#or bring over pastries & fruit for breakfast

[goldfades]

honeymoon! | JOE BURROW⁹ [006]

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MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.1k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on a request -> maybe a smutty blurb for the joe series from their honeymoon 😍 night the baby was conceived

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | plot w/ NSFW under the cut, mdni! pretty soft, honeymoon fucking, we all know how it goes. unprotected sex! (oops... that's how our little accident baby was made, ig) p in v, a whole lotta praise, maybe a little too much foreplay, dry humping? SO MUCH EFFING KISSING IT'S ACTUALLY INSANE,

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 began with sunlight slipping through the white linen curtains of their beachfront villa, casting warm, golden streaks across the bed. The sound of gentle waves crashing against the shore replaced the usual hum of alarm clocks and city noise. It was peaceful, a slow and languid awakening to the soft melody of Barbados.

You stirred first, the warm breeze from the open balcony brushing against your skin. The air smelled like salt and hibiscus, mingled with the faintest trace of sunscreen from the night before. Stretching out, your arm brushed against Joe’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing letting you know he was still fast asleep.

For a moment, you just watched him. His lashes rested on his cheeks, his hair an unruly mess from a restless sleep on the crisp sheets. His sun-kissed skin glowed faintly in the morning light, a preview of what the week ahead would bring. He looked peaceful, his usual intensity softened in this quiet morning moment.

Eventually, the tantalizing aroma of breakfast—sweet coconut, warm banana bread, and freshly brewed coffee—wafted into the room, urging you to move. You leaned over, pressing a kiss to Joe’s shoulder.

“Joe,” you whispered softly, your voice barely above the ocean breeze.

He groaned in response, his eyes still closed. “Five more minutes,” he muttered, pulling the sheet higher over his shoulder.

You laughed, tugging at the blanket. “If you don’t get up, I’m starting this honeymoon without you.”

His eyes cracked open at that, one brow arching lazily. “You wouldn’t dare.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you slipped out of bed, grabbing the silky robe from the back of the door and tying it loosely around your waist. The cool tile floor under your bare feet was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the Caribbean morning. Joe watched you from the bed, his lips twitching into a soft smile as you peeked out onto the balcony.

The view stole your breath. A turquoise sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon, dotted with white sailboats that glided lazily across the water. The beach was a postcard come to life: soft, white sand scattered with seashells and bordered by swaying palm trees.

“Okay, now I’m up,” Joe announced, his voice gravelly from sleep as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Breakfast was served on the villa’s private terrace, a table set for two with fresh tropical fruits, flaky pastries, and omelets stuffed with local spices. Joe poured you a glass of orange juice, and you returned the favor by slicing up pieces of mango to share.

The morning passed in the kind of leisurely bliss you could only find on an island vacation. After breakfast, you walked down to the beach, your fingers intertwined as the sun climbed higher into the sky. The sand was warm beneath your feet, and the occasional cool splash of the ocean sent shivers up your spine.

Joe insisted on carrying you over a shallow tidepool when you hesitated, laughing at your squeal as the water splashed higher than you expected. “Can’t have you chickening out now,” he teased, setting you down just as the next wave brushed against your calves.

By midday, you found yourselves sprawled out on two lounge chairs under a palm tree. Joe had traded his usual serious demeanor for something more relaxed, leaning back with a contented sigh as you read aloud from a cheesy romance novel you’d brought along. His teasing interruptions—“People actually say that?!”—had you both laughing until your cheeks hurt.

As the day unfolded, everything seemed perfect in its simplicity. The quiet moments between you, the way Joe’s hand lingered on your back when you walked past, or the way he absentmindedly kissed your forehead when you handed him a drink—it was all the kind of effortless love you’d dreamed of.

┈┈┈

The soft hum of the ceiling fan swirled with the salt-tinged breeze that swept through the villa, carrying with it the promise of a balmy Barbados night. Outside, the waves lapped lazily against the shore, their rhythmic song mingling with the distant chirping of tree frogs. The day had melted into evening seamlessly, the sky now painted in inky blues and dotted with stars.

You stood on the balcony, wrapped in one of Joe’s oversized button-ups, the hem brushing mid-thigh as you leaned against the railing. The ocean stretched endlessly before you, a dark expanse glimmering under the moonlight. Behind you, Joe emerged from the shower, his steps quiet on the cool tiles.

“You always steal my shirts,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Without turning, you smirked. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his arms slipped around your waist from behind, his damp skin cool against your back as he pulled you close. His hands splayed over your stomach, his thumbs brushing small, deliberate circles against the fabric.

“You looked good out there today,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Your breath hitched at the soft intimacy of it. “You mean when I almost face-planted in the tidepool?”

Joe chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Even then. You make clumsiness look cute.”

You tilted your head to glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

His grin was boyish, disarming. “Depends. Did it work?”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway, your body softening under his touch. His hands didn’t stop their exploration, sliding along your sides, his fingers brushing the edges of bare skin where the shirt didn’t quite meet your thighs.

“Joey,” you started, your voice dipping slightly as you tried to maintain composure.

“Hmm?” His lips found your neck, his movements slow and deliberate.

“You’re being distracting.”

“That’s kind of the point.” His words were muffled against your skin, but the grin in his voice was unmistakable.

He turned you around, his hands settling on your hips as he pressed you gently against the railing. His gaze was heavy-lidded, the playful glint in his blue eyes softened by something deeper, something intimate. He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, the teasing gone now. His thumb brushed your cheek as if committing the moment to memory.

The vulnerability in his voice made your breath catch. You reached up, cupping his jaw, your thumb tracing the curve of his cheekbone. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “You’re terrible at taking compliments.”

“Maybe you’re just too good at giving them.”

Joe’s hands tightened on your hips, tugging you closer. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smirk. “Oh? Just ‘like’ me?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his lips met yours, slow and unhurried, as though you had all the time in the world. His kiss was soft, yet his hands were firm, grounding you as they slipped under the hem of the shirt, warm against your skin.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, he rested his chin on the top of your head, holding you close. “For the record,” he murmured, “I more than like you.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “I would hope so. You did marry me.”

His laughter rumbled through his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was different—more hurried, more insistent. Before you could catch your breath or process the shift in his mood, Joe’s arms slid under your thighs, lifting you with ease. A startled laugh escaped your lips, quickly muffled as he kissed you again, walking the two of you back into the villa without breaking contact.

“Joe!” you managed between kisses, your fingers instinctively tangling in the damp strands of his hair. “You’re going to trip.”

He smirked against your lips, his confidence unwavering. “I’m a quarterback. I don’t trip.”

You wanted to argue, but the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his hold on you left little room for coherent thought. His stride was purposeful, his hands secure on your thighs as he carried you through the open patio doors and into the softly lit living room. The sea breeze followed, carrying the scent of salt and hibiscus, but the cool air was no match for the heat radiating between the two of you.

By the time he reached the bedroom, you were breathless, your heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the journey. He set you down carefully on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on your waist, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joe shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nothing. Just... you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile you tried to suppress gave you away. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” His voice was lower now, a teasing edge to it as he leaned in, his hands framing your face. “You gonna keep arguing, or can I kiss you again?”

Your response was immediate, pulling him down to meet you halfway. This kiss was no longer hurried but deliberate, the weight of the moment sinking in as his hands moved with purpose, sliding under the fabric of the shirt you wore.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the sound of the waves outside became a distant murmur. For a while, the world shrank to just the two of you—Joe’s hands, his lips, his warmth surrounding you entirely.

The teasing was still there in the way he nipped at your bottom lip or murmured something smug when you let out a quiet gasp. But beneath it all was something deeper, something unspoken yet understood between you both.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you catching your breath, he grinned that boyish grin that always disarmed you. “So,” he said, his voice thick with amusement and affection, “still think I’m going to trip?”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns along the back of his neck. “No. But I might.”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple before easing you back against the pillows, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something more tender. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice a promise. “I’ll catch you.”

Joe’s lips grazed yours again, soft and deliberate, the teasing smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. His hands settled at your waist, fingers brushing the hem of the oversized shirt you’d thrown on after your shower. It was technically his, the fabric worn and loose, but he didn’t seem to mind—especially as he slowly started to lift it, his knuckles ghosting over your bare thighs.

“I think this belongs to me,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. His baby blues flicked up to meet yours, daring you to argue.

“Does it?” you challenged softly, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his muscled skin under your palms.

Joe grinned, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours. “It does. But I’m willing to share—if you ask nicely.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was cut short when his lips trailed along your jaw, his hands continuing their slow ascent, sending little shocks of heat through your skin. “You’re ridiculous,” you managed, though your breath hitched when his thumbs brushed the curve of your hips.

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, his voice a quiet rumble against your neck. His lips moved with deliberate slowness, leaving a trail of kisses that had you melting into his touch.

Your hands found their way into his blonde hair, tugging lightly in retaliation, which only made him chuckle. The sound vibrated against your skin, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten slightly.

“Careful,” he warned playfully, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were darker now, filled with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine. “You keep doing that, and I won’t be able to stop.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice steady. “Who says I want you to?”

That was all the encouragement Joe needed. His smile turned wicked, and before you could say another word, he was easing you back onto the bed, his hands bracketing your face as he kissed you again—deeper this time, less teasing, more intent.

His weight settled above you, one hand slipping beneath the shirt to trace the curve of your ribs while the other tangled in your hair. The kisses grew slower but no less consuming, each one leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent as he pulled back slightly to look at you. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his gaze softening despite the heat between you.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, though the words came out shaky, your heart racing under his touch.

Joe laughed softly, his breath warm against your lips. “Not so bad? I think I can do better than that.”

Joe’s teasing edge melted away, replaced by a deeper intensity. His lips pressed to yours with a hunger that left no room for playful quips or lingering hesitation. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under the thin fabric of the shirt as if it had always been in his way before unbuttoning it slowly, slipping it off of you, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You were only left in your bra and underwear, your whole body felt like it was on fire.

Your breath caught as his hands mapped every inch of bare skin they could find, the roughness of his palms contrasting with the softness of his touch. His fingers splayed against your waist, pulling you closer, like even the smallest gap between you was too much before he pulled you toward his crotch. You felt his bulge against your warmth, the feeling too dizzying, you just had to let out a small whimper, your head falling back into the plush pillow.

“You like that?” he murmured, the word barely audible as he leaned forward, his mouth trailed down your neck, each kiss leaving a warm flush in its wake as he began pushing his bulge against you, rougher this time.

“Joey,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your fingers skimmed over his shoulders and down his back, feeling the taut muscle beneath.

He hummed in response, his lips finding the hollow of your throat, lingering there for a moment before moving lower. He slowly began moving his hips against your covered pussy, eliciting small noises from you. He was rock-hard, you could feel his excitement through the thin material of his gray sweats.

For a moment, he stilled, his eyes roving over you as if committing every detail to memory. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice low and thick, his words sinking into your skin like a promise.

Heat bloomed in your chest, and before you could respond, his lips found yours again, firmer, deeper, his hand sliding up your side to cup your cheek. The world outside the villa ceased to exist; all that mattered was the way his touch sent a current through you, grounding you and setting you alight all at once.

You tugged at his shirt in response, your fingers fumbling slightly in your urgency. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips, before leaning back just enough to help you. The fabric joined yours on the floor, and then he was back, his skin warm against yours, every inch of contact electric.

His hands skimmed over your thighs, hooking behind your knees to draw you closer. The air felt charged, the only sounds filling the room your uneven breaths and the gentle crash of waves outside. He began rocking his hips against yours, letting out a needy groan of his own.

“Please, Joe,” you moaned, breathless and oh so wet, your hand slipping to his chest to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

“Please, what?” He challenged, his forehead leaning to rest against yours. His lips were curved, a cocky smiling gracing his features. Yeah, he wasn't giving in so easily—even if he was rock-hard and just as needy as you.

You rolled your eyes, your chest rising and falling as your eyes found his again. His baby blues were dilated and dark, the familiar lustful gaze glazing his eyes. But somehow, there was still that warmth and love you knew he felt for you.

“Just, please fuck me.”

That was all he needed.

His lips found yours again, harder this time, more insistent, as if the words you’d exchanged weren’t enough to convey the depth of his feelings. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer with a quiet, desperate kind of urgency that left no space between you, his body practically trembling with restraint.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered against your lips, his voice low, his breath hot.

You tried to reply, but your words were swallowed by the kiss that followed, deeper, more fervent. His hands roamed, fingers splayed wide as they moved over the curves of your back, memorizing every inch. There was no hesitation now, no pretense—just raw affection and the kind of vulnerability that came from letting someone see all of you, heart and soul.

He broke away only briefly, his forehead pressed to yours, his blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he admitted, his voice uneven, like the words cost him something.

The weight of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice sent a shiver through you. “I don’t think I’d ever want you to,” you murmured back, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently to anchor yourself.

That was all it took for his restraint to falter. His lips were back on yours, hungrier this time, his hands tightening their grip as if he was afraid you might slip away. His desperation wasn’t rushed or clumsy; it was reverent, like he was determined to make every moment count, to leave no part of you untouched by the depth of his adoration.

Finally, his hands began pulling off his sweatpants, his lips never leaving yours. He tugged them off swiftly, throwing them on the floor as he pulled away for a second, gripping your hips and pulling you impossibly closer. Joe's eyes never left yours as he slowly took off his briefs, your breath hitching. As soon as his briefs were off, his large fingers hooked on your panties and slipped them off.

His lips found yours again, moving forward slowly as he led himself toward your folds. You felt his breath hitch before he slowly pushed into you, broken moans leaving your lips. You already felt so full and he wasn't even a quarter inside yet.

You were sopping wet at that point, he could easily slip into you quickly—but he took his time, as if he was trying to memorize the way your cunt squeezed him so perfectly, how perfect you felt around his cock and how he swore your pussy was made for him. Joe was huge, that was never a secret—the whole “Big Dick Joe” hat was never really a joke.

You felt him fill you up slowly but surely, until he completely bottomed you out. Your hands were gripping his broad shoulders as your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, focusing on the feeling of Joe's cock stretching you out.

And you swore, no matter how many times you fuck—the feeling will never, ever get old.

“Oh God, yes,” you practically cried out as you squeezed his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his warm skin. He groaned at the stinging feeling, the pleasure coursing through his body.

He let you adjust to his size as he began kissing you again, slower this time. The kiss grew more intense, trailing down your jawline and across your neck, each one carrying a weight that left you breathless. His hands remained steady on your hips as he let you adjust to his size, and yet there was an unmistakable tremor in the way his fingers pressed into your skin, like he was holding on for dear life.

Slowly, he began thrusting out of you, before crashing into you rougher. His patience was wavering, you could see it in his expression.

“Harder, Joe,” you moaned breathlessly as you squeezed his shoulder harder, gazing up at him through your lashes.

That was all he needed. Joe began rocking into you, the bed moving along with each of his hard thrusts. His hands gripped your thighs before lifting your legs onto his shoulders, your hands falling back on the bed as he began fucking you even deeper. The new angle made you cry out in utter pleasure, gripping the sheets as he groaned at the feeling of your walls tightening around him.

“Say you’re mine,” he murmured against the hollow of your throat as he leaned in, his voice rough with need, the words barely audible over the sound of the bed creaking beneath the two of you.

“I’m yours,” you answered without hesitation, your voice trembling but sure. The words seemed to undo him further, a shiver running through his frame as his hips began moving at an almost impossible speed, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he whispered breathlessly, his breath hot against your skin. His hands gripped your hips firmly as if to ground himself, but his lips never stopped their journey—brushing along your collarbone, lingering where he could feel the rapid beat of your pulse.

His kisses became softer for a moment, almost trembling with the intensity of what he was trying to say without words. The movements of his hips were a perfect blend of desperation and purpose—like every thrust, every kiss, was a vow, a promise of just how much you meant to him.

But the desperation was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to bubble over again.

You felt that familiar tightening in your lower stomach, and your walls tightened around his cock. He was close, too—you could feel it in the way his hips rocked against yours, harder and more frantic than the last and the way he let out his groans freely.

Time seemed to dissolve, measured only by the gentle rhythm of the waves outside and the warmth of Joe’s touch. Every movement between you was deliberate, filled with a perfect mix of care and roughness that made the world outside feel irrelevant.

His hands never strayed far, always returning to cradle your face or trace patterns along your thighs as though grounding himself in the moment.

And right as you were about to go over the edge, Joe’s hand slipped to yours, his fingers threading through yours in a gesture so tender it brought an ache to your chest. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your orgasm hitting you like a truck, rippling through you harshly.

You cried out loudly in pleasure, the sound echoing in the empty villa. A few more frantic thrusts and Joe was spilling into you, his groans heavenly and loud. You both caught your breathes, slow and heavy all at once. The villa was quiet except for the shared sounds of your breathing, the ocean breeze filtered in through the slightly open windows, cool and refreshing against the heat you shared, carrying the faint scent of salt and hibiscus.

After a moment, his lips brushed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if memorizing you was his life’s work.

“You okay?” he murmured again, his voice softer now, almost reverent, his forehead pressed lightly against yours.

“Yes,” you replied, breathless but certain, your hand slipping to his chest to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “Perfect, actually.”

The night stretched on in a haze of soft laughter, quiet reassurances, and the feeling of being utterly cherished. By the time you lay tangled together beneath the linen sheets, exhaustion pulled at your limbs, but your heart was light. Joe’s arm was slung protectively around your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder.

“Love you,” he murmured, the words slurred with sleep but no less sincere.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of his hand. “I love you, too.”

The moonlight poured through the open window, silver light painting your intertwined forms as the waves provided a lullaby. With Joe’s steady presence beside you, you felt more at peace than ever—like the rest of the world could wait, because here, in this moment, you had everything you could ever need.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[crybabybat]

Sorry hi it fucking sucks living so far away from my lover ugghhhgghh I wanna be able to do boyfriend shit more often than approximately every 3-4 months I miss my girl!! I miss her.

[we-are-maladaptive]

little dreamer ♡

contents: fluffy stuff, a little bit a children mentioned characters: katsuki bakugou, izuku midoriya, shouto todoroki, denki kaminari, eijirou kirishima (separate) authors note: hello (╥﹏╥) very sorry for being inactive recently!! my mother's ex boyfriend is in jail for attempted homocide and ive been helping her get it together since then ( not even kidding ) so therefore here is a hello present from me as an apology ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Husband Katsuki, who sits with you on the porch swing in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the yard. The scent of jasmine fills the air, mingling with the sound of distant laughter from children playing nearby. He wraps a cozy blanket around your shoulders, pulling you close as the evening chill begins to set in. You sip on hot cocoa, marshmallows melting into sweet swirls, and talk about the little moments that made your day special. His arm around you feels like the safest place in the world, and as the first stars begin to appear in the twilight sky, he softly hums a tune that makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the universe.

Husband Izuku, who wakes you gently on lazy Sunday mornings with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of birds singing outside your window. He brings you breakfast in bed, a tray laden with your favorite pastries, fruits, and a delicate vase holding a single rose. As you share bites of buttery croissant and sip on coffee, you talk about dreams you had the night before and make plans for the day ahead. His fingers trace patterns on your arm as he listens, his eyes full of a love that makes you feel cherished and safe. Later, you both linger in bed, wrapped in the warmth of the morning sun and each other’s embrace, content to let the world outside fade away.

Husband Shouto, who takes you on evening walks along the beach, where the sky blazes with the colors of the setting sun, painting the waves with hues of orange and pink. As you stroll hand in hand, you collect smooth pebbles and seashells, giggling like children whenever you find a particularly beautiful one. You sit together on the sand, watching as the stars begin to twinkle into existence, and he wraps a blanket around your shoulders to keep you warm. His voice is soft and tender as he whispers stories of your future, of a house by the sea and children who run along the shore, their laughter mingling with the sound of the waves. You lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart and the promise of a lifetime of such evenings together.

Husband Denki, who plans a cozy movie night at home, the living room transformed into a haven of comfort with soft pillows and warm blankets scattered everywhere. He dims the lights and lights a few scented candles, their flickering flames casting a soft glow. You snuggle together on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn and exchanging quiet laughter over inside jokes. As the movie plays, he holds you close, his fingers gently stroking your hair. The outside world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. When the credits roll, you find yourselves talking late into the night, about anything and everything, his voice a soothing melody that lulls you into a peaceful sleep, your head resting on his shoulder.

Husband Eijirou, who dances with you in the living room, the only light coming from the flickering flames in the fireplace, casting a golden glow over everything. The soft strains of a love song fill the room, and he holds you close, your feet moving in a slow, gentle rhythm. His hand rests on the small of your back, and you feel the warmth of his touch seep through your clothes. As the song ends, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache with love. He presses a kiss to your forehead, murmuring words of devotion, and you know in that moment that this is where you belong—dancing in his arms, forever and always.

[rafecameronssl4t]

i remember at the start of the forced marriage that reader was smoking, so i wanted to ask, did she stop when her and rafe got married, or was it more like her still smoking, and/or hiding it from him and him finding out?

Cigarette daydreams || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Reader does end up quitting bc she’s expected to have children but I imagine Rafe to not be very expressive with his opinions about her smoking because he knows that it soothes her and understands that it’s what she needs in the moment.

Warnings: smoking, if there’s anything else, lmk!!

Word count: 1,882

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“So, how was it?” Aspyn, your long time friend, smiled warmly over the rim of her tea cup. The two of you sat outside in the garden of your coastal estate, the morning sun casting a gentle glow over the manicured lawns and flowering shrubs. You shrugged, adjusting yourself in the plush sofa, your gaze moving to the greenery of the garden.

“The meetings were tedious, honestly. And it was freezing,” you sighed, bringing the cigarette delicately cradled between your manicured fingers to your lips. You took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl from your lips, the familiar burn of the tobacco calming your nerves. “But Moscow itself? It’s beautiful,” you added, flicking the ash into the ashtray on the table next to your untouched breakfast without a second thought.

Aspyn hummed thoughtfully, the sunlight catching the highlights in her hair as she leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting over the garden. “I wish my husband would take me along on his business trips. He’s always so focused on his work,” she mused, her tone tinged with a soft sadness. She had married out of love, something you had never had the luxury to do.

You chuckled, a low sound that held little humour, taking another inhale and allowing the smoke to fill your lungs, the habit one of the few things that still brought you a sense of control. “That’s the difference between us, Aspyn,” you said, exhaling slowly. “You married for love. I didn’t.” You murmured, the smoke trailing from your lips like a sigh.

“Rafe doesn’t exactly ‘take’ me with him. I’m expected to go, whether I want to or not.” You remembered how your mother had insisted on this trip with Rafe—something about appearances and how a proper wife should always stand by her husband’s side. Even when you barely spoke to each other during the flights or shared nothing more than empty pleasantries in front of his business associates, you were there.

Always there, whether you liked it or not. It was part of the deal, after all. Aspyn’s smile faltered for a moment as she stirred her tea, the envy she tried to hide flickering across her face. Her marriage was built on love and warmth, but the wealth and status you held, the trips to exotic locations, the endless luxury—it was something she quietly envied, even if she knew your marriage was far from perfect.

“I just… I don’t know. It would be nice to see the world with him,” she admitted softly, casting a glance at the table spread before you—plates of pastries, fresh fruit, and coffee, all arranged meticulously by the house staff. You leaned back in your chair, eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the sky met the sea. “Be careful what you wish for,” you murmured, a bitter edge creeping into your voice.

You took another long drag, feeling the familiar burn in your throat as you looked out the window at the passing cars, your thoughts already drifting back to the strained silence that would greet you when you returned home. Lucky? Maybe from the outside. But inside, you weren’t sure if luck had anything to do with it anymore. The life you led was a gilded cage, beautiful from the outside but hollow within.

A comfortable silence settled between you and Aspyn as the morning sun bathed the garden in a soft, warm light. The soft rustling of leaves accompanied the peaceful atmosphere, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mixing with the faint scent of your cigarette. It was these quiet moments with Aspyn that you cherished, where the complexities of your life could fade, if only for a short while.

Aspyn finally spoke up, her voice cheerful, easily cutting through the stillness without shattering it. That was what you liked most about her—how she could shift the conversation so seamlessly, never making things awkward. It was comforting, like a reprieve from the complexities of your own life.

“Did you hear about the new boutique opening soon?” Aspyn’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she reached for a delicate slice of fruit. You turned your head to her, taking a slow drag from your cigarette before exhaling, the smoke lazily drifting upwards. “No,” you replied, shaking your head slightly, the embers glowing at the tip of your cigarette.

“Oh my god, we have to go! There are only five stores like this around the world—one in Paris, London—” She cut herself off mid-sentence, her gaze suddenly shifting past you, her excitement dimming into something more cautious. You frowned, leaning over slightly to flick the ash from your cigarette into the nearby tray. “What is it?” you asked, a bit confused by her change in demeanour. Then her words came, slower now. “Were you… expecting Rafe?”

Your head snapped around, your heart giving a slight jolt as you saw him approaching across the garden. He moved with a quiet intensity, his sharp features unreadable as the morning sun cast shadows across his face. His sharp eyes were trained on you, and the sight made your pulse quicken—out of habit more than fear.

“Shit!” you cursed under your breath, immediately stubbing out your cigarette and blowing the smoke away as discreetly as possible, hurriedly waving your hand in front of you to disperse the lingering smoke. It was a futile attempt to mask the scent, though, and you knew he had already seen. Rafe’s sharp eyes were already fixed on you, his expression unchanging as he walked closer.

Aspyn shifted awkwardly in her seat, “He doesn’t know you still smoke?” She questions as you snap your eyes to her, “Kinda, I haven’t in front of him for awhile and so he probably thought I quit,” You quickly say before focusing you attention on Rafe. His approach measured and deliberate. He wasn’t angry—you could tell that much from his calm stride—but that didn’t mean you were free from the quiet judgment he often wielded so easily.

You’d seen that look before, the one that said he didn’t have to say a word for you to understand. “Enjoying the morning?” His voice was smooth, casual, as he finally reached the table. When his eyes flickered down to the cigarette, then back to your face, it made your stomach twist. You forced a smile, trying to maintain the illusion of calm.

“Just catching up with Aspyn,” you replied, a slight edge creeping into your voice despite your best efforts to keep it light. You desperately hoped the tension in your tone would go unnoticed, though you knew better with Rafe. His gaze briefly flickered to Aspyn, offering her a polite nod in acknowledgement before settling back on you.

“Hope you’re not overdoing it,” he said quietly, his words casual on the surface, but laced with a subtle undercurrent only you could catch. It wasn’t a direct reprimand—it rarely was with him—but the way his eyes lingered on the cigarette and then on you made your stomach tighten. The familiar look of disapproval, though not overtly harsh, always made you feel small.

You swallowed the frustration rising in your throat, the taste of tobacco still bitter on your tongue. “I’m fine,” you said, your words clipped. You pushed the ashtray away, trying to shift the focus from the cigarette to something more neutral. His gaze lingered a moment longer, the silence thick with unspoken thoughts.

It was never loud or confrontational with Rafe. He understood that the cigarettes brought you a sense of control and calm, even though he was against them, particularly now when your body needed to be in its best shape for carrying a child. His silent judgment was often more oppressive than any spoken criticism could be.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, resisting the urge to light another cigarette just out of defiance. The habit had always been a small rebellion against the constraints of your life, but under Rafe’s watchful gaze, it felt like something you needed to hide.

Beside you, Aspyn sat quietly, her usual chatter replaced with a careful silence. You could feel her curiosity, the way her eyes darted between you and Rafe, though she made no effort to involve herself. She knew when the tension between you and Rafe hung too thick to cut through, and now was one of those times.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, resisting the urge to light another cigarette just out of defiance. The habit had always been one of your escapes, a quiet rebellion against the constraints of your life. But here, under Rafe’s watchful gaze, it felt more like something to be ashamed of. You had always hated that—the way he could make something that once brought you comfort feel like another thing you had to hide.

Rafe stood there, his hands tucked in his pants as he studied you, your eyes fixated on the table. “I hope you’re ready,” he said, his voice cool and measured. You blinked, confused as you looked up at him. “Ready for what?” Rafe’s gaze flickered to your untouched breakfast on your plate, and you could feel the silent judgment in his eyes, though he didn’t linger on it. “We have another trip tomorrow. New York this time.”

Your heart dropped. “Tomorrow?” You stared at him in disbelief, shaking your head. “But we just got back from Russia,” you protested, frustration creeping into your tone. Rafe shrugged, his expression indifferent. “Business doesn’t wait.” You glanced at Aspyn, whose eyes widened slightly. She stayed quiet, clearly sensing the growing tension.

You returned your focus to Rafe, trying to suppress the irritation bubbling inside you. “I haven’t even unpacked from the last trip,” you muttered, but you knew it wouldn’t change anything. He was already mentally packed and ready to go, as always. “Then you’ll need to get started,” he said simply, his voice clipped, before turning to head back inside without further explanation.

You sat there, stunned for a moment, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. It was always the same—your life dictated by his business, your time revolving around his schedule, and any attempt to protest met with cool indifference. Aspyn shifted beside you, clearing her throat delicately. “I guess New York is next, huh?” she said softly, her earlier excitement now dampened.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you regretfully glanced at the cigarette you’d just stubbed out. “Yeah. I guess it is.” Aspyn shifted beside you, her voice hesitant. “He doesn’t like you smoking, does he?” You let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head. “No, he doesn’t. But that’s never stopped me before,” you said, though the bravado in your words felt hollow.

You could still feel the weight of Rafe’s judgment, the way his disapproval lingered even after he was gone. It wasn’t just about the cigarettes—it was about control, about the way every little decision you made somehow felt tied to him. Aspyn gave you a sympathetic look, her gaze softening. “Well, it’s not like he’s perfect either,” she offered, trying to bring some levity to the conversation, though the heaviness remained.

You smiled faintly, but your thoughts were still with Rafe and the quiet, unspoken expectations that always seemed to hang over you. Even in the smallest things, like the habit of lighting a cigarette, there was always something more. Always something unspoken between you and him.

[inkedinshadows]

Lazy Mornings

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: Azriel really loves to wake up next to you.

Warnings: short mention of sex toward the end

Word count: 701

A/N: look at me, posting another fic already (just a drabble though). I have too much time on my hands lol

Azriel had always been an early riser. As someone who had trouble sleeping, staying in bed once he was awake was nothing more than a waste of time. But both of those things changed when you came into his life, and he got to sleep next to you every night. With you, he would gladly spend all morning lying in bed.

He loved when the first thing he felt upon waking was your body curled up against him, your arm loosely thrown over his chest and your soft breaths caressing his skin. Your hair was usually a mess, and he would run his fingers through your locks, careful not to wake you.

If he awoke to find you had drifted away in your sleep, he wrapped his arms around you and tucked you back against his chest. You merely stirred, curling into his warmth, a content sigh escaping your lips.

Some mornings, he was the one snuggling into you. Lying on his stomach, his wings draped over both of you, he could feel your heartbeat as his head rested on your chest. Your hand was often still tangled in his black curls from where you had been stroking him until you both fell asleep. In those moments, he felt a sense of calm and peace like never before, and something inside him healed a bit more every time you cradled his head and buried your fingers in his hair.

It didn’t matter if he had meetings or appointments. When he woke with his head on your chest, unless it was something of utmost importance that he couldn’t postpone, he wouldn’t move until you woke up on your own. By now, he knew the telltale signs of your awakening—that little groan and the slight twitch of your fingers.

But even just holding you was enough for him. You had laughed at him when he told you he liked to watch you sleep. You said it was creepy and not romantic at all, but he couldn't help it when you looked so innocent, so vulnerable, and peaceful. Besides, he knew you did the same every time his eyes were closed and you thought he was asleep.

Being a heavy sleeper, it always took you a while to fully come to your senses. Watching you open your eyes was one of his favorite moments: a small furrow formed on your brow, and then your half-lidded eyes settled on him and your expression softened, a loving smile appearing on your lips. His heart always swelled at the sight, no matter how many times he had seen it already.

If time was on your side, Azriel was more than content to cuddle until you were ready to rise. When you struggled to fully wake up, or when cuddling caused you to fall asleep again, he got up to make you breakfast. If you still weren't up when he was done, he'd bring it to you on a tray: hot tea with a splash of milk in winter and orange juice in summer, always accompanied by your favorite chocolate pastries and seasonal fruit.

And then there were those mornings when the cuddles led to more heated kisses and before you knew it, you were both naked. Making love to you in the early hours was another of Azriel's favorite activities. It took you longer than usual to reach your first climax, but he didn’t mind, because it gave him a reason to spend even more time between your legs. He would coax it from you with his mouth and fingers, and only then would he sheath himself inside you and you would have slow, gentle sex, filled with soft caresses, tiny kisses, and whispered promises of love.

The days when you could spend hours just lying in bed, simply enjoying each other’s company, were few and far between, and Azriel cherished every single one of them. It wasn’t something he had ever done before, and if someone had told him he would one day grow to love it, he probably wouldn’t have believed them.

Yes, Azriel had always been an early riser. But you had changed that, just like you had changed his life for the better.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @andreperez11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette

[cimmanonrowl]

In the right time, maybe.

Chapter One | Chapter Navigation

Pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner x bfd!reader

Contents: age gap, older guy x young woman relationship, forbidden love, flashback, sassy!reader, even sassier!aaron.

7 years ago.

“The calls started coming in…” It was the first thing you heard your mother say since you joined her and your father for breakfast. 

You forced yourself to continue eating. But the eggs taste like nothing, the toast dry in your mouth like gravel. For the last 15 minutes you spent sitting across them, the tension pressed down heavily on your chest. Now that she spoke, you couldn’t help but glance at your father, searching his face for any hint of emotion. But his expression was unreadable as always— calm and composed as he listened to your mother’s sweet voice.

There was a faint smile on her face as she set her knife and fork down on her plate. “Cynthia called first thing this morning, and not out of concern, I’m sure. She wanted to know if the rumors she’d heard were true…” she trailed off, the sweetness dripping from her mouth contrasted with the coldness of her eyes. “That my daughter had been arrested. At a frat party.”

The clinking of silverware against china was the only sound left in the dining room. Through the tall windows, the morning sun filtered, flooding the room with a faint, golden glow. Everything was set perfectly as you always remembered— freshly brewed coffee in delicate cups, pastries neatly stacked on a silver platter, and fruit arranged in pristine order on elegant porcelain plates. 

And you sat there, eyes downcast, pushing your scrambled eggs around on your plate, unable to bring yourself to take another bite. 

“She was very polite about it, of course,” Mother dear continued, her voice as smooth as Italian silk, “But I could hear it in her tone— the faux concern, the curiosity for the gossip. My friends will be buzzing about this for weeks. Oh, did you hear what happened to her daughter? Arrested for assaulting a Teacher’s Aide, that poor woman.” She mimicked them with a faint, elegant smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

You urged yourself to stay quiet. What could you even say to make this better?

“How delightful it will be for them to have such fresh material to gossip about. By the time I arrive today, I’m sure the whole country club already knows what happened. Can you imagine the whispers?” She raised one of her delicate eyebrows, her lips pursed.

Your father sipped his coffee slowly, the lines of his face set in that stoic, unreadable expression he’s mastered over the years. Your cheeks burned with shame. You cleared your throat as the words refused to come out, your eyes fixed on the table as the embarrassment and regret clawed at you.

“I didn’t…” you finally found your voice, though it was weak, trembling. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Mom. It was just—”

“A prank?” your mother cut you off, humming sarcastically. “That’s what you told us earlier at the police station, remember? A prank. Do you think that makes it better? Do you think the chancellor or our family friends care that it was just a prank?”

You swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze.

“No.”

“Of course not, you stupid girl. Because it doesn’t matter why you did it. All that matters is the outcome. The damage is done.”

The events of last night loomed in the air— your arrest at the frat party, the flashing lights, the crowd of onlookers recording everything. You can still feel the cold metal of the handcuffs and how it harshly bit on your skin, the sting of the police officers’ loud voices, and worst of all, the cameras. Those fucking cameras. Although you haven’t got the courage to check your phone yet, you know those videos are out there now, circulating the internet with your name being dragged around by everyone in the Law Department who knew who you were.

“The scandal you’ve caused…” Your stomach turned, the humiliation hitting you all over again as your mother ranted relentlessly. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up to ten missed calls from women at the country club, all of them pretending to be concerned, but really just salivating at the chance to gossip about how my daughter was arrested at some filthy frat party? What in the world were you doing in that dirty place, anyway? I was certain I raised you with a better taste than that.”

Your mother placed her napkin on the table with almost graceful precision, but you could tell she was holding herself back from losing her composure, holding herself back from the storm of anger that was simmering just beneath the surface.

“I just thought- I thought it was a chance to… meet people and socialize. It’s my first semester and you always tell me the importance of building connec–”

“With people of value. I didn’t mean in a rathole, did I?”

You pursed your lips. “Most of them are family acquaintances, Mom.”

“It didn’t occur to you that must be the reason why they’re only acquaintances?” Your mother’s tone remained deceptively soft, almost pleasant, as she continued. “That you don’t meet those people in charity nights or country clubs because they hang out in dirty, frat houses?”

“But Dad is part of a frat in Law School, Mom. It’s one of the ways to build connections inside the academe. Some professors are even part of those frats. It has perks—”

“And did your father also tell you to crack open someone’s skull in the middle of the party?”

“N-no…”

“That’s what I thought,” she smiled sweetly.

Your throat tightened, the shame creeping up inside you, wrapping itself around your chest until it was hard to breathe. No matter how you don’t agree with her words, even when you want so badly to defend yourself, at the end of the day, you know you’re still wrong.

“I’m sorry, Mom. It was just a lapse of judgement.”

“Is that what you call it?” she sounded amused as she echoed the words you used. “Because to me, it seems like you didn’t even use your brain. How would it be a lapse of judgment?”

You didn’t answer— you couldn’t. You’re fully aware that no amount of explanation would even justify what happened.

It was intended as a stupid joke, a harmless prank—something to rile up the frat boys and mess with the Teacher’s Aide who always gave you a hard time. He was a prick. Always acting pretentious and condescending in class, always shaming you during recitation. So you and a couple of your friends thought it’d be funny to mess with him. You had gotten the idea to stage a scene at the party— just a small “accident” involving him that would get everyone to whisper about him for weeks. 

You didn’t think it through.

No one did.

The prank backfired spectacularly. It was supposed to be harmless— just a spill of paint and a couple of embarrassing photos to post on the University board— but ended up with the man slipping and hitting his head hard on the corner of a table. The frat house had erupted into chaos after that, drunk people shouting, running around, and the guy lying there unconscious with a concerning amount of blood pooling on the floor.

That’s when someone must’ve called the cops.

Your father cleared his throat. “We’ve done our best to protect you from consequences in the past, sweetheart,” he began, his voice low but steady, the kind of tone that demanded your full attention. “But this— this isn’t something we can simply sweep under the rug.”

“You’ve embarrassed us, is what he’s saying,” your mother scoffed lightly, rolling her eyes at your father. “The truth is, you’ve embarrassed not only yourself but our family. Tell me, how are we supposed to face everyone? The people in your father’s work? My friends in the country club?”

You fell silent with her question. You’ve heard it all before— how important the family’s image is, how every action you take isn’t just your own, but a reflection of them. It was a lesson you’ve been taught since you were a child, but now, sitting here in the aftermath of your arrest, it felt heavier than ever.

“And the pictures,” your mother continued, her voice cutting through your thoughts again. “The videos. Did you think about that? How those images are going to be plastered all over social media for everyone to see? Your cheap dress? Your behavior? Do you even care how many of our friends’ children see them? I can only imagine the things they’ll say behind your back.”

Your father set his coffee down. His face was calm, but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable, and it made you want to shrink into yourself. 

“I want you to realize how serious this is, sweetheart,” he said after a deep sigh, his voice never rising, but somehow becoming even more terrifying in its restraint. “It’s not just the scandal you’ve brought on this family, though that in itself is bad enough. It’s the fact that the university’s TA, the man you assaulted—and don’t tell me it wasn’t serious because we’ve heard the details— he’s considering filing a lawsuit against you.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. The word ‘lawsuit’ sent a chill down your spine. You knew things were bad, but you hadn’t fully processed that it could come to this. The prank had gone wrong—horribly so—but you hadn’t truly considered that it could escalate into something this big. The thought of legal action, of your parents being dragged into court over something you did…

Your mother inhaled slowly. Although she doesn’t raise her voice, each word cuts deeper than if she had screamed. “We’ll be dragged through the mud. And what then? What happens to our reputation? To your future?”

You ignored the fact that, based on her words, your reputation is much more important than your future. Or whatever you feel at the moment.

You could barely breathe as the conversation went on. You gripped the edge of your chair, trying to steady yourself, but it felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling away. 

“I didn’t mean it. I’m really- I’m so sorry…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, shaking.

“That doesn’t matter,” your father said. “Intent doesn’t minimize consequences. And now, we’re facing a very real possibility that you could be expelled, sued, and publicly humiliated all at once.”

The walls felt as if they were closing in around you.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed as she continued. “And then there’s the matter of money. Do you have any idea how much it will cost us to make this go away? To keep your record clean, to keep you in Law School after almost killing someone?” She leaned forward slightly, her voice low and cutting. “Do you even realize how selfish and stupid you’ve been?”

You swallowed hard. Expulsion. A permanent mark on your academic record. Your future— everything you’ve worked for— now hangs in the balance because of one reckless night.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to cry in front of them. You feel small and ashamed, under the weight of everything that’s about to come crashing down on you. But then, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Your father heaved another deep sigh. “We’ll need to contact our lawyer,” he said calmly, his mind already moving to control the damage. “We’ll have to negotiate with the university board and the TA. I already set a meeting with the chancellor. He’s an old friend, let’s just hope he will help us.”

You nodded numbly, the shame and guilt overwhelming you. The image of your mother at the country club, having to endure the whispers and judgemental looks, the thought of your father having to navigate meetings with lawyers and school administrators to clean up the mess you’ve made was so shameful to think about.

Your mother rose from her seat with a graceful composure. “Your father and I will fix this,” she said one last time, her voice clipped and emotionless. “But this will be the last time, I warn you. You’ve embarrassed us enough.”

Without another glance in your direction, she left the room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Your father followed, quieter but no less distant, leaving you alone at the table.

“We’ll talk more about this later,” was all he said.

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel your house helpers’ gaze focused on you, watching you from the corner in which they all stand. You felt sick, not only because of the hangover but because it felt like the entire world had shifted beneath you, and you were left to deal with the wreckage.

“Miss? Are you awake?”

The knock on your door pulled you from sleep. You stirred in bed, your eyes heavy. There was a dull ache pounding in your head from all the crying you’d done. And with heavy feeling, you rolled over, blinking against the fading evening light that seeped through the curtains, trying to make sense of the knock.

It came again, a little louder this time. You pushed yourself up on your elbows just as the door creaked open, revealing the familiar figure of your family’s longtime maid. She was standing by the front door, her expression polite, her eyes reflecting a hint of sympathy she was trying to hide.

“Miss,” she repeated softly, “your parents have requested you come down for dinner.”

You rubbed your eyes and sat up fully. “Dinner?” your voice was scratchy as you mumbled.

“Yes, miss,” she replied, stepping slightly into the room. “Your parents have a guest tonight. It’s… important that you join them.”

Something in her tone caught your attention. A guest. You wonder who could it be. Though it was most likely just your family lawyer joining you for dinner. Your father did say you would talk about the situation later.

So you gave her a polite nod and swung your legs over the side of the bed. “Alright,” you said quietly, already feeling the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. The last thing you want to do is face them again— especially over dinner— but you know there’s no avoiding it.

The maid disappeared quietly down the hall as you stood, your legs still shaky beneath you. You glance at yourself in the full-body mirror, grimacing at your reflection. Your hair was a mess, your eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. You tried to fix yourself up as best as you could, smoothing down your hair and splashing some cold water on your face to wake yourself up. But no matter how much you try to pull yourself together, the heaviness still loomed over your shoulders.

You made your way down the staircase, the smell of dinner wafting through the house. The soft murmur of voices reached your ears as you near the dining room— your parents, speaking in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but you picked up the urgency of their conversation that made you pause just outside the doorway.

You closed your eyes for a moment, preparing yourself, before stepping into the room.

The first thing you noticed was that your parents aren’t alone. Seated at the table with them, in the same spot he always sat at during family dinners so long ago… was Aaron. His presence was like a jolt of electricity, sending your heart skipping in your chest for a split second before it settled into an uneasy rhythm.

It has been so long since you last saw him— years, really. He’d been a constant figure in your life growing up, your father’s best friend since college. He’d been older than you by quite a bit, of course, but back then, you’d always been slightly captivated by him— his quiet intelligence, his boisterous laughter, the way he seemed to understand the world in ways you couldn’t yet grasp. It was endearing. He always had this presence about him, something solid and unshakeable, like he was the person you wanted around when things fell apart.

But now, sitting there at the dining table, he looked different— older, yes, but in a way that’s more refined. His hair was shorter than you remember, clean cut, dark brown with threads of silver creeping in at his temples, and his jawline was sharper, with the beginnings of stubble framing his mouth. He was wearing a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, the crisp white collar open at his throat, his tie undone as if he’d just come from a long day at work. 

Then there’s the intensity to his eyes. His expression was serious, his lips pressed into a thoughtful line as he listened to your parents talk.

As you step further into the room, Aaron’s gaze lifted, and for a moment, his eyes locked with yours. Your breath got caught right in your throat. 

“Aaron,” your father said formally, cutting into the silence as he noticed you standing there. “You remember my daughter.”

Aaron’s lips twitched into a slight smile, but it was fleeting. “Of course,” he said, his voice deep and even. “It’s been a while.”

You swallowed hard, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. You force yourself to walk further into the room, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “Hi, Aaron,” just a short greeting, your voice shaky– that’s all you had managed.

Your mother glanced at you. “Come sit down,” she said, gesturing to the empty seat across from Aaron. “We were just discussing the situation.”

Your stomach churned in shame. The situation. You know exactly what they’re talking about. And how embarrassing it was.

You took your seat, your hands trembling slightly as you settled into the chair. You focused yourself on a maid filling your glass with water, thanking her promptly and watching her walk away.

“Your father and I,” your mother started, effectively catching your attention, “were just going over the legal implications of what happened at the university.”

You glanced at your father, unsure of what to say. You know how grave the situation was, but seeing Aaron here, sitting with your parents as they calmly discuss your future as if it were some business negotiation, makes you want to crawl out of your skin and disappear forever.

“And Aaron’s here because?” You frowned, your voice sounded sarcastic without intending to. “We already have a family lawyer. Do we really need to drag him into this?”

Your father’s gaze sharpened just a bit. “Aaron has been a trusted friend of the family for years. Given the severity of your circumstances, we thought his experience would be invaluable.”

“Experience?” You let out a small, incredulous laugh, folding your arms across your chest. “He’s an FBI agent, Dad, not my defense attorney. This isn’t a federal case. It’s just a stupid prank gone wrong. I don’t see why we need to make this a whole ‘bring in the cavalry’ thing.” You glanced back at Aaron. “And I’m sure he’s got more important things to do than babysit me.”

Aaron leaned back slightly in his chair, his voice calm but firm when he spoke. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think this was serious.” His hazel eyes locked onto yours, and there was a weight to his words that made your earlier sarcasm feel childish and misplaced. “There’s a chance the university will pursue disciplinary action against you. But there’s also the matter of the TA. His injuries are documented, and he has every right to file charges.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your tongue. The potential lawsuit. The school hearing. Your entire future balancing on the edge of a knife. Deep down, you know he’s right, but the idea of Aaron being here, so entrenched in this mess, felt too personal— too invasive. Why on Earth would you want him here?

You’re used to your parents managing everything, controlling every detail of your life, but Aaron? It was different.

Your father cleared his throat. “He’s just offering legal advice and some advice on how we can keep this from spiraling any further.”

“I appreciate the help,” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your voice laced with a slight edge of stubbornness, “but I don’t need to be micromanaged by a fed. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this.”

Your mother raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “And what exactly do you plan to do? Handle it on your own? When all you did all day is lock yourself in your room and cry? Is that your idea of handling problems?”

You bit back the urge to say, ‘Yes, so what?’

The tension in the room thickened as your mother’s words silenced you. You felt the familiar heat of frustration creeping up your neck. It’s the same old story— no matter what, they always think you need to be rescued, that you’re not capable of handling your own life. That all you could do was cry, although that was exactly what you did.

Aaron, however, remained calm, his gaze never wavering from yours. “No one’s saying you’re not capable,” he said, his voice low and measured. “But this is a situation that’s already out of your control. There are legal repercussions, reputational damage, and the possibility of expulsion. Ignoring it or downplaying it won’t make it go away.”

His tone was steady, not condescending, but the message was clear: Whether you like it or not, this is bigger than you. So listen to me, little girl.

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to snap back at him. But instead, you exhaled slowly, trying to tamp down the frustration bubbling up inside you. “Fine,” you voice was tight as you spoke. “But I still don’t understand why Aaron needs to be involved. We can handle this with our own lawyer.”

Your mother interjected with an eye roll. “Aaron is a friend, and I don’t think you’re in much position to say who can help us and who can’t.” She paused and stared at you with that poised, assessing gaze she always has. “I suggest you listen to him.”

“And if I don’t?”

You almost flinched when you heard the sharp sound of your father’s sigh. “I’m too tired to deal with this attitude. Don’t push my button. I will send you to your Grandma if you don’t shut your damn mouth.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. You glanced at Aaron again, feeling a flicker of something you can’t quite place. He was watching you carefully. And for a brief moment, you felt like you were back to being that younger version of yourself, looking up to him, admiring him, thinking he had all the answers, thinking he could fix everything.

But now, everything feels different. When you’re the problem he’s been called in to fix.

“Alright,” you finally said, the fight going out of you as the reality of the situation set in. “Whatever.”

Aaron nodded slightly, his expression softening just a touch, and didn’t say anything else.

Later that evening, you have been called to your father’s office. The dim light casted long shadows over the dark wood paneling and the rows of bookshelves lining the walls. You’ve always thought of this room as intimidating, with all the thick books and deep leather armchairs, and the old oak desk, but tonight you feel even more antsy.

You were perched on the edge of the sofa, your legs stretched out in front of you, painting your toenails with a level of focus that belies how much your mind was actually racing. You needed something to do with your hands, something to distract yourself from the fact that you were alone in the room with Aaron. 

The smell of polish hangs faintly in the air. You felt the hem of your nightdress ride up your thighs as you leaned forward slightly to get a better angle on your toes.

And from your seat, you can hear the faint sound of the videos Aaron was busy watching.

He sat across from you in one of the large armchairs, his back straight, his attention narrowed down on the laptop balanced on his knees. He was watching video clips and scrolling through photos from the night of the frat party. You’ve caught glimpses of the screen ealier, the images of yourself in that tight, short dress flashing by, a reminder of just how badly things have spiraled out of control.

You could feel his presence like a heat in the room, a steady pressure that makes it hard to breathe. Every now and then, his gaze shifted from the screen to you, but it was subtle, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t so hyper-aware of him. You don’t have to look up to know when his eyes are on you; you can feel it in the way your skin tingled, the way your heart skipped a beat.

He cleared his throat eventually, the sound breaking the heavy silence. “These videos,” he started, his voice low and gruff, “are all over social media. It’s worse than I thought.”

You paused mid-stroke, the small brush hovering over your toe, your pulse quickening at the seriousness in his tone. You glanced up at him, trying to gauge his expression. He addressed you in a formal manner. But still, there was a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t name— something that made your stomach flutter in a way you’d rather ignore.

“Yeah, well,” you mumbled, turning your attention back to your nails, “I guess that’s what happens when everyone has a phone in their hand these days.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. You heard the faint clicking as he scrolled through more images, the silence stretching on between you. The weight of his scrutiny, even if it was just on a screen, made you squirm slightly in your seat. 

You shifted your position, the movement causing your nightdress to ride up even more, the silky fabric sliding higher up your thighs.

You caught a brief flicker of movement from the corner of your eye— his gaze dropping to your legs, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before he quickly looked back at the screen. It was so quick, so subtle, that you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. But your heart did that traitorous little skip again, and you had to force yourself to focus on what you were doing, so you don’t dwell on it.

“This isn’t going to go away on its own,” Aaron said again after a beat of silence, as if he was choosing his words with great care. “The videos, the pictures—they’re everywhere. The university is likely to use them as evidence if they pursue disciplinary action.”

You placed the nail polish brush back in the bottle, twisting it shut with a sharp click. “So what?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “We already knew it was bad.”

“It’s worse,” he pressed, his eyes lifting to meet yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch. “And I’m not just talking about the university. This could get very public, very fast. You need to understand what that means.”

You bristled at his words, feeling a flare of defensiveness rise up. “I get it, okay? I know I screwed up. I’m not stupid. But we don’t need to keep going over it.” You shifted again, fanning your hand over the wet nail polish, the nightdress inching up higher as you moved, exposing more of your skin.

This time, you didn’t miss the way Aaron’s eyes darted to the fabric as it rode up, his gaze lingering before he caught himself and quickly looked away, his jaw tightening slightly. There was something in his expression now, something that was not just concern or frustration.

You felt a strange mix of emotions— embarrassment, maybe, or something closer to satisfaction— at catching him off guard, at seeing that brief lapse in his composure. He’d always been so steady, so in control, and there was a part of you that was curious, maybe even a little thrilled, to see that control waver even only for a second.

“Are you going to keep staring at those videos all night? Or are we actually going to talk about something useful?”

Aaron’s eyes snapped back to yours, his expression hardening even more. “This is useful,” he replied evenly, though his voice is a bit more clipped now. “The more we understand about what’s out there, the better we can prepare for what’s coming.”

You leaned back slightly, stretching your legs out and letting the nightdress fall naturally over your thighs. “I think we both know what’s coming,” your tone edged with resignation. “I’m going to be dragged through the mud, and my parents are going to do everything they can to make it disappear. That’s how this always goes.”

Aaron’s gaze darkened, and he set the laptop aside, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “Is that what you think this is?” he said quietly, but firmly. “You’re not a kid anymore, and this isn’t just about your parents cleaning up a mess. This is about your future. If this ends up in a court, your future will be at stake.”

There was something strange with the way he said it. You’re not a kid anymore. And you dropped your eyes, suddenly feeling very exposed— not just because of the nightdress, but because of everything you’ve been trying so hard to brush off.

“Why do you care so much, anyway? This is none of your business.”

For a moment, he was silent, and you wondered whether that was too much and you crossed a line. But then, he suddenly said, “Forget it. You’re pretty much the same kid I knew. I thought you’d be able to handle this with maturity, but obviously I’m wrong.”

Obviously.

You felt a surge of anger with that. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re still the same spoiled and whiny child from before.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief and offense. You’re not sure you followed everything he said after that. Because in the back of your mind, all you wondered about is what goes on in his brain when he looks at you with those dark, piercing eyes.

Tag list: @downbad4reid, @roseydoesypoesy, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @justyourusualash, @hotchsmutrecs, @msfreedom, @birdysaturne, @gghostwriter, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @fore45fore, @actualdeemon, @diksy1112, @jethro-mcgee-tony, @hotchnerbau, @iniyalovesall, @222hwilsss, @balariie, @oliviabbb, @ncis0mrs0gibbs, @jasonswhitetuftofhair, @m4pl, @zaddyhotch, @fandom-garbage, @obsessed-oops, @ujws5, @babybluelrh98

[stevieschrodinger]

Link to Part One Part Two Part Three

TW Human trafficking discussions of injury

Steve feels like shit. He looks like shit. He’s pretty sure something might have straight up died in his mouth when he got that forty five minutes of sleep.

Everything looks good though. The fact that everyone else sprawled around the boardroom also looks like shit makes him feel a little better about himself. Well. Everyone but Nancy, obviously, who could probably walk out of a tornado and still look put together.

Steve only knows it’s morning because Carol just brought them all coffee. Carol does not come in out of hours. Steve learned that very, very early on. It was uncharacteristically nice of Carol to turn up with the little trolley from downstairs; it had a bunch of fruit and breakfast pastries on it, plus coffee.

She then proceeded to explain to Steve at great length how he looked and smelled like he’d been shit out by a bear, so, maybe she had motive. And that motive was being a bitch.

“Happy now, Steve?”

Steve’s got like, a whole bag of sand in each eye. Coarse, if they grade that kind of thing. Coarse sand. “Do you think we got everything?”

“I am confident that the team have done their utmost to pursue every avenue.”

“Nance, stop being a politician. That’s not a yes.”

She purses her lips at him in the way that she has, “can I have a word with you?” She scans the board room, “privately?”

Steve drags himself out of the chair, balancing one croissant on top of his coffee cup and grabbing a bear claw too, and then follows Nancy out and into a nearby office.

She doesn’t pull any punches, “I need to know how you know.”

Steve takes a big bite, then speaks with his mouthful, “can’t. NDA.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, “and who, exactly, did you sign an NDA for?”

“The FBI.”

Nancy brings up her phone, showing Steve the screen. More precisely the headline on the screen, and Steve is thrilled that the picture they’ve used of Hagan is, objectively, fucking awful, “so Tommy Hagan was arrested last night, for Omega trafficking. When you walked into the office yesterday, oh so confident that everything relating to Hagan was going to tank…it was nearly ten full hours before this hit the news.”

Steve shrugs again, “N...D...A.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

The door opens, Henderson’s baby face poking through. You would not in a million years think they guy was in his twenties, “Steve, morning! Sorry, I know it’s early…” Henderson seems to take in the state of Steve. Shirt rumpled, tie hanging loose, starting in on his second pastry, “but I kind of need to know why over a quarter of a million dollars was moved on Saturday, and where it went since it seemed to just...disappear?”

It takes, probably, less than a second for Nancy to leap to a conclusion like an Olympic fucking vaulter, and half a second longer for her to hit Steve with the file she’s holding.

“Er...not now, Dustin okay?” Steve manages to say, trying to shield his pastry and his coffee while Nancy gets it out of her system.

Dustin’s a smart kid, he watches Nancy slapping Steve with the papers...and just leaves.

She finally stops, pinching the bridge of her nose, and says very evenly, very quietly, “Steven Harrington, look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t buy an Omega.”

“NDA?” Steve replies quietly, uncertain, and then flinching when Nancy raises the folder again, “okay okay! Yes, yes I did. But! Under the FBI’s kind of...you know, instruction? I was evidence gathering! He’s at mine but I’m figuring out where his family are and I’ll take him back! It’s fine!”

“Why is he at yours?”

“They didn’t have anywhere for him, short notice, plus his feet are kind of messed up, from them like, hurting him. He’s been there a couple of years so doesn’t have anything, so I’ve ordered him some clothes and stuff. He’s fine.”

Nancy tilts her head, like a predator working out the distance they need to strike, “he’s...fine?”

Steve knows he’s fucked up. Nancy is using that tone. It’s...a very specific tone. “Err...yes?”

“You have an injured Omega, who has been held against his will, abused enough to be, at the very least, physically injured, never mind the emotional toll this whole thing may have taken...and he’s fine?”

Oh, no. She’s raised her eyebrow in that way she has. “I mean...yeah?” Nancy glares, and Steve backtracks, “I mean. Obviously he’s not...you know, perfectly okay, I guess. He’s been through a lot. But I made sure I fed him plenty, and he’s got some clean clothes on the bed. The bed in the room...I never actually...got around to showing him to...because I got, distracted. And it’s upstairs…” Steve can feel his insides sinking, “his feet are hurt. Shit.” Well fuck. Steve's...fucked up, probably quite badly now that he actually stops for thirty seconds to think about it.

Nancy sighs aggressively out her nose in that way she has, “Steve your security system is like fort fucking Knox, did you at least…”

But Steve’s already shaking his head, because he didn’t do that, either. He’s just...locked Eddie into a new prison. Shit.

He scrambles, feeling guilty, “I’ll give him some of the money. A lot of the money. Hagan’s...stuff. He can have the ranch?”

Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, “why on earth would he want the place he’s been kept prisoner for-”

Steve shrugs, “whatever he wants. He can bun it down if he likes, I’ll help. It’ll be like, therapy?”

Oh no, she gone from pinching her nose to rubbing that spot on her forehead, but then she seems to...deflate. Grasping Steve’s arm to hold him close, she actually speaks gently to him, which is, quite frankly, a million times more terrifying, “Steve. We’ve known each other a long time, now, so I say this with love. Money, wealth...is not the most important thing in life.” Steve opens his mouth to protest, but she shushes him, “I know. Alright, I know it can help, and it makes life a lot better for a lot of people...but giving people things does not...fix anything. Money is not an apology. Gifts are not an apology. And I know it’s hard for you to...see it differently, okay? Because you’ve always been very...driven, and that’s a good thing! I know how you grew up and how your father was with you and I know you feel you have...something to prove, okay, so I understand, I do. But...a lot of people put higher value on...just. I mean, maybe just go home. Say that you're sorry. Look after the Omega for a couple of days, make sure he gets home, okay? Maybe prioritize that, for a moment. You know the office will be fine...and maybe you’ll see that other things in life can have value, hmm?”

Part five

@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @weekend-dreamer7 @lololol-1234 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mx-jinxous @goodolefashionedloverboi @bogwitchlesbian @lunaraquaenby @steddieinthesun @pluto-pepsi @disrespectedgoatman @i-eat-spinal-cords @waelkyring @kal-ology

[emmyrosee]

oikawa you say?? my favourite character in the whole entire series? you don’t understand how happy I am to hear you say that bc I’ve been sitting on this idea for so long not sure if I should send it in or not BC I WASN’T SURE IF YOU WERE INTO OIKAWA THAT MUCH 😭 …alright I’m gonna call myself out a bit with this one. BUT ITS OKAY ITS FINE.

hype man oikawa. he’s. so. good. at. hyping. you. up!!!!

you don’t ever feed your own ego so HE DOES IT FOR U. like, let’s say you managed to accomplish something (big or small, an accomplishment is an accomplishment) and it becomes a big point of pride for you, like huge, and you don’t want to show it that much cause??? you don’t want to come off as if you’re bragging!!! but oikawa sees through it and totally just feeds into it to see you smile and stand a bit taller. like out of the blue on a random Tuesday he’d just kiss you on the cheek and bring it up and just 😭🫶🏻

I’m so soft for him emmy. he’s so proud and LOVESSSS it when he sees that you’re proud of yourself too. he’s safe he won’t judge you at all for being just slightly prideful in whatever you’ve done/are doing. HE GETS IT!!!!! (cough that one scene in season 2 with ushijima) HE KNOWS YOU’D DO THE SAME FOR HIM!!!!

MWAH ILY💋 HAPPY MILESTONE!!!!

ARE YOU TRYNA KILL ME?

Oikawa is the best hype man you could ask for, because he knows how good praise feels and how bad degradation feels, so he’s always the one to take all your accomplishments- be it taking a shower after a bad day, to getting a promotion at work- and make them the biggest deal he ever could.

“UHHH BABY!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU, THIS IS A BIG DEAL!” He always says, cradling your face in his big hands and beaming down at you with the most pleased twinkle in his eye. You merely shrug and giggle softly, which he dramatically gasp, “are you NOT completely impressed with yourself? Because I will make you be.”

“No, no, I am!” You assure, nuzzling into his warm palm. “It’s just… it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big-“ he cuts of his repeating with a dramatic sigh and playful scratch of his head, “babe, you do realize this is something you accomplished. This is another checkmark on how great and smart you are- not to mention how hot-“

“I don’t think this has anything to do with being hot,” you snort.

But Tooru doesn’t let it go. Nay nay.

The next morning, the smell of fresh fruit and baked goods filled the air (obviously from the store because he’s banned from cooking without your watchful supervision), and you smile in the warmth of your pillow and slowly sit up with a stretch, swinging your legs over the bed and shuffling to the kitchen.

“BABYYYY!” He beams as he sees you, dropping the muffin he was holding to immediately pull you into a hug, peppering your face with kisses. You giggle at the tickly feeling and smile at him, only to pout as he pulls away to pick up the muffin. “Did you sleep well? I mean, I assumed you did, because you were drooling on me, so…”

“I do not drool!” You snicker, but your further teases die on your tongue when he makes his way to the counter and grabs a thick bouquet of flowers, your cheeks blazing at how serious he finds this and is encouraging you to do the same. “You didn’t have to do all of this,” you mewl, walking back into his arms. He wraps his free one around you and kisses your head repeatedly.

“Yes, I did,” he whispers. “Don’t be humble. You’ve earned this. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Tears sting at your eyes at his words, and you burrow into him deeper, taking selfish inhales of his clean scent and fresh cologne, the closeness of the flowers adding a sweetness to your man.

“Come on,” he encourages, pulling away once again to get you to enjoy your breakfast. “I got you some pastries, grabbed you a breakfast sandwich, cut up some fruit, and I grabbed you one of those smoothies you like so much.” He says all of this with pride and a broad smile, pulling out a chair for you to sit in, “here. I’ll make you a plate.”

“I can do that,” you giggle.

“I don’t want you to. Today is all about celebrating you- who would I be if I didn’t pamper you today?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” you hum, watching him move around the kitchen and blushing slightly as he winks at you. He puts down the flowers and gets busy making you a plate of breakfast. “Hey, Tooru?”

“Yeah babe?”

“Thank you. For letting me have this. And being yourself.”

He smiles and chuckles to himself, scooping you a big helping of fruit.

“I’ve got you, baby. Gonna always take care of you and your accomplishments.

“You deserve it.”

[gtgbabie0]

Rainy mornings

{You and Rhaenyra enjoy a peaceful morning together}

Hope you enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s raining almost constantly on Dragonstone something you have come to love as time goes on. Especially in these moments when you wake up beside your beloved wife, her soft, white hair falling out of her once neat braid.

The back of her hand grazes against your cheek gently as you slowly begin to stir from your sleep. She props herself up on her elbow as she looks down at you with kind eyes, full of love and there's something about the warmth of the moment that seems to protect you from the harsh morning winds that whistle through the castle.

“Good morning my sweet girl” she smiles, keeping a hushed tone as she leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. Her hands soothe against the curve of your bare hip as he continues to press light kisses along your jaw smiling against you when you let out a small delighted sigh.

Rhaenyra watches as you rub your eyes, a yawn escaping your lips and she can’t help but let out a breathy giggle at the sight, but who could blame her? When her beautiful wife, lays naked beneath the white sheets, bathed in the morning sun as it rises. The happiness that blooms within her chest escapes her through soft giggles.

“Did you sleep well, my dear?” You ask, voice still laced with sleep. A gentle hand reaches up to brush away the hair that frames her face pushing it behind her ear, the back of your fingers grazing against her cheek.

“I always sleep well beside you,” she responds voice just above a whisper, before dropping a kiss to your shoulder. You shuffle closer to her, bringing the sheets with you as you rest your head against her chest. Rhaenyra traces her fingertips along your spine leaving goosebumps in their wake and the sensation only makes you nuzzle into her neck further, seeking out her warmth.

“Breakfast should be here soon so don’t go back to sleep my love” she whispers against your forehead, pressing her lips to your hairline as her hands still work their way up and down your back, enjoying the way your body feels against hers.

The familiar heavy sensation weighs against you, and you fight so hard to keep your eyes open, but the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the way Rhaenyra's hands feel against your body makes it really hard.

“You’re certainly not making it easy,” you tell her with a soft chuckle.

Before she can defend herself there’s a knock at the door, and a voice from the other side, “Breakfast m’lady”

She pulls the sheets over your shoulders to cover your modesty before telling the maid to enter. She leaves two silver trays, full of warm pastries and fruit, on top of the stone table that sits at the end of the bed before leaving with a curt bow wishing the pair of you a pleasant morning.

“Come on my sweet girl, let us eat,” she says, watching as you move away from your very comfortable position, and suddenly she’s left very aware of just how cold it is. You sit with your back against the headboard, robe wrapped tightly around your body as a gust of wind pushes through the room.

“Eating in bed are we?” She smiles at the tired nod you give her in response.

“Yes, because you love me dearly and it is simply far too cold,” you tell her as she brings the trays over to the bed placing them down on the mattress carefully before sitting back down next to you, and as if out of instinct you lean closer to her searching for her warmth yet again.

“I do, I love you more than words could ever express,” she says with such sincerity that it leaves you breathless and it certainly doesn’t help when he presses a loving kiss to your lips, her hand caressing your cheek ever so gently.

The pair of you indulge in the food, feeding each other the different fruits and sweet pastries and Rhaenyra can’t help but admire your beauty, the way you seem to practically glow under the morning sun as a smile embraces your beautiful features. She truly loves you, even if you’re leaving crumbs on the bed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[overstuffd]

So, feedee werewolf won, obviously, because you're all a bunch of bottoms (loving).

So here are some more thoughts.

When I find you in the woods you're cold, scared - and hungry.

I bring you back to my cottage, offer you some clothes to replace your soaked rags. They're a few sizes too big but you're grateful.

Slowly, you piece together last night. The transformation - the gorging yourself on chickens from the farmer a few miles over.

I smile and offer you a firm, gentle hand. Don't worry - I'm here to help. You're so relieved you don't notice how deep my nails dig into the flesh of your arm.

First, I want you comfortable. I draw you a warm bath to shake off the night before. The fire is crackling, and the incense I light leaves you feeling dozy and calm.

After your bath there are more soft, large clothes - you wonder who they are for - and a proper meal, you look like you need one, poor thing!

You don't realise how late it's gotten, but I've prepared a King's supper. A roast ham and a whole cold chicken, a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, a huge tray of butter roasted potatoes, pumpkin and carrots, glazed in honey. There are soft fried eggs in a dish, and jars of cramy sauces and pickles. You set about making yourself a huge sandwhich, and you're almost done before you realise you didn't wait to be invited to eat.

You blush as you look up at at me, but I wave your concerns away. I set the table for you, enjoy it.

As you eat, I explain your condition, and the words are so distracting you barely notice how many brick sized sandwiches you're gulping down.

You're a werewolf, poor little lamb, I explain. The fellow with the dark eyes you let take you home from the bar a few weeks ago - those bite marks aren't the only thing he left with you.

Your curse is to transform every full moon into a creature controlled purely by desire and animal need - yourself in an unihinited, bestial form, with power to do as you will. I know, it must be scary sweet thing - here, try one of these custard buns.

The good news is, as you've probably guessed, I'm more than just familar with the arcane and supernatural. I'm quite a skilled practitioner of magics, and with your cooperation I can make the next full moon much less dangerous for everyone.

You're so grateful to hear - the memories of the night before that are flashning through your mind scare you, as much as they stir something else, deep at the root of your stomach.

I tell you to eat up and get some sleep, I'll begin your training - your instruction, that is - tomorrow.

-

You wake and breakfast is ready - cooked meats, more eggs and poetatoes, and pastries, fruit - you don't take it all in before you start eating, you're ravenous.

Your hair is longer, you notice as I idly play with it, and is spreading down you neck and across your shoulders. You shovel more eggs, another chocolate stuffed puff-pastry treat, not thinking it at all strange as I work out one of the stress knots in your shoulder.

After breakfast - the third plate of which you eat at my insistence - I start teaching you about herblore.

Your wolf form - I explain - is an extension of your self. Don't think of yourself and them as separate creatures, they are your needs and desires made flesh. The better state you are going into the full moon, the more docile your wolf form.

As I talk, you are distracted by my fingers rolling thumb-fat herbal cigarettes into tight cones. My voice watches ovr you as the repetitive movement makes you feel dozy.

Lavender, or course, and chamomile, for calm and stillness. Mallow root for dreaminess. Oatflower for - making you open to influence. My, postitive influence. Heather for appetite - you're going to need your strength. Mugwort to enhance sensation, to keep you in touch with your body. A few others from my garden - I'm passioante about creating potent cross strains.

I place one of the joints in your mouth and light the tip, flicking away the ash as your hungry mouth starts the cone before your conscious mind has time to realise what's happening. I pull the joint away and take a hit myself, you taking a moment to greedily gasp air, before I press my lips against yours and shotgun the herbal mixture directly into your neuro-cortex.

Your head swims, and your brain short circuits as I place a hand on your thigh. You stuggle to regain your composure, as a bell in the kitchen goes off.

Oh - lunch is ready!

As I sidle off to the kitchen, you realise how warm you feel between your thighs from the contact.

-

Lunch is a shepherds pie, and I make no move to serve a portion, just place the whole dish in front of you with a huge spoon breaking the crisp crust and fragrant steam spilling into the air.

You don't hesitate, you pick up the spoon and start digging in. The food smells delicious, and you're already ravenous despite the huge breakfast. You swallow mouthful after mouthful of rich, savoury food as I explain more to you, slowly and clearly like you've realise you need.

Fullness is important. I explain, gently. I'm across the table but my foot is playing with the inside fo your thigh. The hungrier you are, the more dangerous your wolf is. It's so important that you stay full. I'm going to do my best, okay, but you need to tell me as soon as there's any room in your belly, sweet thing.

You nod happily, barely looking up from you pie.

Good dog, I say, as I ruffle you hair.

-

Dinner comes, pinning you to you chair in the kitchen, and as you eat I explain how important it is that you indulge all your needs now, while you're still a soft, safe human.

You are barely listening, enjoying dragging more of the soft, fresh and heavily buttered bread through more of the delicious, spiced stew. It's one again full of my specially chosen herbs, but you don't need to know that. You've found yourself needing to know less and less all day.

You look a little pent up dear, I say, softly, walking round to your end of the table. No - you keep eating. I know just what to do.

I slide under the table and gently pull down the trousers I leant you. They're loose - for now - and come down easily so I can take you in mouth. I gently suck as you swallow more food.

I don't know if you realise how much you're moaning, but I suspect it has as much to do with the meal as it does with my fingers teasing your hole.

You finish your dinner before you finish in my mouth, already such a good pet. Tomorrow we'll have much more to do to make you safe, but for now I'll walk your heavy, drowsy form to the bed and rub your bloated belly till you sleep.

[lifblogs]

Mayday

Week 5 Prompt: "You're a bad liar." Alt. Prompt: "Need a hand?" @summer-of-bad-batch Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 6646 Summary: Crosshair falls incredibly ill during a storm, and his family does what they can to help him. Only, there's not much they can do. READ ON AO3

Rain pattered down hard against the stone roof, and against Crosshair’s window above his bed. The dark night had turned into a gloomy, gray dawn, and he could even hear the waves crashing tumultuously against the rocks. For some reason he couldn’t discern he didn’t want to get out of bed. He just didn’t have the energy.

Thunder rumbled, and he winced. Oh, that had been too loud.

A knock sounded on his door (ow), and he tried to suppress a quiet groan, but it came out anyway. He took his pillow and put it over his head.

“Crosshair, you getting up?” Hunter asked. “Wrecker and Tech made breakfast.”

Thank god. It’ll be something palatable.

He wanted to tell Hunter that bit of sarcasm (Hunter actually was a good cook thanks to his enhanced senses), but he felt sluggish, mind moving slowly.

Maybe I’m getting sick.

“Yeah, yeah,” he eventually grumbled at him.

Crosshair sighed, moved his pillow back under him, and slumped down on it.

“Omega’s waiting,” Hunter added.

“Fine,” he breathed.

That was enough to get him moving.

Today typically wouldn’t have been a rest day on Pabu, but they’d all seen the storm coming the night before and had prepared.

Lightning flashed as he finally sat up. Ugh. His limbs shook slightly, and he passed a hand over his tired eyes.

What is wrong with me?

He’d slept the whole night, to his surprise; maybe those medicinal herbs the healer had given him really were helping with his nightmares. So what was the problem?

Crosshair clambered out of bed. He went through the motions of getting ready, wincing at the soft glow of light from his lamp each time his eyes passed over it. Everything took longer, like he was trying to move his limbs through mud.

Eventually he was sitting at the kitchen table with his family. Tech was on his datapad, half-ignoring his food, his two mechno-fingers on his left hand gleaming. In the dim light their lamps provided the scars across the left side of his face looked deeper, more jagged from the shadows.

Omega sat next to Crosshair, excitedly eating the pastries Wrecker and Tech had made, nudging Crosshair, trying to get him to eat something.

For some reason nausea curled in his stomach, but he tried a few bites.

He admitted to himself that if he wasn’t getting sick the flaky pastry with the tangy fruit filling would have been delicious. Yet he was sick, or something was wrong.

Crosshair sat with his hand under his chin, eyeing everyone tiredly.

His family was talking about Phee and whether she was safe today (though she could easily handle herself), and Hunter was trying to keep Batcher away from the food, but Crosshair wasn’t really taking it in.

Omega nudged him, and he glanced at her.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

Crosshair sighed, and pushed his plate away.

“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked.

“Not hungry.”

Crosshair thought of the projects he could work on while inside, something to bring life to Pabu, and earn his family some money or traded goods. He supposed he could try to work on his paintings, but there wasn’t really good lighting for that. Maybe there were some nets he could weave?

“Here, maybe this’ll help,” Wrecker said, handing over a mug of caf.

What is the logic in this? Yet…

Knowing Wrecker it was strong, and bitter. The thought turned Crosshair’s stomach.

Yet, if he put a lot of cream and sugar in it like he did for Omega’s small, small cups (he did not want her drinking so much caf so young, but they let her have some or else she’d steal theirs) maybe it’d taste good. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want the sweetness of the pastry, but suddenly wanted a sweet cup of caf.

His movements were slow as he prepared it.

Crosshair ended up moving to the couch in their living room. The living room was actually in the same room as the kitchen, no wall dividing them since the open space had better air circulation, so he wasn’t being too antisocial. Was he?

Crosshair grabbed one of the nets he’d been working on the night before, right hand trembling as he tried to tie the knots. This wasn’t like painting. For some reason painting stilled his hand. This was more difficult, but when he took his time everyone said he was even better at this than any of his brothers.

Batcher rushed over, and instantly put herself under the net. She wasn’t trying to steal it at the moment, just nudging her head up into it, so he didn’t admonish her.

Omega, another pastry in her hand, sat next to him, taking the net off of a disappointed Batcher. But the smell of food had her nudging at Omega.

“Don’t get that on the couch,” Crosshair told Omega about her breakfast.

Mouth full, a crumb falling onto her lap that Batcher immediately licked up, she mumbled out, “I won’t.”

“Mm hmm.”

A few seconds passed, Omega thoroughly enjoying her food, and Batcher trying to climb up into her lap.

“How are you not full yet?” Crosshair ended up asking Omega.

She shrugged.

Maybe it was something to do with how she’d sprouted so much recently, and all the growing pains she was dealing with.

The others set to their own tasks after breakfast. Tech started working on something at the table, and Crosshair glanced over, curious, seeing tech strewn about, accompanied by the flash and hiss of a solder. Wrecker was also at the table, looking over architecture plans for an aquarium he was helping to make in lower Pabu, though he kept getting distracted talking to Tech about the fish and marine life they’d be helping. Hunter was washing the dishes.

Rain continued to pound down in thick sheets, the ocean’s wrath a constant roaring reminder. Batcher decided hiding under the kitchen table, nestled between Tech’s and Wrecker’s legs was the safest place to be for the moment. She whined a bit from the storm, and Wrecker pressed his leg against her to try and comfort her.

Lightning flashed, blue and brilliant. Even with the curtains closed Crosshair saw the flash, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Thunder boomed around them.

It was so loud!

Argh!

Crosshair put his head down, wincing.

Suddenly, Wrecker complained, “Tech, don’t do that with your eye.”

“The lightning is too bright. I’m simply making an adjustment so I don’t get a headache.”

“At least take it out in your room.”

“You have a cybernetic eye too.”

“Do you see me taking it out at the kriffing table?”

“Language,” Hunter reprimanded.

Omega giggled, though Crosshair could now feel her watching him, and she put a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Mmph.”

Crosshair fumbled a knot, and had to untie it, starting over. Hunter finished with the dishes and sat in a chair by the window, probably taking note of Crosshair struggling with his work.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

Can’t they all just leave me alone?

“No.”

His body froze up for an indiscernible reason, even as weakness flooded his limbs like cold water. 

Something’s… wrong.

Something’s…

Crosshair wanted to tell his family. He wanted to…

The net fell from his hands.

He wanted…

He…

Crosshair was no longer sure what he was looking at. His mind took in that yes there was something, but what? The words seemed to have been erased from his head. Comprehension and language floated away. He could feel it leaving him.

If only he could…

He looked around, feeling like everything was thumping through his body. What that “everything” was, he didn’t know.

There was a sensation at his arm, a… a face in his field of view. But whose face?

What was… a… face?

Crosshair’s head (he thought maybe it was his head) started pounding, and pounding, and aching, like someone was hitting him with a stone, or a wooden beam, like they’d bypassed his skull and directly hammered his brain. He could have sworn someone or something was trying to scoop out his right eye with a spoon, the pain going all the way down into his teeth.

He curled in on himself; maybe he was groaning, maybe he didn’t make a sound.

Where am I? And why did it matter?

Who… who am I?

What am I?

Crosshair—is that my name? What’s a name?—couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend anything.

And the pain. Oh, stars, the pain. He just wanted someone to stop hitting his head! Why couldn’t they stop?

Please…

Everything seemed to be… shaking.

There was pressure against his arms, his back, his field of view changing, body moving. Dizziness nearly had him collapsing.

He was lying on something now, something glowing too bright in his vision, searing his eyes.

He groaned, and rolled over, head sloshing.

His ears picked up on sound—maybe language—and it all hurt, like someone was puncturing his eardrums with picks and getting right inside his brain.

There was pressure on his shoulder, his back. Something was placed over him, and he perhaps felt a bit warmer, maybe more comforted.

The light was thankfully turned off, and he was left alone. Head swimming, not knowing a thing, he closed his eyes, and wished for it to end.

Instead, he floated in the madness, the suffering, the confusion, the raging tempest.

Help.

Omega was drinking Crosshair’s cup of caf, even though it was no longer hot. Holding the mug at least kept her hands from trembling. They’d gotten Crosshair in bed, but he hadn’t been able to say a word to them. He had just mumbled and moaned, and was otherwise completely unresponsive. But he was in pain. Omega had seen it in how he had curled in on himself, had heard it deep in his rasping voice.

Batcher was trying to go into his room, but worrying she’d be too loud, Wrecker was on the floor in front of the door, deterring her.

“We need to get AZI,” Omega said. “I think he was last at Shep’s checking on Lyana’s cold.”

“I agree,” Hunter told her, rising.

“I’ll go,” Tech volunteered, also standing, albeit with a slight hitch when he put weight on his left leg.

Omega took a big sip of the incredibly sugary cup of caf, and decided, “I’m going with you.”

“I’ll watch over Crosshair,” Wrecker volunteered, petting Batcher hard as she nuzzled into his hand.

Hunter crossed his arms, looking thoughtful.

“I’ll stay too. Tech, Omega, be quick.” Hunter stepped in towards Tech, and asked, “Do you still have that brain scanner you used for the chips?”

Tech pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

Hunter put a hand on his shoulder. “All right. Be safe. This is a bad storm.”

Omega and Tech got ready in their ponchos to head outside. She glanced at his left leg. Was it acting up today?

He didn’t bring it up, so Omega didn’t ask him. Her gut was clenching, and she kept leaning forward a bit, putting weight on the tips of her toes, feeling the horrible need to get going.

What was wrong with Crosshair was… scary. She’d never seen anything like this before. He had been completely unresponsive, and his eyes had been unfocused (when they were even open). His breaths had been coming in quick pants and gasps.

A groan sounded from his room.

Tech put an urgent hand against her back. “Come on.”

Rain pounded down on them as soon as the door was open, pattering at least a meter into the kitchen.

Omega headed out first, ignoring the discomfort of the storm upon her, Tech following behind her.

She walked fast, but it didn’t feel quick enough. They passed house after house, lamps and plants and other various decorations blowing in the harsh breeze, soft light leaking through the curtains out into the dreary day. Some trees had fallen down, but most of the outdoor furniture had been tied down the night before so it could stay in place. Still, there were a few tables and chairs strewn about in their path, along with various debris. Omega hoped Phee was okay, but reminded herself she probably was. The problem was Crosshair.

“How’s your leg and hip today?” she asked, huffing slightly as they went up the winding path to Shep’s, the wind fighting against them. She had an arm up to shield her face from the rain.

“Fine,” Tech answered, voice faint under the roaring of the rain and wind, the booming of thunder. 

He gripped his hood tightly. Omega had completely given up on hers.

“You’re a bad liar too,” she called to him.

“Fine. Yet I do believe I am well enough to jog,” he admitted.

That was all Omega needed to hear.

Lukewarm rain pelted them in the muggy air. Lightning flashed. Thunder sounded. From the sea wall she could see the grueling, foamy waves, homes that had been evacuated being pounded by water before it receded for a few seconds, only to flood around them—and possibly in them—once more.

And Omega couldn’t stop thinking about how Crosshair had held his head, how his eyes had grown unfocused, the agonized groan he’d let out after dropping the net.

There could be something wrong with his brain.

“Have you seen anything like that before?” Omega called to Tech, who raced beside her, his left hip dropping lower than the right one.

They dodged an airborne flower pot, clay smashing against stone.

“No, not really. But perhaps he’s having a seizure of some sort.”

Fear gripped Omega’s throat tight, and she broke into a run, not at all caring for the slippery rock, and the puddles she splashed through, soaking her from head to toe.

“Wait up!” Tech called.

“Why did you volunteer?” Omega asked, voice accidentally coming out much snippier than she had wanted. Oops. “I can tell your leg needs a tune-up. Did you take all your medicine?”

“Stop mothering me.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Only in one way,” Tech pointed out. Then eventually he said, “I wanted to help. I wanted to do something useful for once. I… have much to make up for.”

Omega couldn’t help how she stopped in the rain, almost slipping, but catching herself, and turning to Tech: Tech, who looked so different after his Fall, his imprisonment, his brainwashing. She met his eyes unflinchingly—the brown, and the cybernetic.

“Tech, you have nothing to make up for.”

“I… know.”

From the way he bowed his head she could tell he didn’t.

“Well, let’s do this then.” She took his hand, lacing their fingers without a care that she was touching his two cybernetic ones. “Come on.”

Tech fought against the storm with her.

By the time they made it to Shep’s and Lyana’s, Omega was sweating and soaked through with rain. Tech was too. They were both panting as they knocked urgently on the door.

Lyana opened it up, hair gusting back violently, her eyes squinting against the wind.

Omega could hear AZI saying, “I do not think it wise to go out in the rain in your condition.”

“Omega? Tech? What’s wrong?” Lyana asked, sniffling, voice stuffed with congestion. 

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and Omega wished she had more time to check up on her. Though she was glad that she’d picked up on their obvious distress so they could skip the pleasantries.

Lightning flashed, and the resulting thunder seemed to shake the whole island.

“It’s Crosshair. He’s sick or—or something,” Omega panted out. “We need AZI. Quick.”

“Oh, I do not like rain.”

Omega raced in to grab him, gritting her teeth against his reluctance. “You were made on Kamino. It’s fine.”

“I never said I liked Kamino either.” Then he shot back at Lyana, “Stay inside.”

As Omega was leaving, Lyana put a hand on her arm, “Please let us know if Crosshair’s okay. As soon as you can.”

“We will,” Tech assured.

The race down the island was harder with the wet rock, and Omega’s shins were burning. Tech was managing all right, and even managed to pull Omega out of the way of an errant, flying deck chair.

They were filling in AZI on Crosshair’s condition as they hurried back home, and Tech suggested he could be having some kind of seizure.

AZI started running through the potential problems, and Omega felt her eyes trying to fill with tears. She lied to herself that it was just the rain, but she was a bad liar too.

There was so much that could be wrong: brain aneurysm, migraine, seizure, cranial hematoma, stroke, apparently even a heart attack. It all sounded so horrifying. Omega hated that she wasn’t by his side right this instant. Tech picked up the pace, only slipping and needing to catch himself a couple of times, though he winced. Omega wondered what this was doing to his lower back.

Yet she could see his love and determination as he raced back home, a love that Omega shared. Crosshair was an important member of their family.

They made it back home, and Omega didn’t bother taking her poncho off, leading AZI right to Crosshair’s room down the main hall.

She turned on the lamp, which caused Crosshair to groan, and roll over onto his stomach. He was shivering and sweating. She felt his head for a fever, but he was cool to the touch.

She did her best to not say anything, wondering if sound was hurting him too.

She pulled up a chair, and waited as AZI started what tests he could.

Hunter was pacing outside Crosshair’s room. He’d monitored his breathing and heart rate the whole time that Tech and Omega had been gone, able to hear it clear as day. Wrecker sat on the couch, hands clasped, rocking back and forth. Batcher had nestled in beside him, but her head was in the direction of Crosshair’s room. Clearly she knew something was wrong.

Hunter could hear AZI performing various tests, Crosshair groaning the whole time.

Omega, still soaked, suddenly rushed to the doorway.

“We need a bucket.”

In a flash Hunter was moving to the refresher, grabbing a bucket from under the counter, and unceremoniously dumping the cleaning supplies it held onto the tile floor. He belatedly realized that the clattering might have been too loud for Crosshair. He rushed back to Omega, handing it to her. She was back in the dimly lit room.

The sound of a hand smoothing against fabric reached his ears, and when he peeked in Omega was rubbing Crosshair’s back.

She and AZI had managed to get him hunched over the bucket.

A terrible moan left him, and Wrecker stood up, Batcher whining since she had just been placing her head in his lap.

Hunter held him back.

“He needs his space.”

Wrecker groaned, and hung his head.

Tech was leaning against a wall in the kitchen, dripping water, datapad in hand, fingers typing away faster than usual—a sure sign of his anxiety. He winced when he switched which leg held the most weight.

Hunter leaned his head down, and put his back against the wall when he heard Crosshair throw up. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Thunder shook the house.

He was tapping his toes against the floor, wishing there was something he could do, anything! He wanted to be in the room with them, but he worried it’d be too overwhelming. And, he didn’t trust himself to not get in the way. Crosshair needed these tests, not another person taking up his space.

But please, anything to help Crosshair.

“That’s it?” Omega suddenly asked, tone straightening Hunter’s spine. “No, no, that can’t be it. Please, there has to be something!”

That’s it.

He made to enter Crosshair’s room.

AZI floated over, blocking the doorway, and in a flash Wrecker and Tech were by Hunter’s side. Omega leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, lower lip trembling.

Hunter blinked at the sight, and reached out to her, rubbing her arm. Then he brought everything back into perspective, looking to AZI, who tapped his fingers together.

“Well?” he asked.

AZI held his little arms out in the approximation of a shrug. “I have tested him for everything I can think of, and was able to scan his brain. From what I can see there’s nothing wrong.”

Omega just about stamped her foot.

“Something’s obviously wrong,” Wrecker argued.

“I agree. These symptoms are quite unusual for the tests to not show anything. Perhaps this is just a migraine.”

“Just a migraine?” Hunter asked.

“Migraines can be quite severe,” Tech chimed in.

AZI floated closer to Hunter, and asked, failing to whisper, “How has his hand been?”

“The—the same,” he responded, taken aback by the question. Then it dawned on him. “Wait, are you saying this could be trauma related?”

“It is quite possible.”

Hunter glanced back at Tech, thinking about all his trauma symptoms he suffered from as well. Though, his didn’t make physical manifestations quite in the same way Crosshair’s seemed to. And Phee seemed to help. Crosshair didn’t have that, though maybe he didn’t need it. He had them.

“Was there anything that happened on this day?” AZI asked. “Anything you can recall?”

Hunter frowned, rubbing at his chin.

“No,” Omega sighed, chest caving with defeat.

“We were apart for some time,” Hunter said, that old regret an uncomfortable, lukewarm ache right above his stomach. He looked back at Wrecker and Tech. “Did he mention anything to you?”

Wrecker rubbed at the back of his head, looking down. Tech lifted his head from his datapad, squinting as he thought.

“No, nothing,” Wrecker said.

“I can’t recall anything either,” Tech responded.

“Will he get better?” Hunter asked.

“I assume so. Whatever is causing this in his mind will pass. Sometimes the body remembers things we do not. He could very well be better tomorrow.”

“And what if he’s not?” Wrecker asked. “What are we supposed to do? AZI, I don’t even think he knows where he is.”

“It is quite possible he does not know. We can treat symptoms for now to keep him comfortable. I have given him some injections for the nausea and pain.”

Hunter peered around AZI and Omega to where Crosshair was lying in bed, hopefully asleep. His shaking had thankfully subsided, and his breathing was a little easer. His heart rate had slowed.

“Well, thanks for your help, AZI,” Hunter said, tone low, deflated that there wasn’t more they could do. 

His body was tense, the chemicals in his brain telling his whole system that there was a problem, and as a soldier he had been able to fix many problems and dangers with physical action. Now, there was nothing he could do. His nerves were shot.

“I can stay in case he needs more immediate care,” AZI suggested.

Tech chimed in, a pointer finger raised, “I would like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Wrecker agreed.

“Looks like you’re sticking around,” Hunter said.

AZI gave a little bob and retreated back into Crosshair’s room, Omega doing the same, hugging a pillow to her chest as she sat in the chair she’d pulled up before his bed.

Hunter didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself.

Wrecker put a gentle hand on Omega’s cold, wet shoulder, kneeling down beside her. She was tense, body as hard as the stone walls keeping them safe from the storm. He glanced at Crosshair, who might have been sleeping; he hoped he was. AZI was in the corner, monitoring things.

“Hey, I need some help making lunch,” Wrecker said to Omega.

“I don’t want lunch.”

“Well, everyone else does.” 

Which wasn’t exactly true, but Wrecker couldn’t let Omega keep sitting here doing nothing. Tech had fallen into his work, though his right leg bounced anxiously, and Hunter was using the living room to workout and roughhouse with Batcher. Omega needed something.

She finally pulled her gaze from Crosshair, and Wrecker felt some success at this.

She sighed. “What are we making?”

“Can’t tell you yet,” he said softly. “I won’t have you making lunch in wet clothes.”

Omega frowned, looking down at herself. She was even still in her purple poncho.

“Oh.”

He wasn’t surprised she’d forgotten. Wrecker had often forgotten his own physical state while watching over his brothers when they were sick or injured. Once he’d forgotten about a deep slash to his arm, and had bled everywhere, and then had barely felt a thing as a droid stitched it up. He’d been so focused on Hunter at the time, who had fared much worse than he had on that particular mission.

Wrecker wasn’t sure he wanted food, either. But there was nothing they could do for Crosshair for now, and in case he did need them they had to keep up their strength. Besides, he had a fun recipe planned that he knew Omega would usually feel joy from. It was worth a shot.

She nodded, and winced slightly, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Yeah, I’ll change.”

“Good. Meet you in the kitchen.”

Wrecker was getting out the ingredients for the noodles by the time Omega came over in a fresh set of clothes, her hair wrung out. She took a seat at the counter, kicking her legs.

“So what are we making?”

“I dunno the name,” Wrecker admitted, the dialect from the culture it had come from flying right over his head even faster than basic tended to. “But, we start with noodles.”

Omega brightened somewhat at that, as Wrecker had hoped she would. They always had a good time making noodles together.

This recipe called for milk, rather than egg, which thickened up the dough quickly once they’d made the well in the flour and started to mix.

In no time at all, Wrecker and Omega were at the counter, rolling out their own separate sheets of the blue dough. Though, she kept her head down, maybe in concentration, but there was a stiffness to her neck, and she kept angling her face away from him.

“Crosshair’s gonna be okay,” Wrecker told her.

“How do you know?”

Wrecker shrugged. “I guess I don’t know for certain, but AZI thinks he’ll be all right, and… well, with whatever’s going on with him, he can get through this. He’s strong.”

“Yeah. He is.”

Omega pounded her dough a bit too hard, but Wrecker let her do it. She had to get out her feelings somehow.

Wrecker tried to hold in a grin as they started slicing up the dough to shape the noodles. He picked up a thick strand, and then flung it at Omega. It hit her face, sticking to it a bit before dropping down.

She gasped, but then lifted up her head, grabbing the noodle and flinging it back at him. A hitched giggle left her, as if she were surprised by it.

As they started to fling noodles at each other, cutting them fast and haphazardly into the dough, Tech groaned and moved his stuff to the other side of the room. “Please do not get those on my work!”

Omega dodged a noodle, and Batcher caught it.

Wrecker didn’t exactly want Batcher eating their food, but he couldn’t help but laugh.

Hunter was up now, panting a little from his workout, a surprised smile on his face.

“How are we going to have anything to eat if you throw it all at each other?” he asked.

Wrecker stopped, noodle in hand, its own weight stretching it and making it drip down onto the counter.

“Oh, right.”

Omega giggled, and they got back to work, trying to be very serious about it. Wrecker flicked a noodle in her direction, and she snorted.

Hunter ended up helping, chopping up the various squid and octopi and shrimp they’d need. Omega was soon cleaning out the clams, and Wrecker chopped up the herbs, tomatoes, and peppers.

Together Wrecker and Omega breaded the squid, and Hunter was frying up the seafood, asking Wrecker repeatedly for instructions and how he wanted all the ingredients added together. The other pan for the squid was heating up.

Omega set water to boiling for the noodles, and Wrecker started frying up the squid.

Sizzling and bubbling and the scent of good food filled the kitchen.

“That smells very good,” Tech complimented.

“Can I have the wine?” Hunter asked.

Omega grabbed it for him from their little pantry near the counter, and passed it over. Hunter splashed some into the pan with all the seafood. Omega leaned in over the counter, and checked the pot.

Wrecker almost said a watched pot never boils, but it was good to see her occupied.

Batcher had padded over, lured by the scent of cooking seafood.

Wrecker almost snuck her a piece of the fried squid, but he resisted the temptation. Yet she was so cute! It was hard not doing everything she wanted.

She started pawing at Hunter, and he asked, “Tech, can you give Batcher some treats?”

“I’m a little busy.”

“What are you working on?” Omega asked.

“I am creating a new brain scanner… just to be safe.”

Crosshair moaned, and five heads turned towards his room.

Omega tensed from where she was perched on the counter.

“Should… should we check on him?”

Tech stood, breath hitching a little at first, a fist pressed against the table. “I’ll do it.”

Wrecker was dying to check, but he did have to get the noodles in the water if they wanted everything cooked on time. He craned his head around the cabinets, wishing he could see into Crosshair’s room rather than just glimpse a dark doorway at the beginning of the hall.

Tech limped as he went over. Wrecker wondered if the storm was bothering his scarring and permanent injuries. His own scars ached today.

Lightning flashed hard enough to shake the house, and Batcher ducked down, Omega reaching over to comfort her.

Somewhat reluctantly, Wrecker got back to work, putting the thick blue noodles in the water.

An ache was running up into his head, and he realized his jaw was clenched tight.

He breathed out hard, trying to release the pressure.

Hunter put a hand on his elbow, and just that acknowledgement and reassurance centered him a bit more. Yet he realized he felt like the ground was going to fall out beneath him, like he wasn’t standing in his kitchen making lunch with his family.

Tech came back in, and Wrecker widened his eyes, taking in his tired stance. He took a seat at the counter, engineering project abandoned for now.

“He’s… he’s holding up okay,” Tech said. “I think. It’s a little hard to tell, but AZI isn’t overly concerned. Though he did mention he might need an IV.”

“We don’t have those supplies,” Omega said.

Hunter was drying his hands as he said, raising his voice over the sizzling pans, “I could go to the healer’s, see if she has any available.”

“I believe she had to evacuate to upper Pabu,” Tech said. “I’m not sure where she is, or that she’d have what we need with her.”

Idly, he tried to reach over to the pan with the squid, and Wrecker slapped his hand away.

Tech rolled his eyes at him, but settled down.

In about ten more minutes, almost all of them were sitting at the table with their delicious lunch, noodles piled high with seafood, Crosshair’s vacant seat a horrible reminder of what their brother was enduring.

Tech kept glancing at it, stomach feeling hollow.

He forced himself to eat, tried to take the time to enjoy the various enriching flavors that bit pleasantly at his tongue. And he tried not to groan from where he sat in his chair, body aching in more places than he wanted to count.

There seemed to be a pit in his stomach, a dark shadow writhing inside his brain.

A part of him kept blaming himself, as it always did, murmuring, You did this. You hurt them. You hurt all of them.

The wind smashed one of their flowerpots (hopefully not one Crosshair had made). Hunter groaned, and Wrecker and Omega sighed. Tech flinched, tensing. Unable to release the tension, he tried to ignore it, and speared a piece of the fried squid onto his fork.

Eating sometimes felt… odd, which was to be expected with a branded tongue and memories of normalcy, and it felt odd now. But more than that, Crosshair’s seat was too empty.

You hurt him.

He knew it wasn’t true, but he couldn’t help but feel the blood rushing through him, pounding, pounding; couldn’t help the thorny darkness that expanded in his lungs, stealing his breath.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hanging his head, the squid forgotten on his fork.

Wrecker’s foot nudged him under the table, a subtle reminder of where he was, who he was with, and yet…

You hurt them. Your hurt all of them.

Tech tried to inhale, tried to fight the darkness back, but it just fought back harder, an equal reaction to him pushing on it like it was some sort of real force within him. It expanded into his stomach.

Tech put his fork down.

Crosshair groaned, making everyone at the table tense.

Tech, feeling horrible that his family had made such nice food and he couldn’t eat it, tried to stutter out some excuse, and then gave in to the tether he felt pulling himself inexorably towards Crosshair’s room.

Besides, it was surely his turn to sit and see if his brother was safe.

Tech missed the companionship of his family as he sat in the dark, watching over Crosshair, but at the moment he didn’t feel like he could be anywhere else.

He wished he could talk to him, tell him it was going to be okay, but he imagined even the sound of his voice would be like a knife through his head.

Tech waited.

Recognition slowly came back to Crosshair, though he was unsure how long it had taken, time still out of reach of his weekly-grasping mind. He was in his room, in near-darkness, a droid—AZI?—hovering in one corner, and… and someone beside him.

Crosshair groaned, and lifted a heavy arm to rub at his right eye.

Pain was subsiding.

Outside, the storm had calmed to a gentle rainfall, wind only whistling slightly instead of gusting and bellowing.

“What time is it?” he grumbled into the dark room, wondering if someone really was there.

“I believe it is eight p.m.” Tech responded.

Crosshair let out another groan, and slowly turned his head towards him.

He almost remembered what had happened, and there were lingering remnants: nausea, vertigo, some pain. Things were very slowly starting to make sense.

Tech pulled out his datapad (that’s what that was, right?), and held it close, keeping the light away from Crosshair.

“Correction,” he stated. “It is eight-oh-four p.m.”

“Thanks.”

AZI floated over, and the light almost didn’t bother Crosshair. “How are you feeling?” AZI asked.

“Like I got hit by a speeder,” Crosshair responded. “A large one.”

Or like he had the worst hangover of his life.

“We believe you suffered from a severe migraine,” Tech told him.

“Why would that happen?” Crosshair asked, grunting as he sat up in bed. He leaned over, rubbing at his eyes.

The silence was deafening.

He looked over. “What?” he spat.

“All of your physical tests came back normal,” AZI responded. “We believe your migraine was due to trauma.”

“But I didn’t hit my head,” he argued.

“Mental trauma,” Tech clarified.

Crosshair gritted his teeth, holding in a growl.

Kriff!

Energy suddenly flooded him as he had the urge to throw something, but the sickness in his body kept him in the bed. The two battling forces ended up with him breathing hard, shaking.

Tech put a hand on his shoulder, and Crosshair leaned into it slightly. He didn’t tell him it was going to be okay. Sometimes you just weren’t okay. How could he be?

He had thought maybe he was getting a handle on this, expressing himself through painting and even the spare bit of pottery-making, the tremors stilling as he worked. But now there was this? Did that mean this could happen again? Crosshair had never been so sick in his entire life.

He realized he was hyperventilating, sobbing, snot dripping out of his nose.

“Breathe,” Tech told him. “Just breathe.”

I am!

Though from anyone else the words would be condescending. From Tech, from someone who shared pain deeper than their very marrow, it wasn’t. He knew. He understood, even if his brain wasn’t stupid enough to come up with things for his body to feel because he couldn’t handle it.

Oh, kriff, he was so scared.

He turned, leaning into Tech, instinct and pain telling him he needed protection, that he had to watch his back. With Tech there, he knew he was safe.

In a few minutes Crosshair had calmed down somewhat, exhausted body simply not letting his panic attack continue.

Finally, in the silence, Tech asked, “Are you all right?”

Crosshair shook his head.

“That’s okay.”

“Excuse me,” AZI said, “just to be safe I think I should run more tests.”

Crosshair gave the barest of nods, and leaned back so AZI could have access to him.

In a few minutes he was given a somewhat clean bill of health. Though, he wasn’t sure what he could do for his mind. Helplessness surrounded him, pressed in through his pores, his orifices, seeping down into his bones.

Tech had a hand on his knee, which… it was something. He was with his family, he was home—home, a word he had once thought he’d never have again.

This was all so exhausting, and yet his stomach grumbled, and he thought he could smell leftover remnants of a good meal.

The uncertainty of his situation, of his health, dug into his brain like wire and spikes, settling along his brain stem, making his spine rigid. He didn’t know if he was going to be okay. He just never wanted this to happen again.

AZI explained that perhaps his body remembered something traumatic that he hadn’t been able to keep track of. He supposed that was a reasonable explanation.

With a long-suffering sigh he managed to drag himself out of bed.

He sat at the table, Batcher sitting under said table so she could lean against his legs. No places but his were taken, everyone in the living room to give him some space. It was… nice to have them around, and nice not to be crowded by them immediately. Tech kept glancing his way, though he was pretending to have his nose buried in his datapad. Wrecker, Hunter, and Omega were doing the same, “busy” with other pursuits.

Crosshair sighed.

“I don’t know what happened,” he admitted. “I… don’t know what today could have been an anniversary of.”

Everyone seemed to take that just fine, but Crosshair didn’t.

He wondered, he wanted to know. He couldn’t remember.

Nothing came to him as he ate the admittedly scrumptious meal his family had made for lunch while he had been sleeping, while he had been… suffering, completely lost, mind gone. He was still slowly coming back to himself, not fully recovered just yet.

What could it possibly be?

Crosshair hadn’t been keeping track during his late days with the Empire, but his body knew, and it would always know: it was a year to the day that Mayday had died beside him, killed at the hands of a cruel, and uncaring Empire.

[realdramalove69]

Part 3 of Back to Back to Back Pregnancy

Anna may have only been five months into her sixth pregnancy but she looked and felt months overdue. Every step was slow and concentrated, her focus on keeping herself upright and steady as she carried her babies to their high chairs and bassinets for their morning bottles. Two babies were already latched to her, her breasts constantly leaking as her children cried for their breakfast.

Around her, many more toddlers and children bounced and ran around, constantly running in Anna’s blind spots, her belly concealing most of her field of vision. She grunted as she sat heavily on the couch, her belly needing to be set on an ottoman so she could find some form of comfort and relief. As the babies finished eating, one of the new nannys Dave hired quickly placed another where their sibling had been.

True to his word, Dave hired four nanny’s to help Anna care for their exponentially growing family. In spite of the extra help, Anna was still determined to stay in her feet and care for her kids. Whether she was trying to prove a point to herself or Dave she wasn’t yet sure, but the idea of being confined to her bed made her anxious. She knew it was bound to happen (she was already struggling to move from kitchen to living room), but having control over some of her life was important to her. She didn’t want to become a baby factory, despite the fact she had already pumped out 51 kids in less than six years.

The brood within her kicked roughly as she felt a couple of her five year olds slap the front of her stretched belly.

“Boys,” Anna grunted. “Boys please don’t you’re making your brothers and sisters unhappy.”

“But mama,” one of the boys replied. “Your belly sounds like a drum.” He slapped it again as a nanny came and corralled them away to the dining room for breakfast before school.

Dave took his time coming down the stairs from getting ready, the screams and cries of his many children making him smile. When he reached the first floor he stood in the doorway of the living room and stared at his fecund wife. She sat there, overflowing from the couch, her thighs as thick as tree trunks and her arms flabby from excess food she was eating. Her eyes were closed as the babies continued to suck on her milk filled breasts. They looked like soft pillows but Dave knew they were firm and sore.

But nothing compared to her belly. It stretched five feet from her torso, her belly button flush with her tight and stretch marked skin. Dave could see from here his many babies moving inside of her, their feet and hands pressing, as though they were trying to escape the confines of her cramped womb.

Anna moaned in discomfort. Breastfeeding always made the babies in her belly more active and with 13 babies needing to be fed the litter in her womb were constantly moving. Dave walked over and massaged her belly, his hands pressing on the large babies within her.

“Dave please,” Anna huffed. “There’s so little room in there.”

In spite of her pleas her stomach betrayed her as it growled with hunger.

“Sounds like someone’s not full enough yet,” Dave replied, an evil smile on his face. “Tanya?”

One of the nanny’s, a young blond woman in her 20s, came into the living room.

“Yes, Mr. Stevens?” Tanya replied.

“Bring my wife her breakfast. And she’s not to move until she finishes. We need to make sure she feeds these growing babies.”

“Of course, Mr. Stevens.” Tanya went back into the kitchen and a moment later came back with a cart filled with food. Pancakes, French toast, waffles, bacon, sausage, eggs, toast with butter, a whole gallon of milk and a pitcher of orange juice, plus a tray of pastries and fruit.

Anna rubbed her growling stomach, the feeling of being overfull quickly being replaced by a ravenous hunger. Her babies responded in kind, kicking her aggressively until the first plate was placed on her chest and she gave in to her cravings.

“Eat up, babe,” Dave said as he rubbed her belly. “I have to get to a meeting but I’ll be home before dinner tonight.”

“Mhm,” Anna grunted, too focused on her meal and nursing her babies to reply to her husband.

Dave loved how much the babies were taking over her brain and body, her mind was always focused on gestating even if she didn’t realize it. The formula Dave mad had worked beautifully and he had big plans for it at work.

Anna barely registered that her husband had left her once again to care for their children, but she at least had help this time. And now that her older kids were starting school it would start to get easier as well.

“Mrs. Stevens the babies are all down for the nap and the elder kids are off to school.” Tanya came back to clean up the breakfast Anna had finished in record time. “Would you like anything else?”

Anna waved her off. “No, thank you. I just need to start getting to my chores for the day.”

Tanya watched as the overly fecund woman shifted her weight forward, attempting to heave herself up onto her trembling feet. Anna reached under her gut and lifted herself off the ottoman, letting it hit the soft carpet so she could roll on her stomach and stand up.

“M-Mrs. Stevens!” Tanya stammered. “Please, let us handle things you don’t need to be on your feet in your condition!”

Anna grunted, sweat dripping down her face as she pushed her hands into her lower back and lifted her belly off the ground. She wobbled for a moment before finding her center of gravity again. She took a few steps towards the kitchen, Tanya following.

“I’m fine,” Anna grunted. “I can take care of my house.”

In spite of Tanya and the other nanny’s assurances of help, Anna insisted on doing her chores and taking care of the children. She accepted she could no longer cook or do dishes with her belly in the way, but she could still do laundry, sweep, and take care of her babies.

Slowly she would waddle around, a baby always in one arm and her other occupied with sweeping or trying to fold clothing. After an hour of trying to clean the kitchen she finally sat in a wide wooden chair, the legs of it creaking as she tried to give her feet a moment of relief.

“Ooh, please stop kicking mommy while she’s trying to work,” Anna whined. She couldn’t reach the kicking storm at the front of her belly.

Before she could get up and get back to cleaning, the nanny’s came in with the hungry babies, ready to feed again. And so Anna’s day went on, feeding and changing diapers between loads of never ending laundry and picking up after her kids.

Soon enough it was dinner time and Dave was home once again, bounding into the dining room where his gravid wife was nursing while trying to eat a plate of spaghetti. The nanny’s were fighting with the other kids, trying to get them to eat as they cried and threw food.

Dave kissed his kids on the head as he made his way to his wife, eager to share the good news.

“You’re home,” Anna said. “Can you take these two and hand me the girls.”

Dave grabbed the two oversized infants off her chest and replaced them with another pair. Anna shifted them into a comfortable position on her stomach before returning to the never ending plate of pasta on her chest.

“I have some news,” Dave said. “The higher ups at work liked the results of the new fertility treatments I’ve been working on and they gave me a grant to start human trials.”

“That’s great news!” Anna feigned interest. She hated Dave’s work, knowing how focused he was on her and her hyper fertile womb. She could tell where this was going to go and she knew she was powerless to say no.

“I want you to be in the human trials.”

Anna stopped eating, even though her babies still wanted the food. She looked up at her husband and saw the almost sadistic smile on his face.

“Dave I—“

“Think about it,” he continued, a craze look in his eye. “And we’ll talk before bed.”

He kissed her belly many times before grabbing his plate of food and sitting with his children.

Anna took her time getting the kids down for bed, dreading the conversation that was to come. Eventually she waddled down the tight hallway to her bedroom, her wife hips and belly brushing the sides of the already widened door frame.

“I’ll have to call the contractor to get the doors widened again,” Dave said as he watched his wife walked towards their bed.

He was transfixed by her as she struggled to get into the bed, having to hoist her belly onto the mattress before crawling into her seated position in her nest of pillows. Dave watched her belly rise and fall as she struggled to catch her breath, the infants pressing on her lungs.

“I love you like this.” Dave rubbed her belly. “You’re the most fertile woman in the world and I want to see you push yourself further.”

“Dave please, I don’t think I can get bigger than this.”

“I have ways to help, don’t worry. I would never let you be hurt. I love you.”

“You love this!” Anna shook her womb as she cried. “You love my womb and my belly you don’t love me.”

Dave put his arms around Anna the best he could, brushing his hands through her tangled brown hair, kissing her gently.

“Anna I love you and your womb. I love that you gave me a family and I love how much you care for our kids. You’re the most amazing woman ever and I want to help you become even more amazing.”

Anna wasn’t completely sold by Dave’s words of kindness. She looked down at her belly and thought of her many other children, the choice made for her.

“I’ll do it.”

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 33

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5k

Masterlist

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Saturday, January 9th; 9:15 AM - At Lucy's Place.

I gently hug the pillow against me, letting out a long sigh from between my lips. Negative thoughts immediately flood my mind, even though I've only just woken up. Sometimes, I wonder why I'm still alive. My life is so miserable that I doubt I'd be missed by many. I tell myself that the only thing that has saved me is my new life. I blink in this unfamiliar room, where I realize I'm alone in a large bed and a room that isn't mine. The events of last night come rushing back, reminding me where I am. I understand my earlier thoughts even better now. A muffled groan escapes my mouth as I realize that Lucy knew about my night terrors and that it’s not something new. Although she seemed calm last night, she must be upset with me for hiding things she didn't want hidden. I’ll have to face the consequences now. She must have held back last night because of my state, but I doubt it'll be the same this morning. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s waiting for me in the living room to discuss it. I check the time before forcing myself out of bed. Hiding from life by staying in bed is cowardly. That’s what my dad used to tell me when I was feeling down in Barcelona. I discreetly leave Lucy’s room and head down the hallway. Not seeing her around, I continue towards the living room. I smile when I find her standing with her back to me behind the counter. As I approach, I notice that she’s swapped her pajamas for jogging pants and a black t-shirt. When she turns around, she must be surprised to see me because she stops for a moment before finally smiling at me.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Hey,” I say timidly, blushing at the nickname.

“I didn’t expect to see you up this early.”

“I don’t sleep as long anymore…” I admit.

“That’s true,” she smiles. “I made breakfast. I hope you’re hungry.”

I relax for a moment, relieved that she doesn’t immediately bring up what happened last night.

“I’d never say no to breakfast,” I reply with a bit more confidence.

“Good. Sit down. What would you like to drink? Tea, hot chocolate? I imagine I don’t need to ask if you want coffee.”

“Hot chocolate, please.”

“Alright, I’ll make that for you. Sit down, everything’s ready.”

I nod gently and turn towards the dining table. Everything is indeed set out. It looks like she had time to prepare a real feast. I sit down, fidgeting in my chair. I’m not particularly comfortable, knowing what’s likely to be discussed soon around this table. Lucy joins me, placing my cup in front of me before sitting across from me with her own.

“Have you been up long?” I continue the conversation.

“Since seven-thirty. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a run.”

“Oh! You’re brave…”

I distract myself by looking at the table. I don’t know where to look because there’s so much. She thought of everything. There are as many fruits as there are pastries and bread. She must have picked them up this morning. There’s also butter, jam, and even Nutella to go with it.

“Help yourself, that’s what it’s there for,” she invites.

I bite my lip and nod. I can’t bring myself to look at her, especially now that I remember we ended the night in the same bed… In her arms. Damn. Just thinking about it makes me even more uncomfortable.

“Ona,” she calls me, a touch of amusement in her voice.

I finally dare to lift my head and find her looking at me with her head tilted. I get the feeling she can read me like a book right now.

“I think it’s best we talk about it now, huh? I sense you’re going to go crazy before the end of the meal if we don’t.”

I blush, suddenly feeling really foolish. I can feel my heart racing with stress. Still, I nod to confirm what she’s saying. It’s best to talk about it now, to get it over with, even if it means she’ll chew me out properly. What surprises me is that Lucy is more relaxed than I expected. She almost seems to be teasing me. I take a deep breath before starting.

“I’m sorry for waking you up last night…”

My response makes her raise an eyebrow. It’s like she wasn’t expecting me to say that.

“Oh, so that’s all that’s bothering you?”

“Of course not,” I mumble.

“Relax. I’m not going to eat you, you know. Since when are you like this with me?”

Since I don’t want to disappoint you. That answer sticks in my throat. She doesn’t need to know that. Instead, I decide to be honest.

“I feel bad for hiding my episodes from you… Especially since it seems you already knew…”

“I did, yes. I was just waiting for you to come talk to me about it yourself,” she admits.

“Are you mad at me…?”

“A little. I think that if you hadn’t come here, who knows how long I would’ve had to wait for you to tell me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you with something so minor. You already do so much for me, and I was managing on my own until now. It frustrates me to have to turn to you every time something goes wrong with me,” I finish, averting my eyes.

My thoughts are so jumbled. I consider her a friend, but I don’t always feel like she sees me the same way. Sometimes, I feel more like her student and nothing more. It’s ridiculous because if that were the case, I wouldn’t even be here. She places her hand on mine, prompting me to look up.

“Stop thinking like that, it’s not true. I’m doing this as a friend, okay? Wiegman doesn’t ask me to solve your problems. I do it of my own free will because I care about you, and I feel the need to help.”

“It’s fine, I assure you… Everything’s okay for now.”

“Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you, it’s true. Since you came into my life, so much has gotten better! You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. She doesn’t seem to realize how deep of a hole she pulled me out of. The change is obvious.

“If what you’re saying is true, then you shouldn’t have any trouble confiding in me when you have a problem. That’s what helps you get better.”

“I do! I came to you when I didn’t know what major to choose. The same when I needed help studying.”

“I’m talking about real problems, Ona. Like your drug issue or your insomnia… See?”

“I do talk to you,” I sigh. “I told you about my problems with my mom and with Feli. You can’t deny that!”

“Maybe, but you’re always hesitant, and you often do it too late.”

“But put yourself in my shoes, damn it! You’ve never lived through what I’ve been through! It’s hard to open up when you’re not sure the person will still be there at the end!”

I freeze, realizing what I just let slip. I hate how easily she gets me to talk. I look up to see her expression soften.

“What are you talking about…?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Now that I’ve started talking, she won’t let it go until she gets answers.

“How do I know we’ll stay in touch once all this is over, huh? I’m already scared you’ll drop me the day I don’t have any more problems to solve…”

“Where do you get these ideas?” she frowns. “I’d always be happy to talk to you, Ona.”

“They’re not just ideas. It’s already happening. You ignore me when I behave all week. If this keeps up, I’ll be tempted to mess up just to get your attention.”

“No, come on. I forbid you from doing that! I’m not ignoring you.”

“Yes, you are. Can you tell me how many times we’ve seen each other these past few days?”

“Ona,” she sighs. “Camp Wiegman is my job. I’m sorry if you feel like I’m ignoring you, but it’s not intentional. I have other things to worry about besides you, though I wish I could avoid them.”

“Sorry… It’s just that… Everyone I’ve ever trusted has a tendency to let me down or disappear… You’ve become the person who knows me the best, and… I really don’t want to lose you too.”

Her sympathetic smile makes me turn away. I don’t like being pitied, even though she rarely does it. A long silence follows. When I look back at her, I find her with a little playful look that makes me frown.

“This isn’t funny, I’m opening up to you here.”

“I never said it was funny. I just find it cute, that’s all,” she says with amusement.

“It’s anything but cute to be abandoned.”

“I would never abandon you, silly! Stop thinking that. If you want to spend time with me at school, nothing’s stopping you from coming to my office during your free time.”

“Really?”

“Of course. If I hadn’t suggested it before, it’s because I thought you preferred spending time with your friends.”

I sink into my chair, suddenly feeling deeply ashamed and foolish. I should have considered other alternatives before revealing my innermost thoughts to her. Now, she knows that she means something to me, even though I didn't necessarily want it to be that way. I feel weak and like I'm giving her the chance to hurt me.

"Hey," she pulls me out of my thoughts. "Everything's okay, alright? I'll always be here for you, no matter what. Never forget that. And if you need to come to me, don’t hesitate, okay?"

I sigh and nod. I wish I could believe it, but it's hard. She gives me a small smile that I struggle to return.

"Well... Can we talk about your nights now? I’d like to know when your first episode happened."

"The first one was the night between Wednesday and Thursday," I confess. "I'm sorry that the second one happened with you."

"Don’t apologize for that. I wanted to be informed so I could keep track of your condition. I was really disappointed to hear it from Alexia."

"You should know that I don’t like to bother people, which is why I didn’t say anything. You don’t need to keep track of this."

"Well, actually, I will be. I want to be notified during your episodes, and I will be, even if it’s not through you."

I sigh and cross my arms, showing my displeasure.

"We’ll find a solution, okay?"

"Okay..." I mumble. "Oh, and, um... Thanks again for letting me sleep with you last night."

"Was it okay for you?" she asks. "I offered it on a whim, but I forgot that you usually sleep only with Mapi or your brother."

My eyes fixate on the cup I had been fiddling with. I realize I hadn’t even had the chance to think about it for a single second, and that’s frightening. I've come to trust her blindly without realizing it. I actually care for her more than I thought. I shake my head slightly to regain my composure and clear my throat before responding.

"Uh, yeah... Everything was fine..."

"Good," she smiles gently. "It looks like you’re starting to improve, huh?"

I awkwardly return her smile and nod. She doesn’t seem to understand that this is all thanks to her.

"Well, now that we’ve talked, we’d better get ready. We have a busy schedule ahead."

I nod enthusiastically. This news delights me. I appreciate that she has planned something specifically for me. This afternoon will be a good way to clear my mind.

"I hope you’re going to show me your version of the city. I don’t want the tourist version. The monuments and all that stuff don’t interest me."

"Don’t worry about that, you can trust me. I’ll take a shower while you finish up. See you later."

She tousles my hair as she passes by to put her cup in the dishwasher, then winks at me before disappearing behind the sliding doors. The bathroom door slams shortly after. I finish my breakfast quietly, appreciating all these small gestures. Once done, I try to tidy up what I can and gather the rest so she doesn’t have to do it all. I then return to my assigned room. I open my suitcase, which has remained in place, to choose my clothes. I opt for a casual outfit with jeans and a shirt. I then make my bed and Lucy’s, thinking it’s the least I can do for her welcoming me so well into her home. It’s also the only way to show my gratitude. When I turn around to leave her room, I jump, not expecting to see her behind me. A wave of heat washes over me when my eyes fall on her body covered by nothing but a towel. Holy shit! I blush even more when I lift my eyes to meet hers. I turn my gaze away to try to hide, even though it’s probably too late for that.

"Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you’d be in the living room."

"Sorry. I... I had some time... I took the opportunity to... To make the beds and... And then..."

"No problem," she laughs at my embarrassment. "Can I get dressed now?"

"Y-yeah, of course. Sorry again."

I quickly leave her room, doing my best not to look at her again. I blush once more when I hear that small voice that sounds remarkably like Mapi saying, "See, I told you." It’s complete nonsense. I’m not interested in Lucy. And even if I were, it’s not meant to be. It’s a lost cause. To clear my mind, I head to the bathroom to get ready... Or maybe not. The steam Lucy left in the room reminds me of what I just saw. Once again, I think about the unhealthy ideas Mapi must be having on my behalf. What if she’s right? I shake my head vigorously at that thought. No, she’s not right, and I should probably strangle her for making me think such things. I’m not interested in Lucy, and I’m even less infatuated with her as she suggests. She’s just a friend... A friend I particularly care about. I splash water on my face to shake off this unpleasant theory. I then dry myself with a towel, which I find is already damp. I groan, imagining Lucy using it before me, and grab a new one. I then take my toiletries to brush my teeth, my hair, and finish with makeup. I’ve always kept it simple: foundation with cream, a line of eyeliner, and mascara. I pack everything up, making sure to take my bag with me as I leave.

"BOO!"

"AAAH! What the hell!" I shout at Lucy for scaring me.

I hit her on the shoulder, intensifying her budding laughter. I regret letting Lucy Bronze into my life so much. Her laughter is the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard, and I hate myself for thinking such a thing.

"Oh come on, it was just a joke."

"You’re really mean," I pout, pretending to be upset.

"No, I’m not," she laughs. "Why are you bringing that?" she finally asks, noticing my bag.

"I was going to put it back in my suitcase."

- Why don’t you just leave it here? It’s ridiculous to have to search for it every time. Look, you can leave it here.

Before I can counter her suggestion, she takes my toiletry bag and places it on the counter next to the sink.

- See, I’m organized enough to find a place for you, she teases.

- Thanks.

- Don’t mention it, she says as she pulls out her makeup. I should be the one thanking you for making the beds and tidying up the kitchen.

- Oh, it’s nothing... It was the least I could do.

- Are you ready?

- Yes, yes, I was waiting for you. What are we starting with?

- Don’t be so curious. You’ll find out soon enough.

The frustration and impatience grow within me knowing that I’ll have to wait to find out. On top of that, she announces that we’ll be driving a lot. Long car rides don’t usually bother me, but they might today.

- Okay, I’m ready, she says as she finishes with her mascara. We can leave. Do you think you’ll be warm enough? We’ll be walking a lot and it might be windy.

- Are you telling me I need to change? I ask, looking at myself.

- Don’t you have a big sweater?

- I have one, but not very thick ones. I spend my days in a fully heated classroom, remember?

- Take off your shirt, I’ll be right back.

I grumble but follow her instructions and take off my shirt. She returns shortly with a navy blue sweater, which must be hers. I put it on over my tank top as she advises.

- Is this better?

- Perfect, she smiles. We can go now. Also, take a big scarf.

- Are you taking me to the North Pole? I tease.

- Believe me, you’ll thank me tonight.

I stick my tongue out at her, which seems to amuse her. I put on my shoes, coat, and scarf in my room, then join her in the living room. She takes the time to examine me from head to toe. It seems that my outfit satisfies her, as she finds nothing else to criticize. She then opens the front door, and we use the elevator to reach her car in the basement. Before getting in, we remove our coats and scarves and place them in the back to be more comfortable for the trip. Once done, we leave the building to the sounds of Lana Del Rey. I’m starting to enjoy this CD from hearing it so much. The basement darkness is replaced by the white snow continuing to fall from the sky. The weather here no longer surprises me. I comment on this to Lucy, who has decided to be playful today.

- Is it because you’re humming that it’s snowing? she retorts.

- It’s not likely to be your fault since you never sing.

- Is that a challenge? she raises an eyebrow.

- Maybe. I’m still trying to figure out if you’re a stuck-up girl or not.

- You think I’m stuck-up? she huffs. Well, thanks, that’s nice.

- Well, you’re always so serious at camp. It makes you wonder.

- Stop calling it a camp. It’s a school!

- And you stop dodging the subject. Besides, I’ll call it a camp if I want to, I provoke.

- I’m not dodging, she giggles. Camp Wiegman is my workplace, so it’s normal that I stay serious, right?

- Yeah, maybe too serious for my taste. Especially with the rules, I grimace. Rules are meant to be broken.

- Oh yes, sure. I respect rules so much that you’re in my car right now, she says sarcastically. Maybe I should drop you by the roadside.

- You wouldn’t dare.

- Want to try and see? she challenges with a sly smile.

- Of course, I mock. You wouldn’t be able to anyway.

It’s well known that challenging someone in jest is a risky move, but I’m sure she’d never leave me by the roadside. At least, that’s what I thought until I notice where we are. To put it mildly, nowhere. We’re far from civilization, and we haven’t been driving for long. I start to panic when she surprises me by stopping by the side of the road.

- Get out of the car.

- Seriously? I was just joking!

- Can you trust me for once in your life? she laughs. Come on, get out.

I feel completely disoriented. Still, I unbuckle my seatbelt without thinking and get out of the car as she turns off the engine. Without saying anything, she climbs over the gear shift to take my place. I have a moment of reflection before she gives me the message by tapping the driver’s seat.

- You’re letting me drive? I ask with wide eyes.

- Yeah. You better not make me regret letting you drive my baby.

A beaming smile spreads across my lips. I quickly walk around the car before she changes her mind. I settle into the driver’s seat, not knowing where to put my eyes.

- Adjust the mirrors and the seat if needed, she commands.

I move the seat forward slightly when I realize the pedals are too far. I then adjust the mirrors under Lucy’s watchful eye. I smile as I caress the steering wheel and look at the dashboard.

- Are you comfortable?

- You’re really letting me drive? Aren’t you afraid I’ll mess up?

- I just hope you still know how to drive, she laughs.

- It should be fine...

I buckle up and wait for her permission to start the car. I feel nervous under her scrutiny. It feels like I’m reliving my early driving lessons. It’s been so long since I last drove, and now I’m behind the wheel of an Audi. Lucy’s Audi, no less. When I turn the key, I stall immediately, not noticing that she had left it in gear.

- It’s off to a great start, Lucy chuckles. Are you sure you have a license? Do you even have it with you? she realizes with concern.

- Yeah, I laugh at her reaction. You can check my wallet if you want.

- Hmm, that’s exactly what I’m going to do, she says as she leans toward the back seat.

She rummages through my bag to find my wallet. She seems relieved to find my license and gives me the green light to start. I do as she asks and, fortunately for me, I don’t stall again. I then merge onto the road, making sure there’s no one around. I glance briefly at Lucy, who still has my license in her hands.

- Watch the road, she scolds.

- Oh, come on, I’m managing.

- Obviously, she snickers.

- Where am I going?

- Go straight and at the next intersection, turn right to do a U-turn. There shouldn’t be much traffic here. Do you think you can handle it?

- Normally.

- Hmm, hmm, she smiles. Slow down, will you?

- Are you done yet? I scoff. I feel like I’m hearing my mom when I was learning to drive.

- Hey! I’m far from being your mother, she replies, tapping my thigh.

I mock her while following her instructions. I make the U-turn without any problems, which seems to reassure her. I was lucky there were no other cars. I think she deliberately took this route to give me back the reins. She has me take the previous road to reach a more attractive road. She directs me to the right, introducing me into traffic. I’m proud of my driving, even though I sense that Lucy is not too comfortable beside me. She winces in advance at each possible mistake I might make.

- How did you learn to drive? she asks.

- My dad taught me one summer when I was fifteen. My mom never knew. The day I started driving with her, I had to pretend not to know, I giggle.

- Were you already on bad terms with her back then?

- Yeah. It was a real disaster. At my slightest mistakes, she’d yell at me, which made me mad. We never finished a trip without it ending in a fight.

- I see. Take this way.

Excitement hits me when I see we’re driving along a beach. It’s far from as beautiful as Barcelona’s, but at least there is one. Lucy reminds me to focus on the road. It’s funny how she’s so concerned about her car.

- Do you want to make a stop?

- Can we?

- I had something else planned, but it’s just nearby, so we can park and walk a bit.

- Cool! I’d like that.

I stop at the first parking lot we find and choose a spot where no other cars are around to make sure I don’t hit a mirror. I engage the handbrake and turn off the car with a big smile.

- Happy to finally drive an Audi?

- Thanks for letting me drive at all. I missed it.

I unbuckle and throw myself into her arms, catching her by surprise. She accepts my hug after getting over her initial shock. She then retrieves her keys from the dashboard before we get out. I understand why she asked me to dress warmly the moment I feel the cold air hitting me harshly. It’s even colder than in downtown. I quickly put on my coat and scarf. Lucy puts our bags in the trunk so we don’t have to carry them and lock.

- It's freezing here, I said, pulling up the zipper of my jacket all the way.

- I warned you, she laughed. Follow me. I want to show you something now that we're here.

- Do you come here often?

- Occasionally, when I want to clear my head.

- What do you want to show me?

- Don’t be impatient, princess.

I smile at the nickname she hasn't used in a while. Everyone thinks Leah is the one who started it, but Lucy called me that from my first day. We walk a bit more until she stops in front of a rock formation that is more imposing than the others. I grimace, realizing her intentions.

- Don’t tell me we’re going to climb up there?

- Yes.

Without waiting for my response, she starts climbing. I sigh and try to follow her at a certain height.

- Remember that I’m afraid of heights, right?

- Don’t be a wuss. I promise it’s worth it. Come on, give me your hand.

Since she doesn’t seem to change her mind, I take her hand and she pulls me up to her level before continuing higher. I eventually reach the top without falling. She finds a flat spot where we can sit. It wasn’t so complicated after all. I look out at the horizon thoughtfully. She was right; it was worth it. The view from up here is magnificent. The breeze whistles in my ears, but the place is so soothing that I don’t mind. To think I almost missed this spot. We can see everything from here, but no one can see us thanks to the rocks in front of us that hide us.

- This is where I come most of the time when I need to be alone.

I tear my eyes away from the sea to look at her. She gazes out admiringly. I appreciate that she’s sharing something personal with me. She promised she would this weekend, and it seems she still keeps her promises.

- Tell me about yourself. I want to get to know you better... You know, the real Lucy. Not the camp instructor.

- What do you want to know?

- I don’t know. Tell me about your family, your friends, what you like... Everything.

- Everything? she chuckles. Am I tormenting you that much?

- Totally.

A smile forms on her lips, but she still doesn’t look at me. I turn my attention back to the waves crashing on the rocks below us. I can already imagine this scene in my sketchbook. She takes a deep breath that prompts me to meet her gaze.

- Alright. One thing you can know now. Where do you want to start?

- I already know a few of your friends... So why not talk about your family? If you don’t mind, of course.

- Alright, but only if you tell me about yours in return.

I grimace but agree anyway. It’s the only way to learn things after all.

- Very well, she says, taking a deep breath. To be honest, I’ve never known my real parents.

I don’t hide my surprise. I expected many things, but certainly not this revelation.

- I was adopted at birth, she continues. My parents were clear with me as soon as I was old enough to understand. I never worried about who my real parents were. To me, I already knew them and didn’t need anyone else.

- Wow... I wasn’t expecting that, I admit.

- I know, she smiles. It didn’t stop me from living a normal life, quite the opposite.

- Are you close to them?

- Quite, yes.

- It didn’t stop you from leaving them to come here.

- It was only for studies; otherwise, I would have never left, she tells me with a small smile. I don’t really have much more to add, she chuckles, shrugging. My life can’t be as exciting as you might imagine.

- Don’t you have any siblings?

No, I’m an only child. My mother couldn’t have children, which is why they adopted me. However, I consider Jenni like a sister. We’ve known each other since childhood and grew up together.

- I see... So, you’ve never had any conflicts with your parents or anything like that?

- Not really, she giggles. They’ve always let me live my life. Well, let’s move on to you. What are you still hiding from me? she asks curiously.

- Well, I have divorced parents, a blended family... I’m now waiting for my mother to announce that she’s getting remarried.

- Do you think that will happen?

- I suppose. It would be logical, I shrug.

- And... And your father? she asks delicately.

I could have sworn she’d bring him up. It’s one of the few things she doesn’t know about my family yet. I look at her for a moment, noticing no insistence in her expression. If I wanted to, she’d let me dodge it, but that’s not the most courageous decision. I look ahead as I begin to answer her.

- There’s not much to say, I murmur.

- Sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.

- If there’s not much to say, it’s because he’s no longer here.

I spoke before my mind could torment me too much. I didn’t want to backtrack now that I was decided to tell her.

- He’s dead, Luce. He’s just dead.

A heavy silence surrounds us at this news. Saying it out loud still hurts just as much. Tears burn my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand.

- H-He died on a mission when I was eighteen. He was a soldier. H-His death caused my breakdown after high school...

If I look at her now, I won’t be able to hold back the tears that threaten to fall for good. Without saying anything, she puts her arm around my shoulders to pull me closer to her. I don’t think twice about snuggling against her desperately.

- Don’t hold back. You have the right to be devastated...

These simple words release my tears. She squeezes my shoulder and kisses the top of my head.

- It must be hard, but know that you will never be alone again. I’m here now, and I don’t intend to leave you. Okay?

I nod, unable to respond any other way. My throat is too tight, and I might break into uncontrolled sobs.

- D-Do you promise? I ask with a broken voice.

- I promise.

She holds me a little tighter, giving me all the comfort I need. The words are finally out. Someone other than my family or Mapi now knows. I’ve wanted to manage to do this for a long time, and I’ve finally succeeded.

- I’m glad I met you...

- Me too, Ona.

She gives me the time I need to recover. Long minutes pass while I start to feel better and slowly straighten up.

- I think we have a plan waiting for us, don’t we? I ask with my slightly hoarse voice.

- That’s right, and it’s quite packed. Do you feel up to continuing?

- Yeah, I want to enjoy what you’ve planned for us.

- Good, she smiles. So let me suggest we start with the fairground over there, she says, pointing to the place I saw earlier.

- That sounds perfect.

And I mean it. I wanted to go there the moment I saw it, and now she’s offering it to me on a silver platter. She helps me up and down the rocks. She mocks me when I close my eyes on the way down, but it was the only way to manage it. She suggests we head back to the car to get to our next destination faster. I didn’t say no, feeling my feet freezing. It was definitely the best choice.

Saturday, January 9; 3:30 PM - Downtown Manchester.

Our late morning at the fairground was perfect. Lucy is amazing. She managed to make me forget our conversation from this morning. It’s the first time I’ve seen her as anything other than my boss. We’ve just left the restaurant we went to after having fun. She’s taken the wheel for the drive back to downtown. I was happy she let me drive her Audi at least once. It’s the only one that has trusted me so much, and I enjoyed it immensely. The little restaurant she took me to was cool. She once again paid for everything, despite my protests. I ended up abandoning the argument.

- Are you ready to walk?

- Yeah, it doesn’t bother me.

She smiles at me before we stroll through the streets. I don’t know where we’re going, but I trust her. Well, that was until she stopped in front of a dilapidated building. I remain skeptical as she pushes open the door.

- What are you doing...?

- Are you being a wuss?

She challenges me with a mischievous smile, raising her eyebrows. I hate it when she does that. She knows I can’t say no to her. She gives me a nod to go into the creepy building, and I do. She goes ahead to climb the stairs without seeming bothered by the environment.

- Are you okay? she asks, glancing at me.

- Uh-huh...

She chuckles before turning around and climbing at a faster pace. She doesn’t seem to notice that I’m already struggling to keep up.

- What are we doing in this creepy stairwell?

- Patience, you’re too curious. Remind me to ban horror movies for you if you can’t handle places like this.

- I’m not scared! I mutter.

- Have you seen your face? she giggles. You look like you’re going to have a heart attack at the slightest noise. The building is abandoned; there’s no one here.

- You can’t be sure!

- There’s no one here, I’m telling you, she laughs.

I’m relieved when we finally reach the top. She forces open a heavy metal door that eventually creaks open. I cautiously step in behind her. My eyes close as the daylight dazzles me. She props the door open with a slab she found on the ground. I realize we’re on the roof of the building. I slowly move beside her, taking in the surrounding buildings.

- Wow...

I look at Lucy, who’s smiling at me. I momentarily pause on her outstretched hand.

- I know you’re afraid of heights, but you need to see this.

I take her hand without thinking. She carefully pulls me to the edge, which is protected by a safety railing. I hold onto the railing as she positions herself behind me to let me take in the new view.

- Look down...

I take a deep breath before looking. I’m momentarily overwhelmed by vertigo, but Lucy places her hands on my shoulders to ground me. I smile, appreciating what I see. It’s breathtaking. She’s showing me Manchester from above, and it’s a real spectacle. The streets are crowded with as many pedestrians as cars. Everyone continues their lives, unaware that we’re watching them. Walking across the city is so much more effective.

- Visiting in your style, huh?

- Absolutely, she smiles. Not so bad, this haunted building, huh?

- Shut up, I chuckle. Admit it’s scary!

- It’s true I was hesitant the first time I came here, she laughs. But it’s worth it, right?

- Yes! You can’t imagine the number of drawing ideas that have come to mind since this morning with everything you’ve shown me.

- Hey! Copyright then. These are my private spots.

- Is this the first time you’ve brought someone here? I ask curiously.

- Yes and no. Let’s say someone showed me these places, and... I’m showing them to you now.

She leans over the railing beside me to see the city. She looks at me for a moment, a smile forming on her lips.

- These are my personal places that I’m sharing with you. Make sure not to divulge them.

- I won’t say a word, as long as you tell me about the person who showed you these places.

She raises an eyebrow but smiles at the seriousness of my request. It’s a chance to learn more about her.

- It was my first girlfriend... My first love, I’d say. Her name was Kiera.

- What happened...? I ask softly.

Her eyes remain fixed on the city below us. She doesn’t say anything for now. Maybe my question was a mistake. I was about to speak, but she beats me to it.

- She was the first person we met here with Jenni. Let’s say she was a bit like you... She had drug problems she was trying to overcome. I helped her through a detox.

- Oh... I understand better now why you reacted so well with me...

- Yeah, it’s thanks to her, she laughs nervously. I had helped her get out of that. Or so I thought. Everything went wrong in a day. One of her friends called me in a panic. He said she wasn’t responding and he didn’t understand what was happening. My first reaction was to grab my keys and go to her. When I arrived, I just found my girlfriend’s body... She had overdosed.

A strange feeling washes over me. She told the story without any apparent emotion. There it is, her dark memory that she had kept hidden. I try to meet her green eyes, but to no avail. Her reprimands and worries about me become so much clearer. She doesn’t want me to become like her. She’s afraid of losing me like she lost her. It’s my turn to put my arm around her shoulders. She surprises me by resting her head on my shoulder.

- Please don’t fall back into that.

- I won’t. And if I’m feeling down, I’ll talk to you about it.

She ruffles my hair before kissing my cheek. It’s the first time she’s shown such an affectionate gesture towards me.

- Alright, we’ve had enough gloom for today. Do you have any particular desires for this afternoon?

- I thought you already had a full schedule?

- I do, but I prefer to ask you first.

- We’ll stick to your plan, just because I love what you organize.

- Alright, she says, standing up. We can go to Old Trafford if you want. Otherwise, I also saw there’s a street art exhibit nearby if you’re interested.

My eyes light up at the mention of her second suggestion. Her smile is amused.

- The exhibit, I suppose?

- Obviously!

- Good. However, it doesn’t start for another hour, she tells me, checking her watch. But we can take a walk in the park first if you like.

- Good idea, so we can do both.

I’ve always loved nature anyway, and it seems she does too. We head back to the car to reach the park, as it’s too far to walk from here according to Lucy. In any case, she’s truly gone above and beyond to make me happy until the end.

[the-kr8tor]

hi!!! I was wondering if U could write hobie celebrating his partner's (gn! reader) birthday with them for fluffy Friday?

have a nice day :)

Thank you for the lovely request! If you sent this around your bday im so so sorry it's late, hope u had a good one! ❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food, cw food mentions, lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You feel feather light kisses on your cheeks, completely knowing who's smooching you in your sleepy state, you pretend to stay asleep.

Hobie huffs, breath fanning your lashes. He presses numerous kisses on your forehead and on the curve of your nose, increasing in roughness with every passing second you don't wake. After letting you sleep in, he's grown antsy, excited to show you what he's planned just for you.

You stop a smile from forming when he pecks a part of your jaw that's sensitive. Feeling him lean away, you have a theory on what he does next.

In a flash, Hobie places his face atop your neck, before you could react, he blows raspberries on your skin. Your eyes fly open, palms over his broad shoulders in an attempt to push him away. Legs kicking in delight, giggles filling the bedroom, he saves you from the oh so awful act by simply leaning away. He Presses a sloppy kiss atop your neck just before he moves away from it.

You promptly beam up at him, eyes bright, sneaking a quick peck over his wrist near your face.

“Happy birthday, love” Hobie brings his forehead over to yours, thankful for another year of you on this earth.

“Is it? I couldn't tell from the lack of birthday kisses” you joke.

“It's because you're getting on with age, you couldn't remember me snogging all of your wrinkles.”

You gasp, acting offended. “Wrinkles?! Excuse me!” Your legs wrap around his waist, tickling the small of his back with your heel.

He rolls his eyes at your attempt, “Keep doin' that and you won't get your present.”

You stop your attack immediately, perking up at his last word. “Present? You got me something?”

“Yes,” He scoops you up effortlessly, sitting you down on the mattress. “But first, breakfast”

“Aww” you coo, “you made me birthday breakfast?”

“I cook your breakfast almost everyday, love” he moves towards the bedroom door, keeping conversation with you over his shoulder.

“And I'm always grateful!” you yell after him, leaning slightly to watch his back through the open door while he takes something from the kitchen counter.

“Like what you see?” Hobie teases you, feeling your eyes observing him.

“Hell yeah I do!” he guffaws at your flirty reply.

Hobie struts inside, hands full with a tray, dishes clink together as he carefully lays it over your lap. Balancing it over the pillow he placed beforehand.

The fluffy pancakes get your attention, soft with butter melting over the pastry, chocolate chips dot the pancake, your stomach growls at the sight of it. A fruit cup sits next to it, all customized with your favourite fruits, cut to tiny slices by Hobie himself. A steaming cup of coffee wafts your nostrils, just the smell of it wakes you up from the lingering sleepiness.

Your heart melts like the butter on top of your pancake, you have an urge to squeeze Hobie full of your love.

“Come here, handsome” you flex your fingers towards him, calling him over, eyes full of hearts.

“Handsome, huh? ‘m guessing you like it” Hobie indulges you, probably the first of many coddling for your special day. Arms wrap around you, carefully avoiding the meal from getting toppled. His hand cradles the back of your head, you pepper kisses over his jaw, five o'clock shadow scratching your nose.

Kiss “I” kiss “love it” smooch “and I” kiss “love you”

Finishing off from devouring his face, you let out a loud smacking sound with your lips, nuzzling his neck for good measure. Hobie giddily smiles through it all.

You pull away, he cleans the corner of your eyes gently with his pinky. “Eat, or I'll eat it all for you”

“Are you hungry? We can share” you squeeze his bicep. “Hobie, have you eaten?” there's concern in your voice.

“I have, ate some of your pancakes” truth be told he did eat, but only the ones that aren't pretty enough to be added to your plate. The ones who didn't make the cut, the edges burnt or the ones that aren't fluffy enough.

“And fruit” Hobie can still smell the juice on his fingers with how much he cut, he practiced a bit with different ways of cutting it, so far he's eaten so many rejects that he can't stand eating another fruit for at least another week or two.

He's incredibly full.

“Okay, you sure? We can go half on the pancakes”

He chuckles, “‘m sure, love. Go eat, just watching you makes me full” Hobie taps his stomach dramatically.

“Sap” you hide a lopsided smile under the mug. The mixture's just right, perfectly blended just how you like it. Sighing in content, Hobie watches you with fondness.

“Fuck, these are perfect” you munch on your pancake, sweetness filling your tongue.

If only you know how many he made (and ate) just for you to get the perfect batch. Not too sweet or bland, not gooey or flat. Just right for your taste.

He hums, proud of himself. Hobie mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done.

“Thank you, lemme kiss you”

After eating your fill and many kisses in between, Hobie hands you a red string. You look at him perplexed.

“What's this?” You hold the string, weighing it with your hand.

“Follow the string for your present” he stands up, hand reaching to help you out of the bed.

You scream in delight, practically jumping off the mattress. “Thank you!” Hugging him tightly, you hold his hand together with the string.

“Let's go!”

A/N: did I get the string idea from frozen fever? Yes I did lmaoo

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: things are picking up now xx

masterlist

and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

Waking up on a Friday was also the toughest thing to do. At least, it had become an issue ever since Sadie realised that the 5th day of the week usually meant the last one at kindie before she got to spend the next two days at home. In fewer words, the two year old had learned the concept of a regular working week which is a feat considering her father blatantly disregards the sanctity of a Monday to Friday work week in favour of a messier approach. Y/N was almost sure his motto was screw work-life balance; nevertheless, Sadie made it incredibly hard to bathe and dress with all her excitement with what to do over the weekend, specially since Steve was around.

She finished brushing and braiding Sadie's hair, straightening her uniform so she wouldn't get yet another passive aggressive note from the PTA mums complaining about tidy uniforms - as if it was possible to get a 2 year old to be tidy. The two went downstairs with Sadie running to the breakfast table once she saw some donuts laying around which she was sure to only eat the pink icing of and hand Y/N or Bucky the donut itself.

There was something ... off. Bucky was silently buttering a slice of toast and Steve was staring into the further wall which Y/N knew was not that interesting.

- Who died? - Y/N asked as she sat down.

- It's Friday morning, Y/N. Sorry if we're not singing Kumbaya my lord. - Bucky replied, taking a bite of his toast.

- Thank god, you can't hold a tune. - Y/N smirked, helping Sadie place a napkin on her lap. - We're gonna need to get Sadie a new uniform, by the way.

- A new one? - Bucky looked up from his plate. - Swear we bought her that one a few months ago.

- We need to get the winter uniform. She doesn't fit the one from last year and it's starting to get chilly.

- Take the AMEX and buy it today. - Bucky fished through his wallet before handing Y/N the gold card. - Oh, get her one of those lunchbox thingies. I saw some kids with them the other day.

- Hm, now describe such lunchbox thingie, Sergeant.

- What do you mean? The thingies the kids carry along with their lunchbox for soup or water. The round thing.

- A thermos? Why would Sadie need a thermos?

- Yeah Bucky, she's a 2 year old not a college student. - Steve said, handing Sadie a donut. - She doesn't need one.

- Y/N get her one. Get one for yourself too, you eat soup right?

- I have a thermos, thank you.

Sadie, as expected, ate the sprinkles and frosting off the donut and handed the half eaten donut to Y/N. She excused her from the table, kissing the top of her head and sending her on her merry way to wash her hands and get her backpack, leaving Y/N to bring the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Bucky followed behind like a puppy, carrying some leftover pastries and fruit to put in the fridge before they ended up with fruit flies.

- Are you going to Columbia today? - he said, opening the fridge nonchalantly.

- No. I'm going to come back home after dropping Sadie. I have some online meetings booked with some experts in the UK and France about some topics in my PhD and the library didn't have any available private rooms.

- I'll ask Steve to come down with me to the office then.

- That's not necessary. - Y/N loaded the dishwasher with the plates, looking at Bucky, taking a very good look. He didn't look as put together as he usually did. His hair, usually wavy yet gelled into place, was messy and he wasn't wearing his suit yet. - I'll just go to my bedroom.

- You can use my office. - was he trying to get on her good graces once more? - The internet signal is better there.

- It's your office, Sergeant. I'm not gonna use it.

- I absolutely hate it when you call me Sergeant. - he shut the fridge, leaning against it. - Look ...

He sighed, his eyes not meeting hers.

- I'm sorry. - those words came from his lips very slowly, as if it pained to say them and if Bucky were being honest it pained him to say them. Bucky wasn't sorry but that didn't mean he wanted Y/N to hate him forever. - It's not my place to interfere with your relationship.

- I know. - she shrugged. - If you think your opinion of my love life interferes with it in any way, you're wrong.

- I'm just trying to look out for you. There's a lot of wolves in New York.

- I'm not a country bumpkin, Sergeant. I know how to look after myself.

- So ... are you and Chris Davis dating then?

- That it none of your business, Sergeant.

- It actually is. - he smirked. - You see, you are my employee, he is my employee which means if two of my employees are dating they should tell HR.

- You're not HR, you're the CEO.

- Maybe I multitask, how about that?

- That would be illegal and a conflict of interests, Sergeant. Besides, why are you so interested in my relationship? Are you bored of yours?

- He's just not the type of guy I would picture you with.

Of course not. Bucky had always considered Y/N would end up with someone ambitious, someone who'd crawl and give blood, sweat and tears to get what they wanted. Chris Davis, although not a complete dunce, was not that. He was smart but he wasn't innovative - what he was good at was packaging old ideals to newer audiences. He didn't come up with new marketing ideas, nothing that hadn't been done and when he did it was usually under the guide of an executive. He wasn't his worse employee but he also wasn't his best and Bucky wanted Y/N to have the best.

- Clearly. - Y/N dried her hands. - As if you have a good track record of relationships.

- Is this about Anna? Are you still pissed off because of Anna?

- You can't treat people like crap and then expect them to forgive you.

- I know but you have to understand that me and Anna ...

- You are a father first, Sergeant. You can't potentially hurt your child because you're so blinded by this stupid notion of "a real family". You and Sadie are a real family, you don't need Anna and you can't force her. If Sadie was any older she could've gotten very hurt.

- I know but if it had gone well ...

- Bucky. - Y/N interrupted him. She didn't want to be mean, she didn't want to be hateful about a woman she'd never met, specially the woman who birthed Sadie. - If you think the woman who left a baby in front of your door and has never attempted contact would suddenly change your mind, you're naive.

- You wanna know what's funny? - he moved away from the fridge to get closer to her.

Y/N almost took a step back. She didn't like being close to Bucky, it was always weird for her. Bucky, despite being her boss, was an attractive man, an attractive and imposing figure and she sometimes would find herself divided between fear of what he would say and fear of what she usually did at night when she thought of him.

- I don't think anything is funny about that situation.

- Anna would've liked you. - he said before turning around, almost happy that he'd gotten her a bit speechless for a while, happy he got to be the dominant one for a bit. - And you would've liked Anna.

- I doubt I'd like any woman who would willingly sleep with you.

- She didn't like any woman who would willingly sleep with me either. - Y/N rolled her eyes, not really understanding what Bucky was trying to get at. He was always like this, jumped over bad moments looking for some peaceful solitude in an off hand joke or confusing statement. - Are we gonna continue being mad at one another?

- Who said I was mad at you?

- Fine, if you're not mad then take my office upstairs for your meetings.

Before Y/N could reply something regarding his very flawed logic who wouldn't win him any debate, Sadie came walking through the kitchen, dragging her backpack through the floor and her yellow raincoat so Y/N could help her onto the plastic garment.

- Hey squid. - Bucky lowered down to her help, taking over Y/N to help Sadie into her raincoat. - Do you want a thermos?

- What? - she looked at him eyes wide, probably not knowing what a thermos even was. The red head looked at her au pair, looking for clues about what her dad was talking about. Y/N just smiled and shrugged. - Yes.

- See? Told you she wanted a thermos. - Bucky picked her up to kiss her cheek, directing his voice towards Y/N.

- She doesn't know what a thermos is, Bucky. - Y/N took Sadie from him.

(...)

When she returned from dropping Sadie off, buying her an overpriced uniform and a thermos which she would probably only use by the time she was 12, she found an empty house. Bucky had made good on his promise, leaving a note telling her Steve was with him as well as where to find the key to the office. The office was usually locked due to Sadie, according to Bucky, having almost gotten hurt. If Bucky's dramatic retelling was to be believed, when Sadie had started to walk she'd manage to get into the office and grab a stapler which she was keen on using until Bucky caught her. However knowing Bucky and knowing 2 year old Sadie who still struggled to reach the handles of doors, she reckoned he was overreacting or probably saw something similar in one of those "scare the parents" TV shows.

Nevertheless, the office/study had been locked and Y/N had never had been inside, yet once she got inside, it looked like what she expected Bucky to have as a work space. It was white, bright and minimalist with a few knickknacks from when he had been stationed in Italy and some first version novels which had undoubtedly came from his mother. His desk was deep mahogany, neatly kept with all contents at a 90 degree angle.

She moved to seat on his chair, putting her laptop on the middle of her desk and logging into Zoom. She waited for the right time, her eyes hoovering over everything in his desk from the gold pens, to the tape and the photo frames. He had a big photo of Sadie when she was a newborn followed by a few others, yet what called her attention were two gold circled frames - one with a photo of Sadie and Y/N when she had first started to work for them and one of Y/N and Sadie at Christmas.

She didn't allow herself to dwell much on it, she had meetings to get to. Besides, this was nothing big. It was just a photo of his daughter that he liked which Y/N happened to appear in. She had bigger fish to fry now than wondering about Bucky.

(...)

The work day wasn't any better for Bucky. Steve was being, well, Steve and to describe Steve is to describe someone who likes playing both sides to get to a decision which everyone is happy with. He knew he shouldn't have brought up the stuff about his wife, Steve would never try to break a relationship, heck he wouldn't even think it. Nevertheless, now Steve and Y/N were upset at him - maybe they can unionise and start a little "We hate Bucky", maybe they'll get branded thermos.

- Sergeant Barnes? - his assistant knocked on the door. She was pretty, very pretty and Bucky was almost certain they'd slept together ... almost. Yet today not even the pretty assistant could sort his mood out. - Christopher Davis wants to talk to you.

- Christopher Davis? - oh yes, the best way to make his day, seeing Chris Davis. - What does he want?

- He says it'll be a quick word, Sergeant Barnes. Should I send him in?

- 5 minutes. - he sighed, closing his laptop. Maybe making Chris Davis squirm would make his day, yet again, he was sure the "We hate Bucky" club would not enjoy that. Besides, it was hair washing tonight for Sadie and last time he tried, he had ended up inside the bathtub.

Chris Davis walked into the office, the mere sight of him ignoring Bucky. Did Y/N seriously find that attractive? He was so bland, so boring, the only interesting thing about him was that he was rich and Bucky was almost certain he only finished his PhD because his godmother is Professor Anderson. Nevertheless, here he was, taking a seat in one of the chairs of his office without even asking. This is the guy who gets to see Y/N naked? Life really is unfair.

- What do you need Davis?

- I know this will probably be crossing a line but I was wondering if you could let Y/N have the weekend off.

- What Y/N? - he cocked a brow at him.

- My Y/N.

- My daughter's au pair Y/N? - Bucky rested against his chair, looking down at the man in front of him. - Why?

- I was thinking of taking her to the new restaurant downtown but she said she was busy with Sadie. I wouldn't ask but it's really hard to get reservations and I got one and I would love to take her.

Oh, this was fun.

- Y/N has always had the weekends off. She doesn't work weekends unless she wants to, specially not this weekend which I'll spend at home. Besides, she doesn't have a fixed work schedule.

- Oh ...

- Maybe fix your communication issues with her before you come and waste my precious time, Davis. You can go now.

(...)

Having meeting after meeting had really wasted all energy Y/N had and to congratulate herself for not crying when someone suggested another alteration to her project with a thick French accent, she decided to cuddle against one of Bucky's many small yet cuddly cashmere blankets in the couch of the living room watching Gilmore Girls. She was close to snoozing off when the front door opened and closed. It could be Bucky, Steve or a burglar but she was much too tired to actually check.

- Oh, Y/N, do I have some gossip to share with you. - Bucky. It was Bucky and it was the first time she'd heard him say the word gossip. That couldn't be good.

He walked with a douchey smile to stand in front of the TV, sitting on top of the coffee table and staring at her, just waiting for her to question him on it and she was much too tired to avoid playing his game.

- What? Someone you fucked got pregnant?

- Someone came into my office asking about you. I didn't know that you were gonna be busy with Sadie this week. Isn't Steve taking her to Coney Island?

- What?

- You're using me and my kid as an excuse not to go out with Chris Davis? - he chuckled. - What? Is he a bad lay or something?

- Oh shut up!

- Small dick?

- This is highly unprofessional. - she turned around to face the couch.

- And sleeping on my couch isn't? C'mon, tell me, Y/N. Are you tired to pretend to orgasm or have you just figured out he's just bland.

- You're such a child! - she got up, folding the blankets so she could get away from her but he kept going after her. - Why don't you go pick up your daughter?

- Steve has her. I wanna know more, I thought everything was okay in the Y/N-Chris relationship. Is he one of those guys who cries when he cums? Is that it? Is he a crier?

- Why won't you shut up?

- Or maybe he can't find your clit. You know, he can barely find the copy room sometimes and that's way bigger.

- He is perfectly fine, I just don't want to hang out and I didn't want to hurt his feelings but because you can't lie to save your goddamn life I know have to go.

- He's taking you to Le Coucou, you may want to brush your hair before you go. The poor thing fought so hard to get reservations but obviously you prefer to eat buttered noodles with Sadie.

- I have been to Le Coucou.

- I know, I took you there. - he smirked. - And here I was thinking you'd soon start bringing your boyfriend around.

- I don't want to go. I'm tired, I need to wash Sadie's hair tonight and that will take time and I am not in the headspace to get ready.

- I'm sure Chris would love it if you came in with a soaked white t-shirt.

- You're a dick, Bucky.

Before Bucky could continue with his teasing about it, Y/N's phone started ringing. She grabbed it from the counter and put it up to her ear as she saw Sadie's school number. Bucky watched, mostly hoping it was Chris so he could tease her some more but as the colour drained from her face, he realised he wasn't. She put her phone down and looked at Bucky.

- We have to go. - Y/N looked overwhelmed, looking around fo something. - Sadie has appendicitis. They called an ambulance and she's going to the New York-Presbyterian Hospital.

- Shit. - Bucky rushed to grab his keys.

- Where's her toy, where's a toy? - Y/N started throwing pillows around, looking for Sadie's cuddly toy.

- Y/N, let's go.

- NO! - she screamed at him. - She's scared and when she's scared she needs her toy and I knew, I knew she was a bit off when I dropped her off and I should've known better and I ...

- Y/N. - he held her shoulders, stopping her in place. - I'll go find her toy, get the car going and drive there.

- But yo ...

- I'll get a cab. Now you go and stay with her, I'll meet you there with the cuddly toy. Go.

taglist: @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82 @winters1917 @vladsgirlxx @stinkerbelle007 @maybefoxysouls @blackwood-bodecker-housewife

[galaxysupreme17]

Lazy Sunday Morning

Y/n = Your Name

Y/n/n = Your Nickname

Agathario x daughter!reader

The sun filtered gently through the sheer curtains of their cozy Westview home, casting a warm glow on the wooden floors. It was one of those perfect, quiet mornings when the world outside seemed to slow down, offering a rare sense of peace. No missions, no magical crises-just the three of them: Y/n, Rio, and Agatha. They had lived here in Westview for years now, embracing a life of simplicity, even as witches. Today was special, though. It was a day without obligations, a day where they didn't have to be anything other than a family.

Y/n lay sprawled across the couch, cocooned in a plush blanket. The house was still. The faint sound of Rio humming drifted from the kitchen, where she was already preparing coffee. But Y/n wasn't quite ready to face the day. She sighed contentedly, burying her face deeper into the blanket, savoring the rare feeling of being able to stay in bed-or on the couch, in her case.

In the kitchen, the familiar sounds of pots and pans clinking together mingled with the smell of brewing coffee. Agatha was up now, too, and Y/n could hear her soft voice carrying through the house, lightly bickering with Rio over breakfast preparations. It was their Sunday tradition-a lazy morning where they made breakfast together, sat around in pajamas, and enjoyed the calmness that only a day off could bring.

"Mi amor, don't use too much butter," Y/n heard Rio's voice tease from the kitchen.

Agatha scoffed in mock offense. "Butter is the foundation of any good meal, hun. You can't just 'cut back' on butter. That's heresy."

Y/n smiled under her blanket but made no move to get up just yet. She could listen to her mother's playful banter all day. These moments were the kind that Y/n cherished more than anything else-the little things that made their house a home.

The aroma of breakfast finally lured her from her cozy cocoon. Groaning slightly, Y/n shuffled to the kitchen, still wrapped in her blanket, her bare feet padding softly on the floor. "Morning, Mama. Morning, Mom," she mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes.

"Morning, sweetheart," Rio said with a soft smile, her hair still messy from sleep. She was leaning against the counter, coffee cup in hand. She always moved slower in the mornings, especially on days like this when they had nowhere to be.

Agatha, standing by the stove with her signature apron on, turned and smiled at Y/n. "Look who's finally joined the land of the living. Pancakes will be ready soon."

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "Homemade pancakes? Again?"

"Of course. It's tradition," Agatha said with a wink, expertly flipping a pancake.

Rio, with a mischievous grin, slipped a box of store-bought pastries onto the counter, trying to be subtle about it. "But, you know, it never hurts to have some backup options."

"Mom," Y/n laughed, shaking her head as she slid into a seat at the kitchen table, pulling her blanket tighter around her. "You're going to get in trouble with Mama."

"Too late," Agatha said, eyeing the pastries disapprovingly but with a hint of amusement. "You can't sneak that processed nonsense into my kitchen."

Rio just shrugged, unbothered. "Hey, I like variety."

Y/n grinned, feeling the warmth of home settle into her chest. It was always like this-Agatha sticking to tradition and Rio introducing her own brand of chaos. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Y/n had learned to appreciate both sides. She rested her chin in her hands, watching them with sleepy affection. "Honestly, I'm with Mama on this one. Homemade pancakes win every time."

Agatha beamed proudly as if she'd won some great culinary battle. "See? Our daughter has good taste."

"Alright, alright," Rio laughed, raising her hands in surrender. "I'll save the croissants for later."

Breakfast soon filled the table-piles of fluffy pancakes, fresh fruit, and yes, even the sneaky pastries Rio insisted on bringing out after all. Y/n, still wrapped in her blanket, dug in without hesitation. The first bite of pancakes melted in her mouth, reminding her of every Sunday morning they'd spent together like this.

"This," Y/n mumbled through a mouthful of food, "is perfect. A day of absolutely nothing."

Rio ruffled Y/n's hair as she passed behind her, grabbing a plate. "You've earned it. You've been working yourself too hard lately."

Agatha nodded in agreement. "Even witches need rest, darling. Besides, today's about us. No magic practice, no schoolwork. Just... family."

Y/n smiled softly at her mothers, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this relaxed. "I needed this," she admitted. "A break from... everything."

Agatha reached across the table, her hand resting on Y/n's arm. "We all do love."

After breakfast, they returned to the living room, and the remains of their meal were left on the table to clean up later. Y/n flopped onto the couch, pulling her blanket up to her chin and groaning dramatically. "I'm not moving for the rest of the day. You can't make me."

Rio chuckled and slid onto the couch beside her, tucking a strand of Y/n's hair behind her ear. "Who said we were doing anything today? I plan on being just as lazy as you."

Agatha, having settled into her favorite armchair, crossed her legs and smiled. "Shall we watch something, then? Maybe one of those 'modern classics' you two love so much?"

Y/n's eyes widened. "No black-and-white movies, please, Mama. Anything but that."

Rio laughed, picking up the remote. "Let's compromise-something light, something fun. How about a rom-com?"

Y/n grinned. "Perfect."

The day passed in a haze of cozy blankets, laughter, and movies. The three of them lounged around the living room, the warmth of the fireplace adding to the snug atmosphere. As the afternoon stretched on, Y/n found herself sandwiched between her moms on the couch, their soft breathing and gentle presence comforting her in a way that magic never could.

It was halfway through the second movie that Agatha leaned over and kissed Y/n on the temple. "You know we love you, right? You don't have to do anything to earn that."

Y/n glanced at her, surprised by the sudden seriousness in her voice. "I know, Mama. I love you both too."

Rio smiled from the other side, nudging Y/n's shoulder. "We're proud of you. Just for being you."

Y/n felt a lump rise in her throat but swallowed it down, feeling the warmth of their love settle into her. She snuggled deeper into her blanket, resting her head against Rio's shoulder, her eyes drooping. "This is... this is all I need," she mumbled sleepily.

And before long, they had all drifted off to sleep, the movie forgotten in the background. Y/n was sandwiched between the two women who had been her constant, family, and everything. In this house, in this small town, they weren't witches or powerful beings. They were just three people, content to be with one another.

As Y/n drifted in and out of sleep, she thought about how much they meant to her. How every little thing they did, even bickering over breakfast, made her feel safe. She smiled to herself, the last thought before falling into a deep sleep being one of pure contentment.

And with that, their peaceful Sunday carried on in the warm, quiet comfort of home.