#if it's pleasant enough i might make it a habit actually

[darkmatilda]

𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend decides he’s going to start calling you a cute pet name, but the problem is, none of them seem to suit you perfectly

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses reid x baumember!female reader, so sweet you'll puke, case in the background, unsub is abducting elderly people, text messages, reader is kinda clingy, use of y/n because i had to

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling <33 sorry if it ended up a bit too long again, but im starting to suspect that im physically incapable of writing a drabble lmao

"I'm tired. When will this week be over?"

"It's 9:13 on Monday."

With a groan, you leaned back against the seat in the corner of the jet, feeling the caffeine craving slowly take control of your body. 

"Just the thought of going to sleep sends intense shivers through me, caused by a heart-wrenching longing, and heavy tears slowly start gathering in my eyes," you complained, resting your head to the side.

Slightly turned, so you could look at Spencer sitting right next to you. His eyes, behind his glasses, also seemed a little tired, though he didn't manifest it as loudly. When you sat down next to him, he partially closed the book he was reading and rested it against the edge of the table in front of him.

"When you're sleep-deprived, you tend to get a bit dramatic," he pointed out in an analyzing tone, though you could catch a slight twitch at the corners of his lips.

"It's not drama, silly. It's the personification of pure exhaustion speaking through my lips."

"I love it when you try to argue with me and end up agreeing with me."

"You just love being right, don't you, smarty?" you huffed. "You love me too, but that's just a side note."

"Oh, now you're teasing. That's good. Means the sleepiness is wearing off," he diagnosed.

Sometimes you were genuinely amazed by how well he knew you, despite being together for such a short time—though maybe you shouldn’t have been. He was a profiler, just like you. Both of you were exceptionally good at reading each other, picking up on moods and small, everyday habits. You used to worry a little that this might make your relationship boring, stripped of surprises. But you quickly realized there’s nothing more captivating than another mind that matches your own and deeply understands its struggles. And sometimes, that feeling itself was a pleasant surprise.

"Next weekend, we're not going anywhere, okay?" you asked in a dreamy tone. The day before, you’d gotten back way too late, which was mostly to blame for your sleepiness. "Not even out of bed."

A look crossed Reid's face, somewhere between eagerness and a grimace.

"I’d love to," he assured with a genuine sigh, but then quickly added, "But I’m afraid I’ve already got something planned."

You tried to keep up the facade of your role, not showing too much excitement. You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I'm starting to suspect you have plans for every weekend for the rest of our lives."

"Actually, just for the next fourteen weeks," he admitted with a slight shrug, as if it wasn’t anything to be impressed by.

You weren’t sure if he was joking, and you didn’t get the chance to find out.

"Hey, lovebirds," Morgan called from the other end of the jet, where the whole team was gathered around a small table, ready to start discussing the case. "We're waiting for you."

For a while, you kept it a secret from them that you were starting to expect, but eventually, you had to come clean. Especially when Penelope, who knew everything, started taking every chance to send you suggestive glances or drop not-so-subtle comments. The rest of the team’s reaction wasn’t particularly emotional. They didn’t start screaming in surprise or jumping up and down in disbelief. They were profilers—they had figured it out. But they had enough decency to wait until you told them yourselves. No hard feelings, sweet Penelope.

You took the empty seat next to Gideon, right across from your boss and JJ. Reid settled into a chair on the side, where Morgan immediately poked him with his elbow.

"So, how’s it going in love land today?" Morgan asked, smirking. "Are puppies falling from the sky, and is it going to rain hearts this afternoon?"

You’d gotten so used to these kinds of jabs that, in perfect sync, you both rolled your eyes and opened your mouths to defend yourselves. It wasn’t like you two were constantly all lovey-dovey, exchanging kisses and holding hands at every chance! Morgan just loved to tease you, knowing how much it irked both of you when someone accused you of being unprofessional.

“Take it easy, it’s just the honeymoon phase," Gideon warned, not even looking at you as he adjusted his small square glasses, focusing instead on the folder in front of him. "You grow out of it."

On the laptop screen, Garcia’s face appeared, complete with an orange rose headband in her blonde hair.

"Well, hello there, babygirl," Derek greeted her, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"Hello, you charming, sweet, handsome thing…

Hotch exchanged a knowing look with Gideon.

“As you can see, not always," he muttered under his breath so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. JJ, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, briefly lowered her amused gaze, trying to hold back a smile. "Shall we get started?"

The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if with the snap of fingers, when you began discussing the case. This time, it was a series of murders targeting men around the age of seventy-four.

"Are we sure this is the work of a serial killer?" Derek asked, his earlier light tone replaced with focus and seriousness. "I mean, looking at it, these guys don’t have much in common aside from their age."

“They’re all from the same area,” you noted, flipping through the victims' files. “But yeah, they don’t have much else in common. Different jobs, some married, some not…you think age is the reason the unsub picked them?”

“Looks that way,” Hotch said.

“About two weeks ago, his granddaughter reported him missing,” JJ informed you, pointing to a photo of an older man. “Ben Murphy, seventy-six years old. He’s from the same area, and all signs point to him being the unsub’s next victim. Each of the victims was held for an estimated three weeks, so there’s a good… a good chance he’s still alive.”

A brief silence settled over the room, heavy with the pressure of time.

“But why keep them alive for that long?” Spencer muttered, his brow furrowed in thought. “None of the bodies show signs of physical torture. They were killed with a lethal dose of insulin. If he chose that method, it doesn’t seem like he wanted to hurt them directly. The motive…the motive is unclear.”

The rest of the discussion revolved around trying to find connections and similarities to other crimes you were all familiar with, but you didn’t come up with anything groundbreaking that would significantly push the investigation forward. However, this didn’t stress you. You were just heading to the place where everything had taken place; you hadn't yet spoken to the victims' families, which often turned out to be crucial.

Just before the jet landed, you found yourself next to Reid, resting your elbow on his shoulder like it was some kind of convenient armrest while you pondered which card to discard from the ones laid out by JJ. This position made it much easier for him to sneak peeks at your cards, which he took full advantage of whenever he thought you weren’t looking (you were looking), so you had to hold them in a very awkward way to prevent him from seeing.

“C’mon,” JJ urged, as the time you were taking to think started to drag on.

You bit your lip.

“Easy for you to say. You’re winning,” you huffed, to which she flashed you a confident smile. “Great minds need time to come up with a solution. Right, Spence?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes…”

"Ugh, I wanted you to defend me, you silly..."

“Guys, do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Morgan appeared above you, pulling his headphones off his head.

“Scientists haven’t figured out a way to peek into other people’s thoughts yet,” Reid answered him, staring at the card you had just discarded and raising an eyebrow. Seriously? You shrugged. You knew it was a pitifully bad move. “So no, we don’t, Morgan.”

“I went over the case files again…” Derek continued, completely ignoring the ironic comment from his friend. “Mr. Murphy went missing right after a date with his wife…”

“...And may I ask why you’re sharing this incredibly sad fact with us?” you interjected.

“They went to the botanical garden,” Derek continued.  Everyone stopped, staring at him with completely baffled expressions. “Then they hit up the American Revolution Museum. And I couldn’t help but think of you two. Sounds like the perfect date for you, right?”

You were the first to react, rolling your eyes dramatically. You placed your cards face down in front of you, then rested both hands on Reid's shoulder, leaning your chin on them. You let out a long sigh.

"Can we get just one day without fighting off the nerd allegations?"

"Hey, I'm not mocking you," Morgan said, raising both hands in the air. "Just pointing it out. So, what did you two get up to over the weekend?"

Reid turned his face slightly toward you, exchanging a look. Given how you were positioned, the frame of his glasses lightly brushed your forehead. Well, if you answered your teammate's question honestly, you’d be proving him absolutely right. Before you could manage to turn the question back on him, you were preempted.

"We went up to the hill to try and watch the meteor shower," Reid answered, sticking to the truth. Morgan tilted his head, staring at both of you with interest. "But the sky ended up being too cloudy, so we ended up finding a night exhibit at the museum about space..."

You could see the victorious expression slowly spreading across Derek's face.

"You’re sinking us, silly," you muttered into your boyfriend's arm.

"She's right, silly," Morgan echoed the nickname with exaggerated emphasis. "Anyway, I won’t bother you any longer. Enjoy your game. Oh, and by the way, JJ peeked at your cards when you weren’t looking…"

 "JJ!"

 "That’s a lie—"

"Did he really come over here just to compare us to a pair of retirees?" Reid wondered, watching Derek walk away.

"And to expose a cheater," you added, shooting a look at your friend across the table. You’d lifted your chin from Reid’s shoulder, but your hand still rested there, your fingertips lightly brushing against him—not that you even noticed. Did that even count as touching?

You pointed at JJ with determination. "We’re starting over."

"We’re about to land," she noted, placing her cards on the table and revealing her hand. "So I’ll let it go. But you’re getting your rematch, trust me."

 "Oh, I can’t wait."

She walked off, leaving the two of you alone in the corner of the jet. You noticed Reid had been watching you for a while, his expression unreadable. When you finally caught on and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he just shrugged and gathered the cards from the table. His fingers shuffled them with effortless precision, the motion smooth and almost hypnotic.

You shook your head, tearing your gaze away from the cards and focusing on his face again.

“What thoughts are you hiding in that brilliant mind of yours, smarty?”

“Those exactly,” he replied almost immediately. He fell silent for a moment as he tucked the cards back into the box. You watched him closely, curiosity piqued, waiting to hear what he’d say next because you didn’t fully understand his response.

“You always call me something,” he added after a pause. “You know…”

“Pet name,” you supplied the term he was missing.

He nodded, and you stayed quiet for a brief moment, wondering if you really used them that often. You’d never given it much thought—they just slipped out naturally when you were teasing him. He’d never reacted to them before, and it had never even crossed your mind that it might cause him any discomfort.

Your expression grew a bit more serious as you shifted in your seat to face him directly.

“Does…does it bother you? Because, you know, if it does…”

“No!” he denied quickly, a faint hint of embarrassment flashing across his face, as if wondering whether he’d been too eager. He shifted into a calmer expression, letting out a small sigh. “No, that’s really not it. Actually…I like them. I like when you use them.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as he admitted it. But the question still lingered in your mind—if that wasn’t it, then what was?

"I just realized…" he continued slowly, with a hint of hesitation. You noticed that both of you had lowered your voices compared to the lively chatter during the card game. It was as if, unintentionally, you'd created a small bubble, separating this moment from the rest of the team.

You liked his whisper. Sometimes, it felt stronger than his regular voice, mostly because whenever he lowered it, it was usually tied to some genuine emotion.

"That I never use them myself. I mean, I don’t call you anything other than your name."

"I don’t…I don’t expect that from you."

"I know. I know, it’s not like I thought you were expecting it. I just started wondering if maybe you'd like me to... to start doing it too. I admit, it’s not something I’m used to—"

"If you’re comfortable with it," you interrupted him without meaning to, feeling the need to emphasize it. Until now, it hadn’t mattered how he addressed you; it didn’t bother you when it was just your name. After all, hey, it’s not really the most important thing in a relationship. But when he suggested it, you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. "I’m serious, Spence. Don’t force yourself if it feels unnatural," you added, slowing down a bit, feeling the slight tremor in the corner of your lips. You noticed how his brow furrowed slightly when he caught that movement. Usually, it meant there was an idea forming in your head, and this time, it was no different. "But if you really want to…you should know I have some requirements in this area."

"Requirements?" he repeated, sounding confused, as if he thought he misheard. "Sorry, but what kind of requirements could you possibly have when it comes to pet names?"

“Oh, you have no idea how many,” you scoffed, leaning slightly toward him with a mischievous gleam in your eye. Reid blinked, clearly both curious and a bit apprehensive. “I know you, your mind... so I guess you shouldn’t be surprised that I’m expecting you to be creative. I mean no babe. No honey. 

Spencer stared at you for a moment, a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he let out a soft laugh.

"Alright, I’ve got it. No babe, no honey. Anything else to add to your list of demands?"

"Hmm, let me think," you murmured, to which he rolled his eyes. You didn't actually have anything else in mind; you just wanted to keep him in that state of uncertainty. But then, an additional thought occurred to you. "Oh, I know. It has to really fit with me. And with you. I want using it to come as naturally to you as possible. And I don't want you complaining to Penelope later, saying I forced you into it."

"Seriously, do you think I'd complain about you to Penelope behind your back?" he asked, pretending to be offended. He shook his head as if disappointed. "It's obvious I go straight to Morgan with stuff like this..."

You lightly tapped his arm.

"Is everything clear?" you made sure to ask, keeping your hand on his shoulder.

He glanced at your hand briefly before nodding.

"As clear as the sun. Has to be original and fit," he recited the two demands in their briefest form. He left his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to add something, as if he was about to come up with the perfect nickname, but clearly, he hadn’t thought of one yet. He let out a short sigh of surrender. "This...this might take a while."

"Take your time, babe."

"Hey, you said we're not using that..."

"I only said you’re not using that”

"So what’s the point of giving me all these demands when..."

You both fell silent only when the jet neared its landing.

*

Working on the case had put a bit of distance between you. Well, it wasn’t unusual—there were often plenty of witnesses to interview, multiple locations to visit or search, and the team simply had to split up. Whenever Hotch assigned you somewhere, he always paired you up in the most complementary way possible, ensuring that your skills and experience balanced each other out. As the youngest members, relying more on brains than brawn, you and Reid rarely ended up partnered together.

And this time was no different.

You sat in the front seat of the car beside Gideon, who was driving. The two of you were headed to one of the victims' homes in silence, and you used the moment to glance at your phone—only to spot a message from none other than Reid.

spence: I’ve been thinking about what we talked about on the jet, and I think I have a few suggestions that meet all of your conditions.

spence: Sorry for texting, but I’m not sure if we’ll get a chance to see each other today, and I wanted to tell you that.

y/n: tell me

y/n: i mean u should be thinking about the case rn not about me

y/n: but i’m just gonna assume ur brain is multitasking enough to do both

spence: Because it is.

y/n: wow so humble

y/n: so???

y/n: what’s with the pet names

y/n: surprise me, genius

spence: Sorry, I don’t have time to write proper explanations for all of them or explain why I think they suit you.

spence: But a few of them are love, dear, darling.

y/n: sweet, but kinda basic

y/n: anyway up to you

y/n: u’ll be the one saying them

spence: Yeah, but you’ll be the one called them, and it has to be something you like. What do you think?

spence: Maybe something less typical like pumpkin

y/n: pumpkin HAHAHA

spence: ?

y/n: sry, i just can’t picture u saying that out loud

y/n: u browsing some top 100 pet names for ur gf site rn?

spence: No

y/n: i’m telling garcia to check ur browsing history, silly

y/n: don’t even delete it she’ll find it anyway

spence: I admit, pumpkin is awful

spence: I really like daisy, but i know you're allergic to pollen

y/n: how do u know i’m allergic to pollen?

spence: 👍🏼

It was truly an exhausting yet enlightening response. Anyway, you didn’t dwell on it too much. Sometimes he just knew. Together with Gideon, you had already arrived at the right address, so you shoved your phone back into your pocket and got ready to get back to work.

*

The words we are ready to deliver the profile were a milestone in every case you worked on.

They marked a gathering of the entire team, where you would collectively organize the information you had gathered during the investigation. Together, you had managed to uncover the unsub’s identity, but there was still the task of determining their motive and locating where they might be holding their still, as you hoped, victim. 

"The unsub spent most of his life caring for his severely ill, mentally abusive grandfather, of whom he was the only relative, which is why he now targets victims of a similar age," Derek began, crossing his arms over his chest. "He holds them for twenty-three days, mirroring the twenty-three years he dedicated to caring for him."

"He sees it as lost time, wasted. He never finished school, he was socially withdrawn. By repeating the same pattern with his victims, he believes he's getting something back," explained Reid, standing beside you, tapping one hand thoughtfully.

"This is all we have,” you muttered under your breath. ‘But we're missing the most important thing. Where is he? Where is he holding this man?”

“Garcia is working on that,” Hotch reassured you, pressing his finger to the earpiece.

“Give... give me some time,” Penelope asked in a distant tone, drowned out by the sound of keys being pressed rapidly. “ I think I have something... I need to check...ugh, fifteen minutes!”

After those words, she fell silent, leaving you all in anticipation. With a sigh, you crossed your arms over your chest, hoping she would find something. Reid stood by your side, slightly separated from the rest. Yet when he spoke, he lowered his voice to a murmur.

You stepped closer to hear him better.

"Vivi," he said softly.

You frowned at him, and his gaze hesitantly met yours—but once it did, it refused to let go.

"From the Latin vivus," he explained. "Full of life, vibrant."

You remained silent for a moment, savoring the echo his words left behind and the look on his face—just a hint of uncertainty creeping in as he waited for your reaction. If it weren’t for the fact that your team members were bustling around and the circumstances weren’t exactly romantic, you might have slipped under his arm. Instead, you settled for a small, sweet smile.

"That’s really pretty, Spence," you admitted, catching the faint shimmer in his dark eyes. "You think it suits me? Do you like it?"

He nodded slowly. You couldn't shake the feeling that something didn’t quite fit, that it didn’t sound natural coming from him. Maybe it was just your imagination? Or perhaps he was distracted, lost in more important thoughts while you were bothering him with pet names? You didn’t really have time to figure that out. At that moment, Garcia’s raised voice cut through the line, announcing that she might know where the unsub is holding his victim.

In the next moment, you were already on your way to the given address, listening to instructions on how to get inside without causing harm to the elderly man being held captive. When you and Reid reached him, he was loosely tied to a chair with rope, his head hanging limp against his chest. You crouched beside him, checking his pulse. It seemed like a simple loss of consciousness, likely caused by the stress and exhaustion of being held captive for over two weeks.

"Untie him," you said automatically to Reid, even though he had already started doing it before you spoke. "Can you hear me, sir? Damn it, I think we’ll need an ambulance..."

"Since when do angels curse?" A hoarse, weak whisper escaped the man's throat.

You exchanged confused glances with Spencer, momentarily frozen in place. The man's temples twitched before he gently lifted his head. His gaze landed on your face, and very slowly, he began to regain full consciousness.

"I died. And you're an angel, right?" he asked.

You sighed with a certain sense of relief. He was a bit delirious, but it seemed nothing serious was wrong with him.

"Don't worry, you’re not dead, sir. Actually, you’re perfectly fine and will be home soon..."

"Whatever you say, angel."

You saw Reid, who was untying the man, try to hide a amused expression on his face. Even after two weeks spent in captivity, Mr. Murphy managed to muster a bit of stubbornness. He told the arriving paramedics that he would only get into the ambulance if the angel who freed him went with him. And since you felt really sorry for the elderly man who had been kidnapped and whose mind was a bit frail, you did it.

You didn’t get back on the jet until late at night. Throwing yourself into the seat next to Spencer, you struggled to suppress another yawn. You didn’t even realize when your temple lightly rested against his arm, but through your partially closed eyelids, you noticed him closing the book he had been reading and placing it in his lap.

"Long day, huh, angel?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, brushing your ears as you leaned against him.

"So, you spent the whole day trying to come up with the perfect pet name and ended up just going with the one some confused old guy called me?"you asked, opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him. Or rather, from the position you were in, at his jaw. "Watch out, Spencer Reid. I might accuse you of being lazy."

"I'm not lazy," he denied. "I'm just looking for inspiration in unusual places. Besides, it fits, don't you think? Angel."

"Mhm. Lazy."

With those words, you closed your eyes again, snuggling against him more comfortably. Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, using his free hand to tuck the hair falling onto your face behind your ear.

"Sweet dreams, angel."

[ms-demeanor]

This is regarding your post involving making friends. I have had a spectacular amount of failures in meetup groups, particularly involving men from multiple meetup groups trying to take advantage of me or using me. In addition to that, the other members of the groups tend are often quite rude. Also, many meetups in my area tend to fall into one of the following categories: professional seminar, mommy & me, or the other members are double my age or older. What would you advise?

Volunteering - find something you care about and see if there is a local volunteer opportunity; you might want to look into food banks or mutual aid projects.

Crafting - this will likely be an older crew, but making friends with older people is cool honestly.

Sports - see if there's a kickball league or some other variety of low-key sport that you can sign up for.

Get super into the local music scene. Go to bar shows, go to basement shows, go to backyard shows. If you go to places where they have local music and hang out a bunch you will get to know local music people eventually, which includes both people in bands and people interested in bands.

Become a regular at your local library. Go once a week at the same time of day and you'll start to get to know people.

Become a regular at something else local. If you go to the same coffee shop three times a week for a few months and are polite to the employees you will probably eventually have friends among the people there; even if you do this by walking around the neighborhood park at the same time of day you will start getting to know the park regulars people love habits and if you can become a chill part of their daily scenery they will eventually want to investigate further.

Start your own club of some kind. Maybe start a book club for a particular genre of book that you like, or start a movie group where you meet up to see a movie together twice a month. You can post things like this on meetup websites or facebook, but you can also make fliers to put up in places that you think people you might find interesting would hang out.

Join a gym and go regularly. Sometimes a random person you see all the time in a gym can go from being a reliable on-the-spot spotter to a good friend.

Take a class locally. See if your town has a community center that offers cooking classes or computer classes or any kind of classes even things you already know. I keep making jokes about improv but improv people are great; see if you can take an impov class. See if your local music store offers music classes (I made weirdly good friends with the folks at the music store where I took vocal lessons; this was a pleasant surprise!)

When you try any of these places make friendly smalltalk with the people you encounter and express interest in them. If you are speaking to employees, make sure you're giving them lots of conversational outs because attempting to befriend people who are working can feel like you're cornering them, I'd actually say don't try to befriend the employees at a business unless you go there and they attempt to befriend you, however as someone who worked in coffee shops for ten years if someone randomly started showing up for six hours a week I would almost certainly have gotten to a friendly shoot-the-shit level with them within a month; if you go out among people who are sociable and are around them enough sometimes the sociable people go "aha! new friend sighted!" and do the hard work for you, but you do have to go to places to let yourself be found by the sociable ones.)

I do not, generally speaking, use meetup groups as a generic thing as much as I look into what groups exist locally that I am interested in. If a local game store is running a weekly Magic tournament, that's a better place to meet people in my opinion than a one-time bowling event.

[milqueandsugar]

🌼☕` Wearing His Clothes`☕🌼

Gen / Fluff

Includes / Alastor , Lucifer

| ALASTOR |

If Alastor could spend every evening like this, he would. A warm hellish day, a pleasant breeze that made the usual sulphuric smell that lingered in the air tolerable, and most of all, you by his side. The scarlet parasol you carried over your shoulder sifted the dying rays of the sun into a glorious red. If Alastor could devour an image he'd have this walk on a plate.

"Have I ever mentioned how marvelous you are in red?" The static of his voice crackled to life, so did the blood in your cheeks. "Very, very often." You tease, his grin widens. "Oh so not nearly enough."

You were working up a come back when something heavy dropped onto your shoulders. It smelled of chicory and black coffee, it smelled of Alastor. You poked your head up out of a collar, his collar. You stared up at your lover who twirled the parasol you must have dropped in hid hand. Spinning the red refracted light around the both if you like a kelidoscope.

"You are darling in red, I'll have to ring up Rosie to get you one of your own."

"Matching outfits Alastor? Tattoos next?"

"I was thinking rings, but by the by."

Alastor is definitely a possessive character but I don't think that translates at all to you wearing his clothes

He's actually quite protective of them, he's as particular as he is possessive and it has to be some sort of gesture for him to lend it to you

He especially holds off on lending clothes to you if you make it know you like it, just for teasing purposes of course!

He only truly lends you his bow tie or jacket and only, of course, on his terms

He finds it endearing, how flattered or excited you are at something as simple as a coat, though he holds this little secret close to his chest

It's not as fun if you can tease him back!

Due to his more animalistic tendencies/physicality he is particularly sensitive to smell

If you REALLY want to rile him up use his cologne or soap, it might take a day or two but it's impossible not to notice his increase in physical affection

Once he registers that wearing his clothes is another, far more subtle way of having you smell like him he'll be far more generous with lending you garments.

| LUCIFER |

Every few months you cleaned out the closet, Lucifer liked to buy things, you liked to wear things, both of you were terrible for over filling your closet. He was out for a day out with Charlie, which made things easier. You loved him truly but he made tossing things out difficult, it was too pretty or to cute, to sexy for him to part with. He wasn't wrong, he had an excellent eye for picking clothes you liked, but at this rate you'd need to buy a new home to accommodate for the mass amounts of clothes!

It was when putting the keeps back when you noticed it, his hat. A hat you both loved and hated, the golden snake around its brim gleaned in the light. You snatched it from the shelf at the top of the closet. Your surprised he didn't bring it today, he wore it always, especially when with Charlie. You wondered if she liked it, or if she liked it when she was a kid and bright colours were like moths to light.

You step over to stand in front of the floor length mirror. It felt like a normal hat, of beautiful craftsmanship of course, but just a normal hat. You couldn't see why he was obsessed with the thing. You felt a little silly wearing it, you felt even sillier when a snort sounded from behind you.

"Oh so that's where my hat went"

He thinks it's cute!!

He's confident so he doesn't see any real need to mark or claim you, he knows he loved you, and he knows you love him just as much!

Absolutely pleased to lend you clothes!

If it becomes a habit of yours he even goes out of his way to pick up clothes he thinks both of you will like

Turns into a fun shopping activity!

Be fully prepared for him to start stealing your clothes too though this is a two way street

Maybe it's for the best too he's got no style let's be honest

Absolutely tortures you if he discovers you think it's hot, wears your clothes out, wears your clothes in private, when your on a date

Good luck, they're pretty much his now

No hiding if you dress more feminely either he's not afraid of rocking a mini skirt

The act itself doesn't do anything but seeing you so excited about it?? That does it for him

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | Two

Word Count: 6.2k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, oral (m receiving), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex

Series Masterlist  ​​

Hedi had noticed her praying more often, with soft tears in her eyes.

 But no matter how much Hedi asked her what was wrong, the little maidservant would shake her head and insist that she was merely homesick having sent a few copper coins to her siblings.

 In the room she shared with her fellow maidservant, Alanna, who luckily worked quite the opposite shift to her, she would sit on the stool before the pale of water, scrubbing at her skin to wash herself. Trying to rid her mind of the experience altogether. The taste of his spend on her tongue. The uncomfortable prod of his cock at the back of her throat. The way his voice sent a jolt of both fear and a thrill through her. It made her question everything about herself. That perhaps she didn’t know herself as well as she thought. And it was this fact that disturbed her the most.

 That she was beginning to lose touch of herself.

 She’d not said a word to anyone. And when she attended to him in the mornings as she usually did, she tried to make herself as small as possible, hoping that if she hugged her arms around herself tight enough, she might actually begin to disappear. Prince Aemond had almost pretended as if nothing had happened, with his usual one word answers, faint hums and lack of presence in his chambers.

 The little maidservant wondered if she had done something to irk him, or if he had not enjoyed the experience and wished not to repeat it. Secretly, she hoped so. Hoped that he would lose interest and slowly slip into the old habits, ignoring her completely. Then she could go about her life, picking and cleaning up the royal Prince’s mess, and hers into the bargain as well. She thought that royals such as him do not think about the messes they make.

 In that way they are like children.

 She wondered if anyone, in Prince Aemond’s life, had ever told him no.

 It was doubtful.

 Perhaps that was why he felt entitled to torment her in the way he had. Perhaps it was the effect of privilege in the pursuit of pleasure.

 It was a morning like any other and she dressed in silence, careful not to wake her fellow colleague whom she shared a bed with. Alanna was a night owl, through and through, but it did not mean she was not exhausted after performing her night shift duties and when she had come back in the early hours, it was like a prod for the other little maidservant to wake for her morning duties.

 Who she saw in the looking glass looked very much like her, but didn’t feel like her.

 The weather was pleasant enough, warm with a cool breeze as she carried Prince Aemond’s breakfast tray, a heavy bubble in her gut at the thought of seeing him again.

 She’d turned at the call of her name. The young boy who served alongside the staff rushed up to her carrying a scroll.

 “What is it?”

 “Message from your family, miss” the boy’s voice broke as he spoke, he could not have been older than three and ten and still had that nervous wide look about him.

 The little maidservant swallowed nervously and gestured for him to read it. She recognised him as the son of one of the staff, almost born for the role of being a hasty little messenger, and thus he was taught to read. Perhaps a benefit of his sex and his environment.

 The letter read:

Your pestilent brother and sister are well, but their stomach’s are never full and the boy in particular has almost completely cleaned out the pantry. I will, for the love I had for your mother and father, continue to look after them, however I must request three additional copper coins per week to fund their insatiable appetite. Otherwise I shall be forced to send the little beggars on their way to earn their own coin, the young girl is certainly old enough.

 The maidservant delivered a large sigh, an uncomfortable weight that was already on her shoulders was becoming heavier the more the boy read on.

 “Thank you” she nodded to dismiss the young boy, only allowing herself to breathe a shuddered breath once she was alone. She told herself to not panic, to not cry and that everything would be alright in the end. But there was a small piece of her inside that allowed herself to be a child again, wanting the comfort of a mother and father. She wondered how she would be able to come up with 3 additional copper coins a week and still be able to feed and clothe herself.

 Steadying her breath to keep herself from becoming emotional, she knocked twice and was allowed to enter when she once again heard the muffled tone of his voice.

Tray on the nightstand. Draw the curtains. Tie them back. She kept going over what she was going to do in her head, eyes downcast the entire time, not wanting to look at him.

 And yet in her peripheral she saw him rise from his bed as she tied the curtains back

 Her heart lurched into her chest when she saw his arms hook underneath hers to lean against the windowsill in front of her, and then when his bare chest had nudged against her back. She felt as if she could not make a sound and so she didn’t even acknowledge it at first, screwing her eyes shut to draw in a shaky breath. Aemond had smirked behind her, knowing what her reaction would be and his finger once again came to the little curl at the side of her head that perpetually made itself free of her braids.

 “My little maidservant is shy today” he said lowly, pressing his form tighter against her back, thinking about how if he bucked his hips just a little, his hard arousal would prod against her dress-clad backside.

 He looked down as she purposefully did not look back at him. He watched the way her lips were slightly parted, as if so afraid that she had to breathe through her mouth, albeit quietly. He chuckled at the effect he seemed to have on his little maidservant, smoothing his finger over her hair, then her neck, which he can tell made her shudder slightly.

 “Tell me, sweet girl, do you still taste it…” he whispers in the shell of her ear, looking down he can see the shadow of her skin beneath her dress, but it becomes too dark to truly see anything. He allowed himself to wonder what her bare form would look like.

 Would she have small, well-rounded breasts, easily fit into his palms. How he thought he'd grip them so tight he wouldn't let go, intent on making her at least whimper at the pleasurable pain.

 Would she have a smooth curve to her hips, the line leading down to her cunny, to where he imagined that little patch of hair would welcome him.

 Would she have supple thighs, ones he could leave bruises and marks all over. Perhaps even a bit of blood. The thought of smearing blood over her skin thrilled him more than he thought.

 He remembers how she'd told him she'd not been with a man. Would she bleed so nicely for him, once he'd taken her maidenhead, be good and muffle her little whimpers of discomfort into the pillow. Or rather, he wondered if he'd quite like to hear them, while curling his fingers around her throat and squeezing tightly.

 It was getting harder to breathe for Aemond. And unbeknownst to him, it was increasingly so for her as well. Frozen in absolute fear.

 “...do you still feel my cock in your throat, hm?”

 Yes, she thought, with a shameful twist of her stomach. She could still feel his hands holding her face, forcing her to take him as deep as he wanted, still feel every thrust of his hips against her, his fist tightening in her hair, tugging.

 He released one of his hands on the windowsill to rest on her waist, making her inhale sharply. He’d not touched her intimately, only solicited the use of her mouth on him that one time. Aemond felt the movement of her ribs beneath her dress with her breathing, as if he’s just realised she was a living, breathing person before him.

 “Have you touched yourself, sweet girl” he asks.

 She managed to gather all the courage she has inside her and cleared her throat, “I…am not sure what you mean, your grace”

 Fucking cock tease, Aemond thought. But she had really not known at all what he’d meant. Of course she had touched herself, to bathe herself, to brush her hair?

 “I mean…” he starts, his large hands moving to gather her skirts in his fist. And this time she did shudder when the air hit her legs, skin that outside the boundaries of her own bedroom, should never be seen, “...have you touched your little cunt for pleasure”

 She clenches her fists when his palm runs up the side of her thigh. It’s so wrong. So, so wrong for him to touch her like this.

 Aemond breathes hot against her neck at the feeling of her soft skin. Just like how he'd imagined it. The curve of her hip, so feminine and squeezable in his hand. He thought of the way he would grab at them to fuck her, for leverage, using her body the way he sees fit. And now that he'd done so with her mouth, he thought of the rest of her little holes and how they would squeeze him too.

 “Bought yourself to peak with your fingers…”

 She could cry. She thought she’d lost his interest. Thought she might be free of it. Calm down, is all she kept trying to tell herself. She counted in her head, trying to ground herself.

 He squeezes her hip tightly when she doesn’t respond, “Answer me now, or I will not be so nice”

 “A few times” she admits, voice thick with tears, “a few times, your grace…”

 But never to peak, she thought, embarrassed.

 She spoke like she may have been in trouble for it and dreaded what he might do now that she’s given her answer.

 “Hm” she chuckles, giving the skin of her hip one firm squeeze, one that is so tight in his palm it almost makes her whimper in pain. He lets her skirts fall as he moves away from her, looking much pleased with himself, smirking like he knows a secret.

 “Go now” he orders, still with that gravelly authority but ever so slightly softer, now that he'd been thinking of her cunt. But the softer tone does nothing to calm her and if it were possible, she guards herself even more, keeping her eyes to the ground. She doesn’t even look back when he says, “I shall see you tonight, sweet girl”

 She did not want to know what that meant, if it meant anything at all.

 Aemond watched as she left, scared completely out of her senses.

 Good, he thought. He loved that terror-stricken look in her eyes, the sharp taking in of breath when she was trying not to cry in his presence. He’d remembered wiping her tears away when he’d fucked her mouth so ruthlessly in search of his own pleasure, the way the slickness of it had smeared across her face. Aemond found that he wanted to know what she tasted like, every single bit of her. She would be so sweet…his virtuous little maidservant. He had to make sure she was entirely his, so that she knew nothing else but him.

 Young women like her are so helpless in the hands of amorous men.

 Whatever words were said to them, whatever touch and manipulation on their bodies seemed like love to them, the poor, silly little things.

 He would make sure that whatever words, whatever touch inflicted to his little maidservant would be sweet, delightful torture.

All the while she was dismissed until the evening, she busied herself with such menial tasks such as helping the others with the laundry for the day. It was nice to get outside, free from the suffocating confines of the Keep, even if it was just for a moment. The hallways now served to remind her of him, dreading the moment she would be walking down them and he would round the corner, with that predatory gaze he always gave her.

 It was a calm day, so she revelled in the lovely breeze for a moment, allowing herself to be happy.

 There was some relief in the idle chatter of the other maidservants, as she scrubbed the white bed linen against the washboard, her sleeves turned up to prevent from getting wet.

 “I hear the Princess Rhaenyra very well may be returning to King’s Landing soon”

 Freiya was a little younger than the others and as such, had a wandering imagination, a large mouth and a bit appetite for gossip. So it was no wonder she’d already managed to receive the latest even if it was barely early afternoon.

 The other, who went by Mari, also probably short for something but she would never tell anyone, rolled her eyes at the younger woman. Mari was one and twenty, but her mind was mature beyond her years.

 “You must not believe everything you hear, your ears will fall off one day, you little tyrant”

 Freiya pulled an offended frown, “No! I heard such news right from the source, while I was attending to the Queen. She said herself that the Princess will return to contest some…birthright or something like that”

 The little maidservant raised her head and gave Mari an amused look, “You should not be listening to them while you attend to them”

 “You get away with it if you pretend you’re not listening at all” Freiya snaps back with a mischievous smirk, “the Queen is understandably not thrilled with their arrival”

 Mari huffed a laugh, “Neither are the Princes”

 “Why is that?” she asks with a confused lilt of her head,

 Despite being younger, Freiya talks over Mari when she’s about to open her mouth. Such a carefree little thing, it made her laugh. She cared not about such hierarchies.

 “Supposedly they are here for the little Prince Lucerys’ ‘right’ to Driftmark”

 Mari wrinkles her nose in distaste, “Prince Lucerys? The…”

 “Exactly” Freiya responds,

 “What on earth are you two talking about?” she asks, completely lost.

 Mari sighs, “Prince Lucerys is the one who took Prince Aemond’s eye all those years ago, both merely children” she explains, folding the damp cloth in her arms, “the Queen was so distressed for her son, she barely allowed him from her sight”

 For a very split second, something akin to sympathy washes over the little maidservant. But then underneath that is another feeling still. Something questioning.

 “When are they to arrive?”

 “Allegedly, within a few days” Freiya responds excitedly, ecstatic to receive some drama in her no doubt monotonous maidservant life.

 For a man who had been so wronged in his past, with such a traumatic past, to turn into the person he was today. Someone who could be cruel, taking the little power she had in her own life into his own, greedy for more. She had done nothing to him but merely exist and attend to him, as was her job. And she wracked her brain about it. What had she done to incite such cruelty in him, if anything at all? What harm could she do to him in her position, that he had not done to her a million times over.

 With her heart weighing heavy in her chest, after scrubbing the living daylights out of the linen, she carried the dirty water back with Freiya, chatting idly. She was good company, she had to admit, even if she was obsessed with the inner workings of the royal’s lives. As melancholic as the little maidservant felt, she let out perhaps her first genuine laugh when Freiya ‘accidentally’ bumped some of the water over the front of her dress. She’d given the young girl a friendly swat and told the little tyrant to scarper.

 If what Freiya and Mari had said was true, there was a possibility that his typical Targaryen temper could possibly become worse. Perhaps irreparably so.

  She waited in his chambers until it was impossibly dark. Later than usual, Aemond eventually returned, in a much more sour mood than this morning.

 She’d knelt in front of the fire, placing more wood on it to heat the room in the cold that had captured it now that the sun had gone down. Was this how it was to be now? In the morning, he was one person, not burdened by the mood of others and his own not dependent on what had happened during the day. And at night, after the weight of his day had weighed heavy on his tired soul, his desire for release, of any kind, was insatiable.

 “Your grace” she greeted with a bowed head, her soft, fearful voice barely carried above the crackling of the flames. Quite the opposite of the other night, while he was still angry, he let the door shut softly behind him. She just stared at his legs as they made their way towards her, and a flash of her pushing against his legs, in an attempt to push him away from her zips through her head. He was so much larger than her, she thought. It would take no effort on his side at all to subdue her.

 She notices how he stands before her, fists clenched white.

 “My little maidservant does not meet my eye today” he says with a hint of irritation to his tone, “Why”

 She swallows nervously, trying desperately to regain her breath “Apologies, your grace.Just some problems at home that are of no matter”

 When he remains still and quiet, she worries for a moment that she’s overshared, spoken too much and that depending on what mood he’s in, she might have set him off.

 “What problems” he asks, and despite him asking, she gets the impression from his tone of voice that he is completely and utterly unbothered about the reason and just wants to hear her speak. She looks up to meet his eye and immediately wishes she hadn’t. His gaze is cold, uncaring, dark, like she is an annoyance.

 “My…siblings, your grace. I am required to send them more coin, to pay for their support…” she replies nervously, insistent that she has shared too much information and that he very much does not care. She sees this, because his cold expression does not change.

 His eyes roam her face, seeing the discomfort there at her situation. But he cannot find it within himself to care. All he cares to remember is how her smooth hip felt that very morning, how hard he had squeezed it, how he had dreamt for his fingernails to create little indents in her soft skin.

 “You do not smile in my presence” he says simply.

 At this, her lips part in shock. What did he mean? And also, what reason would she have to smile in his presence while attending to him?

 “Pardon me, your grace?” she says in a quiet voice, immediately sucking in air as he steps closer to her. Her feet didn’t move from their spot.

 “With the other maidservants, you smile so widely and yet in my presence…” he hums, his finger reaching out to twirl the little piece of hair at the side of her face once more, as if obsessed with it, “...I believe you fear me, sweet girl”

She could say nothing but try and keep her breath steady. He was right, he frightened her. But what woman would not be frightened at the way he leered at her, kept her in his sights firm and unyielding.

 Only a woman who would want it, she thought.

 “But no matter,” he says, his hand trailing to her the buttons of her dress at the top of her chest. Undoing the first…then the second…”I will have your fear if I can have nothing else” he smirks only slightly.

 Her brain was all over the place. He said it with such conviction. Uncaring if she had wanted any of it or not. She could feel her stomach bubbling in her gut, feeling as if she might either cry or vomit. Aemond could not help but smirk at her efforts to keep herself calm, and failing miserably. His hand barely floated over her chest, over her clothed nipple and she’d flinched only slightly, with a slight inhale of her sweet, hot breath.

 He had seen how she had smiled with her fellow maidservant, the way her dimples had shown on the upper apples of her cheeks, the pink that coloured them when she laughed. He had seen the way the little cock tease had water splashed down her front, turning her dress completely dark and sodden. Aemond would not be able to rid his mind of the image of her hardened nipples beneath the fabric for days, weeks, months to come.

 “Sit” he gestured to the end of the large bed, while Aemond stalked to the fireplace for a moment.

 She gathered her skirts in her shaking hands and sat herself down, closing her eyes to catch her breath, feeling as if the walls were closing in, and that the air was becoming difficult to breathe.

 When Aemond turned around, his eyepatch had been discarded and he was shucking off his leather doublet, with the cream undershirt the only thing beneath it. He walked with such purpose towards her, until his tall, broad form was completely staring and looming over hers. His sapphire eye caught the light of the fire and at this moment, he looked almost possessed.

 “I do not want your hair up when you are in my chambers”

 There was a beat of silence, timed by the beating of her heart.

“Well?”

 The intensity of his voice seemed to wake her from the impregnable fear for just a moment, and her shaking hands reached up for her hair again, quicker about her movements than she had been the previous time he’d aske-no, demanded for her to do so. It was wrong firstly to have her hair loose in his presence, but if anyone

 “Look at me”

 With her hair now falling in their waves down her back, she barely has time to look up before his large hand flies to her jaw,  fingers squeezing painfully at her cheekbones, almost bruisingly. He pulls at her face slightly upwards and towards him. Aemond revells in the shocked and doe-eyed expression on her face and the way her skin blossoms pink under his firm, hard touch. His lips are drawn into a tight line, as if getting angrier by the second, and in his grasp he felt her tremble.

 “Did you enjoy my cock in your throat” he says, his thumb drawing across her bottom lip, only slightly dipping inside into the warm embrace of her little mouth. He can see that she’s too shocked to say anything, her pupils shaking.

 “Did you enjoy swallowing my spend…” he goes on, his thumb pressing against the wet muscle of her tongue, emphasising where his spend had been before he had demanded her to swallow it.

 If he dipped beneath her skirts, would she bet as wet as her mouth? Accepting his digit so willingly.

 “I think you did, sweet girl”

Did I?

 He collects the wetness of her mouth on his thumb, still grasping her face tightly. When she briefly looked down, she saw how hard he was beneath his breeches and the memory of how he had felt in her mouth, heavy and hot. As well as how he’d tasted. At this she feels her gut tighten.

 He pulls his thumb out her mouth, again, smearing the wetness over her lips and then her face as he grips her tightly once more.

 “Do you like this job, sweet girl” he asked and her heart froze in fear.

 “Yes, your grace” she whispered back,

 “Then you will do as I say if you wish to keep it”

 He quite forcefully pushes her back, making her support her torso on her elbows, looking over to the bed with parted lips when Aemond kneels on the floor, his eye forever on her face as he rucks up her skirts. It’s here she realises what he may intend to do and goes to shut her legs tight against each other.

 “Are you going to be a good little maidservant and be quiet?”

 She nods, voice failing her. Not that she would trust it to be steady at the moment.

 If it were possible, his mood flattened completely. Aemond growls and hooks both his hands under her thighs and pulls her closer to him, his fingers digging into her bare, soft skin.

 “Your grace, I-” she starts. Aemond glares right at her, forcefully parting her thighs and painfully squeezing the meat of her legs, emitting a whimper from her.

 “What did I fucking say about being quiet” he snarls, hooking his fingers into her smallclothes and ripping them down her legs. She would shut her legs tightly if Aemond were not so strongly holding them apart, and she feels her heart going fast when she feels his hot breath on the juncture of her thigh. His tongue runs over the line there, inhaling deeply the heady scent of her sex, which he has no doubt is seeping with arousal.

 “Stay still while I taste you, sweet…sweet girl”

 He dips between her thighs and sees her bare cunny before him. It was just as he’d imagined it, the luscious hair framing it just for him was waiting there, his thumb ran over her lips, parting them to brush his thumb over her clit. She was wet. So wet. Her slick aided his movements and when he’d brushed over her swollen bundle of nerves, she’d released a shuddered breath, tensing up somewhat. Aemond was tempted to reprimand her, but now faced with her perfect cunt right before him, ready for his taking, he cannot find it within himself to care.

 He dives in, flattening his tongue against her sex and he feels her body jolt beneath his hold, fingers curling into her hips.

 “Mm…” he hums. She tasted so sweet for him, the intoxicating taste of her arousal flooded his tongue, waking his nerves and something deep, dark and ancient within. His eye opened somewhat to look up at her, being so good and quiet for him and he smirked against her cunt, quickening his motions when he saw that she’d laid back, keeping her hand over her mouth to obey him. Aemond watched as her chest and body writhed with each movement of his wet muscle against her clit, her other hand fisted the bedsheets and he could faintly hear her whimpering behind her hand.

 Aemond pushed her legs further apart, granting his tongue access to her wet and waiting entrance, he dipped inside, using it to fuck her repeatedly. The only sound in his otherwise quiet chambers was slapping of his mouth against her cunt, lapping up her juices with a new vigour. He thought, the longer he continued, the more addicted he would become to it. He wanted to have this sweet cunt for all his meals; it gave him life and sustenance.

 But it wasn’t enough.

 His little maidservant was not letting go of herself enough. He could not bring her to peak like this.

 He wanted her climax on his tongue, like she had his.

 Aemond moves his tongue out of her, running up slowly to her bundle of nerves and sucks eagerly, giving her a new, deeper sensation in her gut that makes her hips buck against his face against her will. A new sound floods out her mouth against her hand that has Aemond’s ears perked up and his lips turn up into a smirk. He briefly breaks his contact with her to pull her hand from her face, pinning it by her wrist to the bed harshly.

 “I want to hear you when I make you peak”

 Her eyes are shut tightly, but Aemond doesn’t wait for an answer and goes right back in, licking and sucking her clit, one hand forever at her thigh to keep her open for him. He can feel her body trembling beneath him and the little sounds of her breath as she tries to keep it under control, and now that her hand is not muffling her sounds, he drinks in the various whimpers and tiny, tiny moans with renewed purpose.

 She lets out halfway between a choked whimper and moan when Aemond mercilessly thrusts one finger into her, he moans against her sex at the tightness of her, and how she would feel when she was finally wrapped around his cock. How she’d squeeze him as he used her body for himself and milk him for his spend when her cunt convulsed with the force of her climax.

 Aemond moved his head side to side against her sex, licking every bit of her he could as her moans had become louder. Stray tears ran down her face at the foreign feeling. It was strange and slightly unpleasant, as she’d never put anything inside her before. But his finger crooked up inside her slightly, rubbing against somewhere she never knew existed and it gave her the urge to move her hips, searching for something.

 Uncaring if she was ready, Aemond hastened all his movements and inserted a second, stretching her little cunny with his long, thick digits. He thought she would need to be prepared, for when he would eventually have his cock inside of her.

 It would hurt. It would be painful.

 And it was this that excited him the most.

 As he fucked her with his fingers, focussing his tongue on her clit quickly, he noted the way her body began to spasm in his grip. She was close, just that bit more.

 He loved it when her pink lips parted to give him a quiet moan. It was like praise. And when he concentrated the pads of his fingers against that rough spot within her, her back began to move off the bed, her breath coming in hurried pants. Her tears joined the rest, sliding down her face at the absurdity of the feeling she was having. What was this? Was this pleasure? What everyone else sought so much? It didn’t feel entirely pleasurable, she thought. But there was something deep, dark about the way it was being drawn from her that set shame heavy in her.

 “Come on, sweet girl…” Aemond murmurs against her, “come on”

 He keeps his mouth on her the entire time, body wracked with painful pleasure. So much so that even her voice doesn’t manage to form coherently and her mouth is slack open, frozen in place as the warmth floods her body against her will.

 “That’s it…” he coos, all while his tongue earnestly laps up every single bit of her climax from her, drinking it down like the air he breathes. Aemond can’t help but smile, now that he’s tasted her, seen what she looks like when she comes apart. He can’t not have her and fully intends to have her little cunny at his disposal. One hand dips beneath his breeches, to pump himself, feeling that he did not need much friction to climax himself.

 Her body slumps against the mattress, limbs now entirely limp and feeling both warm and empty at the same time. She eventually cracks her eyes open when Aemond delivers one more warm, stripe upwards, collecting what little is left of her. She looks up to the ceiling, to the canopy and realises her vision is fogged with tears and her hand comes up to wipe at them, now being able to feel the wetness of them against her cheeks.

 Aemond had travelled up her body, still furiously stroking his cock, aching for completion.

 “Do not let it go to waste” he ordered, holding his manhood close to her mouth as he fisted it furiously, fingers once again running through her hair to grip harshly as he pulled at the back of her head.

 Without warning, he shoves his cock into her mouth, prodding the back of her throat and moaning loudly when she splutters around it, having not been prepared. She could smell his musky scent, now even more amplified from his efforts on her previously and it completely flooded her senses. Not a second later, was the familiar flood of his spend into her mouth as he softly thrusted into her, wanting to prolong his friction.

 He took one long breath and pulled his cock from her mouth. But her eyes were firmly shut, whimpering as she swallowed the thick, bitter substance. Again.

 She had a strange thought. That there may have been more spend than food in her belly. And it rattled her beyond comprehension.

 Why am I crying, she thought, having not felt them even come. Her body felt strange, like she was on the outside looking in at herself and she wondered how pathetic she must look. She wondered how other people would look at her if they saw what trouble she’d gotten herself into. What other people thought…

 …it frightened her.

 Regaining her strength, she finally sits up, looking around bleary-eyed to see Aemond, on the other side of the room, already seated in his armchair with a cup of wine in one hand, watching the flames of the fire in front of him. She could see from this angle that his lips and the skin around it was glistening and his other hand was at his lips, smearing whatever wetness was there more over them. She wondered how long she had been laid there.

 In the soft light of the fire, he almost looked handsome. She thought that he, Aemond Targaryen, would be remembered as a skilled swordsman, rider of the largest dragon in the world, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. History books would record him for centuries to come, on his skills, his wit, his fearsome victories.

 And she…

 …She who had been owned first by her father. And now owed her life to servitude under him. She had always been owned and perhaps always would be. Any husband would own her as well as her money and her children, doomed by the determination of her sex to perform the duties of them for the rest of her life.

 History would not remember her. It would scarcely even know she existed in the first place. Even her own name would not even be remembered by those she worked alongside, she feared. Those she called her friends.

 Forgotten. Replaceable.

 Gathering her breath and wiping her face, she’s unable to control the soft pants of her weak cries and pulls her dress back over herself. Aemond turns, but does not look at her straight on.

 “Leave” he orders flatly.

 She would be shocked, if it hadn’t already happened before. So she took shakily to her feet, feeling entirely degraded and empty within, despite the hum of pleasure still present inside. He didn’t say anything else as she struggled out of the door, her hair still loose around her shoulders.

 It was only when she was in the lit safety of the hallway that she finally allows herself to comprehend what happened and a few more fat tears make their way down her face and her neck.

 Am I his maidservant, or his whore.

Maidservant.

 Whore.

 Whore.

 The way back to the staff quarters was long and wracked with quiet sobs.

 She’d brushed Hedi’s shoulder as she walked past and Hedi had looked wide-eyed at her, as if only just recognising her with her hair down. Hedi’s face immediately fell into a sombre, sorrowful one,

 “Child, what is wrong?” she says, cupping her face in both her hands and looking over her for any sign of injury. She simply shook her head and hastily wiped her cheeks til they were red,

 “I am just tired, please Hedi I-”

 Hedi pressed a hand to her forehead, acting very much like a mother, despite the age gap being small between them, but she found no fever there and she was only very warm from all her crying.

 “Why is your hair down, child?” she asks hesitantly, her eyes darting about her face in search of a clue. Hedi had noticed. Her loose hair, her two undone buttons, the shake of her hands.

 “Please, I just need sleep” she insisted unconvincingly, tearing herself from Hedi’s grasp to wander through the halls to her own quarters, intent on scrubbing herself raw once again with the brush. Desperately trying to erase any memory of touch.

 Hedi had watched her disappear, the other few maidservants followed with their looks, cementing their thoughts in their sour expression.

 “Whore”

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise​ @valeskafics​​

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles  @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr   @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx  @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid​ @thedamewithabook​ @hiatuswhore​ @apollonshootafar​ @ladymarg0t​ 

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, DM me if you wanna be removed besties

[constantcrying]

Anger is a secondary emotion.

m!yandere x gn!reader

TW: obsession, some violence

This'll be my first post! If you have any feedback, I hope you'll share it.

He's trying. Honestly he is. He's putting in the work, biting his tongue and keeping his fists clenched. He'll never pick another jealous fight or cause a scene for the rest of your lives. He'll stop taking souvenirs from your home after every visit. Maybe he'll even go to therapy and unpick the fucked up weave of his childhood to find the origin of his every maladaption. Who knows, he might come out of this rough patch a better human being.

Promises between the two of you are worth something. You always say what you mean, do what you say. That consistency is another thing he loves about you, another one of the countless reasons he couldn't bear to lose you. It was why the look on your face that day had terrified him, as you confessed you were sick of his shit and struggling to be his friend—you meant it when you said you would go no-contact because he was obsessive.

It was bad enough being relegated to a mere friend after two years of adoring you. What was he supposed to do if you left him altogether? As much as he hated sharing your time and attention with the rest of the world, he couldn't bear to lose his humble slice of it. Before he met you, he hadn't cared so deeply about anything or anyone. He hadn't known what to do when he fell for you, except sink his teeth in and never let go.

Just the thought of life without you made him so sick, he fell to his knees on the spot. He fought his shaky voice and managed to utter an apology, begging for a chance to correct himself.

He isn't good with humility or patience or prostration. But he is honest. He does love you. He'll do anything for you, even act right.

You knew him well enough to believe his words. You also (rightly) pitied him. In the end you agreed that if he cleaned up his act, you wouldn't cut him off.

For now, he's on probation, seeing you once every eight days or so. He's not strong enough to go longer than that without being near you. In between those pressure control days, he journals, meditates, and reads self-help books. He'll even exercise more than he ever did before, because studies claim that it helps with emotional regulation. He thinks it's all stupid. He hopes it works and you think better of him. He continues this way for months.

The result? He isn't biting off your male friends' heads anymore. He isn't trying to monopolize your time. He doesn't obsessively check your location and text you like crazy. A touchy friend says hi to you at a cafe, and he doesn't get angry at them for interrupting and hugging you, he just says hi back. It's actually pleasant to hang out together in public again. For you, it's like the friend you made so long ago has actually come back. You don't ever say it, but he thinks you might believe he's actually over you.

He forgives you for that, and for the threat of leaving. He knows your peace is important to you, so you just said what you thought was best. And him...he'll stop with the outbursts, bury all of the feelings he's wrestling with. See? He changes for you. How many of your ex friends and lovers can say the same?

But there's nothing you can do about your missing possessions ex post facto. He still struggles, like anyone with bad habits. There's always an urge to come closer to you, to cradle you to his chest, to kiss you stupid. Just...let him keep the chapstick and the t-shirts, at least. He can tide himself over with the lingering scent of your favorite products.

And, of course, the anger remains simmering under his skin. It comes in waves, he notices, after every doubt and concern. Your casual smile at another person, for a split second, makes his gut churn before the heat of rage washes over him. After he sends a text you don't respond to, his heart sinks, and then it catches fire. He's always scared first. Maybe the journaling isn't so stupid if it can show him these patterns.

The problem is, he can't kill the source of his fear unless he can have you all to himself. That's not happening anytime soon.

So he's still struggling his way through your time together. You hang out like normal people, having dinner at a new restaurant before strolling down the street on a cool summer evening. Almost no one is outside, creating the sense that you two exist in your own little pocket dimension. You decide to go down a little alleyway, a shortcut that never presents any problems.

Somehow, a throw-away comment of his makes you laugh, and he wants to take the sound and inject it into his veins. The glory of your approval is bittersweet. He dreads the way this night will end: with you going to your place instead of coming home with him. It is all he can do, not to break the unspoken barrier between you. He wants to be optimistic. He wants to say that it's enough if you're happy, beside him right now.

As if you couldn't be happy elsewhere. As if he could be.

He can't handle thinking this way anymore, so he looks away. Just for a moment. Just to take some breaths and be something close to functional.

That's his big mistake.

The second you cry out, he turns back. You've been knocked to the ground by some staggering man, who trips over your leg and lands against a trash can. He must have come from the bar down the road because he reeks of bottom-shelf liquor.

"Son of a bitch!" The man growls. "Watch it! Watch where you're fucking going! You think you own the fucking street?"

"Fuck you!" You respond, trying to push yourself up off the ground. You hiss and stop, bringing your hand up to see that the palm is a scraped mess.

The drunk man mumbles some more curses at you and, in a fit of dionysian inspiration, kicks you.

It's not a hard blow. He's hammered, and totally out of shape besides. And maybe he never meant to hurt you at all—maybe he's just being childish and weird, his inhibitions drowned by a night of heavy drinking.

It doesn't matter to your friend.

His body has moved, he realizes, as he stares down at a pulpy mess. It used to be a face. His knuckles are raw, split from overuse. It feels like nothing at all. You're hurt, though, and the perpetrator is still breathing, so he needs to do something about that.

Without a hand gripping his collar, the drunk man splatters on the ground. He doesn't have the wherewithal to protect himself from further attacks, so with no resistance, your friend can just swing his foot into a perfectly vulnerable stomach. He does. He does it again. And again. And in the middle of this, even in his high-running emotions, he finds a sense of clarity that he's rarely afforded. Finally, someone pays the price for touching you. What a relief it is to have something nice and solid absorbing all the rage that he's always stuffing down.

You have apparently been calling his name nonstop. He only notices now as he's being yanked back by the arm. Like a spell is wearing off, he hears your voice. You sound far away, at first, the way you do in dreams. As he becomes aware of his pounding heart and aching knuckles, your muffled voice becomes clear.

"What the hell are you doing? Stop! You'll kill him!"

He's obedient, if you recall, so he stops. He turns to you, panting and shaking out his hand. Strangely, you flinch and back up. Your eyes are wide, your mouth pressed shut.

You've...never looked at him that way. He's irritated and embarrassed you, but nothing he's done has ever scared you.

He should worry about this, but he can't help smiling. You're so cute when you're frightened. You belong in his arms, where he can keep you safe.

He pulls you into him and squeezes you tight. As much as you do tremble, there's not an ounce of resistance from you as he does this. You are having the same epiphany is him right now—that he would never hurt you, that anyone who did would pay sevenfold.

But while he is imagining himself as your knight, you're thinking of all the strangers and friends who may be unkind, however briefly, to you. You're thinking of how sharp this man's memory is and how casually you complained about exes or classmates or coworkers when you thought everything was okay.

"It's okay. You're safe," he whispers into your hair, relishing the close contact.

He's going to stay good for you. It'll be easy now, knowing where to put all the excess energy.

[onyourowndaisymae]

obey me characters hands hcs (demon brothers, dateables, + side characters)

college has whooped my ass but your girl has officially graduated with two degrees!! finally!! hopefully i will be able to get out more writing soon. i think i am also going to tweak my request rules in the coming days to make writing easier on myself and my schedule, so expect that soon. anyways enjoy these random headcanons that came to mind one night out of nowhere

content warnings: none

Lucifer

lucifer is usually wearing gloves, so you rarely get to see or feel his hands. so when you do, it's a treat.

his hands are cold, but not unbearably so. they perpetually feel like he's been out in the cold just a few minutes too long. when he touches your bare skin, it makes you jump-- but keep them close for a few minutes and you'll chase the cold away completely.

his hands are soft. probably not super surprising considering he's always wearing gloves, but it's still pleasant.

he's got big ass, strong hands. they may be soft, but that doesn't mean they're weak. lucifer is the type of person that could open a jar for you with such ease that he'd almost look disappointed in your weak little human arms. if he's in a good mood, he might tease you about it.

he's pretty pale, so you can see the color of his veins under his skin. he's also got just a few prominent veins-- nothing excessive, but just enough to hit that sweet spot between too much and not enough.

his nails are always pristine. he's the avatar of pride. do you think he'd willingly walk around with chipped nail polish? if something somehow happens, they will be redone by the next day, almost like they'd never chipped in the first place. either he'll call asmo over to fix them, or fix them himself, depending on how much time he has.

Mammon

mammon has pleasantly warm hands. sometimes they get a little sweaty, but it's not much of a problem honestly. he's like a nice little heating pack on a winter day. because his hands are warm, though, yours usually feel cold to him... and he will complain. it's mammon.

his hands are also pretty soft. gotta look nice, y'know? i can see him keeping lotion (and chapstick-- not relevant here but it's worth a mention regardless) on his person pretty often. this came about bc he got tired of the lotion he borrowed from asmo smelling all perfume-y getting him odd looks.

this man is always wearing at least one ring and you cannot convince me otherwise. i can see him wearing a lot of matching gold ring sets. they just look like they belong on him, y'know?

i think he's got a few subtle veins across his hands. he knows that people like that, so i think he's pretty proud of his hands. he even takes care to avoid chipping or otherwise messing up his nails so the whole look will stay cohesive.

Leviathan

oh you know this man's hands are clammy as fuck. sorry bud. facts are facts.

he's blessed with very pretty hands. his nails just grow in a pretty shape (and asmo makes sure to keep them that way), his fingers are slender and proportional, his hands are a normal size, and his skin stays pretty moisturized, even in harsh weather. he doesn't have to try. which is good, because we all know he wouldn't.

i think levi actually hates the feeling of rings and hand jewelry. he'd fidget with it too much and eventually become so aware of it that he'd need to take it off before he goes crazy. if he gets married and wears a traditional wedding ring, it would have to fit perfectly and be very comfortable for him to eventually get used to it.

levi picks at the pads of his fingers a lot when he's anxious, but he's not super prone to scaring there, so it isn't super noticeable. he'll go through bursts of trying to break this habit where he covers his poor hands in vaseline, but nothing even quite breaks him of it.

Satan

satan has hands crafted by god specifically to play piano and look nice holding books. look at him. there's no way he'd have ugly hands. they're soft and pretty, but i think he has to put more effort than expected into maintaining them.

he's another one that i think would be anti-ring for much of the same reason as levi. i think it would just feel odd on his fingers and he'd get irritated by their presence. he's okay wearing bracelets though.

his hands, slender and pretty as they remain, are also quite strong. he's the avatar of wrath, after all. he's probably the second or third best to go to when you need a tough jar opened.

his nails and cuticles always look presentable, but i think he finds grooming them unpleasant. he lets asmo do it for him-- the younger one's chattering distracts him from the irritating feeling of pushed back cuticles and trimmed hangnails. his hands aren't naturally soft, either, but asmo has developed a routine for him so they stay nice with a bit of regular (secret) effort. satan's all about seeming effortlessly perfect, after all, and his hands are no exception.

Asmo

softest hands in the entire cast. simeon and mephistopheles are good competitors, but this is not a battle he will lose.

his nails are always perfectly manicured and soft. he's got a million different lotions scatter across his room, the HoL, RAD, etc., all to make sure he never encounters even a hint of dry skin. he's got emergency nail polish, too, just incase a nail were to chip while he's out and about.

asmo reaches a lot for daintier, tasteful jewelry. think small rings, delicate bracelets, pretty gemstones, the works. he's very particular about matching the jewelry both to his outfit AND his nails.

he doesn't have any visible veins, so his hands seem inhumanly perfect at times. he likes this. compliment his hands and he'll swoon-- not that he cares more about them than the rest of his body, but because it shows you notice the smaller details he puts effort into, and he appreciates it.

Beel

big boy's got big ass hands. even if you're grown yourself, putting your palms against his will make you feel like a kid again. he could palm a basketball like shaq.

he's got his fair share of callouses. i think he mostly leaves them alone because they serve the purpose of improving his grip, which is nice for the gym or fangol. asmo probably gets on him for it, but beel doesn't care enough to do something about it. i can also see him having quite a few prominent veins on both hands.

his hands fluctuate in temperature a LOT. it's pretty unpredictable, too. you can touch his hand and find it scorching hot, then touch it again ten minutes later to find it eerily lukewarm. nobody knows why this happens.

beel has to be very conscious of his hygiene, or his hands will get really dirty in a matter of minutes. he's constantly eating and touching things, so he needs to either be careful or have a napkin on hand. i think lucifer carries hand sanitizer for this exact reason (although he won't admit it).

Belphegor

belphegor's hands are upsettingly lukewarm. it's like touching things or inclimate weather has no effect on him. they're always lazily warm, like a glass of water sitting out in the sun.

his hands stay soft mainly because he doesn't do much with them. he is, however, prone to hangnails. he's lazily bite them off and accidentally cause more in the process-- not that he particularly cares.

he leaves nail and hand maintenance in asmo's hands. he'll let the fifth born do anything to them so long as he gets to sleep through it.

not anti-jewelry/rings per se, but doesn't care enough about it to a) put any on, or b) make sure he doesn't lose whatever he's wearing that day. if it somehow falls off, the most you're getting from him is a quick look around, unless the piece was really meaningful and/or borrowed.

Diavolo

is anyone surprised to hear that diavolo has massive, strong hands? no? didn't think so.

he's got really thick fingers, too. you feel like a toddler comparing hand sizes with him. he's just a mountain of a man.

his hands are always hot but never sweaty. it's comforting most of the times, but if you're already hot his touch is like fire. dawg. don't touch me. i'm sweating. his entire body is like this, too.

his nails are always very particularly manicured (it's an image thing) and fairly soft. he cares enough to use lotion but not enough to carry it. he's not one to be super vain in that regard.

there's a tasteful amount of veinage on this prince's hands. enough to be attractive, but not enough to make him seen overworked or to age him.

Barbatos

definitively the coldest fucking hands in the entire cast. barbatos' hands are cold enough to wake the dead with just a touch.

his hands are always covered by gloves as well, so they're not as rough as you'd expect. still, though, the butler is always keeping his hands busy, so i imagine there are still some minor calluses across his hands. nothing enough to be super noticable, but still there.

he's got long, slender fingers. very regal. his hands themselves are average sized. compared to someone like diavolo, though, they're dainty.

his hands are also very pale, but for some reason you can't spot a single vein. it's odd. you can see the tendons and bones shift when he moves so you know his hands are built like normal... but something about the veins just seems so odd. mammon tricked luke into thinking barbatos doesn't have any blood, so that's why no one can see his veins. this is wrong, but luke is too polite to ask about it. (the real explanation is that, although he's pale, he's got pretty thick skin-- demon perks-- so you don't really see much below it).

Simeon

simeon's hands are pleasantly warm at all times. you can feel the heat through his gloves. it's just a very comforting thing-- he'll hold your hand anytime you ask, so don't be afraid to ask if you're a little chilly or in need of some reassurance.

when he takes the gloves off, his hands are silky smooth. did you expect anything different? i can see him being very methodical abut hygiene in general, and in this case i think he's always using a nice lotion on his hands before he puts his gloves on for the day. when they come off, his hands are soft and sweet-smelling-- like cocoa butter and vanilla.

he doesn't paint his nails or anything, but they always look very nice. his liberal use of lotion pairs well with his other grooming habits. his cuticles are never overgrown, his nails are always short and uniform, and his nail beds are healthy and clear. it's minor, but it just adds to the overwhelming perfection that simeon exudes.

Solomon

solomon's hands are somehow both clammy AND cold. pick a struggle, peepaw.

on the plus side, his hands are soft. even in the winter, solomon never has to worry about rough knuckles or dry skin. which is good, because you cannot convince me that this man would remember to regularly apply lotion. he's a menace.

his hands are pale, like the rest of them, but also more veiny than i think most would anticipate. he's got one prominent one heading to his ring finger, and the rest are a bit smaller but still noticeable. his pale skin allows you to see the blue of his veins underneath. they're interesting to just stare at at watch move when he flexes his fingers.

i can see him wearing a ring or two on occasion. i don't think he'd care a whole lot about the aesthetics, but i think he'd put in enough effort to wear gold when his outfit has gold and switch to silver when wearing outfits with silver in them. it's a small thing, but it lets your know he's putting in at least a little thought.

Luke

luke has got such little, cute hands. his fingers are small and a little stubby, just like his nails. his nails also grow slowly, too, so he doesn't have to do much to keep them presentable.

unfortunately, they're often a little sticky. he bakes a lot, and while he's not usually dirty or messy, he's still young and somehow just attracts stickiness like any other child. it's especially bad when he uses honey in his recipes-- his hands are perpetually sticky for like two or three days after, no matter how often he washes his hands.

luke is a nervous little child, and for that i could see him being someone that picks at his cuticles. simeon gently discourages this habit, but at the end of the day he can't do much but make sure they heal properly.

BONUS:

Thirteen

she gives barbatos a run for his money in the cold hand competition. her fingers are ice. unlike barbatos, she will use this to her advantage. you'll find her frigid fingers on the back of your neck or under the hem of your shirt when you least expect it. she doesn't have any reason to do this. she just thinks it's funny.

her hands are a little dry, mainly around the knuckles. she strikes me as someone that constantly rubs her dry hands together and bitches about needing lotion, while simultaneously never remembering her own. she probably bums a dab of lotion off of someone ever day (i'm thinking asmo).

her nails are always really nice. they're just naturally shaped really well, round at the top and pretty straight. they're strong and don't break easy, which is good, because a hangnail can throw off her concentration for an entire afternoon.

Raphael

like belphegor, raphael's hands are an upsetting temperature-- no matter how warm or cold your hands are, his feel lukewarm against yours. it should literally be impossible, but then again, a lot of things you've encountered in the devildom should be impossible.

he's got some calluses. they're pretty interesting, honestly-- if he was a human, he'd have the bumpy, dry hands of a weathered veteran or lonely woodworker, all rough skin and long years embedded into his flesh. but he's an angel. the calluses on his hands are small and fairly easy to miss if you don't touch him. but run your hand along the ridges of his fingers or the fatty parts of his palms and you'll find them just fine.

raphael has really pretty nail beds. something about the way they look is just so clean and nice. he never has overgrown cuticles or anything, either. just really nice hands for a man that does not spare a single thought to the way they look.

Mephistopheles

this man has hands like butter. they're just so soft and luxurious. you think they'd be a bit more rugged seeing as he's a rich boy with a penchant for horseback riding, but no. i can see him being very anal about his hands. they're always soft with not a callous or imperfection in sight.

speaking of perfect, this motherfucker has amazing nails. they're just a tad longer than you'd expect to be traditionally "masculine", but that just enhances how slender and pretty his fingers look. no wonder he's always pointing and gesturing so dramatically-- he's gotta show off all that hard work!

pretty boy here just has really nice, strong hands. not really veiny, but very smooth and even. his palms are a bit lighter than his skintone, naturally, but across the board there's no discoloration or scarring to be seen. you can tell he's a noble just by looking at his hands.

he's usually in those gloves but, if not, i could see him being a rings kinda guy. only tasteful ones, though, and in moderation. not like mammon.

[theamityelf]

hey know this is a weird ask but could you do a barista makoto au where he probably doesn’t get an invite as an ultimate despite his skill while Kyoko is possibly addicted to the coffee he makes and trying to keep it to herself and maybe it fails because mukuro was sent to get coffees by Junko, but when she orders from makoto he’s still the first person to smile at her

Ooh, even better than Ultimate Barista.

Okay, this is definitely a situation where everyone (or almost everyone) in the 78th class meets Makoto at the coffee shop near campus and has meaningful experiences with him. They're all trying to keep him a secret, separately.

This one miiiight have to be a multi-chapter fic, because it would be too long for a post, lol.

For Makoto's birthday, here's part of the first chapter:

---

Kyoko saw him first.

She wasn’t being petty or possessive; it was just true.

At least, she saw him first as a barista- a distinction she was to learn later.

Her route to Hope’s Peak took her through a certain coffee shop on Day 1. And though her learned habit of taking in every detail at all times compelled her to retain that she entered at 7:35 in the morning, that there was a bell above the door that sounded loudly when it opened, that there were three people in line ahead of her (and what they looked like, and what they were wearing), and that the inside of the place was a comfortable temperature and smelled like a normal coffee shop...she wasn't going in with the intention of ever returning. It was a small place, close enough to campus for her convenience but not so close as to be the regular stomping ground of every Hope's Peak attendee and faculty member.

As a student, she expected she'd be making her own coffee, in the dorms.

When she reached the front of the line, she saw him at the register.

He was plain-looking. Pleasant-looking. Dressed in a tan button-up shirt and pants and an olive brown apron. His name tag read 'Naegi'. He looked to be about 5'3'', with brown hair in mild disarray and eyes that matched his apron. A smile that didn't look forced. He had to be about her age, which was...unusual. That would make him a high school student.

"Welcome!" he said brightly. "What can I get for you?"

"Just a black coffee," she said.

"Black coffee. You're sure?" He didn't say it like he was doubting her. More as if...he was placing a sword in her hand and wanted confirmation that she was ready to wield it.

And because she was naturally curious, she forewent the routine "yes," in favor of, "Why do you ask?"

He blushed. "Well, there's nothing wrong with black coffee, if that's what you want! But I just thought, it's April, and you walked in here with a really focused look, and maybe you might like trying to start the school year with something a little less bitter."

"I'm not paying more than five hundred yen."

"No, that's fine!"

"Then you can make what you want."

He smiled, like it was a genuine pleasure, and went scurrying (Well, walking. He just had the energy of a fanciful woodland creature.) for the coffee pot.

She tilted her head. "Are you in high school?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Then shouldn't you be on your way to school now?"

"Yeah, my shift actually ends pretty soon. I'm heading to school right after. I know it's kind of chaotic, but I'm usually on time!"

She watched him add caramel syrup to the cup. Not much of it. Not enough to noticeably lighten the color of the coffee.

"But, you're on your way to school, too, right?" he said.

"Yes."

"I don't recognize your uniform. Is it-"

"I'm going to Hope's Peak," she interrupted.

He startled, the cup slipping a full centimeter while remaining in his hand. His eyes were full of awe and wonder. "Really?! Wow, that's amazing! What's your Ultimate talent?"

A touch of sourness curdled within her. "It's a secret," she said. Revealing herself enough to earn the Hope's Peak invitation had been more than enough attention.

"I've heard they have civet coffee, at Hope's Peak. You should try it! I mean, if you want."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Online. There are different blogs, and-"

"Fan forums."

He let out an embarrassed laugh. "Pretty much. I've always thought civet coffee would be interesting to work with. I hope you get a chance to try it."

"Is this a passion of yours, then? It's unusual, for a high school student."

"It's unusual for customers to be this curious," he replied warmly. "I'm usually the curious one. Everyone else is way more interesting than me. You're even an Ultimate."

Small amounts of many different ingredients had found their way into the coffee. (She'd kept a mental list.) Now, he was stirring it.

"They don't wonder why a high school student is acting as a barista at 7:30 in the morning on a weekday? They must badly need the coffee."

"Yeah, a lot of people are busy. And tired."

"You're very good at not answering questions."

"Huh?"

"More implicit questions than explicit ones. You've answered most of my direct questions, but I've given you a lot of opportunities to elaborate on why you work here, as a high school student, and you haven't given an answer. I'm not being sardonic; it's a genuine skill. You don't break the flow of the conversation at all. It's impressive."

"Oh." He was blushing again. "I didn't mean to...I mean, it's really just that I like meeting people and helping out. There's not much to it. I started working here because one day I came in to pick up a pastry for my little sister and the old barista was being held at knifepoint. The police caught the robber, but the barista fainted, and since he'd already given me the pastry for my sister, I had to go behind the counter to put my money in the register. And then people just started coming in and ordering things, and uh...Actually, maybe it's kind of a long story. The point is, I got special permission from my school's headmaster to do this as a part-time job, because I guess he really likes this place. I see my teachers here a lot." He put the lid on the coffee cup. "All done. That'll be five hundred yen."

She paid up and allowed his story- his interesting story which he delivered like it was mundane -to find a place in her mind to settle. When she left this place, she was going to be back in the world she'd been in before. She would put aside distractions and be back to thinking about her father and her new school.

She took the coffee cup, drew in a deep breath, and stepped away from the counter, preparing to reintroduce herself to her problems.

Seeing her father. She was going to see him at orientation. That was fine. If he didn't care about her, she didn't need to care about him. She was a Kirigiri detective. The "Ultimate" Detective, now. Tacky vanity title, ugh...

The taste of the coffee stalled her in place.

She stopped partway between the counter and the door.

Kyoko Kirigiri turned an astonished look on Naegi the barista. He was already chatting just as avidly with the next customer, but he spared her a friendly wave.

She...waved back.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Safe and Sound

Stanford Pines & Stanley Pines & Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines | 1,977 words | Hurt/Comfort

After 30 or more years of constant danger, Ford suddenly realizes that he’s safe. He’s not quite sure what to make of that.

Fic under the cut

It's a completely average day in the late summer of 2012. Ford sits on the porch couch beside Stan, who’s memories are flighty, but mostly intact. Mabel and Dipper are tussling in the yard, while Waddles lazily trots after them. Birds call from the trees, a peaceful sound that hasn’t been familiar in decades. A car— golf cart, actually— rolls up the driveway, and Ford turns to look. It’s just Soos, of course, and the children are immediately distracted by his appearance, crowing happily as they stumble over each other to greet him. When Soos glances over, Stan raises his can of cola in greeting and Ford nods. Soos waves happily, and redirects his attention to the children.

Safe, the animal in the back of Ford’s head muses, that primal, instinctual part that kept him alive for 30 years.

Ford’s stomach drops.

He’s safe.

The emotion that hits him first is not relief. It’s hard for him to classify, actually, but he feels it in his chest like a physical force, painful and heavy and growing like a weed. His next breath stutters in his throat as this terrible expanding mass claws its way up with such presence that he cups a hand over his mouth to make sure nothing escapes. His hand trembles, and he digs his fingers into his jaw to steady it. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing a few tears down his cheeks.

“Woah, hey, Six, are you okay?” Stan exclaims, and a much more familiar feeling settles into place; embarrassment.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry—“ Ford chokes out.

Stan shifts slightly, blocking Ford from the children’s view. They seem thoroughly distracted by each other, but he appreciates it all the same. He hunches forward, resting his head on Stan’s shoulder and clenching a hand into the front of his shirt.

“Hey, none of that,” Stan soothes, resting a hand lightly on the back of Ford’s shoulder. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t— I’m okay,” Ford insists.

“Y’don’t seem it,” Stan says.

“No, Stan, I’m okay. I’m safe,” Ford says, pulling away to meet his brother’s eyes. “I— I don’t know what to do.”

Stan opens his mouth, as if to offer some reassurance, but in the end he just sighs and pulls Ford into a hug. Ford goes willingly, burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck.

Ford was never much of a crier when they were kids, but when it all got to be too much, he was loud; great, heaving sobs and groans and whines. It would always make Stan panic, worried Pa would hear it and they’d both get in trouble, because when Ford cried Stan would always be close to follow.

Making that much noise was risky in their house, embarrassing in college, and downright dangerous in the multiverse. It was a habit that Ford fought hard to break, and up until now, he thought he’d succeeded.

Stan sighs again, but he doesn’t sound upset. He just tilts his head to rest his cheek against the top of Ford’s head, a pleasant weight. He’s warm and solid in his arms, and despite everything, he’s okay. They both are.

He hears the children approach, even over his own wailing, hears their young voices high and loud with concern. He knows the children would never harm him, and having them close might even make him feel better, but he’s still cognizant enough to be embarrassed by his behavior. He’s far too old to be tearing apart at the seams like this, and he curls tighter into Stan’s chest, wishing to disappear into the solid warmth of his brother, where no one will judge him even now.

He feels Stan’s soothing rumble more than he hears any actual words, but whatever he says seems to convince the kids to leave. He hears their retreating footsteps, the door creaking open and then closing.

His neck aches, inside and out, throat ragged from the wailing and skin throbbing from the burn scars that haven’t quite healed and muscles twinging from sleeping restlessly on a couch. His whole body hurts in a variety of ways he hasn’t acknowledged in decades.

The pain, so negligible in comparison to everything he’s been through, just makes him cry harder, until there’s nothing left and he’s just hiccupping and sniffling into Stan’s shoulder.

Eventually, after far too long, he finally pulls away. Stan, whose hold never faltered for a moment, allows it with a firm parting pat.

“Hey,” Stan says as their eyes meet, so casual that Ford barks out a wet laugh, and that seems to be the only noise his torn-up throat is willing to make at the moment.

He wants to apologize, for doing something so shameful and getting tears and snot all over Stan’s shirt, but he can’t find the words, much less voice them. He settles for bumping his head affectionately against Stan’s jaw, despite the way his head throbs at the slightest movement. The action seems to confuse him, but he accepts it with a fond, if baffled, smile and a hand ruffling Ford’s hair.

“You wanna go inside?” Stan asks. “The kids are worried, but they probably won’t jump you on sight.”

Ford considers it, but his mind refuses to offer anything of use. Instead, his heart longs for those children that he’s come to care for so deeply in the last few weeks. He listens to that instead, and nods, wiping the tears and snot from his face.

Stan smiles, taking his hand to help him up. The assistance is more beneficial than he anticipated, knees wobbling slightly beneath his own weight. Stan steadies him once he’s up with a hand on his back, and leads them both into the house.

“—can’t add it to the dough, it’ll get all weird!” Dipper is saying, and they find the younger twins in the kitchen.

Dipper is holding a spoon in one hand while the other arm is wrapped around a mixing bowl, hunched over it protectively as he tries to block Mabel from adding something.

“You’re all weird!” Mabel shoots back, half-climbing onto the counter in pursuit of the bowl. “It’ll be fine!”

“Oy, what’re you little gremlins getting into?” Stan barks, but there’s no bite in his tone, as usual.

“You said to get cookies, so we’re making cookies!” Mabel says, reluctantly crawling off the counter and setting down her contested ingredient; it’s edible glitter, and really, Ford should have guessed.

“I meant that you should get out the cookies we already have, yeesh,” Stan says, glancing at Ford.

Ford blinks at him cluelessly, and Stan takes a single step away, still eyeing him. Ford does nothing to protest, so Stan fully turns away and hustles into the kitchen, grabbing a little red box of shortbread cookies from the top of the fridge.

“I didn’t know we had those!” Dipper protests. “We couldn’t see them, and we definitely couldn’t reach them!”

“Yeah yeah, I forgot how short you are,” Stan says, ruffling Dipper’s hair with enough force to have him hunching a few inches shorter. “At least you managed to get a glass out of the cupboard, eh?”

Dipper huffs, but turns back to the bowl with a frown.

“Should we…?”

“If you want any cookies, you’re gonna have to make your own, because Ford here’s gonna demolish the whole box.”

An accurate appraisal.

The kids’ eyes snap to him in unison as if just now realizing he’s here. Both of them wearing matching expressions, eyes wide, brows furrowed, lips pulled down into a soft frown.

Ford wants to say something reassuring, but the words get caught in his ragged throat.

Mabel and Dipper exchange a cautious glance, before Mabel steps forward, shaking her sleeves down from where she had them rolled up while baking.

“Grunkle Ford?” she asks, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Ford was never the best at reading people, but even he can see the warmth and concern there. More importantly, there’s not a hint of the judgement he’s grown so used to.

Ford hums in acknowledgment, dropping down to her level despite the way his knees protest.

“Can I give you a hug?”

I would like that a lot, Ford thinks but still can’t say, so he settles on nodding enthusiastically and opening his arms to her. Mabel practically jumps at him, settling easily under his chin. He wraps one arm around her, but meets Dipper’s eyes over her head before he can include the other.

He’s still standing by the counter, watching the exchange. Ford smiles and gestures for him to come closer, and Dipper immediately does so with all his sister’s enthusiasm as soon as he’s given permission. He fits in against Mabel, and Ford squeezes both of them tightly to his chest, nuzzling into their hair. They’re small and solid and safe in his arms, and that almost has him crying all over again.

Stan ruffles his hair and steps around him, milling about doing who knows what. Ford can’t bring himself to care. He holds onto the children for perhaps a bit too long, but neither of them try to pull away before he releases them himself. They both look up at him with warm brown eyes, and he smiles shakily.

“Thank you,” he says roughly, barely a whisper. “I apologize for worrying you.”

“It’s okay!” Mabel is quick to reassure, and Dipper nods along.

“What happened?” Dipper asks, and Ford honestly has no idea how to describe what he’s going through. He doesn’t think these children would understand, and, in fact, he desperately hopes that they never will.

He silently struggles to find his words for a long moment, until Stan takes pity on him and joins the children, digging his knuckles into their heads.

“C’mon, quit it with the interrogation and finish your cookies,” Stan demands, and the children both swat his hands away with matching disgruntled huffs, but they do as he says.

He has a feeling that their obedience has less to do with respect for Stan’s authority and more to do with not wanting to press too hard and make Ford uncomfortable. They’re good kids, he thinks, not for the first time, and feels a swell of warmth as he watches them go back to bickering over a bowl of cookie dough.

Stan helps him up once again, and guides him over to the kitchen table to sit at his spot against the wall and facing the children. There’s a large glass of water, a pair of pills Ford recognizes as ibuprofen, and a few shortbread cookies laid out on the napkin. As Ford tentatively nibbles at one of the cookies, he lets out a pleasant sigh. Readjusting to earthly cuisine after his journey through the multiverse hasn’t been easy, but the cookies have a pleasantly sandy texture, and a taste that’s plain enough not to set him off while still being sweet enough to please him. He’ll have to add shortbread to his short list of rediscovered safe foods.

He finishes the first cookie and washes it down beside the pills with a swig of water. He can’t quite remember the last time he had plain water; ever since he got home, and thirty years before that too, he almost exclusively hydrated with coffee. It’s a habit he’s more than willing to break now that there’s no longer any looming threat that he must forgo sleep to combat. Now that he’s safe.

And he is safe. He knows that the anxiety of a life under constant threat isn’t so easily lost, but for now, with Stan swiping cookies off the napkin he laid out for him and the children bickering over a bowl of cookie dough on the counter, the scared animal in the back of his head finally settles, at least for now.

[whisperiin]

hello-hello ^-^ i did Wanshi request a while back, when you were arkbeyond, it's fine if i repeat it?

btw, did you saw his S frame? thighs are mouthwatering

hello anon!! yes, of course you can! i actually held onto it because i was planning on writing for it and then i got super busy wahhh... i loooove lucid dreamer so much!!! he's so beautiful i started crying... and his login music is sooooo good too if you've heard it... i hope he gets an sfx skin soon ;___; it's been a while since i've written at all so i might be a little rusty, but i still hope you enjoy!

domesticism ft. wanshi

content warnings: none

➸ If you had to describe the dynamic between you and WANSHI, it would be one word — familiar. He may not be as much of a stickler for routines as some other people you may know, but he has habits he tends to stick to, and he makes sure to remember all of yours as well.

➸ That’s just one of the ways he shows he cares for you, after all — and it’s something that just about anyone with eyes and ears can immediately see. Wanshi remembers your favourite booth at the cafe, what candies you tend to pick up from the store if you have the chance, any habits you might have while sleeping. If he notices you take a while to sleep, there’s usually some kind of anonymous sleep-aiding gift on your bedside table the next morning, or if you haven’t been eating enough, your favourite dishes will inexplicably be sitting in a takeout box on your table during your next break. ➸ He’s not exactly shy about showing his affections, either. He’s rather forthright, after all — it’s more than obvious in the gentle way he speaks to you, and even more so in the way he so painstakingly looks you over after every mission for even the smallest wound. Wanshi can treat you like a kid sometimes, though, if only just to tease — how about a candy for sitting so still during your checkup, hmm? ➸ He also loves listening to you talk! Wanshi seems like the type to enjoy cuddling up with you and feeling how your chest vibrates against him as you tell him about your day. You don’t even need to talk, actually — feeling the rise and fall of your chest is just fine, too. He also seems like the type to enjoy hugging you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder, as you go about doing some menial task together… If he falls asleep on you then, well, what else did you expect when he’s lying against his favourite pillow? ➸ It goes without saying, though, that Wanshi enjoys falling asleep with you and waking up next to you the most. It’s just so enchanting to him, somehow — even if you’re a snorer, or a blanket hog, or roll around over and over in bed all night, he sleeps more soundly when he’s next to you. And though his dreams have been more pleasant since he’s met you, the sight of your face alone is reason enough for him to wake up every morning.

[eldritch-spouse]

Out of everyone in The Clergy who can sing?

[I think I might have answered this? Unsure, so I'll assume not.]

Belo. Angels are naturally melodic beings, and although Belo is a power, which is a warrior cast of celestial, one of his parents was a seraphim, which are about the most melodious sounding angels out there. Thus, even if unrefined, Belo's singing is ethereal and captivating, even healing in its nature. Unfortunately, he doesn't have a habit of singing frequently, finding his vocals to be unsuitable for the task. He also sings in dead higher tongues, so some of those songs are hardly meant for the human ear.

Grimbly has a decent singing voice, though deeper tones are definitely out of his range, he can reach some painfully high pitches with great ease. He likes to sing when he's focused, usually pretty catchy songs, either ones currently popular, or hits from the early 2000s.

Santi. Concubi have nice voices, it's part of their many charms. Santi knows his voice is a source of arousal for many out there, and what better way to project it if not to occasionally participate in karaoke nights at The Clergy's Eye? He intentionally picks pretty raunchy topics to sing about, but the activity is pleasant enough he won't refuse more wholesome titles. He once sang a few of Frank Sinatra's most popular hits and earned himself a small fanclub.

Although sad to mention, if Vinnel's voice weren't destroyed by his illness, he would have quite the range. The fact that he's broken doesn't stop him from mumbling and humming, but he knows he can't actually sing anymore. Not since he was very young.

Krulu, as a higher, can make use of his singing for a variety of effects, ranging from lulling people into states of great sickness to causing them to go mad from hysteric euphoria. Although Krulu sings from time to time, most of it doesn't leave the walls of his floor. The only person he will temper the effects of his singing for is his vessel, you.

[smallestapplin]

Kaveh and Alhaitham omegaverse hc

I was going to do more but it's late and I'm so tired. But I'd like to hear anyone's thoughts, opinions, or asks! ^-^ might make more later.

Btw this is separately. Lemme know what ya think.

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Kaveh

- hot take, Kaveh is actually a alpha, he just doesn't act like a jerk like most do because that's just not him, it's just his secondary gender to him, nothing more.

- He envies omega's and their ability to make such comfy structures. He tries to make nests but gets embarrassed at how well he makes them he destroys them and never mentions it.

- He's very picky about scents, but it makes him so nervous about what he smells like or how other's perceive him after hearing a few omegas mention how they love the scent of their alphas.

- He smells sweet like honey, with subtle scents of the coffee he drinks. However his sweeter mellower scent gets drowned out in all his nights at the tavern trying to drink away his stress.

- Kaveh grows distressed easily, which sours his scent in more of a burnt popcorn smell which shoos other's away from him on accident.

- You two started off as friends before anything, just the cute omega who worked at the Tavern, his harsh scent and drinking made you worried, so slowly while making his drinks you'd talk to him. You aren't surprised at how much he opens up, but it surprises him how kind you are letting him vent like this.

- Sometimes you'd even meet him outside of your place of work and get shocked at just how wonderful he is without the drinking, you don't mind, but he holds a conversation better without slurring his words.

- One thing led to him asking if he could court you, and how could you say no when he made you a mini scale model of a garden?

- His nesting habits come up when you come to his (Alhaitham's) house, to his room and see the nest he forget to take down.

- He was stressed last night and being covered helped!

- "I-i hope it's not a turn off or anything! I just, I get stressed and sad and these are nice to have to feel safe, you know?"

- You do, you make stressed nests all the time.

- But you don't move, which worried him, until you look at him and gesture to it "Can I join you in your nest?"

- Asking like any mate should.

- "Yes! Yes of course! Oh i hope it's okay and up to your standards-"

- "Kaveh, it's your nest, not mine, I'm just happy you are letting me inside it, I'm honored.'

- You comment on how good the structure of the pillow walls are and how comfy the blankets are, and it ends with your alpha curled around you, dozing happily with you in his arms, nuzzling into your neck scenting you.

- He purrs loudly, it fills a small room with noise if it's quiet enough, but its so cute.

-

-

Alhaitham

- another hot take, he is an omega. He hates leading, hates being the center of attention, loathes it when people ask him for anything, he just wants to be left alone with his work and to leave.

- However is never misses taking his heat suppressants, never misses taking any scent blockers, and doesn't even touch nesting matieral. To everyone and anyone he is just a moody beta.

- His scent is hidden, at most he smells like fresh paper, ink, and his shampoo. However if you were to smell is original scent it would be sage and orange, it's pleasant but not too strong, though you'd be able to point him out in a crowd from it alone.

- He rejects his secondary gender to the nines, he's seen how omegas get treated and hounded after and he's just not interested in finding anyone to date or mate, he will be damned if he's expected to be some stay at home omega either.

- No nesting items aside for whats needed for his basic bed, just two pillows and two comforter, and that so he can switch them when one needs to be washed.

- Since he is on surpressants he doesn't have his heat,, he avoids it like the plague, which he is thankful for cause it's just a nuisance in his eyes, he sees no purpose in having one, and he's is one of a handful of lucky ones that can afford it.

- His friendship qith you was a slow build. You two started off as 'you're the only coworker I can tolerate.' To occasionally chatting just before leaving for the day, to one of you hiding in the other's office to pretend to be talking something over to avoid people, to small hang outs outside of work even if you'd do most of the chatting, to coming over to his house (and promising his roommate not to speak a work.) to him denying he has any feelings for you.

- You are another omega who gets where he is coming from, and the only person who knows he's an omega too! So he swears it's just that you two have something to bond over.

- You two only started a unlikely courtship after he had been avoiding you for weeks, and you locked yourself in his office to explain himself, his calmness just annoyed you further and further until he broke at the sight of you near tears.

- You thought you were losing your friend, and honestly he did too.

- You walked out of his office with a bright smile and one of his favored bookmarks as a small claim.

- You give him gifts all the time, which he thinks is not needed but he can't help but feel touched by the fanart you always gift him thinks he's mentioned wanting to needing in passing.

- You two take it slow, but you both mesh together well, it's clear to see how you two fit together like a puzzle, one easily picking up one thing the other lacks, it's like watching a well oiled machine in action.

- He finds your scent comforting and often likes spending time at your house than anything,, it's drowned in your scent, how can he not love it?

- He watches you build a nest so effortlessly and beckens him in. His heart flutters, knowing this is a big step and a huge sign of trust, even if his expression doesnt change much.

- He likes cuddling with you face to face or you laying on his chest so he can still read, but he always keeps an arm around you, or is at least touching you in someway.

- Everyone knows you two are together just from him walking into work smelling like you, or because you barge into his office or wherever he is reading to scold him for leaving his lunch.

- His purr is silent, you'd never know he was purring unless you pressed your ear to his chest.

- His scent is safe with you, and you know you can rely on him to help you with your heats.

- Though neither of you know how that one will work as omega omega relationships are rare, and there isn't a guide book (he's looked.)

- But you two will get through it together.

[cyanidehog]

Hello! Could I request some yandere Silver the hedgehog headcanons? If not that’s okay, I totally understand. Have a good day!

BLOG'S 1ST request is for my favorite boy <333 thank you for kickstarting off my writing with this ! no spellchecking we die like (redacted)

⤷ “ i swear to you. as long as i’m by your side, you’ll never be harmed. ” [ ♡ 1.2k words -- SILVER + READER. ]

> first of all: worst hedgehog to have after you. he literally jumps through time. whether you are a civilian or an overpowered entity, you're screwed. not in a physical sense—he values your freedom and your dignity. it's just... you won't be able to avoid his advances. silver knows you better than you do yourself. after years of studying you, he'll have figured what makes you snap, what makes you melt, and the little intricacies that weave your past. then he'll drop himself back to a point in time where your relationship was still amicable and he'll sweep you up with a winner smile, using up every detail he soaked up in conversation about your person as a stepping stone.

> how you met is inconsequential. it could've been simple happenstance aided by your curiosity, or thanks to amy introducing you at an event. whatever the reason, you come to know of silver's plights and circumstances.

> silver latches onto you with a hunger because of your care and interest in his well-being. it's not that people aren't welcoming, or haven't been kind to him and blaze, of course not. there's been warmth aplenty in sonic's timeline. what sets you apart are the extra lengths you go to for his accommodation in a world alien to him and the love you display in different gestures: cooking him a sprawling dinner (a banquet of cultures, really!) or tidying up a place for him to crash at if need be; spending hours explaining history and the current state of affairs to a being completely removed from the context of modern society and common knowledge; finding time in your schedule to go places together and make albums of memories... the list could go on. you really tried your best for your friend - silver who'd never seen a tree or a valley or a flower... how could you not?

> you won't ever have fights with him. it's surreal and fantastical. he always, always has a hand in guiding you to a pleasant time. attentive and sweet and teasing, silver knows how to rile you up into feverish delight and how to soothe any nerves and doubts of yours. it's slightly unfair, actually, because at times you wish you could have the same tact and coolness he displays. whenever you express the want to make him happy he gets touchier and more joyful than usual, so you count that as a little win of yours. it is nice to brighten the day of someone who treats you fondly. and the tiny, furiously wagging tail is an endearing sight.

> your like or dislike for physical touch will define how he starts showing affection to you. if you're fine with it, silver won't hesitate to caress your back or shoulder, will lock arms with you on walks, and say goodbye with a peck to your temple. warm and strong hugs will be commonplace. you'll find yourself encased in embraces far too tender and embarrassing to remain cool-headed. and the average distance between you two will shrink every week. slowly but surely.

> if you are averse to it, he'll do his best to keep his hands to himself… though if you fall asleep in his vicinity, he'll slide a hand or two through your face and play a little with your features. it will be innocent enough to sate his need for your warmth. for a while. he'll get into the habit of playing with your fingers or tugging your clothes for attention. might develop a fondness for spaces full of people, if only to feel you leaning on him thanks to the moving multitudes. he'll also steal trinkets or inconspicuous articles of clothing that belong to you. he won't realize it, but not having your touch will starve him terribly, and he'll try to have his fill in other ways.

> you call him silvie and he's about to bust an aneurysm. his face catches on fire to the point he thinks it might be a heatstroke, and the real possibility of him fainting grows exponentially. he gives you a very personal nickname. some inside joke between the two of you. will whisper it only when you are both alone.

> he's devoted? dedicated? invested? in your friendships and emotional health. scratch that. like rotisserie chicken, his brain rotates worries about your daily life and physical and mental health to the point of burning itself to a crisp. he fears not having control over your joys. he gets literally sick ruminating on whether or not you are getting your due sleep, your due rewards, or your deserved love from those around you. he'll be a smidge too sharp on picking up changes in your mood and mentions of acquaintances and buddies and family. he probably has a journal with graphical maps on your relationships and other miscellanea. has filled up the margins with ideas on how to cheer you up and keep everything in check. whatever that means, or entails.

> HAHA if you get sick? if you get sick you'll sooner perish from silver's overwhelming presence by your side than from your illness. it's here that his obsession bleeds through enough to be alerted by. he gets super fussy over who's coming over and what you're eating. feels like it's his duty to schedule your time indoors and outdoors, and to make several lists of activities and meals and exercises for your speedy recovery. will have restocked your pantry and fridge with your favorite snacks and fruits before you know it (how did you know this is my fave, silvie? to which he replies: oh - isn't this what besties are for?) and areas such as the bathroom or your kitchen will be cleaned thrice as fervently. he's going to be around so often that you'll stumble across his toothbrush or his towel neatly organized along with your stuff. and yes he will give a subtle nudge towards the idea of being roomies, and having sleepovers, and movie nights, and so on. he won't be moving his stuff out even after you recover.

> anyway - silver is a protective, obsessive, manipulative and insidious yandere. your needs will most certainly be met when he's around and he'll try to elevate you into a lil pedestal while trying to improve your lifestyle in ways he thinks are the best. you won't have to worry about threats (eggman's or others') because he'll make sure you live in a peaceful and beautiful world. if he ever has to travel to accomplish this he'll make sure to return with a plethora of gifts and stories to share. but he'll worm and dig and root his way through your barriers and reservations until you rely on him, to some degree or other. he'll be... soft and good for you.

> and... you'll never have to know about all the screw ups in a different timeline. if silver has committed a chain of overlapping atrocities trying to monopolize your affection, how would you ever find out? you'll never know the depravities he has executed on others, nor the kind of abnormality he is a slave to. he'll always be just silver to you.

> so please, please, please. don't look at anybody else with tender love in your eyes. don't break his heart and make him crawl on his knees. don't make him screw the world over for a few crumbs of your time, and everything will be just perfect.

[punsmaster69]

11/FEB/20XX

got to practice my healing magic some more today as frisk continually papercut themselves during the construction of a heart garland.

"starting to wonder if that paper's red from paint or your 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 at this point, kiddo."

"I'm not bleeding 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 much."

frisk re-did a section they messed up from being cut, extra careful not to get sliced in the same way twice.

"so..."

"you just make these garland thingies for every holiday now, huh?"

turning to look at me, expression completely unchanged -

"Yes."

they answered confidently.

"..all right then."

they put glue around the edges of a paper heart and dipped it in glitter; repeating this process until they had however many shiny hearts they deemed 'enough'.

by this point, i'd already come to accept the glitter that was going to be everywhere forever.

that stuff doesn't come out of carpet well.

however, apparently me staring at the glitter going everywhere gave frisk a terrible idea.

"Hey, Sans. Look at me for a second."

i did.

i shouldn't have.

with a handful of glitter, frisk blew as hard as they could to coat my face in a glittery pink.

". . . ."

they couldn't stop laughing.

i took what i could off, eventually sure i had to have gotten most of it.

there was a knock at the door.

"Hello, Sans."

"I am here to pick Frisk up."

"Waitwaitwait, I'm almost done! Give me like five more minutes?"

"...Alright, five minutes it is."

"Me and Sans will be outside chatting in the meantime."

"Got it."

frisk sped up their paper-snipping.

"don't cut yourself again in the five minutes i'm not with you, ok?"

"I haven't cut myself THAT many times!"

"...."

".....Okay. I'll be more careful."

me and tori stepped just outside the door. the weather was just cool enough to still be pleasant.

she looked at me and started to say something before pausing.

"..Your eyesockets are looking quite glittery today!"

"."

"it's."

"it's still there??"

"If you mean-"

"the glitter."

"..Yes, it is."

"goddamn it."

"It is not a terrible look."

"thought i got all the glitter out. thought wrong, apparently."

"How did this happen, anyway?"

frisk would definitely get in trouble if i told toriel they blew glitter in my face.

i rejected that avenue of petty revenge.

"fell asleep without realizing i went face-first into the stuff."

"I see."

"If you are really so determined to remove it immediately, perhaps we could try some tape."

"worth a shot."

frisk looked confused when we re-entered the house.

"It hasn't been five minutes yet. It's been like... three and a half."

"I'm extending your time a bit."

"SICK! For how long?"

"..However long it takes to remove glitter from this skeleton's face."

"Oh."

tori poked around the room for some tape.

confused as to why they weren't being scolded, frisk gave me a questioning look.

"(didn't tell her.)"

"(Why?)"

"('s not a big deal, so why bother?)"

"(..Because you didn't want to bother.)"

"(yup.)"

"(Should've expected a lazy reason for it.)"

"If not here, where might you keep your tape?"

"oh, i think i had it in my room."

"..What for??"

i remembered taping things to a certain card.

"probably broke something. who knows."

"Alright then, I suppose."

"Is it alright if I go in your room?"

"yeah i- uhhhhh."

"actually, hold on."

opening and closing my door behind me, i looked around my room. no way in hell was i deep-cleaning the place, but kicking loose clothes under my bed and straightening the sheets a little was a start.

and by start i mean

"good enough."

then i opened the drawer that valentine's junk and the tape dispenser were sharing space in.

"ok, you can come in."

i kicked the drawer shut. tori entered and closed the door behind her. she looked around and inspected the bed for a moment.

"It is much nicer with a frame, is it not?"

"pretty cozy, i guess. still breaking that habit of flopping onto the floor though."

"Is that what that is for?"

pointing to a light i'd attached to the bottom of my bed.

"to remind me my bed's raised."

"Smart solution."

"May I?"

glancing at my bed.

"go ahead, but fair warning that my sheets'll probably make you smell of funky skeleton odor."

sitting down on the edge of my bed, she laughed.

"I do not mind 'skeleton odor'. Whatever it is that entails."

i sat down next to her.

"so, uh."

"you turnin' me into a tape mummy for this?"

motioning for me to turn around, toriel guided my head to her lap.

"...what's-"

tape was suddenly pressed into my left eye socket.

"....."

"no warning, huh?"

"Sorry. I figured you had understood where this was going."

"well i... certainly understand 𝘯𝘰𝘸."

the experience of having tape put 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 my sockets wasn't any less bizarre and slightly jarring than the experience having tape pulled 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 my sockets, but i think i'm pretty much glitter-free. at least she was more gentle from then on.

when we exited my room, i noticed frisk suddenly had headphones on. i tossed the ball of glitter-coated tape at their head to catch their attention. it bounced onto the carpet. they looked up and took off their headphones.

"Oh, you done making out?"

"Frisk! I was not 'making out' with Sans."

"she was helping me undo 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 mess, y'know."

"I thought you said you fell asleep in the glitter?"

"......"

frisk's face begged me not to tell. once again, i set aside the easy revenge.

"yeah, i did. anyway, you better take 'em home before they sparkle up the place any more."

frisk swept their paper and glitter mess into their bag and hopped up from the floor.

"Did you finish your creation, my child?"

proudly unraveling a glittery paper-heart string.

"Yup."

"It is very pretty! We can hang it up when we get home."

they swung up the front door and darted across the lawn to hop into tori's car.

toriel stopped for a moment, pausing to lock her eyes with mine. with a quick glance backwards to see where frisk was, she bent down a little to raise my hand to her lips.

"returnin' the favor?"

"It is only fair."

she gave a hopeful smile.

"You will visit me on the fourteenth, will you not?"

"..yeah. 'course i will."

[helianskies]

NedPort, “you're not subtle. at all.” >:3

you're not subtle either, maiva, so consider this one ✨ inspired ✨ :3

Sweet

They are four dates into knowing each other when the question, “Do you want to come over for coffee?” is finally uttered between them. 

João accepts the offer—too keenly, some may argue—and, following a very pleasant meal out together and a short stroll, they venture in the direction of Abel's home. 

Ahead of his visit, he is given a warning of sorts: that Abel is a bit of a collector, which is something he doesn’t talk to people about much, but he feels comfortable enough with João and trusts him to not make any judgements.

It has João curious the whole way there. It has João curious as Abel unlocks his front door. It has João curious as he sets foot inside and Abel offers to take his jacket, hanging it up for him, then showing him through to the living.

His curiosity is soon satisfied.

Abel directs João towards the living room, telling him to make himself comfortable while he goes to make drinks. João, however, having become so fond of the other’s company, insists on staying with him. “Besides,” he jokes, “I need to make sure you aren’t putting anything untoward in my drink. Like sugar!”

Amused and easily won over (a pleasant change when compared to his past relationships), they go to the kitchen together, and it is there that João begins to notice things that hint towards Abel’s collection. 

When the other had said he is ‘a bit’ of collector, it’s clearly no exaggeration: dotted around the room, there are little touches of what must have been the focus of his collecting habit. 

At first, the mugs look to be simple, plain, white mugs. But when Abel holds out the first cup to João, he realises that there is a small, cute face printed on its shiny surface. A face he then notices upon tea towels and small dishes and—is that a pan?!—other items lurking in the open, like a set of oven gloves, a calendar, a plant pot. 

He wants to comment on it. He feels that itch. But Abel soon shows him back to the living room, and João thinks that he has lost his chance. 

How wrong he is!

A cushion on the sofa, a poster hanging on a wall, an orange plushie up on a shelf, a blanket draped over a chair, a little light resting on a table—and then, as Abel sits down on the sofa next to him, he notices that the other has swapped his shoes for slippers, and there she is! Miffy! Two Miffys upon his feet, members of an extensive family of bunnies riddled throughout his home!

“Wow. You’re not subtle,” João muses. “At all.”

The words escape him with little thought. And even then, it takes a while for João to catch himself staring at those darn adorable Miffy slippers.

He eventually lifts his head and gaze to try, wanting to not come across as weird or perplexed by such a fixation, but he finds that Abel is staring at him, and he’s gone a bit quiet. Perhaps even a little pink. 

João realises his mistake. A pit opens up in his stomach.

“I… I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m a grown man, I know I should—”

A hand has silenced him. João’s hand, to be precise, which rests upon Abel’s knee. Abel looks down at the appendage for a moment, as though to study it and discern why it has appeared on his person, before he looks back up at his guest.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” the brunet reiterates, glad the other does not interrupt his attempt this time. “I promise you: I like it.”

He sits back up straight and waits the few seconds it takes for Abel to relax, his shoulders to drop, his sheepishness to dissolve. 

It isn’t a lie. Odd as it initially was, mostly because Abel is not someone who you would guess, the first time you meet him, to have this mild obsession with Miffy (if ‘mild’ is how you would choose to categorise it). But the longer João thinks about it, the more it makes perfect sense. And it suits Abel splendidly.

“Do you actually…?” the blond asks him through the swelling silence. “I was worried you might laugh…”

João softly tuts. “I would never,” he replies. “Firstly, who doesn’t like Miffy? She’s adorable! And secondly, you are such a damn big softie beneath your cool exterior, and I—”

“You think I’m cool?”

João blinks, thrown through a loop. 

“I mean cool as in calm. Chilled. Maybe a little bit stoic, to some people…”

“Oh.”

“I like it, though. Kinda sexy of you.”

“Oh,” Abel mumbles again, this time into his cup as he has a sip of coffee. 

“Point is,” the other presses on, “I’ve had a suspicion that there’s more to you than meets the eye ever since our first date. Seeing your lovely little Miffys all over the place just confirms that for me. And I love it. I love it.” 

He smiles, and is relieved to find that the tiniest but cutest of smiles has bloomed onto Abel’s face. He really is just… wonderful. He’s wonderful, and different, and sweet, and someone João really does want to get to know more. To see more. To make smile more.

They look at each other over their Miffy cups of coffee. João’s heart and soul are warm. Abel thanks him.

With that all said, the blond asks if João wants anything sweet with his drink—chocolate, perhaps, or some biscuits. Chocolate biscuits, even. Abel has a sweet tooth, and therefore, quite a selection of treats—but, for João, there is only one such treat he would like. And that sweet, sweet treat is waiting expectantly, Miffy mug in hand, for his answer.

[ find prompts here! ] [ fic collection on ao3! ]

[bluestar22x]

The Weekend

Summary: Steve and Connie visit you and Javier in Texas; Connie realizes something new about you that changes everything.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (The same from my Sweet Summer Series - there is a mention of the reader having hair again, but no other details)

Rating: 18+ (to be safe)

Word Count: 3,790 (ish)

Warnings: Anxiety/angst, fluff, fowl language, pov changes, and mentions of pregnancy symptoms

Author’s Note: This can easily be read as a regular oneshot if you haven't read the series yet/don't want to. Anyway, I was so excited to write this one cause I've wanted to write Steve, Connie, and Chucho since all of last year, I just never thought of a plot for it until now. (Chucho still didn't get enough love here, but someday, maybe, it'll happen). Anyway, apparently I won't stop until pretty much every Pedro character is either a first time dad or a dad again. Sorry, not sorry.

xxx

The first time you met Steve and Connie Murphy was on a weekend in mid-November, the same year you'd started dating Javier Peña. They'd driven from Florida with their daughter Olivia to stay at the ranch for a few days, Steve's excuse being that duck hunting season had started in Texas and he needed to show Javier how to actually shoot one, claiming his ex-partner was a shit shot and that it might take all weekend, leading to Javier to grumble under his breath and you to laugh.

They'd hugged despite initial hesitance from Javier and when he relaxed in Steve's embrace you understood then who they were to each other. Brothers, in every sense of the word but blood.

It only made sense from everything you'd gathered from Javier's father, the town, and later Connie and Steve himself. Colombia had been like a war zone, and war zones forged strong bonds, even unlikely ones. Not that Steve and Javier were all that different, you thought. After all, they'd shared the same goals while working together as DEA agents, they'd shared a similar capacity to do what needed to be done to reach those goals, and they'd both come back home with enough nightmares and regrets to last more than a lifetime. Connie had told you about nights where Steve startled from his sleep and didn't return to bed until morning and you'd shared with her that you'd caught Javier doing the same many times while you'd been dating, wandering outside in the middle of the night clearly in an attempt to empty his head of whatever was bothering him. Some nights he still smoked a cigarette or two before returning, the bad habit sometimes the only thing that helped calm him down at first, until he'd made some real progress with his therapist.

It was safe to say your first time meeting Connie and Steve had been eye-opening. It had helped you understand your boyfriend all the more, and you were grateful to them. Not just for the insight, but also for them having been there for Javier before you could be, and for them still wanting to be.

The second time they'd visited the ranch you and Javier were getting married and naturally Steve had been Javier's best man. Connie had also kindly accepted your offer to be maid of honor, since you hadn't had any real friends after you'd graduated college. Besides, after the first day you'd spent around her, you could've easily called her your best friend over all of your past friends. Connie was a very nice person.

You all had briefly seen each other once more when you and Javier had stopped by their house for a meal before heading out to the Keys for your honeymoon and that visit had been just as pleasant, ending with goodbyes and promises for future visits. You planned to make sure the Murphy family would always be a part of your lives.

And so they were back on the ranch the following November, Steve reaching out for Javier even as he roasted him once again. "Have to keep coming back until Javi is finally able to hit a bird. Any bird at this rate will do."

"Shut up, Murphy," Javier growled, though he couldn't hide the smile pulling at the edges of his lips. That made you grin, and it only grew broader when they hugged once more. You loved that your husband had a friend who understood him; who knew him from his darkest days.

"Let's get you all inside," you eventually said, herding them all towards the house, little Olivia tugging on your shirt sleeve as you followed them, looking up at you all adorably with her big brown eyes and wavy dark hair. "Food soon?"

You beamed down at her. "Soon. I'll have it ready in a half hour sweetie." You ruffled her hair a bit and she smiled up at you pleasantly before running ahead of everyone to fall to her knees before Trix, your red and white Basenji. Trix started licking her face like crazy and the little girl's giggles in reaction made your heart soar.

Once in the ranch house, Steve and Connie dragged their suitcases upstairs, into Chucho's old room. Chucho had moved out into a smaller, remodeled house on the south side of the property after you and Javier had married in June, on the day that marked the first year anniversary of your first meeting and date. It had once been a house for employees to stay during peak ranching days, but he'd claimed it was the right size for an old man of his age. You knew the real reason was because he wanted you and Javier to have your own space, because, though he hadn't said the words, you were pretty certain like most parents, he was hoping to become a grandfather.

While Steve And Connie were upstairs with Olivia settling in, you and Javier worked in the kitchen to finish chomping up fresh vegetables for the tossed salad you'd wanted alongside the main course of grilled chicken tacos which you were careful to monitor as the meat cooked.

They had just turned up at the kitchen table with Olivia when Chucho walked in, dressed in the cleanest white button down shirt and pair of blue jeans you'd seen him in since your wedding day. Everyone was in their best casual clothes. It wasn't every day they all got to gather together, after all. And it was almost Thanksgiving.

"Afternoon everyone," Chucho said cheerfully, snatching his cream colored cowboy hat off his head to hang on a hook by the main door. "Ya waiting on me?"

"You are just in time," you told him, smiling. You loved Chucho. He was as much of a father to you as your own, though you'd never admit it for your father's sake.

He settled at the table with Steve and Olivia while you, Javier, and Connie started to set the food out on it. You were feeling great physically and emotionally until you seemed to spin around too fast with the salad and barely managed to hold onto it, getting dizzy with the movement. Javier noticed your sway and pressed a palm to the middle of your back to steady you, concern evident in his expression. "Are you alright?" he inquired, frowning.

You nodded quickly. "I'm good." You weren't sure what had come over you, not being the type of person to easily get light headed, but you were feeling fine again as soon as the moment had passed so it was easy to brush off.

"Maybe you should see a doctor," Javier said lowly, only loud enough for you and a close by Connie to hear. Her eyes darted towards you both, and you could see the curiosity his words had peaked in her.

"You've been getting dizzy a lot lately," he continued.

"I'll set one up after the weekend," you promised him, more so he wouldn't draw the attention of any of your other guests. Whether you actually would or not was still up for debate. To you a little dizziness here and there wasn't enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. It was probably just a consequence of you being tired. You'd done some overtime at work recently and it had worn you down. You'd been going to bed early the previous four or five nights yet still hadn't made up for it. "But I feel fine, Javi. I swear."

He seemed satisfied with that for the time being, though he did insist on guiding you to the table to sit and had Connie finish helping him lay everything out.

The rest of dinner was pretty normal, filled with general chit chat about things like how Chucho and Javier were getting the cattle ready for winter, though it never got too cold in Texas, and how Olivia was adjusting to being in kindergarten.

Connie of all people seemed distracted the entire time, pondering, like she had something on her mind but wasn't sure how to say it. You were so concerned with her distant look that you almost didn't catch Javier sneaking a piece of chicken to Trix. Almost.

"Javi!" you exclaimed, dismayed, even though you'd suspected for a while that he'd been doing it. "No wonder she begs for food now!"

He gave you a sheepish look and Steve grinned from his seat on the other side of him. "Going soft in your old age, Jav."

Javier huffed and you giggled. You knew it wasn't because of his age though. He and his father had both always had a soft spot for dogs.

After that you forgot about how odd Connie was acting until you both cleared the dishes from the table and began washing them in the sink.

"I don't want to be nosy," she whispered to you just loud enough to hear over the background noise of everyone else still talking at the table, "But I can't help it. Do you think you could be pregnant?"

Her question caught you off guard and you starred at her, frozen in place with a soapy dripping plate still in your hands. "You think I could be?"

"Javi said you've been light headed a lot lately," Connie stated, "And you told me just the other day you've been tired. And you also mentioned eating something that hadn't agreed with you. You said you almost threw up."

The cheeseburger you'd had Wednesday night. You hadn't thought about it since.

You glanced around to make sure no one had gotten up from the table. "Are you suggesting it wasn't bad meat?"

"Might not have been," she replied. "I've been around enough pregnant mothers in my nursing career to know greasy foods can trigger morning sickness in them, especially at night."

"Ironic," you quipped. Calling that pregnancy symptom morning sickness was very misleading.

Connie gave you a stern look and waited.

"I shouldn't be," you told her eventually, leaning back against the counter. "I mean, we're not using as much protection as we used to, but I'm still on birth control."

"Any chance you missed a pill or two?" she inquired.

You pursed your lips as you thought about it and bit down on your bottom one after. "It's possible," you admitted. "I do get forgetful sometimes. Usually I'm pretty good about taking prescriptions, but..."

"Are you late?" she interrupted.

You didn't have to think about the answer for that one since your birth control pills always warned you when it was coming. "I might be a few days late. It's not outside the norm for me, but it's also not really inside it either since the pills are really good at keeping me on a strict schedule."

She nodded. "You have any tests here?"

"I have a few in the master bathroom," you told her.

She craned her head towards the table. "Mind finishing the clean up boys?" she called out. Javier and Steve gave you both puzzled looks but when she explained you wanted to show her something upstairs they agreed to do so with Olivia's help.

You watched briefly from the bottom of the stairs as Steve hoisted her up to sit on the countertop and Javier said something to her that wasn't quite loud enough for you to hear before booping her nose with a soap sudded finger, making her giggle, and your heart swelled.

He was so good with her.

Minutes later, Connie sat patiently on the bench in front of your bed while you took three pregnancy tests in the attached bathroom, to be extra sure, and took your hand in hers when you joined her to wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down.

"Have you and Javi talked about having kids before?" she asked gently.

"Of course we have," you answered with a sigh. "But we also agreed to wait a year before I got off the pill."

You weren't sure if you were quite prepared for it yet, but you knew you could ultimately handle whatever the results were, adapt your plans. What made you nervous was Javier. He was only just starting to find his peace, his healing, as much as anyone who'd been through what he had could. You weren't sure he'd be ready yet.

"I'm sure he'll be okay," Connie said knowingly, giving your hand a squeeze. "He's a good man and he loves you. I've never seen that man look at anyone like he does you."

The timer you'd set on your watch started beeping obnoxiously and you bolted for the sink where you'd placed the tests, anxiously scanning their result windows. There were two lines in each, which meant that they were all positive.

Without a doubt, you were pregnant.

Despite your concerns over how Javier would handle the news in that moment you were joyful, tears immediately flooding your eyes. Before meeting Javier you had lost all hope you'd ever get the chance to be a mother, but there you were, staring at three sticks that confirmed you would be one. You beamed at Connie when you walked back into the bedroom and she smiled back at you. "Congratulations."

You pitched into her arms and she squeezed you a little. "You're going to be a great mom. And if you need any advice, I'm one call away. Not that you can't call your mom too."

You chuckled as you also held onto her a little tighter. "I'm sure I'll need all the advice I can get."

You were fully aware that while you had wanted to be a mom for as long as you could remember, you hadn't had lots of interactions with babies. Olivia had hardly been a toddler anymore when you'd first met the Murphy family and you'd been an only child with an uncle and aunt who hadn’t had any kids.

"You'll do great," Connie assured you as you pulled away and wiped at your tear stained cheeks with the backs of your hands.

You nodded. It was comforting to know she believed in you and that she'd be there if you needed her help. She may have not known what it was like to be pregnant because she and Steve had adopted Olivia while in Colombia, but you knew her advice would always be solid because she was an amazing mother. Everything you hoped you would be.

You glanced towards the hallway. "Should I tell him now?"

"Delaying it won't make it easier," she told you wisely, grasping your elbow. "Do you want me to send him up here?"

"That would be great, thanks," you said gratefully.

She smiled sweetly at you. "No problem."

With that she left the room and you paced as you waited for Javier to show up. You couldn't remember a time you'd ever been more nervous - and you'd had major anxiety every time you'd taken exams in college.

"Connie said you wanted to see me?" he questioned as he strolled into your shared bedroom less than a minute later. When he saw the stress on your face his expression grew concerned once more. "What happened? Are you feeling okay? Did you get light headed again?"

You shook your head furiously. "No. No, Javi." You approached him and cupped his face. "I'm fine. I promise. I just know why I've been off now."

"What is it?" he inquired, stance still tense with worry. He searched your eyes with his dark ones as if they could answer for you.

"We're going to be parents," you told him, barely above a whisper.

He jerked his head away from your hand and blinked at you, stunned. "You're pregnant?"

You gave him a single nod to confirm and he gaped at you before wrapping you up in his arms and burying his face in your hair. "Oh, mi amor."

You melted in his hold after his initial reaction and hugged him back. "You're not upset?"

He pulled away from you and frowned. "You thought I'd be upset?"

You folded your arms over your chest, slightly ashamed of your assumption. "I wasn't sure. You said you wanted to wait a year, and I agreed to it. I had every intention of waiting, but I think I might have forgotten a pill at some point. It was a mistake."

He shook his head and leaned forward to kiss your temple tenderly, then your lips, letting his forehead rest against yours after. "However this happened, any child of ours could never be a mistake, hermosa."

You felt the love in his words bloom in your chest, warming it, and you beamed up at him. "So you're happy?"

"Of course I am," he assured you, brushing his nose against yours.

You grinned wider and kissed him again. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that."

He smiled back at you, though it didn't reach his eyes.

You were too excited to retell the story of how Connie got you to take the three tests to see that it was a front.

x

Once you'd told him the whole story, you'd lead Javi downstairs to announce your news to Steve and Chucho as well, and they'd pulled you both in for hugs after giving their cheerful congratulations.

"I'm going to be a grandfather," Chucho had boasted proudly and you'd smiled at him fondly. "You sure are."

Javier had been overwhelmed with how happy everyone was for you both, and a part of him was undeniably happy too, but another part, the part that sat in the darkest corner of his mind, said he didn't deserve it. He'd barely accepted that he was good enough for you, he didn't think that could extend to an innocent baby who had no say in who their father was.

He put on a show until his father left for his house, then excused himself to go hang out on the front porch alone, watching as clouds rolled in for an evening rain. It was fitting for his mood.

He should have known Steve would follow him out, handing a beer to him like it was some kind of peace offering.

He popped off the lid of his own bottle and took a sip before leaning on a beam at the front of the porch, across from him.

"Javier Peña, father," he said with a smile playing on his lips. "I'm honestly surprised." He quirked his brows. "Not that you are going to be one, but rather that it took so long, considering your reputation back in Bogotá."

Javier tilted his head, giving it to him. He couldn't say he wasn't surprised that a woman hadn't come forward to tell him she was pregnant while he was in Colombia. It wasn't like he'd been totally irresponsible, but the odds had to have been stacked against it not happening just by pure numbers. He'd had casual sex as a form of stress relief while he was there, just like smoking, and he couldn't deny he'd been very stressed during those years, especially since he hadn't always been able to keep his heart out of some of those said casual relations.

"I don't know if I'm ready yet," he admitted to his friend. "We just got married not that long ago. It took me months of therapy to work up to proposing to her and then going through with it. She kept insisting I was enough for her, that as long as I loved her that was enough, but I always still had that doubt at the back of my head. A part of me telling me she could do better."

"She could," Steve stated plainly, taking another sip of his drink. "And what about Connie? You think I deserved her?"

Javier snorted. "No."

"Exactly!" Steve exclaimed, pointing the lip of his bottle at his shoulder and grinning. "But that's not the point! Something Connie and several sessions of couples therapy when I got back to Miami taught me is that marriage isn't about what anyone deserves. It's about what you're willing to do for your partner. Who you're willing to be for them. And it's the same with being a father. I was a mess when we found Olivia. I didn't know what I was doing. And I'm not going to lie, it wasn't easy, but I did eventually learn how to be the dad she deserves. If you want to be, chances are you will be. It's as simple as that."

Javier glanced down at the bottle in his hands and swished the liquid inside, trying to find his words. "I do...want to be," he told him quietly.

Steve nodded. "That's good to hear. Because the one thing your wife definitely does not deserve is you running out on her now."

Javier clenched his jaw. "I'd never do that to her!" he hissed, outraged at the mere idea of it. "Lorraine was different. I was different. Back then I had the thought that marrying her would hold me back from my dreams of seeing the world and making a difference. Now I know better." He adjusted his stance and met his friend's eyes before continuing, "And I know being a parent can be tough, whether or not you're as fucked up as I am, but I do want this, more than I ever imagined I would."

"Shit, Jav," Steve said, the edges of his mouth pulling up, "Don't tell me that. Tell her."

He was right. Though Javier was sure you hadn't noticed, he still needed to tell you all of it. To assure you that he loved you and that he was going to be there for you, the both of you.

He chuckled and Steve raised a brow at him, uncertain of what was so funny.

"You ever consider a side job as a shrink?" Javier smirked and Steve huffed at him. "Depends, you ever gonna hit a bird?"

"Fuck you. You distracted me last time!"

Steve nodded at him as an amused gleam sparked in his pale blue eyes. "Sure. Whatever you say, Jav."

He patted his shoulder. "See ya in the mornin'."

Javier grunted a goodnight to him and entered the house to find you waiting in the kitchen, a broad smile on your face. He realized then that the screen door's window had been open.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked.

You strolled over to him and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Enough to know you're going to be a great father, whether you believe it or not."

"Say that again," he murmured against your lips, his heart feeling like it wanted to burst out of his chest.

You understood, you always did. You placed a hand over his heart. "You're going to be a father, Javi."

He grinned at you and scooped you up into his arms. "Thank you for that."

"I couldn't imagine having a baby with anyone else," you told him honestly, and the love in your eyes left no room for him to doubt it, so he didn't.

You spent the rest of the night in each other's arms.

xxx

Tagged: @angelofsmalldeath-codeine​ @yoursoulsunbreakable @harriedandharassed

xxx

Sweet Summer Series

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