#i had to draw him again .... not like it ever takes longer than twelve seconds SOOOOO

[tenshindon]

i still like him

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 10)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

“Everybody stick to the plan. That means you, sweetheart.” Haymitch is sure to address Katniss directly, she loves to deviate. “We need this big, make them pay attention.“

Peeta looks to Katniss.

“We’re ready.”

Y/N taps Katniss’ chin, with a sad smile.

The lights backstage dim.

“Tonight is a night like no other.” Caesar narrates, “tonight we are joined by the victors of district twelve.”

The audience applauds.

“That’s right, we have Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Y/N and Haymitch Abernathy and two very special guests!”

The clapping only amplifies as the music begins.

“Let’s bring them out,” Caesar calls.

A beat later shouts of excitement can be heard all around as Everest tears down the isle, from the very back row. Hands reaching out as he passes, brushing against his own.

“Ah ha ha!” Caesar can barely contain himself, “it’s Everest, it’s our boy!”

Arista cartwheels out into spotlight after her brother has found his seat on stage.

“Oh, an acrobat!” Caesar rejoices. “Our little gymnast, Arista.”

The response is near deafening. Katniss wonders if they might actually short circuit as Peeta dips her back and kisses her.

“Our lethal lovers!” Caesar fans himself until they break apart.

Y/N’s dress is skintight, drawing attention to the ever growing bump. If we show them, then it’s real.

Those who are still seated rise; a standing ovation.

“Oh my gooooooooooodddddd!” Caesar howls, “how did this happen?”

“Come on, Caesar,” Haymitch claps his back, “there’s kids here.”

Caesar cackles, “well I mean, when? We had no idea-”

“It was a surprise.”

“What a happy surprise!”

“Saved it just for you,” Y/N informs him.

“May I?” He holds out a hand.

“Please.” Y/N smiles down at her belly as Caesar touches it lightly.

“Hello there, little one. It’s Caesar.” A swift kick meets his palm and he jumps back, mouth wide open. “Now that was a kick.”

The audience rejoices.

“Please, take a seat,” Caesar motions toward the children. “Let’s catch up. Katniss, Peeta, tell us, how is your new life treating you?”

“Good,” Katniss takes the lead, “it’s been incredible.”

Peeta nods in agreement.

“Thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, not only did we find love, but a second family.”

“So sweet.” Caesar coos, “and what about you, Peeta?”

“Y/N, Haymitch and the kids opened their hearts and their home to us. We’ve been very fortunate.” Peeta takes comfort in this truth.

“And what a lovely family you have.” Caesar holds a hand to his heart. “So tell us, what’s next?”

“I-I’m so sorry, Caesar.” Peeta stammers, “I just can’t wait any longer.”

“For what? What is it Peeta?” Caesar leans in.

Peeta kneels in front of Katniss, her eyes wide as he reaches into his pocket.

“Katniss, I have always loved you.”

“It’s happening.” Someone shouts from the crowd.

Caesar moves his mic closer, so everyone can hear.

“These past few months have only brought us closer and I know now, more than ever, that there’s no one else in the world I’d rather spend my life with.” The box is opened, revealing the ring.

Katniss’ hands fly up to her mouth.

“Katniss…will you marry me?”

“Yes.” Her tears are genuine. She is overwhelmed and ill equipped to handle such a myriad of emotions.

The ring goes on and he kisses her. For better or for worse.

————————————————————————

“Mommy,” Arista calls her mother back to her bedside.

“Yes,” Y/N smiles, patiently returning to her perch at the edge of the mattress.

“Do you think we made everybody happy again?”

Y/N exhales, “there’s really no way to make everyone happy. But I think Caesar was pretty happy, huh?”

Arista giggles, “yeah, he was so happy.”

“You know that’s not your job, right? Making everybody happy.”

She shrugs.

“You’re just a little girl.” Y/N reminds her, “and all that stuff is grown up stuff. Ok?”

“Ok,” Arista nuzzles against her pillow.

“Should I ask Aunt Madge to come lay with you until you fall asleep?”

She nods. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you more.” Y/N kisses her forehead, in parting. “Sweet dreams.” She leaves her then, allowing the sliding door to close behind her.

Madge is already there, standing watch between the kid’s rooms.

“She wants you to lay with her.”

“I’m on it.”

Y/N catches her wrist, causing Madge to look up at her. Really look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just wanted to thank you, again.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Madge shakes her head.

“You don’t owe me,” Y/N needs her to know that. Not for taking care of you when mom couldn’t. Not for chasing monsters away when dad had to work late. Not for any of it.

“I’m here because I love you, you’re my sister, Everest and Arista are my niece and nephew. I want to help, I want to be here.” Madge assures her. “I know this isn’t your ideal night out, but we get to leave after the party. So take a breath, do your thing, I’ll hold down the fort.”

“I love you.” Y/N pinches her little sister’s cheek, once for good measure. Then runs both hands over the front of her dress. Vanity has truly outdone herself.

Haymitch comes to collect her after a bit of pregaming and saying his own goodnights.

Katniss and Peeta are dressed and ready for the short walk to the presidential palace. They’ve never been, so their initial state of awe is to be expected.

“Everyone who is anyone is here and they’re all dying to meet you, my victors.” Effie smiles, guiding Peeta and Katniss towards the stairs, lined with Capitol elites.

They gawk as if they’ve never seen a victor before, one even brushes his hand against Katniss’ shoulder.

Once they are inside Effie breaks off, she has friends here, people she knows, Katniss doesn’t. Even Y/N and Haymitch are quickly whisked away, leaving her and Peeta to fend for themselves.

“Y/N, Y/N, you have to try this. It’s new.” The Capitol woman accosting her is named Lyra; sporting a headpiece which resembles curtains.

“Oh,” Y/N stares down at the pastry in her hand.

“I need a drink.” Haymitch whispers against his wife’s ear. “You alright here?”

“Yeah, go.” Y/N kisses him once in parting before making herself at home. The food is good, more than enough to feed the starving families in twelve.

“What are you hoping for this time?” Lyra wonders, motioning to her belly.

“Um,” Y/N stammers, “I’m happy either way. Just healthy, that’s all I want.”

“That goes without saying,” The woman agrees.

“My daughter wants a sister though.”

Y/N isn’t sure how much time is lost in meaningless conversation. Others join them, asking about her dress, the children, the baby. Eventually she excuses herself to the powder room, taking a deep breath and stalling until there is a knock at the solid, white, door.

“Thought you fell in.” Finnick remarks when Y/N answers.

“There are ten other bathrooms here.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“Eleven, actually.” He corrects her, “besides I wasn’t looking for a toilet.”

“What were you looking for?”

“You.”

Y/N scoffs, “I’m flattered.”

“May I have this dance?” Finnick holds out a hand to her.

“One dance,” Y/N agrees; allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

“Everything ok?” Finnick asks.

No. “Yes, why?”

“I don’t know,” he looks away for a moment, then down to her bump. “I just feel like there’s something between us.”

Y/N snorts a laugh, “how are things?” How’s Annie?

“She’s doing better.” His playful demeanor is all but forgotten. “It’s always hard when I leave.”

Y/N nods, deciding not to push the issue. He doesn’t want to be here, nobody does.

“Mags is with her. It helps.”

“Mags is good?”

“Everyone’s alright.” Finnick’s eyes scan the room. “Looks like you’ll be having an interesting evening.”

“Why?” Y/N whips her head around.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” She’s very skittish tonight.

“What do you know that I don’t?” Y/N arches a brow. That’s why he sought her out, why he asked her to dance. Not to flirt, or to shoot the breeze, but to be her friend. To give her a heads up.

Finnick leans in, to let her in on a little secret. Right as the nation’s anthem booms out, the presidential welcome. “We better go.” He says instead.

Y/N finds Haymitch waiting for her, near the center of the excitement, with Peeta and Katniss. He waves her over, not expecting her to come flying into his arms.

“What happened?” Haymitch pulls back after a moment, giving her a thorough once over.

“Nothing.” Nothing yet. But this is how it starts, this is how it always starts.

He wants to tell her right then about his conversation with Plutarch; about the rebels, the growing support to end the games and the truth about district thirteen. But they’re being watched, especially here and the train is bugged.

There’s an old trick, one Haymitch and Y/N have used since the beginning of their marriage. In the shower, hushed whispers drowned out by the guise of something else. They can speak freely. He’ll tell her tonight.

Without another word Haymitch turns her toward Snow’s balcony. Both arms around Y/N as they watch the display, his mouth set in a firm line. The president has come to greet his guests, met with applause and when he speaks, complete silence.

“Tonight, on this the last day of their tour, I want to welcome our two victors. Two young people who embody our ideals of strength and valor.” Snow pauses, “and I personally want to congratulate them on the announcement of their engagement. Your love has inspired us, and I know it will go on inspiring us everyday, for as long as you may live.”

Y/N’s heart stops, unable to determine if this revelation is good or bad. Still she smiles, pointing toward the spectacle of lights behind them.

Katniss turns back to meet Snow’s gaze as the fireworks boom, leaving only him and her. Finally he nods. They did it. He’s convinced.

Part 11

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating

[creedslove]

DESERVE IT - PART THIRTEEN

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: some insight on your relationship with Javi, where everything is going perfectly, until his secret with Los Pepes is out

Warnings: fluff, but the like the level of fluff is too much it will probably make you OD on fluff, smut (nipple play, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie), a little bit of dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy and pregnancy talk, a little bit of angst

A/N: besties... Where do I start? I don't even know, I've been writing this chapter for two days and it's made me feel so many things, I was so emotional and so into it, like i felt i was buried deep in the story because more than once I ended up writing my own name when I was talking about reader lmao, this has happened so many times during this story... Anyway, I'll continue my considerations on my second author's note at the end of this chapter so there won't be any spoilers, I just hope you guys enjoy this huge dose of domestic!Javi as much as I did 🩷

• PART ONE TO TWELVE ON MY MASTERLIST

6.3k words (I got carried away, sorry)

You felt yourself waking up slowly at the same time you tried focusing back into your sleep. You didn't want to wake up just yet, the blankets over your body felt so comfortably warm, the mattress underneath giving you the complete relaxation you craved as you buried your face in the pillow and tried returning to the dream you were having.

You didn't remember much about it, but you did remember you were in a big house, you didn't know where exactly, but at the same time everything seemed familiar.

You walked through the hallways of it, taking in all the details that were so different and yet so known to you, picture frames on the wall, that passed by as a blur though you had the feeling you'd seen them many times.

You followed your instincts, going down the hallway and finding the kitchen, immediately a small little girl rushed to you, hugging you as tight as she could and giggled "mommy!!!!" she squealed happily and pointed at the counter, where Javi was standing, placing the dough inside the small, star-shaped baking pans "daddy and I are making cookies!!!" The little girl you quickly learned was none other than your daughter informed you with the happiest smile on earth.

Javi smiled too, leaving the cookies on the counter and walked to you, kissing your lips gently and caressing your stomach, that much to your surprise was round with a baby bump "we missed you and our big boy too" he told you and held your hand, taking it to his mouth and pecking it as well, just as you could see a wedding band around your finger.

Your heart raced and you thought air was lacking from your lungs when you immediately got up and looked around, rubbing your eyes and looking for any traces of the scenario you were just experiencing.

You gasped as it had been such a real dream, but now that you realized you were finally awake, you could tell the images were already fading. Suddenly, the house didn't seem so familiar anymore, you didn't remember any longer what shape the cookies were, and the little girl's face was nothing but a fog, and god, it hurt because she was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Your heart clenched at the realization she was just a product of your memory and you would never see her again. It was so upsetting to realize that and you wished you had the ability to draw, at least you could maybe try to get a picture of her pretty face. You were clueless to why that particular dream made such an impact on you, distractedly thinking of it as you jumped startled when you felt a hand brushing against your hair.

"You okay cariño?" Javi asked you, staring into your eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed and watched as you looked at him with the confused fog of sleep. You then nodded, smiling gently at him

"Yeah, I just had a weird dream, that's all…" you bit your lips and ran your hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tight. You took a deep breath, inhaling Javi's post shaving cream's scent and closing your eyes at how warm he was against you. It always soothed you to have him so close to you.

Javi on the other hand didn't actually get why you were clinging so tight to him, you were whimpering in your sleep and he worried you were having nightmares about him. He knew how much you've been worrying about him and his connection with Los Pepes now that Pablo's situation was getting unbearable and he felt both guilty and concerned that he was putting you under unnecessary stress.

"It's okay princesa, I'm here… your breakfast is ready" he whispered to you and kissed your neck gently. He smiled at you, loving your sleepy face and cupping your cheek, you laughed softly

"You know what? I was just having a dream about a very domestic Javier Peña and now I wake up to you making me breakfast?" You raised your eyebrow and got off bed, stretching your body and not bothering getting dressed at all.

The way you moved your naked body caught Javier's attention immediately and whatever thought he might have had in his mind just disappeared and everything went blank. He didn't have any other reaction but get up and follow you, his hand on your hips as he tried pulling you to him,

"Don't be a bitch, mi amor, I always make you breakfast" he purred, kissing your shoulder but groaned as you got into the bathroom and locked the door. He sighed and went back to the kitchen table, knowing you would only return after your shower and much to his disappointment, fully clothed.

He poured himself a cup of coffee as he thought of the morning routine the two of you established. You had been officially dating for a little over a month now, after nearly a year of playing a cat and mouse game and Javi would be lying if he said that was the happiest he'd ever been. He just loved to have someone to come back home to, someone he could actually talk to, be affectionate with, someone who understood him and didn't demand things he couldn't give. It was different this time, all the times he'd been in a relationship he was often frustrated, or uncomfortable or feeling suffocated, but now? Javier Peña was a house cat who loved waking up early to make his girlfriend pancakes even if he pretended the pancakes were for him.

He just loved waking up to you all tangled around him, your smell on his sheets, his pillows, your hair all over his face, he didn't care. He liked waking up next to you, he liked seeing you smile at your breakfast plate ready for you, he liked how great you smelled after coming out of your shower, if there was something he didn't like, however, was how you teased him every single morning by leaving bed naked and walking past him, knowing how much he wanted to touch you, but then, you would leave your morning shower and sit right on his lap, and that could lead to many other things.

Even if the two of you would arrive late at work almost on a daily basis, it was still worthy. You hadn't actually announced your relationship to anyone, but people figured it out eventually, the first ones being obviously Connie and Murphy, and you actually liked it, especially after you and Connie started hanging out more when the boys were out at work, and that led the four of you to some double date nights, and it was nice. You liked that coziness of the situation, how the four of you could act like friends and forget about work while sharing a nice meal and some drinks.

And of course, that bitch you called Colleen walked on you and Javi making out during your lunch break and made it public to everyone else. At that point, Pablo Escobar himself probably knew you were banging each other.

What he didn't know - and no one, really did it - was that you and Javi weren't just banging. You were dating, for real, because you two were in love, you were in love for real but it was actually best no one cared for these details, it was none of their business at all, it was the part of your relationship that was only about you and Javi and you two were happy like that.

You finally exited the bathroom, only one of Javi's work shirts over your body. You loved how he eye fucked you whenever you wore any of his clothes.

You pretended you hadn't noticed it and walked to him, ignoring your own chair and sat on his lap

"Buenos días, agent Peña" you said and watched his frown. He wasn't agent Peña to you, he was Javi, your Javi. You pecked his lips and quickly sat straight, pulling your plate of pancakes and dug into it with a big bite.

Javi wasn't a great cook, in fact, he was terrible, but there was something about his morning pancakes you just loved. Nothing tasted better to you than them, just to think he made them for you, it was enough to make you drool for it.

His arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he sighed "do we really have to go to Murphy's tonight?" He mumbled and nuzzled your neck, making you squirm softly at the sudden shiver

"Yes Javi, I already told Connie we're going, besides, it's lasagna night and you know no one makes that better than I do…" you said and tilted your head to the side, so he could have better access to your neck.

You closed your eyes as his mustache tickled your skin, before his lips got closer and you whimper. Your hand went for the side of his head, fingers tangling into his hair as you pressed him against you a little more.

"Why? You don't wanna go?" You asked feeling suddenly so bothered to be still and moved your hips unconsciously. You felt him shrug against you

"I just wanted to stay with you tonight… but fine" he said in a low voice and then frowned "I can't fucking believe you took the shirt I was going to wear to work today! I gotta see Messina" he said though he felt a pit of guilt at that last part. It was a lie, he wasn't seeing Messina, he was going to see Judy, the head of Los Pepes, but he often hid that from you. He knew it made you anxious and worried, and he didn't want to ruin another day for you. Besides, he was sure nothing bad would happen, he would go over her place, listen to that bitch's claims and return to the office as if nothing had happened.

You chuckled and shrugged "well, your shirt was lying there, and you are shirtless now… I figured if you wanted to wear it, you should have claimed it first" you laughed.

His mind snapped back from the concern about his later meeting and smirked, you were such a little tease.

"Ay princesa, eres tan dulce…" he said as his hands went up and unbuttoned the shirt, one by one, opening them slowly and letting your breasts spill out of it "... Pero también eres mi puta" he whispered against your skin and quickly massaged your breasts. His fingers toyed with your nipples, pinching them gently as his big hand ran it's way down your stomach, obviously finding you completely bare.

"Fuck, Y/N… you didn't even bother putting on clothes… are you trying to kill me? Or is it just your way to beg me to fuck you, cariño? Uh? You like to be such a filthy slut for me, don't you? You like when people call you Javi's puta, don't you?" He whispered into your ear while you only whimpered.

His right hand found your warmth between your legs, cupping it softly, feeling as you parted your legs with no resistance so he could touch you. His left hand ran up again, wrapping around your neck, holding you in a firm grip

"Come on, use your words, I asked you a question.."

"Yes…" you whimpered.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I like when people call me your puta, Javi…"

He only groaned into your ear, at the same time his hand sank deeper towards your core, being welcomed by your slippery slit, always so sinfully wet for him. Javi's long fingers parted your lips, the wetness already coating their tips as he moved them up and down, finding your clit and applying pressure to it. He could feel how your ass rubbed against his crotch, his shirt being barely able to cover it for you. His rough jeans burning softly, in a tempting torture, your body responding to his immediately, his touches always descending you to madness at how well he knew you, how well he could manipulate your pleasure. There was never a lover like Javier in your life, and there would be another one. Good thing you didn't plan on leaving him, because if you ever did, you knew you were doomed.

You threw your head back at the same time his fingers went further into your pussy hole, you gushed over his hand, feeling the pleasure build up, he could play you like a fucking doll, no wonder he called you muñequita, you were completely his to be played with and you loved it.

He removed his fingers off you, the disappointed whimper that came out of your lips was a lot louder than you intended, which made him chuckle.

His left hand went for your chin, holding it in place as you obediently opened your mouth to welcome his coated fingers. You sucked on them, licking them clean and watched as Javi finished unbuttoning the shirt, finally revealing your entire naked body "here's what we're gonna do, cariño, you'll be a good girl for me, got it? You'll lift your hips and you'll sit down on me nice and slowly, eating your breakfast while I'm shoved balls deep inside of you, got it amor? You know you can do it, mariposa…" he teased, helping you lift yourself up, waiting as Javi opened his jeans and freed his hard cock. Then, he helped you lower yourself on him, moaning at how your slippery walls clenched around his girth. You, on the other hand, called his name, every time he got inside of you, felt like the first time. You were so drunk in his cock, but it was more than that, you were drunk in love and you couldn't even hide.

You tried moving your hips, but his hands held you in place, not allowing you to make any moves. He meant it when he said you would have your breakfast while he was buried deep inside of you, however, you couldn't bring yourself to actually eat anything, not when you had that aching need of being touched, of bouncing up and down onto his cock, it was too much for you. You asked Javier for mercy, tried to explain how much you needed him, and though he tried not showing how his cock twitched each time you purposely clenched your cunt around him, he wanted you to be a good little puta for him.

Javi handed you some fruit he kept on the table though they were never eaten in the morning, but it didn't matter. He got some grapes, taking one to your mouth, your clit twitched at the same time he gently rubbed it against your lips, before finally allowing you to chew on the sweet grape. Repeating the steps with the remaining others he had in hands.

And only when you were finished with them, Javi's palms went for your hips, gripping them and helping you to move. Now, he was tired of waiting, he was twitching inside of you and he helped you up and down faster and faster, only stopping when you had come for him and he finally spilled his thick load deep inside of you.

You relaxed your back against his chest, feeling tired but happy, also very thankful to remember it was your day off. You had plans of maybe cleaning up the apartment a little bit, as you often spent more time at his place than yours, but after he rocked your little world during the most important meal of the day, you figured it wouldn't hurt to maybe go back to bed and take a quick nap. You just wished you could drag him back with you, you hated to have to say goodbye in the morning like that. Not when you wanted to rest your body against your boyfriend's and fall asleep in his arms.

"You're amazing, princesa" Javi praised you and once more sank his face into the crook of your neck. You still had him inside of you, though you could feel him softening. Javier inhaled your scent again, he never got enough of how good you smelled and if it were up to him, he would spend the rest of his day… no, the rest of his days like that.

And after that feverish, erotic need for each other, he was back to being your sweet Javi. This was another thing you loved about your relationship: the hunger you had for each other wasn't just sexual, though it represented a big part of it, the hunger you felt was physical, emotional and sentimental.

You smiled and turned your head to him, kissing his lips, your heart was nothing but a puddle of love at that moment.

Javi's hands went for your shoulders, sliding down the shirt off your body and helping you get up. As much as he hated it, it was time to go to work, so he had to face his morning torture, which was leave the safehouse you had built together and go outside and face reality. It just didn't feel worse because he knew that at the end of the day, you would be there, waiting for him.

You went to the bedroom and returned fully dressed, this time wearing your own clothes and smiled as he put on the shirt that just a few minutes before was still on your body. Javi could even pretend to be impatient about you stealing his clothes, but the moment he put his shirt on and saw it smelled just like you, he smiled. It was one good thing to get him through the day.

You walked Javi to the door and kissed his lips goodbye, reminding him you loved him and couldn't wait until he was safely back home.

You got under the blankets and sighed happily, thinking of your life and how good things were at that moment. A part of you was still skeptical, not believing things would work out for you and Javi, you sometimes worried he would grow tired of you, maybe he would fall into old habits, the temptation of having to get information from the women he often did, but you immediately shook these thoughts off and reminded yourself that wouldn't happen, because you trusted him, you showed him he was worth of love, he was worth of having a life with, that he was a good man, who deserved a partner to support and love him no matter what, and that man, in return, was at your feet. Connie's words, not yours.

But you felt it, you felt Javi cared about you, you felt he cherished you, he longed for you, you just felt he loved you, and that always made your heart flutter. You were lucky to have each other, no one believed Javier could have a connection with someone like he did with you, maybe, at some point after meeting him, you wouldn't have believed it either, but there you were, being his, just as he was yours.

You took his pillow and sniffed it, loving his to sink deep into his scent and smiled, you thought of the weird dream you had had, recognizing the elements of it, as everyday things you talked about. The place you were was clearly the ranch he lately had been telling you so much about. It was the place he was born and grew up, owned by his dad and some day in the future, it would be his. As far as Javier had told you, his dad didn't have a lot of money, but life was good in the ranch, and after he retired from the DEA, he would be able to provide you in case you didn't want to get a job.

You had jokingly discussed that, like you always did, like the very first time he suggested moving into the ranch and leaving Colombia behind. You sensed there was some truth to his words, but you didn't want to read too much into it, these were huge plans, and you were still pretty recent, even if you were so drunk in love.

He had talked about baby Peña a couple of times too, both times you two ended up laughing, as it was clearly just some amusing daydream, some inside joke that was part of your make-believe future together.

The only time this joke got a little out of hand was about after a month you two made it official and you had to leave your desk several times during the morning to throw up. You just couldn't keep anything inside, and during your lunch break, when you were sat at Javi's desk, sipping some water, looking pale and sweaty, Steve chuckled at the two of you "seems like baby Peña is on its way" he said and made both you and Javier stare at each other in shock and annoyance. You were nearly passing away out of dehydration and he was insinuating you were pregnant. Neither you or Javi said anything, but you could tell the nervousness in his actions. It hadn't even crossed your mind, and probably it hadn't crossed his either, you knew you weren't pregnant, it was just food poisoning, not your first in Colombia and definitely not your last one, but still, it felt like Murphy's comment threw some kind of tension towards the two of you.

That night, after Javi got tired of hearing you throw up to the tenth time, he drove you to the hospital, hating to see you sick. He had to wait by the reception and when you exited the doctor's office with a prescription, he raised his eyebrow.

"So… baby Peña?"

"Baby Peña happens to be last night's fish you insisted on having for lunch" you told him, showing him the prescription to the few meds the doctor recommended you.

The two of you laughed together, deep inside, you knew a baby wasn't exactly a possibility. Well, technically, it was. You were on birth control, but contraception could fail like anything else in the world, but at that moment it just felt like it wasn't a possibility, you two weren't there yet, you hadn't even discussed the possibility of getting there, but it didn't matter anymore, it had just been a misunderstanding.

Javier stared into your eyes for a while, he opened his mouth ready to say something, but he quickly changed his mind. He wanted to have said he would be by your side if you were actually pregnant, he wanted to have told you he would take care of you and your baby, but instead, he just rolled his eyes

"Steve's really a dick"

So that was why your dream puzzled you, even if the baby talk was present in your life, a baby was just a blurry idea, but seeing an actual child, a little girl and feeling her wrapping her little arms around you and calling you mommy, brought a warmth to your heart you just couldn't explain. It felt so honest, so beautiful and so pure. You figured it wouldn't hurt to just dream of it, no one needed to know about it, not even Javi, not now, it wasn't the right time.

You shot your eyes open when you were hit by the sudden realization of where you'd seen the pictures that appeared in your dream. If you remembered correctly, they were scattered on the walls of the hallway you walked through and you knew you had seen them before. They were all pictures of Javier's family. You knew he kept them in a box somewhere in his wardrobe, you'd seen them briefly when he was looking for some extra ammo for his gun but couldn't find exactly where they were. He didn't exactly show you the pictures but he didn't hide them either and a suffocating feeling of curiosity began growing in your chest. What if you got the box and watched the pictures? He wouldn't get upset, would he? Well, for starters, you didn't even need to tell him you went snooping through his stuff.

Sure, they were personal stuff and you would probably be upset if he did the same to you, but it was not like you were trying to find something to frame on him, or steal anything, you wanted to take a look at the pictures and that was all. After all, it was just a weird coincidence they happened to randomly appear in your dream.

You decided to just go for it, it wouldn't be too big of a deal, you would leave everything organized afterwards so if Javi needed to check anything there, he wouldn't even notice.

You got off bed, folding the blankets and leaving everything organized, just like you and your boyfriend liked it.

Boyfriend.

It still made you chuckle at times.

You didn't take much longer to find the box Javi kept his personal things, it was just in the bottom of the wardrobe, under a couple of folded bedspreads Javier had but usually never used. It wasn't a big box, but it was heavy and you would be lying if you said you weren't excited and curious to dig into Javier's memory box. Sitting comfortably on the floor, you crossed your legs and removed the lid, taking a peek inside and saw the many pictures you recognized from your dream.

You carefully took them and watched them, taking your time as you were so entertained by it. There were pictures of his father at his young age, his mom, whom he never spoke a lot about, but when he did, it was always with so much love and admiration. She was truly beautiful and your heart skipped a beat when you saw Javier had taken his mother's eyes.

A picture of them on their wedding day, another one where his dad had his hand around his wife's pregnant bump. And the next picture made you squeal out loud, you gushed and couldn't help but acting like a silly little girl when you saw a picture of baby Javier Peña. It was the original, naked bum, baby Peña! You thought you would die of love at the picture of Javi as a baby, he was so adorable and yes, he's always had the stray puppy's eyes. You were loving each passing second of that activity. You went through all the pictures of Javier's childhood, he was such a cute boy, his hair was a lot lighter back then, and his smile was always bright, funny to think he would become a grumpy DEA agent just a few decades later.

You saw some other pictures of his extended family and another one of his group of friends. You could tell it was his friend group from highschool, mostly because he had his arm wrapped around the waist of a blond beauty. You rolled your eyes at the realization it was Lorraine, probably from the time they still dated. You knew it was kind of stupid, but you still felt a sting of jealousy. You hadn't even met her, and if you did, you would probably sympathize with her, you two had been through very similar things in life and Javier had broken her heart in a horrible way. Even if he had apologized to her, after all the years, it was still a real bad situation. If you ever met her, chances were she would hate him for having Javier and not the other way around. Besides, Javi had left her at the altar, if he ever regretted breaking things up, he could have gone after her, but he didn't, he was with you, he just kept a picture of his friends, it wasn't like he kept a picture of his ex and himself.

You felt a little shy for being jealous for a moment as you put the photographs back in place when your hand accidentally hit a smaller box. You frowned curiously and took it realizing it was a jewelry box. You opened it and found a beautiful ring inside, the one you immediately recognized it as his mother's ring.

You knew he had inherited the ring so one day he would give it to the woman he loved and had plans to spend his life with. No wonder Lorraine got the ring when they got engaged, you remembered when Javi had a few drinks one night and told you between laughter she got so pissed off she refused to return him his mother's ring, and the only reason they managed to recover it was because Chucho had to personally go to her house and have an honest chat with her dad, who then, made her return the ring.

You didn't know Chucho trusted his son with the ring again and you didn't know he had brought it to Colombia.

Then suddenly, a thought occurred to you. Would you ever get his mother's ring?

You didn't know, but it was time you stopped snooping around his things, so you took one last time at the beautiful golden band, adorned with a gorgeou red gem. It was simple, but so heartfelt. You smiled at yourself and placed everything back into place.

•••

"Fuck this, I'm out!" Javier said angrily as he stared at Judy's cynical face. He was done working with those people, they were as bad as Pablo Escobar. They were a cartel, who brought as many problems as Escobar did, just because their power wasn't as extent as their common enemy, they were still criminals. They were a cartel, they produced, sold and profited from drugs, they killed people everyday, good and bad people and they only acted upon Pablo, because they wanted to take his place in the drug cartel chain. When you use a plague to exterminate another one, it doesn't mean they aren't plagues anymore.

Judy on the other hand just laughed as she nodded at her sicario, who immediately grabbed Javier and shoved it against the couch

"I think it's too late for that, what would people say if they knew a DEA agent had an agreement with Los Pepes? Do you think the american press would be pleased?" She asked calmly taking a sip of her drink and watching as Javier stared at her.

"Besides, we know you have a girlfriend, you make a cute couple, I'm sure you as an agent would do whatever it takes you to protect her, wouldn't you? Of course, Los Pepes would never do anything to her, but we can't assure Pablo's sicarios wouldn't… you know what I mean, Mr.Peña?"

Javi went pale at the mention of you, which didn't go unnoticed by Judy who chuckled and shook her head "I'm just joking, agent Peña, you know how family is important to me, and I would never risk anyone who matters to my alleys… as long as they remain my alleys" she said.

Javier understood it perfectly and calmed down, nodding at her as they continued their meeting. He wanted to grab his gun and shoot her in the face, he figured he would be able to take down the men in the room but then, it would only take the men who stood outside maybe thirty second or less before they could burst in and shoot him to death.

It wasn't worthy, he wanted to go home at night, he wanted to go home to you. He wanted to leave that place, go back home, find you and forget about the world, about everything else. He wanted to keep you safe, he wanted to hop on a plane with you, take you to Laredo and initiate his retiring plan, but he couldn't. He was too deep in it and could only hope Judy kept her mouth shut until they captured Escobar and Javi could find something else to do with his life.

He was just worn out, stress pouring through every single pore of his body and he just needed to get home to you, he needed you. Javi knew that was probably not healthy, not once in his life he had such a deep need for a woman, but he wasn't in the mood to fight that off. He groaned as he remembered you would have dinner at Steve's, checking his watch and seeing you were probably there yet, but at least that'd give him time to shower, cool down and try to get Judy and her threats out of his mind.

He walked into his building and distractedly looked for his keys in his jacket pocket. He knew they had to be there, but for whatever reason he was taking long to find them, he didn't see when Steve approached him and only felt when the other agent shoved him against the wall. Javier frowned pissed off and his first reaction was to fight back, even if it was his friend, he didn't hesitate before backhanding Steve just as hard "what the fuck man?" He groaned at the other agent.

"I should be the one asking you, Javi. What the actual fuck? You had a meeting with Judy Moncada?"

Steve saw the way Javi widened his eyes at his words and couldn't help but laugh at how stupid he looked

"You really thought you would be working with Los Pepes and no one would find out? You thought I wouldn't find out?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for Javier to get his key, so they could talk inside.

Steve sat through the whole explanation Javier gave him. It didn't matter if it made sense or if he seemed to be right at some level, he didn't agree with that. They'd been discussing the actions of the death squad through their latest meetings with the CIA and some people insisted the problem was getting bigger and bigger. He could tell Javi was in deep shit, the kind of shit he couldn't just break free, because if Los Pepes didn't try to kill him and that was a long shot, he would certainly face legal actions from the US government.

"What about Y/N? Does she know?" Steve asked and couldn't help but feel disappointed as his partner nodded, confirming the information "I bet she's fucking proud of you, Peña" he groaned, but Javier immediately frowned.

"You can bet your ass she's prouder of me than Connie is of you, at least Y/N doesn't run away when shit gets worse" he spat completely in the defensive and though Murphy's blood boiled, he knew it was a stupid idea to bring the misses into the fight. Both you and Connie were not to blame if both of them were a mess.

"You know, the girls are upstairs now, they're probably laughing as they share a bottle of wine and talking about our dicks or the fact we are both morons…" Steve said "just let's have dinner with them and pretend nothing happened and we deal with that in the morning" Steve sighed and stared at his partner until Javier nodded in agreement.

When you saw Steve entering the apartment alone, you frowned softly "where's Javi?" You tilted your head, curious to know why he wasn't there yet, and not hiding how eager you were to see him.

"He's showering, he should be here soon" he simply said and pecked Connie's lips.

You could tell something was bothering Murphy, but you didn't actually think it was your place to worry about that at all. Instead, you finished assembling the final layers of the lasagna before putting it in the oven.

Another ten minutes passed, before Javi finally walked through the door. He had just got off shower, you could tell by the way his hair was still humid. He glanced at Steve with certain anger, and you were sure something went on between them, bur before you could actually worry about it, Javier's arms immediately snaked around your waist, he placed a kiss to your neck, as you had your back to him, while you washed some dishes in the sink.

"I missed you princesa" he whispered against your ear and made your heart turn into a puddle of love. You had been away from him less than twenty four hours and yet, it felt too long.

You turned around and smiled big, the same smile that made Javier's poor heart skip a beat. Kissing him immediately as you wrapped your arms around his neck. If it were up to you, you would have just ditched dinner and went back to your place, or his place, or even his Jeep, you didn't care, so you could be just the two of you together.

But Olivia's soft tugs on your pants made you break the kiss. You looked down at her and chuckled as she extended her little arms to you so you gladly picked her up, nuzzling her cheek and making her giggle. She looked at Javier curiously and gripped his hand tight.

"See princess? That's uncle Javi!! Do you like him? He's handsome isn't he?" You cooed at her, who gave you both a sweet smile and continued holding his hand with her tiny one.

At that moment, nothing in the world disturbed Javier, no cartels, no violence, no uncertain future in your job due to his poor decisions, because all he could think of when he saw you holding that little princess in your arms, was the only thing he was sure, the only thing he was proud of and the only part of the future he knew it was certain: his future with you and the family you two you build together.

_____

A/N: okay besties, so I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter because I honestly loved it! It was one of the chapters it felt like I was under a spell, everything was just flowing and I was so into the story, like my heart was melting and beating so fast just to imagine the scenes, it was like I could watch them before my eyes, I don't know how to explain but it felt special to me. I was also really dying for some domestic javi but i wasn't sure I was going to be able to write it, and then suddenly it all came to me. I just love how in love Javi is with reader, it soothes my heart. I like to see the strong bond they have and i just wish javier peña was real 😭 also, smut wasn't planned for this part at all, but it just felt so right, so erotic and so beautiful I had to add it to the story. I hope you all liked it and pls let me know what you besties think 🩷 💬

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Twelve

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Mentions/References to alcoholism

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along

Read over on Ao3, or the below the cut

September 2008

“We should cancel.” 

Aaron suppresses a smile before he turns to look at her, briefly taken aback by how beautiful she looks. The dress she’s wearing is a deep red colour, reminiscent of the wine they liked to drink together after a long day at work, with a square neckline, slightly loose at the shoulder in a way that let him know she hadn’t done the zip on the back all the way up. It was skintight and finished just above her knees with a split part way up her right thigh. It was enough to make him briefly consider her request not to go out. 

“Sweetheart-”

“We could say we got a case,” she says, walking out of her ensuite into her bedroom where he was standing. She’s securing an earring in place, a tense look on her face that only her mother could draw out of her. 

“Em, sweetheart,” he starts again, walking over and placing his hand on her shoulders, turning her around so he can finish zipping up her dress for her, “I have met your mother before.” 

“Not as my boyfriend, Aaron,” she says, shivering as he pulls the zip up on her dress, his fingers lingering just beneath her shoulder blades a second longer than necessary. “She’s…hard work. And she’s critical of everything. Including every relationship I’ve ever had.” 

She hated that she felt like this, that the mere prospect of an evening in her mother’s company was enough to put a chink in her armour. Enough to make her feel unsteady. 

“I take down serial killers for a living, love,” he says, kissing her shoulder before he turns her to face him, “We both do. We can handle an evening with your mother.” 

“But this isn’t a dinner just the three of us. It’s an event she’s throwing for her potential donors. She’ll be…” she drifts off, struggling to explain it. To put into words how her mother always managed to make her feel without fail. Forever pushing Emily’s buttons that she had sewn on herself. She sighs, and leans forward, pressing her forehead to his shoulder, “Wouldn’t you prefer to date someone who had a normal family?” She asks, pulling back to look at him, “Someone whose mother isn’t polite to the point of it clearly being an insult.” 

“Sweetheart, I’d pick you over anyone else, always,” he smiles at her, tucking some hair behind her ear, “I’d date you even if your family were the Von Trapps.” 

She chuckles at that, raising her eyebrow at him, “Wow, and you hate musicals.” 

“Exactly,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her, “No matter what she says, it will be fine. And if it helps,” he adds, pulling back from her as his phone chimes in his pocket, removing it as he reads the text he’s received, “Haley’s dad hated me from the start. Still does actually.” 

She hums, “Oddly, that does make me feel a little better,” she watches as he types out a reply to the text, “Is it JJ?” She asks hopefully, and he shakes his head, making her sigh in response.

“No it’s Haley,” he replies, putting his phone back in his pocket, “Apparently Jack is excited to go to the zoo this weekend,” he looks back up at his girlfriend, barely restrained nervous energy radiating off of her in a way that was uncharacteristic. “Where you…hoping for a case? And therefore a murder?” He asks, a loving smile spreading over his face, amusement sparkling in his eyes in a way that made her love him even more. 

She pauses, staring at him for a second before she responds, “There is no way for me to answer that without you requesting a psych eval.” 

Aaron chuckles and puts his hands on her hips, pulling her into his embrace, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“As my boyfriend, I hope not,” she replies, looping her arms around his shoulders, she smirks at him, her dimples carved deep into her cheeks, “As my boss however…” 

He leans in and kisses her, his hands trailing to her lower back to pull her even closer. She sighs into his mouth and he pulls away, smiling as she chases his lips. 

“We’ll be late.” 

She groans as he steps away from her, “I just had to fall for the guy that's a stickler for the rules.” 

He links their hands together, bringing them up to his lips so he can kiss the back of hers before he starts to guide them out of her bedroom slowly. 

“Think about it this way, the sooner we go the sooner we can come back here and have sex.” 

She stops walking, the lack of movement tugging on his arm as he turns to look at her, and an incredulous look on her face, “Are you really bribing me with sex right now?” 

He leans in to kiss her cheek, hiding his smile as she shivers when his breath skips across her skin. They were still only a few months into this, still insatiable for each other at any given opportunity. She was just as affected by him as he was by her, and he took no small amount of pride in the fact he could make her, the queen of compartmentalisation, blush. He hoped as they settled into a long-term relationship, finding the gaps in each other's lives that had seemingly been waiting for the other, that this part of them would never fade.

He had a feeling it wouldn’t. 

“Maybe,” he replies as he pulls back, continuing their journey to the stairs, “Is it working?” 

She stares at him, her eyes slightly narrowing as she swallows thickly. 

“Yes. Yes, it is.” 

___

No matter how many years had passed since her mother stopped drinking, Emily still struggled to see her in an environment like this. Her eyes fixed on Elizabeth as she went from group to group of people, expertly avoiding taking any drinks she was offered, sticking to what Emily knew was nothing more than tonic water dressed up to look like a cocktail. 

It brought back too many memories, images of empty bottles on her mother’s desk after events just like this one flashing through her mind. It all felt a little too close, familiar fear simmering just underneath her skin. She no longer felt like the confident woman she was, but like she was that anxious 20-something who gave her mother part of her liver to save her life. 

She often wondered what her life would have been like if her mother hadn’t needed the surgery. If she would have moved to Europe as planned. If that job at Interpol that she’d had to turn down would have been everything she wanted it to be. Travelling the world as she worked, on her terms and putting the skills she’d gained during a lifetime of being a politician's daughter to good use. 

“Are you ok, sweetheart?” 

Emily looks up at him, tearing her eyes away from her mother as she works the room, smiling tightly as he pulls her a little closer, his hand a reassuring weight on her hip.

“I’m ok,” she replies, even though she knows he’ll see right through it. 

Aaron looks in the direction she’d been looking and frowns as he sees what she has, his hand on her hip tightening as they watch Elizabeth get handed a glass of champagne by a friend. She keeps hold of it, never lifting it to her mouth before she places it on a table after she’s moved on to the next group of people, her networking skills second to none. It seems inappropriate, given what he knows, but then it hits him, a sigh escaping as he looks back at his girlfriend. 

“Does no one else know?” He asks, looking down at her, and Emily shakes her head, her lips in a tight line. 

“No,” she says quietly, only loud enough for him to hear, “I kept telling her other people should know. A lot of recovery is about accountability but…she wouldn’t talk about it. Not even to me,” she smiles sadly at him, “Not even when I gave her part of my liver.” 

He knows there isn’t any way to help, and her reluctance to come here this evening makes even more sense now. She’d shouldered this weight herself for years, and he would happily help her carry it forward. 

“We can leave if you want,” he says, pulling her a little closer. She smiles and kisses him, love for him flowing through her, thrumming in her veins in a way she knows she’d never experienced before him. 

“It’s ok,” she replies, kissing him again, “It’s just easier to stay,” she smiles at him, “Just don’t leave me alone, ok?” 

It’s the closest she’ll come to asking for help, and he knows that. He feels a pang of love for her in his chest, pride at the knowledge that she trusted him enough to need him warming him up from the inside out. 

He nods, pressing his lips to her cheek, “I’m not going anywhere, Em. I promise.”

___

“It’s a shame Aaron couldn’t make it,” Elizabeth comments, looking at Emily from across the table, “Celebrating your engagement without your fiancee here feels a little pointless.” 

Emily briefly tightens her grip on the menu in her hands, smiling tightly at her mother, “Well, we unexpectedly had to take Jack a day early,” she explains, her smile turning genuine at the thought of the little boy she’d helped to put to bed before she left for dinner. He’d insisted she read a story to him and he’d drifted off against her, his hand wrapped up in her hair, “Haley’s sister is sick so she went to see her, it made more sense for Jack to come over than to drag him to Jessica’s and then to ours.” 

“You could have always brought him.”

“He’s three, Mother,” Emily says, waving her hand to indicate the, very fancy, french restaurant around them, “He’s already in bed, and even if he wasn’t this isn’t exactly an environment he’d thrive in,” she smiles, “Unless the restaurant serves pancakes and has a menu that comes with crayons, it isn’t for him.” 

“You always seemed to manage.” 

Emily’s smile falters, and she feels a familiar tightness in her chest, a reaction only her mother could bring out in her. Before she can reply, a poorly thought-out comment about how she shouldn’t have had to manage as a child on the tip of her tongue, the waiter comes over to take their order. 

Emily is grateful for the interruption, and by the time the waiter has left them alone again she feels a bit more like she’s back on steady ground. 

“So, when are you thinking you’ll have the wedding?” Elizabeth asks, “I could get the country club-”

“It’s ok,” Emily says, cutting her off before she can go any further, “It won’t be for a while, and when we do get married it will be a small ceremony.” 

“Small? Emily-”

“I don’t want a big event which just becomes another networking opportunity for you,” Emily says, cutting off the protest she doesn’t want to hear, “Besides, Aaron has been married before and he had a big wedding then.” She sees a barely discernible expression cross Elizabeth’s face, a flash of something that she recognises well. “What?” 

Elizabeth clears her throat, “What do you mean, ‘what?’” 

Emily suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, furious that her mother could bring this side out of her. The same rebellion she felt as a teenager fighting to get out from where it was trapped deep inside of her, the regression she felt when she was around Elizabeth one of the many reasons she tried to limit their time together. 

“I know what that face means,” Emily replies, “I don’t need to be a profiler to know when you’re unimpressed with something.” 

Elizabeth sighs, folding her hands together on the table in between them, “I’m worried about you.” 

Whatever Emily had expected her to say it wasn’t that, and she frowns, “Worried about what?” 

Elizabeth carefully considers her next words, her eyes never leaving her daughter’s, “You’re going to be Aaron’s second wife, Emily. I don’t want you missing out on something simply because he’s done it before.” 

“I don’t think I’m missing out on anything,” Emily says, her eyebrows furrowing, “I’ve never wanted a big wedding,” she chuckles humourlessly, “Before Aaron I wasn’t even sure I wanted a wedding.” 

“I don’t like the idea of my daughter being in second place her whole life.” 

Emily has to stop herself from saying that she’s used to it, that she’d grown up feeling like she was in second place to her mother’s job. To her addiction to alcohol. She simply clears her throat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. 

“Jack will always come first for him,” Emily says tightly, “One of the reasons I love Aaron is because of how good a dad he is.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jack, Emily.” 

They fall into a brief silence, almost overwhelming as the air between them becomes thick with it. 

“Do you mean…Haley?” She asks incredulously, her eyebrows knitting together. She starts to fiddle with her engagement ring, twisting it around on her finger. “That’s…” 

She figures she should be used to it by now. Well aware that her mother always managed to pick up on her insecurities, often even before she knew she had them in the first place. But she feels torn open. She’s just grateful that she knows she doesn’t show it, her ability to cover her emotions taught to her by the very woman who she was sitting opposite. 

“It’s hard to be with someone when there is so much history with someone else,” Elizabeth says, shrugging, “Haley will always be a part of his life. And I just want to make sure you’ve thought it through.” 

“Thought it through?” Emily asks, chuckling dryly, “Mother we’ve been together over a year. We live together. He asked me to marry him.” 

“I thought you said you told him you found the ring, that you mutually agreed to get married.” 

“Well yes…but…” she drifts off, her tongue reaching out to wet her lower lip. She hates that her mother has done this, that she’s somehow managed to taint something she’d found so romantic at the time. A story she’d told so many times since it happened, her joy not lessening at any point. She blows out a steady breath, “You know what, I don’t need this,” she goes to stand up, to grab her bag and leave, but Elizabeth stops her.

“Emily.” 

“I don’t need you to make me feel like shit about my relationship, Mom,” she says, a tinge of desperation to her voice that she hates, “I love him and I know he loves me. And whether we get married tomorrow, or 3 years from now nothing is going to change that.” 

“Sit down, Emily,” Elizabeth says, the way her eyes flit to the tables around them enough to let Emily know they’d gained some attention. Emily clenches her teeth but does as she’s asked, sitting back down in her seat. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

“Which would be fine if that's how our relationship works,” Emily replies, her chest tight, “But it isn’t. You can’t pick and chose which parts of my life you have an opinion on. Especially when it’s something as important to me as him.” 

They fall into silence again, just as uncomfortable as before, and Elizabeth nods sharply, clearly still not impressed. 

“Ok.” 

Emily smiles tightly at her, any further conversation cut off as the waiter finally brings over their food. She can barely stomach eating it, the seeds of doubt her mother had so expertly sewn already blooming and taking up all the room.

___

She only feels a little better when she walks in the front door of their apartment, careful to ensure she closes the door behind her quietly, well aware that Jack was in bed. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Aaron says, approaching her immediately, his happiness at seeing her undoing some of the unintentional damage her mother had done. 

“Hi honey,” she replies, hoping he doesn’t see through her smile, but knowing he does immediately. He leans down to kiss her quickly before he places his hands on her shoulders, turning her so he can help her out of her jacket. 

“I’ve got wine and hot chocolate ready to go,” he offers as he helps hangs up her jacket, “And I even got your secret cigarettes out of their hiding place if you need them.” 

She chuckles dryly, turning to face him, her hand on his shoulder for balance as she takes off her shoes, “Hot chocolate and a cigarette sound amazing right now,” she replies, smiling tightly at him, “But since Jack is here I’ll forget the cigarette.” 

Aaron frowns at her, his hands drifting down to her waist, “That bad?” 

She sighs, nodding at him, “Yeah, that bad.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, squeezing gently at her waist. She wants to, she wants to more than anything, but she can’t bring herself to tell him what her mother and she had discussed over dinner. How her mother’s words, no matter how wrong Emily truly believed them to be, had cut deep, leaving her feeling torn open in a way she hadn’t felt in years. 

She wants to talk to him about it, but she’s sure it will hurt him. That it will knock him back a little no matter how much he’d try to hide it, and that's the last thing she wants to do. 

“Not really,” she replies, knowing he’ll respect it, that he always respected her. “But I wouldn’t say no to that hot chocolate and a snuggle on the couch.” 

Aaron smiles at her, and leans down to press a quick kiss to her lips. He tucks some hair behind her ear and kisses her again before pulling away. 

“I’ll get your drink,” he says, looking at her adoringly, the love for her that he never seemed to run out of clear for anyone who cared to look to see, “I’ll meet you on the couch.” He kisses her on the forehead before pulling away entirely, walking towards the kitchen as she heads for the living room.

A photo of the two of them together that they keep on the side table catches her eye, and she picks it up. It was something Penelope had taken on a team night out. Aaron’s arm was thrown around Emily’s shoulders, holding her close, and she had her arm around his waist. She was looking at him, her eyes and smile bright, and he was clearly in the middle of laughing at whatever she’d said. Penelope had framed it and given it to them as a gift, and Emily loved it. A snapshot of their love for each other on display in the place they both called home.

She places the photo back down and sits on the couch, barely comfortable when Aaron appears next to her, a steaming mug in each hand.

“Since you’re not going to smoke, I put extra marshmallows in yours,” he says, and she smiles gratefully, taking her mug from him and taking a sip before she puts the still too hot drink down. 

Aaron laughs at her and reaches out to wipe his thumb over her top lip, pressing into her cupid's bow, before he pulls it away to show her the cream she’d had there. He licks his thumb before he pulls her into a hug, his embrace somewhere she always found comfort. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” He asks, pulling her closer, his concern clear. 

“I’m sure,” she replies, tilting her head to look up at him, “This is perfect.” 

“Ok,” he says, leaning down to kiss her, his hand on her cheek to hold her in place, “But you know I’m here right? Whenever you do want to talk?”

“I know,” she replies, her heart clenching in her chest, “You know I love you right?” She says, watching how his eyebrows furrow, confusion and concern in equal measure spreading over his face, “More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

He has to resist the urge to ask if she’s ok again, knowing it could tip her into wanting to be alone, but his mind races. Unsure what her mother could have said to her to make her say something that was so obvious to him. 

“I know,” he replies, stroking his thumb against her cheek, “I love you too. More than anyone.” 

She smiles at him before she leans into his chest, letting herself sink into his embrace, her heart feeling heavy. 

She’d trusted him at the very start of this, of them, when he told her she wasn’t a rebound, and he had never done anything to make her doubt that. She could trust him now. 

She hoped. 

-x-

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[hookedonapirate]

Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: I totally forgot to post the last chapter and epilogue on here, but hopefully you are following me on AO3 and have read it there. If not, I do apologize, it has been a hectic few weeks! Thank you everyone for all the lovely comments and feedback! I'll be posting the epilogue on here shortly.

Thank you Ultraluckycatnd for being an amazing beta reader!

Based on Lady Chatterley's Lover for @captainswanmoviemarathon

Hope you all enjoy!

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Chapter Twelve

The walk from the hut to Goldby feels like the longest and dreariest and gloomiest walk she’s ever been on. Probably because it has occurred to her that this is the last time she will ever take this particular walk. This is the last time she will ever walk from the hut to Goldby, and her heart aches at the thought. 

She will never again walk the forest to go to or from Killian’s cottage, she will never go to the hut again to see him or the pheasants. He left the key where they always left it—above the door—so she had taken it and put it on the chain around her neck, tucking it under her scarf. If Neal wanted the key, he would need to have another one made.

She is completely exhausted and out of breath by the time she reaches Goldby, even though she had moved at a snail’s pace. Killian hasn’t even been gone that long, yet she already feels completely alone and desolate on this land. There’s Johanna, whom she’d become fond of and had befriended since she became Neal’s caretaker, but Emma’s sure the woman will stay here to look after Neal when Emma leaves.

“My Ladyship, you shouldn’t be here.” Johanna rushes up to Emma as she storms inside, determined to get this over with.

She doesn’t want to be here any longer than she has to. Emma stops and places a hand on the woman’s arm. “It’s okay,” she assures. “I need to speak with him.

Johanna nods. “Yes, of course, milady. He’s in his room.”

So Emma goes to the library—the room Neal uses as a bedroom—finding him sitting on the edge of the bed, gaping at her in surprise.

“Emma…”

She closes the door behind her, drawing in a long breath, and prepares to tell him the things she’d replayed in her mind over and over again on the way here.

For a second, he just stares at her in silence like a wounded bird, helpless and hurt. But she doesn’t feel guilty or bad, and perhaps she should’ve reserved an ounce of emotion for him, but there is nothing left inside her. Everything she feels is for Killian. The sadness, the anger inside her from having to be apart from him, the love coursing through her veins—it’s all for him and the child she bears.

“So it’s all true? Why would you do this?”

“It was your idea.”

“My idea?” Neal barks out a contemptuous laugh and shakes his head furiously. “No, no, no.”

“Neal, you knew perfectly well what I was getting into.”

His eyes go wild with rage and disappointment as he looks at her. “With the right sort of man. I said the right sort!”

Emma balls her hands into fists, glaring at him. “Killian Jones is a better person than anyone I’ve ever met!” she states with conviction.

He lowers his voice, speaking through gritted teeth. “I was perfectly clear, Emma. We discussed the rules.”

“I’m going to have his child,” she says proudly.

“You’re going to…” For once, he’s at a loss for words, and he just sits there gaping at her, his eyes wide and jaw dropped. “You’re sure?” he finally says after a moment, his brows knitting together with puzzlement.

She nods. “I went to see the doctor before I left for Venice.”

He scoffs. “But… everybody knows.” He gestures toward her stomach. “You can’t possibly expect me to claim that child as mine now.”

Emma shakes her head. “No, I…I don’t.” She looks him straight in the eyes, speaking firmly but calmly. “I want a divorce, Neal. I’m leaving you.”

He blinks a few times, his face pale. “No.” He shakes his head furiously, not accepting it. “No, you can’t.”

Emma gulps, hoping he won’t make this difficult. “Look, I’m…”—the words get caught in her throat as her eyes water with tears—“I’m so sorry about how this has all turned out, but we both know this…marriage has been unhappy for a very long time now.”

“No, it hasn’t been. Not for me.”

She manages a laugh. “Well, yes, because you laid out all the rules.” She breathes through her nose, trying to block out any fear pushing its way inside her as she says the things she needs to say. “And I tried to follow them. I tried to support you in every way I could.” 

Her voice is shaking as she pushes through her fear and anxiety and raises her voice, thinking about how Neal used to make her feel when she had actually tried to show him affection and had wanted it from him in return. She thinks about how loved and cherished and cared for she is by Killian, and it’s so much different and greater than anything Neal has ever shown her. 

“But you gave me nothing in return. Not the slightest drop of affection or kindness.” Because of Killian, Emma now knows the true meaning of love. It's not a piece of paper binding two people together, it’s not merely living under the same roof with someone, it’s wanting to give everything she has without feeling ashamed and regretful for it or sad for receiving nothing in return. Because Killian gives her everything and then some. He has opened her eyes to love and sensuality, and she is now able to want what she wants without feeling remorse or shame. Emma is glaring at Neal, resentful and bitter. “And what’s worse, you made me feel ashamed for even wanting those things.”

“I’ve always cared for you, Emma.”

“Yes, cared for me. In the same way you care for your books and for your radio, but you never cared for me or loved me in the ways I needed you to!”

“I love you, Emma. I’ve loved you the only way I know how. I’ve given you everything I know how to give.”

She shakes her head, speaking softly again. “It’s not enough.”

“Then talk to me, Ems. Help me understand. Show me how I can prove to you how I feel.”

“Let me go. Please. Let me go.”

He nods and gestures toward the door, but she knows it won’t be this easy. “Go. Though, know this…I will never grant you your divorce. Because you broke your word. You promised to come back to me after you returned from Venice, but instead you come back carrying my servant's child!"

“Technically, I never made it to Venice,” she says snarkily. “And technically, he’s not your servant anymore.”

“I’m quite aware,” he snaps, his eyes wild with anger. “He had the nerve to come in here and tell me he was unapologetically in love with you!”

“He said that, did he?” A small smirk curves the corner of her lips from knowing he told Neal he was in love with her and not ashamed to say it.

He scoffs. “Oh yes, well I’m glad you find enjoyment in betraying me,” he says sarcastically. “You’ve made a mockery of my life here in Goldby, and I am not inclined to give you anything ever again.”

She laughs, tickled by the false notion that he actually gave her anything. Yes, perhaps a house and possessions but nothing that truly means anything. He never gave her anything she actually needed or craved. “I don’t think you ever really were.” She turns around and heads out the room, shutting the door behind her and letting out a long sigh. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from her shoulders, and a tear rolls down her cheek. Not of sadness. She is sad Killian is gone, of course, and she has no idea when she will see him again, but this particular tear is one of relief.

 “Milady.” Johanna approaches her outside the door, her face etched with apology. “I wasn’t meaning to pry, but I worried about you.”

Emma smiles at her. “I’m all right. Thank you for letting me know.” She’s not the least bit mad Johanna told her. Why would she be? Because of the telephone call, Emma had the chance to see Killian before he left. Though she wishes they could’ve left together. “Thank you for prying,” she says sincerely.

Johanna blushes and nods, her lips expanding into a smile.

“Do you have any idea where Killian has gone?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Would you ask your friends to let you know if they hear any news?”

“And why shall I say I’m asking?”

A smile touches Emma’s lips. “Because I love him. Tell them that.”

“Yes, milady.”

“Goodbye, Johanna.” Emma turns around and starts to head down the hall.

“Milady…”

She turns back around to see the woman’s eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I do hope you find your gentleman.”

“Thank you, Johanna. So do I.” A gentle laugh leaves Emma’s lips. “So do I.” Johanna turns around and walks away as Emma does the same.

She doesn’t care to grab anything from here—she doesn’t want any of it. But she does grab one thing before she leaves Goldby.

The wedding photo of her and Neal. But not for sentimental reasons.

She plans on burning it.

~*~

Emma stares vacantly ahead as the gondola glides through the water, the man in a blue and white striped shirt and straw-hat towering above the sisters from behind, rowing with easy, practiced strokes of the great oar.

The city is bustling with activity, travelers strolling along the stone arch bridge, which spans across the Grand Canal, chatting amongst themselves and pointing at things that catch their eye and couples linking arms and kissing. She watches longingly, wishing Killian could be here with her, holding her hand, kissing her for everyone to see. Perhaps then she might actually enjoy her time here in Venice. After all, he is the father of her child and the love of her life. Who better to share this trip with than him?

So she just can’t enjoy it like she did when she was younger. And she has every reason to enjoy it—she finally told Neal she wants a divorce, she finally left Goldby, left it all behind, though she knows Neal won’t actually give her a divorce. After she left the smoky midlands, she decided to meet her father and sister in Venice and stay here for two months, considering she doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. For the first time in her life, she doesn't have a home to go back to. But she'll have two months to figure out what to do. Two months to wait and hope for Killian to show up. 

“Are the signorine staying long at the Villa Esmeralda?” The gondolier wipes the sweat off his face with a white and blue handkerchief.

“Two months. And we are both married ladies,” Mary Margaret corrects him in Italian. Though the man may have been half-right addressing Emma as an unmarried lady.

“My apologies, signoras.”

“Actually, I asked Neal for a divorce,” Emma tells her sister, still staring ahead as they relax on the pillows in their sunny frocks. Or rather, Mary Margaret is sitting up straight, wide-eyed and excited about being in Venice, and Emma is slumped against the pillows, sulking in her misery of being without the man she loves.

Mary Margaret gapes at her sister. “You did?! What did he say?”

“Said he wasn’t inclined to grant me one,” Emma answers glumly.

Mary Margaret waves off her worry. “I’m sure he’ll be inclined to eventually. Just give it time. He is desperate for an heir. Maybe he’ll find someone who will happily give him one.”

Emma cocks her head toward her sister, eyeing her apprehensively. “Yeah, I doubt Neal will want to make that mistake again.” She laughs a little at that.

“True. But what if he found someone who was already pregnant?”

“Who?”

She shrugs and wraps an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “I don’t know. Best not to worry about him. We are in Venice now, and you are going to have a good time.”

Emma tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t wish to sulk the entire time here—she’s on a holiday, for heaven’s sake—but she can’t help but feel like part of herself is missing without Killian.

The Villa Esmeralda is quite a long way out, on the edge of the lagoon looking toward Chioggia.

The house they are staying in is crowded with other guests but quite lovely, with terraces that face the sea and afford a picturesque view of a large garden below with dark trees that are walled off from the lagoon. 

Sir Leopold still paints a Venetian lagoon-scape now and then, in contrast to his Scottish landscapes. So in the morning, he is rowed off to a site with his huge canvas.

The sisters don't find the house parties particularly entertaining, but they are rarely at the house anyway. In addition to taking them to the exhibition, with its miles and miles of paintings, Leopold also takes them to the Villa Lucchese to visit all his cronies. He sits with them in the piazza on warm evenings, takes them for coffee at Florian's and brings them to the theater to see the Goldoni plays. 

Everything one could possibly need for a holiday is here, including dances and illuminated water fêtes. This is the holiday place of all holiday places, but there are too many couples showing affection in the piazza, too many children playing, too many languages being spoken, too many pigeons and too much sun. Too much fun, too much enjoyment—but she can’t enjoy any of it. Because out of everything here, there’s no Killian. Not his sea blue eyes or his smile or his warmth or his handsome face. And it hurts. It just hurts too much, everything is all jumbled together and there’s a big gaping hole in her heart that won’t stop aching.

“Hullo!” Graham Humbert, an artist and friend of theirs, had arrived at the Villa Esmeralda, coming north from Rome. “Come and have an ice cream or something!” He escorts them to the Lido in his gondola.

Emma believes that if she had followed through with her plan, she would have told Neal she had an affair with Graham. For she can trust Graham and confide in him. In fact, she tells him everything that happened back in Goldby, and she knows he won’t share her secrets. He only hopes Killian finds her.

When they arrive at the Lido, she and Mary Margaret know almost everyone there. Five or so years ago, when Emma was actually a signorina, she would’ve engaged in all of this. The cocktails, the vermouth, the cigarettes. Lying in water and sunbathing on hot sand, jazzing with some fellow in the warm nights, cooling off with ice cream. It was a complete narcotic. And that was what she had once wanted—a drug. 

Being a married woman herself, Mary Margaret enjoys simply sunbathing with her sister, observing all the women and speculating about them. How does she look? What man has she captured? What fun is she getting out of it? Emma’s just glad they don’t know what happened back at Goldby. At least not yet. It might only be a matter of time before the word spreads abroad.

Emma had once missed her old life, but now she wishes more than anything to skip forward to the day she can see Killian again. 

Until then, she is happiest when she can persuade Mary Margaret to accompany her across the lagoon to a solitary shingle bank where they can bathe alone.

And Emma was right. Word eventually spreads to Venice about Emma’s affair with her husband’s gamekeeper and the fact she is having his child. She can see the way they turn up their noses at her, and she can hear them whisper and speak in hushed tones around her, especially now that her pregnancy bump shows. Mary Margaret and Graham tell her to ignore them, but it’s too late. The charm of this place has already faded after two months, and she’s ready to leave. So they go back to London and stay there for a little while. 

Emma doesn’t know how her sister and brother-in-law can be apart for so long, but Mary Margaret always tells her that no matter how many miles are between them, they will always return to each other. Emma envies what they have together. 

She reads a book on a bench in front of some hedges, or at least she stares at the pages as she thinks about her time with Killian. She thinks about him all the time.

She sees the images in her head of him—his handsome, tanned face, dark, unruly hair, and that gorgeous grin flickering on his lips. She hears his voice, that deep, husky brogue and the way it sets her insides on fire. And she feels his strong, warm hands on her body, softly caressing her skin as they lay naked together. He always knew how to make her feel so loved, so special, so beautiful.

“How many times have you read that page?” Mary Margaret’s voice startles her, breaking Emma out of her dreamy daze, and she looks over to see her sister taking a seat next to her.

Emma smiles a little and closes the book in her lap, knowing she’s been caught daydreaming, her cheeks warming. “What?”

Mary Margaret lets out a soft sigh. “Well…”—a small smile tilts her lips as she hands Emma an envelope—“it looks as though he’s found you.”

Emma gapes at her and then at the envelope, her mouth falling open as she snatches it from her sister’s hand and quickly but carefully opens it up. She truly hopes her sister is not messing with her, because that would be very, very cruel. But then she pulls out a sheet of paper and unfolds it, revealing a letter signed by Killian.

“Oh my God.” Emma is breathless as she glances at Mary Margaret once more, and she can see the sincerity in her sister’s eyes before her own flicker back to the letter.

Her eyes are stinging, and her heart is pounding as she reads through a teary gaze.

Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she’s clasping the key around her neck, rubbing it with her thumb as she finishes the letter. “May I take the—” Before Emma gets the chance to ask Mary Margaret if she can borrow the car since her sister had planned on staying here for a few more days, the words catch in her throat.

“I told you I’d find you, love.”

Emma gasps, her heart skipping as she places her hand on her chest, wondering if what she’s seeing is actually real.

Once she can move again, she tucks the letter inside her book to keep it from blowing away and stands up, cupping her hands over her mouth. When a grin overtakes his face, she laughs, tears of joy spilling freely down her cheeks. She hadn’t even noticed Mary Margaret was no longer sitting next to her, and she had expected to drive to Scotland to find Killian’s little village, but instead, he’s standing right there in front of her, even more handsome than she remembers. The expression on his face is full of so much love, and he’s wearing a dark blue sweatshirt that matches his stunning eyes.

Emma springs forward and throws her arms around him with a force strong enough to cause him to stumble backward a few steps. As he completely envelops her in his embrace, his melodic chuckle rings in her ear, making her heart race. For a long moment, Emma just holds him tight like her life depends on it, with no intention of letting him go ever again.

He’s soft and warm in her arms, and she sobs into his shoulder while he strokes her hair, whispering in her ear, “I love you so bloody much.”

“I love you, too.”

Emma lifts her head and cups his cheeks in her hands, seizing his lips with hers, a rush of heat sweeping through her as she feels his sharp stubble on her fingertips and lips, tastes his mouth and tongue on hers, hears the low, little groan he makes, feels his solid chest against her breasts. Her breaths are shaky, her heart spiking as she breathes him in. It feels surreal touching him again, kissing him. She had hoped to see him again and wished for it every moment they were apart.

He frames her face in his hands, and they deepen the kiss, getting completely lost in each other. She had waited for this moment for two damn months. Her fingers slide into his hair as warmth rolls through them, and he pulls back for air. She is blushing, beaming at him and out of breath as they both pause to draw air back into their lungs. Their lips remain nearly touching, his fingers moving stray hairs from her face. “I’m never letting you go again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing over the corner of her mouth, then her cheek.

Emma grins, placing her hand on her baby bump. “You don’t have a choice. You’re stuck with us.”

“I love the sound of that.” Her heart flutters as he peers down at her stomach and caresses her baby bump through her dress. “How was Venice?” His breath is still ragged as he looks up at her again.

She eyes his lips and leans in, capturing them with hers. “Awful.”

He chuckles into the kiss, matching her unbridled enthusiasm with each subtle shift, each gentle stroke of her tongue with his. “I missed you too.”

Her heart bursts with joy, and they laugh a little, still kissing, giddy and glad to be together again. “How did you even get here?”

“David brought me.” Killian encases her hands in his. “I was going to ask him to deliver the letter to you, but…I decided to deliver it personally.” He smiles and lifts her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “How would you like to go to dinner with a working fellow like myself? I even got a formal black suit to wear.”

Emma lifts a brow. “Oh really? In that case…I’d love nothing more,” she teases with a grin. “As long as I get to keep you.”

“As you wish, milady.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t call me that.” She doesn’t wish to be addressed as Milady or Your Ladyship ever again. And the thought of being called Lady Cassidy now repulses her.

He lifts a brow and releases her hands, closing the distance between them and wrapping her up in his arms. “Well, now that you’re no longer with Neal, what should I call you?”

Emma winds her arms around the back of his neck, gazing wistfully into his eyes. For the first time since she met Killian, her time with him is not limited. She doesn’t have to settle for a quickie or a fleeting cuddle and go back to Goldby to a husband she doesn’t love and a life that depresses her. She just gets to be with Killian, and even though they can’t get married yet, that doesn’t matter.

All that matters is they’re together. Just the three of them. Their little family.

“Just call me Emma. Emma Swan.”

[lena-luthor]

(continuation of this) (read on ao3)

Zor-El leaves for Argo before Kara can gather the courage to tell him the truth about her and Lena. And then suddenly, Lena was gone too. 

“Seeing you with your father… It’s made me realize how little I knew my mother, and how much that’s been hurting me my whole life.”

Kara’s brain recognizes that Lena had only been gone for four days, but her heart can only remember the months they were apart even before she had been trapped in the Phantom Zone. 

Kara had felt Lena’s absence acutely for months. Felt it when she no longer woke to Lena’s ‘Good Morning’ texts lighting up her phone. Felt it when the waiter at Noonan’s still added a kale salad to her order without prompting. Felt it during the game nights when she realized she was always just a step behind without her partner beside her. 

For months she’d struggled with the weight of her guilt, almost drowning in it, and never stopped to consider why losing Lena hurt so much more than losing Winn or James or Mon-El. Why losing Lena felt less like losing a friend, and more like losing a limb. 

And now that they’ve finally started on the road to repairing their relationship, Kara’s father had shown up to throw fire on the gasoline. Part of Kara had been almost grateful for Lena’s absence, if only to have the space to consider her father’s words, but as she sits next to Lena now, all she can think about is how she had her first restful night of sleep in months because she could hear Lena’s heartbeat thumping across the city. 

Every second they spend here is another second Nyxly has to gain a step on them, but Kara can’t bring herself to move when this is the first time she and Lena have been alone since Lena returned from Newfoundland. The first time they’ve actually been alone since Kara was rescued from the Phantom Zone. 

An all-powerful being is running rampant through her city, but all Kara can think about is how much she wants to hold Lena’s hand. 

“How was your trip?” Kara blurts out, eyes drawn to the way Lena’s hair waves and flows down her chest. 

“It was… draining. I learned so much about my mom. More than I ever expected to, but it was exactly what I needed.”

Kara can see the weight of the past few days on Lena’s face, but then she’s turning towards Kara with a smile so open Kara feels her chest split open. She hadn't been sure until that moment that Lena would ever trust her with that smile again.

Kara smiles back, helpless. Thinks about how she’s visited twelve different planets and never seen a sight as lovely as Lena Luthor’s smile. 

“I missed you though.” Lena’s smile is softer now. 

Just talk to her. Her father’s words resonate in her mind. She opens her mouth to speak but is stopped by the touch of Lena’s hand to her wrist. 

The glint of Lena’s portal watch draws Kara’s eye. She reaches out and flips the face of the watch up, running a finger over the crest of her House. Underneath it, she can hear the thumping constant of Lena’s heart. 

She feels a touch on her chin and raises her head to meet Lena’s eyes and furrowed brow. They are mere inches apart now.

“Kara.” Lena’s voice is hushed and low. She ducks her head, shaking it as she releases a short, raspy laugh, “I’m trying so hard to be brave.” 

Kara can’t take her eyes off the dimples lining Lena’s cheek. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Promise?” The word brushes against her lips. 

“I promise.” And then Lena Luthor is kissing her. 

Kara’s entire world narrows to this one point of connection between them. Time stands utterly still, but when Kara feels Lena start to lean back, Kara feels herself move faster than she possibly ever has. 

In a blink, Kara’s hands are wrapped around Lena’s waist, pulling her close, tugging her up and onto her lap. She pulls away for a split second, relishes Lena’s gasp as she buries her face in her neck. 

“Is this okay?”

“God, yes.” Lena’s hands run over Kara’s shoulders, up into her hair, tugging their lips back together. 

Kara loses herself in the weight of Lena in her arms, the taste of coffee on her tongue, the smell of smoke in the air. 

“Oh shit! Kara!” 

They break apart hearing Nia’s shout. Lena scrambles off of Kara’s lap, ass thumping onto the floor. 

“Your hair is on fire!” Alex activates her weapon, summoning a water gun Kara vaguely recognizes from their childhood, and blasts her directly in the face with it. 

Kara turns her now dripping head to check on Lena, and finds her with her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“I’m a witch. Surprise?” 

[steelycunt]

ok i saw ur why remus loves sirius post snd im gna need u to pretty pls do a why sirius loves remus post if u havent already <3 the longer the better <3 thank u for ur service

hi babe! thank you! sorry it took me a bit of time to get to this <3

breaking it down the way i broke down my answer abt sirius (as in, starting with when they're young)...i like to think that he was like. in love with remus by the time the train arrived on the first journey in 1971, but that sort of love at first sight is admittedly hard to defend/explain. however, i do think that remus was one of the first genuinely nice people sirius ever met in his life. james is a wonderful friend and peter is sweet but remus is a truly good person in a way that takes sirius aback a bit. also, i reckon remus being so quiet and reserved at first draws him (and platonically, james) in a bit. as in, remus seems like a nice boy. and sirius would like to hear him say more than about ten words maybe.

obviously as they become friends sirius finds that he is smart and brilliant and very funny without having to be a bit of an arse, like he and james are when they're young. he enjoys talking to him he enjoys spending time with him. and he really does think remus is sooo pretty and attractive too. he's kind of not but sirius doesnt know that. he likes remus' hair he likes his voice he wants to tell jokes to make remus smile. remus is attractive in a comfortable, familiar sort of way.

i also think sirius is at his best around remus, really. of course there are bits of him that become angry and jealous and overreact because of his feelings towards remus too, but especially when theyre young remus brings out a gentle, kind side of sirius that he really likes. and after they find out abt remus' condition that sort of serves to illuminate to sirius the fact that he would probably actually do anything for remus. he would do anything to help him or to make him smile or to make sure he's happy. not least because of how much he trusts remus + how remus is there for him concerning issues with his family and all that.

by about...age fifteen, perhaps? he adores remus. like its simple as that. all the things that might be sort of. uhhhh. lame or dull or a bit loserish about him...sirius finds soo endearing. there is nobody like him (you could walk outside and spot like six guys like him in roughly 30 seconds but again sirius doesn't get that). that partially fuels the sort of jealousy and anger that sirius can get a bit caught up in, but that's only because i think he is sooo constantly worried that remus will get fed up with him. i've said this b4 but he definitely thinks remus can do better and find someone a bit more emotionally mature. there comes a point strangely early on in their relationship where he just. wouldnt really know what he'd do without remus (considering he's already had a brief trial of that after the prank). it's like i said on the post about remus loving sirius...they are best friends. sirius has only had eyes for him since he was genuinely. eleven years old. he will always want to be around him. making remus smile is just as rewarding when he's twenty one or thirty six as it is when he's twelve. they keep each other together they're just absolutely unhinged that's just the bottom line :-(

[sondepoch]

HC: They see MC’s sketchbook!

Art. It’s a private thing. Showing someone your work is akin to showing them a piece of your soul, an insight into who you are and everything that lies within. So when the Obey Me! boys get a glimpse of your sketchbook, they find themselves wanting for more—and all in different ways.

Word Count: 6.0k

*Mild NSFW themes for Asmo & Diavolo

Characters: All Brothers + All Undateables + Luke

MASTERLIST

Lucifer

At the beginning of the year, there is 0 trust between the two of you

Not only has he actively tried to kill you, but he’s already so suspicious of the pacts you’re making with his brothers that he can’t help but be wary every time you cross paths

So when he realizes that you’re always absentmindedly scribbling in a notepad every time you interact, he’s more than a little perturbed by it

100% thinks you’re secretly taking notes on his and his brothers’ behavior to use it against them

So, obviously, when he next sees you using it in his presence, he wastes no time in snatching the notebook from your hands

“Oh hey, Lucif—what are you doing?!”

“Nothing you should be concerned with, human.”

“That’s my sketchbook you’re holding!”

“Sketchbook?”

Instantly flips it open and sure enough, inside there’s nothing but doodles and sketches

luci.is.confuzzled.exe

He’s still convinced that there must be something incriminating in the book, so he continues flipping through it. But the more he sees, the more he realizes how wrong he is

It’s only when he flips to the section with his family that he begins to feel guilty

In the beginning, you just draw basic poses. Mammon, glancing at you over his shoulder. Asmo, posing for a camera. Beel, about to bite down on a hamburger. 

But the further he goes, the more elaborate the sketches get, and as he flips through the pages, he can feel the amount of work that has gone into each piece

And then he gets to the page where you drew him

Keep it lowkey, but he thinks his heart stopped for a second

He stares at the picture and wonders if that’s what you see every time he shifts into his demon form, because for the first time since his fall, he can’t help but think about how beautiful he looks. Everything looks so right in your art style, from the diamond on his forehead to the way his wings flutter out of his back.

It’s perfection

“I’m confiscating this,” He says quickly, not looking you in the eye.

He then escapes the room faster than you’ve ever seen, and never speaks of the incident again to you

But roughly a week later, you find a small red book on your pillow, and you know that it's a sketchbook from him, to replace the one he took

And even later—after the two of you grow close—you find your old sketchbook stored in his most secure drawer, locked away with a key he keeps hidden. And you know that he’s spent hours looking through the book on rough nights, through the doodles of him and his brothers and everything else you’ve ever drawn

And though he’s too proud to admit it, you know he loves your art 

Mammon

He found it when he was going through your stuff, absentmindedly checking to see if you had any valuables on you

And the moment he flipped open to see your little notebook of doodles, his mind went B I N G O 

He loves your art the second he sees it, spending a whole hour just sitting on your bedroom floor, flipping through the pages

Adores everything about your art style

And when he starts to see the little doodles you do of his brothers, he’s even more enraptured

You draw all the things he’s imagined but never seen: a sketch of Lucifer dressed in a onesie, snuggling a giant teddy bear. Beel, using a sleeping Belphie as a food tray for a pile of snacks as large as the sixth-born himself. Asmo with cat ears, being chased by Solomon, who appears to be a wolf.

And yet, there are no pictures of Mammon

Man is hurt by the fact that you’ve drawn all his brothers but not him. He’s your first man, after all. You should have been the first person he drew!

Gets a bit upset about it and throws your sketchbook back into the drawer he found it in, stomping back to his room with childlike indignation

Is just a bit petty about it afterward

“Hey, Mammon, can you walk me to school? Class starts in half an hour.”

“Huh? Oh, so now ya want me to do it, huh? Well, why don’t you ask Asmo instead?”

“Okay? I will???”

Soon everyone in the house has realized that Mammon’s being a bit off, and while it was nice at first to have peace and quiet from the resident troublemaker, you guys grow concerned pretty quick

And eventually, you go to his room to talk things out

Let’s just say that when you found out he’d been going through your stuff, you were not pleased. But seeing that he wasn’t going to be the mature one, you sucked it up and whacked the demon on the back of his head, telling him to “wait a second” while you went to “get something”

Cue the retrieval of your second sketchbook 

And when Mammon sees it, he’s not sure what he feels more of: guilt or happiness

Every single page in this second notebook is of him. Only a few are colored, but Mammon finds himself enraptured by even the casual doodles in the corners, where he’s doing little things like eating a banana or flashing the viewer a few Grimm

Man is touched. He’s never had anyone do this for him, and certainly not out of their own volition. So suffice it to say that when he tackled you for a hug that night, he didn’t let you go for a long time

And maybe some other stuff happened too. Who knows? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Leviathan

TSL

The second Levi sees you sketching in your artbook (after an incoherent stumble of words which you assume are synonymous with praise), the only phrase coming out of this man’s mouth is TSL

Begins begging you to draw fanart of the Shadow Lord, asking you to sketch him in different outfits, draw him in different poses, put him in various backgrounds, etc.

Basically wants you to bring his imagination to life

“Oh! Oh! Can you draw him baking a cake now? Wouldn’t that be so cool?!”

Absolutely does the wwooooooOOOOOAAAHAHHHHHHH sound effect every single time you show him your work, even if you’ve only made minor changes from the last time you showed him

He takes you on a spending spree, pulling up Akuzon and offering to pay for whatever supplies you want if you’ll just make him a super fancy poster

And so you start

It actually gets to be a pretty good way to grow closer: every day, after school, you head up to Levi’s room to work on the poster he asked you to make him. In exchange, he lets you borrow his manga and you guys watch anime together

Eventually, boi gets the idea of throwing Ruri-chan into the poster, and the second he thinks it he won’t shut up about it

“Oh, come on! You can do it—look, just put her in this little corner right here!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Levi?! Ruri-chan and the Shadow Lord are two completely different characters who are meant to be drawn in completely different art styles! If I mush Ruri-chan into the corner, it’ll ruin the poster’s dynamic!”

“But pleeeeeaaaassseeeee?”

Cue extra pouty Levi

Eventually, you agree to make a separate drawing of Ruri-chan for Levi to hang up next to the poster, because you think that otherwise, he’ll go crazy

When the date rolls around where you’re almost done with everything, Levi formally sends out an invitation to everyone of importance

Man invites everyone from Luke to Diavolo over for the “revealing ceremony” where he plans to hang the poster on his wall

Actually tried to get the demon king to come as well, but Lucifer stopped him before he could get an invitation out

When everyone sees what you’ve been working on for so many weeks, they’re all MEGA impressed because hello??? they did not know you were this skilled???

It quickly turns into a competition, with each one of them trying to outdo each other with how vigorously they can compliment you

And soon enough you find yourself swamped with requests from every other demon in the room, begging you to make them something as elaborate as you did Levi

Satan

It’s a system you guys have set up, where every Tuesday and Thursday night, you’ll sit in the common room on the couch facing each other and will simply open your books to do what you will

You always draw, and Satan always reads

And neither will bother the other until the grandfather clock chimes twelve times, whereupon you both bid each other goodnight and wait for the next session where you do it all over

Except for today, that is

“What are you drawing?” 

Ah, there it is

The one question you were hoping Satan would never ask

You subtly (incredibly awkwardly) change the subject, commenting on the color of Satan’s jacket to distract him from his inquiry, and he picks up on the hint, quietly huffing as he turns back to his book 

But the mild irritation he feels doesn’t let him fully delve back into the realm of the nonfiction novel he was reading, so he’s more than a little distracted as he goes back to reading about human anthropology

And it’s in this state of distraction that he notices the little glances you’re stealing every so often, before returning to your sketchpad

Yeah, it doesn’t take long for Satan to put two and two together

“Are you drawing me?”

An incredulous question, asked in such an offending tone

He sounds so irate by the fact that you can’t help but helplessly deny it, muttering something about drawing plants and flowers instead

But Satan doesn’t believe it, and in an instant he’s standing behind you, staring at the sketch in your hands which has oh-so-beautifully captured the essence of him on the couch, engrossed in a book with the light from the flames in the fireplace flickering gently against his skin

The anger at being drawn without having agreed to it quickly melts into a quiet awe for your skill

“Can I see your other drawings?” He asks gently, no longer irritated but actually impressed

“I-I’m not sure if you’ll want to—”

“Nonsense. Show me.”

And so you do

You hand him the sketchbook, avoiding his eyes as he flips to the very first page—and imagine his surprise when he sees that even that is a sketch of his face, though the artwork is significantly less advanced than the piece he just saw. Satan flips to the next page, and then the next, and the next, and sure enough: they’re all of him

“I-I just needed a model to practice my artwork on,” You mumble, gaze fixated on the couch. “And you were right there, so I couldn’t resist...and then I needed a model again. And again. And you were always there, and I know I never asked, but I’m sorry, and if you don’t want me to, I won’t—“

“Nonsense,” Satan murmurs, pressing a finger to your lips. His smile has never looked as sincere as it looks now, his gaze flickering back and forth between your face and the sketchbook in his hands

“I’ll be your model, if you so desire it. Just tell me how you want me to sit.”

Asmodeus

Your model for everything

You’re trying to draw the Hulk and you a good frame of reference? And you need a really muscular model? And Beel ABSOLUTELY fits the bill? 

Yeah no, Asmo’s your model

You want to draw a child? Someone small and short, roughly the exact same height as Luke (who is an ANGEL and would absolutely help you)? Yeah no, Asmo’s still going to be your model.

Want a cute guy? Asmo. Cute girl? Asmo. Cute animal? Still Asmo.

Man refuses to leave you alone - the second he learns that you’re an artist he insists on gracing your work with the holy sight of his body

Highkey wants to model nude

And you’d be lying if you said that he was a bad model—man can hold a pose for hours without moving even a little, his only fault is that he talks incessantly—but you can easily quiet him by saying that you’re drawing his lips - and the moment you do so, he’s suddenly he’s stiller than a statue,  doing his absolute best to remain frozen so that you can capture his perfection

Boi posts 100% of your content on his Devilgram, and while you were hesitant about it at first, now you’re just used to it

Thanks to him, you’re a lowkey celebrity

Like demons love your art style 

It’s apparently very refreshing and human-like as compared to the dark and dreary art found in the Devildom, so people go wild over Asmo’s Devilgram page for it

Man thinks that they’d go even more wild if you drew something where he modeled nude

In fact, it’s lowkey a business deal that the two of you have - you allow Asmo to post your work on his Devilgram (giving credit to you, of course), and in exchange he pays for all your art supplies, acts as your model (though that’s really more of him wanting to than it being your choice), and even goes as far as to keep Mammon apart from you while you work, insisting that you need “privacy” and “quiet” while you draw

100% acts like he isn’t even more chatty than Mammon when given the chance

On the bright side, it’s thanks to these weekly art sessions where you draw and Asmo models and talks that you’re always up to date on the latest gossip. You’re 100% caught up with the fact that Zahhak just found out he has another illegitimate son and that Baphomet just liked Rusalka’s post from fourteen centuries ago

So yeah, the two of you have a mutually beneficial relationship

Asmodeus still insists that one thing would make it better though: him modeling nude

But Asmo is a sweetheart about everything, and he goes out of his way to pamper you 

Specifically, your hands—after all, those are what work your artistic magic!

Expect him to always be peppering your dominant hand with kisses, massaging it whenever you look tired, giving you weekly manicures completely free of charge, all out of the goodness of Asmo’s heart

*ahem* and weekly requests to model nude

Beelzebub

a m a z e m e n t 

Boi is entranced

Like, he’s so mesmerized by your art that he’s not even paying attention to the food sitting right in front of him, simply opting to stare more intently at the drawing you’re holding up so eagerly

It’s quite beautiful, really: The seven demon brothers surrounding you, a reworking of a photograph Lucifer took a few months ago but in your art style. And for that last fact, Beel thinks he likes this version better

“Wow,” He finally manages to say, still too impressed to really think of anything else

He lets his brothers shower you in praise and compliments, silently nodding along and agreeing with every plaudit they thrust your way

But the moment you’re alone, expect to be scooped into his arms and carried to his room

Boi instantly wants to know the process

When do you draw? How long does it take? Where do you do it? How are you getting your supplies? Who pays?

It’s not so much the physical process he’s interested in, but rather the nuances of art that make your work look so you. He’s not interested in learning for the sake of doing, but simply for the sake of understanding because he already appreciates your art so much

Absolutely invites you to his room to have you show him the art process the next time you start working on a piece

And after the first time, then, he invites you back a second - then a third - and then the two of you have settled into a routine where after school, you come to his room and pencil away in your sketchpad, with Beel watching in the background, munching on snacks

It’s quite relaxing for him, actually

He likes watching as you bring a piece together, going over previously flat areas with a second layer of shading to make certain elements pop—and even if he doesn’t completely understand what you’re doing, he’s entirely willing to learn, listening peacefully as you explain what the various tools do

By the end of the month, man has actually memorized all the names of your supplies, handing them to you every time you ask for it - be it something as simple as a request for an eraser or just the blending stump

Lowkey, your work has actually improved since you began working up in Beel’s room

Not only does he have the most comfortable setup, but the man pampers you like royalty, always making sure that there’s water or food for you in case you need something

(And if you do happen to require something that isn’t already in Beel’s room, man will 100% get it for you so that you don’t have to stop what you’re doing)

Honestly, it’s the perfect arrangement: he gives you the ideal working space and you give him hours upon hours of intrigue

And if you happen to begin sitting in his lap one day while you work, something which quickly turns into a pattern, who’s there to stop anything? ;)

Belphegor

Man naps

A lot

And you just happen to be his favorite pillow, so it’s hardly a surprise when all your free time is spent in the presence of a dozing Belphie, always passed out over your legs

So once, just once, you pull your sketchpad out from under your pillow and work on it, a cautious eye trained on the seventh-born’s every move in case he stirs

And when that first time goes smoothly, you pull your sketchpad out a second time

Then a third

Then a fourth - and suddenly, you’re caught in a pattern

It was really just a matter of time until Belphie woke up one day and you didn’t notice

And it’s already too late when the drowsy demon lifts his head, peering curiously onto your lap to see what you’re working on—much to your horror

“Y-you’re awake,” You mutter halfheartedly, a sick feeling settling in your stomach as you watch the demon’s expression shift as he studies your artwork

You hate it

A bubble of anxiety begins to rise, fear over whether he will like your work or call it bad, whether he’ll make fun of your work or tell the brothers, whether he’ll be kind about it or mean

But then, much to your surprise, he flops back onto your lap, utterly unphased

“Nice,” The demon comments casually, stretching as he rests his head along your thigh. “It’s pretty.”

You can only blink as he falls back asleep, utterly confused as to what just happened

He woke up, right? And he saw your art? And he complimented it, telling you that he thought it was nice and pretty?

A sound of disbelief escapes your mouth as you try to process the utter nonchalance with which the whole exchange had concluded with, your shock only interrupted by the light sound of Belphie, who’s already snoring

You groan

But now that Belphie has seen your work, it’s not like there’s much point in hiding it any longer, right?

You pull your sketchbook out, silently continuing to work on the design that the man napping on your lap had said to be “nice,” adding some finishing touches to it 

And when Belphie wakes up, he speaks nothing of the entire exchange

From that point and onward, you become a little more comfortable around him, relieved that you don’t need to talk about it with him

And he gets it

For all your free time, while he naps, you draw, and the two of you find a comfortable form of peace together, an odd tranquility lurking in the fact that there are no questions, no answers, just you and him, the sound of scribbling and snoring, your sketchpad and his pillow

And really, who needs anything else?

Solomon

He’s probably the first one to realize, on his own, that you’re an artist

The two of you have nearly all your classes together, thanks to Lord Diavolo, so it’s hardly surprising when the ever-astute sorcerer picks up on the fact that every time he casts you a second glance, you’re working on some mysterious sketch underneath your desk

Doesn’t really care at first

Until he sees your work

Man actually stops when he picks your sketchbook up off the ground, inspecting the page it had flipped open to after you dropped it

“Holy shit”

Doesn’t even ask for permission, he just begins browsing through the sketchbook, growing more and more impressed with each new page he sees

You only snatch the book back from his hands when you realize that the sketch he’s staring at so intently is one you drew of him, thanking him for picking it up with a huff and awkwardly trying to remove yourself from the situation as fast as humanly (heh, yes that is a pun) possible

Wizard boy stops you, ofc

“Come with me”

“But I have class soon—"

Again, doesn’t even wait for your agreement, man just drags you by the forearm to the library and flips open a book, throws down his own notebook, and demands that you use your “art skills or whatever” to help him

Sigh

Precious wizard boy isn’t very good with words when he’s all worked up

It takes you a good 5 minutes to understand that he wants you to compare the summoning circle outlined on the book with the one he sketched to identify where he went wrong, because apparently you have an “artist’s eye” and therefore you should be able to assist him - and he refuses to believe you when you try to convince him that no, this is not your strong suit and you will likely be unable to help him

He gets whinier than Asmo (probably where he gets it from) and will not stop nagging you even as you try to leave, so eventually you just give in and agree to try to help him - and it wounds up being surprisingly easy for you to realize that he missed the secondary outline of the inner circle, among another few minor mistakes

Huh, maybe you are naturally inclined toward this

From that moment and onward, Solomon decides that you are officially valuable (not only do you have magical potential, but you have an eye for summoning circles too? how UNFAIR) and begins spending all his time with you

Doesn’t really care about the fact that you’re an artist at first—is really more interested in how your skills can be applied

But then one day, after a particularly rough night of going through twelve whole summoning circles for twelve powerful demons, he takes a nap and wakes up to find you passed out on the floor, sleeping on top of your sketchbook where you fell asleep doodling him

Highkey touched

And slowly, he begins casually “falling asleep” around you more often, to see and flip through more of your artwork when he wakes up 

Sigh

Bby is fucking shady even when he does wholesome shit

Simeon

Okay let’s be real

There’s no peace with the seven demon brothers. Solomon is chaotic. Luke, as much as we love him, is just a lot to be around. And even with Barbatos next to him, Diavolo is a walking tornado that tends to wreak havoc whenever he wills it (and he usually wills it).

So honestly, being with Simeon is the only place of tranquility you can find in the entire Devildom

Specifically, his room

*Which is off-limits to all the aforementioned individuals

He extended the invitation for you to spend some “relaxation time” in his quarters whenever you pleased at the beginning of the year, his angelic heart already sensing the absolute whirlwind of disaster you were walking into when you joined RAD

And while you declined his offer immediately out of politeness, you found yourself sheepishly knocking on his door not one week into the program

And now it’s become an every-day sort of thing

So yeah

Simeon knows about your art

In fact, you can’t seem to draw unless you’re in his presence, because at this point, he naturally soothes you so much that your hand is only steady when you hear the sound of his calm breathing in the background

In fact, you work best when the two of you are spread out on his couch, your back resting comfortably on Simeon’s shoulder while he writes (yes, he manually writes all his books on pen and paper) and you put your legs up on the couch, sketching away in your notebook

It’s the very image of peace, something you can’t seem to find anywhere else in this realm

And Simeon, bless his heart, may be a master of calligraphy, but the precious angel cannot draw to save his life - a fact which you have taken it upon yourself to handle

See, the angel gets tired every now and then—understandable, given that he produces literal masterpieces at his hands

And so when he gets tired, what does he do? 

Make incomprehensible doodles in the upper left corners of his papers

So, of course, you’ve taken it upon yourself to bring those doodles to life (even if it requires a half-hour of inspection before you can make out what the sketch was supposed to be) and Simeon loves it

The expression of eagerness that surfaces every time you inform him that you’ve finished a piece is so rewarding, because the childlike glee with which he takes the paper from your hands to inspect it always sends a rush of warmth to your heart as he gushes in appreciation

But uh 

Simeon is a special kind of chaotic, something that manifests every time he doodles something on paper

You stare at the angel in disbelief as he informs you that his latest doodle (what appears to be a banana-looking creature in sunglasses?) was actually a monkey ironing clothes—unsure what to say in light of this information

But it’s okay :) There only needs to be one artist in this relationship, and it clearly isn’t him

Luke

It started with cake

He needed “inspiration” to make something for Barbatos, as a thank-you gift for the pastry lessons the elder gave him, but Luke claimed that everything he made, while it tasted fine, lacked in the aesthetic department

And while normally you would play it Simeon-style, leaving it to the younger angel to handle things on his own so that he can grow individually, you felt too bad watching him discard another batch of cupcakes into Beel’s mouth, rubbing his head in aggravation over how annoying it was that nothing was looking right

So you helped him out

It was nothing major, really

Just eight doodles—subtle yet elegant designs for a triple-tiered cake, childish and bouncy arrangements to store flan, little details in frosting to give cupcakes the added element of specialty that makes them infinitely better

But the second Luke saw your paper, he went wild

Boi was running to the kitchen so fast he barely even had the time to shout “thank you” 

Apparently, your little sketches sparked inspiration in him so strongly that the flames burned til midnight (much to Simeon’s disapproval), but when Luke was finally done with everything, he walked out of the kitchen with a tray of desserts that looked so perfect it was hard to imagine that he brought them to life from your sketches

Luke spent ages thanking you, shoving desserts down your throat even when you insisted that you were full, so unimaginably grateful that you helped him out of what he called “chef’s block”

Each “thank you” was accompanied either a brownie or a slice of mango mousse or whatever new pastry Luke was creating that day, and before long you were getting to enjoy luxury foods on the daily (much to Beel’s jealousy)

Boy only believed that the debt was paid when you told him that there was no debt to pay, that you sketched those quick little doodles for him out of kindness and not obligation

Believe it or not, Luke’s eyes actually welled with tears for a second at that, before he wrapped you up in a giant (is it really giant if the hugger is so little?) hug, wailing something about you being too “pure” and “perfect” for the Devildom, and that one day you would be very happy in the Celestial Realm

You pat his head, telling him that if it truly made him this happy, you would be glad to help him out again and sketch some food doodles whenever he wanted some new ideas

Cue another round of hugs, muffled crying, and sobs about how amazing you are

Barbatos

Barbatos knew, of course

Not because he used his powers or anything, he would hardly use them for something so trivial, but he was aware from the start that you were an artist because it was he who prepared for your arrival in the Devildom, ensuring that you had all the same amenities and comforts you were used to in the human realm

And, as such, that included art supplies

So the very moment he set his eyes on you, he was aware that you were an artist

What he didn’t expect was for you to actually be good at it

He sees your sketchbook when he’s casually strolling through the RAD library, finding you completely knocked out on one of the tables, the spiral binding of the sketchpad still digging indents into your cheek where you lie on top of it

At first, the butler rearranges your position as a courtesy

He lifts your head and rests it on your hand - which makes a much softer pillow -  coincidentally placing your books back inside your bag and taking a moment to organize the papers strewn across the desk

But then he just happens to glance inside

And the second he does, he’s mesmerized

There’s not much in the world that can surprise Barbatos - not after he’s looked after Diavolo, of all people, for so many millennia - but the butler still finds himself holding his breath as he flips through your sketchpad, each piece telling a story so evocative that it leaves him wanting more even when he arrives at a blank page, abruptly realizing that he’s just gone through your entire sketchbook without your permission

Of course, you just have to wake up at that precise moment - sleepy eyes glancing up at the butler and wondering if you’re hallucinating, but the book in his hands is far too real and the shocked expression on his face is impossibly jarring and you flinch, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you realize what must have happened

Barbatos is a perfect gentleman about it, kindly telling you to get more rest so that you don’t pass out in a public library surrounded by demons who want to eat your soul, but he ends the sharp warning with a rather kind remark about your artwork

“I liked the second-last piece best,” He murmurs, casting you a cryptic smile before bidding you farewell

And obviously, the moment he’s out of sight, your nose is buried in your sketchbook, fingers flipping furiously to find the second-last piece you drew which you cannot seem to remember at all, and—

Oh

A flush immediately erupts on your cheeks as you see the colored sketch, something inspired by nothing more than a whim

It’s simply two people on a walk—both of them vague imitations of what your mind had wistfully conjured up—one of them bearing the telltale mismatched hair and olive green eyes, the other sharing a quiet resemblance to yourself - a conscious decision, of course

But just as you’re about to flip off the page, another detail you’d forgotten about draws your attention—and your cheeks suddenly burn in embarrassment as you realize why Barbatos singled this piece out

The figures are smiling, gazing at each other from the corners of their eyes. And there, in the very center of the piece, it is obvious: 

They are holding hands

Diavolo

RIP to Diavolo’s royal painter

They have been replaced

By you

As much as you fought it, as much as you argued that you were not fitting of this position, as much as you pleaded with the demon lord to not force this title upon your shoulders, Diavolo’s decision to appoint you as the honorary Devildom painter was final—and nothing can change his mind once it’s made up

The title is really just that: a title. Diavolo knows that you’re a busy student, and while he honored your artistic talents with this position, he’s not about to actually force you through the expected proceedings of a true royal painter, not while you’re trying to survive being an exchange student in hell with an entirely unfamiliar curriculum in front of you

But on occasion, he’ll send you a text, asking if you’re free

And you’ll head on over to his palace, ready to paint him

And unlike every other demon, angel, and human in the Devildom, when Diavolo models for you, he actually models nude

Asmo is jealous

Sexual tension is high when you paint him, let’s just leave things at that

And honestly, it really doesn’t matter what you paint - Diavolo seems to be more interested in the fact that it’s a human who did the art in the first place

He once saw your RAD binder, noticing the little doodles you’d drawn on the corner of all your papers, and he immediately took them—declaring that they were art to be preserved for all eternity for historical documentation purposes

So yeah

There’s a hall in Diavolo’s palace filled with your RAD math homework, an eternal reminder of the assignments you copied off of Solomon

(You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you’ve drawn some rather inappropriate doodles on those pages or the fact that, despite having copied all the answers, you still managed to get nearly one-third of the problems wrong, and now your mistakes are to be showcased in the Devildom for centuries to come)

It gets to the point where you and Solomon start making bets over how basic you can get with your art for Diavolo to still consider it “amazing” and “utterly awe-inspiring,” as he likes to put it

In honor of that bet, there is currently a banana peel with a few marker doodles on it hanging in a preserved case in an iced room in the lowest levels of the palace, as none of the “art” can be wasted

But in truth, the demon lord’s fixation with human culture is endearing, especially when Diavolo tries so hard to be accepting of it

So eventually you stop giving Diavolo wacky art and actually start putting your full effort into your creations—your reward being the fact that the final piece you complete gets hung in Diavolo’s private bedroom, where he promises to gaze at it every night for the rest of eternity, vowing to remember his time with you every time he sees it

[wasabito]

➽ corruption collab masterlist — hosted by @ultimate-astridwriting and @bummie ♥️

➽ note: definitely gonna come back and edit this a bit more because threesomes are hard as fuck, no pun intended lmao happy v-day everyone!

➽ word count: 3.2k

➽ cw/tags: polyamory + body worship + threesome + praise kink + public sex + choking + handjobs/fingering + vaginal sex + squirting + established relationship

➽ pairing: akaashi x fem!reader x bokuto

💿 1. nasty — ariana grande || 2. come on — jhene aiko

With Valentine's Day fast approaching, it becomes rather apparent that love and romance are in the air. Storefronts are decorated in bubblegum pinks and reds. Flower shops promote their special bouquet arrangements at discounted prices. Even your favorite hole in the wall coffee shop has fallen prey to the spirit of cupid as they announce their new strawberry shortcake dessert and heart-shaped scones.

In lieu of staying home for the third night this week, your boyfriends escort you to dinner at an upscale restaurant in the city. They treat you to a five-course meal and a bottle of wine even pricier than the dinner itself. One would think, after three years of dating, you would no longer be caught unawares by their spontaneity. And yet, here they are, once again pulling the rug from underneath your four-inch heels.

Your gaze flickers from Akaashi's tranquil smile to Bokuto's wide grin.

Adjusting the napkin in your lap, you open your mouth to speak, then pause as the right words fail it come. Brain short-circuiting instead, you let out a confused, "Huh?!"

"We're taking you to Italy!" Bokuto repeats, about ready to hop out of his seat with excitement. He looks to Akaashi, "Three nights in Venice, right 'Kaashi?"

"Yes, we decided on Venice after you told us you'd always wanted to visit. Remember Koutarou's birthday last year?"

"But that was like months ago! Did you two honestly hold onto that drunk little confession this entire time?"

"Of course."

"Yup!!"

It's in moments like these when you are reminded of their history together, first as teammates playing volleyball, and eventually close friends. Not much longer after that, you'd met and fallen for Akaashi, then Bokuto, and thus began the relationship of today. While you find it a little ridiculous, it seems neither of them has any qualms about this trip.

After all, you are their lovely girlfriend. Why wouldn't they want to make your wishes come true?

Bokuto claps his hands, eyes sparkling. "Everything's already planned out, babe, so don't worry your pretty little head, okay?"

You can't argue with that. Reaching over, you take Bokuto's hand in your right and Akaashi's in your left. "Alright, since you two went to all this trouble for me, I guess I'll just sit back and enjoy it."

♥️

Venice is just as beautiful as you imagined.

It looks as if it's floating upon blue-green waters with lots of sunshine, beautiful architecture, and a vibrancy that makes it feel like the city has a life of its own. You are grateful you didn't come by yourself. There is no way you would've enjoyed it without Akaashi and Bokuto at your side.

"We're about a ten-minute walk from Piazza San Marco," Akaashi says as he taps his glasses. His sharp gaze is locked on the map in his hands, likely committing most landmarks and details to memory. "Would you like to check it out?"

"Yeah! Let's do it."

"Off we go, go, go!"

Thus, a majority of your first day in Venice is spent sightseeing.

The three of you take a gondola ride through Canale Grande, then have a peek into the Gallerie Dell'Accademia at Akaashi's insistence, though naturally, you wouldn't have come all the way to Italy and not visited at least one art museum. Afterward, the three of you go to the Le Mercerie shopping district and buy gifts for your friends before finally taking a pit stop for the most delicious gelato in the city.

The sunsets sooner than expected, casting the entire block in deep red hues. Bokuto's mood is greatly influenced by it, and the jetlag certainly doesn't help. He props himself against you, nuzzling you in a way that says he's itching for a kiss.

"Tired, Kou?"

Bokuto hums. "A little... More hungry than anything."

He leans in and pecks your lips with a sated smile. "Maybe I should eat you. I mean, how is it my girl's so damn cute? Not fair, I can't resist."

You snort at Bo's silliness but can't help shivering a little at the tiny implication of his words. He always did like to lay his head on your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites where he could.

So, the thought of him eating you out made you squeeze your thighs together.

Akaashi approaches with your frozen treats held between his long fingers; having overheard Bokuto earlier, he tucks his wallet back into his pocket.

"We'll get some dinner after we drop off these shopping bags. How does that sound?"

You eagerly take your gelato from him with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan."

Akaashi nods, standing at your other side, close enough to brush elbows though not as close as Bokuto, who was nearly hovering.

The three of you are in one of the narrow, maze-like streetways, basking in the warm, early evening glow. The sweet taste of fruit and cream on your tongue fills you with so much contentment, especially while being with your favorite people. You aren't sure if anything could top the way you currently felt, and the trip has just barely started.

Upon arriving at your temporary place of residence, a quaint little villa on the waterfront just along the shore of Punta Sabbioni Beach, Bokuto immediately kicks off his sandals, dumps the bags, and promptly falls asleep on the couch.

"It's so weird seeing Kou like this." You remark. "On any normal day, he's brimming with almost too much energy, but now he's all tired."

"Well, he did stay up an entire twelve hours on the plane. It was only a matter of time before fatigue caught up to him." Akaashi picks up Bokuto's shoes with practiced ease and places them by the others.

There is a fond smile running along the edges of his mouth as he tucks a throw around the man's larger frame. You help him adjust a spare pillow under Bo's head and then set off to explore the rest of the area.

It seemed like everything about Venice was taken straight out of a romance film, with its cobblestone paths, gothic cathedral architecture, crisp ocean waters, and authentic Italian cuisine. It is no wonder the city's known to draw hapless souls together in romance. Even you fell subject to it, and by each passing moment, you crave to be with your boyfriends.

You are standing at the balcony overlooking the beach, satisfied with your inspection of the villa when Akaashi comes to stand behind you. He holds onto the railings, caging you in his arms, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

"He was right, you know." He murmurs. "You do look good enough to eat."

Blunt as ever. Apparently, something's never change.

Though one might say that Akaashi is as he's always been after high school and college, there is no denying his boost in confidence. After all, he had landed not one but two rather attractive partners.

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, before latching onto your neck.

The sun's scenic view on the horizon, reflecting upon the beach sands of gold and shimmering orange waves, makes for an excellent backdrop.

You turn to face Akaashi and pull him into a heated kiss. His lips convey a sense of devotion to you, and with each press of them against yours, you can feel just how bad he's yearning for more.

"Kei," you whisper. "Let's go inside."

In a moment, Akaashi whisks you off your feet quite similar to how Bokuto would, though you both don't even make it to the bedroom.

Your other partner had sat up on the sofa, hair flat on one side, scrubbing his eyelids.

"Guys, I'm freaking starving!" Bokuto groans. "Let's get some food or something."

He doesn't even notice how you and Akaashi are breathing heavy or how your clothes are sporting wrinkles that were not previously there. Regardless, Akaashi has food delivered while you went ahead to shower the day's journey away. There are still two days left. You'd get your chance with them at some point.

♥️

Sadly, the entirety of day two is spent indoors. Heavy sheets of rain continue to fall, muddying the shoreline. The three of you huddle on the sofa wrapped in blankets with subtitled movies playing in the background.

Even though you would've much rather been out exploring in the city, just sharing in your boyfriend's warmth would suffice for now. Akaashi hands you a steaming cup of something rich in both color and smell.

"What's this?"

"Just espresso." He takes the empty seat beside you.

You savor the taste while leaning against his shoulder. "Mm, nice."

Bokuto keeps his head on your lap, loving how you thread your fingers into his hair.

It is a tranquil kind of peace that soon lulls you to sleep.

Later, when you finally wake up, it's dark, and you're alone. A blanket had been tucked around your shoulders to shield you from the sudden chill. At some point, the television had been shut off along with every light in the room. You might've been a little scared if not for the voices coming from the second floor. Slowly, you creep up the winding staircase, dragging along the blanket around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto chuckles. "You're finally up!"

His hair is down, wet from his shower, and he holds a thin towel together around his waist. In his hand is a cellphone, and he doesn't hesitate to shove the screen into your face. "Say hi, Tetsu!"

"Hi Y/N, how's it going?"

You blink slowly, still trying to wake yourself up.

"Kuroo, hey… I'm well. How are you?"

"Great, just about to head out for a late lunch. I hear it's almost ten pm over there."

"Yeah, it's an eight-hour time difference."

You and Kuroo continue to chat while Bokuto towels off his hair and puts on clothes. Afterward, you let Bokuto resume his conversation and join Akaashi on the bed. The man had gone full editor-mode with his glasses propped up in his hair as he read through some work documents.

When you approach, he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. "You look well-rested."

"Is that your way of telling me I have drool on my cheek, Keiji?"

He cracks a tiny smile, eyes taking in your features, then he pokes your cheek with his index finger. "Perhaps."

You scrub the corners of your mouth with your sleeve and drape yourself over Akaashi, work be damned. This was supposed to be a special weekend for relaxing.

"I really wanted to go to the beach today." You pout.

Akaashi interlocks his fingers with yours. "Maybe we still can. It stopped raining a few hours ago."

"Really?!"

You hop off the bed and head for the window. He's right, the rain had long stopped, and the beach lay bare, lit by only the moonlight.

Maybe a short walk to the beach would do you some good.

♥️

The grains of sand feel cold against your feet without the sun to beat down on them, but you don't complain. The air is humid enough on its own that you forgo wearing actual clothes and instead wear a swimsuit along with Bokuto's old Fukurōdani windbreaker.

You walk along the shore, toes digging into the sand, letting the ocean waves lap at your feet to wash them clean again.

At first, it's so eerily quiet without a soul around except you, but even that doesn't last long. You hear Bokuto's voice bellow into the night as he jogs towards you in nothing but swim trunks. Behind him, Akaashi trails slowly after with a blanket in hand.

"We thought you might want some company." He says and spreads the cover on the sand several feet away from the water, content with just watching.

Bokuto grabs your hand and you go running to the water with him, but a second later, you both come sprinting back.

"It's freezing!"

"S-So co-co-cold!"

You collapse on top of him, fingers splayed across his bare chest. However, when you try to sit up, Bokuto has other plans. He keeps you pressed to his chest with both arms around your waist.

"Let me keep you warm, baby!"

You know he meant it in the most innocent way, but you can't help but think other thoughts. Your nerves fray at the image that blooms in your head and spreads like wildfire.

And as Akaashi strokes your back, you know he's probably read your mind.

It's the way your eyes seem to glitter with want that gives it away. Akaashi has always been rather observant, and so your silent cues are something he's always been privy to.

His nimble fingers curve around the nape of your neck, and he tilts his head to capture your lips in a kiss. This one is unlike the one from yesterday. There is no rush, no desire to quicken his haste; instead, he savors the taste of you like it's something to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Underneath you, Bokuto stirs, growing aroused at the sight of his two lovers' kiss. He can't decide whether he wants to join in or sit back and watch. But his large hand comes down to stroke your ass, resulting in a moan you breathe directly into Akaashi's mouth.

"You're not usually so forthcoming, Keiji," you whisper against his lips. "Eager, are we?"

Akaashi pulls away just enough to pepper your face in feathery kisses. "Can you blame me? When I have such a lovely girlfriend here."

As if confirming his words, he slips a hand under your jacket and cups your breast. The pads of his thumb brush along the seams of your bathing suit, caressing your nipple.

"Kou, let's show Y/N just how much we love her, yes?"

Bokuto didn't need to be told twice. He had been in entranced by you and Akaashi, completely taken by the way your lips danced upon one another. But now, he wanted more than anything to touch you, kiss you, hold you.

Bokuto cradles you in his lap, propping your legs open with his knees so Akaashi can kneel in front of you. It didn't take much for him to relieve you of your clothing, namely your swimming bottoms. But the second the air hits your bare cunt, you feel tense.

You aren't sure what it was, but the atmosphere is different. Both Akaashi and Bokuto are so focused on you, it feels like you're under a spotlight.

"You're so pretty, so beautiful," Bokuto says while squeezing your thighs. His warm breath tickles your ear as he presses his nose into your neck. Next, his lips follow suit. "Wanna fuck you, so bad baby. You'd like that, right?"

His words earn him a chuckle from Akaashi, who merely licks two of his fingers, wetting them and sliding into you. Your mouth parts, shaky breaths barely expelled from your lungs. You're hyper-aware of the fact that you're literally being fingered on a beach in the middle of the night, and you can't bring yourself to care. It feels good to be pampered by the two men you love.

For every moan, Akaashi gives you double for your efforts, thrusting his fingers just right, curving them in such a way that has your back arching off Bokuto, who has also taken to fondling your nipples. With every roll of his hips, you feel his cock against your ass, and it pushes you further into Akaashi's fingers.

Your impending orgasm sweeps by so close and yet so far away. All you can do is rock yourself faster.

"Please," you whimper. "W-Wanna come."

Akaashi crooks his fingers, pressing into the perfect spot that sends you hurtling over the edge. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching in intervals you have no control over until his hand is coated with your wet, slick juices that keep coming the more you squirt all over him.

"She's so wet 'Kaashi. Look at our pretty girl."

Akaashi places a chaste kiss on your forehead with a smile.

"She's doing well, so far. Let's see if she can keep going."

Bokuto shimmies his shorts off enough to free his hard cock. He had been uncharacteristically patient until now, but that was soon to change as he lines himself up with your cunt, teasing you with just the tip.

Your whining is unintelligible, but both men understand you more or less.

"Give the pretty girl what she wants," Akaashi says. He strokes his own hard-on at the sight of Bokuto's pushing past your wet folds. "I know she can take more than that."

Bokuto has always been girthy, and it takes you more than a few seconds to adjust to his size, but when you finally do, it feels like heaven.

The position you're in gives Bokuto all the power to thrust into you like a ragdoll. But it's only when you make eye contact with Akaashi that you realize that it's, in fact, the other way around for him in particular. From where he sits, stroking his cock with flushed cheeks and choked moans, you see just how much control you have over him.

"Kiss me." You moan.

Akaashi doesn't let you repeat yourself. He kisses you long and hard even as you grip his throat with one hand and his hair with the other. He kisses you until his lips are red and bruised.

"Good boy. Both of y-you."

Bokuto groans loudly. "Say it again. Keep saying it!"

"Y-You're both so good. I-" your hips stutter against Akaashi's fingers that are rubbing circles into your clit. "Good, so good-"

That's all it takes to take Bokuto over the edge, blowing his load. "Perfect, so fucking perfect."

You can feel another orgasm swelling up inside your belly. You try to tell them but can't, too overcome by the feeling of your body tingling with desire. It's too much, overwhelmingly so; your vision blurs with unshed tears as Bokuto continues to pound into sopping pussy. Pleasure floods every fiber of your being until you're limp and every nerve in your body is set alight.

Bokuto slips out of you easily, a string of his semen following.

You can only look on in a drowsy haze as Bokuto leans over and kisses you and then Akaashi, working him over with a tight fist.

♥️

The following morning, you’re the first to wake, but only because there’s a limb jammed into your back and a heavy weight on your chest. It takes you a moment to realize, but it’s Bokuto’s elbow poking you and Akaashi’s head resting on you.

All three of you are a tangle of limbs in bed, but you aren’t sure how you’d gotten there.

“G’mornin’” Bokuto breathes. His lips caress the column of your neck.

“Morning.”

You shift into a more comfortable position. Though doing so presses Akaashi’s morning wood against your thigh.

“Keiji, you awake yet?”

“Mmm barely.” Akaashi looks up at you through his lashes, then smiles and nuzzles closer into your chest.

Bokuto, content with being your big spoon, reaches over to touch Akaashi, hands cupping his cheek. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“That’s true, should we do something special.”

Thinking about the previous night, you feel desire stirring in your gut. “Could we just... do it again?”

Both men look to each other then back at you, sporting matching smiles.

“Why not?”

[lazywonderlvnd]

Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly. 

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him. 

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it. 

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

*

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning. 

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences. 

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I’d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils. 

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

*

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

*

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather. 

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

 At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

[sukumen]

CONGRATS ON 2.5k!!!!!! so so deserved!! also i don’t think i ever told u this but you were my first ever mutual on here and i just 💞💕💞💕 if it’s still open can i request bakugou + exes to lovers?

HOORAY FOR 2.5K --- AU/TROPE FICLETS: bakugou x exes to lovers.

notes: things we already knew about me: i overwrite. WOW! this got so long, but i had so much freaking fun with it, i can’t even tell you. it’s my first time writing bakugou and i hope i did him justice, especially with this trope that i love. thank you so so much for the support and love victoria - it’s an honor to have been your first mutual!!!! i hope you enjoy this~

summary: it was an odd match from the start, you and katsuki --- at least that’s what you tell him when you walk away after a year and a half. as you leave, you remind yourself of the probability your quirk had read the night of your first date - 73% chance of breaking up. not certain, sure, but high enough to help you through missing him: this was always going to happen. you tell yourself the same thing a year later when he becomes your protection detail at a support item expo that’s received a major threat: being in the same industry, you were always going to cross paths.

but, over the course of your week together, you start to realize that not everything has a rational explanation, a logical way in or out. not Katsuki, and certainly not the way he makes you feel.

quirk details: reader has a quirk that grants insight into the probability of an outcome occurring. ultimately, she can analyze a situation and determine within seconds how likely a specific outcome is if she was to move forward with all variables unchanged. she uses it primarily to design her support items, but can also use it in personal situations too. notably, she used it to work out how likely it was that she and bakugou were going to break up in a misguided attempt to deal with her feelings.

key limitations: scenarios have to be simple for her quirk to work - she can only determine if something will or won’t happen, not what will happen. the information she has will impact the accuracy of her prediction; this means that using it for personal situations - which often rely on the complicated emotions of other people - can be tricky. but, being emotional too, she doesn’t always remember that….

Snippet (2.7k, slight nsfw at the end):

Your flight ends too quickly for your liking, the walk to the arrivals gate even more so. Katsuki is waiting for you under a Starbucks sign as planned with arms folded over his chest while a second hero - a newcomer to the rankings - makes small talk beside him. 

As you move in their direction, time follows in slow motion, each step rigid as you’re reminded of the day you’d walked the other way and out of his life. You’d been strong willed then and hadn’t turned once to see the look in his eyes as you went. But now, you can’t look anywhere but him, not even when the other hero notices you and waves for your attention.

He hasn’t changed much in the year apart. There’s a littering of scars that you’d noticed on the news and are seeing for the first time in person; but otherwise, Katsuki is the same man you’d always known, imposing but in a way that’s nearly comforting after his years in the public eye.

He seems to be watching you right back, but where your gaze is full of scrutiny, his is practically empty. Looking right through you as you draw near, which doesn’t change even when you still in front of them.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giving an awkward half-bow that you hope neither of them read too much into. The person beside Katsuki - hero name Phantom - introduces themselves right back, their bow deeper before they return to their rambling. They’re too caught up to note the way you and Katsuki don’t share names with each other and, with the moment lost, have gone to avoiding each other’s eyes altogether.  

The tension lasts until the other support item maker - a man you recognize from the flight - emerges from baggage claim. The sight of him shifts the tides and you all start to gather your things for the hotel. Katsuki still hasn’t said a word to you, though if the others have noticed, it doesn’t show. You, of course, have and even as you trail behind him and Phantom to make small talk with the other designer, your eyes linger over his broad back.

Somehow, you’d expected more...anger when he saw you next. 

Of course, this calm is pleasant, especially when you’re in public. But, there’s something about it that’s disappointing as well. Leaves you with an emptiness in your gut that you push past with animated conversation with your new companion.

[ … ] 

“Who was she?” Your eyes screw shut before the words even make it out. How embarrassing --- all that talk to yourself about letting it go and you fold not even three steps into your shared suite. It’s none of your business who she is -- it’s none of your business what he does. But, your heart twists every time you think about the two of them in the back of the welcoming party. You’ve never seen him like that - at least not from an outsider’s lens - leaning into another person so closely and the curiosity comes tumbling out of you before you can stop it.

Katsuki is silent for a long while; long enough that you almost think he hadn’t heard you. But, the stiffness in his shoulders tells you aren’t so lucky and after a moment of you watching him untie his shoes, he finally turns to look at you. The glance is brief, but poignant, before his focus returns to himself --- this time, his tie. “I don’t think you’re in any place to be asking me that,” he grunts, tugging at the fabric until it loosens.

Embarrassment sears your throat, a sting you feel behind the eyes as you turn them towards the floor. It’s bad enough that you’d given into the urge to ask, but Katsuki being so straightforward is mortifying. He’s right, of course, but what makes it worse is that he’s not even trying to belittle you with that answer. He means it as simply and plainly as he’s said it: you’re in no position to ask him to tell you something like that.

Self-indulgence from you is rare and you find it’s for this very reason. When you step out of the safety of your logic, your equations, your reasoning, you always manage to trip yourself up. Even now, you want to push, misplaced jealousy gnashing its teeth at the back of your mind. But, his response has sobered you  and you lock it and your curiosity up tight with a stiff apology and a goodnight.

Katsuki doesn’t look up again until your door closes behind you.

[ … ] 

When the chaos has gone, and dust settled, a gang of thirty-something villains is in handcuffs and you’re banged up; ankle throbbing, but very much alive. You haven’t seen Katsuki since he’d stashed you away with the others with a promise to come back, but you’ve heard enough steady explosions to think he must be okay. 

Still, you want proof. When the panic room door opens with a creak, his face isn’t the first you see, but it’s all you’re thinking about. Him, and getting back to him. You want to say it’s the last of your adrenaline, but even you know better. Know adrenaline from longing well, even with your limited experience and you let yourself admit something you’ve hidden for twelve months.

You miss him. 

And even with the lengthy process that usually follows a villain attack, this will likely be the last full day you’ll have with him for the rest of your life.

The realization makes the panic room shrink to a quarter of the size, pain punching air out of your lungs so fast your vision swims. You need to go, you tell yourself, Katsuki’s promise lost in the static of your upset -- you can’t be here right now.

Your ankle smarts when you start putting real pressure on it, but the pain isn’t enough to stop you from pushing to the front of the line to leave.  With each step past someone else, you hear sneers and you think you apologize, but when you’re so cotton-mouthed, you can’t really be sure.

Either way, it doesn’t slow you. The madness makes it easy to peel away from the crowd and though it takes you some time, you don’t stop until you’ve made it outside where you can breathe. For everything that’s happened in the last forty-five minutes, the island’s relatively unaffected, air as cool and breezy as every other night that week. The only real sign of the attack where you are are sirens and voices rising from the other side of the expo center - where you imagine Katsuki to be. 

The thought - that he’s so close - should be comforting, but your despair does good work to keep it bittersweet; to remind you that it won’t be for much longer. It has to be selfish to be so upset when this had all been your choice to begin with; but for the first time since the breakup, you don’t try to explain away what you’re feeling. To dissect and rationalize so you can avoid it altogether. 

For the first time since the breakup, you let it all in.

[ … ]

It takes Katsuki fifteen minutes to find you. Each one finds him more agitated than the last as he works himself up, searching every space by the now empty panic room to figure out where you’d gone. 

At first, he’d assumed the best - that you’d been ushered with the rest of the group to the lobby waiting with police and paramedics. But, a quick skim of the crowd came up empty for your familiar face and panic set in not long after. 

An admittedly tense conversation with the officer that had unsealed the room revealed that one civilian - a woman with a noticeable limp - had broken away from the group just as the doors opened. It’d done well to calm him, knowing someone had seen you after the fighting was over, but he’s hardly settled, if the way he stomps through the floor is anything to go by. “She never fucking listens,” he growls to no one in particular, eyes narrowed in razor sharp focus. 

He’s worked up, above all, by his worry. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t vaguely wounded by the fact you hadn’t let him come back like promised. It draws him back, despite his best efforts, to the day you left --- the day you told him in no uncertain terms that you’d always expected one of you to leave, what with that know-it-all quirk of yours.

He’d felt then as he does now: utterly untrusted. Like he’s behind without even knowing there’s a race --- like he’s lost without any hope to catch up. He doesn’t like it, feeling that way again, and it gets him so unnerved that he starts to revert to old habits. Shoulders bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets, and, notably, taking a foot to every door that could stand between him and wherever the hell you’ve disappeared to. 

When he finds you, finally, behind the fourth, it’s with a kick so firm it turns your sob into a strangled squeak. 

[ ... ] 

“I thought I told you to stay put---” There’s venom in Katsuki’s voice, but a sort you know well. Worried more than enraged, even if his expressive face doesn’t show it. You move to answer, but he steps in before you can, eyes locked eerily on your face. “...Why the hell are you crying?” You reach up for your wet cheeks, cursing internally; you’d hoped to be well through this before you faced him again so the question catches you off guard. Long enough that Katsuki can close the distance and kneel at your feet, pulling your fingers away from your face so he can inspect it. “You gonna say something or what? Did someone hurt you?” 

You can tell he’s biting his tongue, tempering his rage until he’s sure there’s something to rage about. But even that muted anger can be dangerous and you’re quick to shake your head, hands coming up again to wipe your face. “No! No, it’s...just my ankle. From before, when we were running.”

Relief spreads in Katsuki’s face hearing that, like he’s grateful that that’s all it is. But, his frown stays put, deepening some when he reaches down for your ankle and watches your expression sour from the touch. “Hm. Doesn’t seem broken or anything.” He turns thoughtfully towards the building behind him, stilling at the sounds rising from the busy lobby. You try to glean purpose from his face, but have to wait until he speaks up again to work out what he’s doing. “‘S gonna take ages for them to see you right now. I can wrap your ankle up at the hotel and take you in for a check up before tomorrow’s flight.” 

You nod wordlessly, grateful for the chance to avoid anyone else for the night.

[ … ]

The quiet in your suite as Katsuki carries you in is a blessing.

You hadn’t realized how badly overwhelmed you were until you’d been alone on the balcony, so even just a few minutes going through the expo center was too much. Katsuki had picked up on it and hesitated very little in hoisting you up so you could move quickly through the crowd and rubble.

You’d insisted he didn’t need to do it at all, let alone again in the hotel; but just one glance at you down the slope of his nose had silenced you.

The first thing he does when the door shuts behind you is set you down on the couch, warning you to stay still with a look alone. When you’re settled, he disappears into his room before emerging with an impressively stocked first aid kit. And for the second time that night, he’s on his knees for you, taking your swollen ankle in hand to inspect it more closely. 

With so much happening earlier, his touch on the balcony was easy to drown out. Now, there’s nowhere to focus but him and the press from his palm as it cups your bare skin. He runs a thumb over scratches you hadn’t noticed, the way he traces the lines almost pensive, before his attention turns to the kit beside him. 

You, all the while, are stock still, frozen from the heat of his touch. It’s nothing compared to his mouth or the weight of his full body, but after so many months apart, it bowls you over all the same.

You don’t notice you’re crying again until he says something.

“You’re not crying over the ankle,” he says simply, though his touch softens just in case as he brings it into his lap with some bandage wrap.

You don’t know what it is, but something in the way he asks compels your honesty and you nod, feeling pathetic as you sniffle and look down at your hands.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on then?”

You swallow thickly, words already threatening to bubble up like they had the night of the welcoming party. “I...I don’t think I can.” Or should, rather - you don’t need to use your quirk to know that nothing good could come out of this.

But, Katsuki is firm, shaking his head as he starts to wind the first layer of bandage carefully around your ankle. “Well, I’m sayin’ you can. So, don’t go crying by yourself for some dumb reason like that. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to. But if you do, you can.” 

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s a given. And beside your better judgment, you lean into that open assuredness. You’d always loved it about him, after all --- the way he so firmly believes that nothing could stop him - or anyone - if he didn’t let it. For some people, it was self-importance, but nights holding him after good and bad days had taught you otherwise -- it was bravery.

Bakugou Katsuki was the bravest man you’d ever known. A blaze that shone so bright on its own that you felt out of place beside him -- like you couldn’t give him what he needed --  and decided for you both that that meant you didn’t have a chance. 

But, in the quiet of your suite, with Katsuki sitting comfortably at your feet, you decide that maybe he’s rubbed off on you some. That maybe, in your time alone, you’ve become a lot braver than you realized.

So, you suck in a deep breath, look him square in the eye, and tell him the truth.

“I miss you, Katsuki.”

[ … ]

He holds your hands to the mattress so tight they hurt, but the ache is welcome. You know him well, even now, and can read between the lines of your intertwined fingers. 

He’d missed you too.

All these days of looking through you, past you had been intentional to protect himself, but here, now, he’s completely laid bare. Mouth kiss swollen and eyes lined with tears he’ll wave off later, Katsuki is spilling out every ounce of love he’d held back the day you told him you’d always planned to leave.

You meet him halfway with an arch off the bed to chase his kisses and tell him that you love him --- and you’re sorry --- between each one.

The weight of his body is as precious as you remember and the heat of your tangled limbs lulls you into a daze that pulls your eyes shut.

Katsuki doesn’t notice at first as he’s dragging his mouth over your bare neck, but when he does, he’s quickly displeased. “Look at me,” he hisses, fingers tightening between yours. Your eyes open heavily and it takes you a moment to find his gaze in the darkness. But, once you’re back, he presses his forehead to yours and slowly, carefully presses forward until his cock’s stretched you to the hilt.

The fill feels like coming home. 

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

[aka-ashi-keiji]

Bittersweet

Akaashi Keiji

soft angst, unrequited love

a/n: this was for a school assignment lmao but i really really enjoyed writing it, even though love stories are def not my forte :(( but angst definitely is, so enjoy!!

Keiji, such a beautiful name. This was the name of someone who you held so closely to your heart, but weren’t necessarily as close to his. Despite this fact, the fondation in which your friendship was built off of will always overpower your sense of heartbreak as you realize that not all the feelings you feel for Keiji are reciprocated. The earliest memories your mind encapsulated revolved around the amount of time you spent with him as a child. Your mothers being best friends and your houses set on the same street, you each had a “built in best friend”, as your parents would like to tell you. And it was true, he was your best friend all through the enjoyable years of grades kindergarten to fifth. As well as staying through the hell bound years of grades six to twelve. 

The core memories accumulated through the daily interactions between you two, stood out so brightly in your mind even years after graduation. Racing each other down hills even though those races always ended with either you or both of you with scraped knees. the scars still graced your skin and were visible under the skirt you wore to your office job day in and day out. Spending time sat in the shade provided by your house, in the backyard as your backs faced each other. On these days of your early preteen years, Keiji would bring you a new book every time, insisting that you would adore it. You nearly always did, and when you think about it now you’re not entirely sure if you truly did like these books, or if you just adored the person sitting with his back to yours as he read the same set of words. 

Despite whether you adored the books or if you adored him subconsciously, this admiration soon became a conscious thought that consumed your entire being. It all started with the garden of flowers that grew near the back door. Tiger lilies, roses, tulips, all varieties of each end of the color spectrum, definitely the second most beautiful thing that took part of Keiji’s household. The first being obvious, but nonetheless beautiful. But one specific flower soon had woven its roots of beauty and simplicity into your mind. Forget-me-Nots were simple, easy to overlook, kinda like Keiji and yourself. But when examined closely, they were completely immersed with beauty. Or, that’s what he would tell you everytime he handed you a bundle of these precious plants. Every morning since fourth grade, you would walk with Keiji to school. Every single one of these walks began the same. Around when you both were first years in high school, you finally asked. 

“Why do you give Forget-Me-Nots every morning?” 

To which he replied with, “Maybe if I give you them enough, you’ll never forget me.”

At this point in time, you had become conscious of the romantic feelings you had for keiji, but you could see it in the way he looked at you and in the way he gazed at the girl who sat next to you in English. His eyes weren’t tainted with the same love you felt for him, his eyes only became tainted when they were focused on her. 

You had read about this, the emotion of something much worse than a breakup. Unrequited love. The concept only existed in stories you read with the person who manifested this fictional feeling into your reality. But that feeling started to dull as his closeness started to become tainted just as your eyes had been for so many years. This had started your third and final year of high school, after the girl you sat next to in english had dumped him on his birthday. You were at that party, you watched it happen, You watched as she laughed with another the next day, while Keiji wept into your shoulder. You had never seen such genuine and painful tears spring from his beautiful dark blue eyes. His eyes were no longer tainted with that love, but instead flowed through to his actions. 

He started to linger longer after walking you home, bringing books over ‘just because’. He stayed for dinner now on the days where he would normally be out on a date, and not just on the weekends like before. Everything that unrequited love had taken from you, was now slowly making its way back into your life. The taint that still clung to your eyes seemed to force yourself to see the same emotions through his actions. Maybe this unrequited love was finally starting to go both ways. You knew in the back of your love sick brain that you were just being hopeful, and that he most likely was just being himself and his love was still only platonic. But a heart that had been bruised so many times can only handle the bleeding inside for so long. 

Your emotions had begun to spur your actions, linking your arms with his in the halls at school, legs over his lap as you both read on the couch, the grazing of your knuckles when you two walked too close together. He too, mimicked these habits. His head finding its way to your shoulder as you two studied, squeezing your hand when he sensed your unease, and even the smallest glance of his daring eyes seemed to hold yours for a second longer than would be comfortable, but it was comfortable with him. Even though the words never came from Keiji’s lips, you could’ve sworn you felt them with every move. I love you too. 

One day however, your feelings became too great to live in your mind. The love that manifested in fourth grade in his backyard was finally going to be voiced and accepted into the world. This day was like any other school routine, but the excitement and nausea was the catch. You waited patiently to hear Keiji’s strong but subtle footsteps come into earshot as you waited on your porch. Once they had, your heart nearly pulled you to his side, the giddiness concerning Keiji. 

“Are you alright? Are you cold, you're shaking.” He asked quietly as he began to take off his uniform blazer. Oh only if he knew. He placed it over your shoulders and began to reach back to the side of his school bag as you softly thanked him. What happened next was something so completely normal, but it still made your cheeks dust pink everytime. And today was no exception. He held out a single bundle of the precious flowers, his soft subtle smile gracing his face. You smiled back brightly as you took them, and with that you started your commute. 

You nervously picked at the stems as you fought the urge to just blurt out your confession. You nearly decided against it, but you shook your head as you promised to go through with it. You owed it to yourself, after all the years of pain you unnecessarily had put yourself through. And even though you knew you had to come clean, you still feared that maybe this was just a side effect of a love sick brain and a heart damaged by an emotion you read in a teen fiction book in seventh grade.  But that taint in your eyes never left and it remained glossy as ever. So as your steps fell in time with Keiji’s, you spoke. 

“I like you” 

He slowed down a bit and turned his head to see you staring at the gift he had given you. “What?” You both had stopped in your tracks now. Slowly but surely, your eyes connected to his and with one look, the taint had spread through your body and infected your heart. 

“I like you, or actually I love you.” You stammered out, the weight that sat so heavily on your head and heart finally receded. But soon returned as the air around Keiji was filled with silence. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.” You spoke again, hope filling your voice. You smiled at him as his eyes had suddenly become a shade darker. 

“Oh.” One word, that’s all you got. And that one word shattered the taint that covered your heart, and bruised it once more. 

“Oh?” you questioned, silently begging for more of an answer. Hoping for the answer you wanted. But you knew you wouldn’t get. His eyes still bore into yours, your smile fading along with any hope of this going the way your feelings had told you it would. 

After the few seconds that felt like eons, his explanation finally fell from his lips. The words gentle, but still sharp enough to draw blood. 

“Y/n look, y’know I care about you and I’ll always be your best friend but it’s just that-” 

You cut him off, you knew what he was about to say and if he said it, it would’ve split your heart in two. You saying it didn’t dull the damage as much as you hoped. 

“You still love her, huh?” You asked quietly, your heart pumping adrenaline into your veins, every muscle in your body working together to keep tears from falling. You didn;t want the answer even though you already knew it. You knew it from the start, you knew that fictional emotion wasn’t fiction and unfortunately, it was permanent. But you couldn’t blame yourself, you were sick, too love sick for your own good. And something you wished that book had told you, was that unrequited love could be deadly. 

A single nod was all it took. And when you think about that day now, you remind yourself that you should really listen to the thoughts that stick around long enough. The thoughts that don’t deter even when you have the strongest of feelings. You didn’t know how to feel, or what to say. In all honesty, what could you do? So you did the one thing you had mastered over all these years, you hid your true feelings.

“Okay, that’s alright!” You said brightly, beginning to walk once again. His steps fell in time with yours, and he even tried to apologize, apologize for being honest. But you assured him that it was okay, that you two were okay. You couldn’t be mad, but that didn;t stop you from being broken. It was true, your friendship continued as always, never letting the side effects of unrequited love over power the strength of the love manifested in your friendship. 

You both soon graduated, promising to keep in touch. And that you did. You both began to travel quite a lot after university, your jobs moving you all around the globe. But the tradition of the flowers that grew in Keiji’s backyard never ceased no matter the distance. They may have not shown up everyday, but they made their way to you on most occasions. 

On one very specific day, the day your first company launched, the bouquet of the dainty little flowers made their way to your office desk. However this time, they came with a note. 

“You didn’t forget me yet did you? I always knew you’d do great things. Congratulations y/n, come visit soon. I have some new books I think you’ll adore. 

- K.”

You could never forget him, you couldn’t ever forget Keiji even if you wanted to. The memory of him brought you back to that emotion that only existed in the fiction books you read in seventh grade. It wasn’t fiction, it was most definitely and undeniably real. Unrequited love was bitter, but with Keiji it was also sweet. And that’s something you could never forget. 

************************************************

a/n pt. two: as an akaashi simp and stan this hurt my heart.

part two is under construction :))

[justanotherblonde23]

An Unexpected Surprise - A Marcus Moreno Story

Author’s Note: So with some encouraging from my friends, I decided to post my writing! I know that technically we don’t know anything about Marcus Moreno, but that superhero dad has been taking up space in my mind rent free all week. I tagged people that I know wanted to read this and a few that I thought might enjoy it. Please let me know what you think! -Kat 

Content Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), P in V

Tags: @autumnleaves1991-blog @dindjarindiaries @frannyzooey @zeldasayer @hdlynnslibrary @jollyrancher87 @bisexual-space-slut @woakiees @scribbledghost @softpedropascal @catfishingmorales

Marcus trudged into the house, it was at least 2 in the morning, and he was absolutely exhausted. He was always exhausted these days; his age was catching up to him. He may be a part of the Heroics, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t getting older. He was balancing heroism, kids, a spouse, and trying to give them some semblance of a normal life. He was ready to retire, be involved in every aspect of the kids’ lives, and see his wife in more than just the middle of the night and before leaving for work. He had given enough of his life to the service of the world; now, it was about time to provide all of himself to his family. Missy, his eldest, was already 11 and getting older every single day. Jules, the baby of the family, was about to turn 5, just about to leave the toddler years behind her. He felt as if he had missed so much of their lives; he didn’t want to miss anymore. 

Most of the house lights had been turned off, signaling that most of the inhabitants were fast asleep. He hoped that at least he could get a kiss or two from the woman he loved. Maybe she would still be awake. He made his way up the stairs, checking the kids’ rooms. He planted soft kisses on their foreheads, smiling at their serene expressions. What beautiful little girls he had, he was the luckiest father in the world. 

He frowned, opening the door to the master bedroom; the soft glow of artificial light bathed the room in a yellow haze. There she was, his love, sitting in the middle of the bed, clearly wide awake, wearing her glasses and frowning at the hologram in front of her. Someone was working even later than Marcus himself. He took in her form; she still hadn’t noticed him quite yet. She was wearing a silky nightie that hit her upper thigh and a matching robe loosely tied around her. His cock stirred in his pants. Even as spent as he was from the day, the view in front of him made him want to take her to bed and fuck her senseless. 

“Dr. Moreno, hard at work, I see,” he teased. 

Her eyes shot up, smirking at him. I’m not quite Dr. Moreno yet, Marcus. You’d have to marry me first,” she teased. 

“We had a ceremony-” he started.

“And someone still hasn’t mailed the marriage certificate, even though it’s been two months. All you gotta do is bring it to the post office, baby. I’d do it myself, but somebody insisted that he’d be the one to do it.” 

Marcus groaned, falling onto the bed beside his wife (that’s what she was to him, even if he didn’t mail the marriage certificate yet). He heard some shuffling and a command for her AI system to file the holograms working on for the night. He’d lived with her for four years now, and he still hadn’t gotten used to all her tech. If he was a hero in name, she was the genius behind every piece of technology in his arsenal, as well as all of the other members of the Heroics. Her superpower was her mind, that gorgeous, intricate, genius mind of hers. Her ability to retain information, learn, critically think, and create was almost impossible to fathom truly. At 33, she had twelve doctorates in various fields, including engineering, physics, nanotechnology, and art history. Her thirst for knowledge and eagerness to invent was unparalleled, even among other enhanced individuals. He would never stop singing her praises; she was a wonder. 

“Marcus, baby, do you wanna shower and go to bed? It’s late.” 

He sighed, starting to relax into the feeling of her fingers carding through his hair. “Baby, if you keep that up, I’m gonna fall asleep right here and now. I took a shower at HQ before I left, so I’m good.” He opened his eyes when her fingers stilled, looking up at the beautiful woman with the soft smile leaning over him. 

“Do you think you can stay up for a little bit longer, honey? I have a surprise for you.” 

He sat up, scooting up against the headboard, kicking off his shoes. He felt wide awake now. His wife wasn’t typically one for surprises on any old day. He wracked his mind, trying to make sure that he hadn’t missed her birthday, their dating anniversary, or any other consequential, momentous occasion. 

“I didn’t forget a special day, did I? Fuck, amor. I’m so sorry if I did. I’ve been spread so damn thin since the wedding; I’ve been running around like a madman.” 

She placed a tiny cream-colored box in his hands, his wife sitting right in front of him, eyes sparkling with excitement. “You didn’t miss anything, Marcus, just open the box. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

He nodded, pulling at the perfect bow holding the box closed, carefully opening the lid. For a minute, he just stared at the contents of the box, his eyes wide with shock. Ever so slowly, he picked up a pair of teeny baby booties, placing them in his large palm. He took the second item out, a pregnancy test that digitally read, PREGNANT. His hands began to shake; tears began to overflow, tracking down his cheeks. He looked up, his gaze locked on the woman in front of him. 

“Sweetheart, are we-? Are you-? We’re- we’re having a baby?” he managed to choke out. 

There was one more item in the box, at the bottom, an ultrasound labeled Baby Moreno. He studied the picture intently, his thumb moving over the little blob on the paper. That was his baby, their baby. They were having a baby. 

“Holy shit,” he murmured, “we’re having a baby!”

A giggle made him raise his eyes once again. “That’s what I said, too. I’m about ten weeks along now. You’re going to be a daddy of three, Marcus Moreno.” 

He scooped up everything in his lap, dumping it on the nightstand. He quickly grabbed his wife, flipping her so that she was under him. He covered her face in kisses, whispering how beautiful she was, how she was so loved, so treasured, so cherished. How their baby was made of nothing but love, how they were precious cargo, and how he would protect both of them every single day of his life. He kissed down her jaw, down her neck, eliciting breathy moans from the woman underneath him. His kisses went lower and lower until he reached her belly, pulling her nightie up around her waist so that he could get to her bare stomach. He planted dozens of kisses all over her belly, in awe of the life growing in there. 

“Hey baby, it’s your daddy,” he cooed softly. “Your mommy and I already love you, little one, and you’ll have two big sisters that I just know will love you too. I can’t wait for you to be here, little baby. I promise I’ll be here for you.” 

He looked adoringly at the mother of his youngest child, grinning as if his world had been made complete, and in all honesty, it had been. This baby, this tiny little one growing inside of the woman that he loved most, filled a hole in his heart that he hadn’t even been aware of. 

He bit down on his lower lip, smirking while ever so slowly pulling off her panties. He would lavish the woman he loved with every ounce of devotion, adoration, and love he had to offer. A breathless Oh please, Marcus was all he needed to motivate him to continue. He opened her legs up, giving him access to her slit, wet and wanting. He groaned, the sight making his mouth water. If he had it his way, Marcus could spend hours between her thighs. Two fingers lightly toyed with her slit, moving up and down, collecting her slick. 

“Look at you, baby, so wet for me, and I’ve barely touched you. If this is what pregnancy does to you, amor, I might have to start keeping better work hours so I can spend my time between your thighs.” 

He could see her hips try to follow his fingers, desperate for more than he was giving her. “Marcus, don’t tease, please,” she whined. He chuckled, easily giving in to her pleas. He couldn’t say no to her, not tonight. 

He buried his head between her legs, tongue coming out to lick a broad strip all the way to the top of her slit, his nose nudging her clit. She tasted like heaven, making him moan into her core, sending pleasurable shivers up her spine. He speared his tongue into her, getting as deep as he could, fucking her pussy with his tongue while her fingers tangled themselves in his curls. He kept exploring her folds with his tongue, hitting all the spots he knew would make her see stars. 

He easily pushed in two fingers, causing her to buck her hips up, matching his pace. He focused his tongue on her clit, alternating between drawing lazy circles and sucking her into his mouth. His fingers hit that sweet spot inside her with every thrust, bringing her closer and closer to her release. Before he knew it, she was cumming around his fingers, squeezing him tight and pulling him deeper. His mouth flooded with the taste that was uniquely hers, prompting him to moan. He could feel himself rock hard in his pants, leaking with his arousal. 

He crawled off the bed, swiftly ridding himself of his clothes, placing his glasses safely on the nightstand. He grabbed her glasses as well, placing them next to his own. She had shrugged off her robe and nightie, languidly watching him, her eyes blown wide with desire. 

“Marcus, I need you inside of me,” she begged. His large cock rested heavy against his stomach, tip red and leaking. The thought of him inside of her was almost too much. She needed him, and she needed him right now. 

He settled over her, catching her lips in a deep, earth-shattering kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, letting her taste herself. Marcus was intoxicating, enthralling, and all she wanted was more. Finally, they broke apart, panting slightly. 

“Dr. Moreno, my lovely wife, mother of my child, let me make love to you. Let me show you how happy you make me, sweetheart. I want to make you touch the sky,” he whispered into her ear. 

She beamed at him, cradling his cheek gently. “Yes, baby, I’m all yours.” He leaned back in, catching her into another searing kiss. He worked his length up and down her slit, coating himself in her slick, bumping her clit a few times in the process. At last, he began to leisurely enter her, inch by inch. They both groaned when he bottomed out, fully seated inside of her. 

“Fuck honey, you’re just so tight, so wet, so warm for me,” he whimpered, moving inside her with slow, deep strokes. He wanted to make this last, to draw out her pleasure. With every thrust, he told her how good she felt, how beautiful she looked underneath him, how her pussy was made for him, how perfect she was. He could’ve gone like that for quite some time, slowly bringing her closer and closer to her high. Only her pleas of more, faster, harder made him speed up. 

He grabbed one of her legs, placing it higher on his hip, allowing him to hit deeper inside her. Her hips moved in unison with his own, meeting each thrust into her. He would never get tired of the pretty sounds she made for him when he was fucking her. Those breathy moans she let out, the babbling it all spurred him on. He could tell she was close. She always got so fucking wet and even tighter right before she came. He dropped a hand between them, rubbing hard, tight circles around her clit. Not even a half dozen thrusts later, and she was wailing in ecstasy, clamping down on him like a vice. He wasn’t far behind, spilling himself deep within her, muttering her name over and over like a prayer. 

He rolled off of her, panting, taking a minute to catch his breath as he gazed at her blissed-out form. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips swollen from his kisses to Marcus, she was stunning. He couldn’t think of a moment when she was more gorgeous than right then and there. He could look at her forever, just like this. 

Eventually, he got up and grabbed a warm cloth, gently cleaning her off. Turning off the light, he climbed back into bed, pulling her body to his, cradling her close. He let his hand wander, rubbing soothing circles over her belly. 

“You’re gonna look so stunning, honey, all round with our baby. I promise I’ll take such good care of you. I’ll do whatever you need.” 

He could feel his wife sigh, completely relaxed in his arms. He held her close, basking in her warmth and the love between them. He let his mind wander, thinking of the future, thinking of this baby. 

“I’m gonna cut back at work, move more into an advisory role in the Heroics. As your pregnancy progresses, I’ll be able to work from home and take a solid chunk of paternity leave when the baby comes. I’ve given enough of myself to the world. It’s time for me to give everything I can to my family, to you, to the girls, to this baby. I’ll go drop off the marriage certificate tomorrow before I go into HQ to talk about restructuring my job. That way, you’ll officially be Dr. Moreno, even though you’ve already been that to me for a long time.” 

She answered him with a happy sigh and kisses to his hand that entwined with hers. “I’d like that, Marcus. It might be selfish, but I want you here, with us. We love you so much; it’s nice when you’re here. It makes our family complete.” 

They spent a few more minutes talking about the future, drifting off into deep, dreamless sleep. The thought of tomorrow was full of bright promises, just waiting to be embraced. 

[trashytummiez]

Bubbly Bottle Caps

I got this idea from @squidbiscuit‘s latest drawing of James after drinking way too much soda.  I love bois who get really bloated and burpy from soda like that and the jiggly belly on James was just too much to ignore.  >///<;

"EEEEEEEEI!!!  What marvelous luck!!”  James squealed in his posh accent.  The Team Rocket scoundrel and his partner in crime, Jessie, made out like the bandits they were with this latest snag.  While Jessie and Meowth were busy gawking at the cargo they may have some luck selling off to some of their other Team Rocket associates, James had his eyes on the real prize.

About a dozen rare, imported glass soda bottles.  No.  Seriously.

His eyes practically turned to hearts when he leaned down and observed the sparkling bottle caps atop each one.  They were all rare, unique from one another, and sparkled almost as much as James’ excited, glassy eyes.

“Marvelous!  Simply maaaaarvelous!!”  James exclaimed in his flamboyant tone of voice.  “My Bottle Cap collection’s about to get sooooo much sparklier!!”  James cheered in a voice much more higher pitched than usual.  He got very excited when it came to his bottle cap collection.  It was sometimes hard to tell if it was sad or kind of adorable.

He immediately unscrewed the cap to one soda.  Then, he brought the cap mere inches from his eyeballs.  He observed its every inch, admiring its perfect form with the same attention and adoration one would convey admiring a diamond. 

To James, there was no difference between the two.

He eagerly set the bottle cap into his pocket then grabbed the next bottle.  But before he could twist the prized cap off, he stopped and looked down at the first drink he disregarded for the cap.  The young, blue-haired villain picked up the bottle and looked it over.  He carefully sniffed at the fizzing top.  

It was a crisp vanilla cream soda, which happened to be James’ favorite brand of soda.  Not only that, but even though they were on the clock and wanted to get the goods in and out as soon as possible, James wasn’t one to waste anything.  Least of all delicious, creamy-tasting and crisp soda.  

Against his better judgement, James brought the soda bottle to his lips and began to drink the bottle.  It quickly dawned on him that if he was going to get his caps and deal with the soda in a non-wasteful manner, he’d need to hurry it up.  So, the young villain went from drinking his soda to downright chugging it.  His throat bobbed while he slugged his bottle down.  It was a genuine shame to have to rush through the drink, but it was easy to chug, simply because it tasted so unbelievably good.

He finished it in impressive time, huffing but then smacking his lips at the flavor.  “Mmmm, sweet as pie!”  James said happily.  Then, he grabbed another bottle and popped off the cap.  Once again, he was gawking like a giant nerd at the beautiful cap and how great it would look with some of the others.  Then, he pocketed the cap and, like the first bottle, decided to guzzle it down.

Two bottles down, James burped into his fist then grabbed his third bottle.  But when he popped the cap off, his stomach gurgled loudly, making him feel a little uncomfortable.  He paused and rubbed his black-clad stomach gently from under his white Team Rocket Uniform.  Burping again under his breath, James huffed.  He had an appetite and had been known for overindulging a bit too often, both he and Jessie alike were known for that, but he wasn’t used to chugging so much soda at once.  His gurgling stomach told him that this wasn’t a good idea.  But that stubborn side of him that both loved the taste of this particular soda and hated wasting food or drink alike won out. 

So, he pocketed his third bottle cap and guzzled the drink down.  He would’ve paced himself, but he didn’t want to leave Jessie or Meowth waiting or for them to stick around longer than they needed.  Lord knows they’ve had egg on their face far too many times to wanna deal with another blunder when things were actually going well with this latest scheme.

Especially with these glorious bottle caps on the line.

After downing his third bottle, James couldn’t help but let out a large burp, definitely a lot bigger than he was expecting.  He covered his mouth and blushed after.  He took a moment to place a hand on his stomach when it grumbled again.  It was starting to feel bloated, and definitely heavier than usual.

James whined nervously down at his burgeoning middle.  He felt up his stomach, and the way it sort of jostled around on account of that added soda bloat.  He hiccuped from the jostle and blushingly covered his mouth.  “Curse my innocuous and totally awesome hobbies,” James complained.  But then again, he was already a fourth of the way done.  Getting through the rest couldn’t have been that bad, right?

Wrong.

The more those bottles began to add up, the worse that poor, oddly dashing crook began to feel.  His usually thin stomach turned into a pretty sizable potbelly that stretched out his black undershirt and gurgled intensely.  James was looking miserable when he downed his sixth bottle.  His eyes were clenched shut and each gulp caused him to strain slightly.

Almost immediately after setting his empty bottle down besides the others, a huge burp exited James mouth and actually lasted a few seconds.  James groggily patted his belly, causing it to slosh and gurgle some more.  “Ungh, too much soda,” James whimpered, weakly rubbing his bloated belly while it gurgled intensely.  

He looked down at his stomach and blushed in an embarrassed manner.  His stomach was getting so big from all that soda swilling around inside of him.

BWWWOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRPPP!!!!!

And James was burping so much that he lost any right to call himself the one with good manners within their little gang.  James yet again covered his mouth and blushed embarrassingly.  All that soda in his gut was making him incredibly gassy.  

No hobby in the universe was worth this much torture.

Except bottle cap collecting unfortunately.

So, James popped the bottle cap off and pocketed it without even taking a second to admire the new addition to his collection.  And he tortuously drank that seventh bottle.  His stomach groaned unpleasantly from the extra soda, but he was committed to enjoying both the new caps and all that soda, even if it killed him.

He really hoped it wouldn’t though.

BBBUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRROOOOOORRRRPPPP!!!!!!!!

Another giant, gassy burp signified another bottle drained.  James was so full that he had to sit himself down onto the ground and lean back just to ease some of the pressure off of his stomach.  James lazily grabbed another bottle, not even bothering to try and hold in yet another massive burp that forced its way out of his mouth.  He blushed a little because they were so loud, but he was too full and too groggy to even excuse himself anymore.

Instead, he just carelessly tossed that damn bottle cap into his pocket and drank.  The gulps got louder, as did all of the noises bubbling from James’ heavy and round stomach.  It hurt, but it didn’t deter James at this point.  

It should have.  Like several bottles ago.  But somehow, he powered on through.  The empty glass bottles just kept on littering the floor beside James, who punctuated the completion of each soda bottle with a massive, sometimes even painful-sounding burp.  

BBBBEEEEEEEEEELLLLLUUUUUURRRRRCH!!!!!!

James was gassier than he’d ever been in his whole life.  And that wasn’t a compliment.

But the pain and embarrassment would be worth it in the end.  Or at least it would after a long nap and a lot of pepto bismol.

Finally, the bloated young man finished all twelve bottles and had a pocket full of beautiful, brand new and rare bottle caps to add to his collection.

BBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!

It wasn’t worth it.

James lazily slumped back on the floor.  His pants had long been undone because his belly had grown so massively bloated from twelve bottles of soda chugged in rapid succession it James almost looked pregnant.  His beer belly stuck out so much that his undershirt rode up and revealed his bare round belly for all to see.  The dazed and exhausted James gently pat his stomach.  He was so full of soda that it actually jiggled and sloshed from the pat.  All James could do was groan and whimper while rubbing his round, sloshing belly weakly.

“...Unnngh...too...much...soda...” James whined, burping wetly and whimpering some more.  He looked and sounded like he wanted to cry.

“...What in da hell?”  Meowth’s low, street-level voice called out to James.

James yelped nervously when Meowth and Jessie approached their soda-filled companion with bags of loot in Jessie’s arms and a single bag in Meowth’s.

“James, what on earth happened here?”  Jessie asked, lightly kicking James’ massive belly with her foot.

It sloshed and jostled with an immense gurgle that followed.  James’ eyes widened and his cheeks puffed out.  And before he could even entertain the idea of holding back what was coming...

BBBWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

James let out the loudest, queasiest burp he’d ever uttered in his life.  It was so intense that the bottles besides him actually rattled, as did his soda-filled stomach.  Both Jessie and Meowth flinched, but immediately looked at each other and had the same thought.

“Bottle caps.”

James let out a tiny burp and flopped onto his back whimpering.  His huge gut swayed like a fleshy wave from all that soda sloshing around inside of him.

“...Nrgh...I...don’t ever...ever...ever...want to see another soda for as long as I live...” James whined and even went a little green at the mere thought of drinking any more soda.

“Well, that’s too bad, becauuuuse...” Jessie grinned eagerly and held up one of the bags of loot which rattled in a dreadfully familiar fashion.  “Imported sodas!  The cream-flavored kind!”

“They ain’t worth squat but boy d’they taste great!”  Meowth exclaimed.

...James proceeded to cry right there on the spot.

[dashedwithromance]

what am i supposed to do (when there’s no you?)

kotc comes out next week!! i can’t believe it’s nearly here, and we get to see wrath and emilia again!! i haven’t written anything other than star wars for a while, but i hope this is okay. love you all xx

---

Her reflection stared back at her, haunting eyes locked on with a frightened gaze. The mirror, her enemy. Strangely enough, not even the demon princes that stalked the wicked kingdom she found herself ruler of scared her quite as much as the mirror in her bathing chamber. Or the hand-held in the drawer of her bedside table. Or the impressive, gold-gilded monstrosity on her vanity.

She couldn’t bear to look at any of them.

Queen of Hell, and terrified of reflecting glass.

Her reflection haunted her more than any ghost, the flash of dark curls paired with a laugh she heard every day and would never hear again. The quirk of a smile that ached desperately, painted on her face like a mockery of the joy it once embodied.

Appearances were everything in the kingdom of the Wicked, but she couldn’t stand to see her own. It was a weakness she kept close to her heart, trapped inside with the abhorrent overflow of memories she treasured and banished with equal fervour.

Emilia stifled a groan and clenched her hands into fists. Her nails dug into her palms with a biting fury. She’d locked herself inside the first room she’d found, having sprinted from the main hall before she could realise how stupid her plan was. ‘Plan’ was a generous name, considering it consisted of one part panicked feeling, one part grief, and one very violent part of her that was growing scarily close to ‘accidentally’ committing mariticide.

It was the cherries that had set her off. They weren’t even real – fresh fruit was not a luxury one could indulge in Hell, nor would she have wanted to. She remembered stories of fallen maidens taking one bite of fruit from the hand of a prince and being confined to the underworld forever. Despite being queen, it was not a chance she was willing to take.

The cherries in question were metallic, made of gold and silver entwined around a candelabra. They seemed to glow in the low light, taunting her, reminding her of summers spent laughing with her twin, cherry-stained hands and salt-crusted hair. She’d taken one look at them, remembered what day it was, and burst from the room like a frightened bird. Not her best look, if she were truthful.

Memories weighed down on her chest like the pressing stones of witch trials past. More weight, she wanted to say. Take it off, let me breathe, she wanted to cry. Nothing helped.

Grief ebbed and flowed, but today it swelled like a rising tide. Suffocating her, pushing her under, dragging her down by the neck and laughing as she gasped and spluttered.

They’d never spent a birthday apart. It was unthinkable – it was always their birthday, their celebration, their matching celebration dresses. They’d grown out of matching outfits when they’d reached twelve, but the shared celebration never died.

Until Vittoria did.

Emilia closed her eyes, and the memories took firm hold.

Cherry stains dripped down their chins and fingers, sticky and sweet and full of the taste of home. Every summer they would eat themselves silly with the deep red stone fruit, egging each other on until the nearest adult intervened. For their seventh birthday, Emilia had dropped a bleeding cherry on Vittoria’s pretty dress, and her twin had mushed a handful against the fabric of her matching skirt. Emilia had shrieked, and Vittoria had laughed until her sister followed suit with a smile she couldn’t contain.  

A shriek of laughter pierced the late summer calm, its twin following half a second later. Two girls ran towards the sea, one leading the other by the hand. The bolder twin threw herself into the water with a wild grin and gestured for her sister to follow. Another half-second wait and the dark-haired girl flung herself into the sea with a peal of laughter.

That was the way things always were with her and Vittoria. Never apart for too long, until the cruel hand of death swooped in and plucked her sister from her grasp.

Something twinged in her chest. As if a part of her was missing, had been since the day she’d found her sister’s ruined body. Her first reaction, to everything really, had been anger – wrath, she thought with a stain of painful irony – but when the anger ebbed away, she was left with ocean darkened with the taint of things that would never be. She would never see her sister again, never spend hours together in the kitchen, laughing and teasing each other over the boys in the village. No one would ever understand her the way Vittoria did, no matter if she lived forever.

The curse of her grief was that she could never forget her sister’s face. She would know exactly how her sister would age, would know exactly when grey would frame her face, when laugh lines would appear. Mirrors were a cruel taunt; a living eulogy.

Looking up from the floor, staring past the haze of panic, she locked eyes with her twin. Her own wretched gaze stared back at her, tears welling in Vittoria’s eyes.

She looked away. She could bear it no longer.

The room she found herself in was ornately decorated; black silk with gilded gold, a serpent motif around the bed frame. The room felt familiar, and she desperately hoped she was wrong.

Snatching the luxuriously soft blanket from a nearby chair, she covered the mirror that sat on the vanity. The room, somehow, felt colder. Emptier.

Then, like a curse on her name, footsteps echoed from the hallway outside and stopped right before the door.

Drawing herself up, forcing all mention of weakness to leave her frame, she glared at the figure who strode right in.

Prince Wrath stood in the doorway, the gold detailing of his suit winking in the dim light. Emilia eyed up the ornamental vase on the table beside her and strongly considered throwing it at his head. For a moment, the world was consumed by silence.

Then, the smug bastard opened his mouth and broke it.

“Running away from your own party?”

She was going to throw the fucking vase right over his stupid face. He could tell every violent thought that raced through her mind – she just knew he could, the way his perfect lips quirked up ever so infuriatingly to one side – until he stopped. Looked at her. Looked to the mirror on his vanity, covered up by a stolen blanket. Looked back.

The smug look disappeared.

The room became ice. She felt naked standing there, his gaze seeing into the very marrow of her bones. Just when the tension became unbearable, she spun around, unable to look at him any longer. She couldn’t look at him any more than she could look at her own wretched reflection. Hellfire licked at her eyelids, stinging and hot.

What did he see when he looked at her, in that moment? She hoped it was queen-like, the picture of savage grace and hellish composure. It wasn’t.

“Emilia...” For the first time in, well, ever, Wrath struggled for words.

“Emilia, I’m sorry.”

The shock of his apology had her whirling around. His golden eyes held more sympathy than any demon should ever have known. Of all the demons in Hell to realise what today meant, of course, it would be Wrath. Insufferable, infuriating, ineffable Wrath, possibly the only person in the underground kingdom who understood her. Not like Vittoria did – no one would ever come close – but like a river understood the rushing tide.

He was a mystery, but also the only thing she knew. Wrapped up in a cloud of perfumed falsities, but the only one who told her the truth.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Could he hear it?

“I have never lost a brother, not like that. Nor am I as close to mine as you were to your sister.” The words were stilted, heavy and awkward. Wrath was not a man of words, but his tone was gentle. But, she noted with no small portion of surprise, the speech was genuine. She thought perhaps she was going mad.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a twin,” He paused, considering, “I’m sorry, for your loss.”

Another pause.

“And I’m sorry for the role my family – the role I – have played in your grief.”

Somewhere in his speech, she’d closed her eyes. She didn’t want him to see the tears, but he knew that. The heaviness of her chest was still present, but it was bearable, somehow.

She nodded, swallowing the cry that threatened to burst forward.

“Thank you,” She whispered, so quiet she wondered if he’d even heard.

The air between them was taut, stretched and thin. The strength she’d hid behind all day had fled long ago, and she felt so exhausted she might collapse. She didn’t think to consider the implications by sitting down on his stupidly large bed, only that her chest hurt and for just a moment, she wanted a friend.

Hesitantly – if a demon prince could hesitate – Wrath sat next to her on the bed. The sight is so comical she nearly laughed – Wrath, the brother of her husband, prince of the most dangerous sin, her friend, her enemy – perched on the side of his bed with an air of respectability she didn’t think he even possessed. Stranger things had happened, she supposed.

It was like a fable; demon and witch, sat side by side in silence. For hours, they barely spoke. The words didn’t matter – Wrath was terrible with them, and the ones she wanted got stuck in her throat. Neither of them noticed when midnight passed, and the worst day of the year was over.

Perhaps one day, she’d tell him stories of Vittoria. Tell him stories of cherries and salt air and limitless laughter, so he would know her as the bright, brilliant girl she was, and not the martyred corpse she’d become.

The next day, all the mirrors in her chambers were covered. There was no note, but there was a familiar vase full of orange blossom flowers on her bedside table.

---

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