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[aqusagtechnologies2023]

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[sensationsoftwaresolutions]

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[sunbentshadows]

The professional hill I will fucking die on is that whenever people say "the documentation for X (docker, ansible, openshift, kubernetes, yt-dlp, etc) is great!!" The documentation is, actually, truly, without fail, unbelievably dogshit.

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- part three

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- eventually explicit sex, freaky but fluffy- this part- obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mentions of sex work, oral (f receiving) panty stealing hehe, fingering, reader is HELLA rich and Satoru is almost a sugar baby lmao, fluffy/sweet, tension - lots of it- he becomes lowkey/highkey Yan tbh, pretty woman vibes 🤭

This will be a fun set of drabbles in this style! I hope you all enjoy them lmk if you wanna get tagged in the next parts <3

<<<Part Two - Part Four>>>

Escort! Satoru 'How much for twenty minutes of your time?' your words halt him now, his hand on the doorknob, cock immediately hard, throbbing at just the sound of your voice, the intent there behind it something he's just been fantasizing about day in and day out since he first met you. 'Twenty minutes?' He puts a smirk on his face, turning to face you now, lowering those black Gucci shades just a bit, as you sit there on that desk like a whole fucking meal, sexy business skirt slipping up your thighs just so. 'Twenty minutes of my company?' he turns the lock with a resounding click, dress shoes clicking on the hardwood floors slowly, as he steps closer, until he's leaning over you. 'And what do you want in this twenty minutes?'

Escort! Satoru watches as your eyes lower, nervously shifting, as his hand slips up a thigh, gently pushing it down, so he can step right between your legs. 'Anything you're comfortable with, Satoru... I'd never ask for anything you don't want to do' why do your sweet words have to make his heart race!? Even faced with finally getting more of your time, he also can't take just how much you mean to him, how deeply he fucking feels for you in this moment already. 'I'm comfortable doing anything to your pretty body' he says then, watching your eyes dilate, your lips part, his hands slipping your skirt up just a bit over your stockings. 'So you just say what you want, sweetheart' your hand trails down his abdomen, as you whisper 'I want you to make me cum, please'

Escort! Satoru has your back pressed right on your desk now, shoving stacks of papers out of the way, you gasp at the quick motion, when he shoves your skirt all the way up, revealing black garters adorning your thighs, and already soaked black panties, which he peels down. 'Your eyes... let me...' you take off his glasses with a shaky hand, setting them next to you, revealing those baby blues with snowy lashes lowered. 'They're so pretty... Satoru, are we...' he chuckles, but inhales when he sees your perfect cunt, the strings of sticky cum attached to the panties, moaning at the sight. 'We're not fucking in just twenty minutes, no sweetheart, even if you beg, I'm not busting that fast' your thighs are shaking then, breaths quicker as he pulls those panties fully off, you don't see that he tucks them in his pocket, all you see is him get on his knees.

Escort! Satoru parts your swollen lips with two long fingers, revealing the wetness just drooling from your little hole, he feels your hands grip his expensive black suit as he breathes on it, then inhales your scent, watching the little clit twitch just from that, hearing your soft little whimper. 'Satoru um... you're... ah!' You have to slam a hand on your mouth, what if someone fucking heard you!? This is insane, you're acting so crazy for this man. You see Satoru's brilliant blue eyes looking up, lidded with desire, when he presses a kiss right over your hood, letting your lips slip back together, his fingers now shoving your thighs farther, pressing into them. 'I'm going to have you cum all over my face, sweets, you can pay my fee after' you're done once he's slipped a tongue up your slit, screaming out into your hand, cunt clenching around nothing.

Escort! Satoru is clearly a fucking expert, you've not been with anyone in so long, that just a flick of his tongue destroys you, blood rushing in your ears while your other hand grips his silky white locks. 'Mmm, taste s'fucking good, fuck...' your hips arch, as he starts lapping up your slit, to your little clit, sucking it into his hot mouth now, you're gasping in pleasure, cunt pulsing and pouring more and more arousal for his hungry mouth. 'Oh my god, Satoru... mnh!' your soft, pleading whisper makes him so hard it hurts, he's rubbing himself over his pants then, leaking precum, while your thighs close in on his head. 'Lemme see how many times I can have you cum, set the timer' he says, grinning when he stands, slipping two fingers in your snug little channel.

Escort! Satoru watches you grab your phone with shaky hands, eyeing the time. 'fifteen left, sweets' he murmurs, leaning over you as he curls his fingers up in gummy walls, slick coating you, and you set it, his lips so close to you, you can damn near taste yourself. 'You don't kiss, but you...' Satoru sighs, breath tickling your lips as you bite your lower lip, hand pulling on his tie now. 'This is five star treatment, reserved for very...' he presses a kiss on you neck, your breasts that are peeking from your blouse, 'very.... very special clients only' his fingers curl just so, you scream out against your palm again, as Satoru's close to busting watching you, tasting your sweetness on his lips. 'there's once' he's sitting you up higher as you're spasming around his fingers, sitting right in your office chair now, burying his face back between your thighs again, yanking you against him.

Escort! Satoru has the next orgasm all over his face, fuck he's drowning in you, lewd, wet squelching sounds echoing in your pretty bright office. 'That's it, cum again, let me drink you up, slutty little cunt loves it, huh?' no one has ever spoke this way, no one has devoured you like this, your hoarse voice cries out when his tongue flicks over and over again. 'Satoru, oh my god, t-too much I...' he laughs a bit, fingers scissoring in and out of your soppy hole, raising a brow. 'C'mon, you can give me one more, can't you baby?' baby, the word echoes as you nod, helpless, trying to remember, this was his job, his career, that it's just that, nothing more. But how can you when he's pulled you by the fat of your ass, and his face is fucking buried against you!? As he's drinking your soaking wetness all up, as you shatter, cumming so hard you almost fucking faint, you can't even see.

Escort! Satoru presses one more kiss, smirking as you twitch, thighs shaking, your breaths coming so quick, your grip so tight on his hair it hurts, but it hurts so good. 'Satoru, fuck you're... some pussy eating prodigy like...' he snorts in laughter now, easing his fingers out, coated and dripping with you, making you heat up, when he places them against your lips. 'Open' you eagerly listen, sucking his long fingers, as the timer sets off, you hastily shut it off, tasting your sweetness on him, as he watches your flushed face, your glittery eyes. 'Look at you, so pretty, so fucked out, already...' you pull back your lips with a pop, running your fingers down his hard abdomen, dying to know what he looks like. 'Let me make you cum' he pauses then, because one fucking flick of your tongue and he'd probably bust all over. 'twenty minutes is over, I'm afraid'

Escort! Satoru earns a cute little pout, as you close your thighs, grabbing the phone, that bracelet glinting. 'How much?' you ask softly, Satoru eyes your bare ears, thinking next he'll buy you pretty earrings to dangle off them. 'Twenty minutes? Four hundred.' His price should freak you out, but you don't bat a pretty eyelash, his phone dings, and you've sent eight hundred instead, making him eye you. 'I said four-' you shake your head. 'Worth it' you hop off your desk, wobbling just a bit, he has to steady you now, pressing kisses against your head, so affectionate you can hardly stand it. 'Why does a girl like you need me, hmm? Have you fucking seen yourself?' He tilts your chin up, some underlying feelings pour through then, you hate how he fucking talks about himself suddenly, like he's nothing. 'Have you seen yourself, Satoru?' he blinks a bit then, lips just a centimeter apart, Satoru doesn't kiss clients, right, Satoru doesn't kiss anyone really, not when he knows that is what really means something, all he can thing of is kissing you.

Escort! Satoru watches you adjust yourself a bit, and you try to gather your papers, your things, putting them back in their rightful places. 'I have an auction I could use a date for, same price as the last charity event okay?' you say softly, Satoru's heart pounds in his chest now. 'Discounted, you're tipping me entirely too much' you giggle a little, brushing your hair back. 'How about I buy you something at the auction you'd like?' Satoru shakes his head. 'shit there is thousands...' you shrug a shoulder. 'And? If you want something I'll buy it, if not I'll just pay the normal. Are you booked Friday though?' Satoru looks at his phone now, you keep repeating to yourself - he's just doing this for his job, his money, that's it- don't get too attached. 'Nope, nothing' Satoru says, as he clears three jobs away, high paying, but he damn sure wouldn't turn down another time with you.

Escort! Satoru takes your hand, kissing the back of it with glossy, plump lips - fuck they're glossy from you - winking and playing it off so cool, like his heart's not pounding in his chest. And he tries to remember- he's just a convenience, right, he's just good at pleasing, good at acting. He can't fall so deep to think he could be more for a girl like you, watching color decorate your precious cheeks as you smile. 'Next time... if you're comfortable after...' your hand brushes against his cock, eliciting a whimper you think you must have mis heard, eyeing him now. 'I'd like to please you back' he clears his throat, precum making him stick to his boxers. 'Oh would you, shouldn't I pay you for that, baby?' you're giggling now. 'What!?' he just shakes his head. 'I don't think I could take pay for you pleasing me, but... we'll see, I'll be there.' You nod a bit. 'It's a date, then.' your casual words make you both pause, but he grins now. 'Mhmm, see ya sweets'

Escort! Satoru doesn't know why but the thought of charging you to suck him, charging you for anything, feels... off. weird. wrong. You're still going over it all in your mind, when suddenly you realize you don't have your panties. You're trying to find them, panicking, what if a client walks in and they're thrown somewhere!? You pause then, surely he... 'Satoru...' he picks up the phone, already in the back of his driver's car, stroking a hard cock. 'What is it, sweetheart? need twenty more minutes?' you laugh a bit. 'It's gonna sound insane, but... where are my panties? did you put them somewhere?' your whisper makes him pause, mid stroke, pulling them out of his pocket now. 'Panties... I think I just... had them on the desk?' you curse a bit, as he grins, putting them against his face and biting back a moan. 'Shit, I don't know! Okay... I'll text you the details from the auction.'

Escort! Satoru considers your panties the real tip, hanging up the phone and lapping that wetness off them, flavor coating his tastebuds with you, the phone blings with a location. But Satoru has trouble focusing, instead whining out at the thought of being inside of you, pretty little CEO, who's paying him far, far too much, so much so he's canceled his appointment that day too, he can't focus on anything but you, anyway. You give up searching for your panties, surely he wouldn't have taken them... but little do you know he's using the silk to stroke himself, busting his hot white load all against the fabric, shaking as he looks at the mess he made. He needs some practice, is all, before he can handle you, that's all it is, practice... right? He can't stop thinking about you, like a madness, until he's ready to see you again, and one thought rushes through his head as he meets you that night in your gorgeous red dress -

He wants to kiss you.

taglist 1 - @shydroid3000 @thisisew @twinkling-moonlilie-reblogs @aducksmokingquack @miya4life @ravenbc @yenayaps @nezukuwu @etsuniiru @ieathairs @kenqki @princess-bblgm @belovedxiao @ninikrumbs @ieathairs @myahfig4 @theelegantpotato @vvaoo @aldebrana @celestep004 @whoisteona @ladyneisa @lililovely78 @gamerhere @wstaley2 @allthesqueaks @slut4donghyuck @maisiefrancesca @yittten @femaholicc @jjknanamin @that-b-word-lol @devastyle @mat-mat-mat @jkslaugh97 @ovela @mxgnolia @rikiswifeyyy @kaayyhunnyy @gojos1wife1 @arabellasolstice @01ve3rz @jud3thedude @firemoonlightfly @vyluvs @artist1936 @kyelikesanime @mistytojigetolover

[thatdisasterauthor]

Over on Bluesky the other day I mentioned how working in wildland fire makes it very hard to look at real estate without immediately thinking about how the house would burn (since I look at a lot of woodland properties), and @gallusrostromegalus mentioned how they miss my weird real estate series and that it might be fun to bring that back a bit with "bad fire environment choices."

So! I'm gonna start sharing those when I come across them. I don't really look as much anymore, since I did finally buy a house last year, but I do still poke around sometimes to see what's out there.

The new series will be tagged as "Firey Real Estate".

Now, let me preface this on saying that I'm not, like, a full on expert in house safety when it comes to wildfires, but I know the basics. So. Let's kick it off with a few places I found poking around Colorado today!

I actually really love the look of this house, and it isn't the WORST. But it has some issues. Two big structural issues stand out to me: the house has open eves (the area under the edges of the roof where you can see the beams) which provides A LOT of places for floating embers to get stuck and start your house on fire. Also, some of the roof slopes are too shallow to effectively shed embers that land on them.

Second issue is the deck, a very large surface area that embers can get caught. They also haven't extended the gravel all the way to the edge of the underside of the deck, which means fire could get up under the deck, especially to those few wood poles that aren't encased in stone.

They've also stacked firewood against the house, which is a big no no.

[kiwriteswords]

Unveiled

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: This has been on my to-write list forever...hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags/Warnings: Mild Injury, Mentions of Field Work, Secretive Behavior, Slight Jealousy, Light Swearing, Mentions of Emotional Vulnerability, Secret Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Marriage, Canon-Typical Themes.

Sypnosis: You and Aaron Hotchner have always been experts at keeping work and personal life separate—so much so that the team doesn’t even know you’re together, let alone married. But secrets can only stay hidden for so long, especially when small details start catching everyone’s attention.

The BAU bullpen buzzes with the usual hum of activity. Cases to close, profiles to refine, and endless paperwork to finish. You settle into your desk with a practiced air of nonchalance, tugging the sleeve of your blazer slightly to cover the delicate wedding band now gracing your finger.

The slim band--simple, not flashy, was perfect for both your personality and the line of work you were in. You could count the times on one hand how often JJ had to get her ring fixed or cleaned from the damage being in the field caused. You did not need diamonds or an extravagant engagement or wedding. You had everything and more with the man who had the matching band upstairs. 

You glance across the bullpen, up to Aaron’s office. He’s buried in a stack of reports, his expression unreadable, as always. His left hand is occupied with a red pen, and the thin gold band is barely visible but there nonetheless.

Your lips twitch into a subtle smile as you recall the whirlwind of the weekend: the drive to a secluded courthouse, the soft vows spoken just for each other, the quiet, private moment that bound you and Aaron together in a way only you two could understand--with Jack present, of course. Eloping had been a mutual decision, spurred on by years of hiding, countless near-misses at being caught, and the realization that you were done living for anyone but each other.

Ever the lawyer Aaron was and ever the practical woman you were, you knew marriage was essentially just paperwork. Personally, it did mean a lot more to the both of you in terms of commitment, so that’s why you both decided to do it on a whim, to begin with, but there wasn’t a need for the white dress or all the bells and whistles that you both found overkill. The slim gold bands were enough. The vows were enough. The love you shared was more than enough.

Now, the fun part began.

You turn back to your desk, shuffling through files with purpose as the team begins trickling in. The usual morning energy hums around you, but it’s impossible to ignore the slight thrill of knowing what you’re both hiding—and knowing it won’t be hidden for much longer.

“Hey, Y/N!” Penelope’s voice cuts through the air, cheerful as ever. “Doesn’t this day feel extra special for some reason? Like the world’s just radiating good vibes?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe it’s just you, Penelope. You’re the good vibes.”

She beams, clearly pleased with the answer, before skipping off to annoy Morgan. You catch Aaron’s eye for the briefest second, and the corner of his mouth twitches—a rare, subtle sign of amusement.

The team trickles in gradually. Rossi strolls past your desk, sharp as ever, with his coffee in hand. His sharp eyes flicker to your hand, and he slows just slightly, one eyebrow quirking upward.

“Nice ring, kid,” he says, voice casual but curious. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone serious enough settle down.”

Your breath hitches for a fraction of a second, but you quickly recover, offering him an easy shrug. “I like to keep my private life... private.”

Rossi had been the hardest over the years to keep at bay. Somehow, it became second nature to be so…secluded in your personal life. It wasn’t that you or Aaron were not sharing with the team, but you never felt the reason to shake things up. You, with your budding career, and him, with his reputation as a leader, why change that? 

Rossi hums thoughtfully, clearly filing that information away for later. You glance over at Aaron again, his focus still trained on the file in front of him. His poker face is maddeningly perfect, but you know he’s listening intently.

It isn’t too long after that a new case brings you to the round table room. You can’t help but feel that there is still an unspoken buzz in the air. Rossi’s comment made you jumpier than you’d like. Not that you’re hiding anything, but the idea of change…makes you uneasy. 

Aaron sits to your right, perfectly composed as always, flipping through the latest case files. His left hand holds a pen, the thin gold band on his ring finger catching the light with every movement. You glance at it, a quiet rush of warmth filling your chest. Your husband. It’s still a surreal thought. You could feel the faintest hint of amusement radiating from him, even if his face betrayed nothing. The quiet thrill of your secret filled the air between you.

You refocus, nodding at something JJ says about an update from the field office, but you can feel Rossi’s eyes on you. He’s seated across the table, his sharp gaze catching every detail. A slow, knowing smile creeps across his face, but he says nothing—yet.

“Anyway,” JJ continues, looking up from her notes, “we’ll need to coordinate with local law enforcement to finalize those interviews.” She glances over, and her eyes snag on your hand mid-gesture. Her words falter for a split second before she quickly recovers. “Morgan, you’ll take the lead.”

Morgan nods, clearly only half-listening. His focus has also shifted—to Aaron, more specifically. His brow furrows as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Hotch, you got something new going on?” His tone is casual, but his grin betrays his curiosity. “That’s one hell of an accessory you’re sporting.”

Aaron doesn’t miss a beat, his voice calm and measured. “I wasn’t aware my ring warranted commentary, Morgan.”

Morgan smirks, glancing at Rossi. “Oh, come on, man. You walk in here wearing a wedding band out of nowhere? You can’t expect us not to say something.”

Rossi leans forward slightly, his fingers steepled under his chin. “And here I thought I was the only one paying attention,” he says, his voice rich with amusement. “Seems our unit chief had quite the weekend.”

The rest of the team snaps to attention. JJ’s head jerks toward Aaron, her eyes widening as she looks between him and you. Penelope, sitting at the far end of the table, gasps audibly.

“Wait,” Penelope exclaims, her voice rising in pitch. “You’re married now? When did this happen? Who’s the lucky lady? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“I’m not the only one,” Rossi interjects smoothly, his gaze now fixed on you. “Looks like Y/N had a busy weekend, too.” He nods toward your left hand.

You glance at Aaron, a silent exchange passing between you. His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles—so brief it’s almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

Penelope’s sharp intake of breath breaks your focus. “Wait a second,” she says, leaning forward, her gaze darting between you and Aaron. “Y/N, is that... a wedding ring?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your voice steady as you respond. “What about it?”

Morgan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and smirking. “Hold up,” he says, nodding toward Aaron’s hand again. 

All eyes turn toward Aaron now. He calmly finishes jotting a note before closing the folder in front of him. “Is this relevant to the case?” he asks, his tone perfectly neutral.

Rossi tilts his head, his sharp gaze bouncing between you and Aaron. His lips curl into a knowing smile. “Interesting,” he says slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Very interesting.”

JJ’s brow furrows as she glances between the two of you. Her eyes widen slightly as realization begins to dawn. “No,” she says softly, more to herself than anyone else. Then louder, “Wait a second—are you two—?”

You glance at Aaron, and he gives you the slightest nod. With a small sigh, you lean back in your chair and let the corner of your mouth lift into a smirk. “You really don’t know?” you ask, your voice laced with amusement.

Aaron follows up, his tone carrying a faint edge of dry humor. “I thought you were better profilers than that.”

The room goes completely silent as the pieces click into place. Emily gasps, pointing between you and Aaron. “No. No way. You two? Are you telling me you’re married to each other?”

Morgan bursts out laughing, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating this whole time, and none of us knew? I don’t believe it. You two are way too good at this.”

Penelope’s jaw drops. “What?! Oh my God, I feel so betrayed! How could you keep this from me? I should’ve been your bridesmaid—or at least in the loop!”

Aaron raises a hand, his calm authority cutting through the chaos in the room. “We made the decision to keep our relationship private to maintain professionalism,” he begins, his tone firm but warm. His eyes sweep the room, landing briefly on each team member before continuing. “This team works best when there are no distractions, and we both agreed that our relationship couldn’t interfere with that.”

He pauses, glancing at you. There’s a moment of silent understanding between you before you speak up, your voice steady but lighter than his. “It wasn’t about hiding, exactly. It was about making sure we stayed focused on the work that matters. But,” you add with a small, wry smile, “we eventually realized we didn’t need to keep it a secret anymore.”

Aaron picks up where you leave off, his tone softening slightly. “Especially now that we’re married,” he says, letting the weight of the words settle over the room. “We didn’t make this decision lightly, and we both value the integrity of this team above all else. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t.”

The room falls quiet again, the team absorbing the revelation. You can see the wheels turning in their minds as they piece together the years of subtle interactions, quiet glances, and the seamless way you and Aaron have worked together all this time.

JJ breaks the silence first, her expression shifting from shock to a warm smile. “Well,” she says softly, “congratulations. You both deserve to be happy.”

Morgan leans forward, his grin widening. “Alright, I’ll give you two credit—this is the best-kept secret I’ve seen in a long time. But man, Hotch, you’ve got some explaining to do. Married? Without us knowing? I’m hurt.”

Rossi chuckles, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen it sooner,” he says, his tone amused but approving. “Still, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two make sense.”

Reid almost looks relieved, “I thought I was the only one who didn’t pick up on things like this.” 

Penelope is the last to recover, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! This is so romantic!” She gestures wildly between you and Aaron. “Secret agents in love, sneaking off to get married—it’s like a spy movie! Please tell me there are pictures. I need pictures. And cake! Why isn’t there cake?”

You laugh, finally letting yourself relax a little as you glance at Aaron. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile—one the others might miss, but you recognize instantly. Beneath the table, his pinky brushes against yours, a subtle reminder that you’re in this together.

“Alright,” Aaron says, his commanding tone bringing the room back into focus. “We still have work to do, and I expect everyone to stay focused on the case.”

Morgan leans back in his chair, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah, boss. But this conversation isn’t over.”

Rossi smirks. “Don’t worry, Derek. Something tells me there’s more to this story, and we’ll get the details eventually.”

You exchange a knowing glance with Aaron as the team begins to settle down, still buzzing with excitement. It’s out in the open now—no more hiding, no more secrets. Just you, Aaron, and the life you’ve quietly built together finally shared with the people who matter most.

The case wraps up after a grueling few days. The unsub is in custody, and while the tension of the investigation still lingers, the mood on the jet back home is noticeably lighter. The team is scattered around the cabin—Morgan and Rossi are in their usual seats, discussing the finer points of profiling techniques, while Spencer is engrossed in a book.

You find yourself seated with JJ and Emily at the small table near the galley. Emily is flipping through a magazine, and JJ is scrolling on her phone, but their attention shifts to you when you pull out your phone and casually unlock it.

“You know,” you say, leaning back in your chair with a small grin, “since you all feel so left out, I figured I’d show you some photos from the elopement.”

Emily’s eyes snap up from her magazine, and JJ’s face lights up with interest. “Finally!” Emily exclaims, leaning in. “I thought you were going to make us beg.”

JJ nudges your arm. “I’ve been dying to see these. Penelope’s already planning a post-wedding celebration for you two.”

You chuckle and swipe to the photo album. The first image you show is a candid one—a shot of you and Aaron outside the courthouse, his hand resting gently on your back, both of you mid-laugh. JJ lets out a soft “Aww,” and Emily whistles low under her breath.

“Look at you two,” Emily says, her tone teasing but fond. “Who knew Hotch could look so... human?”

You laugh, swiping to the next picture, a close-up of your intertwined hands with your wedding bands gleaming in the sunlight. “He’s full of surprises,” you quip.

As you share a few more photos, some with Jack, some Jack actually took of you and Aaron.

Aaron walks by, a cup of coffee in hand. He pauses when he notices the three of you huddled around your phone. “Are you showing them the photos?” he asks, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

“Of course,” you reply, looking up at him with a playful grin. “They demanded proof.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully, his gaze softening as he leans slightly over the table. “You should show them the photo from last year. The one from the Amalfi Coast.” There’s an amused glint in Aaron’s eye’s that makes you want to roll your own, but you satisfy everyone anyway.

JJ blinks, looking between the two of you. “Wait. The Amalfi Coast? Together?”

Emily narrows her eyes, clearly piecing something together. “Hold on. Didn’t you both take time off around the same time last summer?”

Before you can answer, Reid speaks up from his seat across the cabin, his voice laced with disbelief. “You mean the trip to Italy? I remember you both mentioned visiting Italy, but I never connected the dots that you were there together.”

Morgan, catching the tail end of the conversation, leans over the back of his seat. “Hold up—that’s what you were doing last year? You two were off in Italy, sipping wine and living the good life, and we had no idea?”

Rossi chuckles from across the cabin, shaking his head. “It’s impressive, really. I mean, a courthouse wedding is one thing, but hiding a vacation together? That’s next-level stealth.”

Emily laughs, gesturing toward your phone. “Alright, show us this Amalfi Coast picture. I need to see the evidence.”

With a shake of your head, you scroll back to the album from the trip. You find the photo Aaron mentioned—a picture of the two of you standing on a sunlit terrace overlooking the ocean, the breeze catching your hair while Aaron stands beside you, looking uncharacteristically relaxed in a linen shirt. You hand the phone over, and JJ and Emily lean in closer.

“This is so unfair,” JJ says, shaking her head with a smile. “You two look like you walked out of a travel magazine.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe we didn’t put this together sooner,” Emily adds, smirking. “I mean, Hotch in a linen shirt? That should’ve been the giveaway.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint chuckle, taking a sip of his coffee. “I told you we were better at keeping secrets than they gave us credit for.”

You grin, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Well, now you all know. Mystery solved.”

Reid looks up from his book, still shaking his head. “I feel like I should’ve noticed. The behavioral cues were there...”

Morgan snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. They had us all fooled.”

JJ hands your phone back, smiling warmly. “Well, for the record, I’m glad we know now. You two really are perfect together.”

Aaron catches your eye from where he’s standing, his expression soft but steady. It’s a look that speaks volumes, and you know you’ll both carry this moment—this quiet joy of finally being yourselves with your team—for a long time.

As the jet hums softly beneath you, you settle into the warmth of the conversation, knowing that the life you’ve built with Aaron is now shared with the people who matter most.

When the jet touches down, and the team unloads into the bullpen, you barely have time to gather your things before Penelope corners you and Aaron. She’s been dropping comments all case long—about needing details, demanding photos, and lamenting her exclusion from what she’s now referring to as The Most Romantic Secret Ever Kept—but this time, there’s no escape.

“Alright, you two!” Penelope exclaims, her hands on her hips as she plants herself in front of you both. Her eyes sparkle with determination. “I’ve been patient. I’ve waited through an entire case, and now you owe me. Spill it. All of it. When, where, how? I need the full story.”

Aaron glances at you, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “I told you this would happen,” he murmurs under his breath.

You chuckle softly and look at Penelope. “Fine,” you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “We’ll tell you—briefly.”

Penelope’s expression brightens instantly. “Finally!” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

Aaron crosses his arms, his authoritative posture intact but his tone softer than usual. “It started a few years ago,” he begins, glancing at you. “Not long after you joined the team.”

You nod, picking up the thread. “It wasn’t planned. We just... clicked. We kept things professional at first, but over time, it became harder to ignore. Eventually, we decided it was worth exploring, but we agreed to keep it private.”

Penelope’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Years? You mean to tell me you’ve been dating for years, and I had no idea?”

Aaron tilts his head slightly. “We were careful,” he says simply. “We didn’t want our relationship to interfere with the team dynamic or the work we do.”

“And we didn’t think anyone would benefit from knowing,” you add. “It was easier to keep it between us.”

“But how?” Penelope presses, leaning closer. “I mean, we’re profilers! How did you manage to keep it under wraps?”

You exchange a knowing look with Aaron before answering. “We’ve always been good at separating our personal and professional lives,” you say. “At work, we focused on the cases. Outside of work... we had each other.”

Aaron nods. “We were deliberate about our interactions here, and we made sure not to let anything slip.”

Penelope looks genuinely impressed, though she’s clearly not done grilling you. “So, no one ever suspected? Not even Rossi?”

You laugh. “Oh, Rossi definitely had his suspicions,” you admit. “But he never said anything outright.”

Aaron smirks faintly. “I think he enjoyed watching the rest of you try to figure it out.”

Penelope groans dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. You two are like... spy-level secretive. I don’t know whether to be mad at you or impressed.”

“Be impressed,” you say with a grin. “It’s less stressful.”

Penelope narrows her eyes at both of you, then sighs. “Fine. But only because you’re ridiculously adorable together. And because I’m still planning a post-wedding party. You’re not getting out of that.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, Penelope finally relents, though she shoots you both one last look that clearly says she’s not done asking questions. As she flounces off to her office, you exhale a soft laugh, turning to Aaron.

“Well,” you say lightly, “that went better than I expected.”

Aaron’s gaze softens, and he leans in slightly, his voice low. “She’ll be back.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you head toward your offices. It’s out in the open now—your story, your love, your life together. And though you’ve enjoyed the secrecy, there’s something freeing about finally being able to share it with your team.

After a long day and an even longer week, the bullpen finally clears out. The soft hum of computers and the faint buzz of the overhead lights are the only sounds left as you and Aaron prepare to leave. You gather your things, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he approaches with his jacket draped over his arm.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You nod, falling into step beside him as the two of you head toward the elevator. There’s an unspoken ease between you; the weight of secrecy finally lifted. When the elevator doors close, Aaron glances at you, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

“You know,” he says, his tone laced with quiet humor, “we don’t have to stagger our exits anymore.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No more waiting ten minutes so no one sees us leaving together?”

“Or arriving,” he adds. “No more separate cars or pretending to run into each other in the parking lot. We’ve been doing that for years. I think it’s become muscle memory.”

The thought makes you smile as the elevator dings, and you step out into the cool night air. You walk together to the car, and the rhythmic click of your shoes is the only sound. When you slide into the passenger seat, and Aaron starts the engine, the hum of the car fills the silence.

As he pulls onto the road, you glance over at him, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Do you ever think about all the close calls?” you ask, your voice quiet but teasing.

Aaron’s lips twitch in amusement. “All the time. Like that day you got hurt in the field.”

You know exactly which day he means. It’s burned into your memory as much as his. “You mean when I dislocated my shoulder chasing that suspect?”

He nods, his tone softening. “I remember standing over you, trying to keep it together while the EMTs worked. I wanted to pick you up and carry you to the ambulance myself, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stay professional and keep my voice steady.”

You smile faintly, your heart tightening at the memory. “I remember how calm you sounded, even though I could see it in your eyes. You hated every second of it.”

Aaron glances at you briefly, his eyes filled with something deeper. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Morgan even asked me later why I seemed so shaken. I had to play it off as just another day in the field.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, you were convincing enough. I think I was more worried about you slipping than about my shoulder.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his focus on the road. “That wasn’t the only close call. Remember Kansas City? The hotel?”

“Oh God,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. “I thought for sure Morgan would figure it out. He knocked on my door right after you left.”

Aaron smirks, glancing at you briefly. “What did you tell him?”

“I said I was up late working on the profile,” you reply, grinning. “Which wasn’t a lie, technically. I just left out the part where you were with me.”

Aaron shakes his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. “How about all the times we shared a room and no one noticed?”

You laugh, sinking back into your seat. “That was a miracle. Every single time. Can you imagine if anyone went looking for you in your empty room?” 

“Or walked past at the wrong moment,” Aaron adds, his voice tinged with humor. “I can’t believe we managed to pull that off.”

You grin at him, your tone teasing. “We probably wasted so much of the Bureau’s money on extra rooms we didn’t need.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “I think we’ve earned it, considering the hours we’ve put in.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Still, we were playing with fire. Like that time Rossi knocked on your door in Denver. I thought for sure he’d notice something.”

Aaron chuckles, his tone more amused now. “Rossi always noticed. He just didn’t say anything.”

“Probably because he enjoyed watching everyone else flounder,” you reply with a grin. “He was always a little too smug.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence as the memories wash over you both—the near-misses, the stolen moments, the countless times you had to act like nothing more than colleagues. Now, with the secrecy behind you, the memories feel more like a badge of honor than a burden.

Aaron pulls into the driveway, turning off the engine before glancing at you. His expression is soft, his voice quieter now. “No more sneaking around,” he says. “No more separate cars or extra rooms.”

You smile, reaching for his hand. “Just us.”

The two of you walk inside, your home warm and inviting as you settle in for the night. The conversation drifts back to the little things you had to do to keep your relationship under wraps—the cover stories, the excuses, the times you almost slipped. But the laughter and warmth you share now make it all worth it.

As the night deepens, you both revel in the freedom of no longer having to hide. It’s just you and Aaron, building the life you’ve always wanted… with Jack—together, out in the open, and exactly as it should be.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

[luveline]

What about a lil fic of the first time bombshell reader gets mad at Spencer? Like it can be while they r dating or before and May be r is giving Spencer quiet treatment?

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.3k

Spencer waits for Morgan to get up for a coffee before he gets up himself, tailing his teasing teammate to the microwave. He's hoping Morgan's in a sympathetic mood today, because Spencer is in dire need of some sympathy. 

"Loverboy," Morgan says, his voice steeped in suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Do you know why Y/N's upset?" 

"You don't? You're the expert." 

Spencer rubs at his nose, the beginning of another migraine brewing between his eyes. The gesture draws a little more empathy than his misguided question. 

"You're gonna have to ask her yourself. I don't want her angry at me too, she's gonna fix my computer before Garcia finds out I fell for her phishing email test." 

"I've been asking her. It's making it worse. She won't answer my questions anymore. She just hums." 

"Silent treatment. Yikes." Morgan sips his tea through a grimace. "I mean, you must've done something bad. She's usually so–" 

"Lovely?" 

"–in love with you." Morgan laughs as he wanders off in the direction of the stairs up to Hotch's office. "Same thing."

Spencer decides to make a cup of bribery tea for you. He microwaves a mug of hot water and plunks a bag of your favourite blend in without ceremony, bobbing it up and down as he watches you from over his shoulder. You've moved desks upon request to sit with the rest of the team and opposite Spencer (against Hotch's self-proclaimed better judgement), your things set carefully in contrast to his books, a library's worth teeming on every spare inch. Some have even made their way onto your desk, pristinely stacked in wait of his perusal. It's one small gesture among the hundreds of kind things you do for him. 

"Here," he says, setting the mug down next to your mouse carefully. 

Your anger strikes him. Eyes frosted with an uneasiness he's not partial to, lips, so perfectly painted, screwed into a frown. It's not nice seeing someone he cares about upset with him, worse when he has no idea what it is he's done. 

"You're annoyed at me," he says. You wait for him to continue. "I don't know what I did." 

"That makes it worse." You frown at him. After a few seconds of this—your frowning, his looking sorry and confused— you sigh wretchedly (as in, he's never heard you sound that sad, ever, and he hates it). "Spencer, you stood me up." 

Everything in him goes cold. "No I didn't." 

Your sad frown melds again to anger. "Yes you did! I– I got my hair done at a salon, I bought a new dress, I bragged to all of my friends that my cute coworker was gonna be my date, and none of that mattered because you didn't text me back so I was worried sick all night that you were," —your voice drops to a private whisper— "in trouble somewhere, and then you come into work like nothing happened? Not even a hint of an apology? I thought you wanted to come."  

Your voice burns with embarrassment. Spencer can feel it in his throat, that plucky ache of someone letting you down. 

"That was last night?" he asks quietly. A friend asked you to their charity ball, not as ridiculously fancy as it sounds but an occasion of esteem and important to you nonetheless. "Y/N, I thought that was– I have it in my phone as next month. As November. I'm so sorry." 

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" 

He winces. "I had a migraine… Screens make it worse, and I haven't charged the battery yet because I was coming to work anyways I'm sorry, Y/N, really. I mixed it up. I should've asked you." 

You seem less disheartened at his admission. You cross your arms over your abdomen and lean back a touch in your chair, as if deciding whether he's being truthful. Spencer isn't in the habit of lying to you and anybody could tell you that, so after a few seconds you look away. "I asked you if you were excited yesterday morning. I told you my dress came."  

"I know." He can't believe he's gotten it wrong like this. Anyone can make a mistake, but he imagines you in your new dress with your hair done waiting for him in the cold weather that descended on Virginia last night and his guts twist into a knot. "I didn't piece it together. I didn't… I didn't…" 

Spencer can't remember the last time he let someone he loves down like this. His migraine spikes again like a needle in the eye, fiery agony that has him closing his eyes to cope. 

"Spencer," you say, softly admonishing. "Hey, it's okay." Your chair creaks.

"I'm so sorry," he says through his teeth. 

"I thought you were being a jerk, but I guess I should've known you wouldn't do something like that." You stand up and take his elbow into a very gentle hand. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder. It was childish. I was just hurt thinking you did it on purpose." 

"Sorry," he says again. "Migraine." 

Your hand rises to his cheek. "Yeah? Sit down, Spence. Take a breather." 

The doctors say that Spencer's migraines are psychosomatic. He doesn't get how something so odious can start from nothing. 

You seem twice as upset but in a different light, ushering him down into your chair. "Don't worry," you say softly, your hand falling into his hair, "I took a great picture. You can still see me in my nice dress." 

You're kidding but he's genuinely glad. Then the pain takes over and he can't see the other side of it for years. 

It only feels like years. 

When he can open his eyes, you've knelt by his chair. He hates to see you getting your pants dirty like that, hates worse that your eyebrows have pinched and the soft plane of your forehead has etched deep with concern. 

"You can still be mad at me," he says under his breath. 

"I'm a little upset," you confess, putting an uncharacteristically tentative hand on his knee. "It sucked, but not as much as this seems to suck for you." You're like an angel, all pretty and wide-eyed at his feet, your hand beginning a short path up his leg, a soft back and forth. "I'm sorry Spencer. I was punishing you for something that wasn't your fault." 

"You didn't know. How could you, I–" He winces as another wave of pain flares behind his eye, blurring your small smile. "I should've charged my phone." 

"Maybe. I can't imagine you had the capacity, Spence. Not if you're like this." 

"Don't just forgive me because I'm in pain." 

"I'm not, I'm forgiving you because even though it really hurt my feelings turning up alone, I'm not cruel enough to blame you now." You squeeze his knee. It's an instant balm, the chronic ache behind his eyes easing ever so slightly. Your forgiveness makes the rest bearable. "Can you forgive me for being so heartless?" you ask lightly. 

Your lips curve demurely around each word. Spencer scrambles to cover your hand with both of his, his neck craned forward. "Of course I forgive you." 

"Thank you." Spencer could collapse. "Drink some of this tea, okay? Maybe drinking something will help."  

Nothing ever helps, but he does it because it's your hands bringing the cup to his lips. 

"I know you looked beautiful," he says between sips. 

"I would've looked better on your arm. Too bad you're getting grievously attacked by your own brain. This is what happens when it gets too big, babe, it's trying to come out of your ears." He's a little sorry to have won you back this way, but mostly so, so relieved. "Anymore of this'll and you'll start messing up the months. Oh, wait!" You laugh as he laughs but soon scramble to apologise when the sound makes his head hurt. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Drink some more tea, sweetheart." 

[vigilskeep]

summary: viago finds out something terrible has happened to sol de riva. lucanis has a horrible day in a horrible week. emmrich and teia are once again somehow the normal ones by comparison. viago/teia and strongly implied non-binary crow rook/lucanis. mentions of crow-typical upbringing. i cannot be held responsible for viago’s inner narration being mean. 2.5kish words

*

The news lands like a bad joke.

One of the Diamond’s private booths has been converted piecemeal into something like a study. Viago had needed to work, and a table was a table, so he defiles Teia’s temple to indulgence with paperwork. Maps and notes are pinned to the ebony panelling on the walls. Among his stacks of notes and contract dossiers, Viago sits on luxurious black velvet as he waits, expectantly, for the punchline.

Lucanis Dellamorte just stares at the ash stains on the table, the low lighting putting the Void itself in his hollow dark eyes. Next to him, the necromancer, Volkarin, has the nerve to look sympathetic.

‘What exactly do you mean,’ says Teia, beside him, ‘by trapped?’

‘We gather that Solas planned this from the beginning,’ says Volkarin. He is quick to abandon fact for theory. ‘He exchanged places with Rook. Capitalising on the weakness of the Veil after Ghilan’nain’s demise, and perhaps even more so, the emotional duress that Rook—’ He catches sight of Viago’s expression, and whatever he sees there brings that sentence to a merciful death. ‘Suffice it to say that Solas walks free, and in his place, Rook has been imprisoned in the Fade.’

Lucanis says, ‘They’re gone.’

‘So why,’ asks Viago, ‘are you here?’

The question startles Lucanis, enough so that he looks him in the face for the first time since he stepped out of the eluvian today. Volkarin looks politely baffled. Viago wants to pour acid over something and watch it bubble into nothingness.

‘You have lost Rook,’ he says, and the words are a poison that threatens to close his throat. He forces past, makes no allowance for the weakness. ‘And now you are at my door. You have your pack of experts. Your contacts. Your gateways across the north. Surely there is nothing more that the Crows can give you. Go and get them back.’

Lucanis covers his face with his hands.

Viago does not know what to make of the Demon he sees before him. In the months since his rescue from the Ossuary, he had looked every bit the part of a man returning, piece by piece, from death into life. Viago had marked his improvement as he would mark the progress of any antidote. Each time Sol’s people visited Treviso, they had returned Lucanis a little stronger. More wholeness to his body, more colour to his skin. The shadows under his eyes had never vanished but they had softened, and Viago had seen him smile more easily at Teia’s teasing or Sol’s jokes than he had thought the heir to House Dellamorte would ever be capable.

Today it was all undone. After nearly a week of silence from the Crossroads, no way to know what at Tearstone had gone awry, Lucanis had come through the eluvian as unkempt and ragged as the near-corpse that Sol had first pulled from the sea.

Viago’s first thought had been that the man was ill, even blighted. Then he had asked for a quiet word in a private room in the same broken tone that others have asked Viago for a final poisoned cup. As he explained what had happened on the island, words had often failed him, sentences withering into choked silence, leaving Volkarin to conclude them. He flinched and startled at nothing as Volkarin spoke, turning to face interruptions only he could hear. Now he hides his face.

Volkarin casts him a worried look and once again attempts to intervene. ‘Please understand, we are pursuing every avenue. I am not without hope.’

Viago had considered the necromancer a tolerable acquaintance, with indisputable knowledge and the ability to hold a worthwhile conversation on Blessed Age sculpture. The standards Viago has come to expect from friends of Sol’s are not high; Volkarin exceeds them all. Still: his intrusion in this room now is as unbearable as an intrusion under the skin. He is an interloper here among their business. He cannot understand what is at stake, or he would not be sat there on Teia’s velvet in his ridiculous coat, posture perfect and prim.

Teia puts a hand on Viago’s arm, probably because his lack of answer is uncivil. He can’t decide whether reproach or sympathy would be worse to see in her eyes, so he doesn’t look at her.

To Volkarin, she replies pleasantly, ‘That’s good to hear.’

‘Incidentally,’ says Volkarin, encouraged, ‘may I ask after Rook’s surviving blood relations?’

Viago nearly chokes on more disbelief than fury. As soon as he can get out the words, he snaps, ‘Already planning the funeral, Watcher?’ His tone is not under his own control, but Teia’s fingers tightening on his arm give him an idea what he sounds like.

‘Oh!’ says Volkarin, surprised. ‘Oh, no, dear me. It could not be further from my thoughts, I assure you. I was considering… avenues.’

He glances sidelong at Lucanis. Lucanis does not look up.

‘My colleagues and I,’ he continues, ‘have been pursuing what it would take to locate Rook within the Fade. It seems the natural first step. And if you’ll forgive the notion, it may be a matter of, ah, blood. Blood matching theirs would be ideal, truly. If anything could speed our progress…’

Teia leans forward into Viago’s field of vision. Her face is perfectly calm, taking as well as ever to the role of mediator, but forcing him to wonder what she’s thinking. She and Sol are friendly, but not close. Teia arrived in his life just as they were beginning to spiral out of it. ‘Please, speak freely,’ she says to Volkarin. ‘You’ll find the Crows very open-minded.’

The line of Lucanis’ shoulders tenses like he disagrees, but at least he stops hiding, if only to turn and speak to Volkarin. ‘Rook was not born into the Crows as I was,’ he says. ‘Their family exchanged them for safe passage into Antiva. Refugees, from the Fifth Blight. They will be long out of reach.’

The words are a cold sting of unwelcome surprise. Sol has trusted this man even with that.

‘Ah,’ says Volkarin, sounding disappointed and a little saddened, as though he knows what family is to Sol, or what ranks first among the hardships they have faced. ‘Well. No matter, merely a thought. There are other approaches.’

‘You have tried them,’ says Lucanis. ‘Tried them, and failed.’

It sounds very final.

For the first time, Volkarin’s professional veneer slips, and he is the one to look tired. How many attempts has he made? How desperate did they become before turning to Treviso? ‘My dear man,’ he says. ‘Please don’t give up hope. There is so much we don’t know.’

‘Which is why we are failing. Why we cannot get them back. Isn’t it?’

Volkarin has no answer. His mouth thins into a grim line.

Lucanis drags his fingers through his hair, the style more of a mess than ever. His hand trembles like an addict’s. It’s impossible to tell what state his demon is in. Sol’s quiet updates had petered into silence, which Viago had taken to mean the thing was dormant. Is it what’s dragging him into this stubborn despair?

‘Rook is—’ Lucanis permits himself to choke on the words where Viago had not. ‘Rook is gone. Rook has been gone for days. And all the while, everything they have fought for, everything we lost them and Harding and Bellara for… We have sat and watched as it slipped between our fingers. Solas is free. The Venatori triumph. Elgar’nan has taken the heart of the Imperium while we hide and pretend there is hope. That is why I am here.’

‘You want us to fight,’ surmises Teia.

Lucanis spreads his empty hands, gesturing helplessness. ‘I have no magic. I cannot waste time playing at rituals and guesswork; I cannot even try. I only have the Crows. The least I can do—all that I can do—’

Save the world, even if Sol is no longer in it. Give them up for dead, and finish their work.

‘House de Riva refuses,’ says Viago.

Lucanis stares at him.

Teia’s fingers tighten once again on his arm. He doesn’t have to look at her to know that this time, it is a wordless warning. This is the First Talon, she reminds him. You are speaking to the First Talon’s face.

Viago cannot bring himself to care. He ought to think this through, to weigh the pros and cons, but in his head there is only one cold answer. ‘Your contract,’ he says, ‘is with Sol. Your business is with Sol. If you want my knives in Minrathous, you will find Sol and bring them here to tell me so. Until then, whistle for another dog. Our house is not at your beck and call.’

Lucanis shakes his head like he cannot believe it. Viago has feared and respected the man by turns. Recently he has even had occasion to like him. Now he would pity him if he were not so disgusted.

Viago is not being sentimental. He does not work from wishes. When he slips poison into a drink, he doesn’t hope it will stop a heart; he knows it will. Evidence and experiment has already proved the unassailable truth. He does not hope that wherever Sol is, they are alive, and fighting to win. He knows it. He has been the one to send them into impossible odds, time and time again. They always come back with laughter still in their throat. They always think of something.

If Lucanis lacks faith, he does not know Sol at all, and he certainly does not deserve them.

The man turns to Teia next, with nothing more than pleading eyes. That is his trouble, Viago thinks. Lucanis is not his grandmother; he is not even his cousin. He does not terrify or flatter or cajole. He is First Talon, and he still looks to them for help, as if they are his friends.

Admittedly, it is an approach that may work on Teia. Even her immaculate mask has fallen away; the slightest of furrows has formed between her brows, and her nails tap, distracted and discordant, on the table. She’s fond of Lucanis. Fonder still of Caterina, the spectre looming behind him. To dismiss Lucanis at his first command will be costly in every imaginable way. He would not ask her to do it.

‘Ay,’ she mutters. ‘What a mess.’

‘Teia, please,’ says Lucanis.

She grimaces. ‘House Cantori,’ she says, both sorry and unflinching, ‘stands with House de Riva, in this matter.’

The conversation is over very quickly after that.

The First Talon says little more. He recoils into himself like a wounded thing into its den, dead-eyed and quiet. Volkarin fills the silence. They are planning another attempt later today, he says. They are consulting Dalish allies for whom crossing the Veil is a regular professional hazard. They are reaching out to Kal-Sharok about pure lyrium. He is not without hope.

Viago waits until Lucanis is gone—a shadow crossing the rooftops, headed to the Dellamortes’ lair—and stops Volkarin before he can go for the eluvian. The necromancer looks at him, curious, politely bemused.

This is a terrible idea. ‘Rook was exposed to countless toxins, for immunisation,’ he says. ‘All through their training. I cannot get you their family, but I can get you blood that runs with all the same poison. Exactly the same. Would that be useful?’

Volkarin tilts his head thoughtfully, as if to look at the idea at a better angle. Viago is almost certain he is not just humouring him. ‘A fascinating proposition,’ he says. ‘It is rather pushing the bounds of the theory, but on occasion, the Fade quite takes to such bending of the rules… How many Crows would have been treated with precisely the same combination?’

Treated is a kind word. There is no place in it for coaxing Sol, a child then, to drink even when they were sobbing. There is no place in it for the long nights when he thought they might die before dawn. What Viago did to them was not medicine. It was necessary. Before he was Talon, he was a threat to a Talon, liable at any moment to be struck down. Sol had thrown their lot in with him from the start, and he had safeguarded them both by all the methods he knew.

He smiles, humourless, and admits, ‘Only one.’

‘Only—? Ah.’ It passes over Volkarin’s face clearly: the realisation, then the understanding, then the concern. ‘It shouldn’t be a life-threatening exchange, merely to locate them. It would, however, be arduous.’

‘We Crows tend towards arduous pursuits.’

Volkarin shakes his head, though it’s thoughtful, not a refusal. ‘I would commend you for it,’ he says. ‘I would ask you to come with us to the Lighthouse, to begin as soon as possible.’ His mouth twists with rueful humour. ‘And I would request that you explain the matter of my spilling your blood to our friend, upon their return.’

He agrees to those terms.

Whether it is optimism or pessimism, Viago decides that Sol’s mages at the Lighthouse will spend enough time mired in indecision about method for him to get some work done while he waits. He returns to the private booth to gather the most urgent papers. A few contract reports, too. They’re predictable—failures don’t come back to make reports—but he could stand to see some good news.

Teia’s still in the room. She’s sprawled inelegantly along the seating, one leg drawn up, a hand over her eyes as if to shade them from the dim, sultry casino lights. She lifts the hand a little to look at what he’s doing, then sits up, brows raised, and says, ‘Going somewhere?’

He explains about the blood.

When he’s finished, she reaches for his splayed collar and pulls him down to bring his lips to hers. He has to bend nearly double. After the kiss ends, she does not let him go. She presses her forehead to his and they breathe together.

‘I wish I could at least go with you, Vi,’ she says, sounding miserable.

A year ago, faced with such earnestness from her, he would not have had the heart to believe it. Five years ago, he would have been too busy flushing and stammering just to have her beneath him like this. Her tight-fitting combat leathers would have driven him to distraction. Now they only fail to hide how thin she’s become, and remind him how long it’s been since her last chance to drop the armour. He still remembers the delight on her face when she showed off new dresses, a transformation every day, each more unbelievable than the last. Will that come back, when these days are over? He wants to see her wear colours again.

Uselessly, he says, ‘Someone has to hold the fort.’

‘I know,’ she grumbles. With a sigh, she lets him go.

He stands straight, feeling bereft.

‘Gods in Minrathous,’ she mutters. The idea of the gods never sits easy with Teia. She says she has settled it in her mind, and then picks at it, like a scab. ‘Well, it would have been a sight to see.’

‘We’ll see it,’ he tells her. ‘Keep both our houses ready to move.’

Teia smiles. ‘Of course. We’ll go to war once our Sol is safe and sound, and you’ve finished shouting at them for all this trouble.’

Viago smiles back, just a little. He’s sure.

He has to be.

[roach-works]

Why did wheat become a widespread staple crop given that it's difficult to harvest/transport/etc? This is not meant to be snarky or combative in any way, it's a genuine question. Are there any books you'd recommend for learning more about this kind of economic and technological history? Thanks.

sorry, i've long since forgotten all the actual books i've read about it, but i will always recommend This Guy:

also as very much a non-expert, my semi-informed opinion on Wheat is that growing complicated and difficult compared to going to the grocery store, and doesn't stack up very well to living in a food forest like north and south americans managed, either.

however, wheat is a grass, and grass grows in a lot of places that people also like to live in, and so wheat farming isn't as crazy a venture as it might otherwise seem.

in a lot of climates, it's possible to plant the grass, harvest the grass seeds, and store the seeds long enough to get you through the part of the year where there's nothing much to eat. if you manage your social and material technology right, you can store a lot of the seeds, and you can even transport them around before they rot, meaning you can now export the seeds from places where grass grows into places where it doesn't. the stalks of the grass that you can't eat provides food for the animals you need to help you grow the grass. and transport the seeds, too.

the social structure required to grow wheat in bulk (a steep and violent hierarchy) does three things: feeds everyone in it with enough extra that the guys on the bottom of the organization can survive to grow more wheat next year, and allows the guys on the top can sequester the rest as profit, consolidating their power. the third thing is that as land is converted to wheat fields, it stops yielding any other food but wheat, which locks people into the system for good. once a people depend on a staple cereal grain for their main source of calories, there isn't an easy way back: forests are chewed away for more wheat fields and those woodlands that remain are shifted towards hardwoods for agricultural tools, rather than food forests with fruit/nuts/shrubs, and even those maintained as game preserves still can't support the needs of entire villages.

in arid and semi-arid conditions, it's even harder to step away from dependence on grain farming because there the agricultural development is along rivers where the land can be irrigated, and the population of people supported by grain production is extremely concentrated into those small areas rather than spread across the entire biome.

in the northern parts of eurasia where grain couldn't be produced at scale because it was too rocky and too cold, people mostly went fishing, and when they grew stuff it was hardy root crops like beets and turnips.

DISCLAIMER: this is all very approximate. but now you know as much as i know.

P.S actually here's the last thing about wheat: it probably all started as a way to reliably source and produce beer, which was invented a long time before bread. bread was invented from wheat when the guys who were producing the beer seeds wanted to start exporting beer seeds to people who wanted beer far away, so they baked the seeds into tablets you could easily transport and then ferment with water once you got to your destination. eventually the traders who were transporting the beer kits started eating them, too, and crackers as a snack food really took off. look up the wikipedia article on beer if you don't believe me.

[ribbonsncherries]

Jess Mariano smut where either reader helps jess de-stress after a long day if you know what I mean 👀 or jess helps reader de-stress after a long day 🙂‍↕️ Or both!- 🫣

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒫𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Female!User

A/N: Mind you although I read smut I ain't good at writing it lmao. anyway plz enjoy and sorry for the time it took to publish this but I hope it meets some standards! Hope you enjoy it! :)

Warning: Smut, P in V, unprotected sex (wrap it up yall), Oral (m receiving), roughness

Summary: Tourist season is here in Stars Hollow. But sometimes these people get the town irritated, especially the boy who is a ticking bomb when it comes to a customer. So you have a special way to calm him down.

Divider Credits: @anitalenia @cafekitsune

REBLOGS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED

Jess has been stressed out for a while. Luke’s is getting busier and busier because it’s tourist season in Stars Hollow, which means everywhere you go, it is stacked with lines of people trying to get pictures of everything. You were tired of it as well, the simple chore of walking down the block to get some stuff to make lunch turned into almost amusement park lines. Long, loud, and annoying. “Dean, can’t you just let me cut this once.” you pleaded to Dean who was restocking some flour.

Dean apologized to you once more “I can’t, if I open a register, then all the tourists are gonna come to my lane and ask me to charge them, but you know I would but I can’t,” he said. “Thanks anyway.” she sighed. She made her way through a crowd and put her things back. she decided to stop by Luke’s to see Jess, but he was there just as stressed as her. She saw her boyfriend getting easily angry, spilling coffee on the tables, and throwing sauce packets. She could see the fumes coming from his ears if someone asked for another serving of coffee. She went inside, and Jess saw her. “Hey, we have no space left I’ll bring your burrito and sauce later tonight, ok?” he immediately said to her. She smiled, and although she appreciated it, it wasn’t what she wanted. “That’s not why I came by you need a break,” she said. “Luke wants me here.” “Well he has enough people running around if you ask me,” she said. 

Just when she was trying to convince him, someone pushed you and spilled their sticky sugar drink all over your shirt. “Watch where you are going, kid I didn’t see you!” said the man to you, who was more upset his drink was now wasted than rudely bumping into someone. This was Jess’ last straw. “Hey, don’t push her like that, man,” he said, coming up to the man and pushing him roughly. “We got a problem or what?” the stranger yelled back. "well it's gonna be our problem if you keep fucking pushing people you don't know like that."

“Out!” Luke yelled. “Get out of my diner, no one messes with my employees or regular folk, alright?” The man looked at him angrily while stomping out of the diner. “Jess, just go upstairs, or get out of here, don't worry about these damn know-it tourists,” Luke complained. Jess took his offer with no second thoughts, he dragged you upstairs and just sat down exhausted on the edge of his bed, his hands going to his hair, gripping it in stress and anger. “I hate summer,” he said. His voice is all groggy from talking to so many customers. “Wanna watch a movie or something? Or I could get you something from Luke’s?” you asked. 

“Nah, it’s fine, just these people get me so pissed off! They think you read a pamphlet, and all of a sudden, you're an expert on this town and treat people like dumbasses in their town!” you had had enough of his complaints; your lips immediately closed the gap as Jess opened his legs for her to get closer. He wrapped his arms around your waist while his hands got lower and lower to your ass. He squeezed your cheeks while you squealed in surprise. “You’re talking too much, Jess...” you said softly, holding onto his shoulders. “I could help you…but you have to trust me…” Jess rolled his eyes “What are you gonna do? Kick all of them out somehow.” he looked at you while you carefully went down on her knees in front of him. You unbuckled his belt and undone his zipper. While doing this, Your eyes watched the door from the side just in case anyone would come in. His cock started to get harder and harder; your eyes made contact with the mini tent and small stain on his boxers from pre-cum. you slowly pulled him out and started cat-licking his tip. Jess groaned and threw his head back “Stop teasing…” he said. you giggled, and the vibrations from the giggle made him moan. You spat on your hand and began running your hand up and down his shaft. You smiled as she got up from her knees and sat on his lap “What’s the change you were so angry.” you said while kissing near his ear. You kept the pace nice and slow to tease him getting him more worked up. When Jess was on the edge you stopped “What the hell?” he said. You laughed as you got down once more and took him in her mouth, bobbing her head up and down. 

His hips started to thrust into your mouth, making you gag. You hollowed your cheeks and swirled Your tongue. Jess began to groan louder as he grabbed your hair and tugged it. You moaned from the sudden sensation of his hands in your hair. “M’ gonna cum.” he said. You kept going, and he released the white ropes of his cum in your mouth. You swallowed almost all of it before spitting the rest out. She wiped her mouth with the sleeves of her shirt. She removed her shorts and panties. She aligned herself with Jess and inserted his cock. She immediately moaned as she began bouncing. His hands went to her hips to guide her with pace, his hands went to the hem of your shirt and took it off her leaving only your bra. He thought about the anger he felt earlier. So he took you off him and threw you down on her stomach. He lifted your hips up and immediately started thrusting inside of her roughly. She moaned to the rhythm of his thrusts, “Oh myfuck..” you mumbled. “Mm-please, go harder I can take it,” you moaned out. He realized the bra was still on you so with his skilled hands he removed the clasp with ease letting it fall to your wrists and your breasts free. His hands immediately went to your nipple as he pinched them while thrusting making you moan even more. He moaned out your name softly. “Oh god, fucking tight.” he moaned. 

your knees gave out and collapsed on the bed. you rolled on her back with a flushed face. Jess collapsed on top of you and kissed you before inserting himself in you once more. The moans in the kiss were almost pornographic. As they separated your eyes rolled back in pleasure and bit your lip. That feeling of the familiar tight coil in your stomach started to grow tight. The moans became louder. Jess knew you were close to your orgasm. His fingers went down to your sex and rubbed his fingers in rough circles while your gummy walls tightened around him “Oh my god!” your hands immediately went to his arm and dug your nails into his skin as the euphoria of pleasure released. Your legs were shaking around his waist until she calmed down. “Look at you, pretty girl…” Jess said with a flushed face. “All drunk from my cock.” she said as he looked at you. You were flushed and panting heavily, Jess brushed your sweaty hair away from your face. “You feelin' better?” you asked. “Much, thanks,” he said Jess helped and cleaned her off. “Wanna grab a bite to eat?” he asked “It’s probably still packed but we can bring it up here.” You nodded your head and smiled “You read my mind.” you giggled.

[sensationsoftwaresolutions]

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[lyn31]

I just found your account, and i am in love. I imagine what would Zayne do if his child asked were babies come from

Here it is! Probably not what you and or anyone expect the turn out event (unless someone did) but either way! It's cute! Hopefully you enjoy it! Let me know what you think 👀💕

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

Seed-Baby

Summary

During a chaotic family lunch, Zayne unexpectedly becomes the kids’ go-to expert on where babies come from—with alarming grace and a suspiciously well-prepared explanation.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairings: Zayne x MC/Reader and Caleb x f!OC Family fluff, banter, silly, chaos, baby question!

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

You hear laughter before you even knock.

It’s loud and unfiltered—the kind that only comes from children—and Serena’s hand tightens in yours, her small fingers curling instinctively as she gazes up at the front door of Rose and Caleb’s house.

Zayne rings the bell, but before you can ask if you should just let yourselves in, the door swings open like it’s been waiting.

Jace stands there, barefoot and breathless, as if he’s been standing guard. “They’re here!” he shouts over his shoulder, then bolts back into the house without another word.

“No running in the house!” Caleb calls from the kitchen, a second too late to matter.

Serena hides a smile against your leg. Zayne doesn’t comment, but the grocery bag shifts slightly in his hand—an unspoken mix of amusement and silent acceptance.

Rose appears a moment later, drying her hands with a towel, hair half-clipped and still slightly damp from whatever the twins dragged her into this morning. “Welcome to the jungle,” she says with a crooked grin. “Come in. Lunch is halfway done, and your husband’s about to be drafted.”

“I figured as much,” Zayne replies, stepping inside with quiet ease.

Serena hesitates at the threshold, still holding onto your side until Willow bursts around the corner.

“Serena!” she beams, grabbing her hand without hesitation.

As always she lets Willow tug her along, sandals tapping softly on the floor as the two of them disappear down the hallway. Jace waits at the end, bouncing in place with far too much energy for this early in the afternoon. Serena glances back once—just enough to meet your eyes—then follows the twins without a word, calm but curious.

You catch Zayne’s eye as he heads to the kitchen and sets the bag on the counter. “Need help with prep?”

“I will say no to that.” Caleb is already digging through the pantry, nudging Zayne with an elbow in greeting. “We got this already, you and Rose can set the table.”

Zayne gives you a glance—a flicker of amusement passed between you, wordless but clear.

You raise a brow back at him. “Guess we’re on plate duty again.”

He gives the faintest shrug before turning back to the counter. “You fold a mean napkin.”

Rose snorts as she tosses you a stack of them. “Please, I’ve seen her napkin swans. Deadliest part of the meal.”

“Art is pain,” you reply solemnly.

So that’s how you and Rose end up at the side table, laying out dishes and folding napkins more out of habit than need. Truthfully, the kitchen’s already under control—Zayne’s chopping vegetables with his usual precision, and Caleb’s clearly getting more confident behind the stove. The two of them move easily, like they’ve done this dance a hundred times.

So yes, they definitely don’t need help in the cooking part.

Your attention drifts toward the window, where the backyard stretches out in soft spring light. The twins are a blur of motion, darting around like bees, tugging Serena this way and that. She doesn’t resist. She moves with them like a quiet little moon orbiting two suns. Every so often, she giggles—light and brief, almost too soft to hear through the open glass—but it’s there. A real smile, bright and unguarded.

“She’s having fun,” Rose murmurs, following your gaze.

“She always does with them,” you say. “Even if they wear her out completely.”

“She’s a Li,” Rose says, lips twitching. “She’s sturdier than she looks.”

The kids settle beneath the tree at the far edge of the yard. You can’t make out all of it from here, but the wind carries enough.

Willow’s voice, loud and clear. “We visited Auntie Lara this week! There’s this big huge painting in the living room now. With flowers! Like, really pretty flowers.”

Jace jumps in right on cue. “It’s new! Uncle Rafayel made it. And guess what? Auntie Lara has a baby in her belly!”

You catch the moment Serena starts to reply, her lips moving—but you’re too far to hear it. Still, you can guess. She saw Lara yesterday, after all.

“Oh!” Willow lowers her voice, but it somehow carries even more. “We asked Papa how the baby got in there, and he said to ask Uncle Zayne. Because he’s a doctor!”

There’s a beat of silence.

And then—three heads turn in perfect sync.

Toward the kitchen.

You see it coming—the shift in Willow’s stance, the gleam in Jace’s eye, the way Serena tilts her head and stares directly through the window at the man standing beside Caleb.

They bolt.

Three small bodies, all momentum and zero hesitation, sprint for the house like a coordinated strike team.

Inside, Zayne pauses mid-chop, eyes lifting at the sound of rapid footsteps.

You follow his gaze to the sliding door, just in time to see them charging at full speed.

He doesn’t look alarmed—just lifts a single brow in quiet anticipation.

Before he can say anything, Willow barrels through the doorway first, voice already at full volume. “Uncle Zayne! Papa says we can ask you where babies come from!” she announces, like it’s the most exciting news she’s ever had.

You immediately see Caleb turn away, shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter.

Zayne shoots him a look—somewhere between disbelief and resignation—of course Caleb would do this—before his expression smooths into that familiar, unreadable calm. He looks down at the three expectant faces in front of him like he’s about to deliver a lecture on the most natural thing in the world.

Without missing a beat, Zayne says, “Well, I’m glad you asked. Let’s see… where to start?”

That throws everyone. You, Rose, and Caleb all freeze—somewhere between concern and morbid curiosity—because you know he’s serious. He sets down his knife like this is a real consultation and crouches slightly to meet the kids at eye level.

Rose mutters beside you, “He’s actually doing it.”

You glance at her, then back at Zayne and the kids—already grinning, the shock long gone.

“Do any of you know how trees grow?” he asks.

Jace immediately perks up, practically bouncing in place. “You plant a seed in the dirt!”

“And then it grows roots!” Willow adds, eyes wide with excitement. “But you have to water it too.”

Serena’s voice is soft, but clear. “It needs sunlight.”

Zayne gives her a small nod, quiet approval in his gaze. “Exactly. You need all those things for a tree to grow strong.”

Caleb chimes in suddenly. “Wait, is this about to get weirdly inspiring?”

Zayne, of course, ignores him and only straightens slightly—not enough to tower over the children, but just enough to shift back into teacher mode—measured, calm, and somehow still a little elegant, even while explaining human reproduction to three overly curious children.

“Babies grow in a very similar way,” he says. “They also come from a kind of seed. But instead of being planted in the ground, this seed is made when one part comes from the mom and another from the dad. When they join together, they form something very small—smaller than anything you can see without a microscope. That’s planted in the mom’s belly.”

“Wait,” Jace says, frowning. “How does it get in there though?”

Caleb is now fully hiding his face in the crook of one elbow, shoulders shaking from silent laughter. You catch Rose mouthing oh my god beside you, while you’re doing your best not to lose it entirely.

Zayne doesn’t flinch.

“That part’s a little complicated,” he says smoothly. “But what matters most is that the seed knows where to go. Once it’s there, it starts to grow with help from the mother. Just like trees need water and sunlight, babies need food and care—things the mom’s body gives them while they grow.”

Serena’s watching him like he’s telling the most serious story in the world, hands folded in front of her dress.

“And when the baby is strong enough,” Zayne continues, “the mom goes to the hospital, and the doctor helps bring the baby out safely.”

“That’s it?” Jace looks skeptical. “Just poof, baby?”

“No poof,” Zayne says, tone even but dry. “It takes months. And a lot of work.”

Rose finally gives in to a snort. “Both of you are definitely not just a poof. Mama belly looked like an extra big watermelon.”

“You did cry when you saw your ankles again,” Caleb says, wiping his face, still wheezing.

Rose throws a napkin at him.

Jace gasps. “Your belly got that big?”

Willow, wide-eyed, points to Rose’s stomach. “Was it this big? Like… actual watermelon big?”

Rose raises a brow. “Bigger.”

Jace’s mouth drops open. “That’s so many babies.”

“No, that’s just two babies that eat a lot. You two.” Rose says with a teasing grin.

Willow tilts her head. “How much ice cream do we eat exactly?”

That earns a very loud snort from you, and even Zayne glances over, one brow twitching in amusement.

Then Willow gasps again, turning to Zayne with sudden realization. “So Auntie Lara’s baby is growing like a seed right now?”

Zayne nods. “That’s right.”

“We should’ve brought more food for Auntie and the baby!” Willow gasps, turning to her like this is breaking news. “So maybe it’ll grow faster!”

Serena, to your endless amusement, just blinks slowly, like she’s choosing not to voice out something is not quite right.

Willow turns back to Zayne, serious now. “But how does the seed know what kind of baby it’ll be? Like a girl or a boy? Or if they like broccoli?”

“It’s all in the instructions inside the seed,” Zayne says simply. “Kind of like how a tree knows if it’ll grow apples or oranges.”

Caleb leans over the counter toward you and whispers, “He’s too good at this—it’s unsettling.”

You smile, shaking your head. “I’m convinced he actually practiced this.”

Zayne glances sideways, just for a second—an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, the kind that says maybe he did. You catch it. Of course you do.

He’s already back to watching the three kids in front of him—Willow bright-eyed, Jace squinting like he’s solving a puzzle, Serena tilting her head in thoughtful quiet—and asks, “Any more questions?”

Jace’s hand shoots up. “How does the baby breathe in there? Do they get tiny snorkels?”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh at that. “No snorkels. There’s something called an umbilical cord—it connects the baby to the mother, so they get oxygen and food through that while they grow.”

“Cool!” Willow exclaims, her body bouncing with excitement.

Serena looks toward you, then Zayne, and finally whispers, “Does it hurt?”

It’s the first time she’s spoken since the explanation started, and it stills the room.

Zayne’s expression softens. “Sometimes, yes. But the doctor and everyone around the mom help take care of her, so she’s not alone. And when the baby finally arrives, it’s… very worth it.”

He looks at you as he says it—soft, certain. Like he already knows you’d agree.

And of course you do. You’re already watching Serena, heart squeezed at the sight of her little face scrunched in thought.

Serena stares at him a moment longer, then nods solemnly, like she’s filing that away for future use.

“Okay!” Willow claps once, clearly satisfied. “That’s all I need to know! Let’s go draw seed-babies now!”

All three of them dash out again—Jace shouting something about giving his baby a cape, Willow yelling that hers will have purple leaves, and Serena quietly trailing behind them, beaming just as excited.

You lean against the counter, exhaling.

“I bet we’ll get some interesting drawings after this,” you say, chuckling.

“No more than usual,” Rose says dryly.

Caleb shakes his head. “Honestly, I’m gonna make Zayne do all the explaining from now on. How did you get so good all of a sudden, man?”

Zayne doesn’t answer. He just smacks Caleb on the back of the head—light, precise, and without a hint of hesitation—then calmly picks his knife back up and returns to the cutting board like absolutely none of that just happened.

Rose blinks. “Did he just—”

You nod slowly. “Yup.”

Caleb stares at Zayne in mock betrayal. “Uncle Zayne waited for the kids to leave, huh?”

Zayne doesn’t even look up. “Uncle Zayne still has a knife.”

That earns a wheeze from Caleb, and even Rose shakes her head, biting back a grin. By now, you’re laughing outright.

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

As the kids vanish back outside and the kitchen settles into the quiet hum of cooking again, you lean toward Rose with a grin.

“Okay, but your belly did get extra big when you were carrying them. I still remember. You looked like you were about to tip over.”

Rose shoots you a look—dry, unimpressed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying! In comparison. Twin belly versus non-twin belly. Purely scientific.”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw this ladle at you.”

You snort, nudging her with your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s relevant. My chances of twins are technically in the card pool, remember?”

That makes her raise an eyebrow. “You two are thinking about having another?”

You shrug. “Not now. Maybe when Serena’s in, like, third grade. Which is still a long way, she’s still in preschool after all.”

Rose leans in, smug. “You think you can wait that long?”

“Hey!” you protest. “We’re the careful couple, okay? Serena was planned. Unlike some people who—what was it—‘just looked at each other too long and got pregnant’?”

She rolls her eyes and shoves your arm, but she’s laughing. “Yeah, yeah. Just wait ‘til your next one’s swinging from the ceiling fan.”

You hum. “Twins, huh…”

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

Notes

That little end is just a cute little nudge 🤭 But anyway! Aren't they just the cutest? 😩🫶🏻

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby

[loverangels]

head over heels

pairings: sirius black x fem!reader

synopsis: sirius loves visiting your record shop, for the vinyls and for you.

The tiny bell above the door jingled, and you didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. Sirius Black strolled into the record shop—again. You’d lost count of how many times he’d been here this month alone, but he always showed up with a grin that somehow managed to be both cocky and endearing.

Your mum had joked once that he must have the biggest vinyl collection in the city. But you knew better. Half the time, Sirius didn’t even seem to care which records he bought. He always spent more time leaning on the counter, chatting you up, than he did browsing the shelves.

“Afternoon, rock star,” he greeted, that signature lopsided grin firmly in place as he approached the counter.

You rolled your eyes at the nickname but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Back so soon, Sirius? Didn’t I just see you yesterday?”

“What can I say? I have impeccable taste in music and an ever-growing collection to feed.” He winked, resting his forearms on the counter as he leaned a little closer. “And who better to guide me than the expert herself?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, grabbing the stack of new arrivals you’d been sorting through.

“Ridiculously charming, you mean,” he quipped.

You gave him a look, though your cheeks felt warm. “What are you after this time? Let me guess—something loud and obnoxious?”

Sirius clutched his chest dramatically, as if you’d wounded him. “You wound me, truly. I’m here for something... different.”

“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s your favorite album in the shop right now? Pick something for me.”

You rolled your eyes again but humored him, scanning the shelves behind you. You grabbed a record you thought he might actually like—something classic but edgy—and handed it to him.

He held the sleeve reverently, his long fingers brushing against yours as he took it. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”

“You didn’t even look at it,” you teased, crossing your arms.

“Don’t need to. I trust your taste.”

That made your stomach flip, though you tried to ignore it. You busied yourself ringing up the record, but you could feel Sirius watching you.

When you glanced up, his gaze was softer, more thoughtful, like he was trying to memorize the curve of your smile or the way your hair fell over your shoulder. The moment he realized you’d caught him staring, his cheeks flushed pink, and he quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in a nearby display of CDs.

You bit back a smile. He was so confident most of the time that seeing him bashful was oddly endearing.

“Anything else?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

“Oh, definitely,” Sirius said, recovering quickly as he wandered over to the movie soundtrack section. He picked up a random CD and waved it at you. “What do you think? Too much John Williams in my collection?”

“You can never have too much John Williams,” you replied with a laugh. “But you’re not actually here for movie soundtracks, are you?”

“Caught me,” he admitted, his grin softening. “Maybe I just like the excuse to see you.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and you felt your face heat up again. Sirius didn’t seem to mind your silence, though. If anything, he looked more confident, like he’d just scored a point in some game you hadn’t realized you were playing.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Later that night, Sirius sat on the couch in his flat, staring at the ceiling while Remus flipped through a book and James played with a football in the corner.

“I’m an idiot,” Sirius declared.

“Yes, we know,” Remus said without looking up.

James laughed. “What is it this time? Forget to flirt with the cashier at the bakery?”

“It’s the girl at the record shop,” Sirius groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, I was going to ask her out today. I even practiced. But then she caught me staring, and I panicked.”

Remus finally looked up, his expression equal parts exhausted and amused. “You’ve been talking about her for weeks, Pads. Just ask her out already. The worst she can say is no.”

James nodded, spinning the football in his hands. “Seriously, mate. If you don’t, I’ll do it for you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Sirius said, narrowing his eyes.

James smirked. “Try me.”

That was all the motivation Sirius needed. The next day, he walked into the record shop with a purpose.

You were behind the counter, sorting through a shipment of CDs, when the bell jingled and Sirius strolled in. This time, he didn’t pause to browse or make a cheeky comment. He came straight up to you, leaning casually on the counter like always—but his usual grin was softer, a little nervous around the edges.

“Hey,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Hey,” you replied, tilting your head. “No new records to buy today?”

“Not exactly,” he said, shifting his weight. “I, uh... actually wanted to ask you something.”

You set the CDs down, giving him your full attention. “What’s up?”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Would you want to go out with me? Sometime. On a date, I mean. Dinner, or coffee, or whatever you like. Your choice.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how nervous he sounded. For all his usual bravado, he was fidgeting slightly, his confidence faltering as he waited for your answer.

A smile spread across your face as you nodded. “I’d like that.”

His expression lit up, the tension in his shoulders easing instantly. “Yeah? When are you free?”

“Tomorrow, after I close up,” you said.

“Perfect,” Sirius said, his grin returning full force. “I’ll pick you up. Seven okay?”

“Seven’s perfect,” you agreed, feeling your own cheeks heat up under his gaze.

“Great. It’s a date.”

As Sirius walked out of the shop, he couldn’t stop himself from punching the air in triumph.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Porchlight - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

i stayed up until 6 am writing this😔

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 2.09k

series masterlist | main masterlist

The days are longer now. Brighter. The air smells different—sun-warmed dirt, distant flowers, wood smoke trailing faintly from Katniss and Peeta’s chimney even as the weather leans toward heat. It’s May. Somehow, three months have passed since you returned to District 12.

You’ve slipped into a kind of rhythm. Mornings are slow, afternoons quieter. You’ve found comfort in patterns—in the way Katniss leaves for the woods at the same time every other day, in the creak of Haymitch’s porch swing when you both can’t sleep, in the soft clatter of bowls when Peeta bakes and hums under his breath.

You didn’t mean to stay. Not at first. But now… you don’t really think about leaving.

It’s early when you settle onto your porch, cradling a mug of lukewarm tea. The sun hasn’t climbed too high yet, and the breeze still holds a hint of spring. The village is mostly silent, birdsongs drifting from the trees. You’re halfway through your second sip when you hear soft footsteps and glance up to see Peeta walking across the green toward you.

“Morning,” he calls gently, his smile warm and easy.

You offer him a nod, sipping your tea. “Morning.”

He stops at the foot of the steps, hands in his pockets. “I was thinking about baking today. Thought maybe you’d want to join?”

Your first instinct is to make an excuse. Deflect. Keep your distance.

But you don’t.

Instead, you pause, then nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

Peeta beams. “Great. Come over whenever you’re ready.”

A short while later, you find yourself in his kitchen. It’s cooler inside, the sunlight pouring through the windows in hazy lines. The counter is already dusted with flour, mixing bowls stacked neatly beside a basket of ingredients.

“Bread?” he asks.

You shrug. “I trust the expert.”

Peeta grins and hands you an apron.

It’s simple work, really—flour, water, salt, yeast. He guides you with quiet instructions, patient and kind. His hands move confidently through the motions, and slowly, you start to mirror him. Your hands are clumsy at first, too careful, but he just laughs when you wrinkle your nose at the stickiness of the dough.

“You’re getting better,” he says as you knead. “Not bad for someone who looked terrified the first time.”

You roll your eyes. “I was terrified.”

“But you kept showing up.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you focus on shaping the dough.

The oven warms the room, filling it with the promise of something good. When the bread is finally done, golden and crisp, you sit at the small table while it cools, Peeta setting out plates and butter.

Once it’s cooled he cuts a slice and passes it to you. You try it and let out a surprised sound.

“That’s… really good.”

Peeta laughs. “What, you didn’t trust our skills?”

“I wasn’t sure I could actually make something edible.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes crinkling. “You underestimate yourself.”

You look down at the crust in your hands. It’s warm. Something you helped make. An odd symbol of hope.

And for a moment, you let yourself feel proud.

By the afternoon, the sun’s higher in the sky and it’s gotten warmer. You thank Peeta for hanging out and tell him you’re heading home, which you intend to do, but when you step outside you spot Haymitch.

He’s on his porch steps, his legs stretched in front of him, flask in hand, squinting into the sunlight like it personally offended him.

You wander over.

He glances up at you. “Look who’s out and about before sundown.”

You settle next to him on the steps, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “I’m always up during the day. You’re the one who sleeps like a vampire.”

Haymitch snorts. “Not wrong.”

You both lapse into silence for a beat, the kind that feels easy now. Familiar.

He takes a slow sip from his flask and nods at you. “You smell like bread.”

“I helped Peeta bake,” you say. “Apparently I didn’t ruin it.”

“Miracles do happen,” he says, raising his flask in a lazy toast.

You smile, leaning back on your elbows, letting the sunlight wash over you.

He takes another sip and gives you a sideways look. “So. Baking regularly now? What’s next—embroidering inspirational quotes onto pillows?”

You snort. “Please. I missed the whole domestic training arc. I was busy being an alcoholic when most girls were learning how to sew.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’ve got that noted in your file.”

You blink. “I have a file?”

“I’ve got a mental one. Categorized. Cross-referenced. Annotated.”

“Sounds obsessive.”

“Maybe it is.”

You shake your head, half-laughing. “You’re a strange man.”

Haymitch lifts his flask with mock solemnity. “And yet, here you are. Voluntarily sitting next to me.”

Neither of you speak for a minute or two, but you break the silence. “Next time Peeta and I bake, you should join. Might be good to have a hobby that doesn’t involve slow self-destruction.”

He smirks. “I’ve got one now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Messin’ with you.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Lucky me.”

Haymitch tips his flask back again, still squinting into the sunlight like it’s the bane of his existence. “So, tell me—how’s it feel? Being the only twenty-year-old in Panem voluntarily hanging out with a grumpy old man.”

You glance at him, deadpan. “You’re mildly more fun than most people, so I don’t really mind hanging out with you.”

Haymitch raises a brow. “Mildly? I’m a damn delight, kid.”

You hum. “Sure. And I’m a ray of sunshine.”

He gestures toward you with the flask. “That actually checks out. If sunshine sighed a lot and avoided eye contact.”

You snort. “You’re observant for someone who drinks through most of his daylight hours.”

“I make exceptions,” he says, nudging your knee lightly with his own. “For gremlins who have a fascination for the stars and trauma eyes.”

You shake your head, fighting a grin. “You’re something else.”

He leans back, smug. “That’s what they’ll carve on my headstone.”

“‘Here lies Haymitch Abernathy. Something else.’”

“Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

You consider it. “A little vague. People might think you were a magician.”

He lifts a brow. “Well, I did make myself disappear by being emotionally unavailable for two decades.”

You pretend to clap. “Tragic and talented.”

“Your favorite type.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

“I’d never,” he says, all mock innocence.

A soft breeze rustles through the trees nearby. You watch the way the sunlight slants through the porch railings, painting uneven lines across the worn wood. It reminds you of the soot-ridden walls of your old house. Of afternoons when you used to sit out front and wonder what it would be like to feel safe in your own home.

“Do you ever think about what life would’ve been like if the Games never existed, if the Capitol hadn’t been so cruel?” you ask, surprising yourself.

Haymitch doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head back and exhales slowly, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the rooftops.

“Sometimes,” he says. “Not often. Thinking about it too long… it hurts more than it helps.”

You nod, eyes drifting back to your hands. “Yeah.”

A long silence settles between you..

“You ever let yourself want something different than what your life is now?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter. Not slurred. Not sharp. Just… real.

You shrug. “I think I used to. Before I realized it doesn’t really matter what I want.”

“Bullshit,” he says plainly.

You glance over at him, and he’s already looking at you, eyes bloodshot but steady.

“It matters. You wanted to be sober and now you are, right?”

You look away. “Not because I thought I deserved to be.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you are.”

There’s no lecture in his voice. No warmth, either. Just fact. The kind that lingers in the air long after it’s spoken.

“Alright, now you’re getting dangerously close to saying something supportive,” you murmur, nudging his knee lightly with yours. “Should I be worried?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he grunts. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

You smile, small but genuine. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want people thinking you have a heart.”

“I don’t,” he deadpans. “That’s just a rumor.”

You let out a soft laugh, stretching your legs out in front of you, watching the sky shift to a purple and pink hue.

And for a while, you just sit there—two broken people on a rickety porch, not trying to fix each other. Just… being.

The breeze picks up again, carrying the faint scent of pine and something earthy—something green.

You sit in the lingering quiet beside Haymitch, listening to the creak of the porch and the occasional birdsong, when a familiar shape catches your eye from the path leading out of the woods.

Katniss.

She steps out of the tree line with her bow slung across her back and a satchel hanging off her shoulder. Her braid is slightly looser than usual, a few strands sticking to her forehead from sweat. She looks tired, but content in the way you’ve only ever seen her after returning from the woods.

You lift your hand slightly. “Hey.”

Katniss spots you, nods once, then notices Haymitch sitting beside you.

She raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect to find you two together before sundown.”

“Yeah, well,” Haymitch mutters, “she decided to start haunting my porch in broad daylight. Creepy, right?”

You smirk. “I’m adaptable.”

Katniss huffs a small laugh, then makes her way up the steps and drops onto the other side of you, stretching out her legs with a sigh. “Been out since sunrise,” she says. “The woods are dry. Not much worth tracking today.”

Haymitch glances over. “You get anything?”

“Couple of squirrels. Mostly herbs, though.” She pulls the satchel off her shoulder and lets it rest between her feet. “And I saw fox tracks.”

“That’s not a full meal, Everdeen,” Haymitch says, mock-critical.

“I wasn’t hunting for you,” Katniss shoots back flatly.

You glance between them, hiding a smile behind your hand.

“You smell like pine needles,” you say, nudging her with your elbow.

Katniss shrugs. “Better than Haymitch, who smells like bourbon and bad choices.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Haymitch says dryly.

You grin. “We know.”

There’s a pause, but it’s easy again. Like this is normal. Like sitting on a porch with two of the most unexpected people in your life has somehow become part of your daily rhythm.

Katniss leans back on her elbows, eyes half-closed as she lifts her face toward the sun. “You bake with Peeta today?”

You nod. “We made bread, but he had to teach me a lot of what to do.”

Katniss gives a satisfied grunt. “He’s got patience. More than me.”

“I didn’t even cry this time,” you add sarcastically.

Haymitch lifts his flask. “Proud of you, kid.”

Katniss glances sideways at you, lips twitching slightly. “He’s being nice.”

“Terrifying,” you say. “Truly.”

“You’ve been around long enough he stopped pretending to only like you when he can’t sleep,” Katniss says. “That’s something.”

Haymitch scoffs. “Who says I was pretending?”

You raise an eyebrow. “But you like me now?”

“For now,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Katniss pulls a leaf out of her braid, then glances at you. “You coming over later?”

You shake your head. “I think I’m just gonna stay in tonight.”

“Good,” Katniss says. “You should rest. You’ve been running around like you have something to prove.”

You blink. “I… haven’t noticed.”

Katniss hums. “That’s the thing about trying too hard. Sometimes you don’t see it.”

Haymitch tips his head back, stretching his neck. “A little guilt. A little grief. Makes people keep busy. Or nosy. Or clingy.”

You glance between them, unsure if they’re talking about you, each other, or both.

Katniss speaks again, her voice quieter now. “You don’t have to earn your place here, Y/N.”

You look down at your hands, a familiar ache pressing at your chest. You don’t answer right away. You’re not sure how to.

Haymitch shifts beside you. “If we had to earn our places,” he mutters, “none of us’d be here.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s grounding. Real.

Katniss finally breaks it with a sigh. “Alright. Who wants to help skin the squirrels?”

You grimace. “Pass.”

Haymitch snorts. “Not it.”

Katniss rolls her eyes and gets to her feet. “Useless.”

But there’s no bite in her voice. Just something oddly fond. Like maybe—just maybe—this weird, broken trio sitting on a porch in the afternoon sun has started to feel like something close to a found family.

Next Part

[vera-deville]

HIHIHI IM HERE TO REQUEST A TWST ONE SHOT !!

a Leona/masc reader, with reader having been exhausted from running around all day and relaxing with Leona. All the soft fluffies, and lil romances teeheehee

Tysm !!! <3

Home is Where You're Waiting

04/27/2025

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader Word Count: 536 Warnings: N/A Gender: Gender Neutral Tags: @viviennevermillion, @achy-boo, @savanaclaw1996, @atomatoho3, @qaxdea, @katzline Notes: GOD was I craving Leona fluff; anon you came in clutch- Masterlist

You weren't sure how you made it back to your dorm room. Your body felt half-asleep already, legs dragging with every step, mind fogged over from running around all day. Errands, classes, helping Crowley with yet another "small favor" that turned into a three-hour ordeal - it had all stacked up until you were quite literally running on fumes.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you barely managed to toe-off your shoes before slumping forward with a sigh heavy enough to rattle the windows.

"You look like you lost a fight with a tumbleweed," a low voice drawled from across the room.

Leona, sprawled lazily across your bed, cracked open one sharp green eye to look at you. He didn't seem in a hurry to move - no surprise there - but there was something unusually soft about his gaze tonight.

You grunted, managing a weak, "Feels like it, too."

Leona stretched, long and slow like a cat, before patting the empty space next to him. "Come here, herbivore."

You didn't need to be told twice. Peeling off your jacket with fumbling fingers, you all but collapsed onto the bed beside him, letting out a groan that came from somewhere deep in your soul.

Immediately, Leona shifted, tugging you into his side with an ease that made it clear he'd been waiting for you all along. His arm slung comfortably over your shoulders, pulling you against the solid warmth of his body. His scent - sun-kissed grass and something wild - filled your nose, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

For a few blessed minutes, neither of you said anything. You simply lay there, breathing in sync, your tired muscles slowly unclenching one by one.

"You work too hard," Leona muttered against your hair, voice low and lazy. His hand idly traced patterns across your arm, slow enough to make you shiver.

"Somebody's gotta do it," You mumbled into his shirt.

"Not you," He shot back, not unkindly. "You're not the caretaker of this dump."

You huffed a soft laugh at that. "Feels like it sometimes."

Leona clicked his tongue in annoyance but didn't argue further. Instead, he shifted again, pulling you fully onto his chest, one hand coming up to card lazily through your hair.

"You should let me handle it," He said, the words almost a rumble beneath your ear. "I'm good at doing nothing."

You snorted. "You're an expert, you mean?"

"Exactly." He said smugly.

Another long beat of silence stretched between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it felt right. Safe. You melted further into him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you closer to sleep.

Leona's hand never stopped moving, combing through your hair with slow, unhurried strokes. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your cheek, was like a metronome pulling you down into something warm and heavy and decadent and good.

"You're staying right here tonight," He said, voice already thick with impending sleep.

You couldn't have moved even if you wanted to. "Wasn't planning on going anywhere."

A lazy, satisfied hum vibrated through his chest.

"Good."

And that was the last thing you heard before sleep finally claimed you, wrapped up in Leona's arms, safe and sound.

Author's Note: I'm going through a MASSIVE spring cleaning right now, and one of the things I wanted to get done today was this request. I myself am craving some Leona fluff, so thank you so much anon for requesting this! I'm not sure if you wanted the Reader to be male, or have masc traits, so I just tried to write as gender neutral as possible (I'm so sorry if this isn't what you wanted)!

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