#face constructing is too difficult

[doraingrid]

imposter syndrome won this time, to the wip graveyard you go

[phagodyke]

I love to talk but I rly do feel like we have to be talking for a minimum of 8 hours straight before I feel like I can even begin to rly broach things on my mind or that have been bothering me a lot that I actually want to talk abt without being vague or deflecting or omitting or lying and if the conversation takes a break at any point it resets back to 0 and its still nice regardless but.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part Six of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom reader

September

Few things in life have come easy to Simon Riley

Growing up, his home life had not been an easy one, feeling as though he were walking on egg shells throughout every step of his turbulent childhood, waking from his nightmares only to discover he lived under the same roof as one

Enlisting straight out of secondary school hadn’t been a difficult process, though going from the tall scrawny kid he had been to the mountain of a man he’d had to become had been no easy feat either, a combination of blood, sweat and tears along with years upon years of intense training had resulted in a hardened military man the SAS was all too happy to claim for themselves

Retiring from the job he’d grown certain he would die doing, now that had been far from easy for the Lieutenant

An honourable discharge is what they had called it, handing him a thick stack of papers one day when he felt they might as well as have slapped him across the face instead

He could have fought it, was legally within his rights to appeal the decision and voice his disagreement before the board, could have tried to have it overturned

And yet, it was just as true that the four letters popping up off the paper to mock him held a flame of truth to their drying ink: PTSD

At first, he’d almost thought it worse, the fact that they agreed there was nothing wrong with him physically, that his body, as beaten and battered as it had been, had always bounced back and been able to keep up with the job, but that now it was his mind they had decided they could no longer put their trust into

But worst of all? His own captain, a man he considered to be more of a father figure than his own flesh and blood had ever been to him, someone who’d saved his skin more times than he could ever hope to count, let alone repay, was unable to meet his eyes when asked if he disagreed

To say that he had anything short of furious at first would be an understatement, he’d felt betrayed by the very organization he’d sworn his life to, had been willing to lay his life down for, had killed for time and time again, and now that a few screws in his head were supposedly coming loose, they wanted nothing to do with him anymore? They were so ready and willing to throw him back onto the streets he’d once come from?

Price had known the forced retirement was going to be a tough blow to his Lieutenant, that it would mean uprooting the only life he’d decided he was deserving of, that he would have to start over entirely without a single soul to stand by him

The captain had done his best in reassuring him that this needn’t be a bad thing, that this could be an opportunity for Simon to truly start over in a positive way, that there was hope out there for him if he would only just allow himself the chance to have it

Knowing his Lieutenant better than most ever would, Price knew his words of wisdom were in one ear and out the other, swearing to the younger man that he would check up on him periodically, as often as the job would allow, but that he should do his best to avoid sitting idly for too long, perhaps find work that kept both his hands and mind busy

As difficult as it all was, time refused to stand still and let him catch his breath, to gather his bearings, already it had been nearly a year off the battlefield and on the construction sites instead

But this?

Your arm tucked into his much larger one as he pushes the pram, your other hand occupied with the ice cream cone you take turns giving him licks of, all because he noticed you eyeing the ice cream truck on the walk home from the park?

Well this, this for Simon is easy

And though he’s decided he has a new disdain for ice cream men who keep their prices jacked up so high even as the last bits of summer cling to the warm breeze as the days roll by, he knows he’d pay whatever exorbitant price it cost to put a smile on your face

“Want another lick?” You ask him, holding the cone up to his lips again for him to have a taste, the early September heat still warm enough that the treat is threatening to melt onto your hands

He savours his bite, never faltering in his steps as he pushes along a sleeping Rosie in her pram, the visor pulled down to keep her eyes safe from the afternoon sun

It’s been weeks of this now, this blissful little bubble the three of you have been floating in

You’d recovered from your illness in no time once you had allowed Simon to take on some of the workload and help you to recuperate, Rosie being the team player she is, had even taken her first ever bottle from Simon, an honour he’d proudly wear on his chest over any other medal he could have ever received during his time in service

Since then, things have so seamlessly fallen into place, it was as though this were always the inevitable conclusion that was bound to happen

He’s enjoyed watching you blush each time he holds a door open for you, whenever he calls you love or birdy, when he slings an arm around over your shoulders or around your waist, but especially that time when he asked the waitress if his girlfriend could have a refill on her water

He’s felt his heart skip a beat each time you laugh at one of his jokes, whenever he catches you staring and you tell him that it’s because he’s handsome, when you stand on tip toes to kiss his cheek or reach a hand out to hold his, but especially when you land your lips over his own waiting ones

In lieu of the night terrors he’s grown used to, he’s now been waking up with the image of your smiling face tucked beneath his eyelids each morning, and going to sleep is no longer a dreaded affair at night with you as his last waking thought

He’s been loving every moment he gets to spend with you, learning more about you each day, discovering what puts a grin on your lips and what makes you squirm, finding out what your dreams are and what keeps you up at night, picking up on your habits and quirks and storing them into the recesses of his brain for safekeeping

He adores the time he spends with Rosie too, a tiny version of her mum who has this behemoth of a man wrapped around her pudgy little fingers, he finds his mind has never felt calmer than when he has you both by his side

Despite everything, Simon finds that he’s … happy

Unequivocally, incomparably, unbelievably happy

He knows he loves you, loves Rosie as well, likely has loved you from the very start, and though the idea of saying such a thing out loud undoubtedly fills him with a sense of fear, a dread that’s been ingrained in him for decades if not from birth, it isn’t as overwhelming anymore, isn’t as terrifying as it could be or even should be

Because even though each time he looks in the mirror he sees a reflection of a man whom he considers to be anything but good, a soldier still plagued with nightmares and regrets from the borderline barbaric things he’s done over the years all in the name of duty, whatever it is you see when you look at him, he wants to be that man, wants to find that same man in the mirror one day you’re so certain is already in front of you

For now, all he can do is keep trying

“Shoot. Probably should’ve grabbed more napkins.” Your voice brings him back down to earth, snaps his mind back to reality, spotting the trickle of chocolate ice cream streaming down over your fingers as you finish the last bite

Well, he did say he’d try to be a good man, not a perfect man, he thinks to himself as he watches your tongue poke out from behind your lips, licking up the frozen treat’s trail across your digits, biting down on his own tongue to stop himself from offering assistance

“Am I all clean?” You ask, tilting your head around to give him a better look at your face

“Hold on,” Simon tells you, halting his stroll as he turns towards you, reaching with a careful hand to cup your soft cheek. “Got somethin’ righ’ here.”

Leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, he lets his tongue run along your lips, catching the last remnants of chocolate left there, unable to hide the grin splayed on his own lips when he pulls back and meets your mischevious look with one of his own

“Cheeky.” You mumble to him, hiding both your smile and reddening cheeks as you duck your head down to glance at the still sleeping baby before you

Oh love, you have no idea

“Okay, well how ‘bout Friday? After work?”

“Hm, depends what time I’ll be finishin’ up that day. Likely it’ll go on late, I wouldn’t want to leave you waitin’ for me, love.”

“Saturday?”

“If I can get to everythin’ I need to get done by then, shouldn’t have to go in on the weekend.”

“As if they’re even making you work on weekends, with how hard you work already.”

“No one’s makin’ me go in, love.” Simon replies, stretching his arms above his head before slipping his jacket on. “It’s me who wants to see this job through. Besides, it’s only the finishing touches at this point, place’s nearly finished. Reckon Rosie’s gon’ be startin’ up pretty soon.”

“Oh, I know. Ugh, I don’t even want to talk about it. I’m not ready to let her go yet.” You pout, trying to be playful despite the honesty to your words.

The idea of leaving your baby in someone else’s care had seemed like such a far off idea when she’d first been born, something you’d have to do when the time came and money wouldn’t allow you to stay home any longer

But now that that date in question was rapidly approaching, you couldn’t help but to feel torn, divided between who you were before she was born, and this new reality where you were still expected to be that person while simultaneously revolving your entire existence around Rosie’s wellbeing

You wish you could just slow time down, hold onto her a little longer, soak in these priceless days and memories while ignoring your dwindling bank account

If only it were that simple…

“She’ll be alrigh’, swee’heart.” Simon tries his best to reassure you, ignoring the boots he’d been about to slip on an stepping closer to you, sliding a hand in between your shoulder blades. “An’ you can always think o’ my offer. No pressure, o’ course.”

As if you hadn’t been thinking about it constantly to begin with

Simon Riley, in the truest knight in shining armour fashion you’d come to know from him since day one, had made a suggestion over dinner the other day that had caught you off guard, an offer all too good to logically refuse

The two of you had been talking about the nursery yet again, your financial worries inevitably coming up as they went hand in hand with your need to get Rosie enrolled sooner than later, lest the lights get shut off or your water turned off before then

Simon had asked you how long you’d stay home with her if it were truly up to you, if money weren’t part of the equation and you didn’t need to go back to work

Of course, you’d thought about it before, hopelessly wishing you could keep her with you until she was perhaps a year old, at least at an age where you wouldn’t be risking the chance of missing out on so many of her milestones and development

None too awkwardly, Simon had brought up the fact that he’d worked another job before construction, one that had supposedly paid him quite well, meaning he had more money laying around then he knew what to do with

You’d been taken aback when he’d offered to pay whatever bills were preventing you from staying home with Rosie until you felt ready to go back to work, not as a loan or as a favour, certainly not something to hold over your head, but just as something he felt was right, something he felt both you and Rosie deserved

You hadn’t known what to say then, and you were still unsure of how to respond now, the idea being a very lovely and undoubtedly generous one, if not a daunting one

But things between you and Simon were still so new, so fresh, you wanted to continue exploring this relationship and see where things would lead, secretly harbouring hope that this would be the last first kiss you ever had, the last time you called someone your boyfriend before perhaps calling him something more serious, and to bring money into that equation, was scary

You’d witnessed numerous relationships gone wrong over finances, too many couples holding money over their partners head as leverage, and though your trusted Simon’s word that he genuinely wanted to share his with you out of the kindness of his heart, you couldn’t help the sentiment that you would feel as though you always owed him for it

Yes, it would have been a quick fix to the dilemma you were in, an instant solution to the worries that had been plaguing you for months now, but would you rather that, or potentially jeopardize what you and Simon are starting to build here?

And so you’d told him you would think about it, and think about it you did, over and over and over, and each time you came to the same conclusion; you just couldn’t take his money

“I’ll think about it, yeah.” You whispered, leaning farther into his touch. “In the meantime you think about what day is going to work for you and I’ll let the sitter know.”

As if she knew precisely that you were planning an outing without her, Rosie began grumbling in your arms, straining out of your hold and leaning into Simon just as you were

“Well hey there miss Rosie,” he chuckled deeply, large hands reaching out to pick her up effortlessly, the sight of him holding your baby one that never failed to make you go weak in the knees. “No fussin’ now, alrigh’? We’ve had lots o’ date wit’ ya, and we’ll have more to come. But I’d like to spend some time with your mum too, ya know?”

“As if she doesn’t get jealous enough already.” You laughed, thinking of how your little two month old likes to protest any time the both of you aren’t holding her. It makes your heart swell, to think of how quickly she’s taken to Simon, and though you know she’s just an infant, you like to imagine it’s because she’s a good judge of character

He’s only been in her life for a short period of time, but the bond those two are forming is undeniable, hell there are some times you’ll glance at him holding her and swear she’s starting to look like him

“She just knows what she likes, don’t you lil’ miss?” Simon asks, his fingers running down her belly to tickle her, the both of you entranced by the grin she gives him, her smiles growing larger and more frequent with each passing day

The both of your freeze in place however, utterly awestruck by the new sound ringing out throughout your flat, a noise that is nothing short of music to your ears

“Did- did she just laugh?” You ask, your own lips stretching into an amused grin as you watch her. “Simon! Holy shi- she just laughed right?”

“She did.” Simon whispers back to you, eyes locked on Rosie’s still smiling expression, small coos coming from her now as her gaze flits between the two of you

“Oh my gosh! That was her first laugh ever!” You can’t help but to laugh yourself, smoothing your hands down her soft head, landing a loving kiss on her forehead as you lean into Simon’s arm

“Really?” He asks, glancing at you with an expression that makes your heart stop, the utter joy in his eyes enough to make your breath catch in your throat, seeing him love your baby so effortlessly.

“Yeah, really.”

“Well in that case Rosie,” He says, forgetting the fact that he’d been about to slip his shoes on and head home, ignoring that he has to be on the job site in less than nine hours, as he makes his way towards your couch, eyes never straying from the bundle in his arms as you sit next to him. “I’ve got a few jokes to run by ya. D’ya like goldfish?”

October

“I dunno, love.”

“Oh, but the pictures would be so cute! Maybe if one of us is holding her up from behind? Would that work?”

“Well hold on, let me cut the leg holes a bit wider, just wanna make sure she’s alrigh’.”

“She is getting pretty chunky on us, isn’t she?” You ask, shifting your hold on Rosie as you switch her to your other hip. “Aren’t you lil’ miss?”

With less than a week to go until Rosie’s first Halloween, you were keen on getting some cute photos of her to celebrate, your family constantly asking for updates and pictures of her

Watching his facial expressions, you’d had trouble keeping a straight face on as you explained to Simon your vision of carving a jack-o-lantern so that Rosie could squeeze her chubby little legs and bottom inside, inspired by pictures you’d seen somewhere or another of smiling babies sat in pumpkins

He’d been skeptical at first, but could never turn you down, especially when you were so excited about trying it at least

“I’d hope so, seein’ how she never stops eatin’.” He chuckles setting the carving knife down to give her bare foot a squeeze, his smile widening as she offers her own little giggle in response. “Wonder what she’ll think o’ real food when the time comes.”

“I’m thinking she’ll probably be a fan. Either way my tits will be very grateful for the break. They’re always so sore.”

“A dilemma I’m happy to help with.” Simon’s gaze meets your own for a moment before you’re both averting your eyes elsewhere, deep blushes staining your cheeks as you can’t help but to recall the way he’d ‘helped’ your aching chest just the other day

It’s been a few weeks now since Rosie officially started nursery, a bittersweet change to say the least, though your work had been gracious enough to allow you to slowly ease back into the job, starting off only part time so that Rosie’s transition away from you wasn’t so jarring

It shattered your heart each and every time you had to drop her off and she would bawl her little eyes out, but slowly she was adjusting, growing used to the new faces and new routine, including not being able to feed off of you on demand

If anything she was taking everything in stride much better than you were

You were emotional, physically at work but mentally still with Rosie, wondering if she was okay, if this was the right decision to be making, not to mention that your body was still producing milk as if she was still attached to your hip 24 hours a day

It was just after your first full week back at work when you’d mentioned offhandedly to Simon how sore your chest was, the two of you lounging on the couch after supper, Rosie fast asleep in her crib, the long days at daycare exhausting her

“Tha’ so?” He’d asked, voice dropping lower than you’d heard it all night, his fingers tracing imaginary patterns across the bare skin of your shoulder. “Can’t have my birdy in pain, now can I?”

Whatever movie had been playing on the telly was long forgotten when Simon’s silent gaze met your own, wordlessly asking for permission as he slowly slid his fingers beneath the fabric of your top, all too enamoured with unwrapping you like a gift soon as you’d nodded to him

Up until that point, the extent of your physical relationship with Simon had been kept to heated makeouts in the front seat of his truck after dates, and heavy petting on the couch after supper, any opportunity to take things further always being thwarted by the little life that depended on you, or by Simon’s insane work schedule

You knew you were both eager to take things further, never quite finding the right moment, the right setting, the right time

But at that moment?

Well, as soon as Simon had your shirt thrown across the room, eyes locked with yours as his large, calloused hand slid up your sides to tenderly grab ahold of your enlarged breasts, thumbs carefully teasing your sensitive nipples, it was as though time stood still

Looking into Simon’s eyes then was like the universe finally granting you a moment of reprieve from the stress and the worries and the money and the work and all the things constantly running through your mind, as though the look in his gaze alone was all the permission you needed to slow down and just feel

Not just to feel, but to feel good

And good lord, did Simon Riley ever know how to make you feel good

As soon as his lips had wrapped around your taut nipple, yours were letting out gasps and moans that only served to rile him up further, sounds that had his tongue swirling all the slower across your sensitive skin

When your hands weren’t slinking through his short locks, they were pulling at the fabric of his own clothes, all but ripping them off of him until he picked you up without so much as a grunt of effort, carrying you towards your room until your back met the mattress

Simon tasted your skin as though it were the antidote he’d searched for all his life, the cure to all of his woes, your body a buffet while he was a man starved, his warm hands lovingly squeezing whatever bit of flesh he felt his mouth had neglected for too long, though not an inch of skin went untouched by him that night

Whether it had been his original intention or not was still up for debate, but when he’d been slathering and sucking at your nipples for long enough, you’d hardly had time to warn him before your milk had hit his tongue, the instantaneous groan of pleasure he let out having you believe it was his goal from the get go

You’d all but had to pry him off your breast, wiping a lone drop off the corner of his mouth before you were tasting yourself on his lips, tongues meeting in a dance they’d performed countless times before, though the energy in the room felt as though this was the inevitable performance you’d been building up to all along

“Simon.” You’d whispered to him between panting breaths, chests heaving as you fought to catch air, skin tingling every place his fingers roamed and explored, the both of you bare before one another for the first time

He’d looked at you with such reverence then, bordering on adoration if you were bold enough to say so, calloused palms handling you with such grace and care it threatened to bring tears to your eyes, the way he knelt before you as though the body that hardly felt like your own some days were an altar he would gladly pray at for the remainder of his days

“Are you ready, birdy?” He’d asked, planting gentle kiss upon kiss over every inch of your face, his strong forearms bracketing you in as he’d climbed above you, the mattress dipping down beneath your combined weight

“Please, Simon.” You answered, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, fingernails scratching at his skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake, pulling him in closer for a proper kiss, just as the tip of his throbbing member kissed your seeping entrance

You remember rolling your eyes in college, whenever you heard the boys referring to sex as ‘sliding into home’, as though the whole affair were nothing more than one big game to them, something for them to tally on their score sheets and compare amongst each other, teasing their mates who only made it to third base

But with Simon?

You couldn’t help but to compare this to the same feeling as coming home, when Simon slid into you for the first time, your combined groans echoing throughout the room, hands grasping at each other as though you keeping each other afloat in a stormy sea that was only picking up speed

It was as though you had danced this dance before, had felt each other’s embrace in a previous lifetime and remembered the steps without fault, the way you both moved in perfect rhythm and harmony, understanding your partner without so much as a word needing to be said, eyes saying everything you would ever need to know

No one else in the universe existed in that moment, apart from you and Simon, Simon and you

It was the early hours of the morning by the time you’d both exhausted yourselves and ruined the bedsheets, eternally grateful that the headboard banging against the wall hadn’t woken up your tiny roommate

“Will you stay?” You’d whispered to him as he held you, legs tangled together as the sheets barely covered you, his hand smoothing along your naked back as he pressed a kiss to your temple, tightening his hold on you

“For as long as you’ll have me, love.” He’d answered without hesitation, his deep voice catching on the last word

“Better make yourself comfortable then. Don’t think you’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”

Since that night, Simon had been staying over more and more frequently, your flat being closer to his job sites meant that sleeping over on occasional work nights just made sense, and you and Rosie were always more than content to have him there

Though presently? As he attempted none too gracefully to thread her flailing legs into a huge pumpkin, her cries of protest growing as his own voice tried to talk her through the process, urging her to give mama a smile as you laughed behind the camera at their antics, you knew she’d give him hell over these pictures one day

That very thought had your heart faltering, not wanting to set your hopes up too high too soon as your brain painted images of an older Rosie and Simon looking at these pictures in the future, the three of you still together years down the road

He had said for as long as you’d have him, didn’t he?

You wonder how forever would sound to him

November

He hasn’t had one in so long, that he’s momentarily stunned when it happens

Frozen in place, beads of sweat dripping from every pore of his body despite the chillier weather threatening to frost the windows over night, he doesn’t recognize where he is right away, your bedroom ceiling being one he’s only ever seen in better times, not a sight he’s used to seeing in the midst of a night terror

It feels as if every breath he fights to take only expels air from his shrinking lungs, unable to catch even a single relieving gasp, he begins to panic, kicking the sheets off of him in a hurry as his frantic eyes scan the room, intent on finding the threat he knows deep down isn’t there, but his brain convinces him is lurking around every corne

When he blinks next, your cold bathroom tiles are cooling his heated skin as he lays sprawled across them, the ringing in his ears louder than they’ve ever been before

He can’t bear to close his eyes too long, visions of spilled blood and unadulterated carnage flashing behind his eyelids, pain inflicted all too willingly by his own hands rippling through his core, a suffering like no other being inflicted upon him again and again each time he tries in vain to forget

His nightmares have changed recently

No longer does he picture himself at the end of a combatant’s AK, his skull beneath an enemy’s stomping foot, his throat the one bobbing against the edge of a razor sharp knife held against his oesophagus

Now, it’s you he sees, with a fear like no other shining in your eyes just before the light is taken from them forever, it’s you whose body he picks up from the wreckage, hardly recognizable from the awkward angles your broken and batters limbs point it, you whose death certificate he finds himself signing over and over and over again, a cruel trick of his imagination unlike any other

Tonight was worse than usual however, when he’d looked down at the corpse he’d been carrying in his arms, finding to his horror that his blood stained hands were holding the baby girl he’d come to know and love

He barely makes it to the toilet before he’s retching up everything in his stomach, the mere thought making him physically ill

That’s the worst part, isn’t it? That there is some truth to these nightmares

His hands are stained with blood each time he cradles Rosie, whether the violence is visibly etched into his skin or not, the same hands he holds both you girls with are the same ones that have slaughtered mercilessly, without hesitation, without consideration of whether that enemy had something like this waiting for him at home too, a family to hold

He knows this is his own doing, his mind having run rampant after your first fight last night

Well, fight might be a bit hyperbolic of him, an awkward disagreement at best, a scab he kept picking at until it threatened to bleed again

Just as he does any time things go well for him, any time things feel right, he just has to go and find a way to try and ruin it for himself, doesn’t he? His insecurities have been trying valiantly to poke their heads out and meet you head on, to pull the rug out from under you and expose himself for the liar he is, to shine the spotlight on every misdeed he’s ever committed and have you act as his judge, jury and executioner

Because what business did he have, asking you in the middle of Rosie’s bathtime, the both of you knelt by the tub as you giggled over bubble beards, if her dad was ever going to be showing his face about?

“Simon- she-,” you’d started awkwardly, the reddening of your cheeks and avoidance of his gaze having him feeling instantly guilty, though the subject had been one he’d never known how to address properly, how to bring up organically, as much as it spent time nagging away as his brain. “She doesn’t have a dad.”

“You’d gone to a clinic, then?” He’d asked, probing for any bit of confirmation that there wasn’t some other man roaming the streets out there, who could show up at any moment and lay claim to the home he was building for himself here? Whose measly DNA would hold more leverage over him, would bond him more legitimately to the two of you than he ever could?

“No. I- I didn’t go to a clinic.” You had insisted, pulling the stopper out of the tub and letting the water drain as you pulled Rosie out and wrapped her in a soft towel.

“Then she has a dad.” He had tried to reason, only just wanting to hear from you that no, there was no one else, no one was going to be taking this from him

“No, Simon. She doesn’t have a dad.” You’d snapped, turning your back to him as you dried off an all too happy Rosie, babbling away in your arms. “It was- it was a one time thing. I’d never met him before. I don’t even know his name so- look I’d rather not talk about this right now, okay?”

God, he was such an ass, wasn’t he?

He’d even let you kiss him tenderly that night, let you apologize for snapping at his question, let you explain that it was still a sensitive subject but that no, there was no other man in the picture, let you tell him that he was the closest thing to a dad Rosie knew

Though maybe it wasn’t the argument which had him paralyzed from fear in the en-suite right now, was it?

Perhaps it was more likely the stack of lies he laid upon each night was catching up to him? The prickly thorns of his deceit poking out to ensnare him in his guilt?

It’s not as though he’d gone and explicitly lied to your face recently, and none of his deceptions had ever come from a place of ill intent

But he knew all the same how upset you’d be if you realized the exorbitant daycare bill you received at the end of each month which made your eyes bulge out of their sockets, was only a fraction of the true cost? That the other portion of the fees were billed directly to him, yet another scheme he’d orchestrated without you realizing

He knew you were too proud, too headstrong to accept his money, despite his insistence that he had more than enough to share and that he wanted to provide for you and for Rosie

He knew you never wanted to feel as though you depended on him, as though you would owe him for his help, but birdy why couldn’t you see that he would never ask you for a single thing in return apart from what you already give him so freely?

He would never try to take your independence from you, your freedom, your stubborn pride, he only wants to help, to take away your worries and give them to himself instead, so that you can choose whether you go back to work or not, so that you can choose whether Rosie is ready for nursery or not, rather than being forced to decide

He can hear you beginning to stir in bed, his ears hyperaware of every noise in the flat despite the persisting tinnitus, knowing you’ll be up soon as reach for him and find the bed empty

He’s got to get his head straight, pull himself together, there is no threat, there are no enemies here, he’s safe, you’re safe, Rosie’s safe, and you’re all together

He’ll be damned if anything changes that

December

The stockings are lined by the fireplace, lights twinkling across the branches of the fir tree decorated top to bottom in ornaments of every shape and size, wrapped presents tucked away underneath the tree as Rosie sleeps without a care in her crib, an old Christmas movie softly playing in the background, but none of it matters right now, not when Simon’s presenting you with one of the most precious gifts he could ever bestow upon you

His story

Your legs are draped across his lap as you both sit on the couch, his fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your pants, running upon and down your calves, keeping his hands occupied as he struggles finds the right words, the right place to start, unable to meet your eyes as he hands his beating heart over to you, piece by broken piece

Your Christmas Eve dinner consisted of just the three of you in your flat, a warm homemade meal prepared together, an all too lengthy obligatory video chat with your family overseas to ooh and aah at Rosie in her Christmas jammies, a kiss or two under the mistletoe as you decorated the tree

There was nothing more you could have asked for

Well, perhaps other than asking what was on Simon’s mind all day

Because though he was present and engaged, you could tell him thoughts were elsewhere, his mind preoccupied with something that never quite rose to the surface, but was nevertheless visible beneath the waves

You’d been more than surprised when Simon sat you down on the couch after putting Rosie down for the night, holding your hand in his as he let out a deep sigh and told you that he wanted to tell you about his family

It was a subject you’d never dared broach with him, seeing as he’d never once brought them up to you

Though he’d never explicitly said so, you’d been able to discern that Simon used to work for the military, in whatever capacity you were unsure, but a former soldier at the very least

From the way he always stood a little straighter in public spaces, always positioned himself so he could see every exit and entrance, how his head was always on a swivel, looking over his shoulder, it was evident that Simon had a background that required him to watch his back

His diligence was one that might seem exaggerated now, but had clearly been the difference between a life or death situation at some point in his life before, and so you’d never questioned his quirks and habits, not even when he began having those nightmares you knew he thought he was keeping well hidden from you

But to now hear him confirm those suspicions? To lay himself bare before you in his most honest form and present to you his very heart and soul? It was almost too much to bear

You shared his anger and frustration as he told you of his turbulent childhood, joined him in his grief as he explained his mother and brother’s addiction, smiled with him as he remembered how he’d been able to help them out of their downward spiral, how he’d stood as best man in his brothers wedding, how he knew how to handle Rosie so easily from the get go because he’d held his own nephew from the day he was born

You cried with him as he told you of their fates, skimming over details without losing the harshness of their demises, how he himself had known nothing but pain and death and violence from that day forth, how his world had revolved around nothing more than killing and sleeping and killing, rinse and repeat for years upon years

You hugged him as he shared with you how lost he felt being discharged from service, how he had no idea where he would go from that point on, finding mediocre solace in the manual labour he poured himself into for months

That is, up until he met a pretty bird on the other side of the fence one day

You kissed him after he told you that he had hope now, that he wished for countless more Christmas Eve’s like this one tonight, consisting of little footie pyjamas and belly laughs and wrapping paper and bedtime stories and three stockings hung by the fireplace, because more than anything…

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips, your combined tears streaking across one another’s cheeks as neither of you are willing to pull away from the other, the world could be falling to ruins outside and neither of you would notice, your whole world here in this very room. “I love you. I love you. So much, birdy. I- I love you.”

“And I love you, Simon Riley. Every part of you. I love you.”

Though nothing had physically changed of course, you swear you could almost see how much lighter Simon felt that next morning, how a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he held Rosie in one arm, keeping you close to him with the other, heaps of wrapping paper and ribbons and bows strewn across the floor as gifts piled around you three, not a single one of them worth more than what he already held in his arms

January

“I swear! Simon I’m not kidding, she just said it!”

“In the 30 seconds I was gone? Rubbish.”

“No I’m serious!” You giggle, playfully poking at his ribs before laughing louder once he lands a smack on your bum. “Come on baby, you can say it again. Mama. Mama! Go on Rosie, you’ve got it.”

“There’s no way, birdy.”

“Simon! Let her do it, I know she said it.”

“I know you want to believe she said it.” He says, a deep chuckle emanating from his chest when you land your own swat at his backside, Rosie watching all too intently from her high chair. “She’s just babbling, love.”

“Babbling is how talking starts, Si. First she’s babbling, next she’s stringing sounds together, next she’s talking our ear off night and day. But I know she said it just now, I’m not crazy.” You reason, undoing the safety buckles of her seat and lifting her up into your arms, slotting her against your hip as you go back to sitting on Simons lap at the dinner table, empty plates pushed aside as he wraps his strong arms around you both

“Alrigh’, well go on with it then Rosie girl. What’d your mum hear you say? Hm?” Simon plays along, running a loving finger down her soft, plump cheek, her mouth following the digit as tough it might be a tasty snack

“Aaaaah. Baaaaah. Aaamaa.” Rosie cooes, entirely pleased with the undivided attention she’s receiving from her two favourite people in the world

“See! She’s getting close.”

“Love,” Simon can’t help but to chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple in good spirits. “All I heard was gibberish, I’m sorry.”

“Just listen close, she’s trying to say it. Come on Rosie, it’s mama. Ma-ma. Can you say it? Ma ma ma ma mama?” You coo back to her, sounding just like every corny parent you swore you’d never become, until you became a parent yourself

“You hearin’ yourself?” He asks, laughing at the pointerd stare you shoot in his direction. “Let me try then, hm?”

“Have at it.” You tell him, handing her off to him as you stand back up on your feet, heading around the corner of the hallway. “I’m gonna go check the laundry real quick.”

“Alrigh’ then, my baby bird. Your mum wants to hear you talk, hm? What’d you say? Want to make her real happy and say mama? Mama?”

“Mmmmma. Mmmmma!” Rosie replies to him, slobbery, chubby hands coming to tap at his stumbled cheeks in amusement

“Holy shit, you actually are tryin’ to say it.” He says in a mix of disbelief and pure amazement, watching intently as he little pink lips try to hard to form the sounds. “Go on Rosie.”

“Aaaaa. Aaaaa! Daaaaa!”

“Well now you’re just all over the place, swee’heart.”

“Daaaaa! Daaaadaaa! Dada!”

At that, Simon is certain his heart has stopped beating, eyes gone wide in surprise as he looks down at the squirming bundle of joy who’s still babbling away without a care

Dada

She’s just called him dada

Obviously, she has no idea what that word means, she’s only just strung together some sounds, like you’ve said, she doesn’t realize the significance of those noises she’s just made

But for Simon?

He’s not sure life will ever be the same again, barely acknowledging the tears that are pooling in his eyes as he brings Rosie closer to his chest, cradling her against him as though she might disappear in the blink of an eye, the feeling of her tiny heartbeat against his own a comforting rhythm he finds solace in

“Yeah, it’s me love.” He whispers into the crown of her head, all too aware of your form watching from around the corner with unshed tears on your lash line. “It’s your dada.”

February

You had told him Valentine’s Day had never been something you saw as being worth celebrating, nothing more worthwhile than exchanging cards and lollies in primary school and unnecessarily crying over in secondary when you were without a partner for the dance

Simon already bought you flowers more often than you could keep track of, he cooked meals for you, paid for dates, made love to you until you saw stars, loved your baby like she was his own, what more could you ask of him?

You’d insisted you didn’t want any fanfare, didn’t want anything more than him, and certainly didn’t want any presents

And so when you got home and found a small wrapped box on the kitchen table, you were a little peeved

“I hope you know I didn’t get you anything.” You mention, already feeling a tad guilty that you hadn’t bought anything for Simon on your first Valentine’s Day together, though you thought he’d been on the same page as you

“Good thing this isn’t just for you then.” He says, sliding the box closer to you and responding to your raised brow with a wink of his eye. “S’for the both of us. Well, three of us, technically.”

“Well now I’m intrigued.” You reply, dragging your fingernails through the wrapping until your palm held a small cardboard box, wondering if the box was empty it was so lightweight. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you lifted the top off the box, revealing its single content inside. “What’s this?”

“A key.”

“Well, yes thank you. I can tell it’s a key, doofus.” You give him a playful kick under the table, spinning the cold metal key between your fingers. “What’s it for?”

“Our place.”

“Our what?” You ask, more than a little bewildered now, wondering if maybe Simon forgot to wear his hard hat today and took a hit to the head. “Simon you already have a key to the flat.”

“I know. It’s not for this flat.” He says, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, the creases in the page appearing as though it had been folded and refolded many times over. “It’s for our new place.”

As he unfolds the paper and slides it towards you, the wires in your brain connect, a gasp leaving your lips as you nearly drop the key

“Simon, you didn’t…”

“I did.”

On the paper before you, lies the listing for a house you’d been eyeing for a long time now, only now the ink on the paper tells you that the house is no longer up for sale, but is instead under negotiation

As lovely as your flat had been when you were living as a single woman, it had become cramped once Rosie arrived, and had only gottten that much tighter once Simon started unofficially living here as well

If only for the fun of it, you’d spent time looking through larger flats in the area, none of them within your price range, and so you’d gone down the rabbit hole of looking at homes you decided you’d never be able to afford and kept coming back to one in particular

This one hit everything on your checklist, and more

It was in a great neighborhood, was close to Rosie’s nursery and potential future schools, wasn’t that far from your work, had lots of parks nearby, on top of being spacious enough to accommodate the three of you

You’d shown it to Simon one evening, offhandedly asking him what he thought about it, wanting to get his opinion to keep in mind when you looked through future listings that were more within your budget, never thinking that he’d been paying that much attention to it

Yet, lo and behold, here in your hand was what was apparently the key to your new home together

“Simon- I-”

“I know your instinct is likely to say no right now.” Simon began, jumping in before you could start. “And I get it. I did this without askin’ you. But- love you should’ve seen your face when you showed me this place. I’ve watched you go back to this listing more than you realize. I’m already here practically every night, eventually Rosie’s gonna start walkin’ and we’ll need more space for her. This one’s got a great backyard righ’? I’ll build her a swing in the back, teach her to ride a bike out front. We could walk her in the pram to nursery on nice days, it’s so close by. We’d be able to-”

His own rambling is cut off, when you all but leap across the table to grab him by his collar and slant your lips over his

“Yes.” You say simply, pulling back to meet his loving gaze, leaning into the warm hand he’s brought up to cradle your cheek

“Yes?” He whispers back to you

“Yes.”

“I love you, birdy.”

“And I love you, Simon.”

It’s only a few weeks later, as you’re on your way to pick up Rosie from daycare, that the paperwork is finalized, the home officially yours, Simon’s and Rosie’s

Your first place together

Giddy with excitement, you make a quick pit stop by their office before slipping into Rosie’s class to get her, knowing it’ll be a lot trickier to speak with Emma once you’ve got your squirmy girl in your arms, always too ready to go home

You were on good terms with all of the staff at Rosie’s daycare, even the educators who weren’t in Rosie’s program, but you’d become actual friends with their assistant director over time, Emma, finding you had quite a bit in common, including your love for Rosie

It wasn’t so easy to maintain all of your old friendships since becoming a mum, your best friend sticking with you through thick and thin, though others had slowly dwindled over time, and so finding an unlikely friendship at Rosie’s nursery was a welcome surprise

“Hey! Was hoping you’d be here.” You say cheerfully, poking your head into Emma’s office, finding her sat behind the desk

“Oh hey you. Pfft, when am I not here?” She joked, shutting her laptop and giving you her full attention. “Coming to pick up the girly girl?”

“Yeah, just wanted to update some info with you first, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, well yeah. Of course. Come on in. What’s up?” She says, gesturing towards the chair across from her for you to take

“Our address is actually going be changing soon.”

“Oh my gosh! That place you were telling me Simon got?” She asks with surprise evident on her features

“Yes! The offer he put in went through and it’s officially ours now. Not sure when moving date will be quite yet, but I wanted to update you sooner than later.”

“Of course, that’s so exciting.” She replies, opening her computer back up and starting to type away

“And I figure it’s probably about time we add him as a contact as well. Or caregiver, whatever you prefer to call it.” You mention, reasoning that there are likely going to be times now where Simon might drop her off or pick her up by himself, and that they’ll need him on the list of approved caregivers

“Ha. Could you imagine? He only gets added now?” She laughs, still typing away at her computer.

“Hehe, yeah well, there might just be days where I can’t pick her up in time and so he’ll step in.” You add awkwardly, a bit confused by her reaction

“Right well, he’s clear to do so any time that might come up.” She assures you, giving you her own strange look now

“Wouldn’t you need him to be on her caregiver list first, though? I thought that was part of the policies, having the approved contacts?”

“Wait, sorry what? What are we talking about right now?”

“Adding Simon as one of her caregivers? I mean, I know it’s not ‘official’ or anything, officially moving in together isn’t a marriage proposal, but he’s still like a dad to her, is he not able to be added to the list?”

“Sorry- is- are you saying Simon isn’t Rosie’s dad?” She asks, her expression one of utter confusion

“What? No. No, of course he’s not her dad. I mean, not technically but in every way that matters yes. That can’t actually make a difference in having him be an approved pick up, can it?”

“He-” she begins, giving you an odd look as she spins her laptop around to face towards you now, the screen displaying Rosie’s contact information. “He’s already on there, babe. He’s been on there since day one.”

“Wait, what?”

Oh what an ending! Many, many more good things to come with these two, I promise. Simon just has to pay a little first, okay? Next chapter is already in the works!

As always your patience, support, comments and messages in my inbox mean more to me than you could ever know! It’s been a tough month personally and writing is an outlet I find so much joy in so it really does mean a lot when my work resonates with others

- M 🫶🏻

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[ameliathornromance]

The Other Woman - Part 2

A/N: I'm blown away by the support you guys have given me with this part. I want to thank everyone who commented on the first post and gave me feedback! I'm always happy to recieve constructive critisim to make my work better for you all. This part 2 is a little different from how I usually handle part twos, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Link to PT 1

Your eyes itched as you dragged them open the next morning. The tears you shed last night had completely exhausted you by the time you got back to your room in the Palace, you had just flopped into bed without changing, skirts covered in melted icing.

A part of you was glad for it, as you had something to distract yourself from the soreness of heart break in your chest. You had no idea what you were going to do when you headed to court. The King’s personal guard would be there, and as far as you were aware, he hadn’t seen you the previous night.

Which means to him, nothing had gone wrong between the two of you.

You weren’t sure what to do knowing that. You could: A) Pretend nothing is wrong, carry on with this affair like you’d never seen what you had, or B) End things with the Orc and live with the guilt of what you did for the rest of your life.

Option A was just too difficult for you to do. You couldn’t bare the thought of doing something so heartless to that lovely Orc lady who worked in the kitchens. She was too kind to you, and always willing to lend a shoulder when you needed it… She would be a great mother.

So, it looks like option B is the only way to go.

As you finished remaking your bed, a shaky sigh escaped you as you leaned against your mattress, trying to steady yourself to face the day.

Leaving your quarters, you walked through the halls with your head in the clouds, thinking about how exactly you were supposed to end this affair. Would the King’s guard be angry? Upset?

After stewing on it, a wave of indignity washed over you. Really, none of this is your fault, it’s not like you were aware of his marriage. So, why should you be the one to break it off?

Of course, the last thing you wanted was to stay with the Orc, but if anything, he should be the one ending things with you! He was the one who chose to lie to you and hurt you in that way.

But how would you send that message to him? It’s not like you could just tell him what you saw. He might try to convince you to stay with him and you would not be persuaded into doing such a thing.

… Maybe, if you ignored him, he’d get the message and just leave you alone? Then that way, he’d know that you were angry with him and then, he would have no choice but to apologise to you. He’s not a stupid Orc, he should realise sooner or later what you were upset with him about.

But then, how do you regain your dignity as a Lady?

You chewed your lip as you greeted the Queen, apologised for your lateness and then followed her, alongside the other ladies in waiting to the throne room.

Thinking about this anymore would have to wait. You had a job to do as the Queens lady in waiting.

Their excited whispers brought you back down to Earth.

“Do you think that he’s handsome?”

“I don’t know, have you ever seen a forest dweller before?”

“Well no, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not good looking!”

“(Y/N) what do you think?”

“Hm?” You looked over your shoulder at the others. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve really been all over the place this week haven’t you?” One of the ladies said, “you know we’ve been preparing for the Forest Fae? Well, the Lord of the Forest Fae, is apparently, devilishly handsome. And, he’s not married or in any other kind of commitment with a woman or man!”

Another one of the ladies giggled, “do you think he’s come here looking for someone to marry?”

“Unlikely.” The third lady said, dismissively. “Men of any species love to flounder, even when they’re married. Why make their promiscuity more complicated than it has to be? You agree with me, don’t you (Y/N)?”

You didn’t answer. Due to recent experience, you had no interest in trying to romance a Fae Lord, there was no point in trying to if he was so easily led astray. “All men seemed to be like that.” You said, callously. “Even if he is loyal to those he sleeps with, I’m not looking to marry a Fae Lord.”

“Oh come on (Y/N), don’t pretend you’re not even slightly interested!”

“Ladies,” The Queen shushed and all the other women fell silent. “Gossip is unbecoming of all of you. If any of you wish to become involved with the Lord, I’ve heard he’s not one for those who spread rumours.”

Upon reaching the throne room, all the chattering of the ladies had fallen silent.

The doors to the impressive room opened, the Queen, you and the other ladies in waiting taking their respective places next to their mistress as they waited for the Fae Lord to make his entrance.

Sunlight caught the Queen’s glittering necklace, making you look around in surprise. And infuriatingly, you caught the King’s Guard’s eye. He smiled at you, eyes kind and wide like he was expecting you to return it.

Instead, you whipped your head away from him and locked on the throne room door. Other courtiers bustled around the room, discussing whatever was on the nobles minds at that moment in time.

For now, you would just have to stick to your plan of ignoring him. What else could you do until you could think of something more suitable for vengeance?

Soon, the doors to the throne room opened and the whole room fell silent.

The first few Fae glided in like they were sliding on ice, their ethereal beauty suffocating and snuffing out any other attractive person in the room. There were eight of them, four entering from opposite sides of the doors, who twirled in what looked to be spider web like dresses, their skirts sparkling in the light as they came to a stop, their long blonde hair falling down their backs with an eery gracefulness.

One of the ladies next to you mumbled something about how the Fae were so lucky, but you were so focused on not looking around at the Orc standing beside the King, that you couldn’t hear what the rest of her sentence was about.

After the graceful – and attention stealing – dance, a Fae man, taller than the others you’d seen so far, graced the courts prescence.

His hair was so white you might have thought that he was an old man, if not for his smooth skin untouched by aging. His eyes were deep pools of black that threatened to suck you in and never let you go, while his smile was kind and serene.

The Fae Lord came to a stop a few feet away from the thrones, and bowed his head. “Your Majestys, it is so wonderful to see you all again. I’m so pleased that I could finally make this trip like my father before me.”

“And we are pleased to have you, my Lord.” The King returned. “As it’s your first time staying here at the Palace, we’ve prepared a little celebration in honour of your new position…”

As the King droned on about how he hopes that this will be the new beginning of a fruitful alliance between humans and Fae, yada-ya, a chill went down your spine.

While the King’s announcement had been going in one ear and out the other, you brought yourself back into the room and carefully searched for the source of your discomfort… only to find the Fae Lord, looking directly at you.

You stood a little taller, returning his gaze in an attempt to be polite. When you gave him a polite inclination of the head, his smile widened as the King finished his speech.

“And so, we will have this little ball to welcome you and hope that your stay will be as comfortable as possible.”

“Yes,” the Fae Lord said, airily. “I’m sure it will be.” He turned to look back at the King and inclined his head once again. “I appreciate that the ball isn’t until tonight, and since this is your court, I’d like to ask if I can be a little forward, your Majesty?”

The King frowned, but nodded his head.

“You see, I couldn’t help but notice that lovely lady standing over there,” the Fae Lord pointed at you, “and was wondering if it would be too much for me to ask her for her first dance tonight?”

Your eyes widened.

The other ladies beside you, nudged you in the ribs. “So it was you he was looking at! I was wondering why his eyes were wandering, I thought he was just bored!”

Face burning, your eyes darted to the Queen and in the process, caught sight of the Orcs face.

His nose was scrunched up as he snarled, “awfully cocky, aren’t you?”

The Fae Lord ignored the Orc as he looked at you once again, hands behind his back.

When you looked at the Queen, she smiled at you and jerked her head to the Fae. “Well? You don’t have to ask me for permission, Lady (Y/N).”

All eyes on you, you bit your lip and sucked in a deep breath. Most of all, you could feel the Orc’s eyes baring into the side of your skull, like he was trying to make you face him, daring you to accept the Lord’s offer.

But the image you saw the previous night, flashed through your mind.

Spite leading you, you answered the Fae Lord. “I’ll have my first dance with you, my Lord.” You said, firmly.

The Fae bowed his head to you, “I look forward to it, my Lady.” And with that, he said his goodbyes to the King and Queen before the entire court was dismissed.

The rest of the day went by with a bubbly air, all the ladies sneaking glances and smiles at you as you went about your day.

You, yourself, could hardly believe that you had accepted the dance. It was true, you weren’t interested in romancing this Fae Lord in the slightest… but if it meant that you could piss off the King’s Guard, then you would gladly accept anything else that the Fae Lord had to offer.

After all, it’s not like the Orc could jump in and say that you couldn’t do something, people would get suspicious then.

As soon as the Queen had sent the ladies in waiting to go and prepare for the ball later in the afternoon, they all pounced on you.

“I can’t believe it!” One of them said as they took you by the wrist. “He really asked you, in front of the whole court!”

“It’s just a dance,” you told them all as you made your way back to your apartments. And that was all it would probably be, you told yourself. “It was just formality that I accept him. It would have been an awful start to his stay if I had told him no.”

“But even so, to ask you in front of the entire court!” Another one of the ladies squawked. “He must really like you.”

“We haven’t even formally met.” You said.

“Oh can’t you just be romantic for one minute?!” The first Lady huffed. “I’m imagining a star-crossed lovers romance, where he dramatically proposes to you just before he’s about to leave, flying through the corridors, abandoning his carriage in search of you-”

“Alright.” You said, firmly. “I get it. Well you can have your fantasies all you like.” Once you reached your apartments, you yanked open the door and slammed it shut behind you, locking the other ladies outside.

Sliding to the floor, you pulled your knees to your chest and squeezed. When you’d first started seeing the Orc, all you did was fantasize like that. Dream of running away with him and sharing all sorts of romantic ventures together.

But any kind of desire for that experience had left the moment you saw his wife.

You didn’t want to colour all men with the same brush, but a betrayal like the Orcs, isn’t something that you can just shake off.

And although it gave you the slightest bit of pleasure to know that the Orc was angry with the Fae, you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to get caught up in the romance of it all. He may be the exact same as the King’s Guard for all you knew.

And… you didn’t want to end up hurt again.

Once evening finally did come around and you joined with the other ladies in waiting – who were all too eager to have you be the leader of the group – the ballroom was full of chatter, people drinking and watching couples dance in the centre of the room.

“Oh, he’s not here yet?” Frowned a lady beside you, “don’t worry, he’ll turn up soon I’m sure, most of the other Fae are here. You should sit by the entrance that way, he’ll see you as soon as he enters.”

The suggestion made you want to roll your eyes. While you were going to dance with this Fae, you didn’t want to be seen as desperate for company. Taking a glass of wine from a passing waiter, you decided to hover to the side of the room.

As you sipped on the delicate glass, your eyes scanned the room where you spied the Queen dancing with the King, the other ladies mingling and chatting animatedly with other guests.

You caught yourself glancing at the entrance to the doors a lot. Keeping an eye out for the Fae Lord. You had to keep internally slapping yourself. This was just a means of getting back at the King’s guard.

And perhaps it was because the King’s guard was standing opposite the room, within perfect line of sight of keeping an eye on you that you were eager for the Fae Lord to arrive.

The Orc’s eyes glazed over the room, mostly following the King, but occasionally, he found you.

Anger boiled in your veins as you kept your eyes firmly fixed on the doors to the ballroom.

Even now, the Orc was good at keeping his affection for you a secret.

A part of you wanted to throw the wine glass in your hand at him, just to keep him on edge.

But, before you could put your thoughts into practice, gasps echoed around the room, drawing your attention to the ballroom doors.

The crowd parted as the Fae Lord’s eyes searched the room and found you. His eyes lit up at the sight of you and he passed through the crowd of people, and held a hand out to you. “There you are,” he said, smiling. “What are you doing hiding in the shadows over here? A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be hidden away like this.”

You shook your head as he took a wine glass from a waiter and sipped from it, “do you mind if I have a drink before we dance?”

“No, not at all my Lord.” You replied.

Over his shoulder, you chanced a glance at the Orc, whose eyes were now locked onto you and the Lord.

The Fae spoke, “I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your name first before asking for your dance, my Lady…?”

“(Y/N).” You answered smiling. “Thank you, for asking me for this dance.” You held your hand out to him, which he took and pressed a kiss onto your knuckles. A pleasant chill ran up your arm.

The Fae Lord bowed his head as he took another sip from his glass. “It’s an honour that you accepted. I should be thanking you for not humiliating me in front of all those courtiers.”

You chuckled at that. “I wouldn’t have done that to you, that would’ve been cruel, even if you were being very forward.”

“I just don’t have a care for all of these silly procedures,” the Fae said, waving his free hand around the ballroom. “There’s no point in any of it, I’d have preferred that the King and I just talk about what I’m here for and then to just leave, you know. But, a simple ball isn’t so bad.”

“So, you’d say you’re a simple man?” You asked.

“Completely.” The Fae finished his drink and you rushed to do the same too.

“My Lady, please, don’t do that on my account, we have the whole evening to dance, you can take your time.” He pulled the glass by the stem away from your lips.

You frowned, holding your free hand up to cover your mouth. “But I don’t want to keep you waiting, it would be rude of me to do that.”

With a sly wink, the Fae Lord said in a low whisper, “if I didn’t want to be kept waiting by you, I wouldn’t have asked for your first dance.”

You gave him a suspicious look, to which the Lord replied, “I want to get to know you, (Y/N).”

“Why?” You asked, shortly. “We’ve never even met before.”

The Fae Lord didn’t flinch at your tone. Instead, he searched your eyes. “Because, it seemed as though you were in need of some cheering up.” He said, simply. “And I don’t like seeing people upset.”

With a gentle smile, he patted your shoulder. “Don’t feel like you have to tell me what’s going on right now, after all, we did just meet each other. But whenever you’re ready, I’m here if you want to talk.”

You stared at him. Was he being serious? As you looked into his eyes you could sense no malice, no playfulness or manipulation in his face… Maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to give this Fae a chance?

Once you’d finished your drink the pair of you took to the dance floor.

And for the next few days, he always made a point of talking to you. At first, it was mundane things, how did you sleep? Did you eat breakfast yet? Before it became more involved questions, like what your family did for business, asked about your other ladies in waiting and if they were doing well.

And gradually, you started to look forward to your little chats and began to ask about him and his life. It turned out he was an only child and took the Lordship after his father had died of some kind of tree associated illness.

He was funny, had a quick wit and was fond of lymerics. He liked the smell of morning dew on grass and the way the forest smelt after a rain storm. Oh, and he enjoyed rum cake.

Your stomach bubbled with excitement every morning now at the prospect of seeing him around the Palace and speaking to him in the evening, the Orc barely even crossed your mind anymore.

Except for when you were on your way to your apartments one time, and the Orc ambushed you from a dark corner of the halls.

“What is with you?” He snarled at you. “You’re completely ignoring me in favour of that pretty Fae man.”

You didn’t spare the Orc a glance and kept walking. “He’s nice to me.” You shrugged, “I can’t talk to other men?”

“It’s not just talking to other men!” The Orc hissed. “You’ve been ignoring me and the gifts I leave you, along with letters as well! Whenever I enter your rooms to give you something else, the other gift is always left unopened!”

He grabbed you by the wrist, forcing you to stop in your tracks. He tightened his grip, “did I do something wrong?” He asked you. “Tell me if I have, I will do what I have to do make up for it.”

Anger flared like a fire stoked with gunpowder. You wanted to yell at him, to shout at him that he should go back to his wife, confess that he was an adulterer and that he should be begging for her forgiveness.

But for some reason, you couldn’t let that anger escape. It refused to climb up and out of your throat. You shook your hand free of his grip. “You really want to fix it?” you hissed. “You can leave me alone. Pretend that this never happened. Take your hush gifts and give them to the person who really deserves them!”

And with that, you stormed off to your apartments.

Once you were inside the drawing room, you let out a groan of frustration. Of course, going off with the Fae Lord was definitely one way of getting revenge… but it didn’t feel like it was enough.

You still felt awful for the Orc lady, who was pregnant with that adulterers baby. There had to be something else you could do… some other way of getting back at him and really sticking it to the King’s guard.

And then, an idea came to you. It was a risk to ask, sure… but, the Fae Lord really seemed genuinely interested in you. And he did say himself that he would be open to listening to you if you had any problems. Who knows? Maybe he would be up for your revenge too.

So, that night you arranged a private dinner for the two of you, away from court to tell him what was really going on.

He was perplexed by your request to meet him in a place away from the public eye, but never the less accepted and arrived to dinner with that same pleasant smile he always gave you.

“What’s all this about?” He had asked as you finished setting the table.

You intertwined your fingers together and clasped them in front of you, as if you were about to start praying.

“… Do you remember when you told me that you could sense a sadness within me?” You asked. And over dinner, you told him everything. The secretive meetings, the presents. As you told your sombre tale, you realised how badly it all truly sounded.

Of course, the affair was awful enough on it’s own… but the fact that the Fae Lord had been unwittingly helping you in your payback, would come across as you using him.

And as you finished with the climax of your story, the Fae Lord’s fists clenched tighter around his cutlery. His jaw tightened.

You bit your lip, wanting to explain yourself. “I have to say that your asking me to dance in front of the whole court was what inspired me to continue on with this plan of revenge. I have truly enjoyed spending time with you and didn’t mean to use you my Lord…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” The Fae spat. “It’s an awful thing for him to do to you, it’s no wonder he was so against us dancing and being seen together in the first place. I had half a mind to complain to the King about his behaviour.”

He knocked the butt of his fork on the table as the Lord looked around your drawing room, like there would be some kind of explanation somewhere. “How dare he use someone like that to get his own rocks off!” The Fae Lord hissed. “And especially you. You should have told me sooner, this isn’t something that you should have to deal with alone!

“No, do you know what?” The Fae pointed at you, “don’t do anything else until I say so, alright? We’re going to get this bastard man-whore… or should it be Orc-whore?” He gave you smug smile as you laughed. “For this plan to work,” he continued, “I’ll need to ask permission from someone before I go through with it.”

You frowned. “Ask permission for what?”

The Fae Lord gave another sly grin, “It’s a surprise.” His smile faded as he reached out across the table with a free hand and took yours in his, “I’ve grown very fond of you, (Y/N) and I hope that you have of me too, so with that in mind, please trust me, okay?”

He was right, you had grown fond of him and his presence. It would be strange for him to not be around in court any more. Your heart sunk in your chest at the realisation that he wouldn’t be around for much longer.

You nodded. Lowering your head, you stared at your empty plate and sighed. “… I feel really silly for thinking that he could have actually liked me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Fae Lord asked, frowning. “I like you.”

You sighed. “I mean honestly liked me. Not just used me as a means to have an affair… I thought that we would get married one day and…” You gripped your skirts.

For a moment, the Fae stayed silent. “You don’t deserve to be loved by trash like him.” He said, firmly. He gave another squeeze of your hand. “And we’ll make sure he knows it. So don’t put yourself down, alright? It’s not you who’s in the wrong, it’s him.”

And once again, he was right. You sniffed. It made you feel a lot better to hear someone say it out loud, and to talk to someone about this affair. It was like a huge weight had been lifted off your chest.

Weeks went by and everything continued on as it had been before. The Fae Lord acted no differently than before your dinner together and the King’s guard grew more and more furious each time he saw you and the Fae together.

He had stopped bothering you since you’d told him to leave you alone… but there was still that foreboding feeling that the Orc was still looking for ways to win back your approval, proved by his scathing looks of the Fae Lord when you and he were together.

And with that feeling hovering in the air at court, you began to realise how stupid you must have been, to believe that you were only worthy of such a deceitful kind of love. You deserved so much more, wanted so much more.

The strangest part about knowing that, was that you felt it might come true very soon. You didn’t know how you could tell, you just knew it.

You began to worry as the final days of the Fae Lord’s stay drew near. There still had been no update on the Lord’s revenge plan and when you asked him about it, he’d always reassured you and given your hands a reassuring squeeze. “I’m just making the final preparations, alright? Don’t worry about a thing, I’ve got this.”

It was all too soon that the final week of his stay around. Everyone in the Palace was suddenly mournful that the Fae Lord and his company would be departing.

The Monday of the week the Lord was going to leave, you awoke to find a gift box. It was carved of wood, the bark of the tree still on it’s exterior and top, with a mossy bow tying it shut.

And as you opened it up, you couldn’t help but gasp at the sight you saw. In a bed of moss, was a necklace made of spider web, droplets of water beads strewn around it delicately. Underneath it, was a note:

I would like to give you a surprise gift every day leading up to the final day before I leave. I hope that if you appreciate this gift, you’ll wear it today and the others that are to come.

Others to come? Was this part of the revenge plan that the Lord had cooked up?

Without a second thought, you put on the gift and when you entered the Queen’s apartments that morning, all the of other ladies practically screamed with excitement for you.

Even the Queen – who never normally allowed herself to be emotional – got involved with her ladies delighted chattering.

The next morning, it was a bracelet made of hardened tree sap – the note detailed that if you licked it, it would make for a good snack – the morning after that, a broach made of butterfly wings.

And every day you wore them, eventually looking more and more like a forest Fae than a human noblewoman.

When the day finally came of the Fae Lord’s departure, you found that there was no gift that morning. Although strange, it didn’t surprise you.

He was leaving today after all, perhaps he just didn’t have time to leave one final gift.

With a heavy heart, you made your bed, adorned yourself with all the gifts you had received that week, and set off to go to court to wish the Fae Lord a good journey home.

Following the Queen to the throne room, the rest of the ladies in waiting seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet. When you gave them strange looks, they all pursed their lips or looked away from you, as if they were trying to hide something from you.

Even the Queen refused to look at you. Although you were sure that you caught a small smile on her lips whenever you all turned a corner.

When you entered the throne room, it was packed with courtiers, all chattering as usual. But there was something different in the air. You weren’t sure what it was, but there was certainly something going on without your knowing.

Once you had taken your place beside the Queen, the doors to the throne room opened and in stepped the Fae Lord with his company.

You had hoped that he would make time for a private goodbye, or at least tell you how his plans for revenge had been progressing.

The whole time you had seen him in court or in other places in the Palace, it seemed as though he was doing nothing to try and help you with your revenge plan.

A part of you wanted to be angry with him for being so slacked about it.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to be. At the end of the day, you’d been able to get back at the Orc in some way; throughout the whole week of you wearing the gifts that the Fae Lord had been giving you, the King’s guard said nothing to you, apart from giving you foul glares from across the room whenever he saw you.

“Your Majesty's, I must thank you for your hospitality these past weeks, it has been nothing but delightful.” The Fae Lord announced.

As soon as the sentence had left his lips, the whole court went silent, hanging onto his every word.

“But, if you do not mind, your Majesty,” he looked at the Queen, “I would like to steal one of your ladies in waiting.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him as the Queen smiled at him. “But of course, it’s been difficult to ignore that you certainly have a favourite among my girls.” She looked at you and tilted her head. “Go on, (Y/N).”

Your head darted between the two. Again, you caught the Orcs eye, who gave you a warning look of carefully concealed fury.

At that, you straightened your back and headed over to the Fae Lord. Once you had come before him, he held his hand out to you.

You took it. Sandwiching your hand between his, he looked you in the eye. “I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks,” he said, “but they’ve been some of the best weeks of my life. You’re funny and smart,” he lowered his voice. “Vengeful.”

Rolling your eyes with a smile, he continued, “but most of all, you make me happy. So, I ask that you come back to the forest with me and be my wife?”

Your jaw dropped and you clasped your hands to your mouth. “You… you can’t be serious…”

The Fae Lord let an abashed smile come over him. “I am… so, if you’ll have me as a husband…” He pulled a ring, made of wood from his pocket, a white, misted crystal adorned the top of the ring. “This is the final gift… I’m sorry that there wasn’t one for you to wake up to this morning, but I felt you may appreciate it more if I gave it to you in front of everyone.” He gave you a knowing look.

You allowed a devious grin to broaden your lips.

An aww escaped the crowd, followed by a few claps. But before you could give your reply, a shout rang out.

“No!” You and the Fae Lord whipped around to find the King’s guard, abandoning his post. “No, this is completely inappropriate!”

The Fae Lord pushed you behind him, as the Orc towered over the pair of you. He jabbed a thick green finger at the Fae, “what makes you think you can just wander in here and take one of the ladies in waiting?!”

“Actually,” the Fae returned, plainly. “Her father gave me permission. I asked him last night before coming here… Unlike some people here, I’m actually upfront with future family.”

Your eyes widened as the court gasped and muttering began to rise from the onlookers.

You gripped the Fae’s arm and squeezed it. “No, please don’t. You’ve done enough.”

He looked at you, then back at the Orc. “Well, it’s all down to (Y/N)s decision anyway.” The Fae Lord raised an eyebrow and smirked. “After all, it’s not like you have any interest in her, is it?”

The King’s guard scowled at the Fae. But he said nothing.

“Come back here, now!” The King snapped from his throne. “Don’t ruin this moment for the Lady (Y/N) any more than you have!”

“But you can’t possibly allow this!” The Orc turned to face the Monarchs.

“I just did.” The King glared at his guard. He looked at you with kind eyes as he went on, “well, what is your answer?”

Looking directly at the Orc, you took the ring from the Fae Lord and slid the ring on your finger as slowly as possible.

The Fae Lord grinned and pulled you into a tight hug as the court let out an applause.

Wishing the court goodbye, you and the Fae Lord turned and left, without even giving a second glance to the Orc, who was left in the centre of the room, stunned.

“Now this, was a great revenge plan.” You whispered as the pair of you walked down the corridors.

You bit your lip, “I… I was worried that this was just going to be some kind of holiday fling for you.”

The Fae Lord stopped in his tracks, taking your hand. “My darling, I could never, do that to you.”

Hi! Thank you so much for reading my story! If you like this kind of content, you should check out my Patreon! There, I post stories twice a week and earlier than I post on Tumblr. I also post exclusive stories there too where you won’t be able to find anywhere else.

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[imastoryteller]

How to Craft a Compelling Morally Grey Character: A Step-by-Step Guide

Step 1: Define the Character’s Core Traits

Identify Strengths and Virtues: List positive traits that make the character likable or admirable. These could include bravery, intelligence, loyalty, or compassion.

Identify Flaws and Vices: List negative traits that add complexity and realism. These could include arrogance, selfishness, impatience, or a propensity for violence.

Step 2: Establish Motivations and Backstory

Create a Detailed Backstory: Develop a background that explains why the character has their particular mix of virtues and flaws. Consider their upbringing, significant life events, and personal experiences.

Determine Core Motivations: Identify what drives the character. Is it revenge, love, ambition, survival, or something else? Motivations should be realistic and relatable.

Step 3: Develop Moral Ambiguity

Set Up Moral Dilemmas: Place your character in situations where they must make difficult choices with no clear right or wrong answer. These dilemmas should challenge their morals and reveal their complexity.

Showcase Contradictions: Allow the character to make decisions that might seem contradictory. For example, they might commit a crime to protect someone they love, revealing both a moral and an immoral side.

Step 4: Create Dynamic Relationships

Construct Meaningful Relationships: Develop relationships with other characters that highlight different aspects of your morally grey character. These relationships can help explore their multifaceted personality.

Use Relationships to Drive Conflict: Relationships can be a source of moral conflict and development. Conflicts with friends, family, or rivals can push your character to reveal their grey areas.

Step 5: Show Consequences and Growth

Illustrate the Impact of Actions: Show the real-world consequences of the character’s morally ambiguous decisions. This adds realism and stakes to the story.

Allow for Character Growth: Let your character evolve. They might become more virtuous or more corrupt over time. This evolution keeps the character dynamic and interesting.

Step 6: Balance Sympathetic and Unsympathetic Traits

Make Them Relatable: Ensure the character has traits or experiences that the audience can relate to or sympathize with, even if they do questionable things.

Maintain Complexity: Avoid making the character too sympathetic or too unsympathetic. The balance between good and bad traits should make the audience feel conflicted about the character.

Step 7: Use Subtlety and Nuance

Avoid Clear Labels: Do not overtly label the character as good or evil. Allow their actions and motivations to speak for themselves.

Employ Subtlety: Use nuanced behavior and dialogue to reveal the character’s moral complexity. Avoid heavy-handed exposition.

Step 8: Test and Refine

Seek Feedback: Share your character with others and seek feedback on their complexity and believability. Adjust based on constructive criticism.

Refine Motivations and Actions: Continuously refine the character’s motivations and actions to ensure they remain compelling and consistent throughout the story.

Example: Crafting a Morally Grey Character

Core Traits:

Strengths: Intelligent, determined, loyal.

Flaws: Arrogant, manipulative, vengeful.

Backstory:

Grew up in a tough neighborhood, witnessing crime and corruption.

Lost a loved one to a gang, fueling a desire for revenge.

Motivations:

Driven by a need to protect their remaining family and seek revenge.

Moral Dilemmas:

Joins a criminal organization to infiltrate it and bring it down from within.

Struggles with the ethical implications of committing crimes for a greater good.

Relationships:

Has a strained relationship with a sibling who disapproves of their methods.

Forms a complicated friendship with a morally upright police officer.

Consequences and Growth:

Faces the legal and emotional consequences of their actions.

Gradually questions their own morality and seeks redemption.

Balance:

Helps the community but uses unethical means.

Shows moments of kindness and ruthlessness.

Subtlety:

Reveals their inner conflict through small actions and dialogue.

Avoids overt explanations of their morality, letting the audience interpret.

By following these steps, you can create a compelling morally grey character that adds depth and intrigue to your story.

---

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[augustjoy]

Corruption

Based on the following ask: Aaron with the youngest and newest member of the bau, taking her virginity in his office after hours, corrupting her in the most unprofessional way but praising her for being such a quick learner – I kind of went genius, girly-girl, virgin reader…but enjoy!!!

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

SMUT

Word count: 1772

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is early 20’s), explicit language, virgin reader, she’s also a genius and kind of a girly-girl, naïve reader, slight d/s dynamic, soft dom Hotch, corruption kink, lots of praise, use of sir, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description other than female anatomy, use of pet names, fingering, semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this), choking, pure filth tbh…let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

It wasn’t the right time. That is what you said, time and time again, but then the right time never really came. First it was the high school boys were all too immature, then the college guys are all too pushy and unserious…and let’s face it, the guys in the FBI academy, well they were all too horny and desperate. So, you put all your focus into your studies and hard work. Who needed sex when you were achieving success at such a young age.

You were the youngest ever agent to join the BAU, even more so than Spencer. You’d been so motivated in school that you had dual majored during both your bachelor’s and master’s programs, finishing them in record time and completing your PHD while in the academy.

--

When you sauntered into Aaron’s office that day, trailing behind the director, he thought perhaps you were Cruz’s new assistant. With your tight little skirt and your long-painted nails, there was no way a sweet thing like you could be his new field agent.

Until you were.

“Hotchner, here is your latest recruit!” Cruz announced. “Be nice, she’s here to stay.”

You stepped forward and offered your hand to shake, quietly introducing yourself. Aaron took your hand, shaking it firmly before releasing it and gesturing for you to take a seat.

“You’re not at all what I was expecting.” He began.

“I hear that a lot. I don’t think people expect someone as accomplished as me to look this way.” You shift your gaze downward.

“How do you mean?” Aaron inquired.

“I just mean, I think people expect me to be a stereotypical nerd, seeing as I put my education first for so long. I don’t think they expect me to have put so much effort into my appearance as well.” You shrug.

Aaron was rendered speechless. You were right, when he had seen your long list of accomplishments, he was picturing someone a little more like Reid. Not a bombshell in a light pink blouse, tight skirt, heels and long pink fingernails.

And thus began Aaron babying you. He did everything in his power to keep you safe…which was becoming increasingly difficult as you continued to prove how qualified you were for this team.

--

He had been devastated when you’d been hurt the first time. It had been a slash of a knife to the shoulder, you’d ducked just in time to avoid your face. Aaron had been quick and pretty rough when taking that particular unsub down.

So, you see, it had been months like this and while…things were good, Aaron was overbearing, you were more than capable of holding your own and you didn’t understand why he was treating you this way.

That’s why you confronted him.

--

“Okay Hotch, what’s your problem?” You asked, entering his office unannounced.

“Excuse me?” He questioned you as you closed the door behind you and made yourself comfortable in the chair across from him.

“You know full well that I am capable of doing this job, so why do you purposefully hold me back?”

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to protect you.” He justified.

“I don’t need you to protect me though.” You huffed.

“The fact that you think that only proves how innocent you are.”

“I – I’m not innocent.” You shook your head.

Aaron clicked his tongue, standing to walk behind you, letting his hands graze your shoulders gently. He leaned down, his warm breath hugging the shell of your ear, whispering.

“I think you are…but you don’t want to be.”

You shivered, leaning into his touch. “I don’t.” You breathed.

“You want to be bad, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You gasped.

“Then be bad sweetheart.”

--

Aaron walked over to ensure the bullpen was clear. He then locked his office door and pulled the blinds closed. He returned to his seat behind his desk, sitting and then wiggling his finger at you, signaling for you to come to him.

You stood and tentatively made your way around his desk, stopping just short of being in front of him. He took your hand and gently pulled you to stand between his legs. His hands slid down your sides, stopping at the outer part of your knees, tapping softly.

You looked at him with confusion…unsure of what it was he was asking you. Your confusion was answered when you saw the look in his eyes. You slowly dropped to your knees, your palms resting on his thighs.

“God, you’re like a vision. So sweet, on your knees for me.” Aaron caressed your cheek.

You reached for his belt, pulling it open, while he let his hand tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. Your mouth fell open in a gasp, his pupils were blown, full of lust. He let his thumb slip into your mouth, groaning at the sight of you.

You continued to work his dress slacks open, desperately trying to free his cock now. You were more than ready to have him in your mouth…but your nerves began to creep in. Aaron, ever the profiler, knew immediately.

“You’re doing great baby. I’ll walk you through it, don’t worry.”

You wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely out of reach of your thumb. As if that wasn’t enough, his length was quite shocking as well. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to take all of him, but you wanted to try.

“What if I…I mean – I want to be good.” You stuttered. “For you.”

Aaron groaned “You’re going to be amazing, sweet girl. Just start slow, it’ll come naturally.”

So, you did. Hesitantly at first, taking just his tip in your mouth, then moving down little by little. And judging by the sounds Aaron was making, you knew you were doing okay. You continued bobbing your head up and down, hallowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the tip, letting Aaron’s grunts drive your movements.

--

Aaron gently pulls you off of him, helping you back to your feet before lifting you onto his desk.  He stood, invading your space, your gaze shifts upwards to meet his…you just knew you looked completely wrecked for him.

Aaron leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss. He nipped at your lower lip, eliciting a gasp from you. He used the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek and the other sliding under your skirt.

It wasn’t until his fingers grazed the front of your panties that you whined, practically begging for him to do more.

“Please…”

“Please what?” He teased.

“Please sir. Touch me.” You huffed.

Aaron groaned at the name and allowed his fingers to move passed your panties, pressing them through your slick folds. Your hands moved behind you, palms down, holding yourself up. Your head fell back and before long, Aaron’s fingers were thrusting into you. He kept a steady pace, not wanting to work you up too much before he got the chance to fuck you.

“Ugh, God yes. I-it feels s-so good.” You moaned.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so good for me. Take it like a good girl.” He praised.

Your hips were chasing his every thrust, begging for your release. He pressed further, the heel of his palm adding a delicious pressure to your clit, bringing you that much closer to the edge.

“Please Aaron, I’m so close.” You begged.

“Not yet sweet girl, I want to feel you cum around my cock.” He nipped your earlobe.

--

Aaron pulled his fingers from your heat, taking a step back, he pulled you with him and spun you around, pressing your front into his desk. His hands slid under your skirt and pulled your panties down.

“Aaron…I-I’ve never done this before.”

“I know baby girl, it’s okay. I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

You arched back into his touch; your body was shaking with anticipation. Aaron leaned down and pressed a kiss to your shoulder before he nudged the head of his cock at your entrance.

“You ready for me honey?”

“God yes.”

With that, he pressed forward, fully sliding his cock into you. You cried out and he did his best to soothe you, wiping the tear from your cheek. His movement caused you to let out a sharp hiss.

“You alright sweetheart?”

You nodded, reaching behind you to grab at any part of him you could reach. He placed his hand into your grasp and held still, wanting to let you adjust to him properly. After a few moments, you pressed yourself back, testing the waters to see if the pain had subsided. Aaron quickly caught on to your motion and all hell broke loose.

--

Aaron’s hips snapped into yours over and over, he had your arms pinned behind you as he held you down against his desk for leverage. You were a mess beneath him, tears and mascara running down your face, your skirt bunched up around your waist, your hair fallen completely out of your neat hairstyle. Deep grunts and soft cries filled the room as you both neared your peak. He had you falling apart completely, surely ruining you for any other man.

“It’s like this pussy was made for me sweetheart; she’s gripping me so tight.”

“Oh my god Aaron, I-I think, I’m close.” You cried.

“That’s it honey, cum for me.”

Your orgasm took over as your entire body shook. Your screams could be heard all throughout the office. Aaron shifted his hands, so they gripped your shoulders, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, desperately chasing his end.

With a few final thrusts, Aaron let out a low growl, filling you with his hot seed. You could feel it dripping out of you with every lazy thrust. When he finally stilled, he leaned down over you, pressing kisses to your neck, whispering praise of how well you did for your first time and how he couldn’t wait to ruin you again and again.

--

Aaron slipped out of you with a hiss and tucked himself back into his slacks. He pulled you up and turned you around, helping you back into your panties and pressing his hand to your core.

“I want you to hold it in sweet girl. Because when I get you home, I’m gonna fuck it back into you.” He pressed his lips to yours once more.

You met him with the same amount of passion, only pulling away when he did.

“So…what does this mean?” Your glassy eyes met his.

“You’re mine baby. Forever.”

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[bakubonez]

Sunday x GN! Reader || fluff

Summary: After a stressful couple days, Sunday asked you to wash his hair. 🦭

A/N: I’m falling for the Sunday propaganda plz save me

It had taken ages to get Sunday to trust you. Albeit many gifts and hours spent together later, your hard work had paid off. Sunday had lowered his carefully constructed walls, allowing you to weasel your way into finding a place in his heart. Nowadays, he can’t fathom why he used to push you away—you were far too sweet to discard.

He’d come to trust you enough to let you wash his hair, and groom his wings. More often than not, he’d do it himself—taking time to sit in front of the mirror to smooth down his soft, pillowy feathers or stand under the shower in silence as the water ran through his hair, down his back. Now, though, he didn’t have to do it completely alone. He quite enjoyed it when you helped him, actually.

At first, he hadn’t been completely sold on the idea. It was a lot of trust that he had to place in you, to let you look after him for a bit.

He’d have to surrender himself to you and lower his guard, and that felt mildly off putting at a stage. Despite his initial hesitance, the first time you actually rinsed his hair and tended to his wings, he knew he was hooked.

The gentle nature of your touch was something he’d always found himself appreciating, and he hoped and prayed that he could offer you the same feeling, but now that he knew what it was like to be pampered by the very same hands that brought him so much comfort in his day to day life, he couldn’t get enough of it.

Sunday was much too sheepish to outright ask you to bathe with him, especially not often, so the activity has been reserved for special occasions, by his own doing.

Tonight was one of those occasions.

Being the man that Sunday was, he had a lot on his plate, all the time. There were very few moments in which he could take refuge from his work and truly rest. Even in his free time, his mind was often plagued by anxieties about his upcoming tasks.

Recently, though, he’d been under extra strain especially. And so, logically, he’d come to you for comfort.

You raked your fingers across his scalp, hands lathered in some pleasant smelling shampoo that Sunday had chosen. His eyes were shut, sitting peacefully in the water of the bath. Steam clouded the mirrors, and left little beads of water dripping down the walls.

It was mostly silent, aside from a soft melody playing in the background that Sunday had put on before getting into the tub.

Once, you’d been hesitant to touch Sunday’s wings. You weren’t sure if they’d be too sensitive, or if he’d tell you off for it, perhaps—now, though, you touched them with little uncertainty.

So long as you were gentle, like you were being now, you could touch them all you wanted.

His feathers were so soft, almost unbelievably so. They twitch and shift under your grasp, but not for a bad reason; more so that it was mildly ticklish, despite how much you’d touched them in the past already.

You hear Sunday exhale quietly as you rub behind his ears, and along the topside of his wings. His faith in you always brings a smile to your face, leaving a warm, comforting feeling in your heart.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Thank you for what, you’re tempted to ask, but you get the sense that you already know what for—you. You, being with him. You, taking the time to care for him. You, having the patience to stick by him, even when it gets difficult.

You simply murmur a soft ‘mhm’ in response, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before resuming your motions. You needn’t say more.

[miley1442111]

the problem with arguing

a/n: Hi, this is my first story, any constructive criticism is welcomed. This had not been properly edited nor read through because icba lmao :) also I wrote it for a fem!reader but I don't think there's much mention other than Jack calling reader 'mom' so... yeah :)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, platonic BAUteam x reader, motherly(If that's a word?)reader x teen!jack hotchner

summary: aaron and you are in a fight, but what happens when a meeting with a witness goes south?

warnings: criminal minds levels of violence, angst, fluff, couple fighting, reader in distress, reader getting injured, mentions of knives, mentions of being stabbed, mentions of being tied up, mentions of hospitals, mentions of killing, mentions of general injury, mentions of guns/shooting, minimal use of y/n.

1.6k + words.

“We’re here, we’ll update you if anything comes of it,” Morgan promises Hotch over the phone as we walk to the front porch of one of our witnesses. Something about his story is messed up and we were the unlucky ones who had to go talk to him. It’s a pretty house I guess, a little expensive for what a 26 year old man could afford, and what he would want to buy. It’s all fifties style, the entire estate is. Big-enough bungalows with pastel walls and inviting doors with a small porch, just enough for the entry-way and a chair. I knock on the door, exhausted from the past 72 hours. Aaron and I got in a fight before we got to Ohio, it was unnecessary, but we fought all the same. He was mad at me for giving Jack advice that led to a fight between them. I just wanted to kiss and make up 3 days ago but he won’t budge. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m right and doesn’t want to confront it or maybe it’s because I took it too far and overstepped. Jack calls me ‘mom’, I live with him, and Jack came to me for support, he wanted guidance and I gave him it. He was mad at his dad because he missed meeting his girlfriend. His girlfriend, Ava, was a lovely girl, I had been the one there when Jack brought her over for dinner, I was the one trying to suss out if they actually liked each other, and I was the one Jack sat down with for 2 hours after and told everything about her to. All because Aaron was too busy with paperwork in his study. Jack was hurt, which is difficult to do because he’s such an understanding 16 year-old boy. It was also hard because I saw both sides. I’ll be the first to admit that what Aaron did was wrong, but our job is hard and demanding, especially his since he’s the leader of our team… But Jack just wanted 2 hours of his time, not even, just a dinner. A dinner to meet his girlfriend, and Aaron still couldn’t make it. 

I knock again as I huff. 

“Everything alright?” Morgan asks, the regular playful glint in his eye. 

“Tired, mad, over this job. You?” I sigh. 

“Sounds about right,” He chuckles. “How’s Jack doing?” 

A smile spreads across my face. “He has a girlfriend,” Morgan’s face lights up in a smile. 

“My man,” He smirks and I chuckle. “You two met her yet?” 

My face drops again. “I have, Aaron… couldn’t make it to the dinner though. She’s lovely, perfect for Jack. It's so funny, it’s just opposites attract. Jack is so sporty and outspoken and she’s one of the quieter, more into her studies kind of person.” 

The door swings open and we’re met with David, our witness. 

“You two know what time it is?” He yawns. 

“Oh trust us, we know,” Morgan sighs. “Can we ask you a few more questions?” 

“It’s 10pm at night? Can’t this wait ‘till the morning?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” I reassure. 

He looks between us for a moment, then sighs. “Quickly.”

We walk inside and are immediately hit with an awful smell. I know that smell. That’s when I see it, a body.

And that’s when it all goes black. 

I wake up in a new room, tied to a chair. I don’t see Derrick anywhere. I don’t see David anywhere. I’m all alone in this grey room. I don’t see a door but I notice a camera, and a screen in front of me. I see Penelope on the screen, then a sign above it with “Don’t make noise” scribbled. I look to my left and see a plastic window, I see Morgan through it, tied up too. He sees me. 

“Y/n? Y/n?! Where are you?” Penelope squeals. I shake my head and she picks up her phone and tries calling mine, it rings and I feel something go into my side. I scream out in pain as I see the blood start trickling out of me. Penelope drops her phone, then picks it up, dialling someone else’s number. 

I get switched to a joint call with Penelope, and the rest of the team, excluding Aaron. 

“Y/n?” Spencer asks and I nod, sobbing in pain. Spencer runs off-screen, leaving Jj and Emily to stare in horror at me.

Spencer comes back with Aaron and we make eye-contact through the screen, and he starts breaking. He’s shouting orders at the policemen in the precinct, he’s shouting orders at the team, and he’s trying not to cry. I know that. I also know I’m the only one who knows that. He hides it pretty well but not from me, not after all of our years together. His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow more than usual, he starts biting at the skin around his nails. 

“We’re coming to find you. We will find you,” he promises me. I nod slowly as the pain in my side becomes unbearable as the knife is pulled out. 

“Is Morgan with you?” Emily asks and I nod as I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop myself from making too much noise. 

“Is he in the room with you?” Spencer asks. 

I shake my head no. After what feels like an eternity of yes or no questions, they think they’ve located us.I hear banging on the door and then it opens. Spencer is standing there with an entire Swat team behind him. I shake my head to tell them to not make noise but they talk anyway and another knife is put into my leg, I don’t have the strength to stay quiet this time and another finds its way into my arm. I pass out. 

I wake up in a hospital bed, an IV in my arm, Aaron on one side and Jack on the other. Aaron’s asleep in a chair on my left, I grimace, knowing his back will hurt. 

“Mom?!” Jack exclaims as he sees me open my eyes. “Mom!” His eyes fill with tears as he gets up and wraps his arms around me on the bed. 

“Jack,” I sigh in relief. 

“You’re okay! You’re awake!” He smiles brightly, happy that I’m alive. 

Aaron wakes up from the commotion and rushes to my side. “Honey?” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re okay.”

I smile at both of them. 

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Jack smiles and he rushes off to find a doctor. 

“Honey I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-” He starts but I cut him off. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he sighs, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t go all soft now Aaron,” I joke. 

“You make me soft,” He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. 

Jack comes back in with a doctor. She tells me that I lost a lot of blood and that I will be out of the field for a few months, with 2 weeks of mandatory bedrest, then 4 weeks of physical therapy. 

The next day, the team come in to visit. 

“Hey,” Spencer smiles, walking in first. I’ve always been close to Spencer, he’s always felt like a little brother to me. 

“Hey,” I smile and wince when I hug him, but I know it’s worth it. The rest of the team filter in, smiles on their faces.“So what happened after I went out?”

“Well, they got me, no injuries apart from a concussion,” Morgan says. 

“We got the guy-” Emily starts.

“Aaron got the guy,” Spencer interrupts. “He saw him and just shot him-”

“And then he beat the crap out of him,” Jj says. “It was pretty intense.”

I nod along as they tell me the story, and then we just talk about whatever until Aaron comes in and says visiting hours are over. Spencer leaves me a few more books to read and Jj brings Jack to Ava’s house for the night. Aaron walks in with my dinner on a tray. 

“Hungry?” He smiles. 

“You shot someone for me?” I ask as he places my tray down.

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes and smile at him. “Is he alive?”

“No.” 

My face drops. “Oh.” 

“It was the combined bleeding and head trauma that killed him.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did.” 

I look at my food. “I understand you wanted to protect me-”

“I did that because he doesn’t get to live after doing this to you. Honey, you and Jack are the most important people in my life and I would do anything if it meant that you were safe and sound. Do you want to know how it felt to have what could’ve been my last words to you be ‘stop bothering me’? I was an asshole to you over the Jack situation because I knew you were right. I knew it wasn’t fair to not go to dinner when I was in the house. I knew it was important and it just felt too real. It felt like he was growing up and I just couldn’t take it because I missed so much of his childhood! So I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry that I said everything I said and did what I did, but I am not sorry about hurting that fucking monster,” He takes a deep breath. “Now eat up, it’ll go cold.”

“I love you Aaron, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault, being a parents is hard.” 

His eyes fill with tears and he looks at me like an injured puppy. 

“Come here,” I smile and move over, allowing room for him to sit with me. He climbs into bed beside me and wraps his arms around me, being careful of my wounds. 

“I love you,” he whispers as I slowly eat my food. 

“I love you too.”

[whitenoisewhatanawfulsound]

Mosaics.

Spencer Reid x Reader

Spencer Reid is not as unloveable as he was made to think. Ups and downs are inevitable, and "I love you"'s come easier than he once thought, and so does existing. He'll love the parts of you that have never experienced care.

1.8k words

cw: Hurt/comfort (parts of it are pretty sad, but there are some veeery fluffy bits), small fight that is resolved, Spencer's childhood trauma, reader has hair, Spencer is very much written as neurodivergent (the way God intended)

an: This starts off as a bit of a character analysis, there's really no plot, but there is dialogue and interaction. I love this fic with my whole heart, I hope you do too <3

Fresh out of college, Spencer never considered the idea that someone would, one day, find loving him easy. That he, could at some point graze his fingers over soft skin, rather than cutting them on broken glass. That he could handle carefully constructed art with care, and not be afraid to destroy it with his bare hands.

He wonders if he really was miserable to be around, as a kid. He must’ve been; people stared at him as if he was covered in blood and holding a gun. That, or they didn’t look at all. The latter was always easiest. He spoke in equations and scientific facts, statistics and percentages— he startled adults easily, “Diana, tell me, how does your son know such things? It’s impressive, for his age.” It stopped being impressive after a while, and more so became tiring and show off-ish. It was easy for him to tell that something was off about him, as a child. 

He worked better around adults, but it’s not like they were any better than kids his age. They were just better at not showing their confusion as much. They could resist rolling their eyes whenever he started speaking. At least, most could, though his father could not.

He wasn’t used to being looked at like he did something extraordinary. That he was, in the most complicated way, just extraordinary. That he wasn’t something difficult in the way that he was hard to be around, but in the way that he had so many things that made him him. Pieces to pick and prod at, to question and examine. To have someone who asks about his favorite things just because they want to know. Someone who listens to the words that pour out of his mouth like waterfalls.

Being held was once terrifying. His fathers arms were too tight, his hands too rough in front of people that he wished to impress. His mother’s arms would strangle him, at times, muttering unwell things that scared him as a child, but things that he got used to as time went on. He grew to love soft touches; on his arms, fingers tracing lines across his jaw, gentle kisses that felt like warm summer breezes on the soft rolling plains of his skin. Those kisses against his skin made his face burn red hot, now. Teasing smiles and banter made him giddy. He’d kiss you silly just to try and make you stop. It was ridiculous of him to think that it would work– it only encouraged you.

Experiencing unconditional, soft love made him want and want and want. He’d kiss you just because he can, he’d run deft fingers just under your eyes, traveling to your cheekbones. He’d watch eyelashes press together in the corners of your eyes whenever you smiled. He could stare at you forever, he thinks. Notice every mole and freckle, kiss them softly. He would dissect your brain, but not like how he did to most. He would do it to see all the good things, why you love that city so much, why exactly your favorite color is your favorite — but he’d do it to see the bad things, too. The memories of screaming and crashing, the times it felt like it would just never end. He would take them, place them inside of his soul and carry them for you. Hold the bad dear until you feel as if you can take it back. He’ll carry it over mountains, travel with it across the world; but only if you’ll let him. 

Every person Spencer has touched has shattered, and from that broken glass he cuts himself on the shards, trying to pick them up. He takes them and arranges them back into a mosaic, placing them in his heart one by one. When his heart is built, he takes the rest, and forms himself. Every person he touches that shatters soon becomes a part of him that will never leave, reminding himself of the mark they made on him. He has not made you shatter (“yet” lives deep within him, it’ll never go away), but others have. Spencer will pick up what is left, though. He thinks that your shard is his favorite.

“I love your eyes.”

Spencer flushes, his ears turn a rather bright shade of pink. It baffles him just how easily you say things like that, out of nowhere. It thoroughly catches him off guard. You make an attempt to place a kiss gently upon his eyelid, but he smirks and turns his face into the couch cushion. 

“Don’t hide,” is murmured, and he feels your hands guide his head back to where it was originally. His hands play with the hem of your shirt, where they lay just above your hips.

“I love you,” He says it before he really realizes it. He used to be chastised for it, for speaking before thinking. He understands now why it bothered people so much, but when he was a kid he didn’t. No one ever taught him what was polite or appropriate in that sense. 

When you simply stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly, he freezes. 

“I’m sorry-” He begins, trying to sit up, which is…well, a bit difficult considering you’re on top of him.

He’s cut off by lips against his own, and he melts. His hands come up to hold your face, fingertips brushing hair behind your ears. It’s languid and soft and warm. It’s like sunshine against his skin, cool water underneath his fingertips. It’s broken all too soon, and he laughs when you begin placing quick kisses along his jaw.

“I love you, I love you,” Punctuates each kiss. Hearing him laugh makes you laugh and Spencer is thrilled that it does. He wishes he could bottle up the sound, keep it in his pocket forever. His eidetic memory just doesn’t do it enough justice. 

With all the good, bad is bound to come with. It’s inevitable, and it always will be. There’s no stopping it, even if Spencer desperately wishes there was.

It’s stupid. The fight is stupid and pointless. It was well-meaning at first; you were upset that he never lets you help with anything around his home. That you wanted to help rather than just stand there watching him do all the work. He tells you that it’s his house, so he really should. It doesn’t feel nice, or helpful, or caring. It feels like he thinks that you’re not capable of helping correctly. Inferior, in a way. 

“I told you that it’s fine.” It comes out sharper than he wanted it to.

‘I want to help, Spencer.”

“You won’t do it right.”

He’d had a horrible day at work, but it just wasn’t an excuse. He’d never taken his anger out on you before, and he feels incredibly culpable.

Spencer lays on the couch of his apartment, staring at the ceiling. You’d been coming over a lot recently, he can’t remember the last time you’d stayed at your own place for more than one night. He’s been meaning to ask if you wanted to just move in with him, but it was so nerve-wracking and terrifying that he hadn’t mustered up the courage to do so yet. 

You really hadn’t meant to kick him out of his own bedroom, it just happened— you’d told him that you were going to lie down and he had let you go. You didn’t come back after that. 

He feels sick, but most importantly he feels guilty. He doesn’t want to fight with you. It feels awful, and unfair to the both of you. You’re so easy to love, he doesn’t want to make it seem like you’re not. 

After fighting with and berating himself for about five minutes, he gets up off the couch and pads towards his bedroom. The door is closed.

Carefully, he knocks. It's a rhythm he accidentally adapted with you. Ba ba ba du du dum. 

No answer.

Ba ba ba du du dum.

He sighs. He really, very badly, wants to have a civil conversation with you. Without fighting.

He carefully, quietly, opens the door.

“Sweetheart?”

You’re not laying on the bed, rather you’re on the floor. He’s a bit surprised, but maybe not so much considering how much time the two of you spend having conversations sitting criss crossed on the floor. He’s given no answer, and he awkwardly stands in the doorframe watching you stare into space.

Cursing himself, he walks over to you, carefully laying down with you. The floor is cold where it touches exposed slivers of his skin. His shirt is ridden up slightly, and the cold bites at it. He waits a minute.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you. I don’t want to snap at you.” He begins. His voice is soft, but the silence swallows it whole.”I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I spoke to you like that. It was immature of me.” He worries that his apology doesn’t make it any better.

Bravely, and somewhat uncharacteristically, he reaches for your hand. He is relieved and somewhat thrilled when you let him take it. 

“I didn’t want to make you feel inferior. I have a very specific way that I wash and organize my dishes, and it makes me anxious when people do it incorrectly.” He murmurs. His thumb brushes over your knuckle. “I approached it stupidly, and I’m sorry. I can tell you about if, if you like? How I organize them, I mean.” 

You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back. 

“I wash the little forks before I wash the big ones. I think that they should all be washed from smallest to largest. Same with the bowls and plates. Bowl, small plate, big plate. The bowl goes first because it’s smaller than the small plate.” 

He hears you snort.

“Are you laughing?”

He can’t help but smile as he watches you fall into a full on laughing fit. Your head falls against his side, and he only smiles harder when you laugh into his shoulder. 

“I’m so glad that this is amusing to you.”

“I forgive you, Spence. And I love the way you wash your dishes. Even if it’s kind of weird.”

“I like having systems.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.” He gives your hand three consecutive squeezes. I love you. 

“I don’t want to either. We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.”

Spencer hopes that the two of you will always be okay, even if it comes with fights. He’ll take the good and the bad, the bitter and the cold, the warm and the dopey smiles. He’ll take all of it, because it’s you. He’ll be so gentle, hold you with arms that will never hit, share whispered secrets and muffled laughter in the dead of night. He doesn’t want to be the one who shatters you, but he’ll keep the parts that already have. Because those parts are still you, they just need care. Love. And by God, does he have so much love. 

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

YOU OPENED THE REQUEST HORAYY

I hope this won't be too difficult to write, but could i get some TFP Predaking x Predacon reader? I think Predaking wouldn't be so lonely if he had a companion of his own kind, and they could continue their species, maybe have some Predacon sparklings and such >:3

I hope I didn't come across as rude! And wish you happiness every day :3 

♡ [TFP] "A NEW START" Predaking HCs

EEEEE THANK YOU SO MUCH YUUZI. i hope your pillows are always cold and that rocks never get in your shoes <3 this is such a fun ask… sorry for the extended time i took! this does not follow RID2015 it never happened for the sake of this fic

scenario: family life with predaking as his predacon s/o and eventual sparkling

warnings: reader carries sparkling

— You were quick to leave The Nemesis and turned against Megatron just like how Predaking did after finding out who really was behind the massacre of the others of your kind. When you were told the lie that the Autobots had killed off your brethren, it became something that finally made you settle your differences with Predaking, bringing you two together as allies in a quest for vengence. Up until then, you didn't really see optic-to-optic about his self-proclaimed title as the 'King of all Predacons'... it turned into a lot more than just a shared quest for vengance. But the two of you found yourself on the surface of Cybertron soon enough once Megatron got Predaking out of the ship and dumped you out of an airlock.

— Now, having a family with Predaking would be stressful. Not because of him but because you are on a very war-torn Cybertron that's just recently been brought back and even then, the terrain is unstable and there's all sorts of surprises from the nature of the planet the two of you need to face. Predaking as cooperative and sweet as they come in regard to being a partner, his honor drives him but so does the weight of his loneliness as the last Predacon. Until you broke out of Shockwave’s lab back when the one-optic scientist was stranded on Cybertron, it was a few days right after he was made and it was nearly an instant connection for him.

— Also, Predaking wouldn't heedlessly start a family with you either. You two need a home first and foremost. So the two of you are going to go exploring, trying to find an appropriate location; a cave or a den to nest.

— Once the two of you do find such a place, the two of you immediately start nest building. Finding whatever material that's soft the two of you could, scavenging through the currently-under-construction temporary settlements when the bots inhabiting aren't looking.

— The duties are split, you find energon and he gets other resources. Most of the time though, the two of you work together. Helping each other out. You give him the clear when no one is around and he rushes in to get the goods. Your sense of smell is better than his so you're usually the one who makes the finds.

— Now Predaking would've fought the Autobots for nest resources but you keep telling him not to and he listens to you. For now. But stealth really isn't easy for him. He respects his partner and thinks of them as an equal.

— At some point, the Autobots begin rebuilding major cities like Iacon and Kaon. It's a goldmine for you and Preda who unwittingly sabotage their progress by stealing resources for your nest. Bulkhead is so confused… all the softer metals keep disappearing! How is he going to construct if all the equipment starts disappearing!

— Autobot HQ starts getting reports of Predacon sightings because of the two of you and they've told everybot to stay on high alert. So it's gradually getting harder to scavenge and steal take resources.

— I feel like there would be minor disagreements about the decor choices but Predaking will just grumble and yield to you because he loves you a lot. Like… a ridiculous amount of lot. Someone disrespects you in front him and it's over for them.

— Tada! Now you have a nest! And you've stacked enough energon to last a long, long time. But your party is cut short when Sky-Lynx and Darksteel approach Predaking for a place to stay and as their self proclaimed King, he's often busy helping those two set their lives straight. You frown whenever Predaking has to leave you to go and check up on those two.

— Now, Predaking isn't very affectionate in his bipedal and neither are you but in your alts? It's a different story. The two of you play-fight (with him getting the upper hand almost always but he does give you charity), nuzzle your dragon helms against each other or just cuddle in your newly built nest. When two of you do snuggle up against each other in your bipedal, his servos wrapped around you tightly, like he doesn't want to let you go. But he will loosen his grip if you ask.

— Another thing to note is he wouldn't have sparklings with you unless you want them too, he wants a full blown family with you badly. Predaking will bring up the idea, definitely but he will drop it with thinly veiled disappointment if you're averse to it.

— If you do agree, he will be absolutely excited. There's a huge chance that you'll be the one carrying because Predaking is the brawn, he's strong and he can't exactly fight off threats if he's carrying. It's not that you're weak, no. You're strong. But he's stronger. And taking on both Sky-Lynx and Darksteel at the same time in a fight is no joke. Not to mention, nosy Autobots that end up wandering into your territory.

— Speaking of which, you usually have to talk him out of lashing out on intruders, you're apologizing on his behalf with a wry smile as he huffs with his servos crossed over his chassis. Preda is still death-glaring them though, yellow optics narrowed at them so that they get the message and leave the two of you alone. Again, he loves you a lot so he folds like paper.

— Predaking would want three or four but not too large; he's a realistic mech. There's no way the two of you could deal with six or seven little predacons running around, especially considering the volatile state the newly rejuvenated Cybertron is in. And he doesn't want family life to be a burden for either of you.

— Predaking is a lot more protective over you if you're carrying. It does take a toll on your frame and he knows that so he's cautious. You say you want something and he's immediately fetching it, imagine a dragon terrorizing an under-construction Iacon for more energon treats and conducting quilts at their local supply depot.

— He's specifically targeting Autobot supply stores but not really hurting anyone in the process and it's confusing the whole team. Ultra Magnus is drawing up statistics to figure out where he will attack next, completely unaware that Predaking's motives are charged by your swinging needs so Magnus is trying not to get frustrated every time he predicts it wrong. Ratchet wonders if it's some primitive gathering instinct that the Predacons have and asks Knockout about who, despite having worked on Project Predacon, doesn't have the faintest clue. Bumblebee thinks Predaking is just trying to survive out in the wilderness. Arcee thinks he's just being a menace. Meanwhile Bulkhead is slowly losing his cool as more and more of his construction equipment goes missing and he's ironically got more patience than all of them. Wheeljack is doing his own thing.

— If you need his comfort or physical touch, he's more than ready to give. His servos hold you as tightly as you need them to as your helm is against his pauldron while you sit right between his stabilizing servos. Predaking also leaves light kisses on the side of your face, softly telling you things he saw outside.

— Trouble arrives when you need medical attention. Predaking starts panicking a bit but he gets it together when he sees you writhing in pain, your cries are hurting him in a way nothing has. He proceeds to kidnap Ratchet because he trusts him, Predaking would never trust Knockout or any ex-Decepticon affiliates after what happened on that ship. He's arguing with Predaking because he's literally been kidnapped by current public enemy number one?

— But then he hears your cries in the background and there's this pleading look in his yellow optics that makes the medic concerned. Whatever this is, is serious. He goes over to you as you're laying in the nest and… Holy scrap, you’re sparked. And from what he can tell, your spark is currently shorting out from excessive energy draining in the process of making new sparks. Ratchet quickly informs Predaking that they'll have to take you to the Autobot HQ because all his equipment is there. Predaking is skeptical— He doesn't trust the Autobots enough to leave the literal love of his life with them but he doesn't have a choice here which is the only reason he agrees.

— Predaking manages to transport you to the Autobot HQ in his alt mode and the others are very confused but Ratchet tells them it's okay as he's running to the medbay. Soon enough, procedures are underway and you're better than before. Meanwhile, Predaking was pacing back and forth in utter concern, agitated and worried. He was tempted to break into the medbay if it weren't for Ultra Magnus who was standing there unimpressed. Cue awkward tension. Magnus is here to sternly command Predaking to stop his 'raids’ at supply depots.

— The moment you come out, a concerned Predaking is going to hold both your servos and bombard you with questions. The care and worry is very obvious in his yellow optics. Apparently you're supposed to be cautious about the type of energon you're fuelling on when you're carrying. Who knew? Ratchet is giving the two of you a very long stern talk about carrier health. Predaking is paying more attention than you are. Until he notices Knockout in the background and gives him the most vile glare Knockout has ever had shot at him right his way.

— Bumblebee has a bright idea and marches up to the two of you with a proposal the two of you can't resist. The Autobots will help the two of you out with the whole procedure, supplies and everything if Predaking stops raiding their depots. You and Preda exchange glances in skepticism but… They did just save your life. So you two begrudgingly agree. Predaking keeps the promises he makes.

— And surprisingly, the Autobots keep their end too. They're willing to give out energon to you and Predaking— along with other supplies as an act of good faith. Bumblebee feels as if Optimus would have wanted a treaty with the Predacons. Besides, they could spare you supplies; it's just you and Predaking after all.

— Until it's not because Sky-Lynx and Darksteel are standing in front of your den for those sweet, sweet Autobot energon deliveries. They're trying so hard to convince Predaking but he doesn't want you anywhere near those two when you're carrying and he also doesn't want to share the energon with them.

— And soon, the sparkling is brought into the world. Predaking sees how… small they are and his protective instincts flare. His spark is melting. They're so cute. If there's twins involved, Predaking will be sort of worried because even though he does want a family, he hasn't had any exposure to sparklings before. It's still a relatively new thing. So he's nervous but he tries to mask it by saying he's just being cautious.

— The sparkling follows you around sometimes, just waddling towards you excitedly. Predaking can't believe the two of you made such an adorable little thing. Now, usually, sparklings follow their parents around but your curious little sparkling tends to roam the den by themselves and Predaking follows behind them. Carefully, he doesn't want to alert them but if they do see him, they run up to him and just hug his stabilizing servo. It's spark exploding-ly cute.

— Once the sparkling manages to gain equilibrium in their movements though, it becomes a nightmare. They're running around everywhere and a very concerned Predaking is running after them, making sure they don't hurt themselves. He doesn't want you to strain yourself especially since you carried, Predaking makes sure you rest. You can help out once you fully recuperate.

— The Autobots are watching this tiny little dragon fly into their settlements and a bigger dragon chasing after them and just go '???'.

— When the sparkling makes friends that are Autobots, he's going to be so very conflicted but it inadvertently strengths predacon and cybertronian relations. Bumblebee thinks it's great though, Arcee thinks they should be a little weary and Bulkhead is chill with it. Ratchet just hopes he doesn't have to deal with another child. Smokescreen is scared of the sparkling because of who their parents are. Imagine the little predacon showing off their den to their friends and they're so very intimidated of you and your sparkmate.

— Sometimes, the little one can't control their fire-breath so the two of you need to be careful.

— Predaking isn't exactly unfamiliar with being gentle like many would think. He knows how to control his strength so he's very, very gentle with the little one. He's right in the middle of motherly and fatherly.

— After you recover, you go flying together! Teaching the sparkling how to transform and teaching them about their surroundings. How to track, how to be stealthy and soundless. At some point, the little one is trying to learn how to pounce with Predaking being their victim; Predaking falls and pretends as if they were strong enough to knock him to the floor. He would also proceed to say something like, “Hm. You certainly are the strongest Predacon out of us all.” while he's laying on the floor. Predaking would never make his sparking feel bad.

— When you and Predaking are cuddling, whether you’re in your bipedal or alternate mode, a baby dragon is squeezing in between the two of you.

— But he can be stern. And will be. But it's a gentle sternness, he's being firm but there's a kindness and understanding to his tone which is unexpected of him.

— Uncle Darksteel and uncle Sky-Lynx are… Shocked when they see Predaking and the sparkling. Because he’s being so gentle, they can't believe this is the same bot who absolutely rocked their shit. But Predaking makes sure to shoot them a nasty glare if they even try to come near his sparkling, at first. Eventually, your kid gets two new playmates once Predaking becomes more trusting of them.

— At some point, Predaking is coming towards you with puppy-eyes because he wants one more. Your family life is going well and your neighbors are surprisingly understanding.

[psicheanima]

Rodya Linguistic Analysis

Do not mention any events after Canto 2 in the notes or tags of this post, thank you.

Rodya’s most noticeable feature about her language is her switches between a casual, almost theatrical register when she’s “playing a part” (always) and a more restrained, terse style when she’s upset.

Rodya’s sentences are mostly mid-length, often using ellipses and dropping subjects or auxiliary verbs. These omissions help create a conversational tone that feels intimate and offhand, as though she is speaking to people with whom she has established a rapport with no matter who the subject is.

Her speech is casual and free-flowing, more like natural conversation than structured prose. There’s a rhythm to it—almost musical, with interjections and rhetorical flourishes. Her loose, easygoing sentence structure makes her approachable. It reinforces her need to be liked, to feel included.

However, when the conversation starts creeping toward something painful, she breaks it up with childish phrasing, either steering things away before they can get too heavy or trying to dismiss the importance of her very own emotional involvement by dumbing herself down as she frequently does with Sonya. Note her inability to let the conversation end on a sincere note, diminishing both herself and him, and both the ideals that drove them apart in the same way.

[His idealistic self-important role (dweeb’s leadership) vs her impulsive hands-on-involvement (being a rowdy rascal).]

It’s the verbal equivalent of leaving home to avoid facing what she’s done—avoidance is second nature to her.

She doesn’t speak in clear-cut subject-verb-object constructions when dealing with difficult emotions. Instead, she hedges, leans on metaphors, and sidesteps direct statements or explicit emotional qualifiers such as “I feel”, “I’m upset”. Even when she tries to be honest, she can’t quite say it outright. By the end of her canto, die to her distress, this becomes heavily exaggerated.

Rodya frequently uses rhetorical compliment-fishing questions as a way to signal emotional distress without directly expressing vulnerability. These questions aren’t meant to solicit an answer but rather to create a sense of distance from the topic at hand and a sense among her peers that she thinks highly of herself. It’s a way for her to challenge the situation indirectly while avoiding exposing any deeper emotional reactions.

Similarly, Rodya often holds back information until she’s ready to release it, framing her omissions as strategic rather than due to a lack of trust. Her phrasing creates an illusion that her withholding of the truth is somehow rooted in a sisterly sort of “looking out”, rather than her over reliance on herself. (This cynical nature being what makes her “take things into her own hands” in District 25.)

Rodya uses diminutives for both people and objects as a form of pragmatic softening, disarming, and maintaining social dominance rather than a more straightforward, simple affection. This faux-friendless allows her to control interactions and maintain friendless while keeping others at a comfortable emotional distance. In this case, she switches to a dismissive “sweetie” rather than her usual “babe”. Both show camaraderie, but her true intentions for the nicknames aren’t related to that rather than letting her have a sense of it is without actually putting in the work of forming an open connection with someone.

She’s actually the harshest toward the people she cares about the most. Dante and Gregor, both of whom she has clear affection for (and in Dante’s case, respect), are the ones she dehumanizes the most in a light hearted, almost casually cruel offhanded way— exclusively when it comes to their deformities. But that disgust is performative. When she truly dislikes someone, her insults are ironic, distant, and impersonal— just as when she dislikes something, she avoids it.

This tracks with how she handles difficult topics. When forced to confront something serious, her tone shifts—she drops the embellishments, speaks in a more neutral, detached way, and keeps things short and to the point. Even when she uses metaphorical abstractions, it’s to create distance between herself and her emotions, not to add a flourish to her words like she usually does. Though her speech is still littered with contractions, it’s more of a street-wise woman than the immaturity she fakes.

The substance of her speech is secondary to the performance itself. She's not necessarily interested in whether what she says is deeply impactful, but rather in conveying an image of confidence, independence, and self-sufficiency. This reflects a deeper insecurity, a need to assert control over how she is perceived (as she feels Sonya has so deeply misunderstood her) without directly confronting her own vulnerabilities.

In conclusion: Rodya’s seemingly childish language is a deliberate choice, each word selected with care. Her True Tone is cold, and every sentence is purposeful—used to deflect, protect, or control. By minimizing her intellect or trivializing serious matters, she’s able to shield herself.

[cubbihue]

Would the Hazel puppet we see in a few of the shows episodes be a kind of very basic changeling? Its obviously made out of way less unwishes than Chimmy but the similarities are too striking to be ignored.

YES! YES IT ISS.

Hazel's puppet is a very basic changeling. So basic, that it's only purpose is to complete one specific set of actions. When those actions are done, it disappears! It's quite literally and physically a sock puppet.

The differences between Hazel's changeling and Timmy's changeling is that their lifespans and construction is different. They serve different purposes.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

More information about changelings that's ultimately just world building ramblings. Lotsa paragraphs.

Hazel's changeling is short lived, low on unwishes, and more specific to the job.

Her changeling is a one-and-done tool. It only has to do one thing. "Distract the Teacher." "Distract the Mother." So it doesn't need a lot of unwishes, it just needs enough to do its job! As a result, it is made of low quality cloth, it can't verbalize, and it doesn't make its own actions.

Hazel's changeling favors Perceptional Magic. This is why Mr. Guzman doesn't recognize that Hazel's changeling isn't Hazel. He can't see that it's made of felt and sticks. It's constantly pooling out perception magic to warp how its being viewed.

For this reason, the changeling doesn't actually need as much connections as Timmy's does. It can exist by itself, or with Hazel, so long as it has just enough Unwishes to keep it alive. Maybe not stable, but, alive.

By contrast, Timmy' changeling is on the opposite end of this spectrum.

Timmy's changeling is a continuous tool. It must persist and adapt and grow. "Go to school" "Get a job" "Find a partner". It needs many unwishes to face many situations and scenarios. So the changeling has a more difficult build.

The magic it favors is different. Timmy's changeling requires Environmental Magic. People see it for how it looks. It has human skin and can speak the human tongue. But what it requires is a suitable environment. Otherwise, people will know it for what it is. Wooden and hollow.

The more developed and high-tech the Changeling is, the less it's recommended for it to see it's real counterpart. The bigger the amount of Unwishes, the more you want it to be stable and calm. Especially when that changeling's job is "Be Human".

[peekofhistory]

What are, in your opinion, the most iconic hanfu for men and women from each dynasty?

Hi! I'm so sorry this reply is delayed, I had to do a quick trip abroad and didn't have my laptop with me, also wanted to spend some time finding photo examples for this :D

OK! Here we go!

Qin/Han Dynasties (Pic 1, 2): Quju (wrap-around) and Zhiju (straight-edged) are what I think of for this period. Both men and women wore these robes.

Weijin/ North-South dynasty (Pic 3, 4): This is hard...xD Too many styles to pic from OTL I do LOVE the drastic long sleeves of this period, the robes get split from one long robe to the top/bottom separated Ruqun style. Men and women shared most fashions during this period too. For women, the hair styles start evolving in complexity, a lot of gold hair pieces (no flowers yet). The clothing starts looking more "flowy" compared to the heavy, serious robes of Qin/Han.

Tang Dynasty (Pic 5-8): Tang was a period of dramatic economic growth, it was also when the Silk Road flourished so there were merchants coming to trade and do business. It's difficult to pick one "iconic" style, but for women I usually think of dresses that tie around the bus with either a form-fitted, thin shirt underneath, or a larger-sleeved robe worn over top (pic 8). This bust-tie style wasn't seen before this period. OR, a form-fitted top, maybe with a little vest over top, and a waist-tie skirt (pic 7) (this is a good style to go on outings, easy movement).

There was also a particular group of ladies who wore these long, dramatic head pieces that almost formed a giant halo around their head (pic 6). I'll talk about them in a later post too.

For men, the round-collared robes became popular, with these bumpy looking "hats" (the vertical portion and the portion wrapped around the head are actually separate pieces so it's not really a hat, I'll explain more in later posts).

Song Dynastyn (Pic 9-12): In my mind, Song's style was a lot more gentle and soft compared to the lavish, bright colours of Tang. Song was a dynasty that focused on the arts, Song dynasty's emperors were all very artistic (they tended to lean away from focusing on military defense which, unfortunately, led to the dynasty's downfall).

So I think of soft colours during this dynasty, simpler hair styles. A wrap-around top with a waist-tie skirt, topped with a loose outer robe (pic 9). For men, Song dynasty is famous for men wearing flowers in their hair or adorning their hats (pic 10, 12). The work hat also developed these giant, loooooooong sticks from the side (pic 11) which is great for social distancing xDD

Ming Dynasty (Pic 13-15): The biggest change to Ming dynasty's hanfu is we go from soft, flowy silks to thicker brocades, this makes the clothing look "stiff" and allows for clear-cut shapes using pleating (if you've ever worn a Ma Main Qun (horse-face skirt...wtf are these translations O.O) you know what I mean.

The collars for the tops also develop these high-rise styles (although they can be criss-crossed styles or round-collared too). I absolutely HATE these high-rise collars because my neck is short and anything wrapped around it makes me itchy (I can't even button the buttons, my neck is too chonk). Whenever I buy one of these robes I have to move the buttons down so I can flip the collar down otherwise I can't wear them T__T

So I usually think of a short or long "Ao" (top) paired with a Ma Mian Qun for women (pic 13, 15). The Ma Mian Qun (horse-face skirt) is recognizable by the pleating, it shot into into the spotlight in China in July 2022 when a lot of Chinese Hanfu-hobbyists noticed Dior had a skirt that was constructed the same way, only the length was shorter. It was a whole big controversy with people accusing Dior of copying the style without giving credit, so now most people in China know of this skirt (I'll post a pic below of Dior's version). It's not uncommon to see people wear it paired with a cute, modern-top in China

For men, one of the most iconic clothes for men in this dynasty is the "flying fish robe" (pic 14). These were worn by imperial guards and named for the pattern of the brocade. Because the guards need easy movement, the robes cut off around the calf, and the sleeves are tightened using arm cuffs.

So, there's my "iconoic" hanfu for every dynasty. That was hard T__T I wanted to pic so many xD Oh, and here's Dior's skirt:

Left is Dior's, right is a Ma Mian Qun. Ma Mian Qun's pleating style is quite unique, I don't have one on hand to take photos but here's a video of someone twirling in one and you can kind of see the pleating. Some people speculate maybe Dior saw these skirts on Taobao or something, thought the design looked nice and took it without realizing the historical significance of the outfit. I don't know the details, I only heard about the controversy very briefly (back then I hadn't really dived into Hanfu yet).

[lackadaisycats]

I have a question, what's Rocky like when angry? I've been playing as him in a dnd campaign and there is 1 other party member who has started to push his buttons. Mostly by telling him to get therapy. And threatening to cut off his tail.

I feel like I do a pretty decent job playing as him, but he doesn't seem to get angry angry that often. He just gets petty and snippy with her since they are friends.

Side note, Freckle and Ivy have joined a merchant ship with Freckle as the first mate.

It depends on the degree to which he is angry, but he doesn't generally express anger in a forthright way. I mean, he doesn't wear an angry face, throw direct punches, or entreaty a constructive conversation about his anger. Instead he postures in a way that might come across like overzealous jocularity with a too-many-toothed smile. It can be difficult to tell what's a threat and what's a joke with him (ask Wick). That, or he skips right to scheming to burn his adversary's life to the ground. (Sounds like a fun campaign!)

[callsigns-haze]

His Shadow: Chp 7

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences

Azriel returned to work the following week, but the moment he stepped into the River House, the atmosphere shifted. The usual ease that surrounded him had been replaced with something colder, darker. His shadows clung closer to him than usual, swirling in restless patterns around his frame, a reflection of the tension simmering beneath the surface. He was always a quiet presence, but today, there was a weight to his silence that everyone in the room could feel.

He didn’t greet anyone as he entered the main hall where the Inner Circle was gathered. Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor were deep in conversation, their laughter dying down when they noticed him. Feyre, seated by the window with a book in her lap, looked up from her reading, her brows knitting together in concern as she sensed the shift in his energy.

Azriel’s golden-brown eyes scanned the room, taking in each of their faces, but he said nothing. His usual mask of calm and control was firmly in place, but there was a hardness in his jaw, a tightness in his shoulders that betrayed the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Rhys was the first to speak, his voice casual but laced with a hint of wariness, as if he sensed the storm brewing beneath Azriel’s controlled exterior.

“Azriel, you’re back. Everything alright?”

Azriel’s gaze flickered to Rhys for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth that usually colored his interactions with his High Lord and brother. He didn’t bother with pleasantries or explanations. He crossed the room with a purposeful stride, heading toward the large oak table where papers and maps of the Illyrian war camps were spread out. His movements were precise, methodical, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

Cassian and Mor exchanged a quick glance. Cassian, always the one to break the silence, leaned back in his chair, trying for a lighthearted approach. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, brother. Rough week off?”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately. He focused on the map in front of him, his hands moving with practiced ease as he made a small adjustment to one of the marked positions. The silence stretched for a moment too long, thick with unspoken words. His shadows, usually so controlled, twined more erratically around his hands, curling like smoke over the parchment.

“It was fine,” Azriel finally replied, his tone clipped, as if that would be the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Everyone could feel it—an undercurrent of anger, or perhaps frustration, that Azriel was working hard to bury. It wasn’t like him to let emotions get the better of him, but something had shifted in him during his time away. He was always a fortress, a man of shadows and secrets, but today, that fortress seemed more impenetrable than ever.

Feyre closed her book, her voice soft but cautious. “Azriel… if something’s wrong—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended. His eyes flashed as he glanced at her, realizing too late that his irritation had slipped through the cracks in his carefully constructed mask. He let out a slow breath, forcing the tension in his body to ease, at least outwardly.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, not pressing further, but his gaze lingered on Azriel, studying him. They had known each other for centuries—there was little that could be hidden between them. Rhys knew something was off, even if Azriel wouldn’t admit it. But pushing wouldn’t help. Not yet.

Cassian, sensing the shift, tried again. “You sure? You’re wound tighter than a drum, brother.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. He knew Cassian was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t working. Everything in him screamed to confront them—to demand answers about the spying on YN, about their constant presence in Hewn City. But he didn’t. Confrontation would only bring their secret crashing down, and he couldn’t afford that.

So instead, he stayed silent, letting the tension coil inside him like a tightly wound spring. He continued to scan the maps and documents in front of him, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept drifting back to YN, to Knox, to the spying, to the way Rhys and Cassian had been watching her at the pleasure house.

The room grew quieter, the air thick with the tension everyone was pretending wasn’t there. Even Mor, usually so full of energy and warmth, seemed unsure of how to break the ice.

Rhys sighed, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Azriel, if you need more time—”

“I don’t,” Azriel interrupted, his tone final. “I’m here. Let’s get to work.”

His words left no room for further questions, and though Rhys and Cassian exchanged another glance, they respected his silence—for now.

But as Azriel moved through the motions of the day, reading reports, discussing strategies, and mapping out potential missions, the weight of the unspoken truths lingered. The anger, the frustration, the protectiveness he felt for YN and Knox—it all simmered beneath the surface, ready to erupt.

No one said anything, but they all felt it. Azriel’s anger wasn’t directed at them—not exactly. It was the situation, the impossibility of keeping his family safe while maintaining the secrecy he had so carefully built. The Inner Circle didn’t know it, but they were walking on thin ice, and Azriel was holding himself back from shattering it.

That evening, the tension from earlier still lingered in the air, but Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel decided to return to the pleasure house in Hewn City. It had become an oddly routine visit for them since Azriel first suggested the place weeks ago, and tonight, though there was a storm brewing inside him, Azriel forced himself to follow along. It was better than sitting alone, brooding on things he couldn’t yet fix.

They landed just outside the dark, glittering entrance of the pleasure house. The usual lights flickered along the ornate arches, and the murmur of voices inside could be heard, thick with a mix of laughter and quiet conversation. Rhys opened the door with a casual ease, and they were greeted by the familiar scent of perfume and the low thrum of music in the background.

The three of them settled into their usual booth, a secluded corner where they could have privacy despite the bustling atmosphere around them. Cassian ordered drinks, and they fell into conversation about the war camps, the strategies they had discussed earlier in the day. But even as the others talked, Azriel’s mind was somewhere else.

The entire time, his eyes kept drifting toward the entrance to the back room, where YN usually worked. He hadn’t seen her yet, and something about it unsettled him. She was supposed to be here—she had mentioned her shift this morning, hadn’t she?

Finally, after some time had passed and YN still hadn’t made an appearance, Azriel couldn’t ignore the growing unease gnawing at him. His shadows stirred, as if sensing his concern, whispering around him in silent confusion. He caught the eye of one of the waiters walking by their booth, gesturing for him to come over.

“Where’s YN?” Azriel asked, his tone casual, but there was an edge of urgency he couldn’t quite hide. “She was supposed to be working tonight.”

The waiter, a tall, thin male with pale skin and sharp features, blinked at him in surprise. “YN? She didn’t come in tonight,” he replied, his voice soft but filled with uncertainty. “I’m not sure why. There’s been no word from her, and… well, without her, the pleasure section of the house isn’t being properly run.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed at the response, his stomach sinking slightly. “She didn’t show up at all?”

“No,” the waiter confirmed, glancing nervously between the three powerful males in the booth. “It’s been chaotic. She’s the one who manages the more… intimate services here, and without her presence, things are a bit—disorganized.”

Azriel’s mind raced. YN was meticulous about her work—she never missed a shift, especially not without warning. She hadn’t mentioned any change in her plans that morning when they spoke. If anything, she had seemed resigned to going to work, despite how much he hated her returning so soon after Knox’s birth.

“Thank you,” Azriel said, dismissing the waiter. His shadows curled tighter around him, reacting to his growing confusion.

Azriel’s shadows clung to him tighter, a swirling mass of anxiety as they walked through the dark streets of Velaris. He kept his pace quick, but not quick enough to draw more suspicion from Cassian and Rhys, who followed behind him. Every step felt like a weight in his chest, his mind consumed with thoughts of YN and why she hadn’t shown up to work.

“Where exactly are we going?” Cassian asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity. His wings flared slightly, catching the cool night air.

“To check on something,” Azriel muttered, not breaking his stride. He didn’t want to tell them more. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Rhys’s gaze was sharp as ever, watching Azriel closely. “You’re worried about her,” he said, more as a statement than a question.

Azriel’s jaw clenched. He could feel the weight of Rhys’s violet eyes on him, probing, trying to read deeper into his actions. His shadows rippled with unease, but he didn’t slow down. “She didn’t show up for work. It’s unlike her,” he replied, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Cassian glanced over at Rhys with a raised brow. “You’re this worked up over someone skipping a shift?”

“She’s reliable,” Azriel said, his voice sharper than intended. “Something’s off.”

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a glance, their curiosity piqued, but neither of them pushed harder for details. They continued walking in silence, though Azriel could feel their unspoken questions hanging in the air. It was unlike him to be this open with his concern, especially about someone they didn’t know. It wouldn’t be long before they pressed him for more information, but for now, they followed.

Azriel’s shadows stretched out ahead of him, sensing the path to the apartment. His heart was pounding, every instinct telling him to fly ahead, to get there faster, but he couldn’t afford to tip them off. Not when everything felt so fragile.

Rhys broke the silence, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “So, who is she to you, Az?”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his shadows tightening around him protectively. He wasn’t ready to answer that question. Not now. “Just someone I work with,” he replied coolly, though even he knew how weak the excuse sounded.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “You’re acting like she’s more than that.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his steps quickening as they neared the apartment. His mind was racing, and he could feel the tension coiling tighter in his chest. He needed to get to YN. He needed to make sure she was alright.

When they finally reached the street, Azriel stopped, turning to face Cassian and Rhys. The apartment was just ahead, and he wasn’t ready for them to know—wasn’t ready for them to see.

“I’ll handle this from here,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Rhys tilted his head, his expression unreadable, but there was something knowing in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Azriel held his gaze, not flinching. “I’m sure.”

Cassian looked ready to argue, but Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder, silently telling him to stand down. “Alright,” Rhys finally said, though his eyes lingered on Azriel for a moment longer. “We’ll wait here.”

Azriel gave them a curt nod, though his heart was still racing. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him as he turned, heading toward the apartment alone. His shadows swirled around him, and though he kept his face impassive, inside, the panic was clawing at him.

He had to get to YN. He had to know she was safe.

---

YN’s heart pounded in her chest as she heard the angry voices just outside the door. She hadn’t been expecting anyone—certainly not the five men she could now see through the small peephole, all armed with knives and swords. Their menacing glares sent a wave of fear crashing over her, but she pushed it down, her instincts taking over.

Knox.

Her thoughts flew to her son. She moved quickly, grabbing the tiny three-week-old from his crib and rushing to the closet. Inside, there was a basket filled with blankets—Azriel had used it before to hide things in plain sight. She carefully placed Knox in it, her heart clenching as he made a small sound. "Shh, sweet boy," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "Stay quiet for Mama."

Once she pushed the basket to the back, she grabbed a clothes hook and quietly wrapped it around the closet door, securing it as best as she could. She prayed it would be enough to buy them time. She wasn’t sure how much time they had, but she had to defend her son, herself—everything she had left.

Her fingers brushed against the cool steel of one of Azriel’s knives. He always made sure she had at least one hidden in the apartment, just in case. She gripped it tightly, her palms sweating, but there was no room for hesitation now. Her other hand went for the large pan in the kitchen—a ridiculous weapon, but Azriel had taught her that defense meant distraction first, striking with the most unexpected object.

Her shadows stirred around her, curling and writhing in anticipation, feeding off her fear and anger. It was their little secret, the shadows. No one knew she had them. Not even Azriel. She had kept them hidden, a part of herself she never let surface, but now—now she needed them.

The door slammed open with a thunderous crash. The men charged in, their faces twisted in fury. YN's heart raced, but she didn’t freeze. She acted.

The first man lunged toward her, knife raised high, but YN swung the pan with all her strength. The clang of metal on metal rang out as the pan hit the knife from his hand. He stumbled back, shocked, giving her enough time to drive Azriel’s knife into his side. He let out a pained grunt, eyes wide, before collapsing.

The second man charged her with a sword, but YN’s shadows snapped to life, dark tendrils wrapping around his legs, tripping him just enough for her to slam the pan against his head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Her shadows retreated, swirling back into her, but they were weak—too weak to keep fighting like this.

Two down.

Her chest heaved as she turned to face the rest. These men were stronger, larger, and they weren’t going to fall for her tricks so easily. The third man, faster than the others, dodged her swing and grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully until she dropped the knife. She tried to use her shadows again, tried to summon them with more force, but they sputtered, flickering weakly as the man backhanded her across the face.

She stumbled, her vision going black for a moment as pain exploded across her cheek. She tasted blood, but she couldn’t stop. Knox. She had to protect Knox.

The fourth man kicked her hard in the stomach, sending her crashing to the floor. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her, but her mind screamed at her to get up. She clawed at the floor, trying to reach for something—anything—but the fifth man grabbed her by the throat.

Cold, rough hands squeezed around her neck, and YN’s world spun as she was lifted off the ground and slammed back down. Her head hit the floor, dazing her, but the worst part was the grip around her throat tightening, cutting off her air. She gasped, her fingers clawing at his hands, desperate for breath. Her shadows flickered again, weak and useless. She couldn’t focus—couldn’t control them in this state.

Her vision blurred as the man leaned over her, sneering. "Stupid girl," he hissed, his grip tightening as black spots danced in her vision. The world was slipping away, her strength failing as she gasped desperately for air.

But even as the darkness closed in, YN’s thoughts were with Knox. She could hear him, small and quiet, rustling in the closet. He needed her.

---

Azriel’s heart raced as he neared the apartment, the shadows around him twitching with anxiety. He had been about to open the door when he heard the sounds of a violent struggle from inside—a cacophony of grunts, crashes, and muffled cries. His pulse hammered in his ears. It was YN. He knew it instantly.

“Rhys! Cassian!” he shouted, his voice echoing down the empty street. His urgency was raw, fear clawing at his insides. They had been waiting outside, but now, he needed them.

Rhys and Cassian came running, their faces taut with concern. “What’s happening?” Rhys asked, but before Azriel could answer, the three of them burst through the door.

The sight that met them was horrifying. YN was on the floor, her face twisted in pain, her hands clawing desperately at the man strangling her. The other men were scattered, injured but not out. Azriel’s rage surged as he took in the scene.

Without a second thought, Azriel dove into the fray. His shadows lashed out, extending like living whips to entangle the nearest attacker. The man staggered, his weapon slipping from his grasp as Azriel’s shadows tightened around him, pulling him away from YN.

Cassian was quick to join, his wings flaring as he threw himself at one of the attackers with a roar. His movements were a blur of strength and precision, and the man he targeted barely had time to react before Cassian’s fists and kicks overwhelmed him. The man went down hard, crumpling to the floor.

Rhys, meanwhile, moved with a grace and lethality that left no room for hesitation. He focused on the fourth attacker, his eyes sharp as he dodged a blade aimed at him. With a swift flick of his wrist, Rhys disarmed the man and delivered a decisive blow that sent him sprawling.

But the fifth man—still holding YN—was the greatest threat. Azriel’s vision narrowed as he saw YN’s struggling form beneath him. Anger surged through him, fueling his movements. He lunged at the man, tackling him with all the force of his shadowed power.

The man grunted in surprise, losing his grip on YN momentarily. Azriel seized the opportunity, tearing the man’s hands away from YN’s throat with a savage strength. The man twisted and fought back, but Azriel’s rage was like a force of nature. He threw the man against the wall, sending him crashing down, but he didn’t stop there.

Cassian and Rhys were already on the remaining attackers, their movements synchronized and brutal. Cassian had managed to pin one man to the ground, delivering a series of calculated blows, while Rhys’s elegant strikes were precise, disarming and incapacitating with deadly efficiency.

Azriel stayed by YN’s side, his heart pounding as he gently held her hand. Rhys moved efficiently around the room, assisting with the attackers and making sure the area was secure. The tension in the room was palpable as Azriel’s gaze remained fixed on YN, willing her to wake.

Minutes felt like hours as he waited, but finally, YN’s eyelids fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused, but she managed to lift her trembling hand, pointing weakly towards the closet. Her lips moved, though no words came out. Azriel’s breath hitched as he followed her gaze, his eyes locking onto the closet where Knox had been hidden.

“YN, where’s Knox?” Azriel asked, his voice tight with worry. But her eyes were focused on the closet, her small, desperate gesture the only direction he had.

He turned to the closet, his fingers shaking as he fumbled with the clothes hook she had used to secure it. It was a clever move, one he had to admit, and the hook was proving to be stubborn. Azriel’s frustration grew, but he fought to stay calm. His heart ached with every second that ticked by.

Rhys knelt beside YN, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “Azriel, be careful. If she moves around too much, she could cause herself serious injury,” Rhys said firmly, his hand gently pressing YN back down to the floor. “We need to keep her as still as possible until we can get a healer here.”

Azriel nodded, focusing intently on the hook. After a few tense moments, he managed to pry it free and pull open the closet door. The sight that greeted him—a small, terrified baby wrapped in blankets—was both a relief and a fresh wave of anxiety.

With trembling hands, Azriel reached into the closet and carefully lifted Knox out of the basket. The baby’s tiny face was scrunched up in a frown, but Azriel’s soothing presence seemed to calm him. He cradled Knox close, his voice a soft murmur as he whispered, “Shhh, Daddy’s here.”

Knox made a small, inquisitive sound but settled against his father’s chest, finding comfort in the warmth. Azriel’s heart ached with relief and love as he held his son. He glanced back at YN, who was watching him with exhausted but relieved eyes.

Cassian, who had just finished dealing with the remaining attackers, joined them. His eyes widened in shock as he saw Azriel holding Knox, the tiny baby resting peacefully in his arms. Rhys stood nearby, his expression a mix of awe and concern.

“Azriel, I didn’t know…” Cassian began, but the words trailed off as he looked between YN, Azriel, and the baby.

Rhys placed a reassuring hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “We need to get YN to a healer now,” he said, his voice steady but urgent. “And make sure Knox is taken care of. Azriel, can you manage?”

Azriel nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at Knox. “I’ll make sure they’re both okay,” he said, his voice firm despite the turmoil he felt inside.

With Knox safely in his arms and YN being carefully tended to, the reality of the situation began to settle in. Azriel knew there would be many questions and difficult conversations to come, but for now, his focus was on ensuring the safety and well-being of his family.

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What worse can happen now huh? Hehe......right?

[vincentbriggs]

Do you need a sewing machine to start making shirts and vests? Is hand sewing an option worth considering, or should I invest in a machine, in your opinion?

That's really a matter of personal preference!

Do you need a machine? Absolutely not! Every garment ever made before the 1840's was sewn by hand, and a lot of them after that too. I've sewn many garments completely by hand, including the early 18th century tiddy-out-violinist shirt, these bright orange breeches, and this green waistcoat.

Is it nice to have a machine? I think so, but again, individual opinions vary!

One of the costumers I follow sews everything 100% by hand because she finds it meditative and isn't interested in using a machine at all. Some people hate hand sewing and prefer to do everything by machine, with maybe a bit of hand finishing if they absolutely can't avoid it.

I do about a 50/50 split overall, maybe skewing a bit more towards hand sewing. I like to do pants, shirts, and nightgowns mostly by machine with some hand finishing, but for jackets and waistcoats I usually do considerably more hand sewing than machine, because I like 18th century tailoring techniques and think they give a nicer looking result. I do most of my buttonholes by hand, or I do them by machine first and then cover them in hand stitching.

Most people who sew do at least some of it by machine, but again, I don't know which way you prefer to work, so I'd suggest trying out both to see how you feel abut them.

For hand sewing, I suspect a lot of people hate it because they're using shitty needles and/or shitty thread, and perhaps haven't found good resources for hand sewing techniques.

Here's a post of hand sewing advice that I found quite helpful a decade ago. Use good needles because the eyes of the cheap ones have jagged edges and will ruin your thread! Use nice thread because the wrong kind will be twisty and tangly and will fray more!

Thimbles are good and useful, and typically they go on the middle finger of your dominant hand, and you use them to push the needle. I prefer metal thimbles and dislike using leather ones, but some people prefer the leather ones, or rubber ones.

The metal ones come in sizes, and I don't know how to find out your size aside from trying them on in person, but I know I'm a size 11.

One very important thing is that if you're hand sewing a garment, look for hand sewing specific instructions on how to do the construction techniques you're going for. A lot of the time when someone nowadays is trying to figure out how to hand sew a thing they'll just try and copy the machine sewn version, and a lot of the time that's inefficient and more difficult and the result looks worse, because machines and hands work very differently!

This is something I'm going to briefly discuss in the outro to the very long shirt video I'm working on, because it's so very common, and I've done it too! On several of my earlier hand sewn shirts I didn't know to turn the edge in on the front slit and do a little narrow hem, so I instead sewed on a facing for the front slit and cut and turned it, just like I'd seen on machine sewn shirts. This made it about 3x more time consuming, and the result was much bulkier and looked worse.

I've got so many more things to say about sewing but it's almost bedtime and I don't want to make this post too long.

For machine sewing, again there's a lot of personal choice. Some people like newer machines, some people like vintage or antique ones. I'm one of the ones who prefers solid metal vintage machines. I grew up using an old cast iron Singer, and the newer domestic machines just feel so plasticy and insubstantial to me. I'm used to ones that just do straight stitch and can also go backwards, but some people are perfectly happy with ones that can't even backstitch.

I do think that for a beginner the vintage machines are a better deal, because if you're patient and look around for a while you can snag one for really cheap at a thrift store, yard sale, facebook marketplace, etc. Also they're mostly metal and therefore harder to break.

I recently got a Pfaff (from I think the 1960's?) at an estate sale for 25 bucks. The zig zag mechanism is stuck and needs fixing, but I cleaned & oiled it up and it works just fine for regular straight stitching.

There are SO MANY online resources for how to clean, oil, and fix vintage sewing machines, especially the more popular brands, and a lot of the time cleaning & oiling is all they need. Read the manual and get an oil bottle with a nice long pointy thing so you can reach all the parts, and get some compressed air to whoosh out the fuzz. If it's old and hasn't been used in years, turn the hand wheel and observe every single place where metal rubs against metal, and Make It Greasy There.

(If you don't have the manual, you can often find those online too. I even found the service manual for my new-old Pfaff! I have the original users manual, but this one's for the people doing repairs.)

Oh this post is getting much too long! If you don't know yet if you like machine sewing, try seeing if you can use one without owning it, perhaps at a sewing class or in a makerspace. I know some libraries can loan out machines. A sewing class would probably be a good idea actually, if there are any available where you live!

Much like how you'll have a bad time hand sewing if you've got shitty supplies and no proper instructions on good techniques, you'll have a bad time machine sewing if it's not oiled well and if the tension is uneven.

There are so so very many things to learn about sewing and I hope I'm not making it sound too overwhelming, because I promise it's not if you take it one step at a time!

Also, when someone who's been sewing for a long time says "You may think you can ignore (piece of sewing advice), but actually that's bad and you will regret it", they're usually right. Oh, how I regret not learning to use a thimble years earlier than I did...

Sorry this post is so long, I hope it's helpful!

Basically, there's no one best way to sew anything, and you should try different stuff and see what works best for you, because everyone has different preferences.