#the living room needs some... adjustments

[yomica12345]

Patton yelped as Logan swept him up into his arms. “You really know how to pick a guy up.” He chuckled, pausing as his eyes landed on an open suitcase on the ground. “Logan, what are you—”

Logan deposited Patton into the suitcase, moving to zip it closed with alarming efficiency. “I cannot feel anything if you are not around to remind me of the irrational feelings I have no need for.”

“But Lo, stifling your emotions is really bad.” Patton squirmed, pushing against the sides of the bag as Logan calmly pressed a hand to his forehead, shoving him back down. “Logan, just—”

“Unfortunate.”

Patton grabbed at Logan’s arm, trying to leverage himself upright, only to accidentally pull Logan’s face dangerously close to his own. Their noses brushing, and for a brief moment, neither of them moved.

The lights flicked on the light of the TV, no longer the only thing illuminating the living room.

“What is going on down here?”

Virgil’s voice cut through the silence, his gaze flicking between the two of them before his face scrunched in confusion. “Why is Patton in a suitcase?”

Patton opened his mouth to respond, but Logan slapped a hand over it, muffling Patton’s attempts at speech. Patton wriggled, kicking his legs as he let out a series of incoherent sounds, which rapidly devolved into distressed whines.

“Patton and I were just… entertaining ourselves with a game of hide and seek,” Logan said stiffly, adjusting his glasses with his free hand.

Virgil moved further into the room, stopping in front of Logan and crossing his arms. “If the two of you were really playing hide and go seek, why couldn't you have just let Patton answer?” 

With one swift motion, Logan grabbed Virgil by the hoodie and yanked him forward, shoving him into the suitcase with Patton.

Virgil’s eyes went wide, his face going red as he scrambled to get off of Patton. “Logan, what are you—?!”

“I apologize, Virgil, but as anxiety, you must go too.”

“L, buddy, please don’t—Mmph!”

Logan zipped up the suitcase with a swift, practiced motion. He exhaled, pressing his palms flat against the lid. “Now to find an optimal place to hide this.”

From inside the suitcase, there was some shuffling.

Then a loud thump.

Followed by a very distinct squeak.

And then—silence.

Logan frowned as he watched the bag.

Before he could dwell on it, footsteps echoed from the stairs.

“Hey, Logan, have you seen Patton? We were supposed to—”

Roman froze on the stairs, eyes locking in on the suitcase as something shifted inside it. His gaze lifted slowly to Logan, narrowing in suspicion.

“Logan… what’s in the suitcase?”

Logan struggled to find a natural way to pose his arms, settling on holding them behind his back. “Nothing.”

The suitcase wobbled violently.

A muffled voice—Virgil’s—yelled, “LOGAN, LET US OUT!”

Another voice—Patton’s—let out a panicked giggle, followed by, “I—oh my gosh—Virgil, I think we just—”

“DON’T SAY IT!”

Roman quirked his eyebrow as he returned his attention to Logan. “Why are Patton and Virgil in a suitcase?”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This was far too sloppy of a job on my part.”

The zipper jerked from the inside, and the suitcase exploded open as Patton and Virgil tumbled out onto the floor, faces bright red. Virgil scrambled away from Patton, looking anywhere but at him, while Patton hid his face behind his hands.

Roman smirked. “Well, well, well. What was going on in there?”

“NOTHING.” Virgil practically shouted.

Patton let out a nervous laugh. “Just, uh… very close quarters!”

Roman smirked. “So something did happen.”

Patton’s hand went to his lips as he watched Virgil tug up his hood over his head.

“Oh my gosh, no. Did you two kiss?” Roman burst out laughing. “You two kissed! I can’t believe it.”

“Patton!” Virgil tugged the drawstrings of his hoodie, his hood now hiding most of his face.

“We didn’t mean to.” Patton offered, sending an apologetic look Virgil’s way.

Logan sighed as he watched the three. “If they will not stay in the suitcase then I have only one other possible solution.” He climbed into the suitcase himself, reaching for the zipper.

“Logan, wait.” Virgil moved closer, glancing to Patton, nodding discreetly at Roman and then at the suitcase.

Patton’s eyes widened, a grin forming on his face before he schooled it into a neutral expression.

“If you’re going to zip yourself away at least take Roman with you.”

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed before realization dawned on her face. He held out his arms to stop them but Virgil and Patton easily overtook Roman, stuffing him into the suitcase along with Logan, zipping the suitcase up.

Logan and Roman’s face heated up as they shifted in the suitcase.

“This is the least romantic thing I’ve ever done.” Roman murmured, pushing against Logan’s chest to give himself a bit more room.

Logan huffed, adjusting his glasses even as his arms were pinned awkwardly against the suitcase’s interior. “I would argue that this is not romantic at all, Roman.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Roman said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just two grown men, practically nose-to-nose, locked in a suitcase together. Nothing romantic about that.”

“What was that? You want it to be more romantic?” Virgil teased. “Patton, help me turn this onto its side.”

“Onto it’s-” Logan’s eyes blew wide. “Wait!”

The suitcase shifted, Logan and Roman’s lips crashing together as Logan fell against the princely side. 

Roman was the first to react, letting out a muffled yelp as he jerked back—or at least tried to. There wasn’t much to escape.

Logan’s brain short-circuited for a second before he quickly recalibrated. “This is—” He cleared his throat, pushing himself up, voice coming out slightly strained. “This is an objectively poor use of space.”

From outside the suitcase, Patton let out a loud gasp, hands flying to his cheeks. “Oh my gosh.”

Virgil howled with laughter, stumbling back as he held his stomach. “I—I was joking—I didn’t think it would actually—oh my—did you two actually just—”

“Oh, let us out already, Scara-more!”

“Now we’re even.” Virgil snickered but quickly unzipped the suitcase. Roman practically tumbled out onto the floor, scrambling to put as much distance between himself and Logan as possible. Logan, meanwhile, sat up with a bit more composure, straightening his tie.

“Even? Even? I was never involved with your kiss, how was that even?” Roman argued.

Logan shook his head with a soft sigh. “Let us never speak of this again.”

“Never again.” Roman agreed.

Virgil leaned in close to Patton. “We’re never going to let them live it down are we?”

Patton grinned. “Not a chance.”

patton: stifling your emotions is really bad

logan, shoving his emotions into a suitcase: unfortunate

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

His scars

The room is dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand. The world outside feels far away, muffled by the late hour. You’re lying beside Simon, your body warm against his, tangled beneath the covers. It’s one of those rare nights when neither of you are in a rush—no missions, no early alarms, just the quiet hum of each other’s presence.

Your head rests against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arm is draped lazily around your waist, holding you close, but there’s a relaxed ease in his grip. He’s not wearing a shirt, and your fingers trace absentmindedly along his skin, following the contours of his body. Your fingertips find the rough ridges of a scar, then another.

You hesitate for a second, feeling the jagged texture beneath your touch. Some of them are old, faded into pale lines against his skin, while others are more recent, harsher reminders of the life he leads. Your fingers ghost over one across his ribs, then move higher, tracing the rough edge of another along his shoulder.

Simon doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t flinch or pull away. He just lies there, silent, letting you explore him in a way few ever have. His breathing stays steady, but there’s something heavier in the air now, an unspoken understanding.

“This one…” you murmur, your fingertips brushing over a long scar that runs along his bicep. “Where did it come from?”

There’s a pause. A long one. You don’t push- Simon doesn’t always talk about these things, and you’ve learned to let him choose when and how much he wants to share.

After a moment, he exhales slowly. “Knife wound,” he says, his voice quiet, low. “Close combat. He got me first, but I got him worse.”

You nod slightly, not asking for more, just letting the weight of his words settle. Your fingers trail lower, following another scar along his side, thinner but deeper-looking.

“This one?” you ask softly.

Simon shifts slightly beneath you, adjusting his arm behind his head. “Shrapnel,” he answers simply. “IED went off too close. Lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Your heart clenches slightly, imagining the pain, the danger, the constant risk he’s lived with. But you don’t let the sadness show. You just keep tracing, memorizing every piece of him, every mark that tells a story.

Then, your fingers find one at his lower abdomen, near his hip. It’s smaller, but deep. You pause, glancing up at him. “And this one?”

Simon huffs a quiet laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “That one’s stupid,” he admits. “Got careless on a mission. Took a bullet, but it went clean through.” He shifts, looking down at you. “Nothing serious.”

You look up at him then, meeting his gaze. His eyes are unreadable, but there’s something softer beneath the surface, something unspoken. You know he’s seen and endured more than he’ll ever say. And yet, here he is, letting you see parts of him that no one else does.

Your fingers brush over one last scar - a faint, thin one just above his heart. It’s old, faded, but something about it feels different. You don’t ask. You just rest your palm against it, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your hand.

Simon watches you for a moment, then reaches up, placing his much larger hand over yours. His fingers curl around yours, holding your hand against his chest.

“Don’t need you worrying about them,” he murmurs.

“I don’t,” you whisper back. “I just want to know you.”

There’s silence again, but this time, it’s comfortable. His grip on your hand tightens slightly before he pulls you closer, his lips pressing against the top of your head.

“You already do,” he says quietly.

And that’s enough.

[murmiss]

A sketch about Price's neglected daughter!y/n, and the kidnapper! Konig.

The living room was flooded with soft light. There were three people sitting on the sofas covered with burgundy plaids. Price was the first to take the most comfortable seat, sitting in his masterly manner. Next to him sat his faithful friend and comrade, Joshua, and the third person sat on a separate small sofa, wrapped in a plaid blanket-it was Megan, Price's oldest daughter. On the terry mat in front of them sat a girl of about five, the youngest daughter, who was playing concentratedly with a doll. She didn't seem to hear or react to anyone else

The girl, sitting in a separate seat, answered Joshua's questions with the same pride: "Yes, when I grow up I'll be a doctor, a surgeon! Or a-- A lawyer!"

Her father's soft laughter reached the children's ears, and the youngest daughter raised her head as well. Unconsciously, she smiled hearing her father's laughter. Joshua smiled as well, carelessly leaving his arm on the back of the couch and looking in front of him, directly at the youngest. He grimaced.

"What do the investigators say? "Mr. Brix caught up with his companion in one of the corridors of the police station. Price was pale, his hair was dirty and greasy, and there were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. John's eyes were cloudy and he was clearly out of it. Not immediately reacting, Price mumbled something inaudible. Joshua stopped and tugged on his friend's shoulder to stop him. Josh's words sounded like warm encouragement, and his voice was confident: "We'll find her, buddy." Price only nodded in response.

But time only goes by. A day goes by, two days, a week, a month...Almost half a year your sister, Megan Price goes missing. Then the world turns upside down, or maybe-- And nothing's changed? You honestly don't know.

The days are monotonous and empty and the future is clouded with hopelessness. "Who am I?" is the question that keeps popping into your head for hours on end. "Who am I?" a person. "What am I for?" To live. "Who needs me?" I don't know.

It's like a dark abyss, a dragging slime or quicksand that slowly but surely drags you down. You don't feel anything, and you don't know if you've ever felt anything.

Where's mom? Where's your sister?

Nothing again. No information, no word or picture from your father, and only childish resentment.

Kindergarten. Parents pick up their children, hurriedly put on their shoes, and adjust their clothes before leaving. It's evening, but the father is still gone. Anxiously you look out the window, wishing you could see a native silhouette, but nothing but an old crow pecking at the garbage near the tank.

Lonely. Like always.

John forgot to pick you up, or more accurately, he was just with Maggie at her school's Young Poets performance. Omit that the performance ended early, and Price was just taking his daughter and her friends to a coffee shop to celebrate.

It's getting dark, and, the tutor calls Price, who arrives almost immediately. At first, he's embarrassed: gosh, he forgot about his kid! But then he seems to Forget Again, listening with fatherly warmth to Megan's newly composed poems. Sitting in the kitchen, with everyone else, you feel like you're in a family circle, with your own people, not noticing that the eyes are never on you. You babble happily, distracting your sister, "And me! Me too. ". But before you can finish, John says with a smile, "Good for you." You giggle happily in response.

But he didn't hear you.

As you get older, you notice an unfair difference: for some reason, Megan has always been treated a little more reverently. Why was that? The answer is the same. You don't know.

"Do you want a strawberry ice cream?" a gruff, wheezing voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up and see Konig standing in front of you, immediately regaining your senses.

"Yes"-you answer briefly, and seemed to fall back into your thoughts, remembering Megan.

"She's fine," Konig brings you to your senses again. He smiles like a serpent, and there is no mask on his face. His face, covered in battle scars is open for all to see, but he doesn't care.

You nod.

Konig was an acquaintance, a friend of Price's, an old-school man with a strong temper and oddities, you thought. A handsome face with strong features, but covered with scars.

When Megan disappeared, Price became completely estranged from you. Desperate, he left the service six months after she went missing, couldn't take it anymore. He was like a robot, perpetually pale and embittered, almost never speaking to you. You often feel the emptiness, wondering involuntarily: what if this is him? When once again your father walks by with glazed eyes, you call out to him, "Father?"

There is no answer.

After about a year, he almost comes around, maybe talks to you more than a couple times a week or, on rare occasions, a day. And then... He just... Notices you?

Returning after school, Price greets you with the table set. He smiles, genuinely talking to you, discussing his day. Everything seems so nice. You eat an entire plate, not immediately noticing the catch. And even noticing it not that day, but towards the end of the week, when your father happily informs you that he has enrolled you in the poets' circle.

Why poets? Oh, yeah. Megan.

He's trying to recreate Megan in you, ignoring the fact that you're a human being too. With your own opinions, desires, morals and dreams. You didn't want to go to medical school just because when Megan wanted you to, you didn't want to go to dances and poetry clubs and perform on stages like she did.

You just want to be yourself.

Megan's gonna come back like thunder in the middle of the day. Just-- Coming home after a damn 1.5 years with no explanation. She smiles adorably as her father kneels like a slug, hugging her as tightly as if she might run away. He sobs, stroking her hands gently. Not that you like being a substitute, but... The slightest bit of attention attracted.

Things get worse, and Price is like a man possessed. He drives Megan every day to the university you're already attending together because John wanted you to follow in your big sister's footsteps. Now he really forgets. He just doesn't see, even worse than when Megan disappeared. In Price's eyes, it's just the image of his oldest daughter, his pride, that's all.

"must it really be lonely?"-The voice rumbles again. You look up. You see Konig again. He's wearing a medical mask. Is he afraid of the coronavirus?

"What?" you ask after a couple seconds.

"Get in the car, I'll give you a ride home." He nods nonchalantly at a maroon car. Definitely not his, but maybe a new purchase? Or not his? Oh, but you don't care, you just hop in his car, not wanting to wait for your dad or the bus. Either way, Price doesn't care when or who you're with.

Which becomes his mistake.

"Where are we going?" you mutter as the car starts to shake over bumps and the woods thicken.

"to your new and loving home, princess."

Konig's plan was perfect from start to finish, until a damn girl got in his way: Megan got caught at the worst possible moment, completely ruining all his blunders.

Then he kidnapped her, finding no other way out of this shitty situation, and locked her in his cozy basement, which was carefully built under his house, enlarged and arranged for you. All to make his Liebe Maus, you,feel herself cozy.

Megan wasn't you, she was noisy, annoying, and that's when Konig changed his plan, day in and day out setting Megan up the way he needed her to be, and when he did, he let Megan go, determined to never, ever expose him. That day she had purposely distracted Price by calling him to a newly opened café so that Price would forget to pick up his second daughter, giving Konig every opportunity.Megan acted to Konig's advantage, and if necessary, she would help confuse everyone so that his sun would never be found.

(Just a random sketch from the notes, possible errors, quick description. at the end of the text, the main character is an adult.)

[muhlsworld]

HURTING

synopsis: you comfort nika after hearing the news

WARNINGS: mentions of the free agency trading and just comfort i think

you can find the request here

today was just any other day for you. you were running some errands while nika had gone to the seattle facilities for the day. as you were walking through the store your phone rang. you saw that it was nika which weird since you guys rarely call throughout the day. you both being busy. but nonetheless you answered. “hey baby what’s up?” you asked as you answered the phone.

“hey.” she said as she sniffled a little. that immediately made you stop in your tracks. “are you crying? what’s wrong are you okay?” you asked. “can you come home please? some stuff happened with the team and i just want to be with you.” she said sighing. “yeah yeah of course, i’m on my way. be there in 15” you said quickly disregarding everything else you had to do.

15 minutes later as you walk into your shared apartment you saw her cuddled up on the couch with a blanket. she was peacefully sleeping and you didn’t want to wake her. so you quietly made your way around the apartment heading into your bedroom to change.

once you changed you made your way to the living room and sat down next to her without disturbing her. after a few minutes she started to move around a little indicating that her mini nap would be over. “hey baby i’m here.” you said in a quiet whisper. her eyes fluttered open and you could tell that she had been crying before you got there.

she got up from her position and practically threw herself on you. you obviously hugged her back immediately. not wanting to rush her you just simply soothed her back waiting for her to tell you what happened. after a couple minutes she pulled away and sniffled while looking up at you. “i just found out that jewell and sami aren’t gonna be on the team anymore” she said softly.

and then it all made sense. those two were nikas vets. she could always count on them when being a rookie became too much. nika had relied on them so much during the last season. you just knew she was taking this so hard.

“i’m so sorry nika, i know this must be so hard for you.” you said sympathetically. she just nodded went to lay her head on your chest. “i just counted on them so much last season. it’s gonna be so weird not having them there next season.” she said playing with the strings of your pajama pants.

“i know i know.” you said as you ran your fingers through her hair. “is there anything you need?” you asked trying to comfort her. she shook her head and said “just be here with me.” she said quietly. you hummed tightening your hold on her and she adjusted herself to be more comfortable.

you grabbed the blanket put it over the two of you. “do you want to watch something?” you asked her. she nodded her head and you proceeded to put on your favorite show to watch together.

you guys stayed like that for the rest of the evening just cuddled up together on the couch until you guys got tired. “you wanna head to bed?” you asked and nika nodded her head taking your hand and following you to your shared bedroom.

you both got ready for bed and tucked yourselves in under the comforter and nika laid down on your chest. “thank you.” she said quietly. you replied with “for what?”. “for just being with me. it really helped. you have no idea.” she said softly.

you placed a soft kiss to her forehead and interlaced your free hand with hers. and with that you fell asleep in each others arms.

A/N: sorry this is kinda short and not that good. i’m working on all the requests rn, if you have more please send them and i’ll work on them

[chleem]

girl your most recent request 🤭❤️‍🔥🥹🫶🏼🥰🤞🏼💌

can you write one where college drew/rafe lives with his frat brothers but his gf is always over. she comes over to study one night in his room. he sits with her while she studies and she eventually falls asleep in his— drew/rafe goes downstairs to watch a basketball game with his friends but his girl has a nightmare and needs him?

honestly just any nightmare piece, I really struggle with nightmares and I have a really hard time calming down after

happy cny!!!

Frat!bf Rafe Cameron x gf reader

⋆.˚ Warnings: swearing, pure fluff (still, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: hope this lives up to your expectations and that ur nightmares go away<3

word count: 1.7k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

Rafe scratches his head, still groggy, and walks into the kitchen. 

He swings open the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer, then looks over at his frat brothers, who are lounging around.

"Hey, what’s the score?" he asks, voice a little rough from the nap.

He hadn't meant to nap for this long, but it was hard not to fall asleep next to you—especially when you two had been comfortable, wrapped up together. It was just so easy to let go of everything when you were with him.

“A tie,” someone replies, their eyes not tearing away from the screen. 

Rafe nods absently, still half-focused on the thought of you upstairs, still asleep. 

He can almost feel the weight of the blankets around him, the softness of the pillow, the warmth of you pressed against his side. It’s a pull that makes him almost want to turn around, head back upstairs, and just rest some more. But he knows he should shake it off.

With a soft sigh, he pushes himself away from the counter and heads toward the couch.

He eyes the table, seeing the pizza almost finished, and it’s only half-time. 

“Shit, order some more, will you?” He says, before flopping down on the couch. He stretches his legs out, trying to adjust to the position. 

Rafe then pauses for a moment, “and, uh, order more of that seafood flavor.”

“Seafood? Fucking disgusting,”

Rafe's eyes narrow slightly, and he’s quick to shut it down. “Just fucking order it,” he says, his tone a little sharper, though he’s not mad. Just protective of your taste.

Who knows, when you wake up, you might be hungry. 

He directs his attention back to the game, trying to lose himself in the growing intensity as his roommates start yelling at the screen, voices rising in excitement with every play.

The game is at its peak, and the final moments are gripping—every pass feels like it could change the entire outcome. The crowd from the screen, the buzz of anticipation creeping through the room, adding to the fever pitch.

But it’s near the end of the fourth quarter when Rafe catches something out of the corner of his eye.

Without warning, you emerge at the top of the stairs. You don’t make a sound, but the way you’re walking—slow, deliberate—immediately grabs his attention.

He blinks, his attention suddenly torn away from the game as his focus shifts to you. He watches you slowly make your way down the stairs, your eyes unfocused, your posture slumped. 

The usual sleepy, just-woken-up vibe isn’t there. This is… different. 

There’s something about your movements that make Rafe’s chest tighten. You’re not looking at anyone, not even at him, and it’s like you’re lost in your own world.

His heart skips a beat, the protective instinct kicking in without hesitation.

His eyes stay glued to yours as you make your way to the kitchen- then he sees it.

You reach the counter, and your hands tremble as you pour yourself a glass of water. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. 

And then, as if on cue, the loud cheer from his friends erupts, some dramatic play on the TV sending everyone into a frenzy.

You flinch.

The way your body jerks, like you’ve been snapped back into reality against your will, makes Rafe’s stomach twist. 

Something is off, and Rafe’s breath hitches in his throat.

He immediately sits up, and thrusts his beer into the guy next to him, the one that was cheering the loudest. 

Rafe’s eyes lock on his, a warning clear in his gaze. It’s brief, just a flash of something protective and sharp, but his roommate immediately takes the hint, his eyes widening as he notices Rafe’s shift in energy.

Rafe doesn’t even wait for a response. He gets up from the couch, ignoring the game now. 

The noise from the TV and the guys behind him fades into nothing. All that matters is getting to you.

He steps into the space between you and the counter, just enough to catch your attention, his expression softening as he watches you. 

“Hey, babe,” he says quietly, his voice low and soothing.

He watches you carefully, his brows furrowing slightly when he sees the way your hands are still trembling around the glass. 

Your eyes are focused elsewhere, and the silence that stretches between you two is starting to kill his patience. 

“Y/n?” 

He calls your name this time, hoping to get a reaction out of you. 

You don’t. 

His chest tightens, and a frustrated breath leaves him. That’s it.

In one quick motion, he reaches out to gently take the glass from your hand. The moment it leaves your trembling fingers, he places it on the counter with a hard thud.

“Hey- hey, talk to me,” he says again, his voice still low but now edged with urgency. 

He’s not leaving until he gets something—anything. 

His eyes lock onto yours with a soft but unyielding intensity. His stomach drops as he sees the fear, the exhaustion there. 

His focus flicks to the frown on your face, the sheen of sweat that’s gathered on your forehead despite the coolness of the room. It’s all so real—too real for him to ignore.

“I had a nightmare,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"I had a nightmare,”

you say with more certainty this time, almost like you’re trying to move past it, trying to convince both of you that it’s nothing. But the way you’re standing there, hands still trembling, sweat on your forehead—it doesn’t feel like nothing. 

And that’s when Rafe doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the way you’re trying to make light of something that’s clearly eating at you.

He watches, his jaw tightening, as you add, "I had a nightmare—and I’m trembling like a little kid here." Your words come out with a faint, almost forced smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

When he still doesn’t say a thing, you continue, “look- I’m even sweating, how funny, shit- I’m sweating-“

Another round of cheers come from the living room, and the forced smile on your lips drop. 

Without thinking, without giving it another moment, Rafe makes the decision.

He steps forward, his hand reaching out to gently grasp yours, his touch grounding and firm as he pulls you towards him.

“Shit," he mutters under his breath, “we’re- we’re going upstairs.”

He leads you away from the chaos, his steps firm but careful.

He doesn’t care about the game or the noise anymore, not when he can see how badly this ‘nightmare’ has affected you.

When you reach the stairs, Rafe pauses just long enough to make sure you’re okay to keep going, but he doesn’t ask, doesn’t let you talk yourself out of it. 

He just pulls you along, like he’s already decided the only thing that matters right now is getting you somewhere quiet.

Upstairs, when you finally step into his room, he closes the door behind you, his hand pulling you onto the bed. 

It’s a bit rough, the way he guides you down, but there’s no harshness behind it. It's just that Rafe’s focused—he’s focused on getting you settled, getting you somewhere safe. 

He sits next to you on the bed, close enough to feel the warmth of your body but not too close to overwhelm you. You let your back rest against the pillows, breathing in the familiar smell of Rafe. 

The only sounds now are the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet hum of his breathing.

“What about that game?” you ask, your tone almost teasing, but it’s clear you’re trying to shift the focus.

Rafe can’t help but smile a little, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief as he processes your question.

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head, the sound soft and fond. "I— I don’t care," he replies, his gaze soft as he watches you. "Not when you’re like this.”

“Wanna talk about that…nightmare?” He adds quietly. 

If it was anyone else who had a nightmare and was trembling from it, Rafe wouldn’t give a second thought. 

He’d probably brush it off, maybe make a joke about it, because he’d never seen someone so affected by something that wasn’t real. 

But with you? It’s different.

You’re different.

And when you finally speak, your voice soft and reassuring despite everything you’re feeling, it eases something inside him.

"No," you say, the corners of your lips pulling into a small but genuine smile, the kind that feels like a shield against the vulnerability you’re showing. 

"Just hold me,” you say instead. 

Rafe doesn’t hesitate. 

Without a word, he shifts closer, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you gently against his chest. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, it’s everything you need right now. 

It’s not about talking or fixing anything—it’s about being present. Being here. With him. Safe.

He holds you close, his other hand resting on the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he settles into the moment. 

The quiet in the room feels different now—more comforting than suffocating. He doesn’t need to say anything else. He doesn’t need to ask more questions or offer answers. 

He just needs to be here, holding you, letting you know that you’re not alone in this.

——

A few weeks later, Rafe has a dreamcatcher in his room.

Words that don’t belong in the same sentence, yet it does.  

It feels almost surreal, like something out of a dream itself. 

The sight of it hanging by his window, the light filtering through its intricate web of strings and feathers, should feel out of place. But it doesn’t. Not when you know the meaning behind it, not when you know how much he’s been there for you. 

“Rafe…is that a dreamcatcher?” you ask, a hint of disbelief in your voice, as you look at it again.

He doesn’t even glance at it, his eyes still on the screen of his phone, like it’s no big deal. But the way he smiles down at his phone, says everything.

It’s funny, isn’t it? Rafe Cameron—the guy who’s seen it all, done it all, with his tough guy persona—now has a dreamcatcher hanging in his room. 

For you.

And for now, that’s more than enough.

-------------------------------

there's a reason why i didn't explicitly write that i accept requests- bc my progress is slow and its not promised that i will write it or not T_T

other

[slcmml]

teacher! schlatt & reader — a love experiement

★ it starts with curiosity. schlatt isn’t the type to seek out friendships with coworkers, but something about you intrigues him. you’re quiet but not standoffish, reserved but not boring. he catches himself lingering outside your classroom, peeking in to see what weird art project your students are working on. he’ll lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, and drawl, “whatcha teachin’ ‘em today? finger painting?” just to see you get all shy.

★ he teases you constantly. he lives for your flustered little reactions, smirking when you avoid eye contact or mumble a response. but it’s never mean—just his way of pulling you out of your shell. “y’know, i never hear you raise your voice. what do you do when a kid misbehaves? stare ‘em down ‘til they repent?” you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward, and that’s how he knows he’s won.

★ he’s a bit of a mystery to you? schlatt is loud. and cocky. and a nuisance. but you notice things others don’t—how he never lingers at staff parties, how he prefers one on one conversations over big group settings, how he sometimes looks genuinely relieved when he steps into your quiet classroom after a long day.

★ the staff definitely has a bet going on. teachers love gossip, and your odd relationship is prime material. “they have to be dating.” “no way, they’re just ‘really close coworkers’.” meanwhile, you and schlatt are completely oblivious to the speculation, too caught up in your own little world of being fucking idiots.

★ he lowkey tries to impress you. if you ever mention finding a topic interesting, suddenly that becomes the focus of his next class. “yeah, so today’s lesson is about bioluminescence. which is pretty cool, i guess. not that anyone asked, but y’know, some people might find it interesting.” literally only does this for class so he can tell you about it later.

★ you start to pick up on his social battery? i mean, despite how extroverted he acts, you notice he sometimes disappears during lunch breaks or avoids crowded teacher’s meetings. at first, you assume he just doesn’t care, but one day, you find him sitting alone in his empty classroom, quietly grading papers. you hesitate before stepping in, holding up a coffee. “thought you might want a break.” he looks at you, then at the coffee, then back at you, before exhaling. “you’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

★ he’s weirdly protective of you. if another teacher tries to talk over you in a staff meeting? he immediately cuts in, backing you up without hesitation. if a student’s giving you a hard time? suddenly schlatt’s popping his head into your room like, “need me to send someone out? jus’ say the word.”

★ neither of you realize you’re basically dating? you spend so much time together, fall into so many easy conversations, and yet, neither of you quite acknowledge what’s happening.

★ schlatt probably teases you about how “art can’t be that hard” almost all the time.

★ at some point you finally call his bluff and tell him to sit down and prove it. he tries to act all nonchalant, but he’s secretly a little nervous because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you.

★ he’s stiff at first. when you hand him a brush, he just kind of stares at it like he’s holding a foreign object. “alright, what am i s’posed to do? jus’... start wavin’ this thing around?”

★ he’s used to precise measurements and structured formulas, so the whole “just go with the flow” thing throws him off.

★ his grip on the brush is terrible, so without thinking, you reach over and adjust his fingers. the second your hands touch, he freezes. you don’t even notice, too focused on correcting his technique, but schlatt is sitting there, completely distracted by the fact that you’re this close to him.

★ he keeps sneaking glances at you. while you’re explaining different brushstrokes, he’s barely listening—just watching the way your face lights up when you talk about art. at one point, you lean in to demonstrate something, and he swears his brain short-circuits for a second.

★ he’s terrible at painting, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. his first attempt looks like absolute garbage—uneven strokes, weird colors, a total mess. but when he turns to you all smug like, “pretty good, huh?” you just smile softly and say, “it’s… unique.” (he knows that means it’s bad.)

★ he actually listens when you correct him. for all his teasing, schlatt really does take your advice seriously. when you gently tell him to loosen up his strokes or blend the colors more naturally, he follows your instructions without argument. he won’t admit it, but hearing you talk so passionately about something makes him want to try—even if it’s just to impress you a little.

★ you wipe paint off his face without thinking. at some point, he manages to get a streak of paint on his cheek. without thinking, you reach up and swipe it off with your thumb. you don’t even realize what you’ve done until you notice he’s completely silent. when you finally look at him, his ears are bright red. “uh—” he clears his throat. “thanks.”

★ he insists you keep his first painting. he knows it’s bad, you know it’s bad, but he shoves it into your hands anyway. “frame it. tell people it’s modern art or somethin’.” you laugh, but later that night, you do end up keeping it. it’s terrible, but it’s his, and for some reason, that makes it special.

★ the whole thing just feels a lot more intimate than either of you expected. it’s just painting, but there’s something about the quiet closeness, the shared laughter, and the little moments of eye contact that make your heart race. neither of you say anything about it, but after that day, something between you shifts—like maybe, just maybe, this whole thing was never really about painting at all.

★ ANYWAY YOU BOTH ARE FUCKING LOSERS BECAUSE LIKE CHARLIE YOU BOTH ARE TOO PUSSY TO TELL EACH OTHER YOU WANNA SWAP SPIT JUST FUCK ALREADY I DON’T FUCKING KNOW

© slcmml

[pascalislove]

THE CALL: Han Jeong-Won x Fem!Reader~16

Summary: Your arrival would change everything, even if Jeong-Won didn't know it yet.

The afternoon was tinged with a soft golden hue as the sun began to descend over the horizon. Y/N, elegant in a black satin dress that hugged her figure perfectly, looked at herself one last time in the mirror before heading downstairs.

Jeong-Won was waiting for her in the living room, wearing an impeccable black suit, although with his tie hanging undone around his neck. —I've never been good at this...—he admitted with a frustrated sigh as he watched her approach. —“Let me help you,”—Y/N said with a soft smile, taking the tie in her hands.Jeong-Won watched her silently as she adjusted the knot with expert movements.

Her fingers brushed against his chest from time to time, sending small shivers through his body. The floral aroma of her perfume enveloped him, making him lose his train of thought. When Y/N finished, she looked up to meet his dark eyes, which were watching her with a new, different intensity.

—"There,"—she said softly, though her voice trembled slightly at the closeness. He didn't respond immediately. He just stood there, caught up in the moment, wondering when he had started feeling this way.

There was something about her, something that attracted him beyond what he could understand. Was it possible that his heart was opening again after all?—Thank you,— he finally murmured, struggling to maintain his composure. The ride to dinner was calm, although both seemed aware of a latent tension between them. Upon arrival, the room was full of elegantly dressed people, warm lights and soft music filling the atmosphere. However, any attempts at relaxation fell apart when Jeong-Won saw Seo Yeon next to her husband, Yun Ji Woo.

The couple was radiant, but his ex-wife's presence remained a painful reminder of their past. Y/N, perceptive as ever, noticed the stiffness in Jeong-Won's body. Without thinking twice, he took her arm naturally.—¿Are you ok? -whisper. He nodded, though his jaw was still tense. But when Seo Yeon approached with a fake smile, Jeong-Won acted on pure instinct. —Y/N, come here,— he said softly before leaning towards her and capturing her lips in an unexpected kiss. Y/N froze for a second, but soon responded to the gesture, her hand resting on Jeong-Won's chest. The room seemed to stop for a moment as some guests, including Seo Yeon, looked at them in surprise.

When they separated, Y/N noticed the flash of jealousy in Seo Yeon's eyes. However, she didn't say anything, she simply bid her farewell coldly and walked away with her husband. Back in the car, the initial silence was broken by a sudden burst of laughter from Y/N. —Did you see his face? —she asked with a laugh, remembering Seo Yeon's stunned expression. Jeong-Won gave a low laugh, more relaxed than he had been in a long time. —"It seemed like I had seen a ghost,"— he responded, infected by Y/N's laughter.

They both laughed non-stop for several minutes, letting the tension of the night completely fade away. When they arrived home, the atmosphere was still light and comfortable. Jeong-Won looked at her with a soft smile as he took off his jacket.

—Will you stay with me tonight? he asked, surprising himself at how natural the request sounded. Y/N looked at him tenderly before nodding.—Of course.

That night, they shared the same room again, although there was nothing but a quiet intimacy between them. Jeong-Won fell asleep with the feeling that, for the first time in a long time, his heart found some peace. Beside him, Y/N was breathing deeply, her presence filling the space with a warmth he didn't know how much he needed.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list: @anamiad00msday , @czarinera , @beebeechaos, @muchwita, @otakusimp1

THE CALL MASTERLIST

[fiveredlights]

Loved it!!!! Is there any Benjamin POV of when he found out Max and Daniel were drivers in this world? Like any thought process? It surprised me too that they weren't in his world haha. Thanks for sharing!

okay i managed 400 words of benjamin arriving in the universe and then my brain continued on its holiday in aruba so i’ve written out what would’ve happened afterwards

It's not like Benjamin expected there to be a whole parade when he landed into his DAUD universe, but a room full of people staring at him like he's an alien from another planet feels a little weird.

Technically, he is an alien from outer space—if you equate an alien to a life form, and the other planet is true, but at that point they should consider that we’re all aliens in a planet floating around the universe and there’s no need to stare at him like that.

Or really, they aren’t staring at him. They’re staring at the name emblazoned into his race suit. Or the flag. Maybe they’re struggling to understand why the Dutch and Australian flags are mashed together.

Benjamin worked really hard to get the team and the FIA to approve that. He had to do a whole presentation.

One of the people—his boss he assumes, given that he’s one of the two people to be wearing RB shirts—takes a slow step forward, adjusting the black rounded frames on his face.

“Benjamin—” Ooh, French, “—Ricciardo-Verstappen,” he states, though it’s really more like a question.

“Yeah.” He steps out of the portal tube. “Did I get sent to the wrong universe or?”

“Maybe,” someone in a Red Bull shirt quietly mutters and the other RB shirt guy hits him in the shoulder and scolds, “Christian.”

He has no idea who this Christian guy is but he knows he already doesn’t like him. Giving off bad energy, or whatever Julian uses as an excuse whenever he meets someone he doesn’t like.

“I’m Laurent Mekies, I’m your team principal,” the French—Laurent says. “Can we just confirm who your parents are?”

Everyone in the room seems to lean in and hold their breath. Benjamin thinks they’re all really weird. “Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen. They live in Monaco, or well in my universe they live in Monaco, so maybe they’re in the Netherlands or Australia here.”

Laurent immediately spins onto his heels and they all form some sort of emotional support huddle, like they’re the ones who got sent through to another universe.

“I’ll get Max,” Christian sighs and points a finger at Laurent. “You’re calling Daniel.”

Laurent tenses. “I don’t want to call Daniel. Why can’t you call Daniel? You knew him longer?”

Christian goes very quiet. “I think he’s blocked my number,” he says with no room for further questions as he walks out of the room.

—

benjamin has found a wheely chair to spin around the room in whilst laurent peter and helmut (idk if he's here) debate on who is calling daniel, benjamin's like "I can call Daniel if you don't want to break the news," and frankly it's a bit concerning how three of these very grown men look very ready to take this offer.

eventually someone is like, you know what. we'll get MAX to call him. daniel will answer max's calls and they leave benjamin in the room with laurent whilst the rest of them look in the mirror and wonder what they need to do to atone for this hell-ish situation they've been placed in.

(there is no atonement possible. you must live in the decisions you made. no amount of apologies or prayers will be able to heal the deep, deep scars you have given. zero love and zero light will be given.)

“So Max works here or?” benjamin asks, if only to make small talk so they’re not sitting in silence. laurent takes a very long look, he's confused. he tells him that of course Max works here, he's a driver?? but reigns it in because maybe benjamin was asking if max was at some different RBR factory. or maybe he's asking because he thinks max is in monaco, laurent doesn't possess the brain cells needed right now.

benjamin is thinking oh maybe max's a sim driver. or a test driver. he knows that max's father was a f1 driver, but doesn't really know much else. nowhere in benjamin's brain is the thought that max is a formula 1 driver, and certainly nowhere in benjamin's brain is the thought that he's a 4x WDC.

max walks in, looks at benjamin. benjamin looks back. max walks out.

he walks in again. looks at benjamin again. walks out again.

he walks in again. is about to walk out when benjamin's like, "You know walking out for the third time doesn't activate me being sent back to my universe?"

(internally, max is like, oh my god. he talks exactly like daniel. i'm looking at another daniel. which you know. a little bit insane given that i wrote benjamin to look like max, and benjamin wouldn't really sound like daniel accent wise at least, given that they raised the kids in monaco, but you know. maybe the speech patterns are similar, who the fuck knows. easier to see the parts of the person you love than yourself in your kid. can't blame him, daniel did the exact same thing for like the whole fic.)

max immediately looks around at the whole group of people and does a head nod for benjamin to follow him into his office, and it’s probably not until he sees the replica WDC trophy sitting on a bookcase with max’s name inscribed on it benjamin’s like what the fuck…

in his head benjamin is like, i am hiding the fact that i am shocked about max being a driver so well. he’s not. he’s kinda just staring at the trophy but max is way too distracted about the fact that alternate him had a kid (emphasis on kid, singular) with daniel.

benjamin is stalking around the room looking at EVERYTHING, and he catches the photo of max and daniel in malaysia 2016 and is even more like what the fuck… BOTH of my parents are drivers?????

first thought: they’re both horrible normal road car drivers. maybe it makes sense now.

second thought: god it’s so cool that his parents (or this version of his parents) are formula 1 drivers. that’s like so arguably cool. suck it julian, he KNEW doing the DAUD program was a good thing. 

third thought: do they know sebastian vettel.

in this moment he has decided that this max and daniel cannot know that his max and daniel aren’t drivers. he kinda suspects that max might be going through a quick existential crisis and he’s not making it bigger by telling 4x WDC max that his max is a 0x WDC and has never driven a f1 car in his life. 

(also it has not crossed his mind that this max and daniel are not together. if you saw that photo of malaysia with max looking at daniel doing the shoey like he wants to jump his bones in public, yeah i wouldn’t question it either and end that line of thought immediately.)

i’m learning very quickly that benjamin processes things so quickly that he doesn’t really have time to freak out.

max is processing everything and benjamin is like “are you gonna call dad or?? where is he??”

max: dad?

benjamin: yeah. dad. daniel. this tall. your husband. or partner idk i don’t know, i’m not gonna assume. oh god are you guys broken up here please don’t tell me that. i mean like tell me, but like that’s so weird.

max kinda looks embarrassed and benjamin clocks him so quickly. 

benjamin: oh. you two aren’t together here. you two have never been together here.

max: … yeah

benjamin is immediately like fuck everything about them being drivers what do you MEAN they aren’t together???? he looks at the malaysia photo again. looks at max again. 

benjamin then decided his only goal is to parent trap his parents. which i think he did achieve. good job dude.

[gamesetattach]

The Little Things

Jannik Sinner x Reader Blurb of small moments and acts of love in your established relationship with Jannik.

---

Jannik had never been one for grand gestures, but he had his own way of showing love. It was in the small things—the quiet, everyday moments that made up the foundation of your relationship.

Like how he always woke up first but stayed in bed longer just so you wouldn’t wake up alone. Some mornings, he’d brush his fingers through your hair while you slept, other times he’d simply stay there, watching the sunlight creep through the curtains, content just to be near you.

Or how he always remembered the little details. The way you took your coffee (with an extra splash of milk, never too hot). How you preferred sitting by the window at restaurants. How you always hummed under your breath when you were focused, completely unaware of it until he pointed it out with a teasing smile.

He had his own quiet brand of affection, one that didn’t need words. It was in the way he pulled you closer in crowded places, or let you lead with a hand on the small of your back, protective but never overbearing. How he instinctively reached for your hand under the table or your thigh in the car, tracing small circles against your skin. The way his eyes always softened when he looked at you, like you were the best part of his day.

You had a rhythm, one that was easy and familiar, even in the chaos of your respective lives. He was on tour, you were constantly working, yet somehow, you always found your way back to each other.

---

One evening, after a long stretch of travel, he came home to find you curled up on the bed, half-asleep, a book resting on your chest. He didn’t say anything at first—just stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of you, feeling a sense of peace settle over him.

He crossed the room and sat beside you now, coming in after a couple weeks of travel, carefully lifting the book gently resting on your chest so he could slide an arm around you. You blinked awake and open your eyes to him above, you smiled easily through your haze.

“I swear I wasn't waiting up,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep, "This book is just really interesting.

“Aaah, of course,” he humored you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and moved to lay beside you. “So interesting it kept you up, no?”

You yawned, stretching against him. “So up, so awake.”

He chuckled, adjusting so you could tuck yourself against his side. “You know you could've gone to bed. I’ll always come back to you, no matter the time.”

You hummed in response, already settling back into sleep, burrowing into his side. And Jannik? He just held you close, because he knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

---

Enjoy this blurb for now !!!

[rarepairdumpster]

Rival Kingdoms AU Part 1

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: King Silco, Prince Viktor, House Arrest, Viktor turned being stubborn into an art

Silco and Viktor lead two nations that have been mortal enemies for years, and Silco is deeply, confoundingly, in love with Viktor and has been for years.

Viktor expecting to be executed when Silco and his forces, finally, breach the border and push through to the capital city.

And instead, Silco asks for his hand in marriage

Viktor says no on instinct but is surprised when he isn't thrown in the dungeons or executed for his answer. He's instead allowed to stay in his quarters, just under armed guard.

Viktor is "invited" to dinner in his own palace, and Viktor scoffs at the audacity, before slamming the door in the messenger's face.

Several hours later, Viktor hears a knock at the door and is very tempted to not answer, but he can feel his stomach rumbling and knows they likely won't let him starve.

Viktor opens the door and sees Silco standing there with a tray.

Viktor purses his lips and lifts his chin defiantly, despite his hunger.

"I suppose I'm to be force-fed, then." 

Silco arches a brow.

"If you insist."  Silco pulls the cover from the tray, revealing a meal that is still freshly steaming from the wood-fire stove. "But I was hoping that wouldn't be required."

Viktor's stomach whines at the smell of the food and he sighs. At least his chefs haven't been killed.

"Just leave it on the table," Viktor says, stepping aside. "And leave quickly, if you don't mind."

Silco smirks. "As you wish."

Silco strides through the doorway, and Viktor notices the man is confident enough in his control of the capital that he isn't armed  -- not that Viktor can see, at least.

Silco sets down the tray, casts only a passing glance around Viktor's personal chambers, and then bows slightly before leaving again.

"Arrogant man," Viktor mutters once the door snaps shut.

Silco knows that this won't be easy, but he is certain that if Viktor could just see past his anger and resentment, they could be good together.

The "I would never marry a monster" that came after his proposal lives rent-free in his head.

Viktor isn't even the first to voice such words, but at least this time....it was warranted, so to speak.

Silco would just have to show Viktor that he didn't have to be a monster.

Silco isn't an unjust or unkind ruler; his people would attest to that. But nor is he a fool. He can understand how those who live outside the borders he protects would see otherwise. 

Viktor would come to see him in a more positive light 

Silco was certain of it.

The obstinate prince just needed time to adjust.

Viktor, conversely, has never wanted to stab a man so badly.

Viktor finds it maddening. He contemplates accepting the marriage proposal, if only to lure Silco closer, so he can throw him out the window. But Viktor knows Silco is too sharp for that to work. He's also too strong for Viktor to overpower alone.

Viktor doesn't have the physical prowess that Silco has.

Viktor knows he needs some sort of stimulation though. He won't last for long cooped up in his room. The next time Silco comes with his dinner, he takes the opportunity to at least feign being nice and... tolerant.

Silco arches a brow, but doesn't comment on it immediately.

He waits until he's about to leave before saying, "I thought we might take a walk in the gardens tomorrow. Perhaps you could show me your favourite blossoms."

Silco is suspicious of course because why now? However, it was possible he was just too used to people having ulterior motives around him that it was automatic to think there was something else to it.

"I would like that," Silco smiled. "I'll have you know in the morning if I'll have time to take you."

In the morning, a messenger arrives to let Viktor know that Silco isn't available to escort him.

And after the messenger leaves, Viktor just flops on his bed and growls a string of curses into his pillow.

He would really, REALLY, like to leave this room. 

Even if only for a few minutes.

Viktor watches for Silco out the window that day, seeing if he had just lied to prolong Viktor's torture.

When he doesn't see him, he's almost a little disappointed. Maybe it was that he had gotten used to getting some entertainment out of watching him walk the grounds and train.

(Silco was down in the township, settling disputes between his men and local townsmen/merchants. There'd been enough bloodshed already; he didn't want more. It wouldn't help his case when pursuing Viktor in marriage)

Viktor doesn't even get a chance to turn down dinner that night. Silco shows up with his tray of food regardless, albeit a little later than usual.

Silco looks tired, the skin around his eyes more pinched than usual.

"What held you up," Viktor asks dryly, "squashing a revolt?" 

Silco scoffs.

"You wish. I haven't had to squash a revolt since I got here."

Viktor huffs. "Probably by oppressing them enough for the both of us," he mumbles a little loud.

Silco just smirks. He always liked how mouthy Viktor was, ever since they first met during a parlay that didn't pan out.

Viktor sighs and looks over at the plate Silco has already set down. "If that's all, I'd rather idle my time away in private."

"You're the one who asked me to go on a stroll," Silco reminds him mildly, amusement glinting in his blue and white eyes. "I presume there was a reason and I doubt it was my charm this soon."

"I also assumed you'd keep your word," Viktor bites back. "I've been rotting away in this room for weeks. Every book in here I've read ten times over, I have none of my journals or notes, but you still seem intent on keeping me alive so what else can I do but ask my captor for a reprieve?" He lets out a breath and sits on the bed, his posture almost defeated.

Silco is silent for a moment and then he laughs, the sound rich and deep.

"You're allowed to leave these chambers," Silco states once the laughter ebbs. "I never said it wasn’t permissible. You just need an armed escort -- either the guards at the door or myself."

Silco adds like an afterthought, "I want you to be my husband, not my prisoner."

Viktor flinches a little at the mention of Silco wanting to marry him again. "If you truly want that from me, then forcing me to have a armed detail every time I want to walk around my own castle is far from inviting."

"I'm not a fool." Silco sighs. "I know this situation is difficult and far from ideal for a courtship. But I also know that letting you run loose unmonitored is a recipe for getting my throat cut."

"Courtship," Viktor scoffs. 

Silco had a point at least. Viktor already had 3 assassination plans he had drawn up if he ever slipped past the guards. Maybe they could come to a compromise. 

"One guard," Viktor finally says. "And they must leave me be when I'm in the lab."

"And give you time and space to concoct poisons or an incendiary?" Silco gives him an unimpressed stare. "One guard and he will keep watch in the lab, but keep to himself unless he detects a threat to me or my men."

Viktor looks away but smirks a little. It was nice to finally meet someone that didn't underestimate him, but it unfortunately made things that much harder.

"Fine," Viktor finally relents. One guard was at least better than the five that were usually outside his door.

"Good." Silco smiles, the expression almost handsome. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding, Your Highness."

"I suppose I am, too," Viktor nods sharply and then walks over to his plate, popping a grape into his mouth. "I still don't plan to have dinner with you."

Silco just tips his head in the faintest bow before leaving, feeling some small swell of triumph.

It wasn't an acceptance of marriage, or even to a shared dinner, but it was still an acceptance of a kind.  And that was more than enough for now.

Part 2

Arch + Woods

[sequinsmile-x]

Growing Pains

Having teenagers, as it turned out, was the most trying part of parenthood so far, and there were times when she almost considered apologising to her mother. 

Almost. 

AKA - a story about Aaron, Emily, and their teenage daughter who is determined to push boundaries.

Part 1/2

-x-

Hi besties,

Sorry for the slight delay on this - I've got a horrible cold and this fic kept getting bigger and bigger (shocking I know) but here we are!!

This is inspired by an ask I got from anon (who I hope enjoys this fic) asking how I think our favs would deal with a rebellious teenager. Because of who I am as a person, this has become a two parter.

Please let me know what you think, and part 2 will be up within the next few days!

-x-

Words: 6.8K (it really got away from me)

Warnings: brief references to past abortion, brief mentions of underage drinking

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Ferme tes jolis yeux

Car les heures sont brèves

Au pays merveilleux

Au doux pays des rêves.”

Emily sings quietly as she paces back and forth, holding her little girl against her chest. She suppresses a yawn and rubs a soothing circle on Lucy’s back, tilting her head to look down at her baby. Lucy was finally asleep, the 2-day-old’s cheek squished against her chest, and Emily sighs in relief, dropping a kiss to her dark hair and breathing her in, the sweet newborn smell the most addictive thing in the world.

The house is quiet, both Aaron and Jack asleep upstairs in the bed, and dark apart from the lamp she switched on when she came downstairs to the living room. It was peaceful, a bubble they’d built around themselves as they got used to the addition to their family. She couldn’t wait for their friends to meet Lucy, but she wanted this to last as long as possible. For the 2 am feeds and the moments like it to not be her only time with her little girl that was just hers. 

“Let’s sit down, sweet girl,” she says, clenching her jaw to hold back a wince as she sits on the couch, “Mommy is too tired and too sore to walk around anymore.” 

It was Lucy’s first night at home and it felt surreal, strange in some ways that the doctors and nurses had just sent her home with a tiny baby, with a whole new person to look after as if she knew what she was doing. Lucy refused to sleep anywhere but in Emily’s arms, would cry even if Aaron tried to hold her, so Emily knew there was no point in taking her back upstairs and trying to lay her in her bassinet. Even though she was exhausted, more tired than she ever thought possible, she didn’t mind. She knew a day would come when she’d miss this, when she’d look back on the long, seemingly endless, nights when either she or Lucy, or both of them, would cry whilst she tried to nurse her. 

She smiles when she hears footsteps on the hardwood floor, her husband’s familiar footfall loud in the otherwise silent house, despite his obvious attempts to be quiet. 

“Daddy’s coming to see us, baby,” Emily says, kissing Lucy’s hairline again, and she smiles up at him when he walks into the living room, “Hi honey.” 

“There are my girls,” he says, looking as tired as she feels, his hair askew from where he’d been running his fingers through it, and his pyjamas wrinkled from the small amount of sleep he’d had. He walks over and drops a kiss to the top of Emily’s head before he joins her, making sure he’s careful to not jostle either of them as he sits down, “Are you two okay?” 

Emily hums and rests her head on his shoulder, “She wouldn’t settle so I brought her down here to feed her,” she replies, tilting her head to look up at him, “I hope we didn’t wake you up.”

He shakes his head and runs his fingers through her hair before he tucks it behind her ear, “Our bed gets cold without you.” 

She chuckles lightly, “Says the walking furnace.” 

He watches her as she tries to adjust how she’s sitting, her barely covered wince a dagger at his heart. He’d held it together throughout her labour because he knew she needed him to be her strength when she felt hers start to fade, that she needed to lean on him - literally and mentally - but more than once he’d felt himself holding back tears at seeing her in so much pain. He always thought he couldn’t be any more in love with her, any more proud and in awe of her, but she always proved him wrong, always managed to surpass the expectations she herself had set. 

“Want me to take her?” He asks, hiding a smile when she tightens her hold on Lucy as if he was going to take her from her. If he hadn’t been through his before with Haley, if he hadn’t watched the instincts kick in when Jack was a tiny baby and this was all new to him and Haley too, he’d be offended, but he knew they were all adjusting. He knew that Emily was still hesitant to have the baby anywhere other than in her arms, something that their little girl seemed to share with her. 

“No, it’s okay,” she replies, an apology in her smile as she realises what she’s done, “I’m just sore, that’s all,” she looks at Lucy, smiles at the slope of her nose, at the rosebud lips and the dimples they’d already playfully argued over - each claiming she’d inherited them from the other, “She’s worth it though,” she chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in her chest, and she shakes her head at herself, wiping a tear she’d come to expect from her cheek before she puts her hand back on Lucy’s back, “When will I stop crying when I just look at her?” She asks, even though she knows there’s no answer, “She’s perfect. How did I make something so perfect?” 

Aaron wraps his arm around her and kisses her temple before he wipes her tears away for her, “Because you’re perfect, and she’s a mini you.” 

Emily chokes on a sound between a laugh and a sob and she leans in to kiss him, barely pulling back to speak, “You’re pretty perfect too.” 

____

One thing Emily had learnt over the years, was that each era of parenthood had its positives and negatives. 

When the kids were small, when they were tiny little things that needed her for everything, she’d barely had any time to herself, or barely any time for her and Aaron. It made everything feel all the more precious, all the more needed, as she scrambled for 10 minutes in the bath or just an hour of alone time with her husband. But she’d loved it, and missed it when she looked back on it. She missed the night feeds, the snuggles where her babies would sleep curled up on her chest.

She missed being needed. 

When they were toddlers, when their quest for knowledge and need to understand the world around them, she barely had time to think. Their constant questions, the repetition of her name that made her wonder how she’d ever been excited to hear them say it for the first time, and their lack of fear or self-preservation, were exhausting. But watching them grow, watching their personalities develop and their eyes go wide when they experienced something for the first time was incredible, the very thing she’d wanted to see her whole life. 

“Mom!” 

“Emily!” 

She sighs as she sits back in her home office chair, pinching the bridge of her nose as she hears her eldest daughter and her husband call out for her at the same time. 

Having teenagers, as it turned out, was the most trying part of parenthood so far, and there were times when she almost considered apologising to her mother. 

Almost. 

She gets up and walks down the hall to the kitchen, her hands on her hips, “What’s happened now?” 

She looks over at Samuel and Eleanor, the 13-year-old twins drawing her attention with their barely covered laughter and matching smiles. 

“Luce got her nose pierced,” Eleanor says, pressing her lips together as she swallows back a laugh again, always delighting in her older sister’s recent rebellious streak. 

“Dad isn’t happy,” Samuel finishes for her, and Emily looks over at her husband and Lucy, her eyes catching on the, slightly too large for her face, nose ring she can see in her daughter’s nose, the sparkle of it catching in the kitchen light. Aaron is standing next to her, his hands on his hips and his expression exasperated, and she knew she’d have to intervene before things escalated into an argument. 

“Okay you two,” Emily says, turning to look at the twins, “Can you go to the living room please?” she says, raising her eyebrow when neither of them takes the opportunity to leave, “Now.” 

Eleanor huffs out a breath and gets off the stool, “Come on Sammy, that’s Mom-speak for ‘we’re yelling at Lucy and you’re not allowed to watch.’”

“No one is doing any yelling,” Emily says, her eyebrow still raised but her smile soft as they leave the room. 

“I might,” Aaron quips and Emily sighs as she looks over at him. 

“Honey-”

“She had her nose pierced, Em-”

“I am right here you know,” Lucy says, cutting over her father, her arms crossed over her chest in defiance, “And it’s my face.” 

“You’re 16.” 

“Okay,” Emily says, walking over to them with her hands up, “Let’s deal with this one thing at a time,” she turns to look at Lucy first, “Sweetie, you’re right - it’s your face and your choice, but you are our kid,” she raises her eyebrow as Lucy scoffs, not carrying on until Lucy’s shoulders loosen and her eyes flash with an apology, as if she hadn’t meant to make the sound outloud, “And as long as you are a minor and live in this house, you run this kind of thing past us first, okay?” She turns to look at Aaron, their conversation silent for a moment as their eyes meet, her just go with me on this obvious to him, “That sounds reasonable, right?” 

He clears his throat, his arms crossing over his chest as if he has to physically do so to stop his real feelings about their daughter’s nose ring from escaping, “Right,” he says, looking over at Lucy, “But no tattoo’s until you’re 18.” 

Lucy smirks, “Don’t worry, Dad. My fake ID is nowhere near good enough for that.” 

Emily sighs and looks at her daughter, “Not helping,” she says, shaking her head and resting her hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face the door, “Go sit with your brother and sister until dinner, okay?” 

She nods, “No making out in here whilst we’re gone,” she replies, “This is where we eat.” 

As soon as she’s out of earshot, when whatever the twins were watching on TV would drown out the conversation in the kitchen, Emily turns to look at her husband, “Honey, we have to pick our battles.” 

He sighs and his arms tighten over his chest, his grip on his triceps tight enough she’s briefly distracted by the way his muscles ripple under his skin, “I know, sweetheart. I think I was just…shocked. She just walked in with it like it had always been there and I reacted,” he shakes his head at himself, “She’s beautiful just as she is.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “Of course she is,” she says, “I know that. But she’s just trying to express herself, and if anything I think this says a lot about our parenting skills.” 

He furrows his frows at that and tilts his head, “How?” 

“Do you know how self-assured she must be to get her nose pierced? To draw attention to it?” She shrugs and smiles sadly, “I would have loved to have done it when I was her age, and not just because it would have annoyed my mother, but because I liked it. But I hated my nose, so I did everything I could to distract from it,” she scrunches her nose up and shudders as she thinks about her own teenage years, “Why do you think I dressed like Siouxsie Sioux?”

He’s still frowning at her, but his crossed arms loosen, his eyes curious, “When did you start to like your nose?” 

She smiles shyly, but not because she’s embarrassed. She’d stopped being able to be embarrassed in front of him years ago. He was the person who’d held her hand when she had three of his children. He’d washed vomit from her hair when her morning sickness got the better of her, and he’d helped her on and off from the toilet when she couldn’t bend down after her c-section when having the twins. He was another part of her, the missing half she hadn’t known had been missing until their first kiss. She’s not shy because she’s embarrassed, but because she knows exactly what he’s going to do next, and it somehow makes her love him even more. 

She shrugs one of her shoulders, “The first time I saw it on her face.” 

He pulls her into a hug as if an autopilot, his smile a mix of sadness and adoration as he leans in to kiss the tip of her nose, just like she knew he would. “You’re beautiful.”

She smiles and kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Thank you,” she replies, kissing him again as he places his hands on her hips, “You’re not bad to look at yourself,” she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, “She’s just…figuring out who she is, honey. And we have to let her.”

He sighs and leans forward to press his forehead against hers, “You’re right.” 

“I so often am,” she replies, “You’d think after almost 20 years together you’d be used to it.” She leans in to kiss him, her lips barely touching his when she hears a chorus of disgust from the doorway. She smiles as she turns to look at her children, Lucy standing in the middle of Samuel and Eleanor, and she rolls her eyes playfully, “I am allowed to kiss your dad, you know,” she says, shifting so she has her arm around his waist, deciding she was going to have some fun at her children’s expense, “In fact, I’ve done a whole lot more than kiss him-”

“Oh god, Mom.” 

“Emily.” 

___

She yawns and reaches out for the mug on her desk, idly telling herself a second cup of tea would help wake her up. Before she can step away, before she can even stand up, her phone rings, the number for Lucy’s daycare flashing up on the screen. 

“Crap,” she mutters under her breath, worst case scenarios flooding her lungs, her chest cramped so she can’t breathe as she answers, “Hello?” 

“Hi, is this Lucy’s mom?” 

“Yeah, this is her mom. Is everything okay?” She asks, already standing up, the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder as she shoves everything back into her purse. 

“She’s thrown up a few times in the last hour and now she has a fever.” 

Emily feels her heart clench, her chest hollowed out as she thinks about her baby being sick and her not being there, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

She’s never been more grateful that she finally took up Clyde’s persistent offers of a job. After she got married to Aaron, Clyde finally relented and stopped offering the role in London and started telling her there was a role in DC for her if she wanted it. She took it the moment she and Aaron decided to try for a baby. It was a fresh start she’d needed, a job untouched by what Ian had done to her, by people knowing that she’d died and come back a different person. She no longer walked into a room knowing that colleagues had been talking about her, that they’d been gossiping about things she wished they didn’t know. Now she was the boss, had her own office and the respect of everyone around her. She was good at her job, excellent even, and she loved it. 

She usually loved it, but as she walks into Lucy’s daycare, as her little girl presses her face against her chest the moment she’s handed to her, her skin warm and clammy, Emily hates her job. Hates herself for taking it, for going back to work and leaving her 6-month-old in the care of other people. She smiles and nods as the daycare worker updates her on Lucy’s temperature and the medicine they’d given her, holding her little girl close as she does her best to not burst into tears. 

The moment she gets Lucy home, she sits on the couch with her against her chest, rubbing a circle on her back as she fusses.

“My poor, baby,” she says, resting her cheek against her head, “Mommy is right here.” 

She sings to her, keeps her voice low and soft as she does her best to soothe her to sleep. Lucy has just drifted off when Emily’s phone rings, and she answers it quickly, picking it up from where she’d thrown it on the couch, barely registering Aaron’s name and the picture of him with the kids on the screen. 

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he replies, “How is she?”

Emily hums and kisses Lucy’s forehead, grimacing at the warmth of her skin, “She’s got a fever, and she’s very clingy. She just wants to snuggle.” 

“She always wants to snuggle with you,” he replies, and she sucks in a breath, dropping another kiss to Lucy’s head, “Are you okay?” 

She wonders if she should hate that he knows her so well, that he knows something is wrong without her having to say it. She chokes on a sound she can’t name, “I’m feeling like the worst mother in the world right now,” she says, wiping away tears she thinks she should have expected, “My baby was sick and I wasn’t there.” 

“But the moment you were called you were there. You’re the best mom.”

She blows out a breath, “You’re meant to say that, you’re my husband-” she furrows her brow when her phone vibrates, and she pulls it back to see that she is getting a call from Jack’s school, “Oh god, Jack’s school is calling,” she says, “I should take that - he’s probably sick too.”

“Let me know what they say, sweetheart,” he replies, “I’ll go and get him if he needs picking up.” 

“Thanks, honey, you’re the best,” she ends the call with Aaron and answers the call from the school, “Hi, Emily speaking.”

“Hi, is this Jack’s mom?” 

She sighs, unable to suppress a smile as she replies, “Yeah,” she says, kissing Lucy’s head, “This is his mom.”

___

“You were never like this when Jack wanted to bring his first girlfriend over.” 

Emily sighs and pushes her hair out of her face as she blows out a breath so she doesn’t raise her voice, “Luce, Jack didn’t want her to stay overnight when we weren’t here,” she says, and Lucy rolls her eyes, slumping back against the couch, “And we haven’t even met Jacob.” 

Lucy sighs, “That’s because I don’t trust you and Dad to not be embarrassing,” she scrunches her nose up, fighting the smile that breaks out across her face, “Or Nora and Sammy. This is a house of embarrassment. The only person I trust to behave is Jack and he’s in New Haven.” 

Emily smiles, “He is endlessly sensible, isn’t he?” She says, remembering when he was a teenager. She’d almost had to encourage him to misbehave, to push boundaries that he respected. It was part of what had left her and Aaron so unprepared for Lucy’s teenage years. They’d been lulled into a false sense of security by their eldest. 

She saw herself in Lucy. Saw who she could have been if she’d been loved in the way she needed when she was her age, if she’d had the mother she still found herself wishing for even now. Lucy was unashamedly herself, unburdened by expectations that Aaron and Emily had never held her to. All they ever wanted of her, of any of their children, was for them to be kind and to do their best. 

She presses her lips together and studies Lucy, watches as she spins her nose ring around, and she wonders when she grew up, when she stopped being the tiny little thing who was always attached to her side. She loved watching her kids get older, loved watching who they were becoming, but it was hard too. It made her ache, an empty space in her chest that she wasn’t used to making her feel hollowed out, another bit of it carved away each time one of her children pulled a little further away. 

Aaron struggled with it more, Emily knew that. He wanted to keep the kids safe, everything they’d both seen in their jobs lingering in every shadow, and it had made him extra cautious. Emily did her best to be more realistic, to know that they had to let some things slide, but the casual way that Lucy had announced she had a boyfriend was the first time Emily found herself edging more towards her husband’s point of view. She so desperately wanted to protect Lucy, to make sure she didn’t go through what she went through, to save her little girl from the weight of what had happened when she was even younger than she was. 

“Now you have a boyfriend,” she says, trying to stay casual, “I just want to make sure that you know I’m here if you have any questions about sex-”

“Mom,” Lucy exclaims, looking around as if they weren’t home alone, “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

She sighs, “I know, honey. I’m just saying, “Make sure that when you are ready to take that step, you use protection.” 

Lucy grimaces, scrunching her nose up, the movement drawing attention to her nose ring, “God, Mom.” 

“I mean it, Luce. You need to be careful, okay? I’m not under any illusion that you won’t have sex at some point, but you need to promise me you’ll make Jacob use a condom. And I’ll take you to the doctor to get the pill if you need me to,” she swallows thickly, pushing down all the emotions that are rising up her throat, “But you need to be careful.” 

Lucy groans, “Okay, jeez,” she says, her eyebrow raised in challenge, a look on her face that Aaron always said was all her, “Do you and Dad use protection?” 

Emily chuckles, the ghost of who she was as a teenager finally disappearing, her grip on her throat loosening, “No, baby. Your dad and I haven’t had sex with anyone other than each other in almost 20 years, and at this point, your dad has as much of a chance of getting pregnant as I do.” 

“Mom, I’m not going to get pregnant.” 

Later, she’ll wonder why she says it. Whether it’s the absolute confidence in her daughter’s voice that she’d once felt herself, or maybe it’s because a small part of her wants her to know, wants her to understand, that her actions have consequences. That choices she made now could have lifelong repercussions. 

“I did.” 

Lucy finally looks up at her, her eyebrows furrowed in a way that makes her look like Aaron as their eyes meet, “What?” 

Emily nods, and she presses her lips together, taking a moment to clear her throat, “Yeah. I was a little younger than you.” 

“I…” Lucy trails off, any previous attempt at impertinence gone in an instant, “I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

Emily reaches out and runs her fingers through Lucy’s hair, grateful that for once she doesn’t flinch away. If anything, she leans into the touch, shifting closer to Emily for the first time in a long time, “It’s okay, baby. It was a long time ago now.” 

“And you…didn’t have a baby?” 

Emily shakes her head, “No, sweetheart. I didn’t.” 

“Does Grandma know?” Lucy asks, and Emily chokes on a humourless laugh, triggering the same sound to escape Lucy too, “Sorry, stupid question. She probably would have locked you in a convent somewhere.” 

She laughs, for real this time, and she nods, because it was sadly true, “I didn’t really tell anyone, just a friend who helped me. And now only your dad knows,” she runs her fingers through her hair again, “And you.” 

Lucy leans against her, wrapping both of her arms around one of hers and resting her head on her shoulder, “I won’t tell anyone.” 

Emily kisses the top of her head, “I know you won’t,” she says, pulling back to look down at Lucy, “I know it’s embarrassing to talk about with your mom, but I hope you know that it’s just because I don’t want you going through what I did.”

Lucy nods against her, “I’ll be careful…when the time comes,” she says, her cheeks bright red, “I promise,” she encourages Emily to wrap her arm around her and snuggles into her side, “I’m glad you’re my mom.” 

Her eyebrows knit together curiously, “Really? Why’s that?” 

Lucy pulls away just enough to look at her, “Because no matter what, I know I can come to you about anything.” 

It takes everything in Emily to not burst into tears, and she pulls Lucy closer, hugging her fiercely in a way it felt like she hadn’t in years, “I love you, Luce.” 

“I love you too, Mom.” 

___

“Mom, can I push Lucy on the swing?”

Emily chuckles at Jack’s excitement and she adjusts her hold on Lucy, making sure she’s comfortably sitting in her lap.

“Yes, sweetie, once we’ve eaten our lunch,” she says, and he smiles widely, making a point of eating his sandwich quickly, “Slow down, Jack. The swings will still be there when we’re done,” she looks at her watch, “And Daddy will be here soon.”

Aaron had been called into work, torn out of their quiet morning as a family by paperwork that supposedly couldn’t wait until Monday. He told her to go ahead with taking the kids to the park, to having the picnic he’d prepared the night before, Tupperware full of sandwiches he’d made and put in the fridge for them, and that he’d meet them as soon as he could. He’d sent her a text half an hour ago saying he was on the way and she was looking forward to seeing him, wondering when she’d become someone who missed a person after only being apart for a few hours. 

“Dada!” 

Emily smiles at the sound of Lucy’s sweet voice, and she kisses her cheek, tugging gently on one of her pigtails that stuck straight up in the air, “That’s right, baby - Dada will be there soon.” 

Lucy had only started speaking a few weeks ago - babbling nonsense that had given way to Mama, Dada and a sound they know means Jack - and it was unlike anything Emily had ever experienced. Hearing her little girl say Mama for the first time was a memory she knew would always be one of her favourites, right up there with the first time Jack had casually called her Mom instead of Emily. She knew Aaron felt the same way about the first time he’d heard Lucy call him Dada. He’d missed the first time she’d ever said it. He’d been away on a case, had been on the other side of the country when Lucy pointed at a picture of him and said it, stopping both Emily and Jack in their tracks as they looked at her, matching expressions of shock and happiness on their faces. Emily had been tempted to not tell Aaron, to let it happen organically when he came home so he thought that the first time he heard Lucy say it was the first time she’d ever said it, but Jack had beat her to it before she’d had a chance to truly think about keeping a secret from her husband. The little boy’s smile wide as he announced that Lucy had said Dada, his excitement drowning out any disappointment Aaron had been unable to keep from his wife. 

Lucy lets go of the toy she’d been holding, a ball with Olaf the snowman on it, and it rolls away from them. Lucy grunts, and before Emily can even attempt to get it, Jack is on his feet. 

“I’ll get it, Mom.” 

“Thanks, baby,” she replies, smiling as he picks it up and hands it to Lucy, “You’re such a good big brother.

“‘Ack,” Lucy says, taking the ball from him, smiling widely at her brother. Then she looks past him, seeing Aaron before Emily and Jack do, and she stands up, her hands grabbing fists of grass as she pushes herself onto her feet, “Dada!”

Emily looks in the direction she’s pointing, her hand reaching out to steady her, but she’s met with nothing but air. She frowns when she sees Lucy several feet away from where she’d been expecting her, her arms stretched outwards as she walks towards Aaron.

“Oh my God,” Emily says, standing up quicker than she thought her knees would allow, “Oh my God she’s-.” 

“Mom,” Jack cuts over her, his eyes wide, “Lucy's walking.” 

Emily scrambles for her phone, digs it out of her pocket and turns on the camera to start recording. She captures the moment Aaron kneels down just a few paces away from Lucy, his smile wide, the dimples in his cheeks visible from where she was standing, as he encourages their little girl to walk the last few steps. She all but falls against him, her tiny hands against his knees as she collapses into him, and Aaron scoops her up, stamping kisses against her cheeks as he settles her on his hip, drawing out giggles that make Emily’s heart soar. She stops recording and tucks her phone into her pocket as she runs over, her hand around Jack’s as they meet in the middle, her other hand on Lucy’s back as she kisses her temple. 

Lucy smiles at the affection, her grass-stained thumb in her mouth before Emily tugs it out, delighted at the attention she’s getting even if she doesn’t understand it. 

“Whose my clever little girl?” Emily says, kissing her temple again, “Did you walk to Daddy?” She says, tickling her belly to draw out another giggle, Aaron chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and his eyes are shining when Emily looks at him. She cups his cheek and draws him in for a quick kiss, “We’re going to have to baby-proof the shit out of the house now.” 

He laughs and kisses her, “I’ll start the moment we get home,” he kisses her again before he reaches for her hand and squeezes, looking down at Jack as they start to head back towards their abandoned picnic, “I think we should get ice cream to celebrate, what do you think, Jack?” 

Jack’s excited nod is the only answer they need. 

___

She can hear raised voices before she opens the front door. She sighs and puts her key in the lock, taking a deep breath before she pushes it open. As she steps into the house, Lucy’s yelling is no longer muffled, and Emily dumps her purse just inside the door so she can seek them out, her hopes of a quiet Friday night with her family dashed before they even know she’s home. 

She finds them in the kitchen, dinner half prepared on the counter, and neither one of them seems to have heard her walk in. 

“You’re not going to the party, and that’s final.” 

Emily shakes her head, almost admiring her daughter’s attempt to divide and conquer. She’d asked her about the party that morning as they got ready for the day, dutifully dodging questions about whether there was going to be any parental supervision or not, and Emily had told her no. She’d been to those parties herself, hadn’t had a parent who cared enough to be around to say no, and she didn’t want Lucy to go. She did her best to be an understanding parent, to let her kids push boundaries and figure out who they are, but this was a hard line for her. 

She’d seen far too many girls Lucy’s age hurt, or worse, in situations just like this. 

Lucy scoffs, “But everyone else is going!” 

Aaron sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, and Emily can see that his patience is fraying, the threads of it pull to their limit as he stays calm in the wake of the teenager’s anger, “I don’t care if everyone else is going, you’re not.” 

Lucy grumbles, the sound turning into a growl as it catches in her throat, and she throws her arms up in her air, “Dad, you’re being so unreasonable, you’re ruining my life.” 

Emily almost interjects, but Aaron replies again, still as calm as he can be, the weight of his father’s anger heavy on his shoulders.

“Lucy, I just want you to be safe - and this doesn’t sound safe,” he sighs, “I know you think you’ve got it all figured out, but you’re 16, princess. You-”

“Don’t call me princess,” she shouts, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’m not a kid.” 

Aaron’s jaw tightens, but his voice is still even, his expression stern and not one he often used in their home, “You are a kid. You’re my kid. And I am saying no.” 

There’s a moment of silence as Lucy shakes her head, her whole body vibrating with anger she can’t control or fully understand.

“I hate you.” 

Emily watches as Aaron deflates, his shoulders falling back as if he’s taken a physical hit, and she steps into the kitchen, “Don’t speak to your father like that.” 

Lucy and Aaron both look at her as if they’d only just realised she’s there, “But, Mom-”

“No, ‘but Mom’, nothing. You don’t speak to him like that,” she replies, as firm as she ever was with the kids, “And even if I didn’t agree with your dad on this, you absolutely wouldn’t be going now.” 

Lucy scoffs, “Mom-”

“Go to your room,” she says, “I’ll come and talk to you when you’ve calmed down.” 

Lucy looks like she’s going to argue for a moment, but she doesn’t. Instead, she shakes her head and marches past them, throwing one final piece of her anger over her shoulder, one final barb catching in her parent’s skin that Emily knows she’ll regret once she’s calmed down. 

“You’re the worst parents ever.” 

Emily sucks in a breath as she watches Lucy walk away, stamping her feet on each step before she slams her bedroom door. 

“That went well,” Aaron quips, his smile sad as she turns to look at him, and she walks over, wrapping her arms around his waist. He hugs her back immediately, a desperation to it that makes her heart ache. 

“She didn’t mean it, honey,” she says, rubbing a circle on his back, turning her head to kiss his cheek, “You know she loves you.” 

He hums and pulls back, “I know. Doesn’t make it any easier to hear though.” 

“I know,” she replies, pushing her fingers through his hair, smiling at the flecks of grey at his temples, “Is it just me who misses when they were small and thought we were the coolest people ever?”

He chuckles and stamps his lips against hers, “It’s not just you, sweetheart,” he kisses her again and then tugs her against him for a hug, “I’m sorry you came home to an argument.”

“That’s okay,” she replies, kissing his jaw before she pulls back to look at him, “You know you’re an excellent dad, right?” 

He smiles, a bit more of him shining through in it this time, and she knows it’s exactly what he needed to hear, “Thanks, sweetheart. And you’re an excellent mom.” 

“Dad?” 

They turn to see Samuel standing in the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Everything okay, buddy?” 

“I wondered if you needed help with dinner?” Samuel nods and clears his throat,  and it’s such an obvious attempt to cheer Aaron up after he’d overheard the argument with Lucy, that Emily feels like she could burst. She unwraps herself from around Aaron and pulls Samuel into a hug, stamping a kiss against his head. “God, Mom. Stop.” 

She smiles as she steps away, “You’re sweet.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair to straighten it out, “You’re embarrassing.” 

Emily and Aaron make eye contact over Samuel’s head, and Aaron winks at her before he replies to their son, “If you don’t mind Sammy, I need some help with the vegetables.” 

Samuel nods, muttering under his breath about Sammy being the name for a baby before he walks over to help Aaron. 

Lucy stays in her room all evening. Her irritation with her parents still clear when Emily takes her some dinner and tries to talk to her about their point of view. Eleanor asks Emily to braid her hair for the first time in years, another sign that the twins had both heard Lucy’s outburst earlier, and Emily finds herself in awe of her children’s capacity for empathy. They were good kids, all of them, and she was endlessly proud of them and the people they were becoming.

Even if their stubbornness, which they’d inherited from both her and Aaron, was world record worthy.  

She sighs contentedly as she settles into bed next to Aaron, pulling the covers over them both. She leans in to kiss him, tasting the sadness that was still lingering on his tongue, made worse by Lucy not even answering him through her door when he’d said goodnight. Emily pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against his. 

“You okay?” She asks, and he nods, his forehead knocking against hers, “Want me to be the big spoon?” 

He chuckles and shakes his head, kissing her one more time, “You’re too small to be the big spoon,” he replies, encouraging her onto her side, “It’s like wearing a jetpack.” 

She rolls her eyes at him and turns her head to stamp her lips against his again, “I’m not that much shorter than you,” she says, resting her head on her pillow and pulling his arm to cuddle it against her chest as he moulds himself against her. She kisses his knuckles before tucking his hand under her chin, “You are a very good big spoon though.” 

She couldn’t remember a time in her life before him, and couldn’t believe she’d lived for so much longer without him than she had with him by her side. She couldn’t imagine doing any of this with anyone else, sure that if she hadn’t kissed him that one night 19 years ago, and if he hadn’t kissed her back, she wouldn’t have any of this - one kid at an Ivy League college and three others asleep just down the hall, a partner she loved more than life itself. 

She’s sure she would have been happy in another life, just a different kind of happy that she was glad wasn’t hers. 

“Goodnight sweetheart, I love you.” 

She hums as he kisses her cheek, “I love you too.” 

She isn’t sure how long she’s been asleep when her phone rings. She groans, blindly reaching out for it, knocking her reading glasses from her nightstand as she grabs her phone. She opens her eyes, the bright light of the screen making her wince as she blinks away the bleariness, and she frowns when she sees Lucy’s name on the screen. 

“Lucy,” she says as she answers, a bad feeling settling in her gut, the weight of it remaining as she slips out from Aaron’s embrace, ignoring the way he calls after her half asleep. She can hear yelling in the background, the unmistakable sound of a party filtering down the line with her daughter’s voice, and she steps out into the hallway, “Why are you calling?” 

“Mom,” she says, her voice slurring, “Can you come get me?” 

“Come get you?” She asks, her heart dropping into her stomach as she walks into Lucy’s bedroom and finds it empty, just like she knew she would. It doesn’t make the sight of the unmade bed, the teddy bear Lucy claimed she didn’t need anymore tipped on the floor, and the open window any easier to take. She feels panic rise in her chest, worst case scenarios flooding through her, every bad thing she’d ever seen happen to a person hitting her square in the chest as she puts her daughter on speaker phone. She scrambles to open the Find My Friends app she has on her phone, her worry tipping into desperation when she sees Lucy’s disabled it on her end, only Aaron, Samuel, Eleanor and Jack flashing up on the map, “Where are you?” 

Lucy sighs, the hesitation in it clear even though she’s obviously drunk, “I snuck out,” she says, hiccuping, carrying on even though she doesn’t need to, “I’m at the party.” 

[witchcraftingboop]

So my goal when setting up my apt was to keep the "visible upon entry" areas dark and obviously a fair bit gothic and then have my bedroom be a pastel vibrant pit of comfort and niche whimsies. The main area, and the largest, is my living room, and it's been lightened up a fair bit by shelving my altars again and given more of a studious, mildly dark aesthetic look. But my bedroom is very quickly progressing towards the cozy pastel whiplash room I'd imagined. We're definitely slowly getting there (the main hold up is the fact that if I replace my ancient dresser, then I have to carry it out to the dumpsters, and I really do not want to do that), but so far it's endlessly satisfying to lounge around in my pink satin night gowns and fluffy bunny slippers in a mostly-pastel room and then slink onto my plum couch to make some tea by cat-skull-candlelight. I truly cannot wait to finish decorating both rooms

[luckyartdrawer]

I'm messing around with Magma for the first time. I wanted to have an idea of how it works before trying any public art jams.

Take my first little test drawings and hold them gently, I will not be responsible if they bite though.

Any advice on how Magma etiquette works would be appreciated! I'm gonna look up some stuff myself, but hearing others experiences is always nice. :3

vvvv Moon close up vvvv

I've been seeing a lot of drawings where the crescent side is more like a mask while the left is more malleable and decided to give that design a lil try. :3

[kaikamahine]

.

[faaun]

a while ago i accidentally bent a g.pangolin electrode (those things are made of gold) the world was covered in conductive gel time is passing unreal lvls of quick they know my heart is yours

[robotic-maid]

How things are going again… update I guess? Still can’t figure out how to read more on mobile. I’m just typing this out so it can leave my head.