

“I can see it in your eyes, you will be an excellent mother. Your love is endless and patient, you made me believe in all this again.”, he gestured to the setting around you.

“So don’t let your fears destroy you.”, he wiped the tear as it landed on your cheek.

“As for me.”, he paused, his eyes turning distant for a second.

“As much as I loved Gabriella as my own,”, he ran his fingers through your long hair.

“She wasn’t.”, he pursed his lips.

“This variant of mine had everything I could only dream off. Replacing him meant I only enjoyed a life that was a lie.”, he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Which hurt more when I lost it.”, you could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Nothing was real from the beginning.”, he gave you a lopsided frown, which broke your heart as you felt his pain as your own.

“Almost as close to a figment of my imagination.”, he inhaled deeply to sigh.

“But you.”, the sadness vanished and in it’s place happiness restored his features.

“Our home.”, he looked up at the ceiling.

“It’s all real.”, he smiled, his eyes slowly trailing back to you.

“So no, this wouldn’t hurt me.”, he nudged your nose with his as though this was all you had to remember, to never forget that he was sure of this.

“I’ve wanted this, I want this next chapter for us. It's time.”, he confided in you as he closed his eyes to pull you closer, to rest your forehead on his and when you did, the question paper in you mind vanished. It didn’t have the answer you wanted to choose, because in this second you had both chosen to choose eachother.

“You surprise me in the best ways.”, you told him as you reached up to take his other hand.

Holding onto his fingers, you guided his hand over to place it over your womb and when he opened his eyes, there was a new passion in it. A new fervent resolution that what he had now, he would protect with his life, that his entire life was right here in the confines of his arms.

With that burning desire, he caught your lips with his. It was a sleepy kiss that was my no means perfect as the ones in the morning were but it was surely more important. You and him weren't going to be the only ones in this house anymore.

“Like I said.”, he spoke over your lips.

“You are magic.”, he said as he trailed his fingers over your lower abdomen.

So you kissed him again, softly, your hands scaling the incline of his back to hold his neck.

But he pulled away to catch his breath.

“Vamos, mami. You need to have a good sleep.”, he placed you into the side of your bed with a sudden air of discipline, as he had remembered what time it was.

“I’ll make you fresh lemonade in the morning to combat the sickness and also –

“You need your sleep too, papi.”, you cut him off before he began to panic and pulled his hand over your waist as he chuckled to settle into your covers.

“Bien, bien.”, he calmed down settling into the same lazy rhythm with his hand slung over you that finally made sleep arrive sooner than what you both had expected.

[shanieveh]

Helllo! Your genshin headcanon "I like you so much, you'll know it!" Is very adorable 🥺. I can't help but fall in love with it. And every single of them touch my heart like asdhdgfjfkskj💞🥺. Anyway if by chance your request is open,, can i request for this same headcanon but for albedo, xiao, and maybe baizhu & gorou? Or just albedo🙏 please and thankyou sm 💛

of course!!! request is always open :DDDD

i'm in love with you, and now you know!

—in which the genshin men show how much they mean to you pt. 2

ALBEDO who forgets every experiment when you're around, your hair, you face, your features was all he ever needed to be acquaintanced with. He who draws your every action, what you imagined to be your most basic or even worse filters turned ito a beautiful masterpiece, every flaw and insecurity he creates into a mesmerizing artwork, because that is what you are in his eyes.

XIAO who hugs you and comforts you even in days when he is loaded with pain and suffering, who fluffs your pillows and ready your meal—not knowing how to cook but still tried his best. He watches you sleep in the pale moonlight, your cute little snores being his melodies of the night. Those nights by your side, in your hugs is where the protector becomes protected as he sleeps in your embrace.

THOMA is selfless to everyone, but how an angel he is to you. He who carries you when your feet hurt, massaging the sore areas while he walks back home. He who learnt how to comb your hair gently, styling it in every way you like, learning to master how you do it everyday. But can't seem to do so as he is distracted watching your pretty face concentrate, instead of the quick movements of your arms to create your favorite hairstyle.

BAIZHU who doesn't care if any of his patients need to eat the most disgusting of concoction to feel better, but oh how we frowns on his medical lab trying to figure out a medicine for your light fever, making ways on how to give you the yummiest and eye-pleasing but still effective for to consume. He spends hours, no sleep, no rest, just to see you get better and happier by the day. Baizhu who has always feared death, was even more scared of your single frown.

CHILDE who loves fighting, but not with you. Drops on his knees on your front door, no matter the storm or violent rays of the sun he will be still for days, to knock, to plead and when you finally open the front door to hug, to cherish. He was never really good at apologizing, but strings of tears and sorries were what escaped his relieved face. And then came piles of gifts and flowery words—you were his everything and for him to lose that means he is left with nothing.

GOROU who gets shy when you are near, but how he does for you to do so. Bakes cute cookies, and your exact favorite. Reads your belived novels only for his soldiers to laugh as to why the general was reading romance novels. He who mimics the way you write, the way you talk so maybe you'll notice it. The way he is completely utterly and hopelessly devoted to you alone.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Secure

Summary; Javier Peña x Fe!Reader -> You meet Peña at a coffee shop but after time passes, he finds out your secret.

Disclaimer: fluff, angst, mentions of guns, mentions of death, illusions to smut, swearing (I think, I haven't proof read this - probably spelling mistakes), spanish is in italics.

You had met Javi one late night in the coffee shop. You were getting the place cleaned up for the morning. Isabella, a regular customer, was sat in the corner with her nose burried deep in her research. The old man who’d you come to know as Pops - a name he told everyone to call him by - was finishing his book closer to the counter. It had been a promise he made to his wife. To read a little, at least, while she was gone. That way they’d have something else to talk about when they met again. Jośe, the young boy who’d run through the door every couple of hours in need of a coffee for his mama and a small cookie for himself, had just left, rushing out of the door going ten miles an hour. 

“Good book, pops?” You asked and he looked up and smiled. 

“Excellent.”

“Good.” You smiled. 

Just as you placed the empty cups from different tables by the counter, the bell above the door rang out. “You open?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Yeah. For a couple minutes.”

“Great.”

He rushed over, you moving the dirty cups from the counter. 

“What can I get for you?” You asked in English. 

“Coffee. Decaf.”

“Coming up.”

Then it hit him. “How’d you know I was American?”

“What?” You looked to him as you changed the filter. “Oh, uh, just a guess.”

He nodded and looked around, suddenly being met with Pops. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sweet.”

You smiled and waved to Pops. “Have a good night.”

“Night.”

“Nice Spanish.”

You smiled. “Thanks. I’ve lived here long enough, I should know.”

“I’m Javier, by the way.”

You smiled back and gave him your name which he repeated. It sounded nice. 

“So, how long have you lived in Columbia?”

“A couple years. Yourself?”

“Same.” 

The conversation ended soon enough when his coffee was paid for - he had something important to get back to. 

But the next night, you were closing up again and he came in. In fact, for the following weeks, he came in around the same time every night; just before closing. 

He started conversations with Pops who would tell Javier the meaning behind all his books. He actually started taking a couple of night classes at the local college. His wife always told him he needed to socialise more. 

She was a people person. 

And Javier would sit there and listen. Pops, clearly, was a man who demanded respect with a single look. Something, over the weeks, you realised Peña had, too. 

During the week, you had heard rumours about Javier. About his job. 

But it was never something you asked him about. You knew more than to ask an American in Columbia if he was working for the government. 

But still, he’d come in every day and order a cup of coffee and smoke his cigarette. You’d both talk and eventually, it got to the point where he’d walk you home. 

It wasn’t far; maybe a couple of blocks. 

You’d tell him why you came to Columbia - your sister. She travelled after college and invited you to join her. But something made you stay. 

He ask where you learnt Spanish. You’d tell him school, mostly, but the practice came in while you worked in the coffee shop. 

Some days, he’d come in during the day and just talk to you. He’d order a coffee here and there but it mostly remained untouched which wasn’t like him. 

Steve had asked questions at work about who Javi was going seeing every day - at first he expected it was to see one of his ‘informants’ but after he began to smell less perfume and more coffee around Peña, it raises his suspicions. 

Peña would give a vague answer but when Steve told Connie, she knew instantly. 

It wasn’t that a woman’s intuition was lost of Peña, it was just something about Connie that scared him. She seemed to know what he was thinking about whenever she looked at him. 

Little did he know, she’d seen him a couple times walk into the same coffee shop and leave with a smile on his face. One Connie nor Steve ever saw on the man’s face. 

But surpringly, it took him a while to ask you on a date. 

Javier wasn’t one for dating. After all, his job didn’t exactly allow it - especially in Columbia - but Connie (and Pops) thought he would have at least done it sooner. After all, the man came in every day for weeks just to simply spend time with you. He’d walk you home and always made sure you were safe. And god help any man that approached the counter and started flirting with you. 

It was like Javier had a radar for those who were flirting with you because each time, not two seconds later, Javier would stroll into the shop and make his way to the counter. Most times, it was like you had a radar for him, too. His coffee would be ready for him to pick up and if the guy wasn’t scared away by the look Peña gave them, he’d order a couple more cups for Steve and Connie (she’d usually come by in the afternoons to check in on him when she had the day off). He’d stay until the guy left and most people who looked away from their books noticed. 

And maybe, in truth, you had noticed a little, too. Most guys tended to scarper when Javi walked in. A few of them would even apologise to him and you for thinking differently. 

Eventually, when he asked you on a date, you said yes. 

He was so nervous. Imagine; Javier Peña, nervous around a woman. Even the heavens wouldn’t believe it. 

But he was. 

He’d asked after he dropped you off at your apartment. His palms were sweating, his mind was racing, and you were right in front of him. 

But the moment you smiled, his nerves eased. 

You smiled at him, nodded and said; “I’d love to.”

He smiled back, a little more confident, and before you opened your door, you kissed his cheek. 

“Goodnight, Javi.”

“Night, hermosa.”

As you closed your door, leaning against it, you smiled but you knew. 

You were in deep trouble. 

It didn’t take too long before you were both…intimate with one another. Four dates, in fact. It was longer than either of you had presumed but it kinda made sense. Mostly, the dates went as follows: 

You’d both ask questions which the other would answer, just simply wanting to know more. Then, you’d take turns picking the restaurant or bar. Next, you’d both head back to the coffee shop - the temp waitress had a family to get back to in the late nights - where you’d wrap your apron around your waist and serve the last couple cups of coffee to the night owls. Finally, Javi would either walk or drive you home (usually walk since he could hold your hand or wrap an arm around your waist) and finally would kiss you goodnight. 

It felt different. 

You’d gone on dates before but…they didn’t feel like this. Like…it was the first time but it was also the millionth. 

It felt…natural.

Homely.

A couple more weeks passed and you’d see Javier at least once a day. He always pop into the cafe to either kiss you good morning (when you hadn’t spent the night together - which was a rareity) or to kiss you goodnight which, you weren’t ashamed to admit would always turn into something more. 

One morning, as Javi lay back in bed, the cover draped over his lower half, he watched as you got dressed by the end of the bed. 

But that was when he noticed them. 

How he hadn’t before shocked him. It was like he studied every inch of you - and not only in the night but that morning too - and yet, how did they slip by him. 

“Hermosa?”

You smiled at the nickname before turning to look at him over you shoulder. You just wished you both had the day off. 

“The marks…”

It took you a moment to realise what he was talking about. But then it hit you. 

A memory you wished to forget. 

“They’re just from…” you contemplated telling him. 

He’d understand, right? He never confirmed it fully but you knew he worked as DEA. He’d understand carry a couple extra physical scars from a job, right? 

“They’re nothing, Javi.” 

You heard him shuffle around before you finally felt his hand on your back, tracing them before placing a soft kiss onto a couple, brushing your hair from your shoulders. 

You felt yourself melt into him, his other hand now reaching around your stomach to capture the other side of your waist. 

Slowly, you both lay back but then you remembered. 

You had a job. 

Unfortunately.

Javi groaned. He had one, too. 

You pressed a few kisses to his lips before he moved from on top of you and headed for the bathroom, him leaving you resting on your forearms with a huge blush across your cheeks. 

God, you were falling. 

Hard. 

It would be a while longer until Javier would find out the truth behind those scars; Find out the story that came with them and you. 

And it wasn’t in any way either of you thought it would happen. 

4 months later…

The sun was still burning hot over Columbia. Thankfully, however, the humidity was becoming less close and claustrophobic. 

Yourself and Javi had been going pretty strong. You had met Steve and Connie - albeit a little surprisingly. 

One of your waitresses had cut their hand whilst cutting up some of the breads for lunch later that day. Connie had been passing on the street with Olivia when one of the customers ran out asking for a nurse or doctor. 

Connie came rushing inside. 

After asking for your first aid kit and a space away from the customers, she handed you Olivia who you stood with in the kitchen as Connie cleaned out the wound and did what was necessary. 

“You’re lucky. It doesn’t need stitches. Just keep it wrapped and clean.” 

Your waitress, Elena, looked to you confused. You translated in Spanish and she nodded before thanking Connie. 

You gave Elena the rest of the day and offered Connie a cup of coffee and some food on the house. She thanked you before sitting down at one of the tables and placing Olivia on her lap. 

Yet, by the time you finished up, Javi had come strolling in and was a little shocked to find Connie sat inside. 

And, as suspected, Connie was shocked to find Javi there, too. But then it began to make sense. 

The smell off the coffee shop - it was Javi. 

It was you. 

Later that night, after Connie had insisted, you sat down and had a double date with Connie and Steve at a local place. 

Steve was glad Peña had finally found someone. As much as he himself had enjoyed the single life, there was just something about being married. About having someone to go to when things got too tough. 

And, this was something, if Steve ever said it out loud, Jacier would have to agree with. 

Sometimes it was like you were the only thing keeping him breathing. Keeping his mind awake when all it wanted to do was drown in the crime and the cases he delt with on a daily basis. 

The last six months, from the moment of meeting, it had felt like bliss. 

But sometimes it felt like Javi was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, although you never voiced it, you did, too. 

And finally, late one night in the coffee shop, it did. 

Javi had worked later than he’d wished to have done. His paperwork had kept him back, making seven typing errors in one sentence. 

Most of the time, he wouldn’t bother. But with Messina…everything had to be up to code. 

And legible. 

But as he walked up the street, he found flashing lights outside your coffee shop, a waitress sat by the ambulance getting patched up and no sign of you. 

His heart dropped. 

“Peña?” 

One of the cops recognised him. “I wasn’t aware we’d called the DEA.”

“You…what happened?”

“Oh, uh, robbery. Or, attempted. Two shooters. One deceased.”

“And the other?”

“Hospital.”

“How?”

“The owner faught. One of them came from the back and sneaked up on her. She said she was fine and needs to go home. We’re gonna bring her in for questioning tomorrow.”

Peña nodded, trying his best to keep a clear mind. So you was okay? Why hadn’t you called him? 

As quickly as he could, he ran to his car and sped down the roads towards your apartment. But the closer he seemed to get, the more he began to panic. 

You had faught? 

It wasn’t that he was surprised but…no, he was surprised. Most people when met with two armed gun men didn’t exactly fight against them. Especially when the only other person in the shop had been knocked clean out and now had a severe concussion. 

But you had faught. You had, what? Killed one gun man and injured the other? 

This seemed more than just a robbery, to Peña. He didn’t exactly know why. Maybe it was the fact that the toll hadn’t even been touched. Maybe it was the fact that they’d knocked out one of the waitresses. Maybe it was the gun they had been using - Peña saw them as they got taken in for evidence. 

This couldn’t have just been a robbery. 

Peña didn’t bother knocking. He knew where you kept the spear key and he knew the code. 

He shouted your name as he entered, shutting the door behind him. “Honey?!” 

Javier had to double back as he passed the enterence to you living room. There you were, sat on the sofa, blood splattered across your body, hair, arms and clothes. You had a first aid kit open in front of you. Javier could see the bloody gauzes in a pile in the table. 

“I’m fine-“

He rushed in, pulling you up and hugging you. God, he thought you might have been dead. That the cop had got it wrong and he’d decided to just hear what he wanted to. 

But he didn’t.

You were here. 

You were alive. 

Are.

“Cariño,” Javi’s voice was soft as he took you in. Any anger he had right now could be saved for later. All that mattered was that you was alive. 

You pulled back from him to sit back down. You needed to clean the wound. 

One of the gun men had got you. Thankfully it wasn’t too bad and since it was night, you got away with telling the cop the stain on your uniform was from the kitchens. 

Peña pushed the first aid beside him as he sat on your coffee table, you knees interlocked with his. 

“It doesn’t hurt?” He asked you after a couple of minutes. He was shocked. Most men he’d met would be at least grunting in pain by now. 

You shook your head.

Something changed in Javi. His back became straighter, his gaze more focused. 

“Those scars. How did you get them?”

“Javi.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“They’re nothing-“

“Bullshit.”

You stared him down. He wouldn’t budge. 

“How did you fight? Those men. One is dead and the other will probably do so in hospital. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

You bursted. You tried your best to look away as Javi questioned you but when he said your name…

“I was a cop, alright!” You hadn’t meant for it to sound so loud. 

Javi just looked at you. You hadn’t told him? Was this how you got the scars?

You sighed as you looked down. Well, it was out in the open now. 

“I was a cop, back in the states. FBI.” You explained, your voice a little quieter now. “I had a partner, a couple years back. We had been working on a case for months. Turns out, all the information, all the insider stuff he’d found - it had come from him. He wanted into their circle. The people I had seen die, everyone’s families and children and friends had all died because he was the mole. He would tell the group where to find the families, he’d tell us he knew where the groups would be that night. Then he’d go back and inform them that we were on our way. It as fucked up.”

Javi waited for you to continue. 

“Look, I felt something was wrong so I tailed him one night. I put a call in and somehow…he found me one night. He caught be by the shipyard. When my agents finally turned up, I was almost dead. When I woke up in hospital, a guy came in. CIA. I had a bag packed, my life covered up and a plane ticket to wherever I wanted to go.”

“So you came to Columbia?”

“My sister stopped over for three days and I stayed. I don’t know what made me but I did. An agent found me a job at a local place since I wasn’t ready to go into the field or anywhere near it. The job stuck and then I decided to buy the place.”

“And the guys?”

“Local gang, I guess. They look into everyone’s background and they must have thought something was up with mine.”

“Did they say anything?”

“Just that I was American and that I had a dirty secret.”

“They know you were a fed?”

You shook your head. “Probably thought I was an informant or some shit.”

Javier nodded. You could see the worry in his eyes. 

“I’m fine, Javi.”

“You could have told me, you know.”

You looked at him. Maybe. Maybe you could have told him earlier. Maybe you should have told him earlier. But what would that have done? Make him worry more? Make him panic when you were left alone?

You’d been in Columbia a good few years before you met Javi. You were one of the best agents the FBI had in the field and - if you ever wanted it - there was a job waiting for you at the FBI in the states, the CIA or, probably now, the DEA. 

You were protected. By your career, by your knowledge, by your skills and by the fact that you entire past had been burried so deep, not even the Pentagon had access to it. 

Your gaze was both soft and serious. 

“I’m telling you now.”

Over the next hour, Javi went to your bathroom and grabbed a fresh face cloth before getting a bowl of warm water. Sitting back in his place on the table, he held your chin softly, Turing your face so he could wipe away the splats of dried blood. 

Once he finished, he placed the cloth down and turned back when he felt your hand grip his. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Javi just nodded, interlocking his knees with yours once more. “I get it. I do. I just wish…”

“I know.”

You both shared a look with one another. It didn’t need to be said out loud. 

Peña leaned in, and pressed a secure kiss to your lips. 

You would be okay. 

You are alive. 

And, over time, more stories would be revealed. What happened on certain jobs, what scars came from where, what they signified…

But in this moment; it didn’t matter. 

All of that could wait until tomorrow. 

For tonight, he wanted to show you what you meant to him. He’d say the words soon enough, but right now, he just needed to show you. 

And you were okay with that. 

After all, you felt the exact same way. 

[sequinsmile-x]

For Sentimental Reasons

Five times Aaron sings in front of Emily, and one time he doesn't.

-x-

Hi friends,

This is for the lovely PrentissMyHotch who wrote something on twitter about Thomas Gibson singing, and as always I lost my self control and here we are 6k+ words later!!

This is very soft, so I hope you enjoy it. I really do love writing this format of fics!!

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: mentions of sickness/throwing up, pregnancy

Words: 6.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

One

She wakes up slowly. Her senses return one by one as she stretches in bed, Aaron’s sheets soft against her skin and the smell of him still lingering on them. She smiles as she blinks her eyes open, the only light in the room filtering in from the gap in the curtains. She can hear the roar of Aaron’s shower in the ensuite and she turns onto her side, sighing contentedly as she tugs his pillow against her chest, her eyes drifting closed for a moment as she buries her face in it.

He’d gone for a run as he did most mornings. It was a pattern they’d fallen into the few weeks they’d been together. He’d wake her up as he left, sitting on her side of the bed, his lips on her forehead and his palm on her back, and he’d ask if she wanted to come with him. She’d frown at him, and he’d kiss her forehead again, soothing away her disbelief as she told him in no uncertain terms that there was nothing she wanted to do less than get out of bed to do cardio. She’d kiss him as he left and she’d fall asleep again, surrounded by warmth and comfort and the love neither of them had admitted to yet. She never questions why he still wakes her up every time, and he never questions why she doesn’t stop him because they both already know. They both know that her waking up with him not there would reignite old fears and him leaving without saying goodbye would remind him a little too much of the things he’d lost. 

She thinks she might drift off back to sleep, let herself get woken up by him again, but then the water turns off, and instead of falling into the usual silence that would follow she hears something else. A low, soothing melody slightly muffled by the walls and the closed door, a tune she vaguely recognises as she frowns in confusion, her expression melting in to a smile when she realises what she’s hearing. 

He was singing. 

She presses her lips together and slips out from under the covers, the shirt of his that she’d slipped on during the night settling around her thighs as she stands up. She walks closer to the bathroom, her arms crossed over her chest as she makes sure she’s careful, avoiding the floorboards she’d learnt creaked, because she doesn’t want to spook him or for him to stop if he knew she was there. She stands close to the door, her fingers pressed against her smile as she listens, her cheeks burning with love and adoration. 

“Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams, whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me, yeah.”

She’s not sure why she’s surprised that he was good, excellent really, because there wasn’t a single thing she’d discovered that he was bad at in the entire time she’d known him, but she feels her skin tingling with it. Her entire body reacts to the sound of his singing voice, goosebumps spreading in a way that makes her shiver as she lets her eyes drift closed again, imagining a future where she got to hear this every day. 

She feels overwhelmed with the desire to be with him, so she knocks on the door, her heart sinking a little when he stops before she steps in, her smile soft when their eyes meet. He’s standing at the sink, shaving cream rubbed into his skin and his razor in hand, half of his face already clean shaven. He’s standing there in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist, his muscles shifting under his skin, the definition he’d hid from her for years under sharp suits and a frown on display for her to see. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he says, smiling at her before he turns back to the mirror, “Did you sleep well?”

She hums and nods, walking into the bathroom to be closer, the air warm and muggy from the steam from the shower, “I did,” she says when she makes it to him, her arms wrapping around him from behind as she rests her chin on his shoulder, their eyes meeting in the mirror, “How was your run?” She asks, kissing his shoulder, her lips catching a patch of freckles she’d been obsessed with since she first saw them. A souvenir from summers past when he was younger and carefree, days spent in the sun instead of holed up in an office, “Any more hot single women flirt with you?”

He chuckles, and it rumbles from his chest back into hers, “No, I was wearing my ‘I heart Emily Prentiss’ t-shirt so they left me alone,” he quips, winking at her when she narrows her eyes at him. She rests her cheek against the back of his shoulder, tightening her hold around his middle, her fingers skimming scars she already knew as well as her own. 

“I might actually get you one of those,” she grumbles, “Or one that says ‘property of Emily Prentiss,’” she smiles when he laughs again. She sighs contentedly, and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, desperate to hear him sing again, to feel it vibrate through his chest. She keeps her cheek on his shoulder, not wanting to embarrass him when she asks, to make sure he has a moment to recover, “I didn’t know you could sing.” 

He tenses in her arms for a moment and clears his throat, continuing to shave as he responds, “I didn’t realise you’d heard me.”

She nods against him, “You’re really good,” she says, turning her head to kiss his bare shoulder, “You should sing more often.” 

He scoffs, self depreciation she knows started somewhere back when he was a child, her desire to hunt down his long dead father and tell him exactly what she thought of him new, but achingly familiar from the last few weeks. She’d always known Aaron’s childhood would have been an abusive one. It was stitched into everything he did, part of the tapestry of his life that still made itself known even now. Not in anger, or his well known sternness, but in how he loved. The fact he was so intentionally soft with her and Jack in a way that made her ache. 

“I’m not that good, Em,” he says, placing his razor down as he finishes shaving, washing away the remnants of the shaving foam from his face. 

“You’re amazing,” she says, her hands on his hips as she encourages him to turn in her arms, reaching for a towel from the side so she can dry his face, making sure she’s careful as she dabs it against his skin, “Can you sing for me again?” 

His eyes go slightly wide and he swallows thickly, “Em-”

“Please?” She says, dumping the towel back on the counter, sinking into his arms as he hugs her to his chest, “For me? It was muffled a little by the door.” 

He sighs, and they both know he’s going to do it, that he can never say no to her, and she smiles as she rests her head on his chest, her cheek pressed against the thickest scar after she stamps a kiss against it. 

“Okay, but you can’t-”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she assures him, her hands skimming up and down his back, chasing the shivers she’s created, “It’s our secret.” 

He nods and kisses the top of her head before he takes a deep breath, the room falling into silence for a beat before he carries on. 

“Yes, stars fading but I linger on, dear

Still craving your kiss

I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear

Just saying this, yes.”

She feels her smile get wider, her cheek squished against his chest, and she pulls back to look up at him, swallowing the last of the tune into a kiss, fulfilling the song’s request as she cups the back of his head and holds him in place, “Thank you.” 

He smiles and nods, clearing his throat, “Thank you for not making fun of me.” 

She shakes her head, “Never,” she says, and he raises his eyebrow at her, a comment about how she’d mocked him for his love for the Beatles just the day before on the tip of his tongue, “Never for this,” she kisses him again, “I love learning new things about you.”

His smiles get wider and he pulls her closer, stamping his lips against the corner of hers, “I love learning new things about you too.”

She runs her fingers through his damp hair, revelling in how it flops back onto his forehead, “Well, it’s a good thing we have forever to learn everything there is to know.” 

___

Two

She feels awful. 

She groans as she spits into the toilet, her body aching as she sinks back against Aaron, gratefulness mixed with humiliation rolling through her as he flushes for her,

“You really don’t have to be here,” she groans, sinking into his touch despite her words, “I can look after myself.” 

He hums, his lips against the top of her head as he passes her a glass of water, “Sure, sweetheart,” he says, taking the glass away after she’d had a few sips, “I’m going to leave my girlfriend who has food poisoning on her bathroom floor and go home.” 

She’d had a rare night by herself in her apartment. They’d spent almost all their time with each other in the six months they’d been together, but a mix of exhaustion on her part after a long case and his need to stay at the office for longer than her had meant they’d spent last night apart. If she wasn’t so tired she was worried she’d fall asleep on the drive home, she’d have gone to his, but she lived closer to Quantico and figured the 30 minutes less she’d have on the road would be good. She’d called in her order to her local Chinese take-out, a place Aaron had told her more than once not to eat at because he claimed to once have seen a mouse in the kitchen, and picked up her food on the way past. 

She woke up in the middle of the night to her stomach rolling in a way that had her running for the bathroom, and she’d spent most of the time since on the floor in there. She’d called Aaron with the intent of telling him she wouldn’t be able to make it to work, but an hour later he showed up at hers in a polo shirt and jeans. He let himself in with his key and a CVS bag full of supplies over his arm and sat with her ever since, keeping her as hydrated as he could and rubbing her back whenever she threw up. 

She hums, love sparking in her chest as she curls up into him, making herself as small as possible against him. He wraps his arms tight around her holding her as close as he can and she presses her forehead against his neck. 

“You have work to do,” she says, not sure why she’s fighting him when she wants him here, when his embrace is the only thing she ever found herself seeking out whenever she could, “It’s important.” 

He kisses her temple, “You’re more important.” 

Her response is cut off as her stomach violently rolls, and she pulls herself out of his embrace just in time to throw up in the toilet again. He soothes her, his words soft and encouraging as he rubs circles on her back until she’s done, the tension in her shoulders dissipating as he pulls her back against him, once again flushing the toilet for her.

“You’re okay, baby,” he says, tugging her back into his embrace, running a washcloth he’d pulled out of what felt like nowhere over her tear-streaked skin, “I’ve got you.” 

She groans, “I hate this,” she complains, not caring that she sounds like a child, her throat raw and aching, “I want it to stop.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, gathering her against him again, “I wish I could make you feel better.” 

She hums, wishing he could too, but then she has an idea, her eyes closed as she rests her head on his shoulder, “You could sing to me.” 

Usually, he fought her on it at least a little. His cheeks tinged pink as he argued that he really couldn’t sing no matter how many times she told him he could. She always won, he always gave in and sang whatever song first came to his head, and she loved it. A part of him that was just hers and Jack’s, a side of him that she knew no one else would ever see. He sighs and kisses the top of her head as he starts, the melody of it skipping across her skin in a way she knows would heal her if it could. 

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are gray

You'll never know, dear

How much I love you

Please don't take

My sunshine away.”

She smiles despite how awful she feels, “Why that song?” She asks curiously, “You usually go for Nat King Cole or the Beatles.” 

He shakes his head lovingly as she scrunches her nose up at the mention of his favourite band, “My mom always used to sing it to me when I was sick or hurt,” he says, willingly offering up a new piece of himself to her, “It’s the first thing that came to mind.”

She hums, turning her head to kiss his clothed shoulder, “Thank you.” 

“For singing?” He asks, and she smiles and nods. 

“That, and for not saying I told you so about that Chinese restaurant.” 

He laughs, a sound that came a close second to his singing when it came to her favourite sounds in the world, and he kisses her forehead, “I’d never say that,” he says, winking at her as he pulls back, “Not when you’re still sick anyway.” 

She scoffs in mock irritation, but is immediately overwhelmed by the need to throw up again. Later, when she can go more than a few minutes without being sick, he carries her to her bed and lays with her there, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as he sings her to sleep.

___

Three

“I think you’ve seen this movie so many times you could recite it word for word,” Aaron says, his smile wide as he looks down at her, his fingers trailing through her hair where her head is lying in his lap.

She turns her head, tearing her attention away from the television screen to look up at him, her eyes narrowed playfully as she shushes him, “Star Wars is a classic,” she says, reaching for his hand and tangling their fingers together, pressing her lips against his knuckles as she turns so she’s watching the movie again, “Are you really telling me 19-year-old Aaron wasn’t queuing outside the movie theatre to see Princess Leia in her golden bikini?” 

He laughs, “No comment,” he says, scratching her scalp in the way she loves, “But I would spend days standing out in the cold if it meant I got to see you in it.” 

She chuckles and shifts so she’s on her back, her eyebrows furrowed, “What is it with men's fascination when it comes to that bikini?” She asks, chasing his palm to kiss it as he tucks some hair behind her ear, “You’ve seen me naked countless times.” 

He squeezes her hand, his smile turning playful, “Is that a no?” 

She sits up, shifting so she’s sitting in his lap as she kisses him, “If you’re good, I could be convinced-”

She’s cut off by a cry from upstairs quickly followed by Jack’s bedroom door opening. She scrambles off Aaron’s lap and they stand up, both out in the hallway by the time Jack is running down the stairs. He launches himself at Emily, something that would have knocked her backwards if she wasn’t ready for it. She picks him up, her arms as tight around him as his are around her neck, his legs hooked around her waist. She holds him close, his tear-streaked face against her neck, and she cups the back of his head as she exchanges a worried look with Aaron.

“Jack, buddy, what’s wrong?” Aaron asks, one hand on Jack’s back and one on Emily’s, holding his entire world in his arms.

“Bad dream,” he chokes out, barely pulling back enough to speak, his grip on Emily getting more desperate.

Emily smiles sadly at Aaron and he nods towards the couch. She carries Jack over to it, kissing his head and whispering words of comfort against his skin as they go, “I’ve got you, baby,” she says, kissing him again as she sits down, keeping him in her arms, “Daddy and I are both here.”

“Want to tell us about your dream?” Aaron asks, wrapping his arms around them both.

Jack sniffs and pulls back to look at them, his eyes shining with fresh tears, “I dreamed about George,” he says, his voice shaking. Emily feels Aaron’s hold on her tighten and she unhooks one of her arms from around Jack to squeeze her fiance’s thigh, providing as much comfort as she can, “But…instead of Mommy…” He trails off, his chin trembling with the force of his emotions and the looks back and forth between them. 

Emily wipes a tear from his cheek, “You can tell us anything, sweet boy,” she says, smiling encouragingly at him, “We’re right here.” 

He sniffs again, “Instead of Mommy he hurt you, Emmy.” 

If she thought Aaron was tense before, she was wrong. His grip on her briefly so tight it almost turns painful, the mere thought of her being hurt by Foyet enough to make him lose his cool. She knew it was a main feature of his nightmares too, that he’d wake in the middle of the night, his eyes wide as he searched her for injuries that were not there. She shifts Jack her in embrace, makes it so he’s sitting on both their laps so she can comfort both her Hotchner boys at the same time.

“I’m right here, honey,” she says, kissing his head and then turning to quickly kiss Aaron’s cheek, “George can’t hurt any of us anymore,” she adds and Jack nods, his head against her shoulder as he starts to relax. She smiles softly as she has an idea, a way to distract them both, “You want to know what always makes me feel better?” She asks, and Jack nods his head, she can tell that Aaron already knows what she’s going to say by the way he sighs into the top of her head, “When Daddy sings to me.” 

Jack’s eyes go wide in delight, his love of his father singing as well known as Emily’s love of it, “Sing Daddy!” 

Emily smiles when Aaron presses his lips together and shakes his head at her, “Yeah Daddy,” she says, winking at him, “Sing.” 

He sighs and gathers them both closer, “You are both lucky I love you,” he says, his tone giving away he wasn’t annoyed in the slightest, “What shall I sing?”

“Do You Want to Build a Snowman,” Jack says decisively, and Emily has to cough to cover a laugh, her smile wide when they both look at her. She shrugs, kissing Jack’s temple. 

“He wants what he wants,” she says, resting her cheek on top of Jack’s head. 

Aaron shakes his head lovingly and clears his throat, “Do You Want to Build a Snowman it is.” 

She finds herself falling impossibly more in love with him as he sings the entire song using inflexions from the movie in the right spots, pulling giggles out of Jack each time. When he’s done, they decide to watch Frozen, even though they know Jack will fall asleep again before the opening scene is finished. As the song he’d just sung plays in the movie Emily leans in and whispers to Aaron that she prefers his version, and he laughs before he kisses her, both of them settling in to watch a movie they’d already seen countless times. 

___

Four

Emily grumbles as she tries to get comfortable, the permanent ache in her back making her irritable as she tries to settle in bed. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” 

She huffs as she looks over at her husband, her hands pressed on her bump, “Just the usual back pain and the constant need to pee that comes with being the most pregnant person in the world,” she complains, grimacing as she tries to move again, the mountain of pillows Aaron had stacked behind her not doing much. She immediately feels guilty for complaining about something she’d wanted so desperately, her throat tight as she looks at him, “I love her so much Aaron, but I am done being pregnant.”

He hums sympathetically and wraps his arm around her shoulders, “I know,” he says, kissing her cheek, “You’re so close now, she’ll be here soon.” 

She smiles at the thought of it, rubbing a circle on her belly where her daughter continues to kick, “I can’t wait to meet her,” she says, wincing when she’s kicked particularly hard in the ribs, “Ouch, little miss,” she says, poking at the heel she can see sticking out from inside of her, “That hurt.” 

“She’s moving a lot?” Aaron asks, placing his hand on her stomach, smiling when he feels the baby move. 

She nods, “So much,” she says around a yawn, her exhaustion overwhelming, “I don’t think I’ll get much sleep tonight,” she sighs and he smiles widely at her. He kisses her and then shimmies down the bed, drawing a laugh out of her as he lays so his head is level with her belly, “What are you doing?”

“Singing to her,” he says, kissing her bump, “It helps make you feel better, maybe it will with her too.” 

She feels ridiculous for the tears that gather in her eyes, but she stopped being mad about them months ago. She felt like a raw nerve, everything she’d spent years learning to suppress now just beneath the surface ready to burst free at the smallest thing. She runs her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, “You’re sweet.” 

“And just like the singing, that stays between us,” he says wryly, “I have a reputation as a hardass to uphold.” 

She nods in agreement, “Your secrets are safe with me,” she says, wincing when the baby kicks again, “Now sing to us,’ She demands, and he does as she’s asked. He sings to her stomach, the first song that comes to mind a Beatles song from his favourite album. She closes her eyes and rests her head back on the headboard, sighing contentedly as she listens to him. Even though she’d heard him sing a lot over the years, his singing voice never failed to amaze her. Low and melodic as it inevitably crawled beneath her skin, soothing anything wrong like a balm. She smiles as the baby kicks hard twice in succession, “She’s kicking more.” 

He kisses her bump, “Maybe she likes the Beatles like her Daddy.”

She hums in disbelief and shakes her head, opening her eyes to look at him, “No, she’s complaining about your music taste just like her Mommy.” 

He laughs, “How do you know that?” 

“She lives inside of me,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him in challenge, “I just know.”

“There’s no safe way for me to argue with that,” he says dryly and she nods, “So I’ll just try something else. Any requests?” 

She scratches his head again, “It’s like having my own personal jukebox,” she only smiles wider when he rolls his eye playfully, “How about a lullaby?” 

They’d bought a book of lullabies. More accurately, he’d bought her book of them when she cried one evening about not knowing any, her hormones driving her to believe it meant she’d be a terrible mother. The next day the book had arrived on the doorstep, and he’d shyly told her they’d learn them together. He nods at her suggestion and reaches over her for the book on her nightstand and opens it, smiling as it falls open at a random page. 

“You’ll have to forgive me if I get the lyrics wrong,” he says, kissing her hand as she cups his cheek, “I’m learning on the go here.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says, rubbing her hand on her bump, “Right baby? Daddy is good no matter what he sings, huh? As long as it’s not the Beatles.” She jokes, and he shakes his head at her lovingly before he begins. 

“Baby mine, don't you cryBaby mine, dry your eyesRest your head close to my heartNever to part, baby of mine

Little one, when you playDon't you mind what they sayLet those eyes sparkle and shine”

Emily runs soothing circles on her belly, smiling to herself as her daughter finally starts to settle, and she settles into the comfort that somehow, after everything, this was her life.

___

Five

It felt like they hadn’t slept in weeks. 

Ivy was a harder baby than Willow had been, the toddler thankfully as good a sleeper now as she had been as a newborn. Ivy had colic and barely slept, which meant Emily and Aaron also barely slept since the only place she’d find any kind of relief seemed to be in their arms. 

“Want me to take her, Em?”

Emily shakes her head at her husband's offer, pacing as she walks back and forth in the living room, her exhausted and grouchy baby crying against her chest, “It’s okay,” she insists, her jaw tight as she tries to stop herself from crying, “I’ve got her. We need to get her to sleep before she wakes up Jack and Willow,” she blows out a slow breath as she kisses her baby’s head, screwing her eyes shut when she just seems to cry louder, “You’ll feel so much better if you get some sleep, baby,” she kisses her head again, ignoring how tears slip down her cheeks and onto the infant’s dark hair, “You just need to sleep.” 

She felt like she was failing, like this was penance for being so confident throughout her pregnancy that she knew what she was doing. When she was pregnant with Willow she’d been anxious the entire time, sure she’d somehow mess it all up, that she had no idea what she was doing and would be a terrible mother because of it. This time around, she’d already done it before, was used to juggling Jack’s and Willow’s needs and she’d been sure she was going into a new phase of motherhood with more knowledge than she’d had before. 

In the three weeks since Ivy had been born, Emily felt like she was right back at the start. Everything she’d learnt that had soothed Willow simply not working on her little sister. She felt at her wit's end, something she knew wasn’t helped by her exhaustion, and all she wanted was for her baby to sleep so she could sleep too. 

“Em, sweetheart,” Aaron says, trying again, “You’re exhausted and tense and she can sense it,” he says softly, “I can help.”

“I know how to look after my own baby, Aaron,” she snaps, her jaw tight as she yells at him. She instantly feels awful, her tears coming in full force as a sob shatters her rib cage from the inside out, her chest aching with it as she holds Ivy closer, her cheek pressed against her dark hair, “I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re just trying to help,” she sucks in a shaky breath, “I’m just so fucking tired.” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me take her,” he says, stamping a kiss on her forehead as he gently eases Ivy into his arms, shushing her as he settles her against his chest. He secures her against him with one hand and wraps his other arm around Emily, her tears immediately soaking his neck as she sinks into his embrace, “Let’s go sit down, okay?” 

She lets him guide her over to the couch and they settle, Ivy resting on his chest and Emily with her head on his shoulder, desperately trying to get her breathing under control as she looks at her little girl. The baby was already a little calmer, her cries lessening into gristles, wriggling as much as she could with Aaron securing holding her in place, 

She feels her chin tremble with the force of her emotions and she swallows thickly, “I am so tired,” she says, running her knuckles up and down Ivy’s cheek, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.” 

He shushes her, his hand not holding Ivy in place scratching at Emily’s scalp, something they both know will lull her into sleep, “How about I sing you both a lullaby?” He offers, kissing her forehead, “It always helped when you were pregnant.” 

She hums and curls into him a little more. It was something he’d only started doing towards the end of her pregnancy with Willow, but he’d done it from the start with Ivy. She’d woken up more than once back when only they knew she was pregnant again, her belly still flat, to hear him singing quietly to her stomach. She sighs, finally feeling a little more in control and she nods against him.

“Okay,” she agrees, always happy to hear him sing, “But no lullabies,” she adds, scrunching her nose up as she tilts her head to look at him, “I think I might lose my mind if I hear another one,” he chuckles and nods in agreement as she offers an alternative, “How about a classic?” She looks at Ivy, the baby now no longer crying but still awake, her dark eyes shining and wide, “Mommy always loves it when Daddy sings those songs, sweet girl.” 

Aaron starts scratching her scalp again, “Close your eyes, sweetheart, you can nap with her. I’ll be here keeping an eye on you both.” 

“You sure?” She asks, doing as she’s told, letting her eyes drift shut despite her question, not sure if she could stand up right now if she wanted to. 

“Always,” he says, kissing her forehead before he starts, purposely picking a song he knew was her favourite, one he’d sung to her on their wedding day, his lips against her ear as he kept his voice low so only she could hear him as they danced together. She falls asleep at some point in the last verse, her eyes drifting shut in tandem with her daughters, both soothed into sleep by Aaron’s voice. 

“I hear babies cry, I watch them grow,

They'll learn much more than I'll ever know

And I think to myself, What a wonderful world

Yes, I think to myself, What a wonderful world.”

___

+ One 

“Mom, Ivy is hogging the Switch.” 

Emily sighs as she steps into the living room, her hands on her hips as she looks at her 11-year-old and her 9-year-old, “Willow-”

“That’s not true, Mommy. It was my turn!” Ivy insists, the controller in her hand, the game she’d been playing paused, “Willow was playing it for ages.” 

“Girls,” she says, her lips pressed together and her eyebrows raised as they look at her, “There are plenty of games on there that you can both play together,” she says, “Choose one of them or no one gets to play, and I’ll let your brother take the console back to college the next time he comes to visit, okay?” 

They both sigh in a way that Aaron always says is all her and then nod. Willow reaches for one of the other controllers and sits next to her sister on the couch.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Yes, Mommy” 

They say in unison and she smiles, dropping kisses to the top of both of their heads, “Good girls,” she says, ruffling Willow’s hair again when she tries to shy away, yearning for the days when her kids were small and wanted to be nowhere except wherever she was, “I’m going to go see what your Dad is up to, okay? We’ll be in his office if you need us.” 

They both hum, already focused on the game they’d settled on, and she takes a moment to stare at them before she walks down the hall on the way to the home office. She hears the faint din of music coming from there. In itself, it wasn’t unusual. At home, Aaron would often listen to music whilst he worked, humming and singing along to himself as he marked papers for the academy. He’d retired from the FBI not long after Ivy was born, but guest lectured a couple of times a week to keep himself from going crazy - something he’d started when both girls were in school. The music itself is what interests her - it didn’t sound anything like what he usually listened to - but she can’t place it at all. The volume on whatever he was watching purposely low and tinny because of her distance from the office making it just sound like noise.

Her curiosity is piqued when she steps on a creaky floorboard and immediately hears the music switch off. When she opens the door he looks like he’s been caught out, his wide eyes partially hidden by his reading glasses. 

“Hi honey,” she says, narrowing her eyes as she steps into the room, closing the door behind her, “What are you up to?” 

“Nothing,” he replies, clearing his throat, not fooling even himself into believing him.

She rolls her eyes as she steps closer to him, her arms crossed over her chest, “Babe, I’ve told you before that I don’t mind if you watch porn, just don’t do it when the girls-”

“I was not watching porn,” he says, sounding offended that she’d even suggest it, “I wouldn’t…” he splutters, unnerved in a way only she had ever been able to pull out of him, something she considered a skill after all these years, “I was not doing that.” 

She believes him, her lips pressed together as she suppresses a laugh at how flustered he is. “Then what are you doing?” She asks as she walks over, turning his laptop towards her before he can stop her, and her mouth falls open in a delighted laugh as she realises what she’s looking at, “You’re watching Taylor Swift lyric videos?” She asks, her eyes falling to the open notepad in front of him, his familiar scrawl staring up at her, “And taking notes?” 

He sighs and pulls his laptop back towards him, his jaw tight with embarrassment she doesn’t understand, “The girls love her,” he says, closing his laptop and his notebook, “I want to know as many of her songs as possible so I can enjoy them with them.” 

She has to press her fingers to her lips to try to contain her smile, unsure how he found new ways to make her fall in love with him even after all these years, “That might be the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” 

He looks up at her, his brow furrowed as if he’d expected her to make fun of him, “Really?” 

She hums and encourages him to roll his chair back just enough for her to slip into his lap, her arms around his neck as she leans in for a kiss, “Really,” she says, kissing him again, “Our kids are lucky to have you.”

He smiles widely, his embarrassment turning to pride as he squeezes her a little tighter, “They are lucky to have you too.” 

She kisses him, sighing contentedly into it before she pulls back, her forehead against his, “So, are you going to sing any of her songs to me?”

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly, and she pouts at him, laughing when he kisses her pushed out lower lip.

“Come on, honey,” she explains, “I want to hear what you’ve learnt.” 

“The only way that is happening is if we get tickets to the tour and you hear me sing along then,” he quips and she giggles, kissing the tip of his nose. 

“Deal.” 

[vladdyissues]

I bet you know Immortal Husbands AU by ghost-chicky. I suggest to expand it with Omegaverse AU, mentioned in sks before (alpha > omega >> beta), Ghost king AU and space fiction.

According to Immortal Husbands AU, halfas age up to only 30 year, and they have to start new life from time to time. Dani was born in their second life. Vlad and Danny were over-warning her to hide her nature from people while she could be relax with ghosts, so, she's always been close to the Ghost Realm. Their daughter's interest and governmental crazy interruptations to the other world didn't let halfas leave Ghost Zone behind for, at least, one life. It has been becoming clearier that they should take the situation in their hands before it's too late. The best way to regulate relations between ghosts & people is to gain political weight. Danny fought with Pariah again, but that time he erased him. According to Ghost Realm laws, he became new Ghost king.

Not revealing his identity, as Phantom the king he entered into negotiations with the earthly government, the result of which were laws regulating movement between worlds and establishing prohibitions on what people in the Ghost Zone cannot do and what ghosts cannot do in the human world. After 2 decades of negotiations Danny finally returned to his normal life with Vlad. Danny visited the Ghost Zone only for issues that Parliament of Supreme Ghosts couldn't resolve without hime. For those movements Danny got for himself and for Dani artefacts, that works like Wulf's claws.

Yes, Vlad could be jealous for Danny's powers but he would come through it.

Halfas keep hidding their nature from the humanity until XXVI century when aliens find the Earth and give an ultimatim: "Become slaves of our cosmic Empire or your planet will be destroyed".

Of course, people are scared to the death. They still don't have weapons to fight back, they even didn't finish terraforming the Mars! Aliens' slavery includes all biopunk horror you possibly can imagine, no one would agree on it. In these times halfas reveal themselves with the idea how to save the part of the humanity: move a part of the Earth to the Ghsot Realm, and the whole Ghost Zone to the.. strong ecto-box! (Box Ghost: (:D My time has come!) Insane, but… it worked.

By that time Anti-ghost shields and costumes, ecto-filter systems was developed enough (thx to the between-worlds tourism) to people could safely live in the Ghost Zone (even without cancerogenic threat!). People quickly learnt to use ectoplasm as energy source. This is how the Space Era for humans had started. Yes, people keep terraforming the Mars but it took even more time to move on this planet. Until that, people will start a war with that aliens but ex-earthlings' warriors are belong to the race of halfa.

Obviously, halfas fit much more for Space. The only thing they need is an oxygen balloon, and even if it cracked they can easily repair it with ecto-glue or something. But people already has the compact oxygen-generating station. And halfas are dangerous weapons themselves, so, they are the best space warriors. However, only with certain genetic sequences a human able to successfully mutate into a halfa, else you die in pain. Plus, it turned out that only ecto-regulation is so strong that only alpha + omega can have kids. Beta is the most frequent for halfas too. Even if it's male and female, but both betas, they're sterile! This is the price.

VladCo is back! :D But this VladEctoScince now. They speciales on the difficult ecto-technology, and if the tech are made to be used in spaceship/open-space, it's an ecto-construction (all from ectoplasm, handmade by Plasmius). Vlad must change his cape to a medical gown.

Probably Vlad and Danny got a son, too, between 200 y.o. and the last day of Earth. Dani still would the traveller of the Ghost Zone while the boy will live near by parents, and under his parents' shadow since the start of teh Space Era.

The best song for this AU: Unreal — Newtype (there's eng vers).

[inkformyblood]

never tastes so sweet (GhostSoap Mermay 2024)

Ghost x Soap, Mer! Soap, Scientist! Ghost; medical experimentation scene, established relationship. Lemon.

Something is hissing just beyond the broken edge of Johnny’s vision, mechanical in the back and forth tone of it, and he almost wishes that he would die so the noise would stop. There’s a dull throbbing ache at the nape of his skull, a matching pulsation along the swell of his forearm, and Johnny knows, without needing to look, that there will be a clotted hole where he had been injected with a sedative. 

The taste over his tongue, all discarded offal and the sterile swipe of antiseptic, would be enough to clue him in. 

Simon really has pulled out all the stops for this little fantasy of Johnny’s. 

Johnny chirps before he can catch himself, the vocalisation rumbling through his throat, his chest, the fin wedged between his back and the smooth glass of the tank trying to rise. Simon is entirely human, broad-shouldered with thick thighs that would propel him through the water if Johnny could ever coax him into swimming with him, so he wouldn’t understand the implication in the gesture Johnny cannot make at the moment. He would want to learn though, to set Johnny back to rights even with every muscle weighing him down like a diver’s belt and smooth Johnny’s fin out, his careful touch making sure every fold in the panels is exact. 

He cuts his teeth on another trilling vocalisation, forcing his eyes open as he swallows it back. Everything still tastes sour but the taste is slowly fading as he wakes. It does pull every mundane ache into sharp relief and Johnny groans as he stretches, rolling onto his belly and propping his chin onto his forearm. Outside his tank sits a lab, the walls bracketed by a row of counters in plain neutral colours. The walls are plain, windows stretched at a human’s standing eye level. There is a handprint on one, broad fingers splayed wide and Johnny knows, immediately, aching to touch, that it is Simon’s hand that left the mark. The lab is empty except for Johnny, the mystery hissing noise revealing itself to be a large filter attached to the tank, causing bubbles to spill over the top. 

If Simon isn’t coming to him, Johnny will just have to go and find him. 

Pressing his hands against the glass, Johnny pulls himself upwards. It is slower going than he would have expected, the remnants of the sedative still clinging like an oil spill in his veins, trailing lingering fingers over the spread of his chest as he breathes deeply, his arms aching by the time his head breaches the water. It smells sterile, lemon-scented clean, the same way that Simon smells when he drops onto the end of the pier, his shirt sleeves pushed up around his forearms and his palms dusted with ash. The air is cool, a shiver biting into the freshly exposed twitch of Johnny’s ears as he pushes himself up, hanging suspended in the air before he lets himself tip forward. 

The impact doesn’t hurt as much as he thinks it should. 

“I see I’ve picked a feisty one.” Simon’s gaze is cold above the dark fabric of his mouth, an indentation where his mouth should be but utterly featureless otherwise. He lifts Johnny up further in the cradle of his arms, one slung securely beneath Johnny’s fin and the other curved around the fin along his spine to press against his cheek. He pinches Johnny’s ear, bending it forwards so he can inspect the other side of it. “Number two-zero-seven-three-five-two-one.”

Just a sequence of numbers and it is so bitingly attractive. Johnny tugs against Simon’s hold, his tail flopping weakly against the other man’s thigh, and he goes nowhere, earning himself a twist to his ear in admonishment. The pain is dull, concentrated all the same, and Johnny expects it to end after a few seconds, his lesson begrudgingly learnt. 

It doesn’t. 

Johnny hisses, bares his teeth at Simon as he leans into the harsh hold, the continued twist of his ear until all he can hear is the blood rushing through his head, his vision consumed by pale blue eyes staring down at him. Observing him.

“Interesting,” Simon murmurs. He tips Johnny back into the tank, the warmer water a rush through his gills, over his bared teeth as Johnny rights himself. He covers his ear with one hand, searching for the open wound that must be there, pain radiating through his head in low pulses like a second heartbeat, heat bleeding through the rough pads of his fingers. There’s nothing. 

Simon turns to one of the desks, drawing out a dark blue notebook from one of the drawers. He checks his watch — a heavyset diver’s model that replaced the slimmer silver piece he used to wear before his visits to the pier became commonplace — and begins to write something. He doesn’t look up at Johnny, keeping his attention focused on the paper before him. A minute passes, then two. Johnny’s tail swishes against the empty base of the tank, trying to kick up sand so he could escape, old instincts rising to the surface. This is so much fun already. 

The pen clicks as Simon finishes his sentence and places it down. From this distance, Johnny has no hope of reading the words but it doesn’t matter as Simon begins to read his notes aloud, a fresh hunger cutting into the hollows between Johnny’s teeth, his belly growing warm. 

“Subject shows signs of discontent, initially attempting to escape the tank through a vertical escape. It was apprehended by scientist S. Riley and the identification number was confirmed. Subject responded reactively to a minor negative stimulus applied to it’s ear and was returned to the tank.” Simon turns, clasping his hands in the small of his back as he studies Johnny once more, his expression inscrutable, his stance making his chest press forward. He is framed by his lab coat, dark shirt beneath neat and pressed, his trousers similarly unremarkable except that Simon is wearing them.

Johnny had never been so fascinated by one individual before. Everything Simon does is notable because it is him doing them. He had suggested this scene, that Simon pretend to have captured him for experimentation while Johnny is however reluctant he felt like being, but this is far beyond his wildest imaginings. The identification number is likely false, not actually tattooed onto his ear, but it feels real. He bares his teeth up at Simon, keeping his belly flush with the bottom of the tank. 

He’s going to make Simon work for his data. 

“You’re only making this harder for yourself.” Simon’s voice is flat as if he’s addressing a piece of furniture in his way, an uncooperative machine that is taking too long to respond, and Johnny realises that that is what he is to Simon here and now. Johnny is a thing. An object. An inconvenient bullet point in Simon’s list of tasks. 

Johnny slides his hand down his torso, the slight curve of his belly, to the opening in his tail. Barely visible but he opens beneath his own touch, letting him press the pads of his fingers over the swell of muscle either side of his opening. His cock is soft, lying heavy and mostly concealed in his sheath, but Johnny stroked over it once, pulling the skin taught before releasing it. There’s electricity fizzing through his head, his breath coming in short bursts. He could call this off right here and now, scramble out of the tank and fuck Simon on the bleached-clean floor, mark up his coat with ink bled straight from the other man’s notes, Johnny’s unwieldy strength keeping them both stationary until they’re satisfied.

Needs some fucking patience.

Johnny chews his lower lip, works his teeth into the meat of his tongue when that doesn't work. Simon’s put effort into this, all because Johnny mentioned he’d like to try it. He won’t ruin all of this planning just cause he can’t hold out a little. He pulls his hand free, his fingers stained a faint pale blue and licks over them, tasting salt.

“Subject is displaying unknown behaviour,” Simon notates, his pen freshly picked up and scrawling across the notepad. “Additional research will be needed if this is due to the stress of capture and the negative stimulus.”

He places the notepad back down and turns away from the tank, from Johnny, picking something up from the drawer once again. Simon reaches down at his belt, his head bowed as he fumbles with something. Johnny creeps forwards, unable to make out anything past Simon’s bulk, pressing his nose against the cool glass of the tank. His touch smears, further clouding his vision, and he wriggles above the fog to keep his eyes on Simon. He almost wishes he hadn’t when Simon turns around, a recorder placed onto the desk behind him and a large noose on the end of a pole in his hands. 

Anticipation is almost as terrifying as the capture itself. 

The edge of the tank comes up to Simon’s chest, an uncomfortable angle for him to stand with his arms raised to catch Johnny with the pole, so he kicks a set of steps that Johnny hadn’t noticed previously over to the tank, locking them into place. He steps up onto them, staring down at Johnny curled on the floor of the tank. There’s something primal hissing at the base of Johnny’s skull, instinct digging claws into the furrows of his brain and tearing through soft flesh that doesn’t know what is happening. There is no cover for him to flee under, not enough space to manoeuvre by design, leaving fight as his only option. 

Simon tugs his mask down, a pre-arranged signal, and Johnny sits upright, curls his hands into his lap to tug at the webbing between the digits as he pays attention. 

“You good, Johnny?” Simon cocks his head to one side, trailing his fingers over the surface of the water. “Looking a little more spooked down there. Won’t be able to hold you properly with one of these if you fight me fully.”

Johnny pushes himself to the surface once more, lingering just beneath the pulled-taut tension of the water to snap at Simon’s fingers. He’d blunt his teeth over Simon’s calluses, tear his gums open by snapping the many bones in his hand for the sake of the marrow, kiss the remaining skin like it would make for every transgression in his life. Kissing the extended pads of Simon’s fingers is close enough and Johnny breaks through the water with Simon’s touch on his lip, his gaze focused utterly on Johnny. 

“Couldn’t break out the fancy tank for me, Si?” Johnny’s voice is a rasp, a blade drawn over a whetstone to try and hone it into a point. He coughs, dipping partially back beneath the water so he can push some water deliberately through his gills. It itches the same way a healing wound does, something natural but still horrifying all the same. He rises up to continue speaking, his voice clearer now. “I’m good, head’s a little foggy so I’m running on instinct first but I won’t fight you too much. Just a little tussle, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Simon pauses, his thumb working over a groove in the pole, his over hand still resting on the surface of the water near to Johnny, but not touching him. “Fuck, I love you.”

Johnny surges forward to kiss him, not caring about the water that splashes over the edge and onto the floor, onto Simon. His love tastes stale, old cigarette ash clinging to the seams of his gums, the edge of his lower lip rough beneath Johnny’s, but he still presses ever closer. It is only when Simon’s hands steady against Johnny’s shoulders, not merely holding him but lifting him, keeping him from sliding free of the tank entirely, that Johnny draws himself back. He balances on the edge of the tank, his earlier artificial exhaustion nearly a memory, only half of his tail still beneath the water in his haste to be closer to Simon. 

Simon’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown dark and his cheeks are stained the same shade as a sunrise bleeding across the water. The colour isn’t restricted to just his cheeks, flooding over the curve of his ears and leaking into the rough line of his neck, vanishing from sight beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. One of Johnny’s scales clings to the pout of his lower lip, another to the rough edge of the scar that stretches from one corner of his mouth, and Johnny reclaims them onto the pad of his finger, anointing Simon’s brow with them instead. They gleam beneath the harsh glare of the lights. 

“Love you,” Johnny murmurs, returning his hand heavily to the edge of the tank. It cuts into his palms as he shifts his weight, unwilling to sink back beneath the water until Simon knows it is the truth with every heartbeat. “Do you want to continue?”

“If you do.”

Johnny cracks himself open with a grin, would peel flesh and muscle from his bones to offer them to Simon, but he settles for lowering himself partially, leaning forward to kiss Simon again, brushing his mouth over the other man’s. He keeps his lips curved over the sharp jut of his teeth, unwilling to slice at Simon’s mouth and introduce another distraction. “Capture me, love.”

He sinks like a stone then, tearing himself away from Simon all at once, but it wouldn’t be an absence that would haunt him for long. Johnny lies flat along the bottom of the tank, first on his belly and then flips onto his back. It isn’t quite the same view as sunlight filtering through the water, a fisherman’s hook slowly making its way towards him, beautiful in its unobtrusive danger. No, this noose is crafted for Johnny alone. He scratches at the edge of his slit, his fin flaring out at the twist of pain and pleasure his rough touch causes. His cock is heavier inside the sheath, nearly sliding free, and his fingers come away bright with his slick. He hooks his fingers just inside his entrance, drawing it open as Simon looms over the top of the tank, pole in hand like a vengeful god, like Johnny’s vengeful god. 

The noose slips around his neck and Johnny fights it.

Not fully, not like he could, potential caught between his teeth like a mouthful of flesh, squirming through his veins to try and get him to struggle more. He could drown Simon, pull him enough that he would fall into the tank with Johnny and hold him down, swallow the final gasp of air that would rise from his lips. Johnny lets Simon pull him upright, his tail hitting an angry beat against the side of the tank. The sound echoes, deep and sonorous, a whale’s song seeking companionship, and Johnny snaps his teeth as Simon locks the pole into place along the top of the tank, keeping him stationary. 

He’s fully exposed now, the bright flash of his slit opening along his tail as his cock slides free, heavy and full. Johnny curls his hands over the line of the pole, tipping his hips towards Simon, presenting himself to the other man. He knows he is pretty to look at, all bright colours and attitude to back it up. Simon’s eyes are wide, dark as his gaze lowers to Johnny’s cock. He thumbs at the recorder on his belt, the fabric over his mouth moving as he speaks, but Johnny can’t make out the words over the rush of blood in his ears, the incessant need clawing at his belly. 

He wants to fuck Simon. Now. 

Simon looks like he feels the same way. 

“Gonna let me fuck you on your lab floor now, Si?” Johnny rasps, grinning at Simon wide enough to ache. “You just might soak through your neat white coat otherwise.”

Simon swallows, his gaze darting to Johnny’s face and then again to his cock. “Yeah, already am. We’ll do this again later, but I need you to fuck me now, Johnny.”