#One of these days I will get one of these properly looked over

[tojisteddy]

Ruthless

or: Country!Simon catches you attempting to tag his property, of course he has to teach you a lesson.

cw: 3.6k words, 18+ mdni, Country!Simon, alt universe, no use of y/n, some plot with smut, dub-con, spanking, breeding kink, p in v, creampie, age gap (Simon 29, reader 23), primal play & reencounter (if you tilt your head), pet names (little girl, city broad, lucky), fingering, lite pussy pronouns, degradation.

a/n: a scrapped Drabble turned into a full story cause I love plot

You were running like your life depended on it.

It was dumb for you to even attempt to tag the Riley barn to begin with.

You knew that, your friends knew that, anyone in town would’ve warned you otherwise.

It all started with a little end of college fun, wreck havoc like the good ole days. Nothing out the ordinary. Something that supposed to be a silly little prank, saying goodbye to college and hello to adulthood by spray paint and a little egging.

Was it a little too much for your liking? Yes.

Just plain rude and disgusting because at the end of the day, what exactly did Ghost do to deserve any of this? But peer pressure is a nasty, annoying, bitch. Regardless of age.

The Riley Ranch had been rumored as evil and haunted, the only people who really interacted with the land being other farmers. Even when Simon Riley, the last standing of the family, came to church (on the rarest occasions), people kept their distance. Afraid his families “bad” energy would spread over to them.

They called him Ghost.

There was a fire at the families home, started by Ghosts father who was always in a rage. Your father made sure your family stayed clear of him when you visited, he wasn’t too kind to quote, ‘big headed, posey, no good, city slickers.’ No one thought his rage would grow so large into trying to kill his whole family.

No one one besides Ghost made it out that night, there was rumored to be a large burn mark on his back to prove it.

You’d gotten found too fucking quick, “What the hell do you think you’re doin?” His voice booming on the highway road.

Simon Riley was blessed to have ears like an owl. Heard the car pull up and stop on his property, the rumbling of the engine— a beat passes— the car doors slamming shut and the far off hushed giggles. Nothing new, people had passed his property to spook whoever the hell they were with. Try to show how “evil spirits” ran rampant on his land, even if they were, he hadn’t ask for them to be there. But they’d never stop. They’d do it before.

They’d do it again.

But he heard that can of spray paint shake and his boots hit the floor before he even realized it.

Not the brown farmhouse gate he’d spent so long sanding down as a child with the help of his grandfather. Not the white ranch fence he’d spend so long getting together as soon as the land was properly handed to him and in his name, that’d he hand painted himself and fixed up the grass so people knew better than to drop any litter there.

No fucking way.

Your friends were already in the mustang you’d arrived in, those bastards, revving the engine and zooming off. You dropped the can, more spray getting on the grass fuck, fuck, fuck— your brown eyes slowly looked up, meeting a more than livid pair blue eyes.

You wanted to squeak out, ‘im sorry’ but where would there be room for that? Not in between the ranch fence that already had a squiggly line and crooked smiley face with black spray paint on it created by yours truly. There would absolutely be no room for an apology when his face was already screwed up, jaw clenching from underneath the bandana that hid his face, eyes narrowing into slits.

Well duh, babe. Move those feet!

And you did, turning at a 90 degree angle and sprinting like it was the end of the world. Ghost mumbled a ‘god damn it’, and ran right after you, his boot quickly meeting a carton of unopened eggs.

Oh you were definitely in for it now.

You ran through the Egyptian wheat, tall as the eye can see, green leaves scratching your arms and legs. You prayed to God there wasn’t any crazy animals hiding in there. You were panting, taking a quick glance behind you and you could only hear rustling of the large plants that surrounded you, feet hitting the floor.

Then you heard a distant yell in the field, “[+], you get back here!”

Well it wasn’t exactly the hardest to spot you out, you looked like your mother— who looked like her mother. You came from a family known for actually being good people, never hesitating to help or providing when need be. You’d met Mr. Riley a couple times in your 23 years of life. Quick instances that you vaguely remember. But you knew his face, and he knew yours.

Your mom had been one of the few good people making sure he was well taken care of when he was younger, she couldn’t raise him like she had wanted to with having to travel back and forth from the city for work as a children’s author. But she’d made sure he was taken care of in whatever home he was placed in, encouraged him to join the Boys and Girls club, something to ground him.

“Just needs someone to look after ‘em is all,” she’d ensisted while braiding your hair one night before heading to meet him at his group home, fingers weaving through your curls with purpose, you were around eight. “Some kids need a lil extra love, show ‘em someone’s there for ‘em. Simon’s one of those kids, so is your older brother, even though he’s a pain in my side at times. They’re all good in their core— their heart. It’s important to have someone nurture it. Gods called me to do that.”

Though, the relationship strained when the foster system let him go. “He’s just having boy troubles. Boys go through those weird hormones when they hit a certain age. Wants to prove ‘imself as a man. They get real hard headed [+]. He’ll get over it ‘nd pull through. He always does,” she’d say. So certain. Undoubting. Like a sixth sense.

And Simon did manage well enough, clearly, for him to have a proper farm for himself, one that was properly taken care of and thriving. You’d visited with your mom two years back. It was so clear to you now. Your mother practically smothering him in a hug when she got close enough. Simon was awkward at first, but accepted it. His eyes and whole body softing by her touch. She’d been family when no one else would be.

He looked towards you, you met a gorgeous shade of blue, long blonde lashes to match his short blonde hair, face with a few noticeable scars and half his face hidden under a black bandana. You were standing a ways off so you couldn’t hear what he or your mother was saying, but you saw him nod toward you. Your mother saying something and him nodding in response. She waved you over,

“[+] you know Simon— I mean, Mr. Riley since you’re a grown man now, ain’t that right.” She laughed.

“Whatever you want ma’am.” He looks down at you and extends his hand. You take it, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and give it a firm shake.

“Good seein you.” It wasn’t just words, he was sincere, caring. Like seeing an old friend.

You nodded, “ ‘S good seeing you too.”

He showed you the farm after that in his truck. The big house that was farther toward the woods, properly fixed after the fire a decade ago, the Egyptian wheat field, the horses and chickens and the new blue barn he was building to accommodate them, the horse training area used to break in horses no one else would. It was a lot of land, a lot of work, but you could tell by the sound of his husk voice, he was proud of himself and the work he’d been able to accomplish. Even more happy when your mom praised him.

It finally clicked: that barn— and right on time, you’d caught sight of it. Not the one Mr. Riley had been fixing when you visited, the old one. Large and in charge that had old wood, and was definitely falling apart. But you made a bee line for it anyway.

What other option did you have?

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, nerves on a high because you didn’t even notice how close Ghost was to you before you ducked so he couldn’t grab you. Kicking his shin and dashing towards the barn that was bones.

“You damn brat! fuck me!” He cursed, hopping to ease the new pain on his leg before running right after you.

You undid the large wooden latch, sliding the doors open and immediately trying to slide them close. But his hand shot through the opening, a shiver runs down your spin.

Up the steps you went, the only place you could go, and Ghost was right on your heels, quick, almost silent— didn’t call him Ghost for no reason. You tripped and fell on a pile of hay and wild chickens went fluttering and clucking down to the barn floor, clouding your vision. Next thing you knew, Ghost finally caught you. His hands grabbed hold of both of your arms as you rolled around and thrashed underneath him.

“You fuckin asshole! Let me go!” You grunted, trying to kick your legs where the sun didn’t shine but completely missing when the older man closed your legs, gripping them together under your knees in his hands. He had you like a pig about to be roasted.

“You ruin my property but I’m the asshole?” The fucking audacity of you. “Gonna teach you a fuckin lesson cause clearly they don’t teach you city folk manners.”

With ease, Ghost sat himself down on one of the old hay bails, bringing you over his lap. He grunts, keeping you as still as you can, and then like thunder— his large calloused hand comes down to your plump ass, echoing in the empty barn.

“Mr. Riley!” You gasp, your head shoots up, eyes widening— there’s no way- was he giving you a spanking? The next one yanks you out of your thoughts, brutal, harsh, that makes you scream his name again, “Mr. Riley, that’s enough!” But he’s completely ignoring you.

“Spray painting my fences,” SMACK!

“Tryin to egg my house,” SMACK!

“‘Nd Ruinin my fuckin crops?!” SMACK!

“You’ve lost,” SMACK! “you’re damn,” SMACK! “mind! little girl!” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!

You’re crying and whimpering, as his hand continues forming ripples in your ass. You’d gotten one singular whopping your whole life, from your grandma for breaking her good vase when she told you no ball throwing in the house. Life altering from one incident that made you into the goodest girl there ever was.

And then there’s this predicament, one that ripped your soul in two. One half fueled with hatred for doing something so crude— so audacious. And then the other that’s struggling to keep itself contained. one more hit that meets your tender bottom, one that hits you in a place you didn’t realize was boiling over— a smack to the ass that forces an egregious moan out of your trembling plump lips.

Simon stills, his eyes flicking over the state of you. You’re shaking, head down and legs finally not kicking. But he sees the way you try to hide yourself further into his lap, because you and he both know you just moaned because of a little whooping.

Oh— you're crazy.

You’d unknowingly created a fire and Simon would add lighter fluid to it.

He lifts the bottom of your short flower patterned dress, just to peak, you jump but still, your heart pounding even louder than it had before. And it’s a sight for the man to behold— your underwear soaked like the damn ocean. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to bring the hands down to hide the slick that was ever growing.

“D-don’t look.” You sniffle. Too damn cute.

But there’s a snicker, something that makes you look back at him and his eyes are shining with mischief, “My god, you’re a filthy lil thang, aren’t’chu?” It’s almost rhetorical, he’s not asking you, he’s asking your cunt. “Didn’t know you city broads were like that, learn somethin new every day, don’t you?”

You yelp when he yanks your underwear down to your knees, thrashing around once again, but Simon keeps you still. Your pretty pussys glistening as bright as sun on water, slick all over your fat second pair of lips. He brushes his fingers against them, sending shivers up your spine, you cant help but arch further into his touch.

You whine, “Mr. Riley-“

“—Shhhhh, gotta hear her,” he murmured, slowly slipping a finger in your drenched hole. Your pussys practically sputtering out with every thrust of his finger, slipping another one and coating it perfectly. He takes them out, sucking up the juices on his tongue that you’ve left on them, spitting down on your hole before stuffing his fingers back into you. He hums in satisfaction as you lose your mind, “such a fuckin slut, you just get this wet for anyone, don’t you?”

Your eyes reach the back of your head, breath hitching, “Nooo, I don’t- I wouldn’t!— ooh- agh- Mr. Riley!” your interrupting yourself with your own moans. Whatever anger you had before, folding into nothing.

He finally let’s go of your hands and you grip on to his leg, nails clawing at his jean cover thighs. Your stomach tightens running away as your orgasm builds but Simon follows, thrusting his fingers into your gummy walls even more, curving them to find your sweet spot with determination.

“Eaaasy now, don’t want to hurt you. Be good ‘nd cum. Know you want to, make a mess all over me darlin’.”

And that’s all it takes, with a twitch and a squeal, your cumming all over his hand. Simon thrusts his fingers a couple times, watching the wave of euphoria wash over you before sucking one of fingers clean, then bringing the other to your mouth.

“Come on, don’t be fuckin uppity, taste it lil girl” he tsked, you take the middle finger in your mouth, tasting your own arousol, swirling your tongue around it. Slowly pulling your head back with a ‘pop.’ It all goes straight to the blondes aching dick.

You hear it, the unbuckling of his belt, your stomach touching the tint that had built because of you. your mind finally snaps out of the trance he’s got you in. You barley manage to get out of his lap, scrambling through the hay, tripping over your underwear, on your as knees. Giving Simon the perfect view of your tender ass and the slick that’s dripping down to your thigh before you turn when you meet a wall. Pushing yourself into it.

“We- shit- someone- someone’ll come!” You ramble out, panting, still feeling the after effects of your orgasm. Your eyes avert to anything in this barn besides the man infront of you. But he made his way over to you, slow, stalking. And once he’s on his knees and hovering above you, he springs his cock from from his boxers. The blonde is hung, large and girthy, his tip strawberry red and leaking pre cum.

He bends down, sliding his fat cock between your wet folds, and then smacking his tip on your clit creating a plap, plap, plap. You can’t help but whimper at the sensation.

“You want it don’t you?” he whispers in your ear, taunting you, goosebumps wave over your skin. “Don’t want me all the way,” he traces over your belly, and then pokes right where your uterus is, “up here, hm?”

“Don’t want me to make you feel good pretty girl? Don’t wanna feel it once?”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline that’s pulsing through you, the way he’s looking down on you like you’re pathetic, dick crazed maniac. And maybe that’s exactly what you are, just once— you just want feel him stir your guts just. this. once.

“I do.”

And your soft voice is just enough for the brute to yank your legs open, Simon throwing your legs over his forearms and spreading your pretty hole open with just the tip. The man starts bullying himself inside the tightness of your pink walls.

He’s big. He’s too big. You hiccup, shoving at his shoulder while he’s splitting you in half, “Mr.Riley, ‘s so much! hicc- can’t. I can’t.”

He croons, slowly thrust more and more of his veiny length into you. “Come oooon city broad, thought you could take it? Don’t go runnin. Been runnin from me alllll this time little girl.”

“Bet you won’t do no shit like that again, ruining my damn property,” Simon hissed, smacking down your clit a few times. “Gonna fuck that nonsense outta that lil brain ‘f yours.”

“I won’t! I promise! Mmmph- I’ll be good! S-so good just for you. Always for you.” You mewled, one hands clawing at the wall behind you and other hand at his shoulder. He finally feels it, his cock reaching the very hilt of you, balls smacking your ass crack. The damn obscene sounds your syrupy pussy is making to keep him inside you, and his tip giving your cervix the messiest and he’s sure, the first kiss it’s ever received.

A baby.

You’d look so fucking sexy, being all plump with his fucking baby. He pushes your thighs back to you head further, jackhammering into your heat rough and mean.

“Five,” he mumbles, groping at one of your tits in his hand. Squeezing and kneading it like a vice.

“Wha-“

“You’ll give me five ‘f ‘em, won’t’cha? Make me a daddy.”

He’s talking nonsense, partially. Simon wasn’t dead set on five, he’d wanted a baseball team but he’d settle for whatever you wanted. One would do if it caused you too much strain. He’d take care of you and the baby, buy you whatever you asked for, have you sat on that back porch, in a rocking chair. Your hand on your full belly, watching him as he worked all lovingly.

Simon breath hitches, rolling his hips into yours with a grunt, fucking drunk at the thought of it. The thought of you, all while your pussy was squeezing on him like you were reading his fucking mind.

“C-christ almighty, I got lucky with you huh? A snug lil cunt like this deserves to be up filled up with my cum.”

You still couldn’t believe it, thee Simon Ghost Riley, was with you in this old barn fucking your brains out like you were fucking Eve in that damn garden, on top of a pile of hay. Both of you letting out moans and groans like animals that you’re sure anyone who stepped foot on property would be able to hear. It’s hot, and sweat is forming on both of your foreheads, your skin is sticky. Simon’s big balls hitting your ass every punch of his tip into you G Spot. both of your eyes hazy, stupid off the other getting off.

“Feel so gooood M-Mr. Riley! So much!” You keen, reach for the bandana hiding his face. He always pushes your hand away but then he remembers what you’re about to be— his lover, his wife— the mother of hic children.

“Mamma’s gotta know the face of ‘er children’s daddy right? pull it off.” And you do, tugging it. And god, maybe this whole ordeal got you lucky.

So damn pretty. A scar on his nose, another one at the end of his pink lips, blonde strands swaying everytime he ruts into you, “Mr. Riley’s sooo pretty,” you slur, talking to him like it’s some secret. You’re lucid in his cock, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure while you stomach coils up.

“Uh-uh, eyes on me city broad, look at me!” He squeezes your cheeks together, planting a fat kiss on your smooshed lips. He snaps his hips forward, and your head would’ve hit the wall from how good you feel. But Simons still got your pretty face in his hands.

“Gonna have ya allll bare foot ‘nd pregnant, waddlin yer cute ass ‘round here with a ring on that finger.” He’s telling you, as if this is already happened and he’s seein it with his own eyes. All you can do is moan at his words. You can’t even form a sentence at this point. Just nodding your ditzy little head while he gives you his dick.

“Gonna be a pretty fuckin mamma too, fu- shit baby, your pretty tits all full with milk for our kin— damn, you love the sound ‘f that dontcha? You can deny it all ya wont, but she’s achin for it.”

God, you are. She is too. You didn’t even know how greedy your pussy was being as he pistoned in and out of you, “Gonna— gonna cum, fuck I’m gonna-“

“-Yeah, thaaat’s it lucky, come all over your husbands cock.”

All you can utter is a ‘s-shit’ when your orgasm smacks you, your toes curling in your converses, thighs shaking in Simons hold.

The blonde gets you in a headlock, smooshing you down into the floor further, brushing your curls with hay out of your gorgeous face. rutting into you as your walls clamp onto him, begging for his all milk he’s able to give you.

Simon growls, and the strings of cum fill your womb. Your clammy bodies are still stuck together as he rocks the last bit of cum into. Mumbling while kissing your neck, “take it lucky it’s all yours. Gotta keep you nice ‘nd full if you’re gonna get pregnant.”

It’s quiet finally. The barn itself is old and creaks but you can hear the chickens right down the steps clucking, the cicadas chirping, the breeze passing through the trees. The only think you hear are his and your pants,

Simon scoops you up in his arms, adjusting your dress to cover the mess he’s created thats dripping down on that barn floor with every steps he takes.

“Mr. Riley, where are we- where are we going?” You hiccup, gripping onto his shirt. All you can look at is him, a little in shock, a little blissed out. The only thing your able to focus on is the handsome man holding you against his chest. The way his heart pounds louder as he looks down at you.

“To the house. It just won’t take after one go.”

a/n: a draft that’s sitting since last month. Luv you bubs. Can’t wait to write more country!simon

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[emisluvr]

attitude ◜ᯅ◝ p.sh

박성훈 as your brat tamer bf ⊹ ࣪ ˖ wc. 840 ୨ৎ mature drabble ✧ w. smut (18+ mdni!), degradation, rough sex, spanking, brat!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it!), manhandling, explicit language ── requested!

one small argument with sunghoon was all it took for your attitude to shift towards him for the entire day. whether it was rolling your eyes, giving one-word answers, or simply pushing his buttons on purpose, you weren’t having it with him.

and frankly, you didn’t care about the way you were acting at the moment.

the clock barely hits 10pm before the sky is pitch dark, the living room dimly lit with a warm-toned lamp. you were lazily laying on the couch, scrolling away on your phone.

you saw him walk from the bedroom towards you, but you didn’t even budge an eye. "what the fuck is wrong with you today?" he says, breaking the eerie silence as he stares down at you.

"nothing," you simply reply, eyes still glued to your phone. he runs a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed and frustrated. "at least talk to me properly," he demands, his tone firm as his gaze stays locked on you.

"maybe if you weren't such a pain in the ass, i would," you mutter under your breath, slowly getting up from the couch to retreat to your room, away from him.

the second you stand up, his hand grabs your jaw, his grip tight as he forces you to hold eye contact with him. "quit acting like a fucking brat," he sneers, letting go of your jaw.

"gosh, you're so dramatic. it’s not even that deep," you say, looking down at your feet to avoid his piercing gaze.

his patience snaps in half. that was his final straw with you. "not that deep, hm? alright then," he mocks, pushing you back onto the couch so you’re flat against the cushions.

"sunghoon—" you try to protest, but it's useless.

"shut up," he hisses, flipping your body over so you’re on your stomach, grabbing your hips and forcing you to arch your back for him. you don’t even try to fight back anymore. you knew you were about to get fucked until your mind went blank, and as much as you were mad at him—you wanted that.

he springs his flushed cock from his sweatpants before pulling your panties down, making them pool around your knees.

with no warning, he slides his cock inside your pussy, which had already become visibly wet. you gasp, the unusual and deliberate stretch feeling good but rushed, but you don’t even care.

his thrusts pick up quickly, becoming more synchronized as his hand lands a sharp slap to your ass every few moments, watching the way it recoils against his hips and turns red.

the sound of your squelching pussy meeting his cock fills the room, wetness dripping down your thighs as he fucks you harder, faster.

your cries are muffled by the pillow shoved into your face, unable to stay quiet as his cock stretches you so perfectly, hitting your deepest spots as he lands harsh smacks on your flesh.

"not so quiet now, huh? dumb fuckin' girl," he snarls, his free hand gripping your hip to help push your body down on his cock so his thrusts are in rhythm with yours.

all that escapes your mouth is a pathetic moan. "only good for taking my dick, huh? that’s it?" he mocks, his hand moving to tug your hair, pulling you up so he can hear you answer.

"m-mhmm.. fuck!" you scream, his cock dragging in and out of you faster to make you stammer. his hand releases your hair, your upper body falling back onto the cushions again as you feel yourself nearing your release.

"gosh, you sound pathetic," he breathes out, watching the way your body trembles under him as all you can do is moan, cry, and take his cock. your pussy tightens around him, the need to cum becoming more desperate with every thrust.

your eyes roll back, similar to how you rolled them earlier today, except this time it’s because you’re getting fucked dumb. your mind is nothing but mush now, hair all tousled, cheeks flushed—with a few dried tears on them.

meanwhile, his head is thrown back, his cock bullying your hole, making every moment count to make sure you knew your place. his eyes flicker down, watching his length disappear inside you with every thrust while your cum begins to seep out onto the cushions, painting it with your fluids.

the sound of his cock fucking you fills the room, the slick noises mixing with the stuttered moans escaping from your lips, and all he can do is grunt in satisfaction as you become a pathetic mess beneath him.

his pace slows, then eventually comes to an end. he pulls his cock out of you, spilling himself on your back. you feel the warm spurts on your skin, but you’re too fucked out to say anything, still struggling to control your breathing and come down from your high.

"next time, think twice before acting like a brat," he mutters, his body lowering to kiss the top of your head and lightly ruffling your hair.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

Can i get a bucktommy kiss nr.17 to distract, please 😘

Tommy's life used to be a lot simpler before he got tangled up with the 118 again. He'd had a few years of relative normalcy and quiet, and then Howie had called him asking to fly into a hurricane and nothing had been simple since then. He'd looked into a pair of blue eyes and his entire life had turned into one long series of complications.

For example, he used to just be able to give exes a birthday present and be done with the whole thing, but this is Evan. Evan, who takes care of everyone without expecting anything in return, who looked Tommy in the eye one day and told him he loved him and asked that he please stop running from that. Evan, who is turning 35 but trying to not make a big deal about it, because his birthday has rarely been a big deal, and so Tommy wants to throw him a surprise party.

Evan, who is home an hour early.

He meets him in the driveway with what is hopefully an apologetic smile and an excuse that he forgot to ask him to pick up some stuff at Home Depot for the gazebo they're building over the next few weeks.

"Do you want to go later?" Evan asks, and Tommy sees his eyes shift almost over his shoulder and realizes that someone might be looking through the curtains.

Thinking fast, he grabs Evan and kisses him, whirling them around so Evan's back is against the tailgate of the truck and facing away from the house. His boyfriend makes a soft noise against his mouth, and Tommy almost forgets why he's doing this in the first place. When he breaks the kiss, he feels dazed for a moment, and Evan is doing that thing where he licks his lips and tips his head down and looks at him through his lashes.

What was Tommy doing?

He sees the flick of a curtain out of the corner of his eye and remembers.

"So, definitely later?" Evan teases, his fingers curling in the space between the top buttons of Tommy's shirt.

"N-no, we should go now," Tommy says, even though he wants nothing less than to have to go out in public and pretend he doesn't want to be somewhere with Evan wrapped around him.

"You sure?" Evan asks, leaning in to nip at his bottom lip and then his chin.

Tommy is not God's strongest soldier, but there are a half dozen people in his house setting up a party. He can't ask them all to leave for a quickie. There's food in the oven, there's streamers being set up.

"Unfortunately, yes," he says, nuzzling Evan's neck and flipping off a cackling Howie in the front window of the house.

As he gets into the truck, he texts Maddie so she can take over the rest of the set-up.

Maddie

Got it! Chimney says to tell you your distraction technique sucks. I'm sure you did your best 😊

Tommy feels Evan squeeze the inside of his thigh as they back out of the driveway and sighs.

Maybe they can find a dimly lit parking garage near Home Depot. That'll keep them from the house for a while.

-

Later, when Evan looks properly surprised and looks at Tommy with a sunny smile and teary eyes, Tommy thanks Maddie profusely for taking over in his absence.

"The extra half hour you bought us really helped," she says, patting his back. "Also, you might want to put something on that rash."

He claps a hand over the stubble burn on his neck. "Is it that bad?"

"You look like you got wiped down with sandpaper," Howie adds unhelpfully. "Good trip to Home Depot? Saw that the truck bed was empty."

"They were out of wood," Tommy lies, squirming past the two smirking Hans.

"Oh, I'm sure there was plenty of wood!" Howie calls at his back, and Tommy hears the distant sound of a high five.

[naomihatake]

The blood dripping from your eyes

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ pairing: Sylus x female reader

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ themes: fluff & angst, hurt/comfort

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ summary: Sylus had never been so scared of being feared, not until that moment, when he came back home bathed in blood. Being greeted by his beloved when he entered the Onychinus mansion, the air got knocked out of his chest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ content warnings: reader is MC, blood (no graphic violence), fear & anxiety, Sylus needs a hug (MC delivers)

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ word count: around 1k words

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ A/N: I rarely ever see fics in which Sylus is comforted — of course, he is treated gently most of the time, but since he's indestructible against other enemies, he is his own worst enemy when worries get to him. So yes, Sylus is at the receiving end of comfort this time around.

She wiped the blood on his cheeks with a gentle hand, running the tips of her fingers over his skin until the grim had been washed away, until she could feel the warmth of her lover (until she washed away his worries). 

The small white towel she picked up was now tainted in crimson. The red turned into a strange shade of pink under the stream of water in the sink.

Sylus stood stiff in front of her — he didn't dare move nor breathe when her other hand was holding onto his shoulder. He's never known a fear quite as intense, the fear of being feared. Dread had crawled up his throat since she entered his room and he found it hard to calm down. All he could do was curl and uncurl his fingers by his side (he didn't dare touch her). 

“Sy?” came out her soft murmur. 

Such a gentle sound he couldn't believe it carried the weight of his name (his nickname was so sweet on the tip of her tongue). 

His lips parted and he could swear there was a witty answer he wanted to say, but it somehow got stuck at the base of his throat. (What did he even want to say? He didn't remember.) All he knew was fear. For a moment, he pitied those who knew such a feeling. (For a second, he even pitied himself. No, it was the devil in the back of his head that was disgusted by his own fear.) 

The next thing he knew was the tender hand that settled on his cheek and the thumb moving over his purplish under eye. Sylus was met with a gentle gaze, the kind of gaze he's been dreaming of and yearning for. The Gods couldn't fathom how much he's missed that look in her eyes. 

“What's wrong?” 

She'll be the death of him. She already was. (Hopefully, she won't have to meet the same fate in this lifetime.) 

“Ain't I disgusting? Scary? A mon—”

A monster. However, her thumb settled on top of his lips and he was at a loss of words. 

“You're mine.” 

Sylus sucked in a panicked breath, something within his chest snapping, ugly and somewhat possessive. Ugly and fearsome, like a beast snarling at the bars of its cage (a poor heart beating frantically in between his ribs). 

“Even if you were to be one, you'd still be mine,” she whispered again. 

With her thumb, she pressed gently against his lower lip. With a slow and deliberate caress, his lover looked down at him with a warmth he's never been greeted with before, with a warmth he's only seen in another lifetime. 

Sylus cannot remember exactly how he ended up in this situation. All he knew was that his business had been a violent success, thus his blood soaked clothes and tainted skin. 

The following second, he had been greeted by his beloved as he had entered the Onychinus mansion. Everything had been a blur of frantic heartbeats and anxiety teetering on panic. Her eyes had been worried and a little dull even, but she brushed him off. ‘I've had a long day, but I missed you too much not to drop by.’ 

His fear-fueled brain didn't register that sentence properly. And that's how he ended up sitting on the edge of the large bathtub, with that beautiful (and too kind) woman standing between his legs as she washed away the blood (and all his crimes) from his face. 

“But if I am to be very honest, you're not a monster for me,” she shrugged like it was just another Tuesday. “I'd be hypocritical to say you're some kind of hero, but the least I can say is that whatever you are, you're mine. As a matter of fact, you're just the boss of Onychinus.” 

She regarded him with a simplicity that left him gulping down in shock, fingers curling into fists against his thighs. 

It was now or never. 

“I'm scared that one day you'll see me the same way you did in the beginning,” his voice trembled against his will. 

Even the crimson in his eyes seemed to tremble under her gaze. Even the blood in his veins rushed through his veins, as if to lap at her feet like the darkest of waters. 

The finger on his lips moved and before his nerves could spike up, she cupped his face in both of her palms. There were still a few traces of red on his skin, but she ignored it. 

“That'd be very uninspired of me,” she huffed a tired, noncommittal chuckle. 

Her thumbs rubbed circles on his sculpted cheekbones. Leaning in, her lips pressed against his forehead. (The beast inside the cage of his ribs had stopped snarling.) 

A gasp managed to escape his trembling lips. 

“Don't worry your mind with such a thing, my love. We're past that phase. I am. I don't fear you or anything that has to do with you.” 

Sylus tentatively raised his hands and let them curl at the slope of her waist, holding tenderly onto her. His heart ached, but he didn't want to break eye contact, he didn't want to look away, not when he was looked upon with such gentleness. 

She wasn't scared of him. Hasn't been for months. 

And if she decided to bestow such gentleness upon him, who was he to deny her? 

A/N: Thank you for reading <333 I'd happily hear your thoughts on this

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: faded

authors note: this is part two of the 'can you stand the rain' mini series within dreamland. make sure you've read 'the rough patch' before reading this one.

keep in mind the characterization, history, past struggles and other things while reading.

warnings: angst and violence

words: 6k

song inspo/rec listening: faded (acoustic version) by sara farell

Solana knew the minute she laid eyes on her that she would be an issue. Young, pretty, curvy, a charismatic smile that could sway even the hardest of the hard. A far cry from Alicia, also pretty and charismatic, but in a less….dangerous way. Her retirement and stepping down to move closer to her parents that were getting up in age came at no surprise. Solana sensed it coming in the past few months, though selfishly, she hoped Alicia would stick around just a little longer. So did the kids.

Her oldest set of children often referred to Roman’s long time receptionist as “Aunt Alicia.” She’s been missed, for sure, but by none more than Solana. Because if Alicia was still here, she wouldn’t be here. 

Celeste. 

Celeste Davenport.

Solana hasn’t a clue where she came from or just how she landed the job as Alicia’s replacement, just that from the day Solana Reigns walked into Bloodline Headquarters to surprise her husband for lunch, she knew there was something about the woman that she didn’t like.

Didn’t trust.

—------

Especially when Solana walked towards her husband’s office only for the twenty something to stand up and clear her throat. 

“I’m sorry, Solana.” Her voice was sugary sweet, the “kindest” smile on her pretty face. “Mr. Reigns is preparing for a meeting right now.” The lack of being properly addressed didn’t bother her as much as the overall overstepping. “I’ll have to take a message.”

Solana just looked at her, taken back by a lot of things, somewhat disturbed by how pretty and young this girl was. For reasons she didn’t understand. Not at that point, at least.

Solana cleared her throat and tightened her grip on her Birkin. “You’re the new receptionist, right?”

She nodded, pushing her jet black hair over her shoulder, providing a glimpse of the tattooed heart on her shoulder. “Celeste. Celeste Davenport.”

Normally, Solana would say something polite, something friendly and aligned with her character, but again, there was something about the woman that she couldn’t shake. “Well, Celeste, I know you’re still new here, but—”

“Ehhh,” she interrupted, shrugging casually. “Been here about a month now, so not too new.”

Solana’s smile was even as she calmly countered, lifting up her hand to show off her wedding. “I’ve got a little bit of time on you.” It didn't miss her how something flashed in Celeste’s eyes but was quickly pushed away.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” she complimented. It felt inauthentic, though. Forced, almost.

Solana didn't bother with a thank you. “You should know that when I and/or our children come to see Roman, we don’t wait.” She kept her voice and gaze even. “I don’t wait.”

The same way Solana didn’t wait for a response as she continued her trajectory over to the double doors that lead to his office, doors she placed two quiet knocks to, followed by his deep voice barking from the other side, “what?”

A small smile on her face, Solana didn't spare Celeste a glance before welcoming herself into her space with her husband. 

A husband who didn't waste any time meeting her halfway across his office, pulling her body into his and kissing her like he didn’t just see her a few hours earlier as they got the kids ready for school.

“What are you doing here?” His deep voice rumbled, hands moving to her ass, squeezing her cheeks through her fitted scrubs. 

She smiled, stroking his beard. “Figured I’d come drop in and see you before I start my shift.” It was a long one, hence her making double portions the night prior, as she’d likely be late for dinner or miss it altogether, hence him needing to handle early evening duties. “And make sure you don’t forget—”

“I gotta pick the kids up.”

“Except—”

“Lina, Leya, and Tama later because they have practice,” he finished for her, making her smile grow as his hand shifted to the small of her back. “I know, baby. I got this.”

She didn't doubt it, but she also couldn't help but to point out, “see, the family calendar is helpful.” Solana giggled, seeing the way his face instantly shifted into a scowl. 

“It’s still annoying,” he mumbled, prompting her to roll her eyes. With so many kids, several of which who were in extracurricular activities, it was pertinent that they kept a calendar to track everything. Multiple, in this instance. Hence, along with the large dry erase boards on the wall near the kitchen laying out weekly schedules, Solana started to implement digital calendars as well. She found a neat app that she put on all the kids phones, Roman’s as well, to help keep them all just a tad bit more organized.

Of course, her technologically challenged husband grumbled and struggled the most with it, needing tutorials from Koa and Kai, as well as herself, before learning how to properly use it. And, now that he got it, it seemed like it was working well. 

At least that was working.

“So….” She trialed off, hands moving up and down his chest. “The new receptionist.”

His scowl deepened. “Who?” Solana rolled her eyes as it hit him. “Oh, the new girl. Cindy.”

“Celeste,” she corrected.

“Does it matter?” She wasn't sure she’d ever seen him look so disinterested and disconnected. It comforted her in a strange sort of way. “What about her? She’s no Alicia. I know that.”

That sparked Solana's interest. “How so?”

And, with the biggest expression of disgust, he answered with a straight face, “she talks.”

Solana sighed, a small smile breaking on her face as she buried herself into his chest, once more, comforted. “You’re impossible.” He said nothing, just holding her, Solana speaking from the heart more than anything. “Just….be careful with her.”

At that, Roman pulled back to look down at her, expression speculative. “What do you mean?”

Solana considered how to word it, not wanting to offend or upset him, just truly speaking from a place of looking out for him. “She’s young and pretty—”

“Solana, you know I would never—”

“I know, I know.” She did. She really, truly did. “But, that doesn’t mean she won’t.” Because Solana knows people, knows that true intentions can often be hidden, cloaked behind a pretty, white smile. “Just…be careful.”

It wouldn’t be the first time she had to warn him.

Later that day, Solana walked into work feeling a little better, though that was a given. Being around her coworkers, being able to interact with patients, just being in her element like that, always helped in one way or another.

Walking into the staff lounge in the back of the pediatrics office, Solana found herself naturally smiling at seeing someone already present. “Hi, Dr. Garcia.”

Robert Garcia lifted his eyes from the phone in his hand, a smile falling on his face as well. “Nurse Reigns.” He hits the side button, sliding the iPhone in his back pocket. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

“Bit of a last minute thing,” she answers, walking past him to the refrigerator to set her pink Stanley covered in stickers, courtesy of her middle and youngest daughters, on the top shelf. “I thought you were at Main today?”

Dr. Garcia is on the newer side, having recently moved to the area from down South, currently operating out of both of the city’s major hospitals, Main and Central.

He gives a lazy shrug and half-hearted smile. “Bit of a last minute thing.”

Solana chuckles, “I get it.” She grabs one of the energy bars from the stack of them located on the counter when she notices his expression shift just so slightly. “Everything alright?”

He looks at her, shaking his head, smiling almost shyly now. “Would you judge me if I asked you the craziest question in the world?”

Solana smiles warmly. “I have seven children, Dr. Garcia. I’m sure your question can’t be any crazier than what I hear during family dinner.” 

He chuckles. “Fair enough.” Robert leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “What perfume do you wear?” Solana’s face gives away the surprise she wasn’t expecting to experience, forcing him to put up his arms in a defensive manner. “Crazy, I know, but my wife’s birthday is coming up, and I’ve been wrecking my brain trying to figure out what to get her, and every time I’m around you, I can’t help but notice how amazing you smell.”

Solana’s smile falters just a bit as she focuses more on the initial question rather than the explanation. “Thank you, umm—” Shaking her head, she closes her eyes and tries to retrieve the answer. “Oh my gosh, what is it called?” A question posed to herself rather than him. “And, my daughter was just asking me this morning if she could borrow it, too.” Samaria. It was Samaria, but Solana thought it a bit too grown for her, instead letting her use her Mon Paris one instead. “Baccarat something? I’m sorry, my husband got it for me—”

“Baccarat Rouge 540?” 

“Yes, that!” Solana claps from instant recognition. “I don’t think I would have guessed that.”

He, too, chuckles. “That’s quite alright.” Making a face, he nods to himself. “Maison Francis Kurkdjian, huh? Your husband has nice taste.” His eyes flit to hers. “But, that should be pretty obvious though, I suppose, no?”

At that, Solana’s smile drops a bit. Unsure. She’s unsure of how to take that. What to make of it. A genuine compliment or…something else.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have much time to think—overthink it—a knock on the door from one of her coworkers, Kim, pulling her from the conversation that felt like it’d taken a turn. 

“Patient in room 3 is asking for you, girl.” She shares, blue eyes sparkling with humor. “Sanchez kid. Wants to show you all the cool signatures he got on his cast.”

At that, the mother of seven smile returns. “Of course, he does.” An adorable little boy who reminds her a lot of Tama when he was younger. Solana offers the doctor a small smile, before walking out with her coworker, eager to start her day, strange starts aside. 

—------

The second warning came not even a month later. 

Another surprise visit at his office, this time with her girls as Solana was taking them out for a salon visit so they could all get mani-pedis. The elevator doors dinged open right as Samaria sent her mom the link for the latest purse she wanted. Something also sent to Roman, of that, Solana was certain.

Aroha was out the doors as soon as there was space for her to dart, dressed in her Tinkerbell costume, the latest to her growing collection. “Daddy!” She said prematurely, yet happily, clutching her bunny from Build-A-Bear she’d affectionately named after herself. Roro.

Samaria talking about the Marc Jacobs bag, Lina and Leya chatting among themselves as the rest of the Reigns girls’ exited the elevator, up until an interruption.

“Well, hello there,” Celeste greeted, standing up. Solana took in her bodycon dress and low neckline. A bit too low to be considered business professional, in Solana’s opinion. However, as Celeste was also top heavy, it wasn't hard for the wife of the Tribal Chief to be understanding of the dilemma that often came with finding outfits that didn't show off at least some skin. “You must be Roro.”

Aroha looked up at her, clutching her teddy bear, saying nothing. A strange reaction for her social-butterfly of a daughter.

Catalina, however, moved to stand behind her little sister, eyeing Celeste up and down. “Only some of us can call her Roro. You can call her Aroha.” There was no mistaking the skepticism—and dislike—in both Lina’s voice and expression, borderline glare. “And, just who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Lina,” both Solana and Leya scolded at the same time, though Solana could acknowledge not as much irritation with her daughter’s language as she would typically have from such an interaction. Not with that situation.

Celeste didn't break from her smile, introducing, “Celeste. I’m your dad’s new receptionist.”

Aroha’s response was quick and to the point as she hugged her stuffed animal to her chest. “I like Alicia better.”

“Same,” Lina agreed, crossing her arms over her chest, continuing to look Celeste up and down. “And, you work for the Bloodline, not my dad.”

“Girls, that’s enough,” Solana scolded. She and Roman had always taught their children to be honest, but that could be attained without being disrespectful, and right then and there, the conversation had easily drifted into the disrespectful category. She cleared her throat, offering Celeste a contrite smile that didn't really meet the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m Leya,” Cataleya introduced herself with a small wave, Aria already by Roman’s double doors, knocking, too busy to do the same. 

Not that she would. 

Even Leya’s introduction felt….off, for her little girl.

It was clear Solana wasn't not the only one not feeling Roman’s new receptionist. 

A comforting thing…but also not. 

Solana sat more on the quiet side of things, as she let her daughters bombard Roman with a variety of things. Lina asking Roman if he’d work out with her and Tama that weekend. Samaria sending him yet another link for the latest purse she wanted. Roro asking for a pet guinea pig. Leya simply asking for his opinion on an art project she’d been working on.

She left them alone, allowing them that time to bond until before she realized it, he’d sent them out and on their merry way to wait in the car.

“You wanna tell me what’s bothering you?” Roman asked, standing in front of her, hand on her back, the other behind her neck. 

Solana opened her mouth, prepared to dismiss his concern, because she knew he worried about her. Didn't like seeing her upset or bothered, and she hated that it was even impacting her that much.

“It’s silly.”

“Baby, we’ve been over this too many times,” he sighed. “If it’s impacting you, it’s not silly.”

Similar words that they told their kids all the time. She just hated having to still be on the receiving end at her big age. Especially after so many years together. 

“I just…” She trailed off, a frown falling on her pretty face as his thumb gently brushed across the nape of her neck. “There’s something about that girl, Roman.”

He also frowned. “Who?”

“Celeste,” she answered. Solana shook her head, taking a deep breath. “I don’t like her.”

“The receptionist?” He asked, looking genuinely confused, same as he did the last time she brought her up, which made her feel silly all over again. It was so obvious her husband was paying this woman no mind, so why was she? “She say something to you?”

“No.” Not really. “It’s….I don’t know. I just don’t like her.” 

Roman just looked down at her, reading between the lines. “What are you really worried about, Solana?”

A good, solid question. Fair, too. She swallowed. “I trust you, Roman.” With her life. “You know I do.”

He shifted his hand to her cheek. “Then you should know I barely interact with that damn girl. I don’t even know her name half the time, and I don’t care to know, because I don’t care about her.” He spoke truthfully, from the heart, brutally honest. The way he’d always been. It’d been a consistent thing with him since they married all those years again. Roman’s thumb brushed against her skin, ghosting over her scar. “I only see you, Sol….alright?”

He dipped his head just enough for their lips to meet, a soft kiss, a promise of sorts. She nodded quietly, letting him hold her, the act washing away her concerns.

Or, so she thought. 

—-----

Solana wanted to leave it at that. 

She planned to leave it that.

Planned to just trust that Roman could handle if and when something became an issue. 

She planned to trust her husband. 

There was nothing to be concerned about. Roman’s new receptionist being….off didn’t mean anything if her husband had no intentions on biting. For years, he always told her that he only saw her, and seven kids later, she had no reason to doubt that. 

Not at first, at least.

It started with longer days. They happened every so often, but Roman always did his best to keep them far and few in between. That started to shift, her needing to either leave work a little early to pick up the kids from school and/or practice. Or, arrange to have someone else do it, because Roman wouldn’t be home until late.

He’d make it for a portion of dinner some days. Others, she and the kids would be cleaning the kitchen, his plate cold in the microwave by the time he walked in the door.

Then, the time they actually spoke to each other seemed to be cut shorter and shorter. Mostly conversation in passing as they transported their children to and from with all their extracurricular activities. 

Then, there were other times, honest times of miscommunication or misunderstandings that caused some issues. Issues that weren’t handled in the best way. 

Tense exchanges that escalated into arguments. Unfamiliar territory. Solana hardly ever argued with her husband, but she had the past few weeks, and there was no sign of things sizzling out. If anything, the fire continued to spread, leaking over into a particularly nasty one that resulted in her emotionally disclosing something she’d been sitting on.

Not from wanting to keep it a secret from him, per se, but from her not knowing how to process, yet alone share, potentially life changing—and shattering—news. 

A spillage that she regretted exposing the way she did. Something like that…it called for a sit-down. A deep, honest, hard conversation between husband and wife as they worked together to figure out if and how they should tell the kids. 

Solana regretted it. Not just that. But, the argument as a whole. 

It stuck with her. So much so that the next day, while on the way to work, she stopped at her husband’s office. Needed to see him. Needed to apologize and ask if they could set aside time to sit down and talk. No arguing. No bickering. No snide remarks. Just clear, open, honest communication. Be the way they used to be, because truth be told, Solana just missed her husband.

And, she needed him. 

Maybe now more than ever. 

All of which she was prepared to say and was going to say, too caught up in her head to notice the strange absence of Celeste at the desk. 

But, there’s not enough being in her head to save her from the influx of emotions that course through her the minute she opens the double doors and is met with an unforgettable sight. Something that will forever be stamped into her head and tattooed onto her brain.

A deeply scowling Roman is in the midst of shoving off Celeste who was clearly straddling his lap, her dress is hiked up to her mid thigh, exposing a portion of her exposed ass. 

It’s been years since Solana has felt like this, felt like she’s been plucked out of time and placed above it, hovering, watching with horror as life and reality unfold before her. Like an outer body experience. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real.

But, the minute Roman’s equally horrified gaze lands on her, Celeste’s wide, nervous eyes glued to her, she knows. Knows that this is very real. 

And, it’s heartbreaking. 

Still struggling come to grips with what she just walked in on, Solana finds herself quietly closing the doors behind her. Her focus is on the ground, refusing to land on them, yet using that as a guide as she slowly makes her way over to them.

A bit of an automatic thing, as she’s still very much too overcome with any and all the emotions to really process what she’s doing. Not until she realizes Roman is calling her name and also reaching for her. Reaching for her because she’s no longer standing. She’s now the one straddling someone, Celeste, her fists raining down on top of the younger woman who cries out in pain, forearms covering her face. 

“Baby, stop!” His deep voice enters her hemisphere, further angering her, as she forces Celeste’s forearms out of the way, twisting her arm, trying to break it. 

“You disgusting whore!” It sounds and almost feels like someone else. Someone not herself, but it is her. Solana. And, she’s livid. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Anger mixes with something else, as Roman lifts her off Celeste who scrambles to run out, Solana managing a final kick to her ass before Roman has her completely restrained, allowing the other woman to flee.

The door slamming shut behind her disgraced trail signals something for Solana. Signals the most uncomfortable, awful, horrific thing she could have never conceived could happen.

He cheated on her.

Roman cheated on her.

He fucking cheated.

The rage rises once more with a new target. 

Her husband.

“Get the hell off of me!” She shouts, fists angrily slamming against his forearm as he continues to hold her. “Let me go, Roman!”

“Solana, please—”

“I said get the fuck off me!” Her voice is livid and icy, her elbow moving into his chest, a sharp intake of breath allowing her that space to escape. She breaks apart from him, moving to the opposite side of the room. Distance. She needs the distance. His office suddenly feeling much smaller than it’s ever felt before. Too small. Claustrophobic. She can’t can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t exist. 

“Oh my God,” she gasps, hands to her face, feeling wetness. Tears. She’s crying. “I can’t—”

“Solana.” Roman’s voice is surface level steady but underneath that is a sea of turmoil that’s evident in his weary gaze as he looks at her, keeping a distance but also never taking his eyes off her. “It’s not—”

“You—I told you—I told you—” She can barely get her words out, Solana crying into her hands, unable to console herself in the moment. It’s just all too much. 

“Sol—”

“What the hell, Roman?” Words finally find her. So many. All of them. Every single last one. None of them, kind or pretty, or anything she’s used to with the man who’s supposed to be her husband. Right about now, he feels like anything but. “I tell you that I may have breast cancer, and you go and do this?” Her voice breaks, as she closes her eyes, unable to stand the sight of him looking at her. Desperate and almost pleading.

Pathetic.

It’s pathetic. 

He is pathetic.

His voice is bolder, firmer, filled with a conviction that feels nothing but inauthentic. “Solana, I didn’t—”

“I saw you!”

Her eyes didn’t betray her. No, the sight she walked in on was unmistakable, and him trying to shove that little girl off his lap doesn’t make a goddamn difference to her. Not one. Because, it was saving face. It was being caught in the act and trying to make it less a betrayal than what it is.

But, that’s exactly what it is. 

A betrayal from the very person she would have sworn on her life would never.

But, he has, and it’s crushing.

“I can’t—I need—” Stammering accompanied by her heading for the door. She can’t breathe.

“Solana, please��” His long legs have him right behind her, hot on her heels, evoking an instinctual turn and shove of him away. 

“Don’t,” she hisses, voice cutting into him, deeper than even the sharpest of knives. Her eyes shutting as she keeps her hands raised, another sign of the burning desire to have him as far away as possible. It prevents her from seeing the way he swallows, an attempt to keep building emotions at bay. “Just….don’t.”

He doesn’t try to interfere or stop her, just allows her to walk out, the departure feeling different than any other time. Because, it is. Because, in that moment, too swallowed and overwhelmed emotions, she’s not entirely sure just what she’s walking away from. 

—-----

She should have called out.

Solana knows this the moment she arrives at work and after emptying her items into her locker, navigating to the staff lounge to refrigerate her water, the door barely shut before she breaks down in tears. 

Heavy, heartfelt sobs, the shock wearing thin and settling into a sort of pain that has her chest tight, her stomach in all sorts of knots, and her heart aching. A physical, undeniable hurt.

Placing her cup on the counter, Solana moves her hand to her chest, trying to settle herself. She can’t remember the last time she had a panic attack, but one is loading and pending.

Roman cheating on her is just something she could have never anticipated, never expected. Not even in the worst of her nightmares. But, the more she thinks about it, the more she starts to put the pieces together.

The late nights, change and lack in communication, the arguing. The lack of physical intimacy. The dismissal of her concerns about her. 

For each connection and realization, she’s hit with more questions. Just how long has it been going on? Weeks? Months? Is that how she got the job?

Because she’s his mistress?

Just the thought has Solana feeling nauseous. Sick, she feels sick to her stomach.

Solana wants nothing more than to tell herself this is nothing but a misunderstanding. Part 2 of the situation that led her to finding out about Fetu so many years prior. But, that was different. Roman had done nothing to make her believe he was being unfaithful. The conversation wasn’t even suggestive, just misleading.

This though….this is different.

His behavior has been different, and it all lines up. The sight she walked in being the final piece to the gut-wrenching puzzle. 

And, what kills her maybe more than the actual cheating, is the fact that it hasn’t even been 24 hours since she told him about the results of her mammogram, something that has her terrified of what those follow-up tests could come back with, and he does….that?

Broken.

She feels broken.

Solana is too caught up in her racing thoughts and broken heart to pay attention to the entrance and sound of footsteps. “Solana?” A sharp gasp as she looks up to see Dr. Garcia looking at her, face full of concern. “What’s going on? What happened?”

She shakes her head, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just—I need a minute.”

“Are you hurt?” His professional instinct kicking in, clearly, as he moves closer, doing a one over. “Did–did something happen?”

Yes. Everything. Everything happened, but she’s not prepared or even wanting to disclose that, any of it, to her boss, of all people. 

“Please.” She sniffles. “I’m fine. I just—I just need to be alone.”

He shakes his head, lips pressed together. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that. What kind of doctor would I be to leave the best nurse I’ve ever had alone when she’s clearly upset?” Solana looks at him, unsure as to why another feeling is building in her stomach. Discomfort. 

It’s discomfort. 

She’s certain she must look a mess, having been crying since she walked into that devastating scene. But, her wishes not being respected in this moment isn’t helping. It’s only making things worse.

“Was…was it your husband?” At that, her eyes widen. 

Did he really just…

Solana swallows, clearing her throat. “That...that’s none of your business.”

“It was,” he surmises. Another assertion that only further upsets her. “Well, whatever he did, know it’s because he’s an idiot.”

And, the hits keep coming, each jarring statement chipping away at her hurt and building up her anger. “Ex—excuse me?”

Dr. Garcia takes a step closer, prompting Solana to straighten, realizing her back is already pressed against the counter. “If you were my wife, Solana, I’d make sure to never cause any tears to stream down that beautiful face.” His gaze drops to her chest, burning dark. “Not for any bad reasons, at least.”

What the hell?

Solana feels like she’s in some sort of twilight zone. She’d been right with her instincts about Celeste, but how had she not picked up the same with the man she worked for?

The compliments. The smiles. The questions that teetered the lines of professional and personal. How had she caught that but missed this?

So many questions racing that it doesn’t dawn on her he’s closed the gap between them until he has her boxed in, his hot breath fanning her face.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Solana,” he breathes, Solana’s panic setting in when she realizes how close he is. Too close. And his hand reaching for her hip is confirmation of just that. “I could—”

Two things happen at that exact moment. Solana prepares to not only push this man, but punch the living shit out of him accompanied with her knee ramming into his crotch, because this is beyond a boundary being violated.

It’s harassment. 

Sexual harassment. 

But, she doesn’t get the chance to, she doesn’t get the chance because Robert is snatched away from her with a level of aggression she’s only ever seen in one person.

Roman.

The same man who has Robert by the back of his coat, the last thing she sees of her husband being his almost feral expression before he slams the man down onto the ground, jumping on top of him.

It’s all so fast. Too fast, because it takes a good minute for her to recognize what’s happening. To realize her husband is beating the living shit out of Dr. Garcia, clearly blinded by unbridled fury. 

She’d like to say that the horror of seeing Roman viciously assault her technical boss was more than enough reason to get her to try to get him off, but it isn't. There’s a delay in her response. Emotion overload? A small part of her believing Robert deserving? She’s not sure. She just knows it takes a minute—or two—for her to say something, and it’s mostly due to the blood she sees starting to imbue itself on Robert’s lab coat.

And Roman’s fist.

“Stop!” She yells, moving over to the men, wincing when she realizes Robert’s face is also caked in blood, his eyes practically swollen shut. “Roman, get off of him!”

It’s like talking to a brick wall, her words in one ear and out the other. A part of her wants to leave it alone. Even saying his name feels off. Wrong, almost. But, she also knows that it’s only a matter of time before people overhear the commotion and call for hospital security. Then, it’s really bound to get ugly, and she can’t have that.

She also recognizes that the longer Roman continues to beat on this man, the higher the likelihood he’ll end up doing something he’ll regret later.

Maybe.

“Roman, you’re going to kill him!” Her shouts seem to be sounded out with every heavy, destructive blow of her husband’s fist onto Robert's face. 

“Good,” is all he responds with, completely immersed and controlled by his rage. He only sees red, and that single word is all she needs to hear to know that he has no plans on letting up or letting go.

Not until he’s completed a newfound task.

To kill the man he’s about halfway through beating to death. 

Solana moves quickly, recognizing verbalizations aren’t about to prevent a murder from being committed in front of her.

“Roman, that’s enough!” She hisses, going against her better judgment, her wants, and grabbing him by his shoulders. It’s at that touch, touch that also feels wrong, the same type of wrong she feels at even having said his name, that penetrates the armor of rage. Big, heaving shoulders, mouth slightly parted, heavy breaths falling out, eyes partially crazed, partially aware, he's finally looking at her.

But, she can’t sustain the eye contact too long, can’t bear it. She just uses the advantage to steer him off of a now unconscious Robert. Roman backs away, Solana ignoring his burning gaze on her as she crouches down to check for Robert’s pulse.

To make sure there still is one.

“What the fuck was that, Solana?”

It’s the last—and worst—thing for her to hear. Relieved that Robert is still among the living—for now—she stands up, turning around to look at Roman who seems 100% unbothered by his actions and 100% focused on, in his mind, what triggered said actions.

“Excuse me?” She whispers, hoping and praying he’s not asking what she thinks he’s asking. What she deep down knows he’s asking. 

But, he is. He absolutely is. Roman angrily gestures to the man behind her. “What the hell were you doing with him?”

Her eyes shut.

Of course.

Of course.

Solana licks her lips, doing her best to remain calm when she feels anything but. “Are…are you seriously going to stand there and ask me that?”

He also briefly closes his eyes, voice tinged with irritation and something else. Hurt. He sounds hurt. “Nothing happened, Solana. That’s what you don’t seem to unders—”

“Nothing happened?” She interrupts, scoffing, those damn emotions returning for another round. “You’re gonna stand here and tell me nothing happened when I literally saw you with a whole ass woman, dress pulled up, on your lap, and I’m just supposed to believe you?”

“No.” His voice is much lower than she would like, his eyes too soft, his expression too defeated. “You’re supposed to trust me.”

She nods, looking away at the open window of the lounge. “The same way you’re supposed to trust me?”

Silence.

A heavy, devastating silence that’s complicated by a crushing realization that this scene is far too similar. Familiar. History repeating itself. 

She remembers the question she posed to him so many years ago. The last time they ever encountered something as serious and damaging as this.

“What kind of marriage can we have if you don’t trust me?”

A question she now has to pose to herself as well.

What kind of marriage can we have if I don’t trust him?

It’s a thought that nearly crushes her. Does, in some ways. The tears return, her voice breaking and paving way for her pain. “Roman, we can’t….we can’t keep doing this.”

Standing before her, he’s never looked so…so lost. “What do you mean?”

“The fighting, the arguing, the…trust—” That feels all but gone at this point. Maybe on both sides. “I—I want us to—to get through the boys’ birthdays next month—”

“Baby—”

“Because it’s not fair to them—”

“What are you saying—”

“Maybe even Lina and Leya’s quinceaneras—”

“Solana.” Desperate. He is desperate in this moment, vulnerable gaze focused on her. “What are you saying?”

It’s a good, valid question. What is she saying? Solana doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what the follow-up of her mammogram results will bring. Doesn’t know how she managed to miss all the signs that her husband was being unfaithful. Doesn’t know she missed the signs that Dr. Garcia was attracted to and flirting with her. Doesn’t know just how she can manage this, all of this, and try to pretend like everything is alright up until the passing of two, or maybe four, of her seven kids upcoming birthdays. 

It’s all so confusing, and she knows nothing except, right now, in this moment, she answers as best she can. What she feels is best. Even if saying it breaks her heart in a way she never thought possible. 

“I think we need to separate for a while...”

------

so....whose side ya'll on?

we'll see more of the kids' reaction to certain things in part 3, little do you know.

[manicmanuscription]

Hi there! I have a request for a ff if you’re still taking suggestions. I would love to read a ff of Azriel x Mate!reader and they decide to keep their relationship private from the IC, (Maybe because of the whole Elain situation, I’ll leave it up to you!)and maybe they have a little baby aswell! And the IC end up finding out and want to get to know Azriel’s family. Sorry if this is so bad, feel free to ignore if you hate the request xx

Weight

A/N: Hi Love! I'm so fucking sorry for how long this request took me to get too! I genuinely love it but it took me forever to decide which direction to go in I swear I rewrote it like four times so I hope you like the version I ended up with! Thank you for request <3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 1584

Warnings/Tags: Angst, IC Fighting, Rhysand lowkey painted as bad guy (but it's only for plot don't come after me that's my husband.) Happy/Hopeful Ending

Summary: Azriel has hidden his daughter and mate from his family but an accidental run in in Velaris ruins it all.

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

The door to my shared bedroom with my mate opened with a soft click. Yet I knew he was coming the second he set foot in our home. The spymaster himself purposefully made his footsteps loud enough for me to not be startled and yet not too loud in case I was resting. 

I had been sleeping a lot during this pregnancy. The physical aspect of carrying our second born is much harder than carrying our first, and I was barely pregnant. I forced my eyes open in the dim room, wanting to lay my sight on the male that had captured my heart entirely no matter how tired I was. 

Azriel smiled softly when his gaze met mine and he quickly and quietly put his coat away before sliding under the massive amount of blankets I was buried under. “Hi.” I murmured my voice raspy from sleep as Azriel adjusted us so that I was halfway laying on his chest, one of my legs thrown around his and the slight baby bump barely poking him in the stomach. His hand's immediately finding my belly and resting there.

“Hi.” He whispered back and I immediately tilted my head to look up at him at the slight shift in his voice.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concern layering my tone. 

Azriel just huffed a sad laugh under his breath as he gave me a rare smile. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “My observant little mate, you know me so well. Did I wake you?”

“No you didn’t. Azriel, tell me what’s wrong?” I panicked pushing myself up further so I could look at him properly. Something was…off about him. From the exhausted way he carried himself to bed, the way he had tugged me impossibly close and breathed me in as if it was his last time. 

I knew he had spent the whole day with our daughter before dropping her off at my sister’s for a sleepover so I could have a peaceful night but the way he was acting- especially after the hurt I’d felt from him early in the day only to have him shut me out-

“Nothing’s wrong my love, everyone’s safe and ok.” Azriel assured me, repeating the words over and over again until my breathing evened and he placed a comforting kiss on the inside of my wrist before holding my hands close to his chest and pushing me to lay back down all cozied up next to him. These hormones were going to kill me.

“Ayanna and I ran into my family this evening.” Azriel started and my chest cracked open. No wonder he was so sad. Azriel loved and cared about his family deeply but ever since we’d met he’d taken extra care to make sure I stayed hidden from his family.

Rhysand had used Azriel’s own loyalty and respect towards him to make him leave the middle Acheron sister alone and it had completely broken him. It had only cemented the self doubt running rampant through his mind. Adding another layer to his hardened and yet sensitive heart. 

It had shattered the new couple before it even started and Azriel had vowed to keep his High Lord’s orders to himself despite the devastation it caused to himself and Elain. Elain was almost as good as my mate in hiding her emotions but not nearly enough and Azriel had cursed himself even further. Because in his mind he was the monster that had crushed the innocent girl in his brutally bloody hands. 

I had worked a lot with Azriel over his insecurities and self doubt. The male had barely even touched me when we first met, terrified he would scar another beautiful thing but I had coaxed him out of his shell and his family was something I could never really talk to him about, he shut down and went to a dark space that took days to get him out of. 

In reality Azriel was terrified you’d be taken away from him, ordered halfway across the continent, just one day waking up and you and your beautiful daughter would just be gone? And there was a chance it could’ve been Rhysand’s fault? Or his own?

He loved his family, he loved his brother’s with every fiber of his being. But in the end his terror won, old wounds speaking louder than logic because he couldn’t handle it if there was even the slightest possibility Rhysand made the only good thing disappear from his life, because Gods he wouldn’t survive it and the world around him would shatter under his wrath. 

I traced my fingertips underneath Azriel’s shirt, trailing soothing touches down those muscled abs until he came back to me. Clearly stuck in his own head. “How’d it go?” I asked. 

“Horrible.” His voice cracked and my heart ached at the sound, mating bond screaming at me to do something other than just snuggle in bed. But I knew Azriel just as well as he knew me, instead of pressing him for more information I placed a gentle kiss on the juncture of his throat as he stared at the ceiling. He’d talk when he was ready.

A few minutes passed by until I heard the pain in his deep voice echo around the room again. “They were…angry. At me once they figured out Ayanna was my daughter. They were hurt and asking me why I didn’t tell them-” He paused, swallowing. “The look on Cassian and Rhysand’s faces-” 

A few tears rolled down his cheek. The only other time I’ve seen the Shadowsinger cry was at our mating ceremony and the birth of our daughter. I brushed them away with the pads of my thumbs as he continued. 

“I just couldn’t take it anymore. The betrayal on every single one of their faces. Ayanna was just confused of course, tugging on my shirt and hiding away. The shadows hid her from view and it only worsened the situation. Cassian accused me of not trusting him. I just felt so…ambushed so I let down my shields and threw everything I’d been feeling at Rhysand and Feyre.”

“I didn’t even stick around to hear the aftermath. Just went to the park for a few hours with Aya to cool down.”

“Nesta found you?” I presumed. The Lady of Death having grown quite close to my mate in the House of Wind. He nodded, continuing the rest of the story. Apparently Feyre had shared the information with the family and had promptly yelled at her mate for a few hours. 

They’d all been hurt and angry at Azriel, at each other, and at Rhysand. Cassian and Mor having been the most bent out of shape, stinging even worse with how close they were.

I offered to talk more about it even as my eyelids were unwillingly drooping lower and lower. He just chuckled, wrapping his arms around me and giving me a strong kiss before he ushered me back to sleep once again. 

——————————————

A soft knock echoed throughout the house and I left the tea table,, leaving Azriel to enjoy the outrageously sweet tea my daughter had made, she obviously got her sweet tooth from him. 

“I’m assuming your Cassian and Mor.” I said by way of greeting as soon as I pulled the heavy oak door open. I knew the Inner Circle would come crawling out of the cracks after a few days and it warmed my heart to see and meet some of Azriel’s closest friends. 

“And you’re my brother’s mate.” Cassian breathed out, Mor still finding her words next to him. “The one and only.” I joked with a small hand flourish that did nothing to defuse the tense air suffocating us. Grief etched into the fae’s very faces. “Can we come in?” Morrigan asked clearing her throat. 

“Are you here to fight with him?” I questioned in return. A wince crossed over Cassian’s pained face. “Gods no, we just- we want to talk.”

I smiled softly, it was time for my mate to reunite with his family, to fully be present with them and stop hiding behind his indifferent facade. “He’s playing with Aya in the kitchen.” 

Cassian practically rushed inside as soon as I opened the door wider, the male wearing his heart on his sleeve and I could see how much this entire ordeal affected him. Mor stepped in the threshold with more caution, taking a deep breath as she faced me.

“Rhysand and Feyre would’ve come you know but-”

“But if you bombard Azriel then he’ll shut down and pull away?” she chuckled half-heartedly, sparing a longing glance in the direction Cassian had gone. “Sounds like Az.”

“He didn’t want this to happen, none of us did.” She whispered softly. I knew she was talking about the High Lord and I nodded in understanding even though Rhysand and I would definitely be hashing it out later. “I know.”

Mor took a steadying breath and walked by, allowing me to finally shut the front door. Before she rounded the kitchen she turned to me once again. Pulling a brand new plush teddy bear out of whatever pocket realm she kept it in. “For Ayanna. Whenever you and Azriel are ready for us to meet her.” 

I smiled, taking the gift and following the blonde into the kitchen, I knew without words that Azriel didn’t want to properly introduce our daughter until everything was resolved with his family despite the accidental meeting yesterday and I gave the fae’s their space. He’d already sent the three year old upstairs and I gave Azriel a quick kiss on the cheek before making my way up there as well. 

[silksandcravats]

Cry for me - Sam Winchester x Reader

You have a trademark response to reunion sex every time Sam returns from a hunt.

Contents: fem!reader, established Sam x Reader, PIV sex, slight fingering (f recieving), crying during sex

--

You didn't hear him, not until after he'd opened the bedroom door and closed it behind him. Not until he'd shucked off his outer layers and quietly toed off his boots. It was the sound of the watch he’d just unclasped hitting the nightstand that woke you.

You woke with a start, leaning up at once and frantically feeling around for the pistol you kept below your pillow anytime he was away. You blindly aimed it toward the sound that awoke you before your bleary eyes could focus.

"Hey, shush, you're okay, just me," he coaxed softly, grabbing your shaking wrist in one hand and tugging the weapon out of your grip with the other.

"Sam?" you had to ask, you didn't trust your eyes.

"Hi honey," he greeted softly, setting the gun aside and stroking your shoulder softly.

"You said three days," you spoke cautiously, as if you were trying to decide in your sleepy state if you were angry with his extended delay.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said earnestly, sitting beside you on the bed. You nodded in forgiveness, shifting and tucking your knees beneath you so that you could hug him properly.

His body responded the instant your arms slung around his neck, wrapping his own strong arms tight around you and tugging you close. You buried in face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

He'd been away long enough that the lingering smell of him had almost faded from the bedding, no matter how firmly you'd shoved your face into his pillow late at night, pretending to yourself he was there.

He pulled you into his lap - your legs moving to straddle either side of his - and grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you into a sweet reunion kiss.

You adjusted in his lap, and that's when you felt a familiar bulge pressing against you. You happily shimmied against him and tried to slip your tongue into his mouth, hoping to convey your intentions.

"Sweetheart," He grasped your hips, haulting your movement. "We don't have to do this tonight. You were sleeping," He offered softly. He didn't mind slipping off the the bathroom and quickly handling himself before bed, you both knew that.

You shook your head.

"Please, don't make me wait anymore." You panted softly. You had Sam Winchester back in your bed, you certainly weren't going back to sleep now.

He sighed, looking away, shaking his head, and then he was on you, shoving you against the mattress with a thump.

You yelped at the suddenness.

"You gonna cry if I fuck you?" He teased, crawling above you, caging you beneath him.

You looked up at him, offended.

"Always do when I've been away,” he added with a wicked smirk. Your cheeks heated up at that.

"I do not," you protested, turning your face into the pillow.

He hummed in response, his strong finger at your jaw turned your face back towards him, capturing your lips in another kiss.

There was no need to argue; he'd be proved right soon enough.

Normally, disrobing was a rapid affair, but tonight was different. You were both moving a little slower, touching as much skin as possible as you undressed one another. Your hand lingered below his shirt, feeling his smooth, hard chest before tugging his shirt off. His fingertips grazed along your calf as he slowly pulled your panties down.

"Want it like this?" He asked, nodding to your current position beneath him.

"So badly," you affirmed quickly, eyes raking over his freshly exposed skin. You missed this.

He kissed you again as he reached between your legs, two fingers dipped between your folds coating in your wetness before slipping inside, beginning their sinful ritual scissoring motion inside you.

"God, just get in me already," you whined impatiently, pulling away from his mouth, grasping his wrist. He shot you a pointed look. He was being lenient with you right now, but there were limits.

"You know I gotta stretch you out first," he explained softly, but there was a hint of warning in his voice.

"No, please."

"Baby..." he sighed, looking conflicted.

"I need you," you begged softly.

"Alright,” he relented after a beat, pulling his fingers out of you to adjust himself. "Hold onto me."

You obeyed immediately, looping your arms around his neck. You knew it would hurt, but you didn't give a damn, you were done waiting.

You groaned as he slipped the tip in, welcoming the familiar feeling. He locked eyes with you, looking for any sign you'd changed your mind. You nodded. So he pushed forward, inch by inch.

It stung as he stretched you wide, his length forcing you to accommodate him. But there was something so satisfying about it, as if the burn was the only way you could fully appreciate his presence.

To your credit, you held out at first, only letting out soft mewls and groans as he fucked you slowly, deeply.

But sooner than later your throat began to tighten up, the waterworks kicking in without your permission. You couldn’t help it, you were his baby and you’d get so worked up when he was away from you.

You tried to disguise the first telltale shudders of your impending cry, but with Sam right above you, his face inches from yours, there was nowhere to hide.

"Crying f'me sweet girl?" He cooed, running his hand up your hip and squeezing the soft flesh.

"Missed you," you confessed quietly, voice watery.

"I know," he smiled down at you affectionately as your face scrunched up, his pace never faltering.

He kissed your cheek as you let out a broken sob, nails digging into his back, as if he'd vanish again if you didn't hold him tight enough.

"I just," you sniffled, still fighting to pull yourself together, a fruitless endeavor. "jus'hate it when you're away."

"S'okay, I'm here now, I'm here. You feel me? I'm right here inside you," he whispered softly, pressing his hand against your lower belly.

You nodded, letting out a shuddered breath. You did feel him, every ridge and vein as he dragged himself almost all the way out of you before pushing back in again. You felt his thick thighs against yours, warm skin beneath your fingertips, strong hipbone knocking against yours.

"I love you a lot," you choked out, tears trailing freely down your cheeks.

"Love you too, sweet girl, so much. Let it out for me, I got you," he groaned, still pistoning his hips in and out of you.

And so you did. You clung to his biceps, feeling the muscles flex beneath your grasp. Sam seemed to understand these things in a way no one else could. He never rushed your tears or tried to stop them. Just whispered soft reassurances and ran the pad of his thumb under your eyes, collecting the wetness as it fell, fucking you into the mattress all the while.

You cried all the way through your orgasm, and cried as he milked his own after you. It was only after he pulled out of you, cleaned you up gently, and cuddled you in close to him that you began to wind down.

"Sorry," you sniffed after a while, rubbing your cheek against his chest as you settled against him. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, lingering for a long moment before he spoke.

"Nothing to be sorry for baby, it's sweet how you cry for me."

[hummingbird24220]

Hi hi hi hiiii!

May i request... Some funny shenanigans in Arabastra where Strawhat!reader is simpin for the Croco? 👀😳 Kinda...crack-adjecent 🤭 Like... "You come here often?" while being stuck in a cage or "What can that hook do?" before it reveals to have a poison kind of stupid?

Please please with a banana on top? 💜

Yes. Yessss. Not really plot-adjacent - this is not really plot adjacent but hey ho - im here for croc, not plot accuracy.

Sand Daddy Issues

One piece x reader (reader simping for croccy)

It was a hot, dry day in Alabasta. You were dehydrated. You were sunburnt. You were in a literal cage suspended above a pit of banana gators.

And yet…

“Okay but like, hear me out,” you said, clutching the iron bars and watching as Sir Crocodile dramatically turned to leave, “does anyone else think he’s kinda... hot?”

Smoker made a choked noise. Nami turned slowly to stare at you like you just licked a cactus.

Zoro let out a suffering sigh. “I’d say you’ve lost your mind, but I’m pretty sure you never had one.”

“He’s the enemy,” Nami hissed.

“He’s got eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man,” you whispered reverently, leaning your cheek against the bars. “And I, for one, respect that.”

Crocodile paused halfway down the stairs, clearly hearing that. He didn’t turn around.

Usopp yanked you away from the bars. “Have you SEEN the size of his hook?!”

“I KNOW, right?” you whispered back with a dangerous sparkle in your eyes.

“No—I meant—it’s poisonous!!” Usopp panicked.

Luffy, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the cage, tilted his head. “You wanna date him or fight him?”

You lifted a finger. “Yes.”

Zoro facepalmed so hard he nearly gave himself a concussion. “We are going to die in this cage, and the last thing I’m gonna hear is you thirsting over a Warlord.”

“You say that like it’s not completely valid,” you replied. “He’s rich, he's powerful, and he wears fur in the desert. That’s commitment. That’s fashion. That’s—”

“Insanity,” Smoker growled from the corner of the cage. “You damn pirates are all insane.”

“Oh c’mon, Smokey,” you said sweetly. “Don't tell me you’ve never looked at him and thought ‘I bet that hook could—’”

“I will dropkick you into the sand,” he interrupted.

“I welcome that energy,” you said with a wink.

Suddenly the floor beneath the cage rumbled.

Everyone looked down at once.

Zoro cursed. “Banana gators.”

You looked down too, then up at the ceiling, clasping your hands. “Dear sweet Croco-daddy, please don't let me die before I get to ask if you're single.”

Crocodile finally turned around, exasperated.

“You done?” he drawled.

You smiled brightly. “That depends. You free Friday?”

“WE’RE IN A CAGE!” Nami yelled, shoving you.

Luffy laughed. “This is fun.”

Zoro started trying to bend the bars with his bare hands.

Smoker tried to light a cigar and nearly choked on the rage.

Usopp curled into a ball.

And you? You leaned toward Crocodile and whispered through the bars with a sultry grin:

“So uh… you come here often?”

-

You weren’t sure what was more terrifying: the banana gators below, the creaking sound the cage kept making, or the fact that Crocodile still hadn’t said no to your flirting.

“Well?” you said hopefully, gripping the bars like a maiden in a tragic play. “If you’re gonna feed us to the gators, can you at least tell me your favorite flower first?”

Crocodile raised a brow. “Why?”

“So I can haunt you properly.”

That actually got a snort out of him. A real one. A Warlord-of-the-Sea-smirking-at-your-bad-flirting kind of snort.

“I prefer silence,” he said, but there was amusement dancing in his voice. The bastard was enjoying this.

Next to him, Nico Robin covered her mouth as if yawning, but you saw the smile behind her hand.

“She likes you,” Robin said casually, voice as smooth as sand through fingers.

“I respect him,” you corrected, with the sincerity of someone about to perish and still down bad. “And maybe also wanna braid his hair a little.”

“You’re insane,” Smoker muttered. “This is a hostage situation.”

“She’s mentally unwell,” Nami added.

“I think it’s romantic!” Luffy said helpfully.

Crocodile made a little hum in his throat and gestured with one sharp wave of his hook. “Leave them. Let the banana gators line up. One by one.”

“Oh! Like a buffet,” you chirped, nodding. “Very organized. Love that.”

He looked back over his shoulder, meeting your eyes. “Try not to scream too loud. It’s unpleasant.”

“Depends on the reason I’m screaming,” you said, entirely too suggestively.

Zoro audibly gagged. Usopp started praying to every god he knew. Smoker tried to chew his cigar into dust.

And with that, Crocodile turned and left, cape billowing. Robin gave you a tiny finger wave as she followed, definitely amused.

The gators below growled.

“…He totally stayed to listen,” you said a moment later, peering down the corridor.

“FOCUS,” Nami yelled.

The gators were starting to line up like actual dinner guests at a five-course buffet.

Cue: panic.

And then—ka-chunk—something rustled in the corner of the pit. A familiar mop of black hair appeared in the shadows.

“Hmm? This door was unlocked,” said Sanji’s voice.

“SANJI!!!” you all screamed.

He looked up at the cage, blinking. “Oh, look at that. Caged birds. And my lovely caged angel—wait, WHY is she leaning out like she’s waiting for a date?”

“She’s looking for Crocodile,” Zoro groaned. “She thinks he’s her boyfriend now.”

“He might be!” you said defensively. “Did you see the way he looked back? That was at least a third-date look.”

Before anyone could argue further, the floor shifted again.

A geyser of wax exploded from the floor as Mr. 3 was forcibly thrown into the pit by the very gator who’d eaten him. Chaos exploded. Banana gators roared. Usopp screamed like a haunted kettle.

You?

You were still cupping your hands around your eyes, peering dramatically into the distance.

“…Guys. I swear he’s still watching.”

“You mean Crocodile?” Sanji asked.

You nodded dreamily.

Smoker stared at you like he was about to launch himself out of the cage just to get away. “You’re delusional.”

“I prefer ‘dangerously charming,’” you replied.

-

The casino was crumbling.

You were running full speed through smoke, debris, and the echo of banana gators throwing tantrums. Nami was screaming something about “go left, LEFT—NO YOUR OTHER LEFT!” and Sanji was dropkicking a Baroque Works goon off your tail.

You, meanwhile, were having a very unfortunate moment of reflection.

“…So like. I get it now.”

“Not now,” Nami hissed.

“No, no, let me say this,” you insisted, ducking a falling ceiling tile. “I understand that yes, Crocodile is technically the villain. Like, warlord, attempted coup, sand powers of biblical proportions, poison hook, et cetera—I got it.”

Usopp wheezed. “Now?! You’re having a moral reckoning now?!”

“I’m saying I recognize that I went a bit too hard. Maybe I projected a little. Maybe I simp for rugged men with criminal tendencies and broad shoulders. I’m not proud, but I’m honest.”

Zoro, already fed up, turned mid-sprint just to smack the back of your head.

“OW—”

“You deserved that,” he said flatly.

“Maybe you should get more scars,” you muttered, rubbing your head. “Then maybe you’d make the cut.”

Sanji let out the loudest “TCH—” you’d ever heard in your life and nearly walked into a wall in protest. “Don’t you DARE compare that lizard freak to us.”

“Why not?” you shot back. “Crocodile appreciated me. He smirked. He lingered. He fed us to gators, but like—gently.”

Zoro looked like he was going to smack you again.

Smoker, running behind with Vivi, shouted, “If you ever say ‘gently’ and ‘fed us to gators’ in the same sentence again, I’m arresting you on principle.”

Vivi gasped between breaths. “He tried to kill my father!”

“I said I get it!” you said, holding your arms out. “I’m just… processing. I have a type, okay? I like rugged, dangerous men with mysterious pasts and possibly trench coats.”

Luffy, riding a broken door like a skateboard past the collapsing hallway, shouted, “Ooh! That sounds like Zoro!”

Zoro visibly recoiled. “Do not drag me into this!”

You placed a hand on your heart dramatically. “All I’m saying is—if Crocodile ever reforms and opens a beachside bar, I am first in line.”

Nami shoved you into a doorway just as a chandelier fell where you were standing. “And if you don’t shut up, I will personally bury you in the desert.”

You let out a deep sigh as the team stumbled out into the sunlight, coughing and covered in dust. “It’s okay. I know it’s over. It was never meant to be…”

Everyone relaxed for a second.

“…But maybe he’s watching from a dune somewhere. Just like—‘Ah, there goes that oddly charming disaster of a Straw Hat.’”

“I’m gonna throw you back inside,” Zoro muttered.

You stood on tiptoe and shouted toward the horizon.

“WAIT, TELL CROCO I LOVE HIM—”

A shoe hit you in the head. You didn’t know whose.

-

You weren’t sure how you got separated from the crew.

One minute you were arguing with Nami about whether it was technically a crush or a “psychological fascination with morally grey authority figures,” and the next, you were on a racing lizard, yelling directions like you knew where the hell Alubarna even was.

Your mouth was dry, your brain was dry, and your heart—tragically—was still moist for a certain Warlord.

You tumbled off the lizard when it reared near the palace gates. The streets were a warzone: rebels screaming, royal guards holding the line, Vivi’s voice echoing somewhere in the fray—but you?

You were disoriented. Sun-stroked. Dusty. Maybe dying.

And then—you saw him.

Sir Crocodile. Standing at the palace steps like the world belonged to him. Cape flowing. Hook glinting. Sand swirling dramatically like some desert-themed anime intro.

You squinted, wiped the dust from your face, and muttered:

“…Goddamn, he really is majestic.”

With no better plan, you staggered toward him, dusting yourself off and clearing your throat like you belonged there. His guards turned—tensed—but Crocodile held up a hand.

He looked you over.

“…You,” he said flatly.

“Me,” you breathed. “Back for round two.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Your crew escaped. Why are you here?”

“Distraction,” you said smoothly, pulling yourself up with all the poise you could muster. “The Straw Hats are all over the city. I figured I’d come by and… stall you.”

His brow lifted slightly. “By throwing yourself at me?”

“That’s phase one,” you said with a grin. “Phase two was gonna be seduction, but we’re on a tight schedule.”

He actually smirked. “You’re insane.”

You leaned on a column. “So I’ve been told. Repeatedly. In different languages.”

He stepped closer. “You’re lucky I find this entertaining.”

“Oh, I’m not lucky,” you said. “I’m charming. Big difference.”

You both paused in the eye of the storm. It was the closest thing to peace you’d had in hours.

Then, casually—too casually—Crocodile said, “By the way. I killed your captain. Straw Hat is dead.”

…

…

You blinked.

“That,” you said after a beat, “is a massive red flag.”

He arched a brow.

“I mean damn, Croco-Bae,” you said, backing up with a hand on your hip. “I know I like ‘em toxic, but that’s straight-up un-dateable behavior.”

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he said, voice low now, dangerous.

You shrugged. “I mean, yeah. But I was flirting, dude. You don’t just drop murder news mid-banter. That’s—bad form.”

And then he lunged.

You just barely dodged the first sand swipe, rolling across the sandstone tiles. He didn’t hesitate now—he came at you with the full weight of a Warlord, hook whistling through the air.

You pulled your weapon (a sad excuse of a sword/bo staff/whatever you had left after the explosion) and braced.

“You know what?” you shouted, ducking another attack. “This is why you’re single!”

He scoffed. “I prefer it.”

You threw a rock at his head.

He vaporized it with sand.

You screamed in frustration. “I WAS GONNA GIVE YOU A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET!”

“You were going to die!”

“I CAN MULTITASK!!”

Sand began to swirl dangerously around you both as his patience evaporated like water in the desert. Your stance was slipping. You weren’t a match—not really. But you weren’t going down simping.

At least not loudly.

-

You weren’t gonna win.

Not against him. Not in this state. You were sun-fried, bruised, cracked down the middle like a clay pot with too many metaphors, and Crocodile’s hook was swinging straight for your gut.

There was a woosh of sand, and you thought: Damn. He really is a 10… but so is arsenic.

You braced for the hit—

—and did get hit.

Just not by the hook.

A fist covered in haki, rage, and the sheer force of friendship collided with Crocodile’s smug jaw.

“YOU’RE NOT HURTING MY CREW!!!” Luffy shouted, voice pure fire.

You collapsed sideways in the sand, hook wound slicing deep across your side. It hurt. A lot. But it didn’t feel... final. Which, honestly, was a surprise.

You blinked up at the sky as Luffy went feral on Crocodile in the distance, fists flying, sand exploding, chaos reborn.

And all you could think was:

“…Okay but like… if he’d just not tried to murder everyone…”

You laughed softly to yourself—blood loss chuckle edition.

“…It could’ve worked out.”

And then you passed out.

-

Much Later...

You woke up in a bed too soft for the desert, draped in gauze and bad decisions.

The palace ceiling loomed above you. Golden light filtered through clean windows. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped, probably unaware that you almost had a villain redemption arc through sheer thirst.

You groaned.

Everything ached.

Your side was bandaged tight, your arms bruised, and your brain felt like someone had replaced it with a dried-out sponge.

You blinked slowly.

“…Did we win?”

“Unfortunately,” came Zoro’s voice from nearby.

You turned your head just in time to see him walk into view—arms crossed, scowl heavy, that very particular “you’re-an-idiot-and-I-care-about-you” aura rolling off him.

“You survived,” he added, sounding mildly disappointed. “Which is impressive considering you tried to flirt your way through a boss battle.”

“It was strategic distraction,” you croaked.

Zoro walked over.

Slapped you gently—but firmly—on the head.

“OW—DUDE?!”

“That’s for going through a full-on Crocodile romance arc without backup.”

“I WAS LONELY AND HE HAD A CAPE,” you shouted, immediately regretting it as your side flared with pain.

He sat down beside the bed with a long sigh. “You’re lucky Luffy got there in time.”

“…Did he win?”

“Yeah. Beat Crocodile’s smug ass into the dirt. He’s gone. Poof. Sandboy evaporated.”

You sighed.

“…Shame. I liked the eyeliner.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I’m healing,” you corrected, turning your head toward the sun-drenched window. “Emotionally and physically.”

Zoro snorted. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“Yeah. I also lost a 6’6 warlord with a hook hand and issues. I think the wound to the soul is worse.”

He picked up your pillow and lightly smacked you with it.

“Get some rest, idiot.”

You closed your eyes, smiling faintly.

“…Tell Croco I still think about him sometimes.”

“I’m telling Chopper to drug you.”

[veflia]

home

Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: When you married Aaron you knew it wouldn’t always be easy regarding his job. After a particular hard and long case, Aaron just wants to come home to his little family and forget about the horrible things of the outside world.

category: fluff

warnings: normal criminal minds stuff, otherwise just pure fluff

A/N: english isn’t my first language, so be kind. Thanks and enjoy! Here’s my masterlist.

When you said “yes” two years ago, you knew that it wouldn’t always be perfect. There were certain things that automatically came with being married to a FBI agent. You loved Aaron, with all your heart and you wouldn’t change a thing about your life. You knew your husband tried his best to be with you as often as he could and you appreciated his behaviour to set you and Jack as a priority. Jack; he really was a delight. There were many days spent by just the two of you, when Aaron was away on a case. By now, you loved him like he was your own. Even though you never tried to replace his real mom, you always made sure Jack knew how much he meant to you.

But those days included going to bed alone, mostly just with a quick call from Aaron, wishing you a good night. The most alone you felt, when Jack was having a sleepover at one of his friend’s houses and you were the only one left in the house. Sitting alone on the couch eating diner while some random show was running in the background. During those moments you missed Aaron the most. His job was important, off course you understood that, but you just wished be could be home more often. Sleeping beside you in your shared bed, eating diner more often together or just going on a stroll through the park.

Nonetheless you cherished every moment you had with your little family. You tried to focus on the good moments, when Aaron can home late at night from a case and there mornings were spent cuddling in bed and enjoying each others company. Some nights, when your husband came home particularly stressed he would capture your lips with his before even taking his jacket off. You loved this side of Aaron. Heated making out sessions that ended by getting fucked on the kitchen counter, eyes full of lust and no other desire than getting a long missed stress relief.

Tonight was different. The moment you heard the keys jingle and Aaron’s heavy footsteps down the floor, you sensed the different kind of atmosphere. His steps were slow and when he finally entered the living room you saw the sad look in his eyes. You hated how this job made your husband feel, when you just wanted him to feel all the love he deserved.

Slowly getting up from your stop on the couch you approached him. “Hey Aaron”, you spoke quietly, carful not to stress the situation.

Aaron made his way over to you, leaving his shoes and jacked laying in the hallway without properly putting them in the right place.

“Hey honey”, his voice was as soft as always when he spoke to you. But there was something else, something that weighed him down, closed his mind.

“Everything okay”, you asked, “I can see something’s going on inside those beautiful head of yours”. Also those kind of nights occurred more often than you had wished in the beginning. Some cases were just a bit more cruel and even solved, they had a lasting impact.

Of course the one including children were bad, but also those who ended messy, with dead or hurt witnesses. Even though you told Aaron so many times, than non of that is his fault and that you and Jack would be safe, you guessed it’s sadly normal to be affected by this job.

Aaron hummed in response. “Just a though case, you know. A man killed Mothers and their young children. The last two just looked so much like-“ stopping for a moment, he looked into your eyes, “I’m just really glad to be home now and see you”

“Oh Aaron”, you stepped closer to him, capturing him in your arms, “I am right here and Jack is sleeping upstairs”

“I know honey, it’s just something different when the case reminds you of your personal life so much”, your husband explained, “It always makes me wish to be more present in your life’s, I don’t want to miss out on so much”. It wasn’t the first time that this kind of conversation came up. Mostly after such draining cases, Aaron was in this nostalgic mood, where he questioned his job choice.

Softly you stroked through his hair and gave his arm a light squeeze. “As much as i wished for you to be always around me, you know I understand. Someone has to catch the bad guys. And I will always be here, waiting for you and loving you”.

Slowly you took his hand in yours and brought it up to cup your cheek. Thumb stroking over the back of his hand and lightly leaning your head into his touch. “It’s okay to have those feelings, Aaron. But you’re home now and Jack and I are here”, you reassured him. You both understood that behind your words laid a deeper promise. That no matter how hard his job got on some days, he will always have his family waiting for him at home.

“Why don’t you change into something more comfortable, give Jack a goodnight kiss and then we could cuddle for a bit, before going to sleep”, you suggested.

“Sounds like a great plan to me”, Aaron said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before kissing you properly for a bit longer. Just enjoying the moment.

While Aaron was in Jack’s room, you’ll quickly put the jacket and shoes in their places and turned all the lights downstairs off. When you reached your shared bedroom, you found your husband already lying in bed. His eyes were closed, but you were sure he was still awake. You paused for a moment, before stepping inside. Lingering at the doorframe and just taking in the picture in front of you. His dark hair was out of place, and his usually stern features were soft and calm.

Approaching the bed, his eyes indeed opened again. You were met with a look full of admiration and love. Pushing the covers aside you smoothly slipped in bed. Aarons arm already waiting to pull you closer to him.

There were nights, where you two preferred not be too close. When it was one of those hot summer nights and more than legs touching was impossible. In other nights, he would hold you close to his chest.

“Can you hold me tonight?”, his eyes now with a slight pleading look. You softly kissed his cheek and lips, “Always”

With that he scoped even closer. Nestling his head on your chest and breathing in your scent. Something that always seemed to calm him down, it reminded him of all the good he held in life. Stroking hin back you closed your eyes.

“I took the weekend off. We could take Jack to the park and have a picnic”, Aaron suggested tiredly. You could hear he had given in to his tiredness, “you know, having a bit of a family time”

You smiled. That’s why you loved him so much. Even when he was so cough up in his job, he always tried to make it up. To give you three the family time you all needed. “I’d love that. Let’s discuss that tomorrow at breakfast. Now sleep, honey. I’m here”

[baphometsss]

I really think that the draw to Solas for me was in his loneliness and the eccentricity solitude fosters. He says himself that he has basically no friends who are not spirits. In Veilguard this is only reinforced when he says it took him centuries to build a rapport with members of the rebellion. Sometimes it just hits me how lonely he was.

I also think it's interesting that, if the Inquisitor romances Blackwall, Solas tells him that he's glad he's found some happiness despite everything. And when Blackwall asks him if he has found someone, Solas says 'no, I find my peace elsewhere'... he's really not all that romantically inclined. One of the reasons I hate most solavellan fic is that people tend to write him as this super experienced fuckboy when the text tells us over and over again that he doesn't form bonds with living people very easily. I get that some people find the idea of being with someone who has thousands of years of experience sexy, but the text tells us repeatedly that he isn't especially invested in relationships with non-spirits, who are non-sexual, so he probably isn't as experienced as people think. I won't get into it too much bc I've already spoken about it, but he never properly learned to bond as a person and not as a spirit. So prior to DAI, he simply doesn't, and we can infer--especially given that he's described as never having been in love before--that he hasn't pursued romance a great deal in his life.

This is probably fed by my own bullshit (it's definitely fed by my own bullshit), but I think I had a hard time figuring out how to romance him bc they would only allow you to romance him with a female elf due to time constraints. This is despite him saying repeatedly that he loves Lavellan's spirit. When you're trans or nonbinary, it's hard to explain how exciting that is; to have characters who say explicitly that they do not define others by their bodies. It's very cool on its own, but for nb players in particular it's especially important. If you struggle with how you're perceived physically, it's nice to be able to make a character who is loved for who they actually are and not for what they look like. To have someone who sees them for who they are and not for what others want them to be. It's something people like me crave and I think this is why I'm so pro-queer Solas, pro-Solas doesn't give a shit about how on fleek your Lavellan's eyebrows are, etc. The physical doesn't factor in to why he loves. He simply loves others for their character, and although he often lets his first impressions colour his views of entire people, he is still willing to listen and learn if you give him a chance to be Wisdom and not Pride. We literally see him begin to question his own convictions re: the Dalish during the balcony scene. Contrary to popular fandom belief, he actually admits to being wrong all the time.

Idk man I just really like having a Lavellan that is an outsider all their life and isn't understood even by their own Clan, only to find her kindred spirit in Fen'harel, the adversary of her people. I'm obsessed with the fact that Solas fell in love for the first time with a mortal, who exists because of his mistake, who he loves enough to throw away his plans and only doesn't follow through because of his guilt. I need to write more fic jsdkdfhkjsg

[sparrows4bats]

So this is Batcow fan account, and I shall starting earning that title now.

Batcow is the greatest matchmaker to ever live. She is the reason for the batfamilys continuing sanity and relationship status. The Manor functions because of Alfred and Batcow.

How, you ask? How does a bovine save superhero and vigilante love lives? Why does a cow hold that much power? Dear sweet child, Batcow Is, that is how. But some quick examples of her her brilliance follow:

Dickory

Batcow is how Dick wins Kory back after a spectacular fight that almost breaks them up. Dick is upset and takes it out by arguing with Bruce and then walking around the Manor Gardens to cool off where he notices Batcow has somehow inexplicably ended up on the roof of the Manor. She looks unharmed, but there is no way for her to get down.

Dick panics because if anything happens to that cow, Damian will murder everyone in the house and fight Ras himself to get her to a Lazarus Pit. So after a moment or two of trying to think of a way out of this. He does what he usually does when his back is against the wall, and his life is on the line. He calls Kory.

After listening to him explain, she flies over and air-lifts Batcow off the roof. Where Dick promptly falls to his knees in front of this literal Queen and apologies for being a stubborn ass. Kory laughs and kisses him. Dick brings Bat Cow treats for weeks after.

JayRoy

Jason has been pining after Roy for months, possibly years, but can't find the right way to see if they could be anything more than friends. If they get together, he is in this for the long haul, not just for Roy but Lian too. So, instead of communicating like a normal person, he starts a silent campaign of proving he is Step Dad Material.

All of his attempts somehow backfire. Lian loves him, but Roy has no kitchen left and thought they both died twice. (He still lets Jason watch her, though. JASON IS OBLIVIOUS) So he is looking for child safe activities that don't involve bedtime stories(Lian prefers his over Roy's already), and then Damian remarks how friendly his pets are with civilians in his never ending pursuit of getting Bruce to allow him to patrol with his pets. And Jason knows exactly what to do. Why go to a petting zoo when he has one in the Manors backyard?

(They are still banned from the actual zoo. That penguin was fine. Eventually.)

So he brings Roy and Lian over to the Manor, and Alfred sets up lunch on the grass. Lian loves batcow and the rest of Damians' menagerie. She is so happy that after hours of cuddling and feeding the animals that she throws herself into Jason's arms and says, "Thank you, Pops! Can we come back tomorrow? Pretty please?" Jason tears up, and Roy smiles. He also asks him on a date so he can make it official. (Roy isn't as happy when he finds out about the Dragons on their next visit.)

Jason gives Lian a Batcow plushie when he adopts her a few years later.

TimBer/ Timbernkon

Tim hesitates to kiss Bernard and later Kon for so long that Batcow steps up to help him.

Tim after hours of too little sleep and too much angst . He goes to vent to the cow because she's good company and won't spill his secrets to anyone. One of these chats was interrupted by a worried Bernard looking for this boyfriend after he disappeared from his office.

Bernard loves Batcow, and seeing him act so adoring to her makes any doubt he had fly away. Because Bernard looks at him in almost the same way so he leans in and finally kisses him properly. They end up making out a little and get caught by Alfred, who came to feed Batcow her dinner.

When Tim and Bernard introduce Kon to Batcow, after a few weeks of trying to convince him to date them, Batcow full on body checks him into Bernard, and they accidentally kiss as Kon avoids crushing him. Tim pouts until Kon kisses him, too.

Bernard now visits Batcow at least once a week and bonds with Damian over her.

BatCat

They didn't know Batcow was pregnant or how she even got pregnant, until one day she went into Labour.

Damian is a mess and enlists Selinas' help because she has been around so many cat births. She tries to tell him a cow is completely different, but Damian is desperate and won't take no for an answer. Silena and Damian stay with Batcow, brushing and encouraging her until Batcalf is born.

Damian falls in love at first sight, and Silena has a realisation and suddenly blurts out that she thinks she might be pregnant while looking over the newborn. Damian doesn't react for a moment, and Silena fears the worst until he starts tearing up a little and asks rather shakily, "Does that mean I'll be a big brother?" Silena hugs him and tells him he will be the best big brother and doesn't comment on the tears that soak her shirt.

They tell Bruce together, first about Batcalf and then about the baby. (He is stunned, and Damian tells him off for his response because his silence is upsetting Silena and "She needs little to no stress in her condition, Father!")

Damian and the Cows follow Silena like shadows during her pregnancy (she doesn't ask how Batcow gets into the house and Bruce is too upset about how his son and his pets are doing a better job than him at being supportive to notice how Bat Calf sleeps on Damians bed.)

Damian is the first, after her parents, to hold Helena Wayne. He gives her two Cow plushies she carries everywhere for years.

StephCass

Batcow goes missing while Damian is on a mission, Stephanie is meant to be watching her, as Alfred is away as well. AND SHE LOST THE COW. Damian is going to kill her. Not even Cass could save her.

Then she realises, Cass! Cass will find Batcow, if anyone can, Cass, the most competent person ever, will.

So Cass and Steph spend hours searching everywhere they can think of until it starts to rain. And Cass looks so good with wet hair and rain drops sticking to her lashes that she can't help just kiss her. (They might die tomorrow if they don't find the cow anyway, so YOLO). Cass kisses back and asks, 'What took her so long?'

Batcow is on the roof on the Manor. They call Kara to come get her. No one knows how she ended up there, but they all agree never to tell Damian.

Duke/Izzy

Apparently, 'Do you want to go see my crazy family's pet cow?' is a ridiculous way to ask a girl out. But it made Izzy laugh so hard she says yes anyway.

Duke gives Batcow extra attention ever since and sends Izzy regular updates on her 'Adventures'.

Jondami

Batcow, like in the supersons movie, is one of the first things Jon and Damian bond over. Jon comes over to help Damian with his pets regularly, and that is how their partnership develops to friendship and then something more.

Then, Batcow gets sick, and Damian panics hard. (He has contingencies in place if she dies, but if he can prevent that, he will.) Damian calls for Jon for the first time ever, and Jon is there in Minutes. Damian is in tears and hugging his cow like a giant teddy bear when he arrives. He's never seen Damian look so....human. They investigate what is hurting Batcow and Jon figures out she's pregnant AGAIN, this time possibly with twins.

Damian is so relieved that he hugs Jon. It's the first time Damian has touched him willingly outside of training and missions. They are both teenagers at this point, and its like Jons whole world tilts on its axis. Righting itself to centre on the boy in his arms, a boy who is so kind and lovely, despite all the reasons he shouldn't be. Damian fits under his chin, and suddenly, Jon knows he would do anything to make him happy, to keep in his arms where Jon can protect him. Jon knows Damian can protect himself and has done so hundreds of times, but Jon wants to be the one he calls when he's scared, and based on tonight, he already is.

Damian pulls back too soon, and Jon, instead of pulling him into another hug, kisses him. Best of all, Damian kisses him back.

Duke catches them, and they swear him to secracy with the agreement that he can bring Izzy over when the new calves are born.

They still don't know how Batcow got pregnant, but they name the calves Supercow and Wondercow because Lian insisted. (Jon and Damian laugh at Bruce's face when they introduce him to the new members of the family.)

Batcow deserves an award for her service. For now, she and her children are spoiled rotten.

[shizukateal]

You are Mao Mao. Through some twists in life, a bit of meddling, and mostly a stroke of luck you've miraculously managed to secure a pretty comfy position as a poison tester. Unfortunately, you've become important at your job so one day out of nowhere the goddamn emperor asks you personally to take care of his sickly favorite girlfriend (you were mostly doing laundry 2 weeks ago). He's nice and polite about it but you know how this works, so you know that if you don't succeed in this your head gets chopped off.

Whatever, no choice but to go forward. You go to the palace and try to feed your patient but her classist attendants won't even let you get near her for fear you'll give her lice or whatever. What's worse they insist of force-feeding her 5 course meals to keep the image of her glamorous lifestyle going and you're not from the 21st century, so you don't know how to sell the simple porridge you've been making as a "clean detox diet" that only the Superior, Beautiful and Wealthy™️ enjoy like an instagram influencer would. If you knew how to do that these vapid idiots would be feeding of your hand.

This goes on for a few days and you are worried about your patient and your safety of course, but you don't see a point in trying to punch through the wall that are these shallow, catty bitches and their unbending egos. Even with the word of the emperor by your side they keep dismissing you and they are many against one, so causing a scene probably won't help. That is until finally your hot superior who is not the emperor helps you out because he knows everyone will bend to him since he's a hot man in a position of power. You don't like that this is what finally makes the bitches relent since, again, you're trying to do the job that the fucking emperor personally entrusted to you, but whatever. It's fine. It's cool, like Chappelle Roan says. At least you can finally take a closer look at your patient.

And that's when you find out that not only have these morons been dismissing you for no adequately good reason, and not feeding or cleaning the patient properly, and thus putting both of your lives at risk, but they've also been lathering fucking poison all over their master's face out of pride. Poison, mind you, that is the very reason you're in this situation in the first place because you went out of your way to stick your neck out to warn everyone to stop fucking using it as foundation near and for babies!!!!!! And because The Patient didn't listen to that gracious advice, she lost her son and potential heir to the throne of goddamn China. So her boyfriend who, and this cannot be reiterated enough, is the current motherfucking Chinese Emperor got his ass off the throne to ask you *personally* to stop her from dying like their son. And yet, to quote a brilliant abridged youtube series, these *fucking masterminds*, by some herculean leap in logic that mere mortals could never hope to understand, figured out that it was more of a priority to give their cadaverous lady a pre-mortem make-up of lead so that her almost corpse looks pretty in case the Emperor feels particularly necrophiliac one night.

I wouldn't have the temperance that Mao Mao showed in that moment. I wouldn't have just slapped a bitch, drag her by the hair and dump the poison on her. I straight up would have force-fed it to her so that she dies in front of everyone as an example, then slap the rest until they bleed and only then would I become productive enough to save the patient. If I was in Mao Mao's position, all of China would've heard me scream.

[jinuaei]

What if instead of famous!reader we got famous!Tarn who is in a band (after the war the djd had to pay the bills somehow) and meets reader again by chance (sound technician? Roadie? Friend of a fan that brought them to a concert?) and he starts writing this heart wrenching love songs full of yearning.

"Here's a power ballad about guts and blood spilled for the glory of a higher cause. And here's five minutes of me basically going PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-"

Yes!!! Singer Tarn! His voice is so deep it rattles the insides of everybot/human that hears it. His passion for music is evident in every concert and every song he sings, and that rough demeanor (though traumatizing to some) is a big hit for every audience but you will find that he's more popular with the ladies.

And you, his newest manager is his most recent muse. After his old manager pissed him off, he had Kaon find a new one, and by Primus, Kaon chose well. Gone are the days where he sings in support for Decepticons, now all he can write and sing about are love songs.

It's an instant hit! Fans swoon when they hear his voice yearning for his beloved, some supportive of his love, while some are jealous. But the very being that became the center of every music he creates is oblivious to his affection.

Who can blame you? You are too busy to properly relax and listen to Tarn's music. Yes, you are a fan but his popularity and current tour means you have to prepare a lot of things, you don’t really have enough time to listen properly unless you are there during the recordings.

Speaking of recordings, even that is not safe from his longing gazes, he’s often found staring at you as he sings songs of love. It becomes slightly awkward when the sound engineer asks him to start over again because he accidentally used his outlier ability and fucked up the whole set up while he’s too busy lovingly looking at you. The sound engineer squeaks in fear when Tarn only responds with a glare.

(Sound Technician also sounds good ngl because imagine the reader getting pissy at Tarn because he destroyed your equipment for the 4th time that month while he’s blowing kisses and sending EM fields of obsessive love. It’s him who has to pay for it but it’s delaying the concert so much and ughhhhh your shit broke again)

And there’s a scenario for a concert that I conjured up and rewrote because the original one was too wordy? Fancy? You know that type of writing I do when I write it too seriously and the fic becomes good but also theatrical? Wanted this one to be more light hearted but I will post the original one after I make it coherent enough.

It’s the day of the concert and you are stressed out of your mind, but somehow you guys pulled through and the DJD are now on stage performing their hit songs. However, one of the sound crew fucked up something because one moment Tarn hears the familiar sound of the metronome on his earpiece and the next, he hears your voice, screaming words of encouragement and singing along with him.

He freezes, not prepared to hear you praise him, but it only lasts a moment before he continues, now energized and spark warm. He is used to hearing you always stressed out and hearing you enjoying yourself is such a treat to him, he hopes that the sound crew doesn’t notice their mistake and keep you on the line.

Luckily for Tarn, they did not catch it and he got to listen to you sing your heart out alongside him, which by the way — is so beautiful to him. Like a siren luring men to their death, it makes him want to run to you and beg you to sing for him. (mhhh phantom of the opera Tarn)

He can still hear you in his earpiece even when they are near the end of the concert where they are thanking people. It was going so well, so swimmingly well until he heard a phrase roll through his audials. That damned phrase that triggered his outlier ability.

‘That’s my Tarn!’

…

My Tarn…

Your Tarn?

YOUR TARN???

Suddenly all lights and sound cease, and the fans gasp in shock and panic as they are bathed in darkness. One of the DJD, probably Kaon, reassures the crowd, asking them to calm down, but Tarn is oblivious to it. The phrase keeps echoing through his processor, and his fans whirs on dumbly looking at the panicking crowd. He manages to snap out of it when he realized he couldn’t hear you anymore, and he himself panics. 

He abandons his post and rushes backstage, trying to find you in the swarm of stressed out crewmates. He grabbed you as soon as he saw you, swiftly guiding you to his makeup room. The large mech asks you to sit down and once you do he begs you to call him your Tarn again. 

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE—!”

“PAUSE!!!!! We need to get you back on stage!” You scold him, trying to stand back up but you are once again forced back down when he laid his helm on your lap.

He continues muttering his request, wrapping his arms around your legs. Unbeknownst to him, the power managed to turn on again and the fans can actually hear him beg for you to call him yours again because this love sick singer forgot to remove his mic when he left the stage. However, you were not as engrossed in your delusion so you can hear his voice echo through the whole stadium, you can already feel the headache that this will cause you and his PR team.

You shut yourself up, trying not to expose your voice to the public before removing the mic attached to his helm and throwing it away where it hopefully does not catch your voice. Since he is still insistent and you cannot simply push this whole aft mountain from your lap, you chose to indulge in his request.

Tarn is so lucky to have that outlier ability because if his ability didn’t trigger and shut down the stadium again the moment you said it, he would have to explain so much about that choked moan that came out from his intake. 

You, however, are not as lucky as you almost slipped and fell from his fluids on the floor, he managed to catch you but he had the audacity to look ashamed when some of that spilt transfluid actually clung to your legs.

This went completely the other way and I am sorry

[songbirdseung]

𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬  𝑨  𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲  /  𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲  𝑱𝑶𝑵𝑮𝑺𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑮

"𝐒𝐞𝐞?" 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮." (𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵) 

Another day, another long hour spent in the studio, watching your boyfriend stress over his mixtape.

Jay was always passionate about his work, but sometimes, he got too caught up in it so much so that his shoulders tensed, his brows furrowed, and his temper ran a little shorter than usual. You were used to it by now, but today, the frustration rolling off of him was heavier than ever.

Sitting behind him on the couch, you watched the screen full of music files and confusing waveforms, pretending to understand what was happening. Every now and then, the members would stop by to check in on Jay, only to be dismissed with a sharp “I’m fine.”

Sunoo, the last to try his luck, plopped down beside you with a sigh. "He's so rude, how do you deal with him?"

You chuckled. "I think he's just really in the zone."

Sunoo hummed, glancing over at Jay’s stiff shoulders. "Maybe help him blow off some steam," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows before standing up to leave.

You rolled your eyes at his insinuation but couldn't deny that Jay needed a break—desperately.

"Seongie?" you called out softly.

No response.

Sighing, you finally got up and padded over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Only then did he acknowledge you, reaching for your waist and pulling you onto his lap.

"I'm sorry, baby," he mumbled, resting his chin on your shoulder. His voice was deep and tired, weighed down with exhaustion.

"Jay, it’s okay," you reassured him, rubbing small circles on his back. "But you need to take a break."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I can’t. I need to finish this."

You frowned. Stubborn as always.

But as your fingers trailed up to his shoulders, kneading gently at the knots in his muscles, you felt him relax against you. His body melted ever so slightly, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.

"That feels… really nice," he murmured, rolling his shoulders into your touch.

Encouraged, you continued, pressing your thumbs into the tight spots. Jay’s grip on your waist tightened instinctively, his breathing growing slower.

"See?" you whispered, smiling. "A little break won’t kill you."

But as you adjusted your position on his lap, shifting just a little to get more comfortable, you felt him tense again for a very different reason.

Jay sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping your hips firmly. "Babe-" His voice came out strained. "Could you, uh, stop moving so much?"

You blinked, confused for a second. Then, realization dawned on you.

You smirked.

"What’s wrong?" you teased, pretending to be innocent.

Jay groaned, leaning his head back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "You know what’s wrong."

"Do I?" you hummed, shifting just a little more.

His grip on your waist tightened. "Y/N-"

You giggled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Relax, babe. I just want you to take a break."

"Yeah?" His eyes opened slightly, dark with something unreadable. "Because it kinda feels like you’re distracting me instead."

You shrugged playfully, twirling a piece of his hair between your fingers. "So? Maybe I want all of your attention for once."

Jay exhaled a laugh, finally looking at you properly. His hands moved to your face, cradling it as his thumb brushed over your cheek.

"You already have it, baby," he murmured, before pulling you in for a lingering kiss, one that made you forget all about the studio, his work, and everything else.

[pankowcrumbs]

Shared hotel room X Will Poulter

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

There’s a certain ache that settles in your chest when something good ends. Not the sharp, clean pain of heartbreak, but the slow, quiet kind. The kind that follows a final take, a group cheer, the clink of champagne glasses and confetti in hair. The kind that comes with knowing tomorrow, you won’t wake up and head to set to see the same people you've seen every day for six months. The kind that creeps in when you're standing across from someone you've grown used to, maybe even too fond of, and pretending like it hasn't meant something.

That was me. At the wrap party. Half-buzzed, half-bewildered, and entirely too focused on Will bloody Poulter across the room.

He looked unfairly good for someone who’d just downed three gin and tonics and attempted (poorly) to moonwalk to an 80s playlist. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, hair a mess from the humidity and dancing, cheeks slightly flushed. He was laughing at something the director had said, and I hated that I could pick his laugh out of a room full of people.

We’d been co-stars for six months, filming a drama that was part love story, part psychological spiral. Most of our scenes together were emotionally intense. I’d kissed him more times on camera than I had any man in real life this year, and still I didn’t know how to ask him out for a drink.

Not that I needed to. We’d shared drinks. Shared dinners. Shared playlists, private jokes, quiet glances across trailers, and the kind of electric silence that always said too much.

But we were careful. Too careful.

Now, the party was thinning out. Robin, our producer, had disappeared hours ago, and the crew were beginning to peel off in taxis and Ubers, still laughing, still tipsy. I spotted Will heading for the lifts and, without even thinking, followed.

“Oi!” I called, hurrying after him in my heels that had begun to feel like medieval torture devices. “You’re not escaping without saying goodnight, are you?”

He turned, smile blooming. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We stood there for a beat, both slightly swaying. The lobby was quiet now, fluorescent lights buzzing. My dress, once perfectly styled, was slipping off one shoulder. His top button had come undone.

“Good party,” I offered, mostly just to fill the silence.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “We made it.”

“We did,” I agreed, though it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like something was slipping away before I’d even had a chance to hold it properly.

The lift dinged, doors opening. We stepped inside together. Floor seven.

There was a comfortable silence at first until the doors opened again with a soft chime, and I stepped out… only to wobble slightly on my heel. My clutch tipped sideways, and I watched, in horror, as my room key slid from my fingers and slipped clean through the crack between the lift and the hallway floor.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered, crouching uselessly to peer into the gap. It was gone. Fully, irretrievably gone.

Will hovered behind me, eyebrows raised. “Did you just… drop your keycard into the void?”

“I did,” I sighed, defeated. I stood up and faced him, suddenly all too aware of how close we were. My voice came out softer than intended. “I should probably go back down. To reception. Get a new one.”

He nodded slowly. “Probably.”

But neither of us moved.

The hallway was quiet. Somewhere down the corridor, a door shut. The carpet was thick underfoot, soft. I realised I was still holding my shoes in one hand.

Will looked at me really looked at me and then he held out his hand.

“Or,” he said gently, “you could just stay with me.”

I blinked. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I mean only if you want to. No pressure.”

I looked at his hand for a second, then placed mine in it.

“Okay.”

His hotel room looked identical to mine, but stepping inside felt strangely significant. Like crossing a threshold that we’d hovered at for months but never dared to step over.

He flicked on a lamp, casting the room in a soft amber glow. I kicked off my shoes and laughed, mostly from nerves.

“Well,” I said, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. “This is very platonic and not at all filled with unresolved sexual tension.”

He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Should I… put on the telly or something?”

“No,” I said quickly, then added, “I mean unless you want to. I don’t mind.”

He walked over to the mini fridge instead, pulling out two tiny bottles of something. “To the most anticlimactic invitation ever?”

“To hotel lift voids and poor footwear choices,” I said, clinking my bottle against his.

We both drank.

The awkwardness lingered at first. Neither of us really knew where to sit. I perched on the edge of the bed. He stayed standing, leaning against the desk, arms crossed.

“I was kind of hoping you’d follow me, you know,” he said after a pause.

I looked up. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I didn’t want the night to end.”

The confession hit me square in the chest.

“I didn’t either,” I admitted. “It’s been… weird. Finishing.”

He sat beside me on the bed, close but not touching. “Yeah.”

We were both quiet for a moment. I could feel the warmth of him next to me, the slow rise and fall of his breath.

“You ever think…” I started, then stopped.

“What?” he asked, turning slightly.

I hesitated. “You ever think maybe we were both too scared to… try?”

His gaze flicked to mine. “Every day.”

I turned my head, and suddenly our faces were close. Too close. Or maybe not close enough. Our breath mingled, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to find permission.

“You can kiss me,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate.

It wasn’t dramatic or rushed. Just… soft. Real. His hand came up to my cheek as he leaned in, lips brushing mine like a question. I kissed him back like an answer.

It felt like everything we hadn’t said finally falling into place.

When we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the second callback,” he said, breathless.

“Me too,” I whispered.

He kissed me again. Deeper this time. His hands found my waist, pulling me gently closer, and I let myself melt into him. It wasn’t perfect our teeth bumped once, we laughed into each other’s mouths but it was ours. It was overdue and kind and slow, like we both knew we didn’t have to rush now.

Somehow, we ended up lying side by side on the bed, fully clothed, his arm draped loosely over my waist.

“This might sound mad,” I murmured, “but I’m kind of glad I dropped my key.”

He smiled into my hair. “I’ve never been so grateful to a elevator void in my life.”

We both laughed.

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was with the comfort of knowing he’d still be there in the morning. No scripts, no trailers, no pretending.

Just Will. And me.

[sequinsmile-x]

The Dominoes Cascaded in a Line

Emily refused to call it a booty call, even though that was exactly what it was starting to feel like. 

A one shot in my series of unrelated kissing prompt fics

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you're all okay <3

It's been a while since I wrote some smut, and the kissing prompt 'slowly kissing down the body' from the list I've been working from seemed like the perfect opportunity.

This is just soft and sweet and them.

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: 18+, smut

Words: 3.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She missed him. 

It feels nothing short of ridiculous since they’d spent all day at work together, but they hadn’t had a chance to be them. They were Hotch and Prentiss when they were working - FBI agents skilled in behavioural profiling amongst so many other things - and there was no room to be Aaron and Emily, a new couple who hadn’t even had a chance to go on their first date yet. It was slowly, but surely, driving her insane. He’d finally asked her on a date, something she’d been waiting for much longer than she cared to admit, and they’d had to rearrange three times already. Twice because of work, including the case they were currently on, and once because Jack was sick. Aaron had apologised and apologised, as if she’d ever be angry over him being a good father, and as if he had any control over the nature of their work, and she knew he was just as frustrated as she was.

They still spent all their spare time together, just like they had before they’d tipped over the fine line between friendship and more that they’d walked like a tightrope for years. They would snuggle on his couch after Jack went to bed, and she’d kiss him and he’d kiss her and it was everything she’d ever thought it would be. Except for the fact that he never let it go further than kissing. 

He told her, that very first time he pulled away when she’d rolled her hips against his, desperate to feel something, to stoke the fire sparking in her blood, that he wanted to do this properly. He wanted to take her on a date and buy her dinner, and take her home. She found his desire to be a gentleman as frustrating as she did endearing, and even though they were half away across the country, even though the bed in her hotel room left a lot to be desired, she was running out of patience. 

She looks at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and tugs at the hem of her pyjama shorts, making sure the dark green silk is lying just right against her skin, and the straps of the matching cami top, and she smiles when she hears a knock on her hotel room door. 

Right on time. 

She had a plan. A plan she’d started when their date was cancelled again when Penelope called Aaron to tell him about this case. She’d packed the nicest pjyamas she owned - thinking lingerie might be a step too far if things didn’t quite go as she wanted - and as soon as it became clear they were packing up for the night, she sent Aaron a text and asked him to come to her room at 10 pm. 

Emily refused to call it a booty call, even though that was exactly what it was starting to feel like. 

She blows out a slow, nervous breath as she walks through her room and opens the door, briefly checking the peephole to make sure it was Aaron and that she wasn’t about to answer the door in her tiniest pyjamas to Dave, and she smiles as she pulls it open. 

“Hi,” she says, looking him up and down, pressing her lips together to try and contain her smile at the way he looks her up and down, swallowing thickly as his eyes linger on her legs, on the peak of skin that stands out between the hem of her cami top and her shorts. She clears her throat, unable to stop her smile from getting wider this time when their eyes meet, and a flash of embarrassment passes through his, “Want to come in?” 

Aaron nods and kisses her cheek as he passes her, his hand on her waist, the green silk she’s wearing almost as soft as her skin as his palm rasps against it, “I feel overdressed.” 

It feels stupid as soon as he’s said it, but she laughs, making sure the double lock is in place on the door before she turns to look at him, her arms crossed over her chest in a way that makes him ensure that he keeps eye contact with her to stop his gaze from wandering. 

“Well, I’d say I’ll let you go back and change so we can have a pyjama party,” she says, walking over to him, her tongue peaking out to wet her lower lip as she looks him up and down. There was something so very him about the fact he’d been in his room, still in his suit with only his jacket and tie missing. It makes words that she’s sure are too early to say settle on her tongue, the taste of them sweet before she swallows them back down, “But I’m worried I’d scare you off,” she quips, leaning in to kiss him before she steps back and nods towards the desk in her room. There are snacks - chips and candy she’d bought from the gas station - and a bottle of wine, along with two plastic cups, “I thought since our date keeps getting cancelled, we could make it happen here.” 

He smiles softly at her, his hands on a respectable spot on her back as he pulls her closer. He’d been frustrated by their date being cancelled too, annoyed that after he’d finally been brave enough to ask her out that life had kept getting in the way. He knew she was placating him, that she knew it was important for him to do all of this in the way he thought was right, and it made him impossibly more in love with her. 

“Em…”

“I know what you’re going to say,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck, chasing the shiver she causes when she scratches his scalp. “You’re going to say that you wanted to pay for our date,” she smiles, and her eyes spark with an edge of mischief he once worried he’d never get to see again. “You know you gave me $20 earlier for coffee for everyone?” She says, and he nods, “Well, I bought everyone coffee, and then used your $20 to buy this feast.” She smiles as she nods towards the desk, and then she scrunches her nose up, “Although, the wine cost $6 and just says ‘wine’ on the label,” she says, a fake shudder running through her as he laughs at her, “So I don’t hold out much hope for that.” 

He knows he won’t win this battle, that he didn’t really want to, but he presses his lips together anyway, a voice in the back of his head telling him that she deserved more than this. 

“Are you sure?” He says, pretending that he can’t see the desire written across her face, “Are you sure you don’t want dinner in a nice restaurant and flowers and everything else?” 

“I want you,” she says, unhooking one of her hands from around his neck to stroke her knuckles down his cheek, “As long as you want this too, that’s all I want,” she says, leaning in to stamp her lips against his, “I just want you.” 

The second that follows feels like the longest of her life, but then he leans in, his lips insistent against hers, and she doesn’t know if the sigh she releases is one of desire or relief. 

She presses her chest against his, feels the scratch of the buttons on his shirt against her skin, and she hums, her grip on him tightening as she leads him towards the bed. It feels like his hands are everywhere, his self-imposed embargo on touching her anywhere other than her back or hips long gone. It’s overwhelming, perfect and everything she wanted it to be. The back of her knees hit the bed and they come to a stop. 

He pulls back from the kiss and presses his forehead against hers, “You’re so beautiful.” 

She huffs out a breath, something she thinks is meant to be a laugh, and she rubs her nose against his, stamping a brief kiss against his lips before she pulls back just enough to look at him. She studies him up close, maps out lines on his face and specks of gold in his eyes that were still new to her, features that one day would be as familiar to her as his dimples and soft smile that felt like it was just for her. 

“You are too,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, taking the opportunity to undo a few of the buttons on his shirt, her breath catching in her chest when the first of his scars are revealed, faded to a faint white line now, a part of the tapestry of his skin, the places where he’d been stitched back together. She traces a finger over them, her eyes finding his again when he gasps, and she smiles, leaning in to kiss the scar at the top of his chest, “So beautiful.” 

As she pulls back, his hand slips under her cami, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to palm her breast, thinks she’s going to feel the roughness of his calluses against her sensitive skin, but he doesn’t. Instead, he runs his fingers across the burst of scar tissue just beneath her ribs, tracing lines he’d only ever read about. It’s still numb. She’d spent countless hours touching it to try to feel something other than pins and needles, a numbness she thinks she could have easily lost herself to if it wasn’t for him.

“I…” he says, unsure what he really wants to say, if there are enough words for this. They’d both been hurt so badly. Both torn apart by monsters made of flesh and bone, monsters who had been nothing more than men. They've been to the brink and back, survived awful, terrible things to make it to each other, and he likes to think thats why they work so well, why he can already see forever with her. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

She smiles and her cheeks ache with it, love and joy and want rushing around her so fast it makes her dizzy, and she nods, aware of everything he wants to say but won’t yet, and she rests her head against his. 

“I’m glad too,” she says, three words that aren’t the three words she wants to say, but they’ll do for now. She kisses him quickly - too quickly - and then she pulls her cami over her head, smiling when the seriousness around them disappears the moment it hits the bed behind her, the desire that had preceded it making a quick comeback. She sits on the bed and drags him with her, kissing him as she unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, growling in frustration as she pulls back when she just can’t do it quickly enough, her hands not quite working with her. “Do you have another shirt with you?” 

He nods, “Yes, why?” 

She pulls at both sides of his shirt, and the buttons scatter, the sound of them hitting the ground muted by the cheap carpet beneath their feet. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she shrugs, biting his lower lip ever so slightly, “I’ll buy you a thousand shirts.” 

He shakes his head and kisses her before he encourages her to lie down, his hands soft but encouraging at her waist. He looks at her so tenderly that she thinks that with anyone else would leave her feeling exposed, something that would be absurd since she was half naked, but with him, it makes her feel empowered, a blush breaking out across her skin that he tracks with kisses. He kisses her neck and then her sternum, taking a moment to kiss the brand mark on her breast before he moves on, acknowledging it without making a point of lingering there, and then the scar beneath her ribs. By the time he kisses her stomach, his lips half catching her skin and half the silk of her shorts, she’s writhing beneath him, her fists tight around the overstretched sheets under her. 

“Aaron,” she gasps, lifting her head to look at him, her eyes blown black as they meet his, her breath caught in her chest as she looks him up and down, his shirt still hanging off him and his pants and belt still firmly in place, “You’re wearing too many clothes.” 

He smiles and nods, and he shrugs off his shirt, letting it fall to the ground with the buttons she’d torn off it, and he gets to work on his pants and shoes whilst she lifts her hips just enough to take off her shorts. He playfully narrows her eyes at him when he almost trips over taking off his pants, but it removes any lingering nervous tension in the air around them, reminding them that, above all else, they were best friends, that they knew each other better than anyone else ever could. 

She’s grateful that they’d had the - annoyingly awkward - conversation about practicalities before their date was cancelled for the first time, because it means they don’t have to have it now, it means that when he joins her on the bed, laying over her but making sure he’s careful to not rest all his weight on her, the only thing she’s thinking about is him. She gasps as he notches against her, and he grabs one of her hands, linking their fingers together by her head as he uses the other to hitch her leg around his waist, his touch tender yet firm. He rests his forehead against hers, and they look at each other as he pushes forward.

She gasps at the stretch of him, her breath skipping across his face as his skips against hers. She can feel him everywhere, pressure from all sides, and she swallows thickly, her lungs stuffed full of desire and want she thinks she could drown in. 

“Aaron,” she says, squeezing his hand, “Move,” she chokes out, her hips shifting against his, desperate for something, her skin fizzing with everything she was already feeling, “Please move.” 

He does as she asks, and she moans, dragging him in for a kiss in an attempt to be quiet, a small part of her brain vaguely aware that one of the team was sleeping in the next room, although right now she couldn’t remember who. Aaron squeezes her leg and groans against her, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face against her shoulder, his lips against her collarbone. 

She loses herself in it, and he does too, and even though it’s the first time, it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like coming home, like this was where they were always going to end up. Wrapped around each other in a town with a name neither one of them would remember when they looked back on this, instead focused on how they’d made each other feel, how they’d finally made it to this. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he mutters eventually, part of a trail of praise tattooed against her skin that she doesn’t hear every word of as her hearing gives way to white noise. Her breathing gets faster, all of her focus on how he’s making her feel, “So good.” 

She grasps at his back, her nails digging in as she rolls her hips against his, and a noise she doesn’t recognise escapes her when he slides in impossibly deeper, “Fuck, Aaron…” 

She doesn’t have to ask him, and she's glad because she doesn’t think she could. His hand shifts from her thigh, and all it takes is a ghost of his thumb over her clit and she’s gone. She tips over the edge with a breathless gasp, holding him as close as possible as if he’d move even if he wanted to. 

“Fuck,” he exclaims, clenching his teeth as he feels his hips start to stutter, “God, sweetheart-”

She cups his cheek, makes him look at her as he comes, her forehead against his as she kisses him, swallowing down the way he grits out her name like a prayer. 

He places his hand on the bed next to her and rolls them, letting her lie on top of him as they catch their breath. She places her hand on his chest to steady herself, and she kisses him, cupping his cheek as she sighs contentedly. 

“That was…” she starts, shaking her head as words fail her, lingering pleasure in her veins making her brain misfire as she looks down at him.

“I know,” he replies, his hand skipping up and down her back, “I know, sweetheart.” 

“I’d thank you,” she quips, kissing him again, “But I think that would be inappropriate,” she says, and he laughs, something that makes her kiss him again, “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

He nods and kisses her one more time before she stands up, stretching as she walks towards the bathroom. She makes quick work of cleaning herself up, desperate to be with him again, to not be away from him for too long, and she can’t help but smile when she opens the door to find him standing just outside. He kisses her, squeezing her hip as he passes her to use the bathroom himself. 

She grabs the bottle of wine from the desk as she passes it and unscrews the lid, taking a swig directly from the bottle as she sits back down on the bed. She grimaces at the taste of it and glares at the label as if it would somehow improve the quality. She doesn’t look up when she hears the bathroom door open, and she sips the wine again.

“The wine is disgusting by the way,” she says as he joins her, moving just enough for him to pull the covers back and slip them over both of their laps. 

“I’ll have you know thats the best wine you can buy at a gas station with someone else's $20,” he says, winking at her when she smiles up at him.

“You’ll stay tonight?” 

He hates that she feels the need to ask, that she’d been treated badly enough in the past to do so, but he brushes past it for now, stores the feeling away to ask her about another time. He nods and kisses her forehead. 

“Of course,” he says, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to tug her closer when she sips the wine again, passing over the bottle to his waiting hand, “There’s no where else I’d rather be,” he thinks he falls in love with her all over again because of the way he smiles at her. He leans in to kiss her and pulls back just enough to speak, “You were right.”

She furrows her brow and tilts her head at him, “About what?” 

He kisses her again, “About the wine,” he says, winking at her, “It’s terrible.”