Thank you so much to everyone who followed along with my first full theme week response! I love those two (three) so much I could die, and it was a lot of fun to write some of their softer moments. We'll be back to your regularly-scheduled Thornecanis Pain in the coming months.
In the meantime, here's everything in one place!
Day One: Coffee & Chocolate (G)
"Rook…" Lucanis began slowly, the sound of his voice pulling her out of her reverie. Andraste's tits, she really was tired. She scrubbed at her face with one hand and waved at him with the other to continue. It was the one that held her mug—nearly empty, she noticed, and having noticed she tossed the end of it back like a shot of spirits. It wasn't really hot anymore, but it was bracing and she needed the support; by the look of that furrow on his brow, there was some soft concern coming, the kind that she didn't know how to handle at all. He hesitated again, and then, to her complete bewilderment, finished, "Do you… like coffee?"
Day Two: Open Doors (G)
"Did you know," Lucanis said without preamble, "that Spite doesn't understand that 'warden' can mean anything but 'someone who opens doors'?"
Day Three: Warmth/Touch/Romance (T)
Awash in her excited chatter, he shook out the grey-knit something in his hands and found he held a scarf. The wool was a little coarse but very warm in his freezing hands, and the stitches were close and even… except toward one end where a span of four or five rows were a mess. He looked from it to Mila, utterly bewildered. "What is this about?"
"Rook knows how much you hate cold. She asked me to teach her how to knit so she could make something for you but she's awful at it, like really bad, so I offered to finish it for her." The girl grinned, and whispered conspiratorially, "I kept her bit because I thought it was cute."
Day Four: Peace (T)
Lucanis hummed rather than answering as he turned to shut the door behind him; it was silent on its hinges, and did not even click when he turned the lock. Showoff. It did not take him long at all to cross her little room; she had declined the offer for one larger, though she was entitled to much better apartments per her station. She was glad of it. With him suddenly here, she begrudged even the slightest distance between them. Their moments together were no longer stolen from an impossible, onrushing fight, but even in peacetime a war-scarred heart could not take them for granted.
Day Five: Spite (E)
Lucanis shook his head, a rueful, knowing smile on his lips, but even as he did Rook watched him withdraw carefully to make way for Spite. Once again their shoulders stiffened, their back curved, and between one blink and the next violet replaced brown. The deep glow of her demon's stare was intoxicating this close up, otherworldly, atavistically wrong, and she leaned in to gladly it until they were forehead to forehead.
Day Six: Dreams (E)
He had never dreamed of marriage; it had simply been an inevitability, a duty. He had not been able to picture that future, but he had offered it anyway because it was what you did with a ring and a lover and a life curved unexpectedly out of darkness. When Rook refused, he'd tucked all of it away with a distant pang. But this—the bright metal swinging above him, her eyes burning on his as she began to move faster, a mounting doubled pleasure so keen Spite's silent cry stole his own breath—he had never dreamed of this, either. It had not been anything he'd been capable of imagining.
Day Seven: Free Day (Truths) (T)
"You're beautiful, you know," Lucanis said, joining her at the balcony rail. He was one to talk, so handsome in his sharply tailored suit and neatly trimmed beard that it made her teeth ache, but when he said it like that it was hard not to believe him. She shivered a little as reached out to trail a hand up her side, his fingers light on the black-on-black brocade, on the fine grey-and-silver rope from its elegant knot under her right arm to where it secured the ridiculous cape over her left. His touch lingered at the deep blue sapphire at her shoulder, though he was looking unwaveringly at her face. "It brings out your eyes. Teia chose well."
NONE of these works are mine. Give all your love to the authors and their works. The links will either bring you to the Tumblr page or a Ao3 page of the work.
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Title: Duets At Dusk 🐑🗒
Author: @eleventoes
Summary: Also college!au.
↳ “Before you could even react, long and slender fingers had gently closed around your wrist, lightly tugging you to a less crowded part of the street. Dumbfounded, your eyes flicked up to meet a pair of curious ones, and you could only stare up at the dark-haired stranger in incredulity. When the opportunity to sing a duet with a certain doe-eyed stranger arises, you just couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. Alternatively, a shy bean has been crushing on you for a while.”
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Title: Teeny Tidbits: 🐑🗒
Author: @jungshookz
Summary: Fluffy dribble.
↳ “Jungkook hasn't kissed y/n yet and they've already been out on six dates.”
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Title: Something New 💦🐑📝💜
Author: @jaykook
Summary: On going. Shy!jk x Confident!reader.
↳ “Jungkook was constantly avoiding uncomfortable situations, finding it easier to stay hidden in the shadows and quietly make his way through life. before you came along, that is.”
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Title: Ambrosia 🐑👊🗒
Author: @breadoffoxy
Summary: Also friends-to-lovers!au.
↳ “Every day at work you’ve been receiving flowers by a secret admirer with the purpose of cheering you up. You just want to let them know how thankful you are. Little did the two of you know that both your feelings are reciprocated.”
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Title: If I Was Your Boyfriend 💦👊🗒
Author: @stonyoongi
Summary: Also Yandere!au.
↳ “Jeon Jungkook never wanted you to know about his feelings for you, quite the opposite. He has always tried his best not to let on how much he wants you, for fear of a probable rejection, after all, you have a boyfriend and the last thing he wanted was trouble. However, it's not like he's any good at faking it.”
“my wife is struggling with her gardening and i go outside and ask is this guy bothering you and start punching the dirt”
Prompt from this post
Song inspo: Your Soul (ft. Biskwiq) -- Forrest
EDIT: I forgot to mention this, but this is Gender Neutral!! despite the prompt saying ‘wife’!!!
--
After a few days of lazy clouds drifting over your neighborhood, August decides to reward you on the day you decide to garden with bright sunlight and a blistering sun. Still, you promised yourself (and your flowers) that you would finally work on building them a home, so you go to dress as lightly as you can, wearing the ugliest shorts from your wardrobe and slathering sunblock on your skin.
Mammon wrinkles his nose at the smell of the aerosol sunscreen and watches you with forlorn eyes as you tell him you’re going to be busy today. He whines and gripes, but you know he’s just miffed you didn’t let him help you put the sunblock on your back. You peck a kiss onto his nose and his complaints immediately stop, and you hold in a laugh at how lucky you are that your boyfriend was so compliant when it came to you.
Feeling the hot air hit your skin when you exit to your modest backyard almost makes you want to turn back, but you refuse to be beaten by the weather. You grab your toolbox with your trusty hand trowel and rake with a few sunflower seeds and bear yourself to the unmerciful summer sun. You settle yourself in a small patch of land ready for you to dig your hands in (literally). With a smile, you take the trowel and push down, only to immediately hit a rock not even an inch down into the dirt.
You blink, scraping the dirt away from the flat rock you happen to stab into and try another spot. Rock. Another spot. Ooh-- nope, false alarm, rock.
At last, you dig your trowel down into the ground and meet soft dirt and you sigh in relief, using your clean arms to wipe away the sweat building on your brows. Two inches, you remind yourself, half a foot apart. You plant the first sunflower seed and continue to find other soft spots already occupied with weeds. You tug at them and the weed breaks apart at the top layer, leaving its roots behind, and you huff in annoyance. You dig into the dirt, trying to surface the roots only to hit-- as you can guess-- another rock.
“Ugh, what the hell?!” You groan in frustration, throwing your hands up in the air when you hear the back door open. You twist around to see Mammon rush out to the backyard, socks in sandals, looking like a man on a mission.
You look up at him in confusion. “Mammon?” You ask, though his glare is focused onto the ground with unrivaled intensity.
“Is this guy bothering you?” Mammon questions, glancing back at you as you feel your confusion only grow.
“Who?” You sputter, “What-- you mean the dirt--?”
Before you can complete your rather incoherent thought, Mammon crouches down and without warning, starts punching the dirt.
The laugh that leaves you is loud and unexpected.
“Wait-- wait,” you say between fits of laughter as Mammon mutters threats to the weeds stuck into the ground, “what on earth are you doing?”
“No one messes with my babe on my watch,” he tells you seriously. He points towards the flat rock that you surfaced and growls. “Got that, dirt? You’re lucky I’m giving you a warning over here or else it’d be over for you-- oof--”
Mammon barely has enough time to balance himself, placing his palms into the dirt as you throw your arms around him. You press a kiss to his cheek and smile into it, receding only enough to see his face heat up from a combination of the sun and your affection.
“If you wanted to join me,” you tell him teasingly, “you could have just said so.” You press the bag of sunflower seeds into his hand and grin. “Let’s plant these together.”
however big, however small (let me be part of it all)
Days off from work are relaxing and peaceful, allowing you to take on your plans in your own time and have some well-needed time to yourself - until you throw a three-year-old in there.
(But they just might be better that way.)
a.k.a 4k kid fluff is here hope you enjoy xoxo
read on ao3
Amy knows there was a time when she was used to the luxury of waking up in her own time. Her mornings used to start with her turning off the obnoxious but effective three alarm clocks one by one, then slowly waking herself up by catching up on messages in the Santiago Siblings WhatsApp text chain before getting into the shower. Structured and relaxed. Even when Jake moved in, mornings were peaceful and slow-moving in an effortless way, often allowing a few blissful minutes of half asleep, undisturbed cuddling before getting out of bed. Those mornings disappeared the first night they spent at home with a then two-day-old baby and have yet to return. If it weren’t for the few perfect exceptions making the chaotic ones worth it, Amy would be tempted to put out an APB for ‘mornings that don’t make you want to go to sleep again the second you’ve survived them’.
“Hey. Sleepyhead.” A kiss to her temple and a gentle squeeze to her shoulder wakes her from unconsciousness this time. A calm start, at the very least. “I’m going to work. Well, in ten minutes.”
“And you’re already awake”, she muses, shifting from laying on the side to pushing herself up on her elbows and reaching for her glasses. “Character development, Pineapples.”
“You can thank our early-bird progeny for that.” Jake yawns as he sits down on the edge of their bed. The bags under his eyes are no joke, but he’s still grinning at the mere mention of their three year old daughter. Hanging out with Leah truly is the best mood booster nine times out of ten - Amy can confirm. “I’ll have you know I’ve been up watching PJ Masks on low volume since five.”
“And I was up watching it at four-thirty when you were on that stakeout last week”, she reminds him, waving a finger. “Plus, I need more sleep than you.”
“Playing the pregnancy card on me?”
“You grow any humans lately?”
He snorts at the comment, smile growing wider despite the feigned hint of offendedness. “Like to think I helped somewhat. Twenty-three weeks today?”
She nods. Resting her hand just below her belly button, she can feel the repeated flutters and nudges underneath her palm telling her Santiago-Peralta sibling number two - currently the size of a grapefruit according to the pregnancy app on her phone - is also waking up. “Should be able to recognize our voices now.”
“Really is moving so much faster this time”, Jake says, moving the comforter and placing his hand next to his wife’s before lowering himself to face the baby bump. The warm air of his breathing tickles against her skin, but she considers it worth it for the sweetness in the action. “God, you’ll be out of there in no time. It’s insane. Would be perfect if you could chill out for a little longer, though,’cause we still haven’t had the time to assemble the crib.” He receives a sharp kick in return. “Exactly. Knew you’d agree. Thanks, buddy.”
“Only a few more months and we’ll have two kids”, Amy mumbles with affection in her tone, pulling down her t-shirt again when she inevitably gets cold. “Speaking of, where’s our first one?”
Her husband has no chance to respond before the question is answered through the sound of tiny feet sprinting down the hallway and a familiar, inquisitive voice. “Daddy? Mama? Why are you still in bed?” Leah is looking at them with wide eyes from the doorway, three matching plush toys in green, red and blue in a tight grip.
“Well, Lee the Bee, you see - not everyone shares your opinion about the day starting at five a.m.” Jake laughs before lifting the girl into his arms. “Want me to throw you on the bed again like yesterday, and then you and Mommy cuddle some more while I go to work?”
“Yeah! Throw me!” Leah lights up at the offer, flashing him the smile Amy’s positive could melt the most frigid of hearts.
“As you wish! One, two, three…” He raises her higher, her head above his before he lets go, dropping her over the bed so she bounces once, twice, shrieking with laughter.
“Again”, she demands in between chuckles, letting go of the plush toys to stretch her arms toward him.
“One more time, and then I have to go to work.” The second time brings her just as much joy as the first, so it leads to both to a third and fourth go before Jake has the heart to tell his daughter no.
“A-gain”, she tries even this time, because ‘no’ is not yet a definite concept to her and she’ll challenge it if possible. Who the kid inherited her stubbornness from, Amy’d rather not discuss.
“I wish I could, baby, but I have to get to work. Someone has to catch all the bad guys and fill in the dangerous paperwork.” He ruffles her hair, still curly and unruly from sleep, and presses one kiss each to his daughter’s cheek and his wife’s lips.
“Wait!” Leah quickly reaches for the plush toy whose superhero outfit is dark red and places it in his hands. “Take Owlette with you. So you’re safe.”
He smiles and fits the toy in the pocket of his hoodie. “Of course. I’ll bring Owlette.”
“I’m sure she’s a great partner”, Amy adds, pulling her daughter closer to steal some snuggles. “Show her to whatever perp you’re chasing and they’ll let themselves get handcuffed on the spot.”
“Don’t doubt it. I gotta run, though - see you tonight! Love you!”
“We love you too”, she shouts after him, but he’s already halfway out the door.
Barely has he left the apartment before Leah lets out a sigh, rolls over and turns her attention to her mom instead.
“I miss him.” The girl keeps a tight grip on the two remaining toys, giving Amy an apprehensive look. “Are you leaving too, Mama?”
“Oh, no, I’m not leaving. I’m home with you today.” She hugs her daughter closer to prove her words.
“Oh. Okay.” She accepts this, relaxing into Amy’s arms and resting her head on her shoulder. “Can we watch PJ Masks?”
“We can watch some PJ Masks”, she promises, fearing the breakdown she knows would be subsequent otherwise. “Not for the entire day though. I thought we could go to Target.”
Her little face lights up again, the excited grin so resemblant to Jake’s it's almost creepy. “With a list?”
“Of course. With categories. You can help me run and get stuff from the different shelves, how does that sound?”
“Can we get pink ice cream?”
She stifles a laugh at her daughter’s two requests of lists and sugar. Sometimes it’s downright hilarious how much this kid takes after both of her parents. Nature or nurture or a mix of both - whatever it is, it’s endearing. “Yeah, we can get pink ice cream.”
If she had to remember one feeling which followed her throughout her first pregnancy, Amy remembers the never-ending waiting and desperate wishing for time to pass and her baby to grow. She remembers the unbridled joy for every new week and fruit or vegetable metaphor in the pregnancy app, the brooding nervousness before every scan or appointment that never quite went away no matter how hard Jake let her squeeze his hand, and the immediate relief rushing over her the moment they received confirmation everything looked perfectly fine.
Keep on growing, she remembers whispering to the copy of the ultrasound print kept in her wallet. Get bigger and come out of me so we can meet you. Please.
The first month of motherhood brought the same sensation - wishes about time to pass, about this tiny fragile infant who appeared so breakable growing less so, taking up all the space in her already compromised hormonal head.
Then after her baby turned two months, those wishes ceased. Two months old Leah could sleep on a schedule and in rare miraculous cases as long as five hours in one go. Suddenly she was smiling at them, making every single night of sleeplessness they’d had worth it ten times over, and Amy found herself thinking it can’t get better than this.
She’s lost count of how many times she’s uttered those words since then.
After two months she was sure four months was the best age, because then their daughter started babbling, which was nothing short of adorable. Then it was seven months and seeing her master the art of crawling. After seven months it was eleven months and watching Jake tear up the first time Leah reached for him repeating Dada.
A one year old brought new challenges. It brought chasing a wild toddler, enamoured with her newfound skill of walking and running, everywhere they went, and it brought hardcore training in patience attempting to convince a bawling eighteen-month-old how trying to push a laptop off of the couch isn’t the most entertaining activity in the Universe. Luckily it also brought an expanding vocabulary and a child learning to communicate, brought the introduction of the sweetest displays of affection and the best goodnight cuddles, and once again Amy was convinced nothing could ever get better than this.
She kept on thinking the same thing for Leah’s second year, listening to her daughter sing to herself and puzzle together increasingly longer and more advanced sentences. For every milestone since then, every day seeing this child that’s part-her and part-Jake and entirely herself, develop and become more and more her own person with stubborn personality and a heart of gold, she’s been thinking the same thing.
It doesn’t get better than this. This is the best age. It can’t get better than this.
The same persuasion follows her throughout this early January morning. She gets the kid to eat three fourths of her breakfast and without getting peanut butter and jam all over the table, feels her heart burst with pride when Leah opts for one of her Gryffindor t-shirts without prompting and laughs when she tries to vary tooth-brushing by asking if they can sing the ABC’s backwards this time. When they get to Target, running through the less busier aisles and grabbing things from the lower shelves seems to be one of the most entertaining games the three-year-old can imagine. Amy keeps count and announces the score of how many needed items successfully gets placed in the cart. When she loses sight of her daughter for a short second only to have her reappear with a bag of sour candies in hand, talking about how Daddy likes these, Mama, we should buy them, she’s sure of it again.
This must be the best age.
“Look!” They’re at the third to last category of the color-coordinated shopping list - shampoo and body wash - and Amy’s about to ask Leah if she can reach the hypoallergenic kind from the second shelf when she realizes the girl has caught sight of something even more enticing. She is indeed holding onto a bottle of shampoo, except this one has an emerald green and glittery packaging and costs a ludicrous amount of money if one does a quick comparison of price, quality and quantity. “Can we buy this?”
“I think it’s best if we buy the usual one, baby. Do you see the white bottle next to it? Do you think you could give me that one?”
Leah’s forehead scrunches, the look on her face morphing from excitement to doubting concern. “But I want this one.”
Amy’s been through enough arguments with her iron-willed daughter to know what’s coming. In her head, she’s trying to remember all the content of her conflict resolution binder, but it’s been a while since she flicked through the papers and it turns out pregnancy brain is very much a real thing. She recalls next to nothing from it.
“I understand that, but I still think it’s better if we buy the usual one.” The two pieces of advice she does remember, more from experience than anything else, is speaking in a calm, collected voice and lowering yourself so you’re on the same level as your child when having the discussion. Getting down on her knees is already somewhat of a hassle with a baby bump in the way, but she manages.
“No. I want this one.” Leah crosses her arms and pouts her lip, still holding onto the shampoo bottle. “I want green.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but we can’t buy the green one this time.” Pick your fights, she can hear another word of advice in her head. Too bad she’s already in the middle of this one. Plus it’s good to be consistent - if she gives in to her daughter’s obstinacy once, she knows it’ll be remembered. The kid has one hell of an impressive memory when it comes to what gets her parents to budge.
“I want it.”
Amy takes a deep breath when she hears the statement repeated a fourth time. “I heard you. I’m still saying no”, she explains, praising herself for keeping a collected tone.
“No!” With that, Leah lays down flat on the white, probably germ-infested, floor. “You’re stupid!”
“Please don’t call me stupid. It’s not a nice thing to do”, she tries, biting her lip to keep from letting the hurt of her daughter’s angered crying get to her. “Can we get up and continue shopping?”
“No!”
“Lee, please.”
“No!”
They’re getting looks, other shoppers looking at her either with pity or judgement. She’s not sure which feels worse, but there are tears burning in the corner of her eyes and she’s frustrated, she’s so frustrated over how poorly she’s handling this and how much she’s letting it get to her. She loves this kid more than anything in the world, so much it physically hurts, but there are times when she wishes her daughter had inherited less of her parents stubbornness and more of the… reasonable-ness.
(“Ha-ha”, had been Rosa’s comment when Amy complained over it once. “You really went ahead and combined genes with the one person in the world as stubborn and competitive as you and thought you’d have a cooperative kid? You’re hilarious.”)
“Okay, baby, how about this - if we buy the usual shampoo and finish shopping, you can pick out something small from the toy section.” This method is definitely not in the conflict resolution binder nor any of the parenting ones, but she’s desperate and exhausted and eager to have complete strangers stop giving her judgemental stares. Screw the parenting binder. “How does that sound?”
“Hmm.” Leah lifts her head. Her eyes are puffy and her face is still red, but she stops crying. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Okay.”
Amy never thought she’d experience the day when a three-year-old placing a green shampoo bottle back on the shelf and grabbing a white one instead would have her shed a tear of relief. Parenthood sure is full of surprises.
They manage to finish the rest of their shopping without further meltdowns, reaching the toy section of the store with equal elation. One half of the mother-daughter duo is head over heels over the chance to acquire something new to play with; the other is relieved to have a chance to sit down on an admittedly uncomfortable bench and catch her breath for a few minutes. A Target run with a three-year-old while being five months pregnant is no joke, Amy thinks, and pulls out her phone from her coat pocket to text Jake this. Her husband definitely owes her a back rub when he gets home for leaving food shopping duty with her this week.
“Mama! I found this!” There are two different stuffed animals in Leah’s hands when she returns. One of them is a grey dog in a blue and green police outfit Amy’s pretty sure she recognizes from some other tv show and the other one is a pink polyester rabbit which is making a rattling noise.
“I thought we said one toy, Bee.” She’s cautious in her suggestion, terrified her protests could lead to another crying incident.
“I know”, says Leah, rolling her eyes at her mom’s apparent confusion. “It’s for the baby in your tummy!” She climbs onto the bench and presses the animal to Amy’s stomach. “To play with!”
Out of all the possible answers she could have gotten, this was not one she expected. “You… want your little sister or brother to have this?”
“Yeah?” Her daughter doesn’t seem to get what the big deal is, her head tilting to the side and brows drawing together. “Why are you crying?”
Damned hormones. Apparently, she’s lost all control over her own tear ducts. She’s barely noticed it herself before she’s begun to snivel. Leah’s starting to look worried, so Amy has about five seconds before she has to explain herself.
“It’s… it’s something grown-ups do when they think something is really nice”, she goes for, retrieving a Kleenex from her pocket to dry her eyes.
“Oh.” Leah’s silent for a minute before it clicks. “Like Dad said he did at your wedding!”
She manages a small, teary smile. “Exactly.”
“Were you crying too, Mama?”
“You bet I was. We were both crying. So was Uncle Charles and Uncle Terry. Probably Auntie Rosa too, but don’t tell her I said that.”
The girl snickers, already familiar with how much her godmother values her reputation as tough.
“We cried when you were born, too, you know”, Amy continues, playing with Leah’s brown curls while the girl leans into her side.
“Why?”
“Because it was the best day of my life”, she says, remembering the moment as if it had been yesterday. “Just like every single day since.”
“I don’t get it.”
She presses a kiss to her daughter’s cheek. “No, neither do I.”
Not until she puts the car in reverse to back out of her parking spot, listening to Leah singing the intro song to some kid’s show to herself from the back seat, does she realize how much money she could have saved on simply buying the damned green shampoo instead of spending money on two extra toys.
Eh. Details.
The rest of her day passes by like most days spent with her daughter; all too quickly and without a chance to dig into the paperwork she’d foolishly brought home with her yesterday, thinking there might be a chance to finish it during her day off. They hang out at the park for a solid five minutes before they both decide it’s too cold out, make an attempt at a batch of healthier granola cookies that end up burnt when Leah spills a mug of apple juice over herself right when they should be ready, and watch one too many episodes of PJ Masks in Amy’s opinion. Her original plan was to let her daughter stay up until eight when Jake gets home, but the early start of the day has tired the three-year-old out. When every other sentence is accompanied by a yawn she decides it’s best to put the child to bed.
It’s already a stretch for them both to fit in the toddler bed at the same time, and she knows she’ll have to give it up soon unless she wants her back to murder her the next day - but for now it’s still worth it.
Amy’s never had much experience in the world of drugs excluding her former nicotine addiction, but burying her nose in the crook of her sleeping daughter’s neck, breathing in the warm, intoxicating scent of a squeaky clean, half asleep Leah, she doubts any high in the world could ever compare to this. Her phone is playing Dear Theodosia and various Taylor Swift ballads on repeat, which may be less effective and idyllic than Jake singing them but is likely a clear improvement over the blinding torture of her own singing voice. There are toys strewn all over the living room and stains from pasta sauce on the dining table which should be stressing her out, should be making her want to climb out of the bed and clean the whole apartment, and yet she’s never felt more at peace.
The apartment door unlocks. It opens and closes before she hears Jake call out asking if anyone’s home.
“In here”, she tells him, keeping her voice down as not to wake Leah and hoping he’ll catch on. From the sound of his footsteps growing nearer it works, and soon enough he’s standing in the doorway gazing at them.
“Hey”, he whispers, holding up the superhero plush toy in red costume given to him earlier this morning. “Am I too late?”
“Sorry.” Amy shoots him an apologetic smile. “She just fell asleep.”
“Damn it. I was going to tell her about all the criminals Owlette helped me arrest.”
She arches an eyebrow at him. “Really?”
“No, I kept her in a desk drawer so I wouldn’t lose her, but as far as Lee knows she made all the difference.” He grins, sitting down next to the bed and pressing a kiss to her temple much like the way he woke her up. “How was your day?”
“Intense. Survived a toddler meltdown in Target over shampoo by buying her two new toys”, she mumbles, growing sleepier by the second from the sound of their daughter’s even breaths and the pleasant sensation of Jake playing with her hair. “It was not an economically wise decision. Yours?”
“Eh, it was good. Missed you.”
She turns around slowly, linking her right hand with his left to see their wedding rings together. “Missed you too.”
There’s an upset whimper from Leah suddenly, making her parents shift their attention.
“Wanna switch places?” Jake asks. “I’m behind on Lee-snuggles for the day.”
“Can’t decline such a compelling argument”, she whispers back, getting out of the bed and letting him climb in instead.
The combination of Jake and sleeping children has always been her kryptonite. One of the pictures she keeps on her desk - one which was the lockscreen image on her phone for over a year before it changed into a cheesy selfie from their first real family vacation - is an old shot of him with their ten days old baby asleep on his chest. His hair looks crazy in it, he’s in a hoodie and sweatpants and a t-shirt which likely smelled faintly of baby spit-up at the time, but he’s watching his daughter with heart eyes more adoring than she knew anyone could procure, making obvious already on his tenth day of fatherhood the immeasurable amount of love he had and still has for this kid. Leah’s curled up like a koala in the picture, her mouth slightly agape, and she’s completely relaxed with her dad’s hands supporting her head and booty. Neither of them are looking at the camera, but Amy remains confident it’s one of the best pictures she’s ever taken.
Said combination makes her nowhere near less emotional today as she sees her three year old hug her arms around her dad’s chest and rest her head on his shoulder. Owlette is squeezed in between them, finally back after the day’s adventures in a desk drawer in the 99th precinct and getting in on the snuggle action.
Amy feels a friendly little puff against her palm from the third love of her life, who’s still real to her mostly in an abstract sense, but is provingly fighting to change this through their continual kicking. Jake hums along to Dear Theodosia when the playlist returns to it, and Leah smiles in her half-asleep state.
In less than a month Amy will work her first day as a Lieutenant, moving to the last step of her career ladder before she’s the youngest Captain of the NYPD. It’s been her dream job since age four.
Still she can’t help but think, watching the man she married and the child they created together fall asleep next to each other, that this will always be the craziest, most challenging but most rewarding and miraculously wonderful job she’ll ever have.
She’s going to have to wake her husband up in a few minutes, though. She really wasn’t kidding about that back rub.
