#simon laying in bed and the cats are all over his neck face and head cuddled up or making biscuits.

[lxvvie]

If that isn’t Simon and Spectre than I don’t know

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2yLtANRV16/?igsh=ZnFleHo5NnYwajg=

It absolutely is, anon!

And then his grand-kittens are born and he becomes the new cat tree. Spectre is busy doing her thing, Pup thinks it's some kind of game and keeps trying to lick his face and play, and the kittens are climbing all over his back. Simon gives up after a while and becomes resigned to his fate lol.

Just another chaotic day in the Riley household.

[whateveriwant]

The 141 getting you to stay in bed

It gets a little spicy towards the end so 18+ please

Soap

Waking up to the feeling of a numb arm is extremely unpleasant, but you suppose it comes with the territory when trying to cuddle 200+ pounds of rugged Scotsman

You manage to free your trapped limb and roll to the other side of the bed, but that space behind you remains empty for only about three seconds before Johnny's pressing himself flat to your back 

Now with his arms around your waist, he holds you tight to him, mumbling unintelligibly against the back of your head

He drifts back to sleep quickly enough, his grip on you starting to loosen, only for it to tighten again when he feels you try to wriggle out of his hold

The incoherent grumbles from his throat grow increasingly displeased the more you try to shift away from him, until finally he huffs a grumpy, “Quit it,” into your scalp, hooking his leg over yours 

If you still don't listen, he'll have no choice but to take drastic measures to keep you still. Fed up with your squirming, he simply rolls on top of you, pinning you to the mattress below him

You can try beating on his back, telling him that you can't breathe, but he just shrugs and says, “Use my breath.”

Don't even bother trying to explain how oxygen doesn't work like that, because he doesn't care. “Tough,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “‘Cause I'm no' movin’.” And by extension, neither are you

Gaz

Kyle is also a stage 5 clinger, but he's less boa constrictor and more baby koala

So when your alarm goes off at 8am precisely, it's no surprise that the man behind you grumbles in protest

“It's Saturday,” he bemoans. “Why you getting up so bloody early?” When you tell him you like to keep your routine even on the weekends, he just groans and mutters, “Five more minutes.”

You can try to squirm and wrestle out of his hold, but he'll just tighten his arm around your midsection, keeping his front firmly glued to your back

But you need to get up! You have to pee for goodness’ sake! 

“Use the empty bottle on your nightstand,” he mumbles into your hair, peeking an eye open as you crane to look back at him. The look you give him at such a horrid suggestion has him sighing. “Alright, fine,” he relents and releases you. “But be quick. Bed gets cold without you.”

Once you've answered the call of nature, don't be surprised to find Kyle waiting for you directly outside the bathroom. He's wrapped up in your comforter like an oversized burrito, only his face and feet visible as they peek out from under the plush cover

With a sleepy pout, he holds his hand out for you, tugging you back to bed with him. Oh, he’ll make sure you get those five more minutes alright. Even if he has to drag you kicking and screaming

Ghost

First of all, don't even kid yourself into thinking you'll stand a chance of waking up before him or sneaking out of bed without him knowing. This man is the epitome of a light sleeper, whenever he does sleep, that is

So when you do finally wake up, it comes as no surprise to see Simon already up too. But just because you're both awake now doesn't mean you have to immediately be productive; quite the opposite, in fact

With how busy and stressed he is all the time, Simon loves nothing more than to just lie in bed with you and do nothing for hours

If you try to get up, he's stopping you with a gentle hand on your wrist, his voice quiet but firm as he commands, “Stay.”

You'll lay back down for a bit to appease him, but it won't be long before you feel guilty since you have so many things you should be doing instead

But actually, no, you don't have  anything to worry about. He's already taken care of everything before you woke up, he humbly informs you

The cat's been fed, the bin’s been taken out to the curb, he's even gotten your breakfast typed up on his phone – just give him the word and he'll place the order

So now when he opens his arms for you, having you bury your face in his chest, you've got nothing to worry about except savoring this moment with him 

Price

John is also a very light sleeper, so it only takes .02 seconds of you trying to stand from the bed for his bear-like snores to cease and his eyes to flit wide open

He'll grab you by the shirt hem, mumbling, “Where’re y’ goin’?” But it doesn't really matter what your answer is because his response is always the same: “No y’r not.” And pulls you back down. “Y’r stayin’ right here.”

He'll lie on his stomach, face smushed in the pillow, a big, warm hand tucked under your shirt resting against your belly

With nothing better to do, you scroll through your phone, catching up on your socials, the news, etc., but it's not long before you hear him grumble, “Put that away, will ya? ‘S too early to be meltin’ your brain with that thing.”

Well, what does he expect you to do? Lie there and stare at the ceiling for an hour? “Expect you to be good,” he tells you. “Don't make me get the handcuffs out again.”

Now that you have to laugh at. If he thinks it's too early to be on your phone, it's definitely too early for that

He smirks, opening his eye just a sliver, and the hand on your stomach begins to rub soft circles. “Is that so?” he taunts, his touch sneakily edging downwards. And when he slips beneath the band of your shorts, well…

Let's just say you're not leaving that bed anytime soon

[bi-writes]

hi b! your mail order bride snippet was amazing!! I totally relate to taking the cat with her! tbh I think by the end of the first week the kitty will have Simon wrapped around their paw lol

mail-order bride

you sit up in bed as the bathroom door flies open, the knob banging against the wall as simon nearly stomps his way into the bedroom. you rub your sleepy eyes, watching as he holds the cat by the scruff of its neck until he can toss it onto the floor at the foot of the bed. the cat hops up onto the bed, sitting at your feet, and simon snarls as he stares back at it (it isn't allowed on the bed).

"can't even take a fuckin' shit, starin' right at me," he snaps at you, and you blubber a little, not knowing what to say right away. "i told ya to keep that fuckin' thing away from me."

"she likes you," you say sleepily, sniffing as you shrug. "she just wants to be near you."

"i said no pets!"

you blink up at him, "i-i'm sorry, simon--" you go to push the covers off to get out of bed, but simon comes closer, pushing you back into bed.

"don't get out of bed, why are ya gettin' out of bed? it's too fuckin' cold."

"y-you seem upset," you sniffle, "i just--" you put your hand over his gently. "she just likes you, simon. can't you see that?"

it is early. when simon goes back into the bathroom, you lay back down and let the warmth of the covers lull you back to sleep.

when you wake in the morning, eyes fluttering, simon is laying beside you still. it's odd, because he gets up before the sun comes up, but when you turn over to face him, your eyes widen a little. simon is wide awake. he's on his stomach, his face smushed into the pillow like usual, but he's so angry. his face is contorted into a scowl, and the cat is curled up on the base of his neck, their little head resting on the back of his head as they sleep peacefully, little purrs escaping every so often.

simon locks eyes with you, and you bite your lip, uneasy.

"what the fuck am i supposed to do?!" he hisses. "it's been 'ere all fuckin' mornin'!"

you slap your hand over your mouth to stop the giggles, and simon growls a little.

"get it offa me!"

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

hello love! for your kinkfest, I have a request!

simon riley w/ size kink and manhandling perhaps?

You may!!

Masterlist

Brute

Contains: Consent and kink negotiation, size kink, manhandling, oral sex (m receiving) fingering, P in V, fluff. Not beta read.

1.3K words

Simon was a gentle giant until you asked him not to be.

"Simon, you're going to give yourself a hernia."

He chuckled at your admonishment and continued to haul the uncut firewood onto the chopping block as you watched in awe. "It ain't that heavy lovey."

You sighed and rolled your eyes. "Sure."

You headed back inside your holiday cabin and made yourself comfortable on the couch, but the book you picked up was just a cover for gawking at Simon through the window.

He came back inside twenty minutes later, dripping in sweat despite the cold and flopped down next to you, lifting your legs to make room before placing them on his lap. He sighed and stretched towards you, and you smiled cheekily as you shied away from him. "Eww, you're all dirty."

There was nowhere you could go, between his wingspan and his thick thighs, he took up most of the little loveseat. His face crinkled with a smile, and he clambered into your space, crowding you into the corner of the couch as you did your best to hide the excitement on your face. "I saw you watching me out there."

You nodded. "Yes, you have very nice muscles."

He was so expressive without his mask, there was no Ghost here, just your Simon. Right now, he was grinning like the cat that got the cream as he lunged at you and threw you over his shoulder as he walked towards the bedroom. You struggled, doing your best to wriggle away, but it was like trying to get free from a vice. He all but tossed you on the bed, chuckling warmly as you bounced.

It was on now, and you tried your best to shuffle up the bed as he yanked you towards him by your calf. His ample muscles flexed as he pulled his shirt over his head, and you reached out to lay your hand on his chest, his hand enveloping yours as he held it to him. "You like it when I toss you around and show off, don't you Lovey?"

You nodded. "Yes, I would like more please."

He grinned and you fought back a gasp as he tore your pants from your body. "Simon, those were expensive."

He smirked. "I'll buy you more."

He yanked you up by both your upper arms, pulling your shirt over your head, and he spun you away from the bed and placed you on your knees on the fluffy floor rug. "I've been working hard all day to keep you warm and I think you should thank me."

The bludge in his pants made it clear what he thought his thank you should be. You rushed to free him from his pants, and he sighed as the pressure released from cock when you pulled him free. One hand found your cheek, and the other wrapped around the meat of the place where your neck met your shoulder. He looked down at you with a smirk as his thumb brushed your lower lip. "Get to it Lovey."

You licked him from base to tip, and his head fell backwards as heat filled him. He was squeezing your shoulder rhythmically, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths as you took the tip into his mouth. You took him down further as he began to groan, the hand on your cheek moving to gather your hair into a ponytail held in his hand so he could take over the pace. "Tap my hip if you need a break."

You moaned an affirmative around him, and his hips bucked at the vibration. "That's my good girl." You relaxed around him as he bucked his hips, stopping each time he went deeper to let you adjust. When he really hit the tempo, he liked, he would pause each time he was almost all the way out of your mouth so you could suck him like a lolly pop before sliding down your throat.

All too soon, he was yanking you off of him, kicking his pants and boxers all the way off and all but picking you up before throwing you onto the bed. "That was a pretty good thank you."

You smiled. "It was my pleasure." He crawled on top of you, blanketing you with his body as he pressed his lips to yours to kiss you for the first time since he came inside. The kiss was all lust and desire as he broke the hook closures holding your bra together, your panties went next, one side ripped in half as he pulled them off you.

His thick fingers found your centre, and he groaned when he felt you soaked. "Fuck Lovey, you trying to kill me?" He didn't give you a chance to answer, rubbing his fingers up and down your slit before sliding two of them inside you as he swallowed your moans with his mouth. He was so warm that the coldness of the outside didn't have a hope, and you buried your face in his neck as he scissored his while his thumb rubbed your clit.

You were forced to feel every precise pass of his calloused fingertips on your G-spot, unable to do anything else under his body weight. His mouth was intent on sucking marks into your skin, the mix of teeth and lips sending shock waved down your body. You muttered out a warning, trying to let him know you were about to fall off the cliff, but he kissed you hard before you could utter a word, groaning against your lips when he felt you squeeze around his fingers.

He pulled his hand away, using your wetness to slick his cock before wrapping his hands around your tights to pull them apart so he could slot himself between them. "You ready Lovey?"

You nodded emphatically, and he grinned, gripping his cock so he could guide it inside you as your head fell back onto the pillow. He gave you a moment to adjust before rocking his hips slowly, his pace picking up as you wrapped your arms around him. Before you could really sink into it, he was pulling out of you and flipping you over, yanking you onto all fours before settling behind you and slamming back home. Your head and chest fell into the bed as he gripped your hips, and you knew, with how hard he was holding you, that you'd have finger shaped bruises in the morning.

One hand left your hip and slid around to your front, rubbing your clit as he angled his hips to brush your G-spot with each pass. The slap of his pelvis against your ass and the sound of your shared moans filled the air as he pushed you both closer to the peak, each thrust shoving you up the bed until you had to reach out a hand to stop your head from knocking into the headboard.

Your vision began to white out at the edges as heat grew in your core, and before you knew it, you were rushing into an orgasm as he grunted behind you. In the haze of bliss, the only thing that let you know he was close behind was his faltering pace and the tightness of his hand on your hip. He let out a feral grunt and finally stilled, managing to pull you into his chest and pull you both down so you were lying on your side with his body wrapped around you. "Now we're both dirty."

You couldn't help but giggle, and his arms hugged you to him. "You're crushing me."

He sighed and kissed the space between your shoulder blades. "You love it."

You nodded. "I do."

He ran his nose up your upper back to your neck, then kissed his way towards your ear before speaking. "I'll run us a bath."

That did sound nice. "I would like that." You spun in his arms and pressed your lips to his, the kiss soft and warm. "Thank you. I really enjoyed that."

He did his best to hold back his egoistical smirk. "So did I." He rubbed your nose with his and kissed you. "I love you y/n."

You smiled against his lips. "I love you too Simon."

Fin

[mimisplayground]

i need neglectful toxic ghost making it up to reader in the morning :(

pookie he would NOT DO THAT..

jk i luv you snuckems, SIMON REDEMPTION INCOMING‼️‼️

(Smut, LOVING SIMON‼️‼️, make up sex but really spends the whole day being sweet to you, really this is just fluffy smut)

Waking up to Simon kissing all over your face. Telling you how much he loves you. He’s so sorry lovie, he just had a rough mission :(

Cleaned everything you missed the night before, breakfast waiting on the table for you. Sitting and eating together at the table as you talk his ear off.

And when you’re done he’s got you right back in bed. Cuddled against you firm and tightly with no wiggle room. You couldn’t tell where you started and he ended. Drifts back to sleep soon, leaving you to run your fingers through short blonde hair and leave kisses against his scarred face.

Snores like a bear in the comfort of your embrace, waking up groggily from one of your pecks only to steal a kiss from you before snoring away again.

Later on his bulky frame is stood awkwardly in your favourite cafe, his card sliding into the machine after you order for the two of you.

And if you love sweets and try to feed some to him, he’s accepting the bite and ignoring how sickly sweet it is to him. If you hate the food he got he would feed you a small bite just to get a chance to chuckle at the face you make.

He sits with you curled into his lap on the couch as he watches the television. A game he would normally be invested in playing and a beer in hand.

But how is he meant right focus when you’re sitting there asking question after question about everything the team is doing? He obliges and answers every single question softly.

However he is not a patient man, and his patience runs out quickly. You can tell in how his answers become hums more and more. He stares down at you laying in his lap.

Your nerves are of course spiked again, but before you can mutter an apology he’s hunched in what must be an uncomfortable angle. His lips pressed against yours softly. “Shhh, pretty bird….” as his lips are still ghosting over yours.

He has you both repositioned soon, laying you out on the couch and softly asking you to be understanding of the discomfort. Is stripping you down with urgency.

When your bottoms and top is off, his fingers are pressing into you quickly and gently. Pumping into you and listening to you turn breathy and whiney. Leans over and lets his mouth latch to a nipple for a moment. His mouth roams your chest, shoulder, neck, and jawline area. Marking you all over in love bites.

Leaves you shuddering and shaking before he pulls his fingers out. Lets you come down from that close peak with a disgruntled whine.

Intertwines your hands together as he pushes into you slow and gentle. Kisses you between thrusts and pants against your lips while singing your praises to the heavens above.

Listens to your moans and gasps and encourages them. Calling you a good birdie as you almost scream, telling you to be louder for him.

Groans loud, almost whining with you tighten around him and cum. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and stars dazing his eyes. He feels like he can see a halo of glow all around you.

He has you laid back to chest with him in the bathtub only 10 minutes later. Washing your body and kissing you all over. Humming to himself as his hand dips between the water and your legs to rub tight circles on your clit before you lose yourself to the peak again.

You’re absolutely boneless when he has you lying in bed with him like the night prior, only with time curling his body around you like a cat. Grip firm and tight as if he’s worried you’ll run off in your sleep.

He can be a sweet man, when he wants :)

[gothushi]

any thoughts on Brendan domming Simon and y/n at the same time? Simon maybe looks to you for help and Brendan’s like ‘Nuh uh, she can’t help you.’

omg yesssss like… it’s smth new for u, maybe ur just used to domming but want to try letting go and being a sub for once. brendan’s absolutely smitten with u so he’ll obviously agree and promise to treat u nice and sweet for ur first time subbing. so it happens naturally one night and when ur going to lets say lower simon onto his knees brendan tsk’s and “you too doll” with a sweet smile and a pet over ur hair.

simon’s all confused but hey he isn’t allowed to ask questions around here. he has to lay down whilst ur ontop of him and brendan fucks u, pets over you and treats u like a god hands worshipping ur body all the while simon gets no stimulation except ur chest rubbing against his, all whiny and pouty

he makes u cum twice like that with gentle hands and sweet encouragement, and then lets u curl up on the bed like a kitty cat whilst he gets busy with simon. calls him a brat, slaps him, simon’s whining and whimpering and he probably talks back and that gets him bent over brendan’s lap. but he’s “sorry.. i didn’t mean it!” :(

brendan’s back is to u since he’s sat on the edge of the bed but u can see simon’s face whilst he’s getting spanked, cold rings making little indents on his skin, his face is flushed and he’s crying. he ends up tilting his head and reaching a hand out to u, whimpering softly and brendan’s yanking his hand back, “uh uh, she’s not helping u now.”

he spanks and hits until simon’s pretty pale skin is a deep red and a little spot is bleeding. until u crawl over and nuzzle at brendan’s neck and ask to kiss simon so sweetly he just can’t say no.

ends with u laid back against the pillows, simon overtop and inside u, and brendan fucking simon. he’s weeping into ur neck and ur both babbling thank you’s to daddy, brendan holding one of ur hands behind simons back and one of simons in the other🤍

[thepaintedlady00]

Nightshade

Chapter 14 | Chapter 16

Chapter 15: Wet On Wet

TW: some sensually themed dreams, language as always, mentions of smoking and drinking (as always), mentions of past violence and minor injuries, some minor violence (the friendly kind this time), fluff, some Simone, some Howard, Jake & Olive finally get to have that heart to heart 😈👀, Jake and Lena are shameless flirts, a bit of light somewhat smut (oral, fem receiving), flashbacks and a good old cliffhanger to really torture you guys. SO sorry for the wait! As many of you know I had some work stuff going on, but things are finally slowing down and I'm hoping I'll be able to really get back on track with these fics. I did my best editing this long ass chapter (38 freakin pages), so as always sorry if there are any mistakes! Enjoy!

The slight chill that swept into the room brought goosebumps to my flesh, though I couldn’t really know for sure if it was the breeze or the sensation of Jake’s lips dragging down my neck. I knew outside it was cold, but I didn't feel it, even with the window open. I felt warm, almost smothered in heat. “Jake.”

His lips curled into a smile against my collarbone as he hummed, a thing he knew sent shivers down my spine. “Lena.”

“You’re tickling me,” I teased, wiggling in his arms.

With a huff, he lifted his head away from me, looking down at me with that dumb smile that warned of his coming mischief. “Am I? I had no idea.”

“Don’t you dar- JAKE!” I shrieked as his fingers ghosted up my ribs, lips resuming the light touches, tickling me in earnest now.

I rolled, just barely managing to escape his hold on me, darting forward into the hazy space of undefined shapes and lights. I only got a few steps in before his arms wound around my waist and hauled me back to his bed. A faint feeling sparked in my chest. Not the fear or the anger or the shame I expected. Not some old ache. It was something new, something almost foreign to me.

Laughter filled the room. My laughter. I rolled over again, my senses swarmed by the smell of his cologne as my face hit his blankets. His fingers traced the tattoo along my spine as I turned my head to look at him. Jake always looked like the perfect mix of heaven and hell, of sin and saint, of peace and war. He had a way of drawing me in that I didn't fully understand but that I didn't want to fight against anymore. "I like you."

His smile made me feel alive as he shifted closer with a light laugh. I dodged his kiss, burying myself in his blankets, listening to his infectious laughter as he joined me. "I think you might like my bed better than me, though."

"Maybe I do," I joked. "It is really comfy."

"It's certainly better than your bed."

I scoffed. "I'll have you know that bed is very comfortable! I've slept sixteen years on it, and each one has been glorious!"

"Jesus, sixteen years?" Jake replied, finding me beneath the covers. "No wonder it's all lumpy."

"I like lumpy," I retorted, scrunching up my nose at him as he pulled me in close. "And so do you."

An amused look of curiosity made him look younger as he settled his head against his arm. "Do I?"

I nodded, smoothing my hands down his shirt. "Everything I own has lumps. My mattress, my favorite pillow." My throat tightened as I chose my next words quietly, "I'm lumpy." Jake's eyes softened, and his smile turned into a sweet one. "And you like me… Right?"

"Yeah, I like you, princess." His lips were like silk against my own, slow and unhurried, passionate but not at all demanding. Safe.

My eyes shot open, and for a split second, the feel of a bandage against my neck made me panic. Patrick's industrial snoring was quick to banish all my fears as he tossed himself onto his side, putting his loud mouth right next to my head. Peter was curled up like a cat on the opposite side of me, his head of peach fuzz tickling the side of my face. Outside in the living room, I could hear Dom tidying up after himself. I lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, that odd feeling my dream had caused to stir inside me slowly starting to dim.

Feelings like that, the warm and fuzzy things that nestled deep into the soul and opened people up from the inside out, they were dangerous. This world was filled with too many people who took advantage of others and used feelings of warmth, love, and safety to manipulate, lie, and abuse. I could practically hear my mother's voice, whispering loving words one moment and then spitting insults at me the next. Alongside thoughts of her, he was never close behind. I closed my eyes and counted my breaths, focusing on where I was now. Somewhere truly safe. Not some dream. Not with a stranger. Home. 

Only when Dom ran into the corner of the table and loudly cursed did my brothers stir. Patrick’s snoring abruptly stopped, and he sat upright, slowly sliding off the bed. Peter simply opened his eyes, still looking tired as he sighed, running a hand down his face. “Table?”

“Yeah!” Dom hollered back.

Patrick yawned, stretching before standing up from the floor and heading to my bedroom door. “You staying for breakfast?”

The shadow of the large biker was all I could see of him as he met Patrick outside the door. “Sure, I ain’t got anywhere to be yet.”

“How's the neck?” Peter asked, slowly sitting up and looking over at me.

I touched the bandage and shrugged. “It’s fine. Like Oz said, it was just a little scratch.”

He nodded, watchful eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “It wasn't as bad as some of the other times. Watching Dom get all… That was the worst of it."

"I'll be the last one to act like that guy didn't have it coming, but I'm glad Dom snapped out of it before things got too ugly. You did seem a lot more present after it all this time," Peter agreed. "I still figured I'd ask, though."

I rubbed his head and smiled at him. "I know. You're just doing your brotherly duties and whatnot."

He shrugged, standing up with a stiff groan. "Well, shower and change. I'll try to salvage breakfast."

I listened to him leave, greeting Dom with fondness and then attempting to help Patrick with cooking. Throwing the blanket over my head, I fumbled for my phone before flipping it open and wincing at the screen's bright light. I answered Prue and Quinn's messages of concern, and then, without hesitation, I opened Jake's contact.

I'm alive! I texted. You know, just in case you were feeling hopeful that you were finally rid of me.

After spending a few more minutes listening to the sounds of my brothers bickering over breakfast and Dom making awkward small talk, I got ready for the day. The shower water was warm and relaxing, and soon the smell of savory bacon and slightly sweet pancakes wafted into the bathroom. I changed the larger bandage around my neck for a smaller one, meant to hopefully not draw too much attention.

"Holy shit, you didn't burn anything," I remarked, stepping out of the bathroom and drying my hair with a towel.

Patrick nodded, patting himself on the back. "I'm gettin' kinda good at this cooking shit.” He set a plate down in front of Dom and smiled at me. “Better watch your back, lil sis. Looks like I'm comin' for your fancy cook title."

The biker took a bite of the pancakes and shook his head. “These taste like shit.”

“Fuck you!”

Peter kept his nose buried in his paper, quietly sipping his coffee as I took my seat at the table. Ozzy's loud steps echoed up the stairwell as he joined us with a smile. "Good morning, little misfits."

"Morning," we mumbled back.

He settled into the empty chair at the head of the table and tapped my arm. “I see you’ve changed the bandage. How is it looking?”

“It’s just a scratch,” I reassured him with a smile. “But thanks for helping patch me up last night.”

“Always, my dear.”

Patrick set the plate of food down in front of Ozzy, who looked at it with raised brows. “They’re letting you cook now?”

He rolled his eyes and sat down beside me. “Joke all you want, but you’ll all eat it anyway!”

“Or,” Peter spoke above his newspaper. “We could go to Nanas.”

“Rude,” Patrick huffed. “All of you.”

Ozzy took a few bites, swallowing them down with large gulps of coffee before he turned to me again. “I almost forgot! I’ve been emptying the storage unit behind the bar and found your paintings!”

I played with my food and sighed. “Are they taking up too much space?”

“Afraid so,” he chuckled. “I forgot how many you did.”

“Me too.”

Dom wiped his mouth and set his dishes in the sink. “Me and the boys can take them to your place if you want.”

“Aren’t you guys busy?”

“Nah,” he replied. “I’ve got time to spare.”

“Okay, that’d be a lot of help. Thanks, Dom.”

“No problem, kid,” he said, still looking a bit awkward as he passed me with a hesitant pat on the shoulder. “See you later.”

My phone buzzed on the tabletop, bringing a smile to my face but at the same time making those warm feelings start to bubble up again. Damn, and here I was, enjoying my peaceful morning.

Patrick glanced over my shoulder and smirked. “You two are just adorable.”

“Shut up!” I shoved him, moving back into my room to grab my bag. That’s rough. I hate to tell you, but you’ll never be rid of me now, Sweetie.

*

He smiled down at his phone, reading Lena's message once, twice, before replying. Damn, and here I was, enjoying my peaceful morning.

That's rough. I hate to tell you, but you'll never be rid of me now, Sweetie. Jake could hear her evil cackling in his head, a sign, perhaps, that he'd been spending too much time with the redheaded minx of a woman.

Smirking down at his lap, his fingers slid across the keys. I'll never recover.

Simone cleared her throat, sipping her mug of coffee with dead, predatory eyes, and like a child caught playing with a forbidden toy, Jake's back went ramrod straight. Her red-lined lips curled into something between a scowl and a smile. "What's funny?"

"What?"

"You've been smiling, practically giggling to yourself since we sat down." She set her mug down and wildly gestured with her hands before moving them to settle under her chin. "So, what's funny?"

Jake's mood almost instantly deflated as he shrugged. "I don't - it's nothing."

She hummed, clearly unhappy with his answer. "How typical."

"Simone-"

"No," she replied, softer as her shoulders fell and she looked defeated. "I didn't ask you to come to yell at you, Jake. I just… I miss you."

For the first time in months, he saw the softer side of Simone - the side that had raised him. She blinked a few tears away as she straightened in her seat, clearing her throat to keep her voice from breaking. Guilt filled him, a sense that he'd been neglecting her… Abandoning her made him sick to his stomach. "I miss you too. I'm… I'm sorry things have been so strained."

She smiled, a thoughtful look taking over her sad face. “It’s not entirely your fault. I’m guilty of letting things get to this point as well. What matters is we’re still here… Together.”

“Always,” he replied softly, a calm reassurance washing over him.

From there, things flowed smoothly. Conversation with Simone returned to how it always was, natural, honest, and open. The two of them laughed together and caught one another up with the gossip of the restaurant. She took a drink of her coffee and laughed. “It’s been rather enjoyable watching Howard freak out every night.”

Jake laughed with her. “Hell yeah, it has been. I don’t know what’s been going on with the schedule, but I have been thoroughly enjoying it.”

There was a short moment where Jake thought he saw something fill her eyes, a look of knowledge and a slight quirk of her lips before she covered it with a sigh. “It has made me a bit worried at times.”

“Worried?”

“For the others,” she answered. “Sasha and Ari and the lot of them haven’t exactly had things easy lately. I just hope they’re all doing alright under all the pressure.”

Jake smiled, a fond, warm feeling filling his chest as it appeared that Simone had gone back to how she’d always been. Kind and loving, and concerned for those around her. She helped people with things, and she was much better at it than he was. “They’ve been alright as far as I can tell. Ari’s got a girlfriend to help keep her grounded. Heather’s got that cook she’s been seeing. Scott’s Scott. Sasha’s sober-”

“Sasha’s sober?” Simone asked, eyes slightly wider in shock.

“Yeah,” he replied. “He has been for a while now.”

“Interesting.” She mused.

His phone vibrated again, and that smile returned to his face. Aww, don’t worry, tough guy. I’ll try to make the time as enjoyable as possible.

"So, how is your new fling?" Simone suddenly asked, smiling with that gleam in her eyes she always got when he gossiped to her. "Anyone I know?"

"No," Jake said, shaking his head. "It's nothing like that."

There was a long pause, a silence that was as stiff and unnatural as the skyscrapers that surrounded them. "You will tell me when that changes… Won't you?"

Jake caught her meaning without her having to voice it. Simone was asking him to be honest with her about the nature of things with Lena. He nodded, responding with a chuckle meant to put her at ease. "Trust me, I don't think you'll have to worry about anything like that."

“That’s good,” she said. “Though I have been meaning to ask if Lena has been alright lately. After everything with her mother and the stress I unknowingly caused, I’ve been worried about her.”

“She’s been alright,” Jake assured her. Simone made a noise, her brow arching slightly. “Why? Has she said anything to you?”

“Oh no,” she said, waving him off. “She’s not said anything to me, but she does seem like the type that would keep things like that bottled up to spare others.”

“And you think she’s been doing that?”

Simone shrugged before reaching over the table and holding his hand. “Breathe, love. You know her better than I do, so if she seems normal to you, then I’m sure she’s fine.”

It was then that Jake realized that ever since he’d left the bar last night, a feeling… hideous and slightly selfish had plagued him. He’d watched the entire encounter and had prepared himself for the worst. He was ready to follow Lena to The Cape, but instead, she was fine. She appeared a bit dazed, but after a minute or two, she’d reached out, touched him, and held a casual conversation as though nothing had happened. It was a pattern he’d taken note of early on, the way she would brush off serious moments where her life was in danger and push forward without second thought or care. He’d found it odd the first time and had written it off as them not being close enough for sharing deep emotions. But now, it was clear she did this often enough.

He had no clue why she’d care so little about her own safety, but that feeling, as ugly as it was, was something valid. He was frustrated. Angry that she didn’t even blink when someone threw a rock through her window intended for her. Angry that she’d reacted so little after almost drowning in the ocean or getting cut with a knife. Angry that Lena Harrow, a woman that meant more to him than words could express, had not even considered just how important her life was to him, to all of them. As Jake walked to work with Simone beside him, the feeling festered.

*

I watched the drones of people passing by the diner where Prue and Quinn ate their breakfast, my mind still letting that dream play. It wasn't like dreaming of Jake was new. I'd had at least a dozen over the past months, but those were… They were sexual, raw things fueled by the underlying well of desire that everyone had. Jake being at the center was just proximity. Having not had sex in a while didn't help the dreams die down. But that dream was different.

There was nothing too sexual, nothing that compared to the others, but I felt impossibly more shaken by it than those. It wasn't about Jake but about how I felt in an unknown place… How I didn't react at all when he grabbed me. Instead of falling into a terrifying memory of Tony or my mother when his arms had wrapped around me, I was flooded with warmth. I was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was safe. Jake made me feel safe.

It was just a dream, I reminded myself. But even that reminder couldn't account for all the other times Jake had made me feel that way. Times I'd apparently been able to ignore until now. Dreams often made little sense, they were a science still discussed and debated among even the brightest minds. Yet one thing everyone agreed on was that dreams were messages sent by our subconscious to warn us of threats and to help us realize things of importance. That knowledge only made me feel more confused. Was Jake a threat? Or was he something important? Was this dream meant to be a warning or some realization?

A hand waved in front of me, pulling my attention to Prue as she asked, with furrowed brows and concern in her eyes, "You're being quiet. Is everything okay?"

I sighed. "Just in my head. Sorry."

Quinn rolled her eyes, saying and signing, "Let me guess. This is about your little bartender?"

I answered with my middle finger.

Quinn returned the gesture with ease as Prue shook her head at us. "Is something the matter between you two?"

"No."

"Then why the long face?" She wondered.

Buttering a biscuit, Quinn snorted. "Here's a crazy solution to your sour mood. Fuck. Him. I'm telling you, it'll solve all your problems."

"It's not that." This caught her attention. "I… I had a dream about-"

"Ohh, my god!" Quinn interrupted with a whine, throwing her head back. "I love you to death, Lena, but I swear to Christ, if you're trying to pass another sex dream off as platonic, I'm going to throttle you!"

"Shut up!" I insisted. "It wasn't… The dream was normal."

"No sex?" 

"We weren't even fully naked."

"Interesting," Quinn cooed, wiggling her brows. "Sounds like you've got some real feelings to unpack."

I shook my head and set it in my hands. "I knew there were feelings. I mean, of course, I like Jake, he's my friend, and he's…" With a heavy sigh, I melted into the booth. "It was more about how I felt."

The slight shifting breeze in front of my covered face told me Prue was attempting to get my attention, but I couldn't bring myself to move. Quinn cleared her throat and kicked the seat beside me. "Well, how did you feel?"

"Warm," I answered softly. "Safe."

There was a moment of quiet as Quinn translated for Prue. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

I knew the question was Prue's before I even lowered my hands to see Quinn's face. She understood. Having been my friend since we were younger, Quinn knew why feelings of warmth… Of safety were so dangerous. It was because, in this life, safety was more often than not just a fancy lie, an illusion, people told themselves to keep from thinking about all the horrible things in the world. Things that could and did happen. Things that happened to me and Quinn and Patrick and Dom and Jake and Ozzy and everyone else that was unlucky enough.

Prue didn't have life easy either, but she grew up under different circumstances, better ones. She grew up in a stable home with two parents that loved and protected her. Quinn and I had always agreed on the simple fact that Prue was the best of us. Funny, talented, confident, and, most importantly, kind, she made everything better. As I looked into Quinn's eyes, it was as if we'd shared the same thought. We make everything worse.

We held that thought for a moment before Quinn nodded, a silent acknowledgment, a gesture meant to reassure me that my feelings… My fears were valid. It had taken me, taken everyone I knew with similar mountains of trauma, years to trust anyone, even family. Yet, I trusted Jake… I felt safe with him after just a few months of knowing him. It was frightening and entirely foreign and not something I'd expected or realized fully before now.

Prue tucked my hair behind my ear and smiled. Beautiful and kind, Prue said, "Good or bad, you still have us."

"Thanks," I whispered, signing a quick but no less heartfelt, "I love you guys."

Her eyes shifted to my plate. "Are you going to eat that bacon?"

I set the greasy meat on her plate, smiling as she tugged me into her side and kissed my cheek. A different kind of warmth, simple and innocent, eased my conflicting feelings. Though some feelings still seemed to make me tense and confused, love certainly wasn't one of them anymore.

When I arrived at 22West the chaos was palpable. While the bikers that had secretly tailed me waited outside, casually moving through the busy crowds of people and traffic and hanging out in the old bodega across the street, I was thrust into a kitchen of sweltering heat, and Scott hurriedly rushed the team through prep. 

"Holy shit," I breathed.

Scott's scowl was set as he glanced up at me. "Hurry and change. All hands on deck."

"What's going on?"

"The fuck do you think?"

"Another scheduling mixup?"

"Yep." He shook his head, taking a sharpened knife and chopping an onion. "Now hurry up!"

I rushed to the staircase, hurrying up each step. "Yes, chef!"

Jake barely flinched when I collided with his chest. With a chuckle, he steadily me. "Easy there, princess, no need to throw yourself at me."

"You're so funny," I replied, slipping past him with a smile. "Scott's freaking out, so I gotta get ready."

He leaned against the door frame. "How's your neck?"

I halted in the quick stripping of my shoes and looked at him, tentatively pressing my fingers to the bandage that kept the small cut covered. "It's fine."

"Some asshole almost cut your throat open," he replied, almost angry. "And you're just fine?"

"I…" Sighing, I shrugged. "I don't want to talk about it."

Jake shook his head. "That seems to be the theme, doesn't it?"

"What's crawled up your ass today? You seemed fine with it all last night."

Mimicking my shrug, he held my gaze. "Maybe I just realized you'll never really let anyone help you."

"That's not fair." I glared at him. "And not true."

"What's not fair is you just expecting me to not say anything when you almost die because of some crazy person throwing a rock through your window and putting a knife to your neck." He paused and relaxed his tense posture slightly. "I was scared. When I shoved through that crowd and saw you covered in blood… I was scared, Lena."

"I…" Fear was an odd thing for people like me. People that had seen and lived through horrors most people never knew. Shocked would have been a more accurate word, but I doubted Jake cared about the words I used. "I'm sorry about last night being so fucked and about acting like it didn't happen."

"It's not your fault that it happened," he assured me. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to pretend like any of this is normal."

I chuckled and put my shoes in my locker. "It's not normal, but for me, it's not exactly out of the ordinary either."

He gave me a considering look. "Are you ever gonna explain what that means to me?"

"It's…" I turned away from him, focusing on my locker. "There's a lot of shit I've put behind me, or have tried to, and some of it comes with some nasty people that wanna fuck my shit up." For a minute, I really missed having my dad's jacket. I missed the comfort it brought me in situations like this. "I want to tell you about it. I do. But it's… It's not easy."

Jake moved like he was water, his silent steps bringing him beside me. His arms wrapped around me awkwardly. "Look, I get it. Just… don't forget you matter. Your life, your peace, or whatever the fuck you wanna call it, matters."

That warmth, that sickly sweet feeling of safety and security, was back. It was wrapped around me, smothering me in Jake. His cologne, his voice, the feel of his arms around me, the faint memory of his leather jacket, the memories of every dream I'd had of him. Oh, how I wanted to stay wrapped in that feeling forever. But that tainted, ugly, corrupted voice that was still so entangled in my very being made doubt and fear wash over that feeling.

I carefully turned, offering Jake a slightly tense smile. "Thank you."

It was clear he could sense the sudden tenseness that had filled me, but with a reassuring squeeze of his hand, Jake let it be. The commotion of the kitchen grew unimaginable now as Scott's loud voice echoed through the stairwell. Jake smirked, unable to hide the enjoyment he got from everyone going insane. "Better get down there, or Scott's gonna start throwing things."

"And you wouldn't?"

"I don't," he replied. "I was born for this shit."

"Hmm."

The cocky grin he sent me on his way out made my heart sputter. Watching the doorway for a second too long after he left, I shook my head of the less-than-work-appropriate thoughts and resumed changing. Scott had the kitchen in full swing as I hopped between the open positions, turning the chaos of the night into something better.

Everyone was in a horrible mood. The cooks shoved and bickered over having no space while the servers fought among themselves over petty things. Simone's never wavering smile made me irrationally heated, but it was Olive's loud and obnoxious voice filling every moment of silence with overconfident boasting and pointless jabbering that really made things difficult. Still, I kept my head up, and I found ways to lighten the tension.

Sasha barreled through the doors and stuck a finger in Heather's face. "You pampered privileged brat!"

"Oh fuck off!" She sneered, shoving his finger out of her face.

Scott groaned, throwing his rag down and stepping in between them. "What the fuck is going on?"

"She stole my sale!" Sasha insisted. "Sneaky cunt talked my take into another bottle of wine, but now they want her to get the tip."

"I wouldn't have had to step in if you'd paid attention to your tables."

The two of them raged like feral street cats. "ENOUGH!" All eyes turned to me. "My god, pull it together! Heather split the tip with Sasha. Sasha, kiss the guest's asses better. And everyone get the fuck back to work!"

Silence filled the kitchen as Isaac and another cook slid five plates onto the outgoing table. "Um… Table fifteen is up."

Sasha took three plates, turning and looking at Heather. "Follow me?"

"Yeah," she replied with a sigh, picking up the leftover dishes.

Scott and I rejoined the line, working quickly to make up for the time lost by the distraction. "You did good. Those morons would've been at it all night."

I laughed. "Everyone's just under a lot of pressure."

"Well, you seem to handle it better than most."

"Thanks chef." 

Everyone soldiered on through the remainder of the night, luckily no more petty fights broke out and while overbooked the guests seemed easy enough to please. By the end of service I was standing next to Santos helping him and the rest of the dishwashers finish up all while making jokes and telling stories to help  keep everyone's spirits high. The servers hurried upstairs, Simone sparing me a smile as she walked past without Olive by her side.

"Tiger!" Sasha shouted. "Have I ever told you how positively annoying your infectious goodwill is?"

"No."

He smiled, squeezing my cheek. "Well, It's absolutely horrendous and I hate it."

"Love you too Russian bastard," I replied. He flipped me off and headed up the stairs.

*

The night had been horrible, truly one of the worst ones since all the scheduling fuck ups began. Jake heard multiple squabbles echoing from the kitchen and wine cellar, but lucky for the sloppy servers he was good at his job. Nicky finished taking stock of the bar while Jake counted tips, hoping to finish before the group returned looking to drown their shitty moods. "Did you make good money tonight?"

The voice was sweet, sickly so, and he turned his head to find Olive sliding into the space beside him. Here we go, he thought, turning his attention away from her. "Can't complain."

"Well you are rather charismatic when you want to be," she said, running her fingers up his arm. "It's one of the things I like about you."

"Good lord," Nicky mumbled, trying to stifle a laugh.

Jake sighed. Months ago, before Lena, he'd get a real kick out of Olive's whole act. Hell he probably would have fucked her a few times if she was a tolerant lay. But now, her constant presence and her attention was unwanted and unnecessary. "What's your game?"

"I'm gonna go get changed," Nicky said quickly as he fled from the bar.

"What do you mean?"

Jake gestured to her hair. "Are you just trying to prove some point or is this seriously you trying to replace Lena because your mom didn't love you enough?"

Olive pushed herself up against him, rolling her eyes. "I want you. No game. No fuss. Unlike some people I'm not afraid to go after what I want."

The dig at Lena was obvious and so wrong Jake laughed in her face. "You don't even know what you want. You think if you act like her, dress like her or look like her that everything will just magically click. Well, life's not that easy and neither am I."

"That's not what I've heard." She insisted, ignoring his insults. "I've heard the gossip, you haven't had sex in months. Months all because she wants to be an upright brat. You don't owe her anything Jake, and she's not going to give you what you want… What you deserve. So come on, what's stopping you?"

That's it. He set the money down, turning to face her fully. "I'll make this as clear as I can since you seem so slow. I don't want to fuck you. Most of the time I don't even want to look at you. You, Olive or Olivia whatever the fuck your name is, are pathetic. I. Don't. Want. You. I will never want you."

*

After finishing the dishes and telling Nicky I'd cover the bar for him I made my way toward the front. As I opened the door I just barely had time to move as Olive rushed out from behind the bar past me. “She doesn’t seem happy.”

“She’s probably not,” Jake replied with a thin smile.

“Should I be careful around the stairs?”

“You should be fine,” he said, walking toward me. “Guess she just can’t handle my charm.”

I laughed, standing my ground as he entered my space like all the times he’d done it before. “Well, her loss. You are quite charming."

He laughed a bit and shrugged. "You helping me with the masses tonight?"

"Looks like it."

"Good. I like having you behind a bar."

I smirked, pressing against his chest. "You haven't had me behind a bar." His eyes darkened as he caught my play on his words. "Yet."

His eyebrows rose. "Not gonna leave me hanging again?"

"You're really not gonna let that go are you?"

"Nope."

The crowd of coworkers was demanding after a long night of horrible service, but Jake and I made a good team. Eventually we all closed things down and Jake and I headed upstairs to change. Howard stood in the locker room, quickly straightening up as we entered. "Lena," his eyes darted to Jake. "I was hoping to speak with you before you left."

I folded my arms. "Speak then."

"In private."

"Am I fired?" I asked.

"No!" Howard answered quickly. He sighed, taking a step forward, one Jake almost matched. "I wanted to apologize. I knew things with your mother were… I… I shouldn't have put you in that position."

I nodded. "I'm glad you realize that and I accept your apology Howard."

He smiled. "Thank you. I…" Once again he looked at Jake and straightened his back. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

Once he was gone Jake scoffed. "What a dick."

"Apologizing hardly makes someone a dick."

"Please," he insisted, changing. "He only did it to get back in your good graces. He didn't mean it."

I changed as well, shaking my head at him. "Howard's strict, but he's not horrible."

"Agree to disagree." He closed his locker, leaning back to watch me fix my top. "We going out tonight?"

I shrugged. "Ozzy's doing another karaoke night."

"Sounds fun." He stood up straight, following me out. "You gonna sing?"

"Fuck no." I bumped his shoulder. "Are you?"

"No," he laughed. "I don't think anyone wants to hear that."

"I do!" I replied, smiling at him. "I bet you're a good singer."

Smirking, he tilted his head. "Why's that?"

"Because you have such a pretty voice," I answered. "Especially when you're breathlessly whining my name."

Jake leaned in, breath caressing my face as he said, soft and slow, "You're it."

I hadn't felt the light touch of his hand on my shoulder until he hurried past our friends with two large strides. "That's cheating!"

*

On the stage, Patrick was spinning and dancing fancily, singing Enya's Orinoco Flow with every ounce of passion he could. The crowd of drunken patrons both booed and cheered him on. All of my friends that sat in our booth were in hysterics laughing. This kind of thing probably seemed odd to them, considering Patrick's build, appearance, and profession, but to me, this was a glimpse back into our childhood. Enya was always his favorite.

Sasha downed the last shot at the table and pointed at me. "Your dirty bitch ass is singing tonight!"

"Good luck with that," Quinn mumbled, taking a sip of her drink.

"Problem Quinn?" I asked.

She set her glass down, nodding. "You're being a buzzkill!"

Jake's smirk did little to help me contain my laugh. "How am I being a buzzkill?"

"You won't sing with us!" She whined. "Prue and I have been begging you every karaoke night! Last time it was because your grumpy bartender was throwing hands in the street. The time before that, you said your throat hurt. And so the excuses go on!"

I shrugged. "Maybe I just don't want to sing."

"But you're so good at it!" She continued. "And it's more fun with all of us! Prue won't even go up without both of us there."

Jake looked at me again, this time with a slightly raised brow. "Sounds like solid evidence to me, buzzkill."

Shoving my elbow into his arm, I cocked my head. "I'm a buzzkill now? I'll have to remember that next time you call me late at night."

"You were a buzzkill then, too," he retorted. "From what I understand, hanging up on a friend in a time of need is considered rude."

The crowd erupted into cheers as Patrick stepped off the stage with an over-exaggerated bow. He made his way to our table, accepting high fives and fiat jumps along the way until he reached his drink and chugged it. Breathlessly wiping the excess from his mouth, he smirked at me. "Are you going up tonight?"

Quinn nodded, making her eyes as big as possible as she pursued her lips out, begging me. I turned in my booth seat, resting fully against Jake and letting my legs stretch out over the empty seat. "Nope."

"Copperhead?" Quinn asked, glaring at me over the table. "Execute operation raccoon."

"Wait-" I tried.

Patrick grabbed my ankles, pulling me away from Jake's cocoon of warmth as he dragged me out of the seat. "Roger that, Peach. Come on, little sis, it'll be fun!"

"Patrick!" I growled as he hoisted me up over his shoulder.

With a slight groan in his voice, he nodded to Quinn. "This a duet or a solo act?"

Chuckling, she joined us, pinching my cheek and dodging my hands as I waved them around, trying to slap her. "Bitch you're lucky I'm coming up with you at all after that!"

Prue's face lit up as she hopped away from Will's side. "Are we going up?"

"Hell yeah, we are!" Quinn signed, throwing an arm around her. "Every girl group has at least three members. The cute one, you darling Prue. The sexy one, me, obviously. And the bitch-"

I scoffed. "Someone's delusional."

"See? Bitch." She flipped me off.

Patrick hurried up the stage and popped me back on my feet. "Give 'em hell, little sis."

"I'll deal with you later," I growled.

*

Jake watched Patrick sling Lena over his shoulder, carrying his sister toward the stage as she moved like a crazed raccoon trying to shake herself free of his grip. After hearing about karaoke night, Jake couldn't help but secretly hope Lena would take the stage. Part of him wanted her to be bad at it. At least then, it'd be easier to remember that she wasn't perfect, but the other somehow knew she wouldn't be. So he sat up in their little booth and watched the siblings argue for a moment before Lena finally seemed to cave.

Arms crossed and a bitter, but still slightly amused, scowl on her face, she stood next to her friends as they flipped through the song booklet. Jake couldn't help himself as he lifted his hands up and signed one of the only two words he remembered from Prue. "Smile."

She shook her head, clearly fighting a grin as she lifted her finger and flipped him off before signing back the only other word he remembered. "Asshole."

He couldn't have contained the laugh even if he'd tried. From beside him, he noticed Peter's smile grow, and for a second, he wanted to ask him why, but then the drug-dealing biker sat down across from him. "Give us the booth Pete."

Peter nodded, sliding out of Lena's seat and walking with his brother to the bar. Dom hadn't given him any trouble since the first time he ran into the man in the alley, but Jake still tensed. With a forced tone of calm and uncaring, he asked, "Is there a problem?"

The biker smirked. "I ain't gonna kick your ass or nothing if that's what you're asking."

"Can't blame me for being on the cautious side after the other night."

"A fair point." He turned his head, looking over at the stage where Lena was now trying to help her friends decide on a song. "I wanted to say thank you."

"What for?"

"Being with her after I…" Shaking his head, Dom sighed. "Trouble always seems to follow her, and I guess lately I've been realizing more and more that I can't always be there to keep her head above water." On that, it seemed Jake and the drug dealer agreed. Lena was a woman that lived just a few steps ahead of the storm, and while he knew little about what she had put behind her that made everyone so damn protective, he knew enough to recognize the danger. "I didn't think you were gonna stick around this long. I took one look at you, a hot-headed, ill-tempered little boy running his mouth to anyone and everyone, and figured you'd run out of steam long before now." With a chuckle and a smile that Jake would describe as almost friendly, he said, "Guess I'm saying I'm glad you're still here to help keep her out of trouble."

It felt weird, having someone - especially someone like Dom - thank him. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been sincerely thanked for anything. It was rare and often tied to a string of favors. This wasn't, though. This was a type of gratitude Jake was unfamiliar with, a type that required practically nothing from him. Dom, a man who commanded respect, thanked him for something that Jake enjoyed. "I'm just being a friend."

The man shook his head. "Lena has plenty of friends, but none of them are like you. Whether you see it or not, you're important to her. Don't waste it pretending it's as simple as friendship."

His gut instinct to deny the truth of Dom's words came bubbling up his throat, but anything he would've said was silenced as the music finally came roaring to life on stage. The girls huddled around the singular microphone, Quinn on the left, Lena on the right, and Prue in the center with her hands raised up in an easy signing position. I Got You, Babe, by Sonny and Cher, was not the song he'd imagined them choosing, but it fit the trio well.

Lena's voice was light and perfectly melodic as she sang Cher's lines with a smile. Quinn's naturally lower voice suited Sonny's part well enough; the impression she had of the old singer, however, did not. Giggling would occasionally fill the microphone as Prue attempted to vocalize the background harmony while she signed the words. It was chaotic, but not a single person in the crowd complained as they sang along and cheered the trio on.

Ozzy's tall figure stood next to their booth with a smile. "Been a while since I've heard that voice."

"She doesn't sing often?" He asked, wondering why she wouldn't with a voice like that.

"She used to." He chuckled. "Drove everyone damn crazy some mornings. She stopped after Jack passed." The bar owner's face grew solemn as he looked over at Dom. "Seems like our girl's getting some of that spirit back."

The biker glanced at Jake, nodding. "Looks like it."

"I got you, babe."

*

Hearing the crowd's encouraging cheers and their enthusiastic waves and smiles made me feel almost giddy. It had been so long since I’d been on the stage, so long since I’d really let myself enjoy the little things that had once been normal. My eyes lifted to the bar, where just for a moment, I could have sworn I saw my dad’s hulking figure standing at the office door. Prue squealed beside me, latching onto my arm and shaking me. “That was so much fun!”

Quinn wrapped an arm around me with a smug smirk. “Told ya!”

I shook it off, returning their smiles. “Yeah, yeah, you were right. Whatever!”

We made our way back to the table, where Ozzy served a round of drinks to Dom and Jake, who sat across from one another in a way that made me suspicious. Oz turned, wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug. “My little showstopper!”

“Oz!” I giggled. “It was hardly showstopping.”

“Nonsense, it’s you, so it’s always magnificent.”

Once he let me go, I turned my gaze back to the two men sitting in the booth. “Having a nice conversation?”

Dom looked over at Jake and shrugged a shoulder. “I was perfectly pleasant.”

“Sure.” I nodded to Jake, who looked at Dom with an uncertain expression. “You wanna get out of here for a bit?”

He knew what I meant and carefully slid out of the booth. “Sure.”

Once the noise from the bar faded and the slightly chilled breeze washed over us in the alley, I turned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered, slightly confused. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Dom can be…” The image of him bloody and angry popped into my mind. “Overprotective.”

“I noticed.” Jake opened the gym door, holding it for me as we slid through. “He was just thanking me for helping out the other night.”

My eyes widened slightly as I searched Jake's face, waiting for some kind of punchline. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said. "Why does he not do that often?"

"No. Dom's not exactly the most vocal guy." I bumped his shoulder. "He must like you."

Before Jake could answer, Patrick whistled. "Oi! Jerky Jake, grab some gloves and hop in the ring!"

Jake looked at him with confusion. "Aren't we meeting tomorrow morning?"

"We are. It ain't me you're gonna fight tonight."

Peter moved from inside the ring and smiled. "I'm the challenger. If you're down for a quick match."

Looking over at me, the silent question hung between us. Is this okay? I shrugged. "If you think you can take him, hop on in, Jerky Jake."

"If I win, do I get a new name?" He asked, rolling his eyes.

"No," Patrick and I answered.

He draped his jacket over my shoulders before walking off toward the locker room. I hid my smile as I shoved my hands through his sleeves. Looking up at Peter, I sighed. "Are you up for this?"

He made a face, annoyed and slightly worried. "I want to at least try, and Jake's honorable enough not to kill me."

"He's also still kind of shit." Patrick shrugged. "It's the truth!"

Jake joined us again moments later, now dressed in more casual breathable clothes. He hopped into the ring and got to work preparing for a match.

I leaned on the ropes, watching Jake secure his gloves, and listened to Patrick's instructions. "Peter's got the technical advantage while you've got the physical. Don't get cocky."

"And just be prepared," I added. "Win or lose, he's gonna be such a good sport it'll annoy the hell out of you."

Jake smiled. "Noted." Once Patrick left his side to talk to Peter, he stepped closer. "Gonna give me a good luck kiss, princess?"

I leaned forward, my lips hovering over his. "Raincheck?"

He bit his cheek and shook his head. "Now you're just being mean."

"Try not to get your ass kicked too bad. It'd really fuck up your reputation, tough guy."

The match itself was slower than a normal one would be, and while Peter looked in better shape than he had months ago, he was still struggling to keep up. Jake was clearly holding back, taking Peter's hits without even really attempting to dish any out, and my brother knew it. He stopped, lowering his arms with a sigh. "Hit me."

Jake followed through with a weak punch to Peter's shoulder. The movement barely rocked him. Pete shook his head. "Fucking hit me, Jake."

"I'm not gonna hit you, Peter," he replied.

"Then we're gonna be here all night." Peter landed another slow blow. "HIT ME!"

That was when Jake moved faster than he intended, throwing a real punch that hit my brother square in the gut. Patrick and I jumped slightly, hands tight on the ropes as we prepared to jump over and help him. Jake was frozen in place as he looked down at my brother, who lay across the mat, breathing heavily.

Peter's laughter instantly put us all at ease. "Well, shit! You've got some chance at this, after all!" Jake held out a hand and helped him to his feet. Peter shook his hand, his smile never faltering. "Keep that up, and you'll be ready for a real match in no time, little brother."

The smile on Jake's face said it all as he looked at me. "You're right. That is annoying."

"I told you," I replied with a grin.

Patrick tucked under the ropes and slapped him on the shoulder. "Hell yes! Just a bit more practice on that footwork, and you'll be ready for a real fight."

As Jake changed, I slapped Peter's arm. "What the hell was that?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to see if I was strong enough to take a hit."

Patrick nodded along. "Well, you are."

"You're both fucking stupid."

I made my way out into the alley, sitting on the couch and letting Whisky jump in my lap. Jake joined us shortly, awkwardly sitting next to me. "Are you mad?"

"That you punched my idiot brother?" I laughed. "No."

"Thank god," he breathed, reaching over to pet Whisky. 

Usually, he'd have lit a cigarette already, but tonight he just leaned into my side and pet the hairless cat. "No smoke tonight?"

"Nah," he replied. "I don't really feel like I need one."

"Okay," I replied, smiling. "Whisky isn't too big a fan of the smell anyway."

Jake scoffed and shook his head. "Hemingway loves the smell."

*

The brush smoothed along the surface of the canvas, leaving a thin trail of vibrant cerulean in the path I carved. Soft, even strokes helped mingle the dark shade with the lighter ones just enough to shift the overall hue of the waves. Teal paint bled into the water as I gently dipped the tip of the brush in the small glass jar, washing it around for a moment and watching the color move through the water before I pulled it out and applied the wet brush to the canvas, smoothing over the paint to blend it further.

The noise of the city outside was almost unnoticeable as I lost myself in the art and to the feeling of freedom I'd long forgotten it brought me. Art. The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination. To the billions of people that populated this planet, art was subjective to the eyes that beheld it. Each piece, each artist, a topic of debate to try and put a physical value or price tag on it to determine its worth. A pointless venture, one that changed more than the phases of the moon.

I remembered the stifling feeling of those rich, snobbish eyes on my paintings. I remembered feeling naked under the expensive and lavish gown my mother and Tony had squeezed me into. Most of all, I remembered looking at the painting everyone admired and wondering in my mind, the only place of solace I'd been allowed, why I felt nothing. No matter how many people complimented my work or technique, the piece in front of me remained empty. A void, I'd realized years later, a place for me to depict how I felt beneath the makeup and clothing. A silent cry for help that no one heard but me.

"So much talent! And for one so young!" An older woman adorned in fine silk and sparkling jewels cried out as she smiled at the looming shadow beside me. "You must be a very proud patron."

His laugh, deep and foreboding, sent chills down my spine. The weight of his arm curling possessively around my shoulders and his hand squeezing my arm made me feel nauseous. "Very proud indeed. Lena is an extraordinary girl."

The woman practically swooned at him, eating up his fake smile and fake words with glee. "Oh, Anthony! How did you ever come to discover such a hidden talent?"

"Hidden?" Tony questioned with a shake of his head. "It was never hidden from me. Nothing is, right, Lena?"

I looked up, daring to meet his gaze as the hand on my arm squeezed tighter. The dead gray of them spoke the words he didn't, his smile never faltering. "Right."

All too pleased with my compliance, he turned away, re-engaging in conversation. From across the room, my mother scowled at me, waiting until the passersby had left before storming over to us and turning me, pulling roughly on my hair to tighten it back into place. "Are you trying to embarrass us?" Before I could answer, she turned me again and shoved against my chest, forcing my back straighter. "Stand up straight, Lena! Chin up, neck extended!"

My eyes stung with repressed tears that the pain my fractured rib caused me in this position. My breaths were shallower, the pressure of my injuries making sure I got less air than I needed. Tony set a hand on my mother's cheek, and she calmed instantly, meeting his eyes with a sparkling gaze and a soft smile. "Relax, Jennifer, everyone's so focused on her painting they'll hardly remember her slouching."

"You're right," she said with a laugh. "You always are, dear Anthony."

I spared a look at the painting that hung beside me, bathed in light to properly showcase the colors. Intricate and ornate and entirely void of life. An empty thing created simply to fill space. A reflection of myself.

The brush held firm on the canvas as I breathed through the mild sensation of old panic and hopelessness. Soon the steadiness of the brush began to waver as tremors overtook my hands. The brush fell to the floor, followed closely by the glass jar of colored water as I moved my arm out to steady myself on the stool.

My front door slammed open, and Ryker shoved himself inside, gun in his hand and eyes scanning the room before quickly finding me. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I breathed out. "Nothing happened. I just…"

He put the gun away and came to my side, carefully pulling me into his arms and hugging me. "What do you need?"

I closed my eyes, trying to slow my breathing and regain control of my still-shaking hands. "Just stay and talk."

"That I can do," Ryker insisted.

"Thank you."

He talked for what felt like hours, telling me every story he could think of, most at Dom's expense. Eventually, my body relaxed, and Ryker eased into moving around my living room, helping me reorganize the massive piles of canvases, both painted and blank. He set a pile of sketchbooks down on my counter and smiled. "I remember when you always had one of these with you. Rain or shine, no matter where you went, you had one of your little books and some pencils."

I leafed through the colored pages, admiring the scribbles of my younger self. "Yeah, it was nice getting to draw stuff I wanted to."

With a wide grin, he turned the sketchbook he'd been looking through toward me, revealing my old sketch of him. "You sure know how to capture my good side."

"Every side is your good side," I reassured him, punching his cheek and snatching the book out of his hand.

It was old, bound in rich red leather, and practically falling apart. One of my oldest sketchbooks and one filled with faces I'd drawn. My dad. Ozzy. Patrick. Peter. Nana and Abdul. Quinn. Prue. Everyone that meant something to me. The pages were stained with smudges, but the pictures I'd drawn still held some life in them. Compared to my most recent one, the one I'd filled with new faces from 22West, it looked like a book you'd find in some dumpster.

I set the book beside my newer one, blue leather still tightly bound beside the old one. Ryker helped himself to some leftovers as my phone rang. The wide smile practically made my cheeks hurt as I looked down at Jake's familiar number. "Hello?"

"Hey," he answered, sounding a bit breathless. "You busy?"

"Nope," I replied, shooing Ryker out of my apartment. "What's up?"

"Bored. Figured you'd have something for me to do."

I cleaned up after Ryker, opting to save the dishes for later. "Did you just finish your training session with Patrick?"

Jake chuckled. "Yeah, he got in a few good hits today."

"Well, how about some lunch at Nana's to help with your aches and pains, tough guy?"

"Sounds fun. See you there."

"See you there."

Nana's was just a few blocks down the road, but by the time I'd changed, I was certain Jake would be waiting for me outside. Instead, I found him sitting at a table, laughing with Nana as she set plates upon plates of food down in front of him. When she turned to get more, she saw me, her eyes lighting up with joy. “There she is! My lovely girl!”

I kissed her cheeks and smiled at her. “Hi, Nana. Trying to make him pop?”

Jake laughed at my joke while Nana swatted my arm. “He’s thin! The boy needs to eat!”

“Well,” I said, sitting down across from him. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am,” he replied with a smile. “Besides, the food here is so good I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist.”

I nodded. “That’s how she gets you.”

“Truly dastardly.”

We ate and talked for an hour or so before we were roped into delivering more food to Prue and Ozzy. Prue and Katie welcomed us with open arms and growling stomachs. Prue taught Jake some more words in sign language. The sight of him so intentionally paying attention and trying to follow along with her teachings without words made my heart swell. Katie nudged me. "Not gonna fuck him, my ass."

I scoffed at her. "I'm not."

"Oh, sure!" She replied with a grin. "I might not be very smart, but even I know what that look means!"

Prue made a loud noise, a cheer, as Jake got the sign right. Waving me over, she pointed to him. "Watch!"

Jake repeated the motions just as she had. "I like Lena Harrow."

My eyes went wide, and my face burned as Jake looked up with a tilt of his head. "What did I say?"

"Nothing!" I replied over Katie. Turning to Prue, I signed, "I'm gonna get you back for that bitch."

"What? I thought it was cute!" She giggled, giving Jake a hug. "He's a quick learner."

"What's she saying?"

"That you're a quick study," I replied. "Come on, you don't need any more compliments."

Just as we turned, Patrick walked through the door, his hair smoothed back and his clothes looking better than usual as he picked at the bouquet of flowers in his hand. Jake and I paused, all three of us staring at each other, questions waiting on each of our tongues. "Not a word, Lena." My brother warned. "Or I'll make my boyfriend jokes even worse." He added in Irish.

I nodded. "Good to see you, big brother."

"Jake," Patrick greeted as he passed to stand at the front desk, where Katie returned, eyes wide and cheeks pink as she looked at him and the flowers.

"Patrick," Jake replied with a grin.

"Have a nice date!" I replaced, slipping out the door as his loud fuck off echoed through the glass.

The bar was slow when Jake and I arrived, moving through the bouncers and the bikers, who all sniffled the air and mumbled about how hungry they were. Ozzy was behind the bar, looking down at a small stack of papers, signing here and there. "Order for the mighty Oz!"

He looked up, smiling at the sound of my voice. "No wonder why it's taken so long! Nana entrusted my meal to the chatterbox!"

I scoffed. "Don't look at me. It's all Jake's fault!"

Jake glanced at me. "Really?"

Ozzy opened his meal, happily digging in before gesturing between the two of us. "What have you two been up to today… together?"

"Lunch," I replied. "So scandalous, I know."

"Well, it seems like fate then that I just so happened to find a box of old photos."

"No!" Ozzy set the box on the bar between him and Jake, easily holding me back with his arm as I tried to reach around him to get it. "Jake, don't even think about looking!"

He'd already pulled out a stack of photos, grinning ear to ear as he flipped through them. "Holy shit. This just became the best day ever." He held one up, one of me and Quinn at the arcade looking like idiots.

I reached over, trying to snatch it from him. "Gimme!"

"Here, look at these ones," Ozzy said, handing him another stack.

"Ozzy!"

The two of them laughed at my expense for twenty minutes. Ozzy even promised to look for the old home videos my dad had recorded for Jake to see before the subject finally changed. The topic, however, didn't exactly spare me any attention. "Did all your paintings make it to your place alright?"

I nodded. "Yeah, they're all still in one piece. Though you were right, I might have too many."

"Paintings?" Jake asked.

"You haven't seen them?" Ozzy asked as I smacked my head on the bar. "Lena is quite the artist!"

"This has been absolute torture," I whined, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "See you later, big guy."

Outside, Jake looked at me again, eyebrows raised. "Paintings?" He repeated.

I groaned. "Seriously? Were the pictures not enough for you?"

"Oh, come on, you did say you'd show me last time we hung out at Nana's."

"Fine, I will, but that means you'll have to return the favor with your photography."

"Deal."

Back at my apartment, Jake sifted through my old canvases and ate up all the stories I’d share with him about each one, eyes bright and focused solely on me. It was addictive and somewhat intimate in ways I didn’t understand. "You have a lot more than I was expecting."

"Yeah," I scratched the back of my neck. "I had a lot of time after moving in with my dad. It was easier to express how I felt with paint. Words… They're harder to put together."

Lifting an old piece of Cape Cod, gloomy and swimming in dark colors and muted tones, he nodded. "I think I understand. I'm not exactly good with words either."

I arched a brow. "No? And here I thought you were charming."

"Flirting doesn't count," he replied with a wink. "We both know I'm good at that."

"Uh-huh."

He moved to my sketchbooks, flipping through the pages of my youth, appreciating each one. He stopped on my dads sketch, smiling at the picture. "You look a lot like him."

The compliment was so genuine and innocent that it almost brought tears to my eyes. I tucked my hair behind my ear and shrugged, suddenly feeling self conscious about the whole thing. "Really? Everyone always said I looked like my mom."

Jake made a face of disgust as he shook his head. "You don't look anything like her. She always looks so… Cold and judgmental, while you," he paused, looking up at me. "You look warm… Approachable like your dad looked."

"Thanks," I whispered.

"What's in this one?" He asked, setting down the older book in favor of the new one, the one he absolutely could not see.

"That one isn't done yet," I replied hastily while also trying to not draw too much attention to it. Still, he started turning the pages. "Wait!"

His mouth curved into a smile at the sight of the sketch of the restaurant. It only kept growing as he continued, flipping through the sketches of our coworkers until he stopped at his. Looking up, those eyes gleamed, prideful and smug. "You drew me?"

I tried snatching it out of his hands, but he quickly moved the book out of the way. "I drew everyone."

"What's this writing at the bottom?"

"Jake!" I jumped for the book again.

"Eyes so blue I drown,

In an ocean vast and deep,

Storm clouds gather,

And the sky cries out.

A cry for death,

A cry for life,

A cry for peace,

Eyes so blue he drowns."

After reading my poor poem, the smile faded slightly, his eyes scanning the words a second time. Then a third. After the fourth readthrough, he finally asked, "You wrote this about me?"

I shrugged, finally catching the edge of the book. He held firm as I tried to pull it from his hands. "Kind of. I'd drawn everyone else but couldn't get your eyes right. You probably thought I was staring at you to be flirty, but a lot of the time, I was trying to get a good look at your eyes. And once I finished them…" This sounds so dumb, I thought. "The words just kind of came to me, and I wrote them down. It's stupid, I know."

"It's actually pretty good." He smiled again, softer than before. Real.

"Oh?" I tried to hide my blush. "Never would have taken you for a man that likes shitty poetry."

"Maybe I just like your shitty poetry."

My face burned under his intensely sincere gaze as I pulled on the book harder. Jake leaned forward, towering over me with a satisfied grin. "Let go."

After a second chuckling at me, he let me take the book, closing it and setting it on the counter. "Are you gonna teach me something about painting now?"

"Do you want me to?" I asked with a nervous laugh.

"Why not?"

"I'm not much of a teacher," I answered.

Jake shrugged off his jacket. "Come on, princess, teach me something."

I relented too quickly, gathering my paints and clean water and setting up a new canvas on my easel. Once everything was ready, I handed Jake my brushes. "Hold these. I have to change."

Slipping into my bedroom, I searched for my usual painting clothes, a baggy T-shirt and shorts, but when those were found at the bottom of my hamper, I had to improvise. The tank top was a size too small, and the shorts were a pair of Patrick's I'd accidentally grabbed, but it'd have to do. Jake was still waiting when I returned. His eyes widened at the sight of my outfit. "Not a word," I warned.

He held a laugh. "You look good."

Grabbing my brushes, I organized them around my station and sighed, settling in the high stool. "Well, where do you want to start?"

"You're the teacher," he retorted, standing close beside me, pulling out and lighting a cigarette. "Why don't you just start, and I'll try to keep up."

"Alright," I picked a large brush dipping it in the water for a minute before wetting the canvas. "We'll start with technique. This is called wet on wet. It's where you wet the canvas before applying paint. It's best for watercolors and bleeding colors together."

He nodded, seemingly paying attention, but I caught a glimpse of that gaze. Dark and hungry and full of mischief. "Wet on wet sounds fun."

I rolled my eyes and squeezed a few drops of paint onto my tray. "Now I'm gonna cover the whole canvas in this yellow-orange color. We can layer more color on top to help us get the perfect  sunset look." Focusing on the canvas, I ignored the clamoring noises off to the side of me until the easel bumped and Jake's hands set on my thighs. Looking down at him, now kneeling in front of my knees, I narrowed my eyes. "What are you doing?"

His fingers caught the hem of my shorts, the cigarette hanging from in between his lips, tugging them down impatiently. "Lift." With a sigh, I followed his request, lifting my hips to help him get my pants and underwear off.

"I thought you wanted an art lesson."

Jake smirked, blowing the smoke up toward me before putting it back between his lips, freeing his hands to carefully pull my legs apart. "I do. Just keep going."

"Fine," I huffed, trying to ignore the burning in my cheeks whenever I let myself recognize that he had my entire pussy in his face. The intense hammering of my heart and the pool of pleasure building in my gut as he pulled me forward and gripped my hips in his hands was thrilling and too distracting for me to keep going.

I could feel him breathe smoke out across my skin as he chuckled, tapping my thigh with his fingers. "Is the lesson over?"

"No!" I yipped, shaking myself out of the trance he'd put me in. I refused to give him that kind of satisfaction. "Wet on wet," I continued trying to recall where exactly I'd left off.

"Wet indeed," he teased, dragging his fingers through my folds.

My face, my whole damn body, was on fire. I bit my cheek and kept my eyes trained on the yellow and orange hues in front of me, mixing some red onto the brush and lifting it to stroke across the canvas, making sure to do it as sloppily as I could to ensure Jake got splashed with some of the drops. If it'd bothered him he didn't say. He just continued his lazy motions for a moment and smoked his cigarette. If I hadn't been so concentrated on trying not to moan, I would have complimented his ability to multitask.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued, "Once you mix enough red in around the edges, creating a nice contrast to the yellow, you'll wet the brush again and-" His fingers slid over my clit, making my jolt as the instant pleasurable sensation hit me with a sharp gasp. Jake's blue eyes drank in every bit of it. I breathed out and straightened up again. "And blend out the harsh edges."

"Edges…" I remembered his half-threat, half-promise from Ari's hotel room.  Fuck. He held the cigarette up with a wicked grin. "Hold that for me, princess. I'm gonna need both my hands."

"Jake-" My fingers accepted the cigarette, and the desperate plea for mercy died on my tongue as he gave me a smug look. He'd be insufferable if I admitted defeat after all the shit-talking and all the riling up I'd been doing since that night. So I closed my mouth and gripped my paintings tight. "Don't bump my easel while you're down there."

His smirk widened, and his thumb rolled over my clit again. "Yes, ma'am."

God damn him! I lifted my head up, sucking in a deep breath as his fingers worked my clit in earnest now. Trying to paint with a very attractive bartender between my thighs was not at all what I imagined would happen today. Not that I could really complain. I managed to keep myself fairly composed, only slipping up a few times with heather breaths and some choice curves, but all my resilience just made Jake want it more.

I gave up trying to talk him through my actions when his fingers slid inside me, stealing my breath in seconds and forcing me to bite down on my lower lip to keep from giving into the pent-up moan I held in my throat. His pace was slow and languid, focused on building up the pleasure and pressure rather than trying to bring me to orgasm. It felt good, and he knew it. When my chest started heaving a little harder, he lifted his head up slightly, nodding to the cigarette that faded in between my fingers. "Give me a drag?"

Placing the cigarette between his lips, I let him take a long drag of it before pulling it away to place it in between my own lips. Maybe that'd help calm my nerves. Jake blew the smoke across my skin again, making it break out in goosebumps. His teeth scraped against my inner thigh, and in the blink of an eye, his mouth was on me. "Ah!" I breathed out a startled moan, my legs closing on instinct.

Jake's fingers left me as his large hands wrapped around my thighs, keeping them pried open. The cigarette fell from between my fingers into my paint water, fizzling for a moment as it snuffed out. My eyes closed tightly, the paintbrush pressing hard into the canvas creating long drip lines through the sunset hues. The warmth of Jake's tongue licking and sucking at my core made my legs shake, and my chest burn with the effort to keep my noises inside. He swirled his tongue around my already pulsing clit, and my composure snapped.

The brush clattered to the ground, just narrowly missing his shoulder as my hands slid into his silky hair. He hummed, the vibrations only making my body want more. "Oh my god! Jake," I breathed, head falling back.

He answered my breathless whisper of his name with his teeth, scraping them against my sensitive bud, trying to coax another moan from me. I could practically hear him encouraging me, the sensual whisper of his voice something my mind was well familiar with. Louder. More. Give me more. He pulled me closer again, startling me into leaning back, my hand reaching back to steady myself against the counter.

Jake's hands moved, one sliding up my leg to support my lower back while the other slid up my stomach. He cupped my breast, deft fingers once again working my sensitive nipple through the course material of my shirt. My eyes squeezed shut even tighter, making me see white for a minute as my hands pulled at his hair. "Fuck!" The pleasure building inside me was so close to exploding. "Jake!"

I could feel the corners of his lips lift, smug even now, as his tongue quickened the pace. His blunt nails dug into my back, urging me to let go, to give him the thing he'd been slowly forcing to build inside. "I'm… Shit…" My body was practically shaking now as I dared to look down and meet his eyes. The blue was gone, replaced by black pools of lustful desire. "I'm close."

A single flaming star burned in those dark eyes, a star that seemed to accept my words as some kind of challenge. And he was determined to win. His hand squeezed my breast one last time before disappearing beneath his head, sliding inside me with ease, pumping quickly to match the urgent pace of his tongue as it honed in on my abused clit. My eyes fluttered shut, ragged moans filling my apartment as I begged him, pleading with him to keep going. I could feel how every sound I made, every word I said, affected him.

I came on his fingers and tongue with a cry of his name and a sharp tug on the strands of hair still worn between my fingers. "Jake!"

He licked up every drop of my release before bringing his fingers to his mouth and cleaning them. Once he'd finished he settled back on his feet, grabbing my thighs and squeezing them for a second before he reached over and grabbed my underwear. Smiling, he offered them up. "I believe these are yours."

Ignoring the knowledge that my face was likely redder than the painting in front of us, I snatched them out of his hand. "You don't have to be so smug, you know."

Standing, he shrugged. "No, but it's more fun that way." I tried to stand, nearly tripping as my legs wobbled unsteadily. His smugness only grew as he asked, "Need a hand, princess?"

"No!" I managed to get my underwear back on without falling face-first into the mess of paint that I'd unknowingly made in my orgasmic haze of hands and movement.

Jake whistled, looking at the mess, while I couldn't look anywhere but at him. His hair was standing up, huge chunks of paint staining the dark strands, much brighter shades of red and orange. He turned toward me, looking like he was about to say something snarky, but before he could - and before I could stop myself - I'd taken hold of his shirt and pulled myself up to kiss him.

His lips were stiff at first, surprised by my sudden action, but after a moment had passed, they softened. Jake's hand lifted to cup the back of my head as his lips moved against mine. The light taste of myself lingered on him as my tongue darted out to taste his lips. As he opened his mouth, determined to devour me further, I pulled back.

"I thought we agreed, no kissing," he questioned breathlessly.

"We did..." I scrambled to come up with an excuse better than sorry you just looked so pretty standing in my apartment looking around like an idiot after eating me out. "It just seemed like the best way to thank you for all that hard work." 

Jake fought a smile, dipping his head down to press his lips against mine again. "That one was cause I wanted to."

"Ass."

He caught a glimpse of my handiwork in the mirror and almost snorted laughing. "I think you got more paint on me than you did the canvas!"

I poked at the now-dry paint speckling the sides of his face and stuck in his hair. "Yeah, you're definitely gonna need help getting that out." Tugging him toward my room, "Come on."

Just like with every new space, Jake drank in the sight of my bedroom, curious but respectful. He admired the bed full of pillows and an old pile of half-folded laundry, but the antique wardrobe Quinn thrifted for me held his gaze longer. I watched him from the bathroom doorway, quietly appreciating how naturally he fit into a space I shared with so few. His long fingers ran over the old wood, eyes dazzled by the craftsmanship before him. "Does it live up to your expectations?"

Jake turned his head, eyes dragging down my body. I ducked my head, suddenly too aware of the fact I was only in my old underwear and a slightly too-small tank top covered in dried paint. "Kind of," he said. "I guess I always imagined it'd look like your old room from The Cape. This is more you, though."

"A compliment, I hope," I replied, turning to get my counter cleaned up.

"The highest."

I let the warm water run between my fingers for a minute before turning to look at him. "Shirt off."

Without hesitation, he began tugging the thin white material off. "Thought you'd never ask."

The sight of his chest made me pause, watching every flex and movement with wonder. When his shirt was over his head, I looked away, pulling a stool over to the sink. I set a towel over the edge, acting as a neck pillow for him, and patted the top. "Hop up."

Jake sat down and leaned back, blue eyes shining beneath my bathroom lights as I reached over him and fiddled with the temperature for a moment before letting it fill my palm so I could wet his head.

"It's not too hot, is it?" I asked, looking down at him as I ran my fingers through his damp hair, testing.

Jake looked breathless for a moment, his lips parting ever so slightly as his dark eyes scanned my face before meeting my gaze. "It's fine." The words sounded harsh, but the look on his face told me he hadn't intended for it to be that way. "It feels good."

I smiled, gently massaging his scalp. "I used to do this a lot with Peter and Patrick. They'd always find a way to get gum or something sticky in it. They even got lice once! Patrick swears it was Peter's fault, but of course, Peter claims the opposite."

"Knowing your brothers, it was probably a collective effort."

The laugh that echoed off my bathroom walls was too loud and embarrassing, but Jake seemed to like it. "Probably. Sorry for getting your hair all fucked up."

He rolled his eyes before closing them. "A bit of paint getting clumped in my hair is hardly fucking it up. Should show you the pictures from when Simone used to cut my hair. I looked like one of The Beatles one year."

"Oh my god, please!"

Jake laughed, looking up at me with those eyes. "Raincheck?"

"I'll hold you to it," I warned, returning my focus to working the paint out of his hair. As the comfortable silence pulled me into an odd sense of security, my eyes drifted once again down his bare chest.

Training with Patrick had resulted in Jake's arms growing lean with well-defined muscle. I could tell by the stiffness of his abdomen that my brother wasn't skipping other workouts in favor of his arms. "Like what you see?"

My eyes quickly looked anywhere but him, a bashful smile tugging at my lips as I turned, reaching for some shampoo. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Suuurreee," he drew out with a grin. "Feel free to stare as long as you like. I don't mind."

"Shut up," I mumbled, lathering the shampoo in my hands before massaging it into his hair.

His eyes shut, and his whole body relaxed with a lovely sound. "You're gonna put me to sleep."

"Good," I giggled. "Then I won't have to listen to you talk."

"Want to ogle my muscles in peace, do you?" He teased.

"Maybe." I looked back down at the tattoos that stained his pale skin, finally getting a chance to admire them closer. "I'm more interested in the tattoos, though."

Jake smiled wider, lifting his head slightly to look down at them. "Should have guessed. All ladies love the tattoos."

"Would you tell me about them?"

"Maybe." I gave him a look, and he instantly crumbled. "I will if you tell me about yours."

"All of mine or just the ones you know about?"

His brow rose, head tilting to the side and bonking against my sink. "There's more?"

With a smug smirk, I shrugged. "Maybe."

An amused scoff bubbled from his throat, and he asked, "Am I gonna have to guess?"

"I'll show you one if you want," I replied. "After you tell me about your tattoos."

“Ask away, princess. I’m an open book.”

My eyes took in the artwork that etched his skin, carefully considering my choices before I hummed. "What about this one?" I asked, removing one of my hands from his hair to poke the flowers on his upper arm.

Jake chuckled. "Drunk bet with an old buddy of mine. I lost."

"And the band?"

"Another impulsive decision made while half hammered."

I moved my other hand, leaning over him to touch the anchor on his other arm. "What about this one?"

His smile faded, and the light left his eyes. "I got that one for my mom. Or in spite of her, maybe… I don't…" He sighed. "She loved The Cape. Loved the ocean and ships. We had so many of the dumb things around the house. It's one of the only things I remember about it before moving in with Simone's family."

Nodding, I stoked the soft skin. "It's good to remember little things like that. Little things that made you happy once." My finger dragged down his arm, smoothing over the mermaid. "Now I get to ask you: why a mermaid?"

He shrugged, eyes still holding that far-off look. "I've kind of always liked them. Used to think it was a Cape thing. When I was a kid, Simone made up some story about my mom being a mermaid that had to return to the sea. It was… Comforting, I guess, at the time. After a while, it started getting harder and harder to remember what she looked like. Whenever I'd think of my mom Simone's face was all I could see."

I shoved down my disgust for Simone and what I knew she'd done with her position as Jake's maternal figure. "That's sad, but it makes some sense. You were young. Simone stepped up and raised you, so, of course, you'd picture her when thinking of a mom."

"Yeah," he replied. "I guess. Anyway, I got the mermaid because of that story she'd told me. She'll never admit this, but when she got back from France… After her divorce, she got a matching one."

On instinct, my nose scrunched at the nauseous feeling that came with his all-too-innocent reveal. "I'll be honest, I can't really picture Simone with a tattoo."

"She hates them," Jake answered, laughing. A look, fond, and if I'd been as naive as I used to be, something I would have thought was full of love. "But she got it for me. Something to show me that she'd never abandon me again."

Something to placate your rightful anger at her for leaving you in the first place. I bit my tongue. "What about this one?" I thumbed the words over his ribcage. "Together/Or?"

Jake's momentary joy dwindled slightly as he ground his teeth together. I was about to tell him he didn't need to share it with me, but then he spoke, "I got that one while Simone was in France with her asshole husband. Before she left, she said she and I were destined to be together, no matter how much space separated us. Together or separate. It made more sense in my head."

This time it was my turn to clench my jaw as I tried to think of something nice to say. "It looks good. It might hold some… Less pleasant memories, but as long as it brings you some kind of peace now, that's all that matters."

"Yeah," he said softly, eyes refocusing on me as I finished rinsing the shampoo from his hair and turned to grab a towel. Once I'd dried his hair a bit, examining it closely to make sure I got all the paint out, Jake smiled. "My turn."

Tossing the towel in the hamper, I held out my arms. "Ask away. I’m an open book."

Jake took a step forward, reaching out to push my hair away from my shoulder to run his fingers down my spine. "Might as well start with this one."

"The snake." I smirked up at him. "Your favorite."

"Can't decide which one's my favorite until I know about all of them."

I hummed in response before answering the question his fingers asked. "I got it after I'd been clean for a year. A symbol of, well, shedding my old life… and all the pain that came with it."

He understood, on some deep level, Jake knew exactly why something as simple as a tattoo would help purge the darkest of things clinging to the soul. His fingers moved again, sliding down my arm to the tiger. "And this one?"

"My first tattoo. I got it when I came to live with my dad. He used to say I was like a tiger. I had the rage and the claws meant for killing, but inside I was just a big cat. It was also the first time Quinn and I met Prue. We were sixteen."

"Quinn get one?" He asked.

I bit my lip to contain my laugh. "She got a peach on her ass with juicy inked in the leaf."

He laughed. "That sounds like her." The feel of his fingers sliding along my hip, tracing the intricate lines of the mermaid tail, felt too soft, too good. "I already know the story behind this one. With your mom and all."

"Yeah," I answered. "It's still pretty, though."

"It's very pretty," he reassured me, body sliding closer to mine as he bent slightly to tap my knee. "And this one. You said it was a reminder… That there are worse things than death."

I gulped, my jaw clenching and my body feeling tight as I nodded. "You remember François?"

Jake's face fell slightly, most likely remembering the hour he spent holding me as I sobbed in the stairwell. "Yeah."

"It's for him. Kind of. It's a reminder that things you love can get taken away from you if you're not careful." I cleared my throat, desperately trying to keep from crying again. "He lost the things he loved because of me, and so… When I got the chance, I got the tattoo. It helped me cope with it all, I think. At least a little."

There was a moment of silence before Jake spoke again. "It might hold some… Less pleasant memories, but as long as it brings you some kind of peace now, that's all that matters."

I laughed softly at the use of my own words against me. "Touche."

"Now, what are the others?"

"I have cherries on my ass." I held up my finger and stopped him in his tracks. "Quinn made me get them!"

He nodded, brows raised, and a poorly concealed smirk plastered on his face. "Of course she did. Does it say juicy, too, or?"

Damn it. I looked away, blushing slightly as I committed to telling him the truth. I owed him that much after his honesty with me. "It says ‘bite me’ in the stems."

"Oh, I've gotta see that!" He replied, laughing.

"Ah! I have two more!"

Leaning back slightly, he gestured for me to continue. "Let's hear it. I wanna make an informed decision."

"Well, there's one on my chest, above the heart. Canis Major. It's a constellation. My dad's favorite one. Each star represents someone I care about. Sirius, the heart of it, is my dad. Muliphein, the head, is Peter. Mirzam, the front foot, is Ozzy. Furud, the back foot, is Nana and Abdul. Wezen, the ass, is Patrick. The tail, Aldura, is Quinn and Prue. And there's this tiny cluster of stars in the chest area, by the shoulder, called M41. That's Dom and his lot."

"Do I get a star?" He asked only half teasing

I smiled wider. "You can share the ass with Patrick."

His eyes showed the joy his face didn't as he nodded along. "Last one."

"On the ribs," I said. "It's a big koi fish. A simple ode to an old friend in Japan. Now, let’s get this over with. Which one do you want to see?”

Jake considered his choices for a moment before taking a slight step forward and placing his hands on my hips. “Show me the fish.”

“The fish?”

“Yep.”

“And here I thought you’d never pass up a chance to see my ass.”

He shrugged, a gleam in his eyes highlighting the blue. “Oh, I fully intend on seeing it eventually, but I figured I should save the best for last.”

I tugged my shirt up just enough to expose the tattoo that lined my ribs. “Uh-huh, whatever you need to tell yourself, tough guy.”

His attention quickly turned to the simple linework. His hands squeezed my hips for a second before one moved, fingers sliding along the dark ink, curving with my rib in a feather-light touch that made my body tingle. I flinched with a giggle, meeting his questioning gaze with a look. “Tickles.”

“Ah,” he replied with a smirk that was all too familiar.

I lifted my finger to his face, grabbing his hand quickly. “Don’t even think about it.”

Jake scoffed playfully. “I would never.”

My eyes flickered down to his lips, admiring the soft curve of them for a moment, wanting to kiss him again, before I laughed it off, reaching off to the side to hand him his shirt. “Here. It’s probably got a few paint stains, sorry.”

He took it from me, examining it for a quick moment before shrugging as he threw it over his head. “I think it’s an improvement.”

We headed back out to my living room, standing in front of the painting that had suffered from Jake’s overactive tongue. “Not my best work.”

“I think it’s perfect.” He smiled at me. “Showcases both our talents.”

I rolled my eyes at him, moving to pick up the trays and cups of water left out. “You can have it if you want.”

Humming, he seemed to consider my offer. "So, who taught you to paint anyway?" He asked, suddenly, finally looking away from our masterpiece.

“Softly now,” Rada said, gently pulling my brush back slightly. “We want the colors to blend. It’s not a fight, Lyubov'.”

I laughed, following her instructions to help the colors meld together. “Who do you think would win in a fight, blue or red?”

Rada wiped a small dot of paint off her uniform and polished the glasses beside me, smiling at my ridiculous question. Still, she looked around and leaned in close as if it was some sort of master secret. “Purple.”

The two of us laughed louder as she pressed a kiss to my head. “Purple is a nice color.”

“It’s my favorite color,” she admitted. “But don’t tell the others.”

“I won’t,” I answered.

"A cleaning lady," I suddenly replied without fully intending to. "She was an immigrant from Russia, where she was an art teacher."

Jake smiled at my openness. "Did she teach you Russian, too?"

Nodding, I laughed to myself. "Yeah. It took a while, but she made learning it fun." I laughed more, tears starting to build in my eyes. "She used to put random Post-it notes all over the penthouse, labeling random objects. I ran around like a dog to find them all and show her I knew the right words."

"You lived in a penthouse?" He asked, and I froze. "Was that when you and your mom traveled?"

"No." Shaking my head, I stood, shakily gathering up the rest of my things and taking them to the sink where my dishes from earlier still sat. I counted my breaths in my head and flexed my fingers to keep the numbness and the memories away.

I was thankful that Jake was who he was because even though I knew he had a list of questions a mile long, he said nothing. He stood up and moved beside me, quietly helping me wash the dishes and clean out the painting supplies and stack them on my drying rack. After the task in front of us was done, he smiled, tucking my hair behind my ear with a still-damp finger, making me squirm. "Thanks for the painting lesson, princess."

"It was hardly a lesson," I replied. "I bet you can't tell me a single thing I said."

"I remember the term 'wet on wet'."

"Do you remember what it means?"

"No," he admitted with a sly grin. "But regardless of how much information stuck in this thick head of mine, I enjoyed hearing you talk about it."

I could feel the heat rising to my face as I bashfully shrugged. "Thanks for listening. It…" Pausing, I breathed out a soft sigh and smiled up at him. "It means a lot."

Jake nodded, a look of understanding filling his face with a youthful glow. "I know."

"Next time, it's your turn."

"What?" His eyes widened slightly, his brow arching, the dirty implication of my words clearly on his mind.

I rolled my eyes, smiling wider. "To teach me about photography. I believe the exact phrase you used at Nana's was, 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'?" Gesturing to the paintings that lay scattered around my living room, I continued, "I showed you mine."

With an understanding nod, he replied, "Well, it's only fair."

The longer I stared at him, standing in my apartment, looking at me like I was the real piece of art, my body longed for that dream to come to life. I wanted Jake, not just to know what sleeping with him would be like, but the fun and soft moments that could follow as well. “Do you-”

His phone cut off my train of thought, and the look in his eyes, slightly stressed, slightly relieved, told me in seconds who it was. He smiled at me, a silent apology for the interruption. “Hey, Simone. No, I’m not home yet.” There was a long pause as she spoke to him over the phone. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

Once he hung up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Duty calls?”

“Sorry, she needs some help with something.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I… had fun tonight.”

“Me too.”

“See you at work?” I asked, tapping his foot with mine.

Jake nodded, a soft smile reassuring me that whatever Simone had called him for wasn’t going to cause him any stress. “Yeah. Goodnight, Lena.”

 I lifted myself up onto the tips of my toes and kissed his cheek. “Goodnight, Jake.”

*

From across the street he watched the man clad in leather and a simple t-shirt exit the apartment. The biker by the door smiled at him, shaking his hand and offering him some small conversation before he walked away down the street. He could just barely make out her shaded figure through the curtains as she moved through her atrocious apartment to turn off the light. “Should we follow him?”

Tony glanced away from the windows, following the man down the street with his eyes as he smoked his cigar. He said nothing, just gestured simply with his hand knowing the man beside him would understand his wishes.

“We should go,” Jules replied. “Before the other ones come down this street again.”

“Yes, we should. Wouldn’t want to rouse the old junkyard dog just yet.” He put the rest of his cigar out with his foot and smiled at the building. “Sweet dreams, baby girl.”

Once they’d walked a block or so away Tony unlocked his car, waiting with an annoyed look as one of his smaller paid men ran up to him, panting. “We found him, Sir.”

A cold smile spread on his lips. “Excellent.”

[lovifie]

Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

Masterlist - Taglist Form

All Chapters

Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

Warnings: Poly relationship, mentions of death, mentions of guns, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), alcohol, tipsy while having sex, mentions of cheating but it just three idiots not knowing what poly is ❤️

You didn't notice Ghost entering the room, Johnny keeping your face buried on the mattress. 

Simon wanted to laugh at the scotsman, so stubborn that not even amnesia could make him forget his competitive tendencies. 

“They are doing fine by themselves.” Was all the explanation he gave the two men still drinking tea in the kitchen when he came back. 

By the time the two of you got back to the kitchen, Johnny had a stupid smug smile on his face. Looking at Ghost that was sitting down beside Gaz, and winking at him.

Cheeky fucker.

It made Ghost want to laugh, limiting himself to a silent chuckle. The man didn't even remember who he was, but was at the ready to jump at his neck for even thinking of getting in his way towards you. 

You walked in behind Johnny, cheeks blushed and eyelids slightly dropped with exhaustion. And oh, how bad he wanted you to fall asleep on his arms like a baby.

It clicked on his head then, that he could now that you were back from the dead. He looked at you, smiling when you smiled at him sleepy; and pat his lap opening his arms to you. 

Soap sits at the last available seat, furrowing his eyebrows when he sees you walk past him and sit down on Ghost's lap; who looks at him with a shit-eating grin. Not that he can see his mouth now that he put the mask back, but with the shine of his eyes is enough to know. 

Simon looks down at you, just to see you curl over yourself; resting your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes with a sigh. He rests his hands on your lower back, interlocking his finger to keep you from slipping from his lap.

“Are you ready to go back home?” Simon asks, making you open your eyes to look at him. 

Your slow blinking makes him remember the random fact that cats do it to express love and trust for their owner. Even if you are not a cat, nor is he your owner. Yet at least. But the feeling is there. 

“Very.” You mumble, your arms moving to hug Ghost's torso. 

You rest your head on his chest, your neck in an awkward position but you don't seem to mind, so neither does Ghost. You eventually close your eyes, breathing slowly steadying; sleep beating you to it. 

Simon can feel Soap's eyes on him, making sure that he doesn't forget how much he hates him.

But Soap is just protecting himself. Because hating the man holding you is easier than admitting that he is having doubts about who is better. But how is he supposed to know who is better when he doesn't know the other man? 

Except you do know the other man. And you know him well enough to fall asleep in his arms, hugging the soldier as if he was a teddy bear.

It's not fair.

Waking up from the grave, coming in and out of conscience and only seeing the angel looking down at him. 

So precious, the most precious thing he has ever laid his eyes on. He somehow remembers the tunnel, remembers you. Covered in dust and blood, pulling him out of the rubble.

So strong, strong enough to pull his dead body. He could hear you grunt, call his name, telling him to stay awake, to talk to you. 

And he wanted to do so, he wanted to wake up, jump on his feet, pick you up and take you out of the tunnel bridal style. But he tried to move his arm, and instantly passed out.

The next thing he remembers, is laying on the bed, head throbbing with the biggest headache he has ever felt. And his sweet angel leaning over him, smiling at him as she took a look at the wound. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Before passing out again.

He would wake up, see you, smile at you, and pass out. 

Every time he woke up you would have fewer bruises and every time he woke up you would look more tired. 

He could hear you cry down the hall, frustrated that you couldn't send an SOS. 

He could feel it when you would curl your body next to his on the bed, wanting human contact even if it was from the living corpse on the bedroom. 

Oh, how he wished he could comfort you. Hug you back, warm your body when the temperature dropped at night, dry your tears when you cried yourself to sleep and kiss your lips when you talked about how afraid you were.

There was a window in time when the only thing Johnny knew was you, and he was perfectly satisfied with never knowing anything else. 

He slowly remembered everything else, slowly, year by year, up until a little after he joined the military. But not enough to remember when he originally met you. 

He wondered how it could have been, you told him you were a medic. Did you meet him because he got hurt? Did you meet because you were dragged along with him on a mission? Did you always smile as warmly as you smile at him now or was there a time when you didn't trust him to do so?

He can't imagine you emitting something other than warmth.

Even when you were distressed, tired, in pain and scared, you were still able to build the wall to keep it to yourself; away from him. 

How did he want to jump that wall, let you feel the feelings you were prohibiting yourself. 

He sees the way you sleep on Simon's arms, looking perfectly comfortable, relaxed and safe. 

He doesn't like the man holding you, but seeing you like him so much… only makes him hate him more. 

Johnny knows that you must be exhausted, spending the last 4 months taking care of him 24 hours a day. Johnny had barely started to walk on his own a couple of weeks ago, and before that he needed your help to stand, walk, eat, everything pretty much.

Still, he wishes you would have fallen asleep in his arms instead. 

It is already nighttime by the time Price tells them that the pilot has arrived. You have been awake for a couple of hours by now, all the things you need on your bag already. 

You stayed away from Soap and Ghost since you woke up. Not intentionally or at least not with maliciousness but rather being pulled away by the other two men that had been mourning you for months. 

The latest round of gossip filled in the gaps of your absence by the both of them as you made your way to the rendezvous point. But that only pushed Ghost and Soap against each other in the back.

And without the peace offering of your presence between them, a cold war was starting to boil; both of them expecting the other to attack. 

It wouldn't be clever to do so, and even though it hurts his pride because of the strange squabble they had going on, Simon chose to be the bigger person.

“Johnny.” He called the other, who simply hummed back, not bothering to look at him. “It's nice that you are back.”

Simon's attempt was futile, and Johnny expressed his feelings really clearly when he slightly increased his walking speed, letting Simon know that just because you were walking in front of them it didn't mean that they were walking together.

That was everything that was said between them on the traject of getting back to base; which made the 8 hours long flight quite awkward for them. 

Once the flight landed, a horde of the medical team surrounded you. The word that you were alive clearly travelled to base faster than the plane. 

Price slightly pushed you towards the medics, who were screaming about celebrating that you were back. And even though you sent them a look that was a clear cry for help, they waved you goodbye with a smile on their faces.

Price decides to call it a day for everyone, not wanting to push the mess of a day into developing into something worse somehow. Still, he takes Johnny to show him his old room wanting to help him set in.

Gaz goes with the two of them, and Ghost goes to his office. Not wanting yet to go to his room for the day, and rather choosing to hide behind doors and inside the last book he has been reading. 

He doesn't know what time it is when a knock on the door pulls him out of said book. “C'mon in.” Who he doesn't expect to peek their head in is you, smiling widely at him. “Hi, Si.”

“Hi, love.” He answers, bending the corner of the page to mark it before closing it. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you hide me?” You ask, your body still behind the door. “They think I went to the bathroom.”

Ghost chuckles nodding. “Come in, love.” He says with a smile as you enter the room. It's obvious you have showered, clothes changed into a short white summer dress with tiny green flowers. You walk into the room, locking the door and walking to him. “I think they want to kill me again with that much alcohol.”

“They managed to get you drunk?” He asks, patting his lap for you to sit in it. You walk around the desk, finally sitting over his legs. 

“Not really.” You say, resting your arms on your shoulder. “They did get me tipsy though.” 

“Why didn't you want to get drunk? You should celebrate.” He says, gloveless hand rubbing your thigh.

“Because there are things I need to do.” You say, voice slightly quieter. 

“Can I be one of those things?” 

There is a certain leak of shameless desperation in his voice, a need no kind of mask would be able to bury now. Still, it goes right over your head; or at least Simon hopes it's your own naivety and not your way of softly letting him down so as not to hurt his feelings. 

“You want me to sign your forehead like a piece of paper?” You joke, obviously missing his point; but god would he like to wear your name like his most proudest medal.

“I wouldn't mind.” His hand twitches on your thigh, the possessive thought of wearing a mark of your ownership pushing his mind running.

“Well, of course, no one would see it with the mask.” You chuckle, cocking your head with a smile on your face.

“I would take it off.”

“Can I take it off?”

“Of course you can.”

It's natural for him. Wanting to be in whatever shape and form you want him to be. It also helps that it's not the first time you have seen his face, nor is it the hundredth. As the unit medic, only Price could be an actual opponent as who has seen him the most without the mask. 

Your fingertips find the mask's hem, softly pulling it away from his skin before pulling up. He moves his head, closing his eyes to prevent a possible stab on the eye; and looks at you, barefaced. 

He doesn't have the chance to say anything before you leap forward, his breath hiking up when he thinks you are about to kiss him. Only for you to move up, lips grazing his cheekbone as you sniff his face. 

“I expected the black paint to smell worse.” You say nonchalantly, as if you didn't just send every sense on his body into overdrive. 

Simon would be angry with himself if he wasn't so endeared with you. He is a grown man, stuttering because your face got close to his. It was always easier with Johnny, he could hide behind the Lieutenant rank and admire from a distance. 

But you are a medic, he is not your lieutenant. You are above the law to him, and there is no hiding from your inquisitive eyes and gentle touches. Still, Simon promised himself back at the house that he would take the second chance life has given him, taking both of you back to life, and he was not about to waste the chance. 

“Did you just sniff me?” He asks, more confusion than offence in his tone. He sees your eyes crease with a mischievous smile, as if you just did a naughty thing; but his eyes drop to your exposed neck.

He leans in. “I wanna smell you too.” His lips touch your skin, cutting your laugh short in a breath intake. Simon closes his eyes, taking your smell in. The body wash, the perfume, the slight alcohol smell pouring out of your lips. 

It makes his mouth water and before he can process it, he drags his tongue, flat against the skin of your neck, up to your ear; biting your lobule softly. A stuttering moan slips through your soft kiss, your finger digging slightly into the muscles on his shoulder, and he repeats his motions needing to hear it again. 

He hears it, a whiny moan around his name that has his hips buckling with his lack of self-control. Your hand slips lower, resting on his chest and using it to pull yourself back. His own hand flies from your back to cover your hand, the one resting on your thigh grabbing it to prevent you from slipping away. 

He panics, heart sinking into his stomach, when you pull back and avoid his gaze. Your hand that is still under his curls, the fabric of his t-shirt still between your fingers. 

He realises then and there, that only he is aware of his master plan of the menage a troi that he so badly wants. And that your mind and heart are not his yet, and no matter how bad you want him; Johnny is still the one in your eyes. 

But he needs to make himself fit between the two of you, reel you to his side. His desperate mind tells him to ask you why is a problem with him when you bend over for Johnny so easily; but it would be the worst option possible, even his blurry brain knows. 

So he picks your hand from his chest, kissing the knuckles as you grab his thumb. He moves, sitting with his back straight and you on his lap still; he looks down at you, caressing your exposed thigh. He looks at your face, moving to your eyes to your lips, he reads the hunger resting within your features. 

He leans forward, slowly, really slowly, inch by inch; but still letting you walk the last step. He gets so close to your lips, that when you try to lick them before kissing him, the tip of your tongue licks his lower bit. And your first kiss is cut short with a victorious smile on Simon's face, the second one being longer. 

His hand cups the back of your head, keeping you from pulling back as his lips find yours again. The thin layer of your saliva makes them move easily against each other, as if it was a trained routine. It is you again the one that licks his lips, asking him to part them; and getting your tongue inside once he obliges. 

Your tongue tastes sweet, of the sugary cocktails that you liked to drink and that he used to make fun of you for drinking, talking about how you couldn't handle alcohol. And one night you convinced him to drink the same as you and he ended up so drunk he couldn't see the screen of his phone to call Price to pick him up even though the both of you were barely 10 minutes away from base. 

But coming from your mouth it almost makes him forget the hangover he had the day later.

There is also a coldness to your mouth, the remains as well of the drinks you must have been having right before entering his office; still lingering around your mouth letting him feel how it slowly melts against the warmth of his desire. 

“Ghost” You break the kiss, pulling slightly back and moving uncomfortably on his lap. 

“Hm?” He simply answers, brows furrowed mimicking yours.

“What do you have in your pocket? Is poking me.” You ask, causing blood to rush to Simon's face. It slowly clicks into your mind, making you look into his eyes with a mischievous smile. “Are you-”

“I'm sorry, I promise I usually have better control of it.” He cuts you off, chuckling to himself. The shame from getting his crotch bulging with a boner after a mere kiss is too embarrassing to try and play it off as something else. 

“That’s okay… do you… do you need help?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes; sending a shiver up his column and causing him to exhale a difficult sigh as he nods.

“Yes, yes I do.” He pathetically admits. 

You stand up from him, smiling when you feel his hands linger on your body for as long as he can. You grab the hem of the dress, pulling it over your head and standing between Simon's legs in just your panties. 

It shouldn't affect him as much as it just did the fact that you weren't wearing a bra under the dress. Simon might not have spent his life jumping from bed to bed, but he has seen his fair share of naked bodies; enough to weird him out his own body reaction at seeing yours. 

Simon Riley who prides himself so much on his control of emotions, being turned into putty from your body and attention. The man stares at your body, almost unblinkingly as the mounts of your chest rise as you breathe. 

You look at him, cocking your head as you step forward; knees pressed against his chair as you stand between his thighs. “Have I turned you silly, Simon?”

“A little bit, yeah.” He says, finally moving forward and resting his hands behind your knees forcing you to kneel on the chair in the tiny space right in front of his crotch. It also makes you need to rest your hands on the backrest of the chair in order not to fall forwards, and it leaves Simon trapped between your arms, the backrest and your body. 

His new favourite prison. 

He kisses your sternum, right between your boobs; an almost innocent kiss if it wasn't for the moan he lets escape at the feel of your skin on his lips. Your hand finds its way to the back of his head, pulling his hair forcing him to look up; he grunts softly at the stinging sensation. 

No complaints leave his mouth as you move his head to make him suck your nipple into his mouth. You moan, closing your eyes as you let your head fall back. The stinging dissipates as strength leaves your body because of the warm mouth on your skin; making every other inch of your body feel cold in comparison.

His calloused hands rub your ribs, moving from the front slowly to the back, fingertips grazing on the back when he pushes you forward towards him. He leans back, pulling you with him and he sighs through his nose, completely content with the taste of your skin in his mouth. 

Every inch of your skin still unkissed is like an offence to him, making it his own goal to cover your chest with open mouth kisses. Whenever a moan falls from your lips, his hips react to the sound, slightly thrusting the air, shaking the chair.

The skin of your chest is glistening with his spit when you finally push yourself back, a discomfort grunt emanating from Simon's throat at the sudden distance. You reposition your legs, leaving one on each side of Simon's thighs. 

His belt is the next thing you grab, undoing it and taking it out of the loops; throwing it on the floor. The buttons come off next, and the zipper goes down just as fast. Simon's eyes are glued on your hands and the way you so easily pull him out of the confines of his boxers.

Something twisted inside of him gets elated when he sees how big his shaft looks between your hands, playing in his mind already the pained expression that will get painted on your face when you finally take him in.

He sees and feels the glob of saliva fall on his tip, looking at your face to see the thin string of spit still connected to your lips before you lick them. You wrap your hand around the head of his shaft, softly squeezing it before sliding your hand to the base. 

Simon groans, closing his eyes as his hands grab your hips; finger slightly burying into the soft meat of your body. Such a delicate touch in comparison to the assaults his dick is used to from him, that leaves him mumbling and having to close his eyes so you don't see them roll back. 

He can see how you use every bead of sticky seed that spills from his tip to add to the mess currently forming on his length. Thin strings of saliva and precum mixing together and keeping your hand connected to him, the same sparkle on both your hand and his shaft. 

You pull your hand back, his shaft falling against his abdomen dirtying his t-shirt when the support of your hands disappears. You lock your feet under the armrest of the chair, and support yourself on the back on the table with a hand; you use the other to pull your panties to the side inviting him in. 

He quickly moves his hand, grabbing his shaft by the base and slapping it against your glistering folds making your legs buckle. You let your panties move back, over him; keeping his length flush against your warm cunt. Simon furrows his eyebrow for a second, but he quickly understands your intentions when you start to move your hips up and down. 

The juices spilling from you coating his dick, warm and sticky making him moan softly as he stares completely hypnotised as your panties bulge whenever your hips move down and his dick pushes against the fabric. Each thrust covering it more and more with his seed as it spills from his tips, the fabric clinging to him adding to the friction.

He knows he is not going to last, not with the way your thighs flex every time his tip catches on your clit, not with the pretty noises falling from your lips and definitely not with the way he can feel you clench right against his length, cunt angry at the lack of intrusion.

“Let me get inside, love.” He whines. “Let me fill your pretty cunt, please. Let me make you feel good, love.”

He should be embarrassed by the desperation on his voice, the whines, the begging, all of it. But with the way you look down at him, eyes dark with lust and hunger in them, he is too busy with not combusting to care about his pride. 

You lean forward, grabbing the backrest of the chair again with a hand as you pull your underwear with the other. You are crouching down, glistering folds hovering over his twitching length. Your hand holds his shaft, simply keeping it close to avoid it from slipping out as you easily sink yourself on him.

Like a mirror, the two of you let go of a moan, head falling back as you go down. The stretch and the tight squeeze of your cunt makes the two of you turn into a babbling mess for a second, every nerve ending electrifying what it touches, feeling filled with his thick shaft, tip grazing the entry of your womb when you finally sit down completely, your ass resting on his hips. 

Simon's mind betrays him, a note of disappointment when he sees you take him so easily; and it's his mind that makes the connection. He has seen Johnny naked multiple times, and he is aware of the man charms. 

So his mind travels, to when he saw the two of you back at the house, to how Johnny must have stretched your lovely cunt uncountable times by now, to how he must have spend so much time prepping you for him, to how you must have mewl his name as he bend you over. 

“What are you thinking about, Simon?” Your angelic voice pulls him back, looking up to see you. Looking down at him, the fluorescent lights of his office surrounding you like an halo, an angel blessing his unworthy person of your attention. 

“Nothing.” He answers, breathing still difficulted by your grip on him even though you stopped moving.

“You seem distracted…” You reply, obviously having catched him with the empty look of his eyes; his mind clearly somewhere else. 

“I'm sorry I called you into the tunnel.” Simon suddenly says, making you furrow your eyebrows as you look at him with a confused expression. 

“Are you really thinking of that right now, Simon Riley?” You ask, the slightest tone of annoyance that you try to hide under a chuckle enough to force him to pull his shit together.

All his life Simon has mourned for the past, for the people he lost, for the people he didn't see to grow old, to the things he didn't get to live. But now life has given him a second opportunity to live those things, to love those people and to grow old with them. This is not the time to fuck things up.

“Why don't you focus on the present, hm? Stop thinking so much of the past…” You tell him, as if reading his mind. “Focus, Simon. Or I'll think you want me to leave.” 

He nods, a short blunt nod, and that's all the signals you get from him before he hoist you up, standing from the chair. He sits you on the edge of the table, moving your legs so they rest around his waist and before you can say anything he starts to trust. The moans that fall from your lips sliding right into his hungry mouth as he kisses you. 

Simon hides his face on your neck, drooling on it, as he mumbles about how you are never going to leave again, about how he needs you close by, about how he'll spend his life repaying you for reliving Johnny and yourself. The love confessions mixed with the abuse of your weeping cunt have your mind spinning, there is a constant drip of guilt in the well of your conscience that reminds you of Johnny. 

You try to convince yourself you are not cheating on him, but you are perfectly aware that you are using the loophole that Johnny and you aren't technically dating. The fact that the only reason there was never a conversation about exclusivity was because for Johnny there was nobody else apart from you that existed. You had the upper hand and you were conscious of it, perfectly aware of the weight of your decisions. 

But you have always felt the attraction towards the man currently between your legs and balls deep into you. You may regret it tomorrow, when you look into Johnny's blue innocent eyes, unaware of your betrayal. 

It felt natural with Johnny, the line medic-patient was almost never there. Before the accident Johnny and you were already close friends, but the lines between friendship and something else were never crossed. So when Johnny woke up, and you become his everything it was difficult to avoid being his filtring target. 

Not that you mind it, the cheesy pickup lines, badly done winks and warm hugs soon turned into little promises and soft kisses. There were no promises that you would make it back home, the threat of the enemy finding the two of you was high and even though you were a trained soldier you were aware you couldn't save the two of you alone. 

So you found refuge on Johnny, on his embrace, his kisses and his warmth. You could die at any given moment, but Johnny made you forget about the constant threat. 

But right now, you feel how Simon moves your legs up, resting your calves on his shoulder as he pulls you back; laying you down on the table, and he continues the unforgiving rhyming of his hips against yours. 

The new angle has you mewling under him, brain so mushy you are sure whether you are moaning his or Johnny's name at this point, but it's not like it bothers Simon. 

Your nails sink into his shoulders, back arching off the surface of the table as you fall over the edge, creaming his shaft as you clench down on it. Simon leans back, standing straight and groaning at the sight of the white ring on the base of his dick. 

He grabs both of your wrists, using them as leverage to keep plunging into you; your boobs pressed together with the new position. Your climax gets prolonged with the unstopping thrusting inside of you, clamping down on him like a vice.

He moans your name when he finally comes, doing it inside on the warmth of your still convulsing cunt and pulling out to let the last beads of cum drip onto your chest, marking the territory like a badly trained dog. He looks down at you, arms spread once he lets go of them; looking up at him with a tiny smile on your face. 

“Did I focus nicely?” Simon asks, chuckling to himself.

You give him a thumbs up, smug expression on your face making him laugh. He leans down, forearms resting on each side of your head as you pull your arms around his shoulders, pushing yourself up to softly kiss him on the lips. “I'm really glad you made it out of the tunnel, love… and that you saved Johnny…” Simon mumbles between kisses.

“Imagine how happy I am.” You whisper, yawning right after and making Simon chuckle. He helps you stand up, putting your messed-up panties back on his place and picking the dress off the floor to pull it back on you as you look at him with a sleepy smile on his face. 

He knows it is nasty, his cum still drying up under the clothes, but his possessiveness takes over his senses and he simply puts his also wet dick back into his pants. 

He walks you back to your room, with you hugging his arm as you walk back. Once you reach the door and open it, Simon leans down kissing you good night pulling back with a lovestruck smile on. You finally close the door and Simon turns around, and he sees him. 

Johnny staring from the door of his room, perfectly aware of what just must have happened between Simon and you. Simon knows he must be hurt, betrayed even, that this could be a good opportunity to set some bases. 

Instead, he looks at Soap still smiling and raises his middle finger up at him. Just like he did back at the house, instead Simon mouths at him:

“You're next, Johnny”

Hallooo 💗💗💗

I hope that you like the next chapter, I went from wanting to write an innocent little one-shot to writing a whole series! I'm posting the masterlist in a bit as well 💗

Thank you for the patience as well, I have been a bit MIA the past couple of days, so I hope I made it up with this hehehe 💗💗💗

As always, let me know in the comments or the reblogs if you like it and thank you so much for reading ❤️

TagList:

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[m4ctavish]

soap & ghost — wind down.

masterlist

pairing (s) : john “soap” mactavish/gn!reader, simon “ghost” riley/gn!reader

desc : some sweet headcanons on what it’s like to get these two to wind down and relax after a long day. also just me rambling about certain things

a/n : reader can be viewed as either a civilian or solider ^^

john “soap” mactavish :

soap is put at ease by your presence alone, but what really helps is having your hand in his or being able to rest against you.

i feel like touch is important to him when it comes to getting him to relax; hold his hand and stroke the back of his hand with your thumb or just trace nonexistent shapes. or, just hold him for a bit when the two of you are alone. let him bury his face in to your neck and hold you tight: let him remind himself that you’re there and you’re real.

after a particularly long day, all he wants to do is lay down with you close to him. he’ll wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest and resting his head atop of yours. he takes comfort in the constant that is your heartbeat. alternatively, if the two of you are on the couch or somewhere where you can’t lay down together, he’ll rest his head in your lap and close his eyes. (to be honest, i have a feeling he’s a sucker for when your trace over his features— just stroking his cheek has him folding)

talk to him about your day if the two of you spent time apart— tell him the ups and downs, he really wants to know. plus, he really just likes hearing you talk, even if it’s just rambling about something that you find interesting or something that made you mad a few hours prior.

you’ll probably have to coax him in to getting up and cleaning up. “shower. now, mactavish.” “i dinnae-“ “go.”

he appreciates it when you join him for a shower or bath, particularly when you’re behind him, helping him wash his hair when he doesn’t have the energy to do it himself; his muscles are aching and his bones feel like jelly but he supposes it’s alright when he has you there, running your fingers along his skin and scalp, leaving a trail of suds and washing away the accumulated grime.

after that, it’s back to bed for him (and you) with him pulling you close, arms wrapping around you comfortably. he’ll hold on to you all night if you let him but if not, having you lay next to him will suffice.

simon “ghost” riley :

ghost takes a bit to wind-down and fully relax, likely needing some aid.

take some time to help him remove the grease paint around his eyes with a warm rag and some soap; standing between his legs, one hand tilting his chin up so he can look at you whilst your other hand works to gently drag the rag along his under eyes, cleaning up any stray dark spots. his hands are resting on your hips— it helps keep him grounded, helps keep him in the present and prevents his mind from wandering to endeavors of the day.

when you’re done, he’ll usually mumble a soft “thanks” or a “love ya,” and give you a gentle squeeze.

sometimes you’ll stand there a bit longer, letting him rest his head against your stomach, carding your fingers through his hair. these are his favorite moments— it feels like everything goes still and there’s nothing in the world but the two of you. no wars, no betrayals, just you.

it’s baffling to him that one person could provide him with such a sense of serenity and sometimes he finds himself wondering if he’s even deserving of such a thing. those thoughts go as quickly as they came though when you mumble a quiet but heartfelt, “i love you, simon.”

kinda feel like he purrs like a cat sometimes if he’s relaxed— not like, downright purring but more like a low hum/rumble in his chest. like, you’re just stroking his jaw or rubbing his cheek and there’s just this low “hmm” (does that make sense LOL)

alternatively, ghost needs some time alone to unwind; it’s nothing personal, that’s just how he is. it’s hard to tell where he goes— he’s just out the door and it’s hard to track him after that unless he wants to be found, which isn’t very often.

i imagine that he has a few places he frequents, usually high up where he can comfortably watch everything and everyone from above. it’s usually quiet that high up too, helps him clear his mind when it’s nothing but raging turmoil.

[ahsokaismyqueen]

Being Loved

Pairing - Marcus Moreno x Pregnant!Reader

Summary - When Marcus gets a text from his daughter saying that you’re acting weird, he rushes right over thinking that something’s wrong. When he gets to you though, it’s not exactly what he had pictured. 

Word Count - 1.2k

Warnings - None! Pure fluff!

Being a superhero, it took a lot to rattle Marcus Moreno. He had handled alien invasions, labs creating dangerous chemicals, even saved a few cats from some trees. Whenever he did get nervous, it had something to do with either his daughter or now you. 

So when he got a text message from his daughter that said you were acting funny, and that he should probably come home, his heart started racing with anxiety. Not only because he knows that Missy wouldn’t text him something like that if she didn’t mean it, but also because you are seven months pregnant with his baby. 

He had never raced out of the Heroics building and to your house in such a short amount of time. Marcus was fairly sure he could have given Blinding Fast a run for his money. None of that mattered though, all that mattered was making sure that you were okay. When he opened the door, he found Missy waiting for him, her arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapping on the ground. “What took you so long?” 

“Where is she? What’s going on? Is the baby coming?” He asked, the panic clear in his tone. 

“Upstairs, I’m - uh - not sure, and I don’t think so?” Missy answered, calling after Marcus as he ran up the stairs and to your shared bedroom. He didn’t even bother to knock, using his powers to swing the door open, but what he found when he stood there stopped him in his tracks. 

You were laying down on the bed, a tub of ice cream balanced on your belly which was covered in one of his t-shirts with tears streaming down your face. “Marcus?” You whimpered, obviously startled by how he had entered the room. “What are you - you’re not supposed to be -”

“Missy texted. What’s wrong cariño?” He asked, approaching you cautiously. Since your moods had been . . . well changing, he had learned that was the best way to do it. 

You glanced back at the television and frowned, and Marcus was horrified to see the tears start up again. “He . . . why doesn’t he just tell her why he doesn’t want to be a father?! She’s his wife! She - she deserves to know.” 

Stuck on bedrest, there hadn’t been much else for you to do other than to binge watch television shows, and as of right now, everyone had been talking about Bridgerton. You had no idea how much of an effect it would have on you. Watching Simon and Daphne struggle through her wanting to have children, and him not wanting to, made you question whether this was something that Marcus even wanted in the first place, or if you had pressured him into it. 

Turning back to Marcus, you put a hand on the bottom of your belly, biting your bottom lip. “You . . . you want this baby, right? I didn’t . . . I didn’t make you -”

“What? No!” He said in disbelief, hurrying to your side and sitting next to you on the bed. His warm hand coming to rest on top of yours, giving it a squeeze. “Of course I want this baby! I’m so happy I’m having a child with you.” 

“But . . . What if the baby has powers and Missy gets jealous? Or what if Missy gets jealous in the first place? I don’t want her to think I’m going to love her any less because of -” The words came tumbling out of your mouth so fast you were sure Marcus was struggling to keep up, but as soon as you had started voicing some of the fears you had been tucking away, you couldn’t stop. 

“Sweetheart, sweetheart!” Marcus interrupted, shaking his head at you and giving you a soft smile. “I think it’s time I show you something.” 

“But -” Your eyes flickered back to the television, but he took the remote and paused it. You frowned, and you frowned even more when he took the ice cream away, but you let him lift you into his arms without any complaint. Your arms wove around his neck at once, snuggling into him and closing your eyes as you breathed in the scent of his aftershave. You were so glad it was one of the few things that didn’t bother your stomach. 

“Hey, Missy? You ready to show her?” Marcus called down the stairs, and Missy soon hurried up, a huge grin on her face as she did. 

“It’s time?” She asked. 

Marcus nodded, and let Missy lead the two of you to the door that you knew was going to be the nursery. It was a place you hadn’t been able to step in since you got put on bedrest because it was such an unfinished mess it stressed you out. “Guys I can’t look at paint swatches right -”

Missy opened the door and your breath was taken away. What had once been a disaster of storage and boxes of unfinished baby items was now a completed nursery. Marcus carried you over and put you down in what had to be the most comfortable cushioned rocking chair you had ever sat in. 

“Okay!” Missy stood in the center of the room, clapping her hands together and ready to give the tour. “So over to this wall,” She waved dramatically to your left. “We have some shelving for storage, a clothing hamper, and a changing table because babies go through a lot of clothes, a lot of diapers, and you need all of those things right there.” She then turned to the next wall in the room. “Here we have more shelving for all the baby clothes you’re going to have, another chair so two people can be in here at the same time, and some pictures of all of us!” 

As Missy spoke you glanced over at the pictures, a soft smile on your face as you looked at each one. They were some of your favorites. All of you had your own individual pictures, but there were also pictures of Missy and Marcus, Missy and Anita, you and Marcus, you and Missy, and then a picture of all of you. 

Marcus, who sensed how emotional you were getting, placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze as Missy continued showing you every aspect of the room. 

“So?” She said when she was done, bringing her hands together and almost jumping up and down in excitement. “What do you think?” 

Your voice was weak when you responded. “You guys did all of this?” 

“Well, mostly Dad, but I did the painting, and he did let me help put some stuff together - oh no, you’re crying again. I’m sorry! We can change it if -”

“No!” You interrupted her, shaking your head back and forth. Missy’s clear excitement and Marcus’s hard work was only making you cry harder though. The fact that they cared so much about this new addition despite all the challenges it might bring had your chest constricting with affection for the two of them. “Come here,” you said to both of them, gesturing them towards you and pulling them both into as good of a hug as you could manage. “It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s everything I could ever want.” You told them, hugging them so tight you’re not sure you weren’t hurting them. 

When the three of you pulled away, Missy was smiling, and Marcus’s hand went back to your belly, rubbing it gently. “We love you, mi alma, and we love this baby too.” He told you, his soft, soothing words putting you more at ease than he would ever know. 

He had reminded you, that no matter what, this baby was going to be loved by an amazing father, and an equally amazing sister.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Can We Keep It.”

Sorry about the extended break. Hope you guys like this :)

First officer the Omen Lieutenant Simon waited at the entrance to the cargo bay watching the flaring red light blink continually before the airlock doors. A tone came with it loud and blaring repeatedly crawling its way into her head and making the space behind her eyes throb. She rubbed her head desperate or the sound to stop by knowing she just needed to wait  it out. Her family had always wondered why she chose a job that was so stressful, and so full of annoying and bothersome noises, but she wanted this and was willing to go through all manner of annoyances to make that dream come true.

If annoying noises were the worst thing about her job, then she should feel lucky.

The airlock door hissed open and the group of GA scientists and their accompanying human escort hurried into the cargo bay before the door shut behind them. 

She saluted to the Admiral who hurried onto the deck, “Sir, everything went well I trust.”

Her question was suddenly cut off when she noticed…. Something off.

Simon had never been all that great at reading people, she had trouble distinguishing tonal variation in people’s voices, and sometimes body language flew itself right over her head like a UFO, but this was obvious enough even SHE was able to pick it out.

“Did you gain weight?” She immediately chided herself for being so blunt. She had learned pretty early on that people didn’t like that sort of bluntness, but she had already stepped face first into it.

Admiral vir straightened himself out and quite obviously pulled his coat over his stomach, which was bulging quite obviously, “Bloating is a bitch, I tell you those space berries are really something.” 

“You are EATING random space plants!”

HE shuffled his feet, “Well not eating thm per say, anyway gas, you know that sort of thing. SHould probably head back to my quarters before I bother anyone with my issues.”

He went to walk past her and as he did, she thought he saw his coat twitch right above his stomach.

“What the Fuck was that.”

“Spasms, nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about! Admiral I should call Dr. Krill down right away.”

“NO NO! No need for that, I can walk just fine. Look, I will swing by the infirmary in a minute and get myself checked out, feeling totally fine. Nothing to see here.”

Simon went to open her mouth but he hurried past her and away, “Lord look at the time, so busy have so many things to do, paperwork, and and meetings and, and gotta call my mom before she freaks out and assumes I have died. Yep.”

Apparently she wasn’t the only one who thought he was acting weird, and she watched him go as the rest of the crew did the same, their heads cocked to the side, their mouths pulled down into a frown. NO one was really sure what was going on, and no one was really sure what they were supposed to do about it.

Simon turned her head to look over at the scientists who looked just as confused, although their leader looked somewhat annoyed about something.

He looked up at her wit an expression even SHE could tell was one of annoyance.

“Next time, we will not be allowing him on our expedition.”

She frowned, “Why is that?”

“Touching everything with his bare hands, marching through the bushes disturbing he wildlife, touching strange creatures, honestly he has no sense of scientific decorum, and if that planet had been even the slightest bit more dangerous, we might all be dead.”

“I will, have a talk with him.”

“Do what you must.” The little creature said, “I need to go lay down.”

He and his scientists walked off, some to the labs and others to do as their boss was doing. Simon was left standing rather confused and staring after them as they went.

She shook her head.

Sometimes she wondered how the Admiral had ever even become an Admiral, but she guessed clearly someone had thought he was qualified.

***

Adam Vir hurried down the hall desperately trying to keep unnoticed until finally shouldering open the door to his room and allowing it to hiss shut behind him. Then finally he leaned his back against the door and sat there as something writhed and churned against his skin. He felt it slither up the front of his chest before Jeffery snaked his way from the top of his jacket and out into open air. He opened his three segmented mouth, likely tasting the air kind of like a snake as he did Before turning his head to look around at the dark room.

Adam patted Jeffrey on the hed, “See, home sweet home.”

The snake-like alien slithered most of the way out of his jacket and went to curl around his upper arm and torso resting his head on top of Adam’s as he showed the creature around the room.

“This is where I sleep, and that over there.” he pointed “Is my dog waffles.”

In the time they had stepped into the room, and Jeffreyhad shown himself, the German Shepherd and poked her nose out from around the side of the bed eying Jeffery with some measure of concern.

Jeffery opened his mouth in her direction and Waffles scooted back just slightly looking to Adam with an expression of confusion and concern. She clearly wasn’t sure that she liked this at all.

Jeffery stretched close to her, his mouth still open holding himself up with great powerful muscles, likely more powerful than your average snake, which was saying something considering earth had plenty of constrictor species that could crush a man to death if they sochos.

Adam held out an encouraging hand, “It’s ok girl, its ok, he isn’t going to hurt you.”

Granted, he hadn’t actually thought this through, and if it didn’t go well, i was going to make his life a lot more difficult than he had originally intended.

He Knelt down on the floor and held out a hand to Waffles, who, as the good girl she was gave him her trust and moved forward, her nose twitching in the direction of the strange alien. 

Waffles had spent a good portion of her life around aliens, so she was used to coming into contact with new and strange creatures. Where other dogs might have barked, growled, or even attacked, she approached with cautious footsteps her head cocked curiously to the side.

Jeffrey, for his part, didn’t seem worried at all, and stretched forward to get a better look at the strange creature he could now sense before him. He closed his mouth after a bit and looked her over with his large green and yellow eye. She stretched her neck forward sniffing at him curiously. Tentatively she took one step forward and then another until she was sniffing the head of the space snake directly.

Her tail came up from where it had been hidden in between her legs and slowly began to wag back and forth.

She took another step forward and tentatively licked at the snake.

Jeffery reared back slightly surprised causing the dog to shrink back a little. For a moment he worried it was going to devolve into a fight, but then Jeffery lowered himself back down and allowed Waffles to lick him some more. He slithered from around Adam’s soldiers an onto the floor in a tight coil.

Waffles dropped her front half and stuck her butt in the air tail wagging playfully batting at the snake with one of her paws.

Jeffery reared up a little an playfully lunged at her.

Adam grinned. It was a lot like watching a cat and a dog fight and he sat back on the edge of his bed to watch the two of them play.

Waffles Lay down with Jeffrey in between her paws, mouth open tilting her head back and forth as if threatening to bite him, though he knew she never would. She played with him like that all the time and had never hurt him in the past.

It Was probably at that precise moment that Adam realized…. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do. It’s not like there were regulations against stealing animals from unknown planets, though there probably should have been. He knew that what he had done was probably illegal in some way or another, though he hadn’t read the manual in long enough to figure that out. He knew for sure that Simon and krill were going to be pissed, and probably Sunny. They would likely turn the ship around and make him take Jeffery back home, but the thought of dumping him off in the forest and then just leaving left a huge pit in Adam’s stomach. 

He had already proven once that he wasn’t going to be able to leave Jeffery behind.

After bonding for the day, he had honestly intended to set jeffery back into the wild. He had even gone down to the nearest berry tree and set him down offering him some of the berries to eat in his cupped hand before turning away and walking off, but then he heard jeffery behind him, and turned around to find the snake following him, looking for all the world like he was sad to see his friend go.

Adam had tried to explain himself as much to make himself feel better as to explain the situation to jeffery, but he just couldn’t do it. Jeffery had looked so forlorn and sad, like he understood what was going on.

Then he had crawled over and wrapped himself around Adam’s leg looking up at him with a big sad eye.

Adam was a weak man.

He knew it 

Puppy eyes, or in this case, snake eye worked on him just a little too well, and he was unable to leave the creature where it should.

At any time, if jeffery had shown a hint of agitation, he would totally have gone back, but he had curled up under Adam’s shirt and rested there through the whole flight like it was nothing, and now here he was taking his new environment and friends in stride.

Adam sighed and rested his head in his hands.

Great, he had gone and adopted yet another alien.

He hadn’t done it in so long that it was bound to happen again, but he really had not intended for it to happen this time. This time it had been completely by accident.

Just then there was a knock at the door.

He nearly fell off the bed in shock and concern as he hurried over to the door. Waffles and Jeffrey had stopped playing as they curiously looked over towards him. He cracked the door halfway glancing out into the hall with a face of concern.

Adam was both surprised and nervous to see Ramirez standing there.

Behind him Jeffery slithered over looking ready to poke his head around the door to see who was knocking.

Adam tried to block him with his foot as he peered through the door.

“Sorry bro, really busy right now gotta go.”

Ramirez frowned and reached out a hand to block the door, “Dude, serious? Like you were acting weird just a few minutes ago and Krill sent me up here  to make sure you were okay.”

Adam gave a stiff smile as he attempted very hard to keep Jeffery back from the door, “Oh yeah, I am totally ok. Very cool, completely and utterly ok, no problems at all.” Jeffery, who had got annoyed at his attempt to block the door, now began to slither up his leg.

Ramirez frowned, “Are you sure you are ok?”

“Yeah Fine/”

He tried to Grab Jeffery but he slithered through, and around the doorway opening his mouth to smell the newcomer.

Naturally Ramirez freaked out almost immediately, “What the FU_” He reached down for his handgun, but before he could Adam lunged forward, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled them both back into his room allowing the door to slam behind him.

He pinned Ramirez to the floor  as the other man struggled, “What te HELL!”

He claimed a hand over the other Man’s mouth, “Shut Up! Shut UP.”

Ramirez went quiet breathing hard as Adam Sat over him, a hand pressed to his mouth. Jeffer peered out from around his shoulder.

“Don’t scream, and I will take my hand away. Gt that?”

Ramirez nodded, and Adam pulled his hand back.

“What the hell is that!” Ramirez hissed

“This is Jeffery.”

“Jeffery?”

“Yeah…. I may have…. Rescued him from an alien planet.”

“Dude are you kidding me, for a second I thought you were being mind controlled or possessed by some sort of alien brain sucker.” He looked up at Jeffrey and waved a hand, “Waddup.” 

Jeffery opened his mouth again.

Ramirez pulled back a bit, “W-what’s it doing.”

Adam waved a hand, “Oh, I think that is just the way he smells people or something.”

He rolled off to the ide to allow Ramirez to sit up,and reaching out jeffery let Ramirez pat him on the head, “So cool,” he glanced over at Adam, “You know Simon and krill are going to be PISSED.”

He sighed, “I know, I know, but you should have seen the way he looked at me when I tried to leave. I couldn’t handle it….. I am a weak man.”

Ramirez shook his head, “Well now what…. Do you even know what it eats”

Adam paused, opened his mouth and then closed it, “Well I know he eats berries?”

“And did you bring any of those berries?”

“Well I uh…. May have forgotten in the moment.”

Ramirez paused, “Wait here for a second.” Adam watched him as he got up and left the room.

***

The rest of the crew would be very confused to watch Ramirez walk into the mess hall, int the walk in refrigerator and then appropriate a tub of strawberries, some raspberries, blueberries and blackberries before walking back out of the room without saying anything to anyone. He would get some very strange looks as he walked up the stairs towards the captain’s quarters and then vanish walking back into the room and setting the berries down on the floor.

The two of them sat cross legged across from each other and attempted to figure out what exactly it was that Jeffrey liked.

Adam still had no idea how he was going to hide this.

Jeffery was too curious for his own good , and someone was bound to find out eventually

[cjfritos]

In Dreams Begin (Jessa wedding story)

Obviously written by Cassandra Clare. I own no rights to this. This was included in first editions of The Lost Book of the White by her and Wesley Chu. It tells the story of Jem Carstairs and Tessa Gray’s wedding and explains why no one remembers it.

Unfortunately it does include some spoilers from LBW so if you have not read it yet, I don’t recommend reading it. Otherwise, enjoy :)

~~~

Magnus Bane was scheming.

         To an untrained observer, the High Warlock of Brooklyn wouldn’t look like he was doing much of anything at all. For one thing, he was wearing purple silk pajamas. For another thing, he was in bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows with a spell book open in his lap.

         Beside him, Alec Lightwood was stretched out on his side, deeply asleep. Earlier that day, Alec had taken their son, Max, to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. This had been at Magnus’s request—he wanted Max to have ample opportunity to tire himself out before bedtime. It worked almost too well. Max had made fast friends with a werewolf toddler named Eliza, and the two of them tore around the gardens blissfully for about three hours straight, Max crawling while Eliza ran, albeit unsteadily. Eliza’s mother had been quite surprised the first time Max levitated. Luckily, he was glamoured so only she and Alec noticed.

         Though not possessed of much vocabulary, Eliza clearly wanted Max to levitate her as well. Fortunately, Max did not yet have that sort of skill. Alec and Max returned home happy, covered in mud, and—best of all—exhausted. Magnus really wanted them all to sleep through the night.

         Magnus shifted position and peered across the room at the mantel clock atop the dresser, a hideous thing covered in putti that Ragnor had given him years ago. The room was lit only by a candle that burned with a blue flame on the table beside him, but he could make out the numbers. It was one forty-five a.m. Surely that was late enough. Surely even the Shadowhunters and Downworlders of the West Coast would be turning in. He’d given Catarina and Jem and Tessa a heads-up, after all, and as for the Blackthorns and Emma Carstairs, they were kids! And not even babies, with their bizarre and erratic relationship to sleep. Surely the would be asleep by now, worn out from running around on the beach or whatever it was that the residents of the Los Angeles Institute did all day. Yes, it was time.

         Snuggling a little farther under the blanket, Magnus looked fondly over at Alec’s sleeping form, his black hair like spilled ink across the ivory pillowcase. He closed his book and set it on the bedside table. He mentally reached within, feeling about for a particular pocket of magic folded away deep inside, a self-contained bubble. I had been two weeks since he’d been freed from the influence of the Svefnthorn, and while the markings on his skin had faded, his teeth had shrunk back to their normal size, and the overcharged magic of the artifact had left his system, this one reserve of magical energy had lingered.

         At first, Magnus had considered hanging on to it as a sort of insurance policy. A little extra magic went a long way, especially when the magic was this potent, and Magnus was quite certain that he and Alec and their friends would have plenty more dangers to face in the years to come. That was their job, after all. But clinging to the magic out of fear of imagined dangers didn’t feel good. It felt like letting demons have a small victory over him, playing right into their scaly, demonic hands. No, instead he had resolved to use the power in a decidedly un-demon-sanctioned manner—to create joy.

         Magnus shut his eyes. Oneiromancy, the study and practice of dream magic, had never been one of his specialties. But with the added kernel of power from the Sveftnthorn, he felt quite confident that he could pull of this one feat, even as complex as it was. The trickiest part, it seemed to him, was holding himself in that drowsy state between waking and sleeping, while maintaining enough awareness to cast the spell. He lay back against the pillows, letting his eyelids flutter shut for just a moment….

~~~

When Magnus opened his eyes again, he was standing in the middle of Blackfriars Bridge, the panorama of London spread out around him in all directions.

         He took a deep breath of river-tasting air. The sky was a dark violet, the sun only just beginning to rise. There was no traffic, which was a distinct advantage to throwing a party on a dream bridge rather than on the real thing. There was a warm breeze in the air, and the Thames danced beneath it, silvery in the dawn light. Had he ever noticed wind in a dream before? Magnus wasn’t sure. He admired the view from the bridge—it seemed just about right, though he hadn’t been here for a couple decades. Perhaps some ugly new construction had taken place since then, but who would fault him for omitting that?

         “Magnus!”

         He turned and saw two figures hurrying toward him. It was Tessa and Jem, both in what Magnus assumed was their pajamas. Tessa’s were gray with white rabbits on them. Jem’s were dark-green-and-navy-blue plaid. They were barefoot, but that wouldn’t matter on a dream bridge. He started to smile as they got closer and he could see that they were both giddy and laughing, a hint of disbelief on their faces.

         Tessa threw her arms around him, knocking him off-balance. He marveled at how solid and real she felt.

         “It’s working!” she said in wonder.

         “A magical discipline unexplored is always worth exploring,” Magnus said, stepping back. “I may be late to the game with oreiromancy, but I plan to make up for my tardiness all at once, right now. Is that what your planning to wear to your wedding?”

         “It’s not traditional, but neither was the yellow cotton shirt dress I wore for the courthouse wedding. And I do love bunnies,” said Tessa. “I’m all right with it if Jem is.”

         “I would marry you if you were wearing a barrel,” said Jem.

         “But why would I be wearing a barrel?” said Tessa.

         They were both grinning at each other stupidly. Magnus decided something needed to be done; he wasn’t sure how long his magic would hold out.

         “I won’t have it!” he said. “If I’m to throw you a dream wedding, you must be properly dressed for the occasion. It’s in my contract. I do hope you read the fine print.”

         He snapped his fingers, and Jem’s pajamas were replaced by an exquisitely cut black suit. Magnus aimed for something that suggested the style of the Shadowhunter gear Jem had worn long ago, in the first years he knew Tessa. Wedding runes were intricately embroidered on the lapels in gold thread. As Jem marveled at the excellent fit, Magnus turned his attention to Tessa.

         “I know,” he said, “a wedding dress is a highly personal choice. But as our other guests will be arriving momentarily, and time is of the essence, I’m going to take a stab at it.”

         “You have my express permission,” Tessa said.

         Magnus snapped his fingers again, and the Tessa was wearing a beautiful sleeveless gown of pale silver, with a full skirt that reminded Magnus of the first time he’d met her, at a vampire ball. A couple more flicks of his fingers, and her hair rearranged itself beautifully into an updo, with a few tendrils loose around her face. One more gesture, and Tessa’s familiar jade pendant appeared around her neck—as did the pearl bracelet she always wore, a gift from Will on their thirtieth anniversary.

         Tessa looked startled, reaching up to touch her hair, then brushing her hands over the gown. “How do I look?”

         Jem looked very young again as he gazed at her, his dark eyes full of emotion. “Ni hen piao liang,” he whispered. You are very beautiful.

         Magnus turned away to give them a moment—and felt familiar arms close around him.

         Alec kissed Magnus on his forehead—being slightly shorter than Magnus, he had to pull Magnus down a bit to do it, which Magnus didn’t mind at all—and muttered, “You’re a sentimental bastard, aren’t you?” in his ear.

         But he was grinning all over his face as he turned to greet Tessa and Jem, congratulating them. They both looked delighted to see him.

         “So let me get this straight,” Alec said. “You, me, Tessa, and Jem will all remember this with perfect recall. For the other guests, they’ll remember it at first, but then it will fade away, the way dreams do?”

         “That is correct. They won’t recall it the way we will, but their souls will be present, and glad for it. Well, mostly glad for it,” Magnus said.

         “What do you mean, ‘mostly’?” Jem said nervously.

         “I mean that I’m not sure how Church will feel about the whole thing.”

         “Church!” Alec and Jem exclaimed at the same time, and turned to see the grumpy Persian cat sauntering toward them down the center of the bridge.

         Tessa laughed. “Well, he does sleep twenty hours a day. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.”

         “I took the liberty of adding him to the guest list you gave me,” Magnus said. “I’m trying to get on his good side.”

         “Why?” Alec asked, incredulous. “He’s a cat.”

         “So he won’t hate me forever when I do this.” Magnus snapped his fingers, and a silver bow in the same fabric as Tessa’s dress appeared around Church’s neck. Church’s eyes widened for a moment. Then he sat down, and after a moment, became very focused on cleaning his front paw.

         “Now,” Magnus said, “I simply must get this bridge decorated.”

         “It’s decorated perfectly,” said a voice from behind him. Turning, he saw Clary, who was holding Max. Behind her was Jace, followed by Isabelle and Simon, who were leaning together, whispering conspiratorially. Jocelyn and Luke were there, looking slightly unkempt, and Magnus remembered that they were in the process of remodeling a barn at Luke’s farm so Jocelyn could expand her painting studio. Ragnor and Catarina had also appeared, as well as a whole gaggle of kids—the Blackthorn clan. Julian and Helen, Tiberius and Livia, Drusilla and Octavian. Emma Carstairs was with them, though she broke away from the group immediately, running to hug Clary. They were the same height now, Magnus noticed with amusement. Max had escaped from Clary and was riding on Alec’s shoulders now, babbling a story to Helen Blackthorn and her wife, Aline. They looked very amused, though it was unlikely they understood even a quarter of what he said.

         Maryse and Kadir were there too, already deep in conversation with Jocelyn and Luke. Kadir hadn’t been on the guest list Jem and Tessa had given Magnus, because they didn’t really know him, but Magnus had added him as Maryse’s plus-one. It never hurt to butter up your boyfriend’s mother, especially when she was willing to babysit for days at a time.

         A couple Silent Brothers had appeared—Enoch? Shadrach? Magnus was slightly embarrassed to admit that they all looked alike to him, now that Jem was no longer counted among their number as Brother Zachariah. Magnus hadn’t known if the Gregori would be able to attend, since they didn’t normally sleep. One of them—Enoch?—inclined his hooded head slightly at Magnus, acknowledging this mad thing he was doing as worthwhile. At least that was how Magnus chose to interpret the gesture.

         Octavian was climbing Jace like a jungle gym. Clary was talking with Julian and Emma, while Tiberius stood near his older brother, looking around at London with fierce curiosity in his gray eyes. Livia and Drusilla were perched on the railing of the bridge, Livia chatting animatedly with Simon and Isabelle, Drusilla looking around shyly. Catarina went to lean beside her, asking her a question. Magnus looked at the motley assortment of clothing on the assembled group. Mostly casual, though there were more pajamas as well. Magnus made two sweeping gestures, and all at once everyone was looking very sharp in formal attire. Even better, they barely seemed to notice the change. Magnus was impressed. Oneiromancy—who knew!

         A hand gripped his arm. It was Tessa, who looked close to tears. “Magnus. I can’t believe you’re doing this for us. I…” She trailed off, at a loss for words.

         Magnus regarded her fondle. “Tessa, most people’s idea of a dream wedding is not a literal dream wedding. But since yours is, I am happy to oblige. Shall we get this show on the road?”

         Jem and Tessa took their places on either side of Magnus, and the guests gathered around. The sun had climbed well above the horizon, casting rays of warm light between the long shadows of the wedding guests.

         “Dear friends,” Magnus said to Jem and Tessa, “we are honored to share this moment with you, and I am doubly honored to be given the chance to speak. Several hundred years ago I got very drunk and woke up as ordained minister. Today I have decided that doing so was a wise choice after all.”

         Jocelyn snorted, then looked embarrassed. Luke grinned at her.

         “Joking aside, it is impossible to stand here with you all and not feel that there is some greater plan at work, some greater force that has brought these two souls across more than a century to be joined as one.”

         Clary’s eyes were glistening. Jace reached into his pocket and offered her what looked like a handkerchief but was more likely a soft cloth for polishing blades. She gave a wry smile of recognition, and sniffled into it.

         “I debated which customs to follow in officiating this wedding,” Magnus went on. “Whether to conduct a Shadowhunter ceremony, or a warlock ceremony, or even a mundane ceremony, for many worlds have been united in the two of you. But none of these traditions seemed quite appropriate on their own. So I’ve attempted to tailor a ceremony that will honor your unique paths.”

         Magnus nodded to Jem, who reached into his pocket and produced a gold ring. Jem had requested a single word etched around the outside of it: Mizpah.

         “It has been said,” said Magnus, “that when two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze. Theresa Gray, are you at one with James Carstairs in your inmost heart?”

         Tessa’s eyes were wide, her face serious as she gazed at Jem. “I am,” she said, offering her hand to him. He slid the ring onto her finger.

         The Magnus nodded at Tessa, who produced another ring, this one from thin air. Magnus had to suppress the grin that threatened to break his calm officiant expression. It delighted him that Tessa was engaging in a small amount of oneiromancy herself, and Jem looked as pleased by it as Magnus felt. This ring was the exact match of the first, and he knew what it said as well: May the Angel watch between me and thee when we are absent from one another.

         “James Carstairs—Ke Jian Ming—are you at one with Theresa Gray in your inmost heart?”

         “I am,” Jem said, delight visible in his dark eyes. Tessa put the ring on him, and they stood for a moment, holding hands and smiling at each other like they couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

         “For I am persuaded,” said Magnus, and Jem and Tessa both looked up at him, recognizing a piece of the old Shadowhunter wedding ceremony, though he had altered the wording, “that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate these two.” He stretched out his arms. “Therefore I am overjoyed to declare this marriage consecrated, here in the presence of your friends and family. Tessa Gray and Jem Carstairs, you are married, and the world is better for it. You may kiss each other, not that you really need my permission.”

         The assembled crowd cheered as Jem and Tessa kissed, a kiss that had been long delayed. The kiss continued, and Magnus slowly backed away, joining the cheering audience. “Let’s give them a moment,” he said, and happy chatter swelled around him.

         Magnus noted that Alec was looking very foxy in his Armani suit, laughing with Maryse. Ragnor and Catarina were cackling over something, glad to be reunited now that Ragnor didn’t have to pretend to be dead—or at least, didn’t have to pretend with them. Clary had her arm draped over Emma’s shoulders, and Jace was arguing with Simon about how to properly tie a necktie. Tiberius and Drusilla were watching this argument as though it were a tennis match. Julian had lifted Octavian up so he could look down at the river flowing by beneath. Isabelle was joking with Livia, who was giving Max a piggyback ride. It was a miraculously good wedding.

         Here they were, his friends. They’d literally gone into Hell twice with him now. He found himself reflecting on how much had changed. At first his life had felt like Magnus against the world. Then for years and years it had been Magnus, Catarina, and Ragnor against the world. Now his community was a much larger group, one that had spread wide enough that instead of Magnus and his friends against the world, it felt like Magnus and his friends, a part of the world. Probably the best part of the world.

         It was a good feeling.

         “Look!” a girl’s voice cried. It was Drusilla, pointing up into the sky, eyes wide with wonder. There was a collective gasp as the crowd saw what she had spotted. Two figures flew overhead, riding a translucent white stallion with two gold hooves and two silver. One of them was a blond boy in ragged clothes, who looked down at the Blackthorns and waved. The figure in front of him was harder to make out—a gentry faerie in clothes just as ragged, only he was as translucent as the horse. The blond boy must be Mark Blackthorn, Magnus marveled. He’d “invited” the whole family, not knowing whether those who rode with the Wild Hunt could be summoned by dream magic. He had his answer, but it came with another mystery. Who was this companion, so close to Mark that they would appear together in a dream?

         The riders made a circle overhead, while the Blackthorns shouted and waved, and Mark waved back, smiling an odd smile down at them. Then they faded away into the morning air.

         Magnus saw with relief that Jace, Clary, Simon, Isabelle, and Alec had all move in around the Blackthorn kids, giving them an opportunity to talk about what they had just seen—their stolen brother, visiting so briefly.

         He glanced over and saw Tessa and Jem still standing by the railing. There was a shimmer beside them, at the edge of the bridge, and the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck rose.

         He knew Will Herondale had never haunted the moral world, because he had lived and died happily and had no unfinished business among the living. While Magnus didn’t subscribe to any specific set of beliefs about reincarnation or the afterlife, he had always had a strong sense that Will was waiting on the other bank of a dark river—be it Lethe, or some other border between the living and the dead. He was there among the green grass, the sky above as dark a blue as his eyes, waiting patiently for Jem and Tessa to join him, that he might lead them by the hand to whatever wonders lay beyond the veil.

         The philosophers of ancient Greece had believed dreams and sleep to be the twin of death: Morpheus and Hades, standing side by side. And here, in that space, Magnus would not have been surprised if Will stretched out his hand to those he had loved best in life—to Jem and Tessa.

         He was, after all, a Herondale, and very stubborn.

         Alec sidled up to Magnus, leaving the Blackthorns in the capable hands of his siblings and their partners. The kids seemed to have taken Mark’s appearance as a sort of wedding favor created especially for them.

         Alec twinned an arm around Magnus’s waist and pulled him close, kissing him on the temple. “It was very kind of you to use the last of your Svefnthorn magic on this,” he said.

         Magnus leaned into Alec. “Well, it wasn’t enough magic to send us to the moon, or get us into the front row at the Alexander McQueen runway. So I figured, next best thing.”

         Alec smiled at him pointedly. “Actually, I happen to know that you did it because you are an incredibly kind person, and that is one of the many things I love about you.”

         “Oh dear,” Magnus said, turning to face him. “You know all my secrets.”

         Then they were kissing, and kissing in a magical dream turned out to be just as perfect as kissing in the waking world.

[alyasgf]

Reveals?

Part 5 of Everything’s Gonna Be Okay || Masterlist

Word Count- 2615

AO3

Notes- Crazy how I’ve had this chapter drafted for the longest. I went through a spout of hating all of my writing so I wasn’t really motivated. I pretty much just wrote Alyanette until I felt confident enough to continue this so,, yay here we are a couple months later, sorry for the wait.

Begin

She’d never say it aloud, but she adored her partner. She admired him for his optimism, loyalty, and how stupidly brave he could be during battles.

As she detransformed on her bed her mind also wandered to Adrien. It did that a lot recently, flipping back and forth between both blonde boys. It confused her heart, but still she knew it belonged to Adrien, as it always had, as it always would. With his soft laughs and softer smiles, Marinette couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to have him.

She laid there, staring up dreamily toward the night sky and holding her hands to her heart until a shadow obscured her view.

She heard a small knock and smiled. Did this stray ever go home?

She opened her sky light and stuck her head out.

“To what do I owe the pleasure savior of Paris?”

In the dim moonlight she could see Chat’s eyes crinkle as he smiled.

“I request your company, and perhaps some sustenance?” He said in an overly formal tone as he kneeled before her.

She laughed before inviting him in.

As he climbed down into her room she could see the glow in his eyes. Something about him was different, he seemed happier.

Most of the times that he would come Marinette could see a lonely sad look break through when he thought she wasn’t looking. It’s not that she minded of course, if she could be a form of comfort for Chat like he was for her she’d take it in a heartbeat.

“I have some chocolate pastries here, although they aren’t too fresh.” She offered him as he crossed the room over to her desktop. She didn’t normally make a habit of keeping food in her room, but Tikki had been snacking. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind too much if Chat stole a few.

“Sounds great Marinette.” He called over his shoulder as he sat in her desk chair and sat in front of her computer.

“What do you say we find some two player game on here and- oh.” Chat stopped mid-sentence and Marinette turned around from grabbing a pastry to see what had happened.

Apparently she forgot to close out the folder of Adrien’s ad photos she had saved on her computer.

She turned bright red as she ran over to the computer and quickly closed it out.

“That’s uh... research! Yeah research on some Gabriel designs!” She lied, facing her back towards Chat so he wouldn’t notice the blush now spreading down her neck.

“Right, well if it were research on Gabriel designs, why only have pictures of Adrien? Other models wear Gabriel brand clothes.” She could practically hear the teasing smirk on his face.

She turned to wack him softly on the shoulder. “Keep on this topic and I’ll make you watch me eat the pastries right here!” She threatened.

Chat held his hands up in mock surrender. “Woah so sorry Adrien Agreste fan #1.” He teased again.

In response Marinette took a large bite out of the pastry she had planned to give him. She made sure to make a show of it, with accompanying sound effects and an exaggerated sigh after she finished chewing.

“Marinette you wound me!” Chat whined, crossing his arms in a dramatic childlike fashion.

Marinette stopped to think about how adorable his pout was before she laughed and went to grab the second pastry.

“Test me again and there will be no more sweets when you come over.” She bluffed.

Chat practically snatched the snack from her hands.

“Then I’d have no reason to come back.” He said through a stuffed mouth.

“No, I think you enjoy my company too much.” She gloated before pulling up a chair beside him. “Now what game did you want to play?”

They spent the next two hours playing fireboy and watergirl, where Marinette was shocked to find they made an incredible team.

——————————————

The akuma was hard, there was no denying that. The akuma called itself Obedience. Anyone struck with its ray was forced to do what ever it said, as though playing a game of simon says with dire stakes.

Marinette regretted staying up so late with Chat the night before. How he managed to have the amount of energy he did was astounding.

Chat had already used his cataclysm and Ladybug had used her lucky charm to set up a trap, all they had to do was lead Obedience into it.

Unfortunately, they needed to charge up before that, seeing as the beeping of their miraculous was giving its final warning before it was going to give up.

They landed on a distant building and de-transformed behind opposite sides of a pillar.

“M’lady do you have any extra snacks? Plagg ate up all his cheese before the battle and I didn’t have time to restock.” Chat called from the other side of the stone divider.

Ladybug giggled. “Looks like you need to learn how to control your friend Chaton. Here.” She reached out with a macaroon for Chat to take.

Her curiosity got the best of her and she couldn’t help but admire his hand as he reached over to take the sweet.

Soft and flawless, other than the messy blue nail polish that glowed in the sunlight. At first she didn’t think anything of it.

“Going for a new look kitty?” She asked lightheartedly as Tikki refueled.

“What? Oh you mean my nails. Well, I had someone paint them for me yesterday and I guess I distracted them too much and they made a mess.” He replied absentmindedly.

Wheels began to turn in Marinette’s brain, but unsure as to why, she didn’t try to make them stop.

“Oh, someone painted them? They look cute, did someone finally take in this alley cat?”

“For someone who hates puns, you really do use a lot of cat related metaphors toward me bug. And as a matter of fact I do, and she’s my girlfriend.” He bragged. “Plagg claws out!”

Ladybug transformed as well and was going to make a joke before a few dot connected before her. Messy blue nails. A girlfriend who painted them the day before. That nail polish looked all too familiar. She tried to push it down, but the dots were already connected.

Suddenly she flashed back to Chat Noir seeing her folder of Adrien photos last night and she felt sick to her stomach.

“Hey bug? You ready to kick this akuma Chat style?”

Ladybug snapped out of her trance. Even if everything that she just thought of was true, there was still an enemy to defeat. She could fully panic later.

“I think you mean Ladybug style. Now let’s go.”

They only just managed to get to the Eiffel Tower before they heard her again.

“Where are you Ladybug and Chat Noir? Don’t you know good children come when they’re called?” Obedience sang from a few streets over.

Chat strode over to lure her to the trap.

“Well maybe this kitty needs to be put in time out.” He replied leaning on his baton juvenilely.

“Oh no sweet boy, bad children must be taught better!” She pointed cane at him and an array of vegetables began to shoot out at him.

“Oh no! I’m afraid already perfectly healthy ma’am!” He leapt and dodged as he lead her straight to Ladybug.

As he turned the corner, there she stood, hands defiantly on her hips a couple of feet away. He scampered around a very large pool of a certain substance that was hardly noticeable unless you knew what you were looking for.

He took his side beside his lady as Obedience followed behind him.

“I’ve got you now tomcat!” Obedience turned the corner too fast and slipped straight into the street filled with a ridiculous amount of oil.

She screamed as she slid, and in her fall her cane flew from her fingers. It’s momentum led it straight toward them. Ladybug stopped it with the bottom of her shoe, and stomped on it with a satisfied grin.

Once she let the akuma go and threw the now empty bottle of oil to reverse the effects of the akuma, she turned to Chat.

“Pound it!” She said it with her usual confidence, but Chat could see something else lingering in her eyes.

But he was supposed to be practicing piano at the moment so he didn’t exactly have too much time to question her about it.

“Pound it.” He replied, touching his fist to hers.

————————-

“Tikki spots off.”

Ladybug de-transformed in her room and immediately began pacing.

“Crap crap crap crap! Tikki I accidentally figured out his identity! How could I be so careless as to look at his hands? Why did I care that much.”

Tikki sighed as she sat on Marinette’s desk. Sometimes it was best to let her get it all out.

“Well obviously I cared that much because Chat Noir is my recently established boyfriend! God he’s going to get such an ego boost when he finds out we’re dating.” Marinette threw herself face first into her chaise.

“So you’re going to tell him?” Tikki zipped over to hove beside her holder’s head.

There was a muffled response from the chair.

“What was that Marinette?”

“No, not yet. First I want to see how much he knows, if he knows anything at all.” Marinette rolled over on the chaise, laying as though she were at a therapists appointment.

“Tikki do you think this will effect our relationship? Will it put us in danger?”

Tikki’s little heart warmed.

“Marinette, you guys will be fine. If anything I think this would bring you closer together. If it puts you in any more danger you’ll handle it together, like you always do.” Tikki flew closer to hug Marinette’s cheek and Marinette let out a deep sigh as she brought a hand up to hug Tikki back.

“Thanks Tikki. You’re the best kwamii anyone could ask for.” Marinette said as the stress melted off of her.

“And you’re the best Ladybug I’ve ever known.” She replied warmly.

Of course things would work out. This was Chat she was talking about, Adrien. There wasn’t a problem he couldn’t help her solve, with or without the masks.

————————-

After going over Tikki’s advice for what felt like hours, Marinette came to a conclusion.

She would tell Chat Noir (Adrien?) who she was. It was only fair, considering she knew his identity. She wouldn’t have came to this on her own, so for the millionth time in her life she thanked Tikki.

But first, she needed to have a little fun. She noticed how Adrien would tease her lately for how flustered she got around him, so she figured the least she could do was use this moment to get revenge.

Too excited to sit still, she transformed to confront her boyfriend.

———————

Adrien was laying in bed reading manga when he heard a tapping at his window. He looked over in shock to see his lady waiting outside.

“Ladybug?” He nearly stuttered out.

She was glowing in the moonlight, backlit in all her glory. She had a playful grin in her lips that made Adrien uneasy.

“Hey pretty boy, mind if I pop in?” She asked casually, as if it were totally normal for Adrien Agreste to have a spotted heroine outside of his window.

He calmed his heart, remembering this was his dorky girlfriend and invited her in. He had to remember to act friendly, not like he would with Marinette, nor like he would as Chat Noir. This wouldn’t be easy.

“Your nails look cute.” She offered casually as she sauntered over to sit in his desk chair.

Adrien froze. Ladybug had noticed Chat Noir’s earlier too.

He quickly pushed that thought away. Marinette had been oblivious of his identity up until this point, even after the thousands of clues he’d managed to drop. He wasn’t exactly concerned anymore.

He decided to take advantage of the chance to compliment his girlfriend without her being able to completely reject it.

“Yeah my girlfriend painted them! She’s so cute and sweet and pretty.” He replied dreamily.

He could see Ladybug’s eyes widen and her blush grow. This was going great.

“Did you need something?” He asked innocently.

“I- uh-“ Adrien laughed, his girlfriend really wasn’t too different outside of the suit. Flustered and flushed, she was still Marinette.

Suddenly something in her eyes changed. One second they were wide and almost panicked, the next they were full of suspicion.

“You know don’t you!” She accused more than asked. She stalked over and jabbed a finger lightly into his chest.

Now it was Adrien’s turn to panic.

“Know what?” He asked, hoping to play dumb.

“You do!”

So much for feigning innocence. Instead he opted for begging for forgiveness.

“Marinette, i’m so sorry! It’s just I knew you’d panic if I told you when I found out and it’s not like I tried to figure out your identity! It’s just that you put so much effort into the whole kwamiibuster scheme-“

“You’ve known since kwamiibuster?!” She practically shouted.

“-and you looked so cute.” Adrien added still trying to lighten the blow. “I didn’t tell anyone and I’ve known for a while and nothing bad happened so I figured-“

Ladybug cut off his rambling with a kiss.

Adrien was stunned at first but then ultimately sighed into the kiss as he leaned into her touch. His arms looped around her waist as he pulled her close, hands tracing patterns into her spandex covered back.

He pulled pack slightly, noses still touching. He could feel her breath ghost his lips.

“So we’re okay?” He asked hopefully, eyes looking deep into hers as they caught their breath.

“Of course, minou. I just wish you would’ve told me before you saw that embarrassing folder on my computer.” She blushed.

“Oh? But then I wouldn’t be able to tease you about it. Tell me, which one was your favorite? Do you think the greens really brought out my eyes?”

“You’re the worst!” She exclaimed, attempting to pull from his embrace. Adrien’s arms held her fast in place.

“You love me!” He announced proudly as he pulled her into a tight hug. “Ladybug is dating Chat Noir!”

“Would you be quiet! I don’t want to have to explain to Nathalie why Paris’ superhero is standing in your room.” She giggled into Adrien’s shoulder.

“Ladybug is dating Chat Noir” He whispered, this time softer as he nuzzled her neck.

“Yes she is.” Ladybug sighed, resigning to Adrien’s touch.

“Now,” He released the girl as he turned and clasped his hands together. “de-transform. We’ve had plenty of date night in your room-“

“Those weren’t technically dates” She interjected.

“-And not enough in mine.” He gave her a pointed look as he continued. “Of course, since it’s my room, I have full say in what we watch.” He could hear Marinette’s pout as she de-transformed. “But I’ll take suggestions.”

Marinette crossed over to where Adrien was pacing in anticipation and threw her arms around his shoulders from behind. She placed a quick kiss on the base of his neck.

“New Girl again!” She said excitedly.

“No.”

[raphaelshusband]

sleeping like a cat | saphael one shot

cursive is a sign language.

Simon Lewis was a great support to him. He tried to make Raphael feel as comfortable as possible, taking care of him as much as he could. Santiago felt incredible sadness that he would never be willing to hear his beloved. But who knows? Maybe after death? In Paradise?

He woke up with a mass of tiny kisses on his neck and hands tightly clasped around his chest. He smiled and turned to meet Simon's gaze. The man smiled back, ruffling the Mexican's black hair. He moved closer to place a small kiss on his partner's nose.

The dark-eyed man chuckled, hiding his face in the hollow of Lewis's neck.

I don't feel like getting up. He looked at Simon.

Why is that?

I just don't want to. Simon laughed, and he wished he could hear it.

I'll make us breakfast. And he got up from the bed. Raphael looked disappointed as he reached out to stop him, but Simon only grabbed his hand, placed a kiss on the knuckles, and stepped into the dressing room. Santiago wrapped the covers tighter around him, closed his eyes.

Brown-eyed walked into the room with a tray just as it finished praying. He put the book and the rosary in a drawer, and Lewis wrapped his arms around it, resting his head on Raphael's shoulder. The Mexican reached out to tilt his head back, smiling. Santiago only felt a vibration in his neck that Lewis was grunting, and he was not about to take his head off his shoulder.

Raphael accepted that he would have his breakfast left in a kneeling position, so he reached for a slice of brown bread. Simon tore off a piece of it and put it in his mouth. Santiago raised one eyebrow and looked at him, at which he just laughed.

Idiota.

Your darling idiota.

Yes. My darling idiota. Lewis stepped off him, and he breathed a sigh of relief as his legs began to throb with pain. They ate breakfast in a relaxed atmosphere (as always), and Simon continued to distract Raphael by brushing his hair back, showering him with kisses, or tapping his stomach, side, or cheek.

Later, they both headed to the bathroom, where Simon would not let Santiago get the hair gel, gesticulating that he was using too much of it and that his hair sometimes needed rest and that he was taking good care of it already. Then Lewis grabbed the comb himself and combed it.

The Mexican couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend.

Let's skip the fact that they both struggled with the dark-eyed man's electric toothbrush because it decided to stop working and wouldn't turn on at all. After ten minutes of never-ending work, it finally began to hum and they both endured the triumph.

The evenings were even better - when Raphael was lying in the bathtub under a blanket of foam, Lewis entered the bathroom and as if nothing had happened, joined him to which the brunet reacted with a huge, red blush. Later, they either just lay down until the water had cooled down and gave a sign that they needed to wash, or they splashed water like little children or covered their hair with foam.

After a successful fight in the bathroom, the Mexican landed on the couch with a book in his hands and the brown-eyed man maneuvered in the kitchen.

Just don't burn the pan. He gesticulated followed by the older man looking away.

That was a year ago, okay? Don't remind me of that. The dark-eyed chuckled and returned to his book. Reading, writing and learning were the most difficult moments in his life. Sign language has a different structure, grammar, and has never really heard the words, but has more or less understood them. But sometimes he had a problem anyway.

He learned his native language - Spanish and English. He communicated in both, but read in Spanish. Whenever Simon looked over his shoulder, he would turn around and gesticulate that he must be reading some erotics, which is why Spanish words are always on the paper.

Raphael read a lot. There wouldn't be a day when he didn't read at least one page. He flipped another page, beginning to smell the delicious smells from the kitchen. Maybe Simon didn't look like that, but he cooked very well.

He spent an hour reading until the mattress next to him was dented and Lewis put a mug of coffee under his nose.

Your favourite. Caramel. He gestured with one hand and rested his head on his shoulder.

Gracias.

 ***

 The whole merry crowd came at four o'clock. They took every seat in the living room and Simon breathed a sigh of relief that there was no space left. The black-haired man was sitting curled next to the brown-eyed man, holding him with his hands and hugging him.

"And do you remember our first trip out of town together?" Magnus said as the laughter at the earlier memory faded. Lewis immediately began to explain to the Mexican.

"Where were we then?" Jace looked over his glass.

"We had a choice of a campfire on the beach and a campsite in the woods, but you chose the forest, saying it was better," Magnus put a cookie in his mouth. "But we ended up in bug bites, wet and dirty, and finally ended up sleeping in Simon's van."

Did you have a van?

I had. But I sold it, now I have this better car.

"Or do you remember when we had to split up in high school? Because everyone was already going to a different college." Clary reminded her.

"And then most of us met at the same time anyway," Isabelle laughed over her cake.

"That's when Simon met Raphael," cut Alec, and Simon froze. "He couldn't stop talking about him" the brown-eyed smiled nervously.

Oh, was it really like that?

Not at all, he is lying.

But you just gesticulated that to me. Lewis pouted.

"Oh, come on," he said, not knowing that a flush crept across his face. The rest of the meeting was great. But before it was over, Simon not noticing, placed a hand on his knee, but before feeling the texture of the jeans he could feel Raphael's fluffy hair. He looked at him in surprise and found that the man had fallen asleep.

He smiled fondly and ran a hand over his cheek.

"Aww.. he sleeps like a cat."

[lovemalecforever]

Chapter 11

A Reunion to Cherish

Alec woke up to the sound of the television playing in the stillness of their home. He blinked a few times to adjust to the brightness. When he was back in his senses he realized that they fell asleep on the couch while watching the movie and his warlock was sound asleep making his chest as a pillow. A blanket was covering both of their torsos. He looked around and realized it was around midnight.

Reaching for the remote, he switched off the television then tried to move his warlock without disturbing his sleep but failed in doing so. He sighed then reached for his stele and activated his strength and flexibility runes, then carefully wrapped his warlock in his arms, picked him up, and went to their bedroom.

He placed him on the bed, then got on the bed and wrapped his arms around Magnus' waist tightly, cuddling as close as possible, feeling the warmth of their bodies which he knew will miss the next few days. With that in mind, he dozed off within minutes.

______________________________

Alec woke up with the feeling of the most gentle feathery touch around his temples, he bit the inside of his cheeks to suppress his smile knowing really well what his warlock's doing. Even though he knows it's wrong to let Magnus think he's sleeping whenever he plays with his hair, he always loves it whenever his warlock does that. But this time he wants to be a tease.

"Love doing that with my hair?" He said in a husky and sleepy voice, eyes still closed.

Alec slowly opened his eyes slowly only to find a deep red blush creeping on that beautiful makeup-ridden face. He smiled helplessly, that was the most beautiful sight he had ever woken up to.

Magnus quickly buried his face in the pillow, too embarrassed to say anything when he felt a tender touch and a gentle kiss around his neck.

"Morning, love," Alec said in a rough morning voice. When Magnus didn't respond, he tried again. "Don't feel embarrassed, Magnus. It's okay. And honestly, I liked it."

"How do you know?" Magnus asked, face still buried in the pillow.

"Know what?"

"That I'm feeling... embarrassed." He whispered.

A light smile crept on Alec's face as he stroked his soft black hair and whispered in his husband's ears, "It's written all over your face, Mags." Then kissed him on the nape of his neck.

Magnus raised his head from the pillow then looked at his husband who had pure love and reassurance filled in his eyes. "Not fair, Alexander." He pouted.

"Hello, there!" Alec smiled and locked their lips in a soft, gentle yet passionate kiss. They broke their kiss after some time and Alec wrapped his arms around his warlock tightly. Magnus was happy to oblige but confused as well.

"Don't you have to be at the institute?"

"Not today, as I have to leave for New York. Cat and Madzie will be here at 11 o'clock, we'll leave from here only."

"Oh!"

Alec looked at the clock only to find that it's just 8 in the morning. He looked at his husband whose face was now filled with longing and hurt. He sighed knowing that look really well. Scooting closer, he left a feather-light over his temple.

"Hey... I know what you're thinking. I can't force the thoughts out of your mind, but I can reassure you that I'm going to be completely fine. Please, don't worry about it, about me. I love you and you know that. I'm going to miss you." He said and gently pecked his lips.

Magnus gave him a light smile. He knew Alec had promised him that he wouldn't go on any hunts, but the feeling of losing him while he was away was building up strongly in his chest. He didn't know what this feeling was, couldn't put his hands on it, but it seemed like something bad is about to happen. But he didn't want to ruin the moment they were in.

"I know, I'll miss you too. Now, you go get freshen up while I start preparing breakfast." He was about to get up when Alec grabbed him and made him lay down on the bed again, snuggling close to him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Umm... Alexander, breakfast..."

"That can wait! We still have time, Mags. I want to spend time with you, cuddle with you as much as I can before leaving. So you're not getting out of this bed anytime soon. Now, come here!" Alec ordered and who was Magnus to say no to his shadowhunter. He simply nodded, snuggled closer, and buried his head in his husband's chest.

________________________________

It was around 10:30 in the morning, the husbands were in their kitchen preparing breakfast and Alec was all ready to leave for New York. Magnus prepared a pancake with caramel and chocolate syrup and hot chocolate with marshmallows dipped in it for his shadowhunter; one of Alec's favorite, and a simple pancake with chocolate syrup and hot coffee for himself. They were eating their breakfast when their doorbell rang. Magnus waved his hand to open the door.

Before either of them could greet their guests, a soft voice echoed their whole house.

"Maaagnus!! Aaallec!" Madzie ran towards their living room calling their names loudly again and again while Catarina was walking behind her smiling at the little ones' excitement.

Alec and Magnus walked out of their kitchen to greet the little package of excitement.

"Hey, sweet pea!" Magnus bent down to hug his favorite warlock then picked her in his arms.

"Maaagnus! I've missed you!" She said enthusiastically.

"I've missed you too, sweet pea!" He said and rubbed their nose softly, making her giggle.

Alec was standing there listening to their interaction with a wide smile as his husband had a look of genuine happiness after a long time.

"Aalleec!" She said while outstretching her hands towards Alec.

"Hey, my favorite sorceress!" He walked towards them and pecked her on the cheeks, making her giggle again.

"Aalec, you stay too please, we will all party and enjoy." She said in a sweet and pleading voice.

Alec looked over at Magnus and Catarina, then spoke softly. "I wish I could, sweet pea. Your Mom and I have some important work to complete and we'll party once I'm back. Okay?"

"Okay." She said in a sad voice.

"Hey sweet pea, don't get upset. We both will enjoy and party," Magnus said while swaying her in his arms, then whispered to her, "and your Mom won't be here to make complaints, neither Alec, we'll enjoy and party every day."

"I heard that Bane!" Catarina said sharply.

Magnus looked at her then to his husband who raised his eyebrows at him, clearly showing that he heard that too.

"I better not find this home covered with glitter when I'll be back, or I swear I'm gonna make you clean that without using your magic!" Alec said in an authoritative voice.

"Why are you both taking my class!? I don't break rules or make a mess!" Magnus protested.

Alec and Catarina exchanged a look then looked at Magnus making him gulp with nervousness, while someone was enjoying this a lot.

"Hey! Stop laughing sweet pea." Magnus put her down on the floor. "We've prepared your room, go and have a look at it, you know where your room is!" Madzie ran towards her temporary room leaving the three adults in the living room.

"Come on now, don't give me that looks both of you!"

Alec and Catarina sighed in unison.

"You better not spoil Mads behind my back, Bane!" Catarina said and hugged Magnus finally.

"Trust me, I won't! By the way, what's that?" He said, pointing towards a huge bag Catarina was carrying.

"Oh, That. Clave requested some ancient books. I don't know the reason though." She looked at Alec to take over.

Alec was confused at first but quickly understood that it was the book they will be needing for the ritual.

"Even I don't know, Jia's the only one who has information regarding this. She said she'll give the information at the time of the meeting itself." Alec said praying to the angels that Magnus will buy it and Thankfully, he did.

"Oh! All right. How long are you both gone, though?"

"2-3 days max," Alec answered.

"Alec, we should leave now. It's time." Catarina said knowing that the sooner they'll get this done, the better.

Alec nodded in response, then Catarina opened the portal for them. Alec gave Magnus a quick goodbye kiss, before stepping through the portal.

__________________________

The portal opened in front of the institute's gate, and they stepped out of it. Alec took in the scent of a familiar environment he was inhaling after a long time. It was only Izzy and Simon who knew about his visit to New York, for everyone else it's going to be a little surprise.

"I'll go to my apartment here and check more about it," she raised the book she was holding "and you go meet your family. Call me when this needs to be done while I finish my other business in the meantime."

Alec took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you for your help, Cat. It means a lot."

Catarina gave him a warm smile and left. Now it's all on Alec. He took a few deep breaths then knocked on the door of the institute. He expected Izzy to open the door as she knew about his arrival but when the gate opened, the reaction of the other person was priceless and worth witnessing.

"ALEC! Wha... how... oh god!" Jace stuttered which was unlikely of him and hugged his Parabatai tightly, having a warm glow of happiness in his mismatched eyes.

"J... Jace! I can't breathe!" Alec tried to speak while trying to loosen the grip his Parabatai held him in. "J... Jace!"

"Sorry! Sorry! It's been a long time, bro!"

"I'm aware, now can I come in, or I'm not allowed anymore!?" He teased, earning a smack on the head from his Parabatai.

He glared at him then they walked into the Institute. As soon as they entered he heard a loud scream and shook his head.

"JACE HERONDALE! WHERE THE HELL DID YOU DISAPPEARED!?"

He exchanged a look with Jace as he entered the orbs' hall noticing the change in the place that happened over the years.

"Can you not shout at me and ruin my day, Izzy!" Jace said, slightly annoyed with his sister.

"Care to expla- ALEC!" She squealed and ran towards her brother, hugging him tightly.

"Did you forget that I'm coming, Miss Head of the Institute?"

"Well..."

Alec looked down at his sister, noticing mischief in her eyes, and he smacked her lightly on the back of her head. "Someone's that busy!?"

"Ow! Hey!"

He looked down at her while having a bright grin then kissed her on top of the head.

Jace was looking at them, mouth agape with a priceless expression on his face yet again.

"Izzy! You knew he was coming?"

The siblings broke their hug and looked at Jace.

"Yeah, I knew."

"Where are the others?" Alec interrupted, not wanting them to argue over something this small.

"Si is at his apartment, Clary is in the training room, Mom and Luke will be here in an hour, Max by evening, but Dad won't be able to come. I tried but he was busy. Catarina?"

He sighed. "At her apartment, running errands while I talk to you all. I hope dad can make it too."

Izzy gave him a reassuring smile while Jace listened to their conversation, a deep frown forming on his forehead.

"Okay, what is going on? Alec, why didn't your husband tagged along with you this time and why is everyone coming here!?"

Alec looked at his Parabatai then to his sister then to him again and sighed heavily before speaking. "Because there is something I want to talk about which needs all of your presence!"

[neshatriumphs]

I. He Had a Destiny

The baby had been crying for hours. People rarely gave these creatures their proper credit for the instincts they had. Sure, they could do nothing for themselves for a very long time, but they often knew things. He knew that he was dying, not just that he was sick and in pain, but dying. The cruelty in creating something too small to care for itself but being aware of its needs. Whoever was responsible, Amelia was certain was just as cruel as the one responsible for taking people away. That was what happened to her true love... what would happen to this disgusting suckling. "He's dying," she told it's mother.

"Dying? he's only two!"

"Some don't last that long. Some are snuffed out in the womb, some die suddenly in their cribs. You've had him two years, you say. You’ll surely not have him a third."

"There must be something that you can do! Please..." 

Amelia looked at the pleading woman, then back at this child. She hadn’t been able to get her own lost love back, but the way this person felt about this child was probably as deeply as she had felt for him, and for a moment, she took pity on her.

She lifted her arm to reveal glowing green runes as she reached for the boy, chanting something in a voice that sounded distorted and somewhat robotic... the mother stood back, glancing around nervously. 

Amelia's eyes glowed and projected from their light was a vision that she knew the mother wouldn't be able to see. A blond boy, broken in sadness, uplifted by a girl with dark coils, joined together at the hands and eventually hearts, a crown placed on his head. This boy had a destiny. As she looked at the girl, turning into a woman, she didn't recognize her, but she did recognize something about her... the mark of the One. She was one of those witches that condemned Amelia for her “perversion” of magic...

Amelia shut her fist and blinked her eyes. They no longer glowed and now she stared at the boy. He wasn't going to die. He had a very important destiny... one that could make him her enemy, and if the vision was true, it would begin with the witches of the One. It would begin with a girl from their coven saving him. She looked at the mother. The woman remained hopeful.

“I think that I can save him, but it's risky and the cost will be too high for you.”

“There's nothing too high. Should I have to become a criminal or an outcast. Simon is worth all to me.”

“If the child lives, he must come with me.”

Hesitation. Everyone knew that Amelia was into forms of magic that weren’t necessarily approved. That was one of the reasons that the widow Laurent had sought her out when doctors couldn’t tell her why Simon wasn’t getting better. “What will you do to him?”

“Train him in the art of wizardry, of course. He'll be very powerful. He'll be very skilled. But, you won't see him again and he will not know your name.” 

The woman picked up her son and held him to her heart. Nothing eased his crying. She couldn't imagine his suffering, but she would do anything to end it for him. "When I said anything, I meant that. Take him. If he will live, I beg that you take him." 

Amelia smirked and retrieved the boy from his mother. It wouldn’t stop screaming. Ugh. She hated children. But, they were malleable and if she wanted to prevent what she'd seen in his future, she needed to bring him back to her lair, fix him and mold him in her own image. His mother cried and took off her scarf to swaddle him. Amelia rolled her eyes, though under the hood, the woman wouldn't see.  After sad goodbyes she walked out of the cottage with the crying boy. It didn't take her long to vanish.

The widow Laurent was crying over her boy's crib whenever she heard a knock. It surprised her, so she rushed to answer it. There were three witches there, one holding a girl, about Simon's age. "Ma'am, we came as soon as we could. Where is the boy? We believe that our Grace can save him."

Mrs. Laurent looked at the little girl, with a purple dress and gloves. She looked more like a doll than a child and she certainly wasn’t old enough to save lives. "Is this a joke?" 

"We would never joke about the life of a child. Especially one like your son. He has natural Magic. He's one of us and he has a destiny, intertwined with our heiress. Her touch could heal him." 

"He's gone," she announced sadly. "I went with the one called the Conductor, who arrived the fastest, and her magic is known to work wonders. He will live, even if I never see him again..." 

16 years later

Simon crawled out of bed in his small bedroom and stretched his arms with a cracking noise, then his neck. The room was filled with shelves of supplies of his magic, treasures he had collected from his missions, and enchanted figures that he collected and made. A white cat jumped on his desk and he glanced at it. “Tell her that I’m on my way.”

“She doesn’t like to wait…” She warned.

“I know.” He stood in front of the mirror, tied onto his bicep his lucky scarf that he had since he was a baby, then dipped his pinky in a bottle labeled “the blood of my enemies,” to draw a squiggly line across his face. On the way out of the door, he summoned his brown robe to himself and let it cover him as he walked. Through the fortress, he passed several groups of others studying their magic or lounging, until they saw him and pretended to be busy being productive. He was the eldest of all of the children there, at 18, and ready to be fulfilled as an adult. They had the best quarters and went on the most courageous quests. 

He paused at the large painting of the namesake of the place, The Alrick Institute of Magic, and he saluted, by mimicking the wavy line on his face. “You’re late,” he heard his mentor’s firm voice state.

“I was paying tribute to our founder,” he said. He turned to see the bemused look on her face and nervously laughed, holding the back of his neck. 

“Come now. You have an assignment.” As they walked, it was always a different energy. The students and staff always stopped to salute, even though Amelia had never once paid them any mind. That was a practice that Simon had put into place. She explained, “We found a cavern that we believe the Witches of the One use as a conduit for their magic. You are to take everything that is in it. I will grant you six stewards.” The white cat rushed up and leapt onto his shoulder as they walked. “And of course, her. I don’t want her just roaming around here.” Simon frowned and petted the cat. “When you’ve taken the magic, decimate the cavern. We wouldn’t want their parasites to rejuvenate it.” She handed him a crystal globe and he nodded once.

Simon was the expert of this. He paid attention to detail, moved like a soldier, and thought strategically. There were numerous magical creatures here - all denizens, no witches that he noted. He made some hand gestures towards the stewards, in their black robes with their ghostly white faces. They moved in to slaughter the creatures. The cat on his shoulder shivered and said, “Is it really necessary to wipe them all out?”

“They’re either wanderers or the familiars of the One. They are enemies, Samantha.”

“They’re my brethren, Simon.” 

He rolled his green eyes, “You chose the right side.”

When the slaughter was done, the stewards returned to him and one said, “We detected no magic in them.”

Simon smiled, “That’s why she sent me.” His eyes glowed, the green burning brightly as the runes on his arms did too and he saw in the spilled blood that same green energy, and all over the trees, in the water, shimmering and glittering was the magic in this place. It wound up in a tornado form and he captured it in the sphere. There was no magic left here, only the blood of many slain denizens. He grabbed a bottle, with his empty hand and held it before him, now suctioning some blood from each of those who lay fallen into his collection. His green runes stopped glowing, as did his eyes and he placed the sphere and the bottle in his satchel. A few movements of his hand and the cave collapsed unto itself and bled, eternally, as was the curse of every spot that he claimed for the Conductor.

He pointed two fingers at the rubble and waved them across, painting their symbol in blood. Then, he turned on the balls of his feet, ready to return home with another easy victory. Samantha merely looked at another fallen magic place, put her paw in the blood, and made a print at the site. She rushed to catch up with Simon, climbing onto him and into the satchel. He smiled at her and gave her a pat on the head.