#she fell flat on her face three seconds into this pose

[themistdragon]

Part 2, Electric Bugaloo

[kochanski]

Crimson & Clover (rated T)

No major content warnings apply, Kochanski/Lister focused. Mild flirting/sexual content, very PG13 lol

Summary: Kochanski falls in love with Lister, over and over. A short anthology set in four alternate universes; Series 1 Kochanski meet-cute, Deb/Kochanski stuck in an escape pod, Holo!Lister/Kochanski roommates, canon-ish series 7 Lister/Kochanski sharing food

Chapter One: I Don't Hardly Know Her

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Kochanski glanced over her shoulder. She'd seen him around, usually fiddling with a malfunctioning vending machine. Occasionally he managed to actually fix the problem.

"Soup guy," she smiled.

"Yeah, that's me. Regular soup-erman." He scratched his neck, nervous. Aw. He was nervous to talk to her.

"Well, you do an essential service 'round here. What would we have without our chicken noodle?"

"Less diarrhea, probably," he quipped, before realizing what he'd just said, eyes wide. "Smeg- I didn't mean to say that. I had better material before I walked up here, swear."

"Mhmm. You gonna ask me if I have a map, then? If it hurt when I fell from heaven?"

"Yeah, I like your outfit, but it'd look better on me floor." He snorted and offered his hand. "Dave Lister."

"Kristine Kochanski. But call me Kris. My friends do."

"D'you like pool, Kris?"

"Only if you like losing," she grinned.

The night was still early, and they more or less had the place to themselves. Quiet, beyond a few scattered conversations and the tinkling of an arcade game waiting patiently for its next victim. Dave's eyes were warm and dark, sparkling in the dim light, a cocky smile spreading across his face. Alright, he was gaining confidence. Kochanski might have been worried if she hadn't been hustling since year eleven.

"Care to gamble?"

"Yeah, sure." Lister lifted the little triangular rack, each ball in its right place. "I'm flat broke, so I'll have to owe you, but-"

"Wait, really? So how were you intending to pay for my drink? Or yours?"

"Well, you think the bartender'd let me pay him with me body?" He struck a goofy pose. Alright- Lister did have a nice body. Soft in all the right spots. Shame she'd have to take the bartender's sloppy seconds unless someone bailed him out.

"Tell you what. If you win, I'll pay your tab. If I win… you have to do whatever I say for five minutes."

"Guess I'd better order a few more, then. Take advantage. Ladies first?"

"Alright," Kochanski nodded, and with a satisfying crack the cue ball crashed smack through the middle of the triangle Lister'd set up. Good break. She'd already sunk the three ball, and two others were lined up beautifully next to the corner pockets.

"You're gonna ruin me, aren't you," Lister murmured.

A couple rounds later, a couple stolen glances at Lister's arse as he crawled halfway over the table for his "perfect shot," a couple terrible dirty jokes, and Kochanski had indeed come out ahead.

"Too bad," she said, slinging an arm around his waist. "I guess you're mine for the next five minutes."

"Only the next five?"

"Mm. Well, first off-" Kochanski dug around in her pants for the battered red leather wallet she'd kept since middle school, stuffing a wad of dollarpounds down the front pocket of Lister's horrible Hawaiian shirt. "I suppose I could pay our tab. It's the least I could do after thrashing you so horribly."

"I barely lost!" Lister complained, but the toothy grin hanging off his face didn't falter. "Besides, I was distracted-"

"No excuses! I was distracted too, and I managed just fine."

"You were?"

"I've only been ogling you all night. Couldn't keep my eyes off you to save my life," Kochanski laughed. That did it: stupid smirk gone, Lister's mouth hung halfway open, clearly flustered. "Alright, first command. Ready?"

"Nope," Lister said. "But go for it."

"Kiss me."

And he did. The crush of people around them, the chatter, the tinny music blaring through the speaker of the regulation jukebox, the clinking of glasses half-full and half-empty- all of that melted away. Lister's lips were a little chapped, but his mouth was warm and he seemed content to follow her lead. He was the perfect height for Kochanski to wrap her arms around his neck, feel his heart beating fast against her skin. 

She wondered if he knew she was just as nervous as he was. This felt like the beginning to something special- this felt fun, easy, perfect- and the thought of it ending a few hours from now felt absolutely heartbreaking.

"Wow," Lister puffed after they separated.

Kochanski traced a finger down his cheek, delighting in just how little it took to make him breathless.

"This place got crowded fast," she sighed, trying to maintain her façade. Stay cool. Seem witty. "How would you feel about coming back to mine? Or- I guess that'd be a waste of my four minutes, walking all the way there."

"Hey, tell you what," Lister said. "You can have all the time you want if you show me how you made that last shot."

"You sure you can handle a whole lecture on trigonometry?"

"I can handle anything you want me to," he shot back.

"Hah. We'll see," Kochanski chuckled, and she grabbed his sweaty hand in hers. 

This was definitely something special. Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, maybe the adrenaline of kissing a bloke she barely knew, maybe the relief of a bright spot in the monotony of space- but whatever it was, this was something she didn't want to let go of anytime soon.

And to his credit, Lister held on for dear life as she pulled him out the door.

Chapter Two: I Think I Could Love Her

"I can't believe out of all the people in all the universes, I'm going to die with you." Kochanski would have torn her hair out, but leaving a pretty corpse was probably the last scrap of dignity she had to hold onto.

Deb smegging Lister. She'd fallen through time and space and ended up stranded with Deb- which, as it turned out, wasn't short for Deborah at all, but Debauchery. Seriously! Whose idea had that been? It was like the polar opposite of those old Puritan names; fitting, Deb would've made a perfect witch. Though, Kochanski supposed, they probably burned warlocks in this universe.

But anyway, none of it mattered anymore: not finding her way home, not finding her way off Starbug to some non-existent greener pasture, and certainly not the well-seasoned grudge brewing between them.

"C'mon, you worry too much. Sure, we're stuck drifting through space in this tiny, cold escape pod, and our only hope of being rescued is Arlene and the kids and Dog and Kryten findin' us-" Deb stopped herself. "Okay, yeah, I get why you're mad."

"The only reason I'm not strangling you right now is because I'm on the fence about if it's even worth the wasted effort," Kochanski huffed, and then, guiltily, "and maybe because I don't want us to end things on a sour note."

"How's about a sweet note, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well- I know I've been a bit awful to you-"

"You ate the last of my lipstick."

"That wasn't on purpose- I was drunk! I thought it would taste good!" Deb shifted in her seat. "And it did, by the way."

"Wow, Deb, that makes me feel so much better."

"No, c'mon. Let me make it up to you. Really, I'm sorry. I can be such a smeghead." She reached forward, and Kochanski didn't pull away as she threaded their fingers together. "Look, it's cold out there, and dark, and scary, and you of all people deserve to die someplace warm, alright?"

"Comforting thought."

"I dunno. It's all I ever wanted, myself."

"Fiji. Right." Kochanski sighed, scooting closer. They were sat on opposite sides of the cramped little pod, knees touching, bathed in the hot, harsh light of a nearby star. Deb had spent the first twenty minutes having a miniature panic attack, but by now she'd managed to pull herself together somewhat. 

Her hands still trembled slightly, so Kochanski gave them a tight squeeze. They were softer than she'd expected. There were calluses from playing guitar, and from riding that damned bike, sure, a few scrapes and scars, but Deb's long, lovely fingers fit perfectly between hers.

"Let me be your Fiji for a little bit," Deb said softly. "Y'know, like… maybe I'm not your Lister, but I don't mind if you just want to pretend for a while. Just to… to not die alone, right?"

"And I'll be your Kochanski?"

"Nah. You're twice as beautiful as my Kochanski. He could never pull off that jumpsuit."

"Stupid." How Deb could manage to pull a laugh out of her even now, she had no clue.

Exhausted, tired of being terrified, Kochanski decided to kill off the last of her common sense, leaning forward to bury her face in Deb's shoulder. She smelled like cigarettes, burnt hair, pine-scented air freshener- probably what she used instead of doing her laundry- and masala chai. But… well, if Kochanski really stretched her imagination, maybe she could smell the ocean in Deb's sweat. Maybe that artificial pine could be the smell of palm trees. Fiji. Lost dreams.

"Wanna do something stupid?" Deb murmured.

"I am."

"I mean, stupider. Since we're practically dead and all anyways."

"I'm not going to have sex with you just because we're lost in space, Deb," Kochanski sighed.

"Hang on! That wasn't what I was about to ask," she huffed. "I mean, unless…"

"No."

"What I was going to ask was- well- it's me last cigarette. Thought I'd offer you half." She produced it from her inner jacket pocket, a crumpled, pathetic little thing.

"That's going to cost us precious oxygen, you know," Kochanski grumbled, but she took it, hands shaking, and let Deb flick open the lighter.

"Hey, look at you. I knew you were corruptible, deep down."

"What can I say? You bring out the worst in me." Kochanski balanced the cigarette between two fingers, exhaling and pushing the filter end between Deb's lips.

This wasn't the worst way to go. Well- they'd start asphyxiating in a few hours, and she might change her mind about things then, but at the very least she wasn't alone. At least, out of all the people in all the universes, Deb was sort of… alright. Or, she was kind, sometimes, gentle, thoughtful enough to want to take care of Kochanski even in the face of total annihilation.

Maybe, if they survived this-

No. Definitely not, Kochanski thought, frowning as she burrowed deeper into Deb's jacket. No way she could fall in love with someone like Deb Lister. Not in three million years.

Unfortunately for her, she would in fact live to find out.

Chapter Three: I Wanna Do Everything

It wasn't fair.

Nothing in life was, as evidenced by the fact that they were here, a bloated metal pimple staining what could otherwise be a perfectly serene field of stars, and she was the last human left besides Dave.

Dave.

God, Dave.

He'd been doing absolutely horrible things to her lately, without even really trying. What's the point of taking a shower when you're a hologram? But he would walk into the kitchen in his fluffy blue bathrobe, dripping wet, like it was completely normal. It had to be on purpose. He had to know he was torturing her, didn't he? But in the interest of not being a complete shrew, she'd kept her mouth shut.

Then she'd started dreaming about it. Her and Lister, kissing, touching, laughing, in impossible bedrooms, in moonlit Mars lagoons, in the long elevator trips she used to take to work. Even her subconscious was conspiring against her, and all because Lister was allergic to pants.

"You can't treat this like a bachelor pad," she finally complained. "I mean, yeah, there's nobody left to gripe about it but me, but it doesn't mean I like seeing you run around naked."

"Alright, alright. I'll get Holly to pixelate me bits, and then it won't matter what I wear, eh?"

"No- keep the robe on, or I swear I will swap you out with Second Technician Rimmer again."

"Look, if it's really makin' you uncomfortable, I'll quit it, but I just don't see what the big deal is. I mean- I'm fully covered, right?"

Sure. Most of the time. But then he'd move the wrong way or bend down to do something, and Kochanski had to deal with the ache that accompanied catching a glimpse of his bare thighs or round arse, or find herself mesmerized by the way a simulated droplet of water slid down his chest, disappeared beneath the loose collar of the robe. Like now, for example.

It was too much.

"Let's just make a compromise. You can walk around in pajamas all you like, and I promise I won't bother you, alright?"

"Alright," Dave nodded, and with a snap of his finger, he was clad in a pair of ratty long johns that were somehow so, so, so much worse. Nothing left to the imagination. She could almost feel the thin fabric under her fingertips- if he were corporeal she'd rip it apart in an instant.

"Nevermind," Kochanski groaned, her head thumping against the table. "I give up. Pixelate your bits."

"Knew it," Lister laughed. "You've been thirsting after me, haven't you? What happened to 'not if you were the last man on Earth?'"

"I'm allowed to change my mind. Besides, you… you've gotten better lately. At listening. Being an actual friend to me, instead of getting mad when I'm not that perfect person you built up in your head."

"I've been trying." Lister took a seat next to her, drawing his lips thin. "Turns out, dying makes you put things into perspective a bit, yeah? I mean, I wasn't exactly cut out to be a philososophist or anything, but… I think maybe having to let go of all the physical stuff makes me appreciate the simple things a hell of a lot more than I used to. Like friendship. Just… cherishing each moment we have, right?"

"That's pretty thoughtful," Kochanski nodded. "But full disclosure- if you weren't dead right now, I'd already have you pinned to this table."

"Yeah, to smeg with philosophy," Lister said, tugging at the collar of his long johns. "Least now I can get out of these in about an eighth of a second."

"No," Kochanski smiled, leaning back in her chair. "Do it the old-fashioned way. As slow as you can. No pixelation necessary."

"Yes, ma'am," Lister grinned, eagerly unfastening the top button.

Chapter Four: What A Beautiful Feeling

Grueling work, keeping them all alive.

Starbug's engine had been stalling out again, and as the only person aboard with basic literacy who wasn't wasting it reading laundry tags, Kochanski had taken it upon herself to crack open a motor control textbook and try to fix the issue.

It wasn't too difficult to identify the problem- a part in the gigantic alternator had worn down. The difficult part was finding the tools and materials to fix the damned thing. Apparently, scrapping derelict ships meant searching for curry spice, flashy-looking textiles, and lemon-scented disinfectant, and not essential things like oil, coolant, spare parts, or welding equipment. 

Still, she was doing her best. At least the thing still ran- barely- and life support was still online when it didn't.

"Kris," came Dave's uncertain voice from behind her, and Kochanski quickly switched off the soldering iron. She lifted her makeshift face shield, wiping away the sweat. At least Lister had clapped a hand over his eyes in some attempt at keeping his vision intact. Kochanski had given him a lecture and a half the last time he'd walked in on her tinkering.

"What's wrong?"

"Well…" The hand came down, revealing an apologetic expression. "I sort of need you to come check on something over in the midsection."

"Really? Again? How many times is the Cat going to try mating with that chair?"

"Until he gets it pregnant."

She glared at him.

"His words, not mine!"

"Fine, I'll come fix the smegging chair again. Give me a second."

Normally, Dave walked through the hall with his head hung low in situations like these, but today he seemed almost happy about the prospect of cleaning up after the Cat's liaison. It sparked a bit of annoyance, actually. If it was so trivial, if he was so chipper about it, why didn't he try to fix the damn thing? Work, work, work, and all she ever had to show for it was-

Oh.

All the furniture in the room that wasn't bolted down had been shoved off to the side, and a few blankets were draped over the table to form a lopsided tent. A couple silver crinkly sleeping bags lined the floor, and Lister had hooked a spare monitor up to a precarious chain of extension cords to get it inside.

And impossibly, even though they'd run out weeks ago, there was a little bowl of cottage cheese, with a heaping of beautiful yellow pineapple chunks dripping over the top.

"What is this?" she gasped. "It's not my birthday- is it?" No way to tell, really- it all sort of blended together after a while.

"No, no. I just- well- you need a break. You've been workin' down there for thirty-two hours straight, and that can't be good for you, can it."

"I've what?"

"So," Lister said, gently guiding her towards the tent, "let's watch a movie, yeah? How to Steal a Million? It's a classic."

"I guess I could rest for an hour or so," Kochanski reluctantly nodded. "I might have better luck making that part with fresh eyes."

It was perfect.

Lister closed the blankets as soon as they were properly settled, and then it was like they weren't even on Starbug anymore. Just the comforting buzz of the screen, in between bites of creamy, sweet, tangy cheese curds, both of them lying on their stomachs like children at a sleepover.

"Thanks," Kochanski murmured, leaning her head against Dave's shoulder. "I really needed this."

"Of course. I have to look out for you, y'know? You're my best friend."

"Don't say that! I think Kryten might actually murder me."

"Ah, c'mon. There's enough of me to go 'round, the both of you can learn to share."

A stomp disrupted their little cocoon.

"And what am I, bud? Chopped tuna?"

"Cat-" Lister poked his head out of the tent.

"Forget it. I came here to visit my girl, and I got her. I'm leavin'." A sound like a chair being scraped against the floor. Yep.

"Well, he'll get over it," Dave assured her, but Kochanski was stifling a yawn. The oversaturated twentieth-century colors were starting to bleed together on the screen, hazy and dreamlike.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "It's not the movie- I just think I might be tired."

"Yeah? You've only been awake for a day and a half. Here- finish the last bite of that, and I'll put the dish away and leave you to it."

"Actually… I'm full," Kochanski lied, handing him the bowl. One last piece of pineapple.

Lister hesitated.

"Really?"

"Really."

He smiled, wide, his eyes bright, and scooped the last spoonful into his mouth.

It was the tastiest bite she'd never eaten.

[tchallasbabymama]

Ready

Hey y’all, here’s a request I got a while ago for M’Baku with a breeding kink. I hope I did you proud, anon! More oneshot requests coming soon. Next up: T’Challa in heat❤️‍🔥! Enjoy, and check out my masterlist when you’re done so you can read my other oneshots and series.

Word Count: 3,302

Rada gazed at herself in the mirror as she finished applying a moisturizing serum to her face. Her eyes fell to her stomach and a tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth, making the slight dimple in her left cheek come out of hiding. That sweet, longing smile turned mischievous when she locked eyes with her reflection and she went over her plan in her head. She was finally ready to take the plunge and become a parent, and she knew her husband, M’Baku, would be more than excited. In their three years of marriage, he never pressured her, but he was very vocal about the fact that he wanted to be a father. Truth be told, part of Rada wanted to have children a couple of years ago, but her fear of raising a child in this fucked up world kept her from going any further. That fear wasn’t completely gone, but it had waned enough for Rada to feel comfortable telling her husband she was ready.

She straightened the lace hem of her red silk nightie and took one last glance at herself before exiting the bathroom. M’Baku sat up on his side of the bed, nose deep in his latest read as Rada posed awkwardly in the doorframe.

“Hey, baby?”

“Yes, love?” he asked without looking up from the page.

Rada rolled her eyes and made her way over to the bed. “What are you reading?”

“A new thriller from Ade Mustafa. Just came out yesterday,” M’Baku mumbled as his eyes scanned each word like it held a secret. Rada crawled onto the bed and pulled the book from his hand. He grumbled in protest until he looked up and saw what his gorgeous wife was wearing and his eyes lit up. Rada placed his book facedown on the nightstand and pulled off his reading glasses.

“I want to talk to you about something.”

“You do not look like you just want to talk,” he grumbled as he planted a kiss on her collarbone, making her giggle. His strong hands traveled up her thighs and rested on her hips, gripping her tight.

“I had to get your attention somehow.” Rada stroked the back of his neck and looked deep into his eyes.

“I am sorry, my love. What do you want to talk about.”

“Children.”

M’Baku’s eyebrows shot up, making his forehead crinkle as he blinked in surprise.

“Ok...what about them?” he asked, trying not to get his hopes up over where the conversation might lead.

“I know you have wanted to be a baba for a while now, and I appreciate you waiting for me to catch up,” she started. “But I think I am ready now.”

“You think, or you are? If you need more time-”

“No, I am sure...You have given me so much over the years, and I want to give you a child.”

Seconds passed as M’Baku just stared at his wife in awe. A goofy, gap-toothed grin slowly took over his face, but Rada could feel that he was excited in more than one way. His girthy member hardened beneath her, and she knew she was in for it tonight.

“That is the sexiest thing you have ever said to me,” M’Baku growled into her neck as he peppered it with kisses. “When do you want to start?”

She pretended to think about it for a moment, and he paused his assault on her neck to watch her wheels turn. However, he didn’t have to wait long. She knew what she wanted, and she wanted it as soon as possible. “How about now?”

M’Baku’s already blinding smile stretched from ear to ear, and a deep rumbling erupted from within his chest. He flipped them over so that he laid on top of her and buried his face in her neck again, whispering in her ear between kisses.

“You want to have my baby?”

“Yes,” she giggled.

“Mmm.”

M’Baku’s hands roamed Rada’s body as he took in her scent. He couldn’t wait to feel her body changing as she grew his seed. He began salivating just thinking about her widening hips and growing belly. M’Baku’s fingers found their way between Rada’s legs, and she spread them wide to grant him access. He found her clit with ease, and she let out a low moan as he circled it slowly.

“I have been waiting for you to say that for years, Rada.”

“I know, I-” she began to apologize when he cut her off.

“Shhh, it is ok,” he pulled back to look her in her big doe eyes, “You needed to take your time...just like how I am going to take my time with you tonight.”

“Oh, really?” Rada teased with a smirk on her face.

“Mhm,” he nodded before pecking her lips softly. “And I am not pulling out, either.”

Rada bit her lip in excitement and wrapped her legs around his waist. It wasn’t often that she got to feel her husband release inside of her since they were trying to be careful, but she secretly loved when they slipped up. Despite her apprehension towards having children, Rada had always had a cum kink of sorts. She could orgasm just from the feeling of his dick pulsating inside her as he emptied himself into her warmth. Just the thought of it was enough to set her off, but now she would get to feel it without any fear. Rada was ready. She wanted it, and her husband was more than willing to give it to her.

“You can cum in me as much as you want, my chief.”

A deep growling erupted from M’Baku’s chest as he crashed his lips to hers, their tongues dancing together in a waltz they had perfected over the years. Rada’s hips bucked as she felt his thick fingers enter her, and she whimpered into M’Baku’s mouth as he slowly dragged them back and forth over her g-spot. Her hips wound against him as the palm of his hand stimulated her aching pearl, and just when she felt the dam about to break, he removed his fingers.

“M’Baku,” Rada whined, making him chuckle.

“What is it, pretty girl?”

“I want you inside me.”

“And you will get your wish. Be patient,” he whispered against her lips.

Rada rolled her eyes and poked out her lip in protest, but it just made him chuckle some more. He nipped at her lip before kissing down to her neck, making her shudder as his tongue brushed over her favorite spot. His hands traveled up her body and skillfully slid her lingerie up and over her head as his eyes landed on her supple breasts. His mind flashed to the image of them engorged with milk for their child, and before he knew it, his lips were wrapped around her erect nipples. Rada stroked the back of his head as he went back and forth between them, teasing with his tongue and lightly tugging with his teeth. M’Baku always paid special attention to her breasts, but this time felt different. It eventually clicked for Rada, and she decided to play along.

“They are going to get bigger, you know?”

“Mmmhm,” M’Baku groaned with a mouth full of titty.

“And you will have to share so I can feed our baby.”

A shockwave traveled down M’Baku’s body and straight to his hardening member as he longed to taste her. He sucked harder as though he were determined to pull milk from her, and Rada keened from the sensation. Her nipples were sensitive, and she almost came again, but he removed himself at the last second once more.

Rada’s breathing slowed as he kissed down her stomach, landing just below her belly button. M’Baku lightly dusted his fingers over her soft skin as he thought of the child they would make together. As if she could read his mind, Rada smiled softly and caressed his bearded cheek. Their eyes met, but no words were exchanged as he planted a soft kiss over her womb. His kiss was a “thank you” and a blessing all in one, and she felt the love radiating from where his lips touched her skin. It tingled, and the feeling expanded to cover her whole body as the warmth of his passion settled into her bones. Rada let out a sigh as he continued his descent to her treasure trove, and she jumped when she felt his mouth envelop her vulva. The flat of his tongue lapped up her juices as she squirmed, but he shot her a fierce warning glance, and she stopped moving immediately. M’Baku hated being disturbed when eating his favorite meal.

“Mmm, my chief,” Rada moaned, “I-I want to feel you ins-”

M’Baku slapped her inner thigh, and she yelped.

“Tell me what to do again, and I will be the only one getting a release tonight,” he mumbled with his lips dusting over her clit.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Now, be good for your chief so I can put this baby in you.”

M’Baku’s skilled tongue had Rada struggling to control herself. She tried her best to stay still, but he had to forcefully hold her legs open so his tongue could explore her folds. He brought her to the edge over and over but denied himself her sweet nectar.

“Baby,” Rada whined as tears fell from her eyes. “Please let me cum for you.”

M’Baku kissed her pussy one last time before crawling up her body and kissing her upper lips. Rada moaned at the sweet taste of her on his tongue and the wetness of his beard, but just as she began to lose herself, he pulled back. M’Baku could see the anger on her face, and it amused him.

“You made me wait three years for this day, and you think I am going to let you get what you want so easily? No. You cum with my dick inside you and nowhere else. Understood?”

“Yes, my chief,” she sighed in defeat.

“Good girl.” He kissed her again and looked deep into her chestnut eyes. “Now, are you ready for me?”

Rada nodded enthusiastically.

“I bet,” he snickered. “You think your pretty pussy can handle all I have to give?”

“Mmm, yes, chief M’Baku.”

A fire burned behind his eyes as he lined himself up with her entrance and pushed forward. She bloomed for him and enveloped him in her warmth, making him moan as he seated himself inside her. M’Baku stilled, allowing Rada to revel in the feeling of him stretching her walls. They stayed like that for a while, gazing lovingly into each others’ eyes and feeling the other’s soft skin beneath their fingertips. Moments passed before M’Baku started to grind his hips, stirring Rada’s insides as he wrapped her legs around his waist.

“You, mmm, you f-feel so good.”

“Because you fit me so well, my love.”

M’Baku withdrew his hips and thrust forward with such restrained power that Rada yelped and dug her nails into his back. He groaned at the feeling and thrust forward again and again, finding the perfect rhythm and playing her body like a drum.

“M’Baku-”

“Who?” he sneered as he sat up without missing a beat. He looked down at her body, tits bouncing around as he pounded into her, and smirked, “You forget yourself.”

“I’m-”

“Did I say speak?!” he roared, and Rada shook her head frantically. She tried to give him her best puppy-dog eyes, but he was immune in this state. Lustful fear clouded Rada’s face as she felt his large hand wrap around her throat, and M’Baku grinned darkly when he felt her contract around him. “You like that, huh?”

Rada could only nod as his precise strokes brought her to her limit.

“You want to cum. I can feel it,” M’Baku teased as he tightened his grip. Rada nodded again with her bottom lip between her teeth. She was trying her hardest not to make a sound, but he was determined to make her break his rules. “Why are you holding it? I said you could cum with me inside you, love. So cum on my fucking dick.”

He dug even deeper, and Rada’s body shook as she erupted all over him. Her constricting walls pulled her husband right along with her, and the moment he let go of her throat, she wailed. Rada could feel every pulsation as he emptied himself into her, and she wound her hips up against his to stimulate her clit. She came again, and M’Baku smiled down at her as she convulsed.

“There you go. Now, does that not feel better?”

Rada looked at him with uncertainty, and M’Baku realized she was waiting for permission.

“You may speak,” he ordered through a smug smirk.

“Thank you, my chief.”

“Mmm, for what?”

“For letting me cum.”

“And?”

“And for rewarding me.”

M’Baku leaned down and kissed Rada’s forehead.

“You are more than welcome, love. Now turn over,” he said with a slap to her thigh. He removed himself from her, still erect and dripping with their combined fluids, and watched in amusement as Rada’s face twisted up at the loss of contact.

Rada loved the sting of his palm against her skin and decided she wanted more. She knew M’Baku could be a very impatient man when he was in the mood, so to tease him a little, she took her time rolling over. Before she could even get on her side, Rada heard a deep bark and felt M’Baku’s heavy hand come down on her behind. She yelped at the pain, but the sensation was quickly replaced by that same heavy hand kneading her flesh.

“I know you are toying with me, Rada.”

“I would never,” she gasped.

Rada tried to hold in her giggles but failed at her attempt. Of course, M’Baku saw the way the corners of her mouth struggled to lay still, and he decided to give her something to laugh about. He flipped her onto her stomach and lifted her hips before delving deep inside her once more. This time, he took no prisoners, and Rada’s screams filled the air as he plowed into her. The smile never left her face as he slapped her ass repeatedly or when he grabbed her short coils and pulled her back flush against him. M’Baku’s length reached deep inside her from every angle, making the smile on her face a permanent fixture. However, he felt he could find a better use for her mouth.

“Vula,” he commanded, and she opened wide, sticking her tongue out as far as it could go. M’Baku snaked his two long fingers in her mouth, and she closed her lips around them, sucking them the way she would the thick appendage that was currently wrecking her insides. “Mmm, I love that you do not have a gag reflex anymore.”

Rada sucked even harder as his other hand squeezed her hip. M’Baku pulled his fingers out with a “pop” and immediately brought them down between her legs. Her moans grew louder as he toyed with her, and moments later, she released around him again. Rada’s body went limp and he let her fall to the bed, but he didn’t stop. He licked up her spine as he leaned over her spent form, making goosebumps appear on her skin.

“You are not tapping out on me, are you?”

“N-no, my chief, I- oooh, yes!” Rada screamed as he dropped his weight on her.

“Good. One more, then you get a break. Ok, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

M’Baku’s hips picked up the pace as she anchored herself to the sheets with her face almost completely buried in the soft pillows. His fingers intertwined with hers and she held onto him for dear life. Rada could tell he was close, so she lifted her hips just a little bit, and wound back on him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Here it comes. You ready?” he growled in her ear, and the vibrations traveled straight to her pussy as she bit her lip and nodded.

“Give it to me.”

M’Baku fucked her through his orgasm, not letting up until he had finished filling her. He slowly ground his hips into hers as they came down from their high, and he rolled over to the side, taking her with him. They laid like that, cuddled up together and listening to each other breathe with his dick still pulsating inside her, for who knows how long. Eventually, the haze of lust lifted slightly, and M’Baku slowly pulled out of Rada, marveling at the sheer amount of his seed that slowly dripped out of her.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and she turned around to face him.

“What is it?” Rada asked, then followed his line of sight down to her dripping pussy. “Fuck…”

She rolled over on her back and her eyes traveled to his dick. It was still hard and dripping with their cum, and Rada’s mouth began to salivate. He knew what she wanted, and watched as she scooted down the bed and began licking their juices from his impressive length. Slurps filled the air as she took him down her throat, determined to get every last drop.

“Mmm, suck it just like that,” M’Baku moaned as his fingers tangled up in her tapered curls. She smiled up at him, and his jaw clenched as he tried to control himself. He felt himself nearing the edge, and an idea struck him; he wasn’t going to waste a single drop. As soon as he felt the sensation rising within him, he pulled her off of him and pushed her back onto the bed, quickly climbing on top and entering her with such fervor that she cried out to the heavens. He made it just in time, and emptied himself into her depths as he strummed her clit. Rada’s overstimulated pussy couldn’t take it, and she was pulled right along with him.

M’Baku kissed all over her face and neck as their breathing slowed down once more.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against her lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Rada pulled him into a passionate kiss, and they explored each others’ mouths for a moment before he tore his lips away from hers.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he rested his forehead on hers.

“You are more than welcome, my love.”

As usual, M’Baku pulled himself from her, and got up to go run a bath, but this time he just stood there, taking in her form.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, but her concerns quickly went away when a small smile appeared on his lips.

“Boy or girl?”

Rada stood and held his face in her hands, staring deep into his eyes.

“That does not matter to me. All that matters is that they are made with love.”

“That they will be.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead before taking her hand in his and leading her to the bathroom.

Rada sat on the edge of the tub and let her mind wander while she halfway watched him fill it with bath salts and warm water. She couldn’t help but picture M’Baku and their child. He would probably be the type to talk to her belly before they even made it into the world, and when they got here she had no doubt that their baba would be overprotective. No matter what, though, she knew he’d love their child more than anything in this world, and that brought her peace as her eyes wandered to her reflection again. She pictured herself pregnant with his undoubtedly big-headed baby and knew she had made the right choice. It was time for them to start a family.

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback, @impremenior, @devnicolee, @muse-of-mbaku

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 11 (NSFW)

Masterlist

IT’S THE MOMENT YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR BESTIES! Thanks as always to @acollectionofficsandshit I think I broke her with this chapter! She also found  the song for this chapter so special thanks for that as well ❤

Word Count: 7.6k

Recommended song: “The Man Who Can’t be Moved” by the Script

The steam of the shower cleanses your senses and washes away the sweat from your workout. Crisp September air rushes through the open window and raises goosebumps on your skin as you step out. You turn off the tap and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel in an attempt to ward off the chill. A glance at the clock tells you that you have a half hour to get ready before your date picks you up.

Peter was one of the few guys in your major that paid you any attention. Most of them tolerated you at best but it had never bothered you. You were independent enough that you could make it through class on your own and google what you didn’t understand afterward and learn it before the exam.

It had been fairly easy to fall in with Peter and a few others during the first few weeks of summer classes. What began with group study sessions and quickly developed into hanging out one on one with Peter on the weekends to go to coffee shops or play video games.

When Peter had asked you out two months ago, Pierre's voice nagged in the back of your head. He asked if you were ready to move on from him and if you could really forget him.

The simple answer was no, forgetting him was impossible. No matter how many years passed, he would always own a part of you. 

Peter was sweet and he cared about you but you were quickly realizing the bond you shared with him didn't run as deep as it had with Pierre. He started as your friend and you really didn't feel right letting it develop past that. Although you had agreed to that date and plenty more in the time since, it still didn’t feel like a relationship. You had to stop yourself from imagining someone else's arm around you when you lounged on the sofa or someone else's lips kissing you goodnight.

You slip into a form fitting red cocktail dress and sweep your hair over a shoulder, banishing the memory. The person staring back at you in the mirror is a stranger, a ghost of who you once were. You pull your lips into a smile nowhere near as bright as it was months ago.

A knock on your apartment door startles you from your trance. Peter holds a bouquet of flowers, a broad grin on his face. He was handsome in a traditional sense, with a sharp jawline and playful forest green eyes that promised a good time. He was adventurous; a night in wasn’t in the cards. Everything was an event with him and you didn’t mind the distractions one bit.

"You look amazing as always," he says, stepping inside and kissing your cheek. You sniff the flowers lightly. Daisies were some of your least favorite flowers but the gesture was too sweet to point that out.

"So do you," you respond, gaze sweeping from his scuffed wingtip shoes to his crisp blue button down shirt. Ocean blue, washed out against Peter's pale skin, but would have looked perfect on Pierre's golden complexion.

You had to stop thinking about him. You saw him everywhere. On more than one occasion, you dropped out of a conversation when you caught a glimpse of blond hair bobbing through a crowd or heard a laugh startlingly similar to his. You couldn’t escape the idea of him whether you liked it or not.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks, touching your elbow.

God, you were so far from okay. Your mind was a melted mess of memories of a blond Frenchman and all the broken promises between the pair of you. This was pointless. You were wasting your time with Peter. He was great and should have been everything you wanted but he just wasn't enough.

"I'm so sorry," you start, handing back the flowers. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Oh thank god," he says, shoulders drooping as he runs a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking the same thing, I just didn't want to be the one to say it." You both laugh, the tension ebbing from your frame.

"Don't get me wrong," he continues, "You're amazing. There's just no…"

"Spark," you finish. "Yeah, I agree. Friends?"

You stick out your hand and he shakes it firmly. "Sounds like a plan. No hard feelings. See you in class on Monday?"

"I'll be there."

You slip out of your heels with a sigh, glad you don't have to endure that form of torture any longer. For the first time in months, you allow yourself to scroll through Pierre's Instagram.

Instead of being flooded with personal pictures it had become mostly posed shoots.it was the kind of thing that seemed staged, like he was only posted because his PR team deemed it necessary.

As time went on the content became more and more clinical. He was giving fans less of an insight into his personal life and focusing on racing content. You knew he had probably thrown everything he had into the season in an attempt to move on and you couldn't blame him. 

If his Insta was to be believed, he had earned a handful of podiums in the four months since you had mostly lost interest in the sport. After Austin it had been nearly impossible to watch a full race and you had instead been getting your biased updates from Max, who conveniently left out all but the barest details of anyone’s race weekend but his own.

There was no point in trying to convince yourself you no longer felt anything for Pierre. Just scrolling through his page reignites the flame in your chest that had been burning far too dimly for far too long. 

Heart pounding, you double tap a photoset of him modeling for Alpha Tauri, the lighting accenting his eyes. Their distinct, rich blue had always been your weakness. 

Your fingers find their way to the charm at your throat. You hadn't taken it off once since the gala. It was pointless to deny the sway he still held over you all these months later. Maybe it was time you stopped pretending you were fine and finally give in to the pull. 

The past few months have given you plenty of time to reflect. The media would hound you like dogs but at least while you were in London they would leave your family alone. And really, enduring their scrutiny was a small price to pay if it meant loving Pierre.  

“I’m an idiot,” you mumble, pulling up his contact in your phone. Breaking up with him had been the dumbest decision of your life. You’d watched him from afar as he traveled from grand prix to grand prix, touring cities and sleeping everywhere except where he belonged: curled up next to you in your tiny London flat, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you both fell asleep.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. Fuck what anyone would say. Nothing could be worse than knowing your soulmate was out there and you let him go.

Heart pounding, you type out a text. I miss you.

Shaking your head, you erase it. How are you? Seemed more appropriate.

"Here goes nothing," you murmur and hit send.

**********

 It started off as any other free Sunday did: Charles and Charlotte arriving at his apartment carrying snacks and beer which neither of them would tell their trainers about tomorrow and plopping in front of the television to watch the PSG match.

The trio roared at the screen at poor calls and yelled when a goal was scored, all completely lost in the sport.

Pierre absently registers his phone buzzing during the last few minutes of the match but ignores it. PSG comes out on top and he finally checks it, nearly choking on the pretzels he was eating.

How are you?

Pierre has to read it thrice before he’s convinced it’s real. 

"Holy fuck," he says softly, tipping the phone so Charles can see. 

"Told you mate." He takes Charlotte's hand and stands. Football match completely forgotten, Pierre lifts a hand in a wave as the couple leaves. His eyes are fixed on the screen as he tries to comprehend the gravity your words carry.

After months of waiting in agony and wondering if you still cared, you’d texted him.

He had no idea how he managed to keep his feet on the floor. He was completely weightless, reading your message over and over again until it sinks in.

He takes the three simple words as permission to finally delve back into your life, immediately scrolling through your instagram to catch up. He double taps every post save for the ones with you and some tall, handsome guy. His stomach twists. 

Fuck it. Even if you just wanted to catch up, he'd take it. If you told him you were with someone else and you were happy, he'd learn to live with it. He was starved of you and was prepared to beg for crumbs of your life.

I'm fine. You have time for a phone call?

It was a leap but he acknowledged and accepted the risks.

Yeah. That would be good.

You pick up on the second ring.

"Hey."

Pierre squeezes his eyes shut, pushing back the lump in his throat. Years of memories rush over him in the space of a breath. The shock in your voice when you found out he was a driver for the first time. Your smile and breathless laugh when you met him in the garage in Brazil after his first podium in Formula 1. The tentative glances he had thrown your way for months after he finally accepted that he had begun to fall for you. The way your velvet lips felt when he made a gamble and kissed you for the first time. The drunken lilt of your voice when you told him you loved him that night in London.

Before he can stop it the bad comes rushing back too. The memory of the terror on your face when he let it slip that you were together sends a chill through him. If there was one moment he could change, it wouldn’t be the time he fucked up and lost his seat at Red Bull. It would be to keep his damned mouth shut at that karting track and preserve the bliss of that day and tuck it away in a bulletproof case that he could pull out and look at whenever he wanted.

"Hey you," he manages, silently thanking whoever is listening that he keeps the tremble out of his voice. "Been awhile."

"Yeah," you say sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," he says quickly. "You never need to apologize to me."

You were the last one that needed to apologize for anything. He should be the one beginning for forgiveness. It was his fault you’d panicked. He should have fought harder for you, proved that he could make it work and save you both from months of heartache. But then again, maybe you had moved on. He couldn’t expect you to wait for him forever.

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent for so long until you clear your throat. For the first time he can recall, the silence is thick and heavy with unspoken words. It had always been effortless, the stories and words flowing like a babbling brook between the two of you. Now the confessions on his tongue remain poised there, too terrified to give them the light of day. 

"How's your season been?" He’s thankful you break the quiet first but the question makes his stomach sink. 

"You haven't been watching?"

"Not really."

"Oh." It made sense that you would distance yourself from him and that was fine, but he couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. "It's been decent. Red Bull wants me to come to Milton for contract discussions this week, actually."

"You're moving back up?"

"Potentially." Horner had only called him earlier that week to discuss the potential of him returning to Red Bull next year. The informal agreement was that if he could make seventh in the championship in a midfield car, they would bump him back for the following season. 

It wasn’t a concrete guarantee- that’s why Horner wanted to speak with him in person. He had a year left in his contract and being in a Red Bull meant he would be able to prove his worth to other teams and potentially secure a world championship worthy seat at a team that actually appreciated his talent.

He draws a breath before continuing, "I'll be in London on Monday. You know- if you wanna get together."

You stay silent for a touch too long and he panics. It was too soon. He should have kept his mouth shut because now he’d driven you away again. “Nevermind, forget I said anything-"

"No," you interrupt, "no, I'd love to see you and catch up. I don't have classes on Tuesdays. Have any free time then?"

His eyes slide shut and he exhales. The flack he would undoubtedly catch for shuffling around a few interviews would be worth it to see you. "Yeah. I can swing by your apartment around seven?"

"Okay," you say, a touch of excitement lacing your voice. "I'll make myself presentable."

"I-" he stops himself before the words can slip past his lips. "I'll see you then."

*********

Pierre blows out a breath and adjusts his backpack. He stands at the threshold of your building, keys in hand, unsure if he should let himself in. The dilemma had kept him rooted to the spot for nearly ten minutes now, weighing the pros and cons of his options. 

“Hey you, blond fucker.” Pierre whips around and is met by Daniel’s girlfriend glaring up at him from the sidewalk. She tips her head to the side to study him. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that had to cancel plans to be here tonight. “You gonna grow a pair and go up there or just keep staring at the door all day?”

“I’m going,” he grumbles, “are you?”

“Oh, I was going to but clearly whatever you have planned is more important.” Her grin splits her face ear to ear. “About damn time she got ahold of you. I was getting sick of listening to her gripe about you twenty four seven.”

“Didn’t she tell you I was coming by? If you guys have plans I can come back later.”

She waves a hand and dismisses the offer. “Absolutely not. Go get your girl.”

“She’s not-” The glare she cuts him snatches the words from his mouth. She makes a shooing motion before setting off down the sidewalk, munching on whatever snacks were in her shopping bag.

Pierre shakes out his hands and tries to gather the courage to use his key. The hopeless romantic argued that you would expect him to use it because you would know he still had it. The rational side of him butts in to point out that it might catch you off guard if he showed up without warning. He settles on buzzing your unit, your answer fuzzy from the distortion.

"Pierre?"

Even with the warbly static in your voice, his name on your lips is the salvation he’s been dreaming about for months. "Yeah it's me."

"Don't you have a key?"

"I wasn't sure if I should use it."

You don't answer, instead letting the buzz of the electronic lock do the talking. He takes the stairs three at a time, barely winded by the time he reaches the third floor. He doesn't even have to knock, your door swinging open as he steps up. The sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs. 

It didn't matter that you were in a simple hoodie and jeans, feet bare and hair swept back in a low bun. You are the most beautiful person he's ever seen and after months apart he nearly falls to his knees then and there to beg for your forgiveness, to get lost in you until two souls became one and he never had to live another second apart from you.

"Are you gonna stand there or do you wanna come in?"

God, he had missed your teasing jabs. His fingers ache for contact with your soft skin and he curls them into a fist to resist the urge. “Coming in,” he says softly, purposefully brushing your arm as he skirts past you. Every inch of him sings from the barely there touch, his soul aching for more.

Just stepping foot into your quaint flat has the weight he had been carrying on his chest for months beginning to ease up. Nothing beat the elation of being back where he belonged, not even spraying champagne from the top step on a podium.

Determined not to scare you off before he could have a proper conversation with you, Pierre opts for falling into the same humor you had used earlier. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Is that takeout I smell?" 

You nod, your cheeks turning a pale pink. “I got you two orders of beef lo mein. I figured you might be hungry.”

As if summoned, his stomach growls. “Yeah. I haven’t eaten since breakfast."

“Figures,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief as you settle into the plush carpet and pull a takeout box towards you. "I got it from that place across town, the one you liked best." Pierre perches on the edge of the sofa and snags the plastic tray with his name on it, eyes never leaving yours.

Now that you were mere feet from him he found it increasingly difficult to deny himself the relief of kissing you here and now. He wanted to trace his thumb over your lips before replacing it with his own, to slot his mouth over yours until time was nothing and he was no one other than yours.

You clear your throat and drop his gaze first, sending him crashing back to reality. “So, ninth huh? Glad to see you cracked the top ten.”

Pierre scrunches his nose and spears a piece of broccoli. He was shit with chopsticks but you always got a kick out of him fumbling with them. “Not where I’d like to be but I’ll take it. Horner took notice obviously, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“I think an invitation to Milton Keynes is enough reason to hope," you say around a mouthful of sticky rice.

This interaction was reason to hope. The fact that you were once again on speaking terms, that things were finally returning to some semblance of normal, was enough for him to believe that one day everything would be back to how it was before. That maybe, just maybe, he could hold you in his arms again and fall asleep to the soundtrack of your heart beating in his ear. 

Remembering the guy from your instagram, he scans the room for any sign of a male companion. Finding none, he asks, “How’s your boyfriend?”

It probably would have been a good idea to go about this particular line of questioning with a bit more tact. Inquiring so blatantly betrayed his inner thoughts, laid all his cards on the table. He didn't have it in him to care, not when his world might be turned upside down by your answer.

“Oh, you mean Peter?” You sip your water, seemingly working up the courage to explain. Each moment that the silence dragged on it became more of a physical monster. Pierre could feel it growing until it threatened to sink his claws in him and drag him deeper into the pits of his insecurity.

“If that’s his name, yeah.” Pierre braces himself for whatever comes next, reminding himself to be happy for you no matter what you choose. It would take time but he could put aside what he still felt for you and learn to accept your choice if it meant staying in your life.

You shake your head. “He’s a friend from uni. He’s not my boyfriend. At least not anymore.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning down at his food to cover the way his heart skips. “But he was?”

He had expected you to move on, if he was being honest. No way in hell did you deserve to be as miserable as he had been since you'd left- you deserved all the happiness he couldn't seem to give you and more. And if someone else had been the one to grant you that happiness, he should thank them. 

“For a little while,” you say softly, like it would cushion the blow. “It didn’t feel right.”

He was familiar with that feeling. Nothing he did felt right after the break up. Just about the only thing that kept him sane was telling himself that you’d come to your senses sooner or later.

And now that he was here, his world was beginning to right itself.

“Earth to Pierre,” you say teasingly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I just- I’ve missed this,” he says, picking at his food.

“What, eating subpar takeout in my tiny apartment?” You laugh and stuff another bite in your mouth. God, you could be so oblivious. It was one of the many things he adored about you. 

“I do. I miss doing anything that involves you, actually.”

There it was. His heart laid bare before you for the second time, waiting to see how you would respond. You set down your chopsticks and wipe your lips. His eyes track their movement as you whisper, “I’ve missed you too.”

Four syllables and he melts. It takes all he has to keep himself from sobbing with relief. It was everything he had come here hoping to hear. He couldn’t endure this again, couldn’t lose you for a second time-

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he pleads, body thrumming with the need to wrap you in his arms. “Don’t put me through this again unless you’re here to stay.”

He wasn't strong enough to tell you to stop. He would let you wreck him and he would be completely powerless to stop it. He would welcome it if it meant you granting him a sliver of your time. It would ruin him for anyone else but he didn’t have it in him to turn you away.

You rise to your feet and pad around the low table until you’re standing knee to knee, his neck craned up to study your face. You just keep looking at him, the leash on his carefully controlled restraint slipping as he rambles, “Because I can’t take it if you leave me again, I won’t-”

You simply nod, as if that’s all the answer he should need. But it’s not enough. “Tell me,” he pleads. “Tell me you mean it.”

He didn’t care that he was begging. He didn’t care that you had reduced his normally impenetrably stoic mentality to a jumble of you. If he was being honest with himself, you were the light of his life, the reason he pushed so hard for results on track. Everything had gone black and white when you left and racing had been the only thing keeping him from falling apart at the seams. The need to make you proud still propelled him forward even if he'd had no idea if you still cared.

So no, he didn’t care at all that he was practically on his knees. He would grovel at your feet for his entire life if it meant you’d grant him one more day to be with you.

“I mean it,” you murmur and place a hand on his cheek. He draws a shaky breath, leaning into you. Home, home, home, his head screams, acutely aware of every square inch of contact between the two of you.

“I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and I’ve finally come to terms with it- your lifestyle. If I love you, I have to accept it being public. I have to build myself a shelter to withstand the storm, but I’ll make it big enough for two.”

It takes everything in him to keep from crushing you to his chest and never letting go. He had to ask, had to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was forever. “Promise me you won’t leave again if things get hard. Promise me we’ll get through whatever they throw at us together.”

“I promise. I’m not afraid anymore,” you murmur. Pierre’s head falls forward to rest on your hip bone, your fingers threading in his hair. “Daniel’s girlfriend helped me see that it doesn’t matter what anyone says. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I haven't been the same since I…”

“Neither have I.” His thumb winds under your shirt to sweep over your soft skin. “You’re safe with me, you know that right? I can protect you from whatever they say and you’re right, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is this-” he finally lets himself look up at you- “what we have. I’ve never stopped loving you, not once.”

Your smile is soft and tentative as you climb into his lap. His hands slide up your sides to pull you closer, refusing to let an inch separate you now that you’d bridged the gap. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. I learned my lesson.”

You lean down to ghost your lips over his brow, his closed eyelids, his nose. He can feel himself reconstructing under your touch, that final piece of the puzzle clicking home after being lost for so long. “I promise that I’m yours until the last star falls from the sky.”

He had lost four months of time with you. He wouldn't allow another second to slip through his fingers. 

Anticipating his movements, you meet him halfway. Fireworks explode as his lips finally return home and his world is finally, finally righted. Your nails scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, drawing him impossibly closer as your body moulds against his. He had nearly forgotten how perfectly your curves fit against him after all this time. He was determined to memorize every mountain and valley of you by the night's end.

His hands grip your thighs and he stands. Your arms automatically wind around his neck to keep from falling. He carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the edge of the island, never breaking the kiss. Nothing mattered outside of this apartment; not his career, not any baseless gossip, nothing existed beyond the space where your skin met his.

Pierre pulls back long enough to remove his shirt. Your fingers dance over his skin, relearning the planes of his chest like you had all the time in the world. And you did; he would stay here as long as you let him, reveling in the way you drank up every inch of his body like it was the first time you’d seen it.

“I love you,” you say as he kisses along your jaw.

How many times had he dreamt of you whispering that to him the past four months? How many times had it echoed in his head before a race, taunting him? He could scarcely believe his mind wasn’t playing more tricks on him now. He had to be certain it was real.

“Say it again,” he breathes. “Please. Please, tell me again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, punctuating each word with a kiss. “I love you Pierre, my champion, my heart, my everything.”

Pierre groans against your mouth, knotting his fingers in your hair and tugging your head back to expose your throat. He nips at the soft skin, not caring that he was leaving a trail of tiny marks in his wake. His focus was entirely on the gasps he was dragging from you with each touch, your heels digging into his ass and begging for him to be closer.

"My sweet, kindhearted man," you continue breathlessly. He didn't know if the words were for your benefit or his. "My best friend. My one and only love."

In that moment, you could ask him to bring you a star from the midnight sky and he wouldn't stop until he found a way to make it happen. You could ask for his last dollar and he would hand it to you with a smile on his face, completely enthralled with the way his name sounds on your tongue, professing that you still wanted him as much as he wanted you.

You were his undoing.

“Off,” he growls, tugging at your sweatshirt. You obey instantly and fling it aside, neither of you caring when dishes clatter to the tile floor and undoubtedly break. Your jeans follow suit after he helps you slip out of them. He runs his fingers over the delicate black lace of your bra and panties and pauses to appreciate that you knew exactly where the night would lead.

His cock twitches as you reach between your bodies to run a knuckle over his clothed length. “Your turn.” You undo the button with practiced ease, taking your sweet time as his breath comes in ragged gasps. He’d had a taste of you and hadn’t forgotten how you’d felt around him. He needed you more than he needed the air he breathed, his desperation taking over as he swats your hand aside and strips off his jeans and boxers himself.

He drops to his knees and grips your thighs, pulling you forward until your center is inches from his face. The yelp that escapes you is intoxicating, your hands flying back to catch yourself. His teeth sink none too gently into the flesh of your thigh and he’s rewarded with a moan before he flicks his tongue over the hurt.

Your head falls back and Pierre places one of your legs over his shoulder. “Mon amour,” he purrs, garnering your attention. Your head lolls forward and he waits until you meet his gaze to speak again. “You know I love you, right?”

“I never doubted it,” you confirm, lips curling in a smile. “But why don’t you prove it to me again?”

He pulls your panties aside and blows lightly. You groan, thighs tensing under his fingers as your toes curl and he chuckles. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Do you really want to tease me?”

“What I want,” he says sharply, “is to have you moaning my name until it's the only word you know.” His tongue flicks out to dance over your thigh, dangerously close to where he knows you want him. “What I want is to make up for lost time.” He rips through the thin lace of your panties and lets the ruined scraps fall to the floor.

“Those were expensive.”

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

He would buy you an entire lingerie store if he could rip every set of it off you. He didn’t care how much it costed, it was never too much when it came to you.

“What I want most, my love,” he murmurs, smiling when his hot breath curls over your dripping cunt and you squirm, “is to forget everything else and stay here forever.”

You cry out when his tongue finally flicks through your folds. Pierre hums approvingly at your reaction, one arm snaking up to pin your hips in place. He sucks lightly at your clit and your fingers tangle in his hair.

“P-Pierre,” you breathe. He pulls back and you whine at the loss of contact. He grins up at you, the wickedness of it dragging the moan from your lips that he was after. He was drunk on the sound, desperate to hear it again and again.

“There’s my good girl.” He runs his tongue flat over your sex, savoring the taste as you squirm under him. You let out a choked noise when he repeats the motion before fucking you with his tongue, his nose hitting your clit with each stroke.

He doesn’t miss the way your lip wobbles and Pierre knows you’re ready to cry with frustration. He decides he’s tortured you enough for now and relents, putting two fingers in his mouth to wet them before plunging them inside you.

His mouth is spelling his name on your clit a moment later, your walls already clamping down on his fingers as your orgasm nears. In the handful of times he’d taken you to bed, he had already learned that when your head rolls back like that and your breathing stops, you’re seconds away from climaxing. He doesn’t let up until you’re shaking beneath him, finally slowing to work you through your orgasm without making you hypersensitive.

“Baby,” you groan breathlessly. Pierre slowly withdraws his fingers and wipes them on his thigh before pressing a final, tender kiss to your center that makes you jump.

“Use my name,” he demands, uncoiling to his full height. He grips your wrist and hauls your boneless body up, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders to keep you upright.

“Pierre,” you murmur and he grinds his hips against you in approval. He captures your mouth with his, taking advantage of your hazy mind to lazily explore it. 

You hum into the kiss, managing to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Suddenly the column of your neck is all he can think about and he wraps a hand around it, squeezing with enough force that you pull back with a gasp.

“Too much?” He murmurs, lessening his grip. Your brows knit together and your lower lips juts out, begging for him to take it between his teeth. He leans in and gives in to the impulse as he swipes his thumb under your jaw.

“Tell me if you want my hand on your throat, my love. I need to hear you say it.”

“Please,” you say finally. Your eyes are cloudy when they meet his. “Keep it there.”

He shows his approval in the form of a light squeeze. You angle your hips up, nudging his cock with your center. You reach a hand down to wrap around his shaft and drag the head through your folds, teasing him as he had done to you. The grip on your throat tightens to a point bordering blissfully between pain and pleasure, both a warning and an order to continue. 

If you knew how close he was to flipping you on your stomach and slamming into you, you’d call him crazy. Or maybe you’d like it, judging by the way your head falls back as he rocks his hips and inches into you.

You both moan when he decides the time for restraint has passed and he slams into you. You lift your hips to meet his with every thrust, clearly missing this just as much as he had. God, he’d lost months of fucking you, of feeling you clench around him and writhe beneath him. If he could stay like this forever he would, his hand around your neck and cock splitting you open as he laps up your moans like sweet candy.

“I’m- Pierre,” you squeak out, and he knows you’re barreling towards your second orgasm of the night. He pulls you up by your neck until you’re eye to eye and forced to look at him.

“Come for me,” he whispers, slamming into you again and again. “Come on my cock mon amour and I might just cum inside you.”

His words are your undoing, pleasure rippling from you in waves as your mouth falls open in a silent plea. He grants you no clemency as your cunt twitches around him, instead following through on his promise and following your lead.

You pants mix with his own as he struggles to keep both of you upright, his knees turned to jelly. Your head rests on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your temple, slowly pulling out of you. A pitiful whimper escapes your throat involuntarily.

“I know,” Pierre murmurs, reaching over to start the kitchen sink. He wets a clean cloth and runs it between your legs, still supporting you as he doesn’t trust that your legs won't give out if he doesn’t. When it’s clear you can barely form a coherent thought, he scoops you in his arms and carries you to your room. He nudges the bathroom door open with his hip and sets you on the vanity.

The absence of his body heat makes you shiver when he goes to turn on the shower, adjusting the knobs until he’s satisfied with the temperature. He gathers you in his arms and steps into the tub, your sigh audible as the warm water hits your skin.

“Can you stand?” he murmurs before kissing your temple. You nod against his chest and he sets you down, keeping his hands on your waist just in case. You’re thankful for it when your knees wobble, a hand flying out to steady yourself.

“I’m okay,” you say after a beat and grin up at him. “I can stand, promise.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m taking my hands off you,” he says, grinning right back. “At least not for long.” He reaches over your shoulder for the shampoo and gestures for you to turn around. You obey, tipping your head back to wet your hair. A blissful sigh escapes you when his fingers meet your scalp, the cherry blossom scent blooming in the air as he works it into a lather.

Taking care of you was just as satisfying as the sex was. He cherished the intimacy of taking this small burden from your shoulders. The seemingly simple task was one of deep seated trust and it proved to him that your love ran bone deep. There was a level of trust in you letting him wash you that he didn't want to have with anyone else. It was reserved for you and you alone.

“Close your eyes,” he warns before guiding your head back under the water for a rinse. He cups a hand to your forehead to keep the soap from your eyes. Your smile is soft but unrestrained as you lean further into him until your back is pressed to his chest.

You both stay silent as he runs the creamy conditioner through the ends of your hair. His hand cups your jaw and tips your head back for a lazy kiss before he rinses that too and cuts the tap.

Once you're wrapped in a fuzzy white towel he finally dries himself off, fighting off a chill. He doesn't realize you're watching him until he turns around and notices you standing in the doorway.

"What?"

You push off the wall and pad back to where he stands to wrap your arms around his middle. His thumb traces patterns on your shoulder, perfectly content to stand there dripping on the tile until morning. 

When it's clear you're lost in thought he speaks up. "What's on your mind?"

"When did you know you loved me?"

"Like the exact moment?" He asks, caught off guard. You nod against his chest.

"When you visited me in Milan last summer," he says a few heartbeats later. That night insisted on making guacamole at two in the morning and woke me up because you couldn't find a lime. You told me you couldn't sleep because it was all you could think about after you saw that couple at the cafe eating it."

"Why then?"

"Because I knew I didn't have a lime but I was fully prepared to knock on every door in the building to find you one. Because in that moment all that mattered was seeing your face light up when I handed it to you and knowing that it was me that made you smile like that. I knew then that I’d do anything for you."

It still amazed him how a lime of all things was the tipping point. In that moment, a lime was important to you and it so naturally became important to him. If anyone else had woken him from his deep sleep he would have grumbled and told them off. But you, seeing your face inches from his, the light from the hall casting a warm halo around your frame as you whispered his name, he hadn’t cared at all.

"But then I found the juice in the fridge," you recall and glance up at him.

"Yeah, you did. And you felt so bad for waking me up- you had no idea that I had already fallen so hard that I had to keep myself from shutting you up with a kiss.”

The easy admission seems to stir something in you and you rise up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his. “I knew that time you sent food to my dorm at midnight when I was pulling an all nighter. I was studying for my calculus final, remember?”

Pierre nods. “I was in Barcelona. You weren’t answering your phone so I sent a message with the takeout guy.” He had been wholly enamored with you at that point, having quickly learned that trying to keep his feelings buried deep was an option that would never work. So he leaned into it, letting little bits of it shine through in hopes that you might pick up on it.

Your laugh rumbles through him. “It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for me. I hadn’t eaten all day. I was too nervous.”

“Took us long enough to figure it out didn’t it?” He untangles himself from you and leads you to bed.

“I’m just glad we did eventually.” You let him guide you to the mattress while he stays standing and goes to your closet. He hunts for the shirt he wants to see you in, praying you hadn’t gotten rid of it. He finally finds it tucked back in the corner and pulls it out, the cobalt blue fabric a little faded from how often you’d worn it over the years.

“I remember that,” you say softly as he returns with it and slips it over your head. 

It was the first shirt he had ever gotten upon entering Formula 1 and somehow you had wound up snagging it from his closet while he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen during that same trip to Milan. He had choked on his guac when you reappeared wearing it, eyes lingering on the Torro Rosso logo on the chest and his name splayed across your back like a claiming.

"I don't have sweatpants for you anymore," you point out with an apologetic wince. "I got rid of them."

Pierre just shrugs and hands you the shirt. "I have a change of clothes in my backpack. I was planning on working out to blow off some steam if…"

He trails off and you nod in silent acknowledgement. He didn’t have to voice the thought, you were already in his head and knew exactly what he meant. Unable to help himself, he kisses your head just because he can before retrieving his bag from the kitchen. "I have something for you," he says and lets the towel around his waist drop.

You let out a low whistle and grin at him as your eyes slide over every inch of his body. He takes more time than necessary to pull out his shorts, appreciating your gaze. You're still watching him as he slips them on and brings his bag to you.

"Do you wanna see what I got you or are you gonna stare at me all night?"

"I think I'll stare."

Pierre rolls his eyes and chuckles, plopping down next to you. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

You do as he asks but not before cocking a brow at him. Knowing the sound of the package will give it away, he does his best to draw out the first item as quietly as he can. The second he sets it in your hands a smile splits your face. He'd tear down the energy station with his bare hands to keep that expression on your face.

"It's candy." Your eyes open and you gasp. "Laffy taffy? But you can only get this-"

"In the states," He finishes. “I got as much as the store had.” The chewy, fruity candy was your absolute favorite and every once in a while you craved it. His backpack was currently stuffed full of it and various other packages of sweets, having been collected at every gp he had been to since Austin.

You tear into the package and dig for a pink one. You hold it out to him triumphantly and somehow, it’s that simple gesture that makes him melt. “You like the strawberry ones don’t you?”

“Yes baby, I do.” He lets you pop the sweet in his mouth - Pyry would certainly not approve- and grins at you. “If you eat too many before bed you won’t be able to sleep.”

“It’s still early,” you point out but don’t hesitate to set the sweets aside and cuddle up to him when he lays back. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I have to be at Milton by eight,” he says, wrapping an arm around your middle. “But you’re coming with me.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo​ 

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

[wandsandwheezes]

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH1

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff.

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London's best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

He was giving you that look. not the look, that look - the one that told you to stop doing what you were doing. It wasn't often that you'd layer it on thick for the press, making sure that you're giggling as you press your hand to his chest. With each flash of a picture you make sure you're striking a different pose. It was hard work being a liar, but it was even harder work without the publicity you gained. 

Your Publicist Cheryl or 'cherry' as she begged you to call her, had devised her own scheming plan to generate not only some amazing press for you, a well established quidditch player, but also some well-needed hype and sales for Fred Weasley's shop. After all, it's not every day that London's best quidditch player was dating Infamous Fred Weasley, Gryffindor Star beater and all-in-all stellar man. The plan had been well and truly in action for just over four months, With Fred the main face of the shared brand with his brother George, it felt like the best option according to Cherry. 

You were leaning into Fred, answering press questions about the latest win, how you were feeling about the upcoming game and, of course the all too regularly asked update on the relationship. You were 'very happy with a man like Fred', he was smiling down at you, gushing sappily "She may be the best Seeker in the game, but my god is she a keeper." The line made you sick to your stomach, When Cherry had pitched it to you both, you were groaning in disgust, but as she pulled the lollipop from her bright red lips with a pop, staring at you with raised eyebrows, you knew it had to be done.

As the interview began to wrap up, you thanked the photographers and journalists, grabbing Fred's hand and interlocking your fingers with a beaming smile, you made sure the cameras could see, after all the last issue of the Daily Prophet branded it as a 'winning smile'. You were escorted away from the press, once out of sight from them, your hand dropped from Fred's grip. "Well done for not making that so not obviously fake." you quipped at him, going to pull your coat on and check your phone for any messages. He laughed, imitating your voice, "Oh, Fred, you're so handsome, won't you just kiss me right now?" You scoffed, throwing your bag over your shoulder. Your phone had three messages when the screen had lit up, your stomach feeling like it had butterflies when you noticed the name. 

>> Do I get to see my beautiful girl later? 

>> I got your favourite for dinner. 

>> I miss your lips already

You felt like the luckiest girl alive in his presence, he made you feel like a princess - a queen even, with every night you spent with him. It all started at Hogwarts for you two, after all, It's not often you get to see the best Slytherin seeker and the Gryffindor star beater together. It really wasn't often because you'd been hiding your relationship for that long. He taught you quidditch skills that got you to where you are today during late, late night practices, often ending with makeout sessions on the grass as you straddled his hips,giggling into the bitter Scottish air. 

You fell in love with George Weasley as a teenager, and for 6 years you had kept your relationship a well-guarded secret. Even through the war, you kissed each other goodbye, praying that it was only a see you later. You knew that one day you would marry the gorgeous man you loved so dearly. You tried to persuade Cherry, who had and still has no clue about your true relationship status, for it to be George you had a public relationship with, but she quickly shut the idea down because George was 'too quiet'. 

<< I miss you so much Georgie… heading back to the shop with fred now

<< btw I'm staying over tonight, I won't suffer another night without kisses :'((

>> Just kisses? ;) 

<< Shut up. 

<< I love you xx

>> I Love you too, babygirl xx

>> Daddy can't wait to see you <3

George stood lazily, arms draped over the balcony as he was smiling down at his phone like a muppet. He was so head over heels with you that he wasn't sure what to do with himself. George wasn't mad that you had to fake date his twin, after all, he'd rather it be Fred than some random quidditch man, or worst of all, Krum. He knew and recognised how important it was to your career plus, what good businessman turns down the opportunity to rake in some sales? It hurt to read the papers sometimes, seeing how much attention you both got together, a part of him wished it was he who got to show you off. 

When you entered the shop, you caught George's eyes immediately, a bashful smile spread across your face, immediately feeling like a schoolgirl again in his presence. Fred sulked off to his office, leaving you to browse the shop until your driver arrived to take you to team practice. You were browsing the upper back wall of products when you felt his stare on you, he was meters away from you and you ached to draw him in for a kiss. You reached out to him, making the grabby hands that he couldn't resist, he checked over his shoulder, seeing nobody, before waking over to you, he pulled you into a quick and needy kiss by your neck, his other hand finding your hip. 

"I'll be home after practice," you mumbled between kisses. It was common for you to travel to his via floo, arriving at the place you truly called home, leaving a vacant and empty flat behind. He shook his head, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. "Too long to wait," he laughed softly, his lips pressing to yours again, you were just about to deepen the kiss when you heard Cherry yell out, "Y/N let's go or you'll be late for practice!" You sighed, leaving your boyfriend behind, fingertips being the last thing to separate as you walked away, leaving him dumbfounded. 

Practicing with your team was always a long, tough grind, your captain worked you hard and she knew it was all for the best, she was due soon to step down from her duty as captain, leaving the team in your hands, so you felt like you were learning double constantly. The warm water running down your skin made you crave George's touch even more, pushing the thought of Fred's hand on your hip out of your mind completely, you simply couldn't wait. 

When you arrived home, George, as promised had your favourite dinner ready for you. He was an amazing chef, using muggle techniques and tools to help create the perfect dishes without the need for magic. You shrugged off your jacket and bag, relaxing into the dining table chair as George brought out your bowl, his hands were massaging your shoulders as you ate, "Aren't you gonna eat, Georgie?" you questioned him, he smirked, "I've been waiting for you to get home so I could have my favourite." George was on his knees, hands reaching up to pull down your leggings, you lifted your hips up, allowing him to drag the material down each of your legs, hooking them over his shoulders, 

You knew exactly what he was doing, your hands found his hair and he tutted, breath fanning over your pussy as he looked up at you. "I made your favourite for you, Princess, You always liked it when we eat together." His tongue darted out to lick over your covered slit, feeling you already wet through your underwear, he hummed in appreciation, his teeth pulling the material to the side before attaching his lips to your clit.

Every time he hummed against you, it made you shake, the task of eating dinner becoming more and more strenuous, as you struggled to swallow down the food while he was pulling such sinful moans from you. George's skilled tongue was fucking your cunt, swallowing everything he could like it was the last meal he'd ever eat, and godric did he think you tasted divine, his thumb came up to circle your clit slowly, bringing you closer and closer to the ege. 

Thing is with George, he doesn't stop till he's got what he wanted. "Finish your dinner, baby," he smirked, a long finger slowly teasing your entrance, "I'm not finished until you are too." he was a determined man, by your second orgasm you could hardly hold up your fork, but nevertheless you soldiered on, managing to swallow the last piece just before number three hit, your legs were shaking and you were moaning incoherent sentences. That was possibly the best meal of your life, your weak legs could hardly hold you up when you tried to stand. 

George pulled you up into his arms, carrying you to the bed where he found your favourite shirt of his, helping you change into it, he left to make you a cup of tea, bringing it into the bedroom for you. sitting contently beside each other.

George's phone buzzed on the side, he read the message from fred. Laughing before showing it to you, the irony all too funny for him to resist. 

>> George, if only you had to do this… Fancy swapping places at the product launch on Saturday? 

<< Love to, but I'm not sure that's how the whole twin thing works. 

>> With an ass like hers, I don't mind it too much… shame, she seems like your type. 

The last text from him made george both laugh and be angry at him sexualising his girl. You laugh, pressing a soft kiss to your boyfriend’s jaw before taking a sip of your tea, "He doesn't know George."

He hums a little bit before typing a reply. 

<< It really is a shame, she does have a nice ass. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes - Men. 

///TO BE CONTINUED///  Chapter Two >>>>>

Taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @vogueweasley @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @rip-us @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke @loony-loopy-lupinn

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Bunny Ears

Pairing :: older/adult!Damian Wayne x fem!Reader

Warnings :: none, except embarassment

Word Count :: 956

Summary :: You got Damian to wear bunny ears. 

A/N :: I got a Damain Fluff request from @yourcatcoffeeaddictfan​. I hope you enjoy!

Image created by me on ArtBreeder

“Pretty please?” You begged Damian.

He stared at you with a blank face, still unable to believe what you were asking for.

You held one of his hands with both of yours, giving him a large puppy-eyed look. You were hoping if you tried hard enough, he’d cave and give in.

“(Y/N)-”

“It won’t be for very long, I promise! We’ll be done before dinner.”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, a long sigh leaving him. “Fine.”

You squealed with joy, jumping onto him and engulfing him in a large hug.

-

Though you had promised him it wouldn’t take long, you two found yourself seated at the dinner table with everyone, painfully quiet, except for you, and their gaze fixed on Damian. No one paid attention to your story about how you and your brother managed to get stuck in a hidden room at your grandparent’s house. Each one had their attention set on Damian, who was wearing a black and red striped shirt with white bunny ears. Quite the contrast to your pastel pink hoodie and pink bunny ears.

“And then, they finally realized the key to the room was in my grandma’s old jewelry box,” You finished, taking another spoon full of pasta.

Jason nodded, pretending to care before he spoke. “So wild, can’t believe they didn’t think of that first,” He said as if he was listening. “Hey, Damian, why are you dressed like that?”

Damian glared at Jason, jaw clenching because he knew the second you left he’d be bombarded by his older adopted brothers.

“(Y/N) asked me to take pictures with her and film some short videos.”

“Pictures?” Jason raised a brow.

A small frown appeared on Tim’s face. “You threw my camera at me when I asked you to take a picture of me and Steph…”

“Because I was busy then.”

“Hold on, what type of videos?” Dick butted in.

“Just some cute little couples videos to random audios I like,” You explained.

You looked over at Bruce, the only one who wasn’t blatantly staring at Damian and instead actually eating his food.

“Sorry if this seems a bit distracting for the dinner table Mr. W,” You gestured to the bunny ears and your cute makeup. “I would’ve done this at my place, but my roommate is having a small gathering of friends and they can be just a bit… noisy at times.”

Bruce shook his head. “It’s perfectly fine (Y/N). Plus, if you didn’t we would’ve never gotten to see Damian wear another color besides black,” He said with a small smirk.

You giggled, nodding in agreement. “Honestly, I was shocked to find out Dames really only had black in his closet. There was only one white shirt, but that’s for formal events only!” You teased. You hugged his arm, a small smile on your face as you looked at him. “But I didn’t mind buying him this new shirt. Especially since I got him a few other things too.”

“You did?” The three other men asked in sync, perking up in their seats.

“Yup! I left them all my house though since I only brought the stuff I needed for tonight.”

Each of them visibly shrunk back in disappointment.

Damian let out a small cough, clearing his throat and grabbing everyone’s attention. “Thank you for the dinner, but, I think we’ll be excusing ourselves from the table now. (Y/N) had a rather long list of photo poses and videos she wanted to do before she had to head back home.”

He stood up, grabbing your hand and dragging you away before you could say a word. He rushed you to his room, slamming and locking the door behind you.

“Damian, we don’t have a lot, we nearly finished everything right before dinner,” You started, but stopped when you saw how upset he looked.

Knowing he was upset, your lips curved downward as you approached him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“They’re going to tear me apart after seeing me in these ridiculous bunny ears.”

“Who cares?” You wrapped your arms around his chest, burying your face in his chest. “I think you look cute.”

With your face in his chest, you couldn’t see the faint blush on his face. “They’ll mock me for weeks.”

“If any one of them tries,” You turned your head up to look at him, “I’ll ‘accidentally’ slip and hit them. That’s what I did when my siblings made fun of me.”

Damian let out a soft chuckle. “You really don’t care what others think, do you?”

You shook your head, a large grin on your face. “Nope! Why should I when all that matters is that I’m having fun and look cute?”

You tugged him down for a quick peck on the lips before pulling away. You walked over to your bag, pulling out a small polaroid camera.

“Let’s just take one more picture and then we’ll call it a night. ‘Kay?”

“I thought you had more you wanted-”

Damian was silenced by your lips once again, this time a kiss lasting far longer than the one before. One of his hands rested on your cheek and the other fell to your waist, while you only had one hand flat on his chest.

Snap!

You each pulled apart, Damian’s brows furrowing while he watched you take the photo the polaroid had just printed. 

“For you.” You held the picture out for him.

He stared, still confused, until you started pulling your hand away after a minute.

“If you don’t want it-”

“No, it’s mine,” He said quickly before grabbing the photo.

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching up and taking the bunny ears off of him. “That’s what I thought.”

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter 6

Winds Change

Read on Ao3

-

Five days.

They had five days left together.

Billy tried not to think about it, but it was kinda hard to ignore.

Stalls were already being taken down, fair games being packed up into large shipping trucks to take across the country.

One of Max’s beloved funnel cake stalls had already met the way of the shipping container. She was pissed.

And yet, Billy and Steve did their best to pretend like the rodeo wasn’t coming down around them.

A perfect symbolism for their fling, or whatever, crashing down everywhere they look.

Billy spent days in Steve’s sweaty little airstream, brushing his fingers over that muscular body, calling him a hick and a horse girl and every other fake insult he could think of.

And Steve spent all that time lacing his fingers with Billy’s, winking at him from his place on top of one of his three gorgeous mares as he did victory lap after victory lap, roping calves in under ten seconds, slamming Billy against the walls of the airstream, adrenaline from the stunt still pumping through him.

The field saw them exercising Steve’s horses, taking a ratty blanket out there in the middle of the night to watch the stars.

And it was stupid, Billy pretending that this was more than just. A convenience.

Steve was on his knees, and Billy threaded his hands into that thick hair, tugging it this way and that, the way he’s learned Steve likes after some weeks of mewling whines.

Billy was backed up against the gate of the makeshift paddock, shielded by the prying eyes of the other rodeo workers by the long-set sun and the sounds of the day’s crowds filtering out of the grounds.

Steve pushed down, taking Billy’s cock all the way in his throat, breathing heavily through his nose, the nose currently pressed flat against Billy’s pelvis.

Steve was a champion at a few things: calf roping, horse riding, and dick sucking.

He pulled off Billy’s dick with a slurp, rolling his tongue along the head, humming slightly as he did. His eyes were dark, staring up at Billy, something like a smirk sparking in them as Billy fell apart.

He took a breath, ready to move back in and finish Billy off when there were footsteps.

“Steve! I gotta check Loretta’s hock.”

They both froze, Steve’s eyes going wide with shock, his lips still stretched around the cock in his mouth.

Billy had yet to meet Jim Hopper, the horse specialist that watched out for Steve’s three mares.

He guesses he was about to meet the man right about now.

Steve yanked his face off Billy’s cock with an unmistakable slurping sound that made Billy’s face go bright fuckin’ red. Billy fumbled with the fly on his shorts, and Steve took charge, roughly pulling the button closed and the zip up. It was a miracle he didn’t catch any skin with the quick action.

Steve was on his feet as Jim rounded the edge of the fencing, eyeing the two of them standing far too close, Billy’s face red and full of guilt. Jim raised a hand, his eyes closing as he breathed heavily out his nose.

“I don’t wanna know. Just let me take a look at your girl.”

Steve shrugged, acting like this whole ordeal was just another day at the rodeo.

Maybe it is, Billy’s brain supplied.

They were so fucking. Obvious. Billy could just drop dead right there on the grass.

Jim was a big dude. Beefy and broad, his face was clearly weather-beaten. Well, what of his face wasn’t covered with a graying beard and mustache. His left cheek pudged out slightly with what Billy realized was chewing tobacco when he spit casually at his feet.

“This is Billy. I told you about him,” Steve said with a smirk.

And Billy just about had a heart attack when Steve made a big show of wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, smirkin’ like the devil.

“Yeah, kid, I’m just here for Letty.”

The horses had been allocated to the horsebox for the night, as it was much warmer in there for them. Not that it was cold in San Diego at night, but still. Steve worried. Billy thought it was cute.

Steve led Jim off towards the box, clapping him once on the shoulder as he passed, making Jim groan and spit a dollop of yellow-brown saliva after Steve.

Billy felt like he was about to turn into some thick hot liquid shame when Jim gave him a bit of a once-over, raising one thick eyebrow at him. Jim’s mustache twitched, and he spit to the side before turning on his heel, following Steve to the horses.

Billy has never been more mortified in his life.

Steve’s mentioned Jim a lot. He always calls him Hop. Said Steve himself gave him that nickname. Billy has kinda sussed out that Jim is something like a pseudo-dad to Steve. The one to teach him how to really care for the horses. The one to teach him to properly tie a calf.

All the shit that Steve was made of, Jim taught him.

Billy had put together that Jim’s daughter was the one Max was scampering about the grounds with. Steve said he had adopted Elle when she was about seven.

His face gave something away when he said that. Making a look that said there was a story there, but Billy didn’t wanna ask.

It’s not his story to know.

Billy followed after them, keeping a wide enough berth from the pair that it was weird. He knew it was weird. But it was either this type of weird, or the weird of inserting himself into their conversation when Jim obviously knew what they had been doing seconds before he found them. Steve was about as subtle as a gun with those grass stains on his knees, wiping at his face like he needed to prove a point.

Billy lingered outside the horsebox.

Loretta had been lagging lately, and she startled whenever Steve laid a hand on her left leg.

Steve had just about sobbed when he told Billy he thinks she’s hurt herself.

Billy wished he had a cigarette right about now.

“Yeah, I think the poor girl’s just havin’ some inflammation. Probably tweaked her leg just right on the arena dirt.”

“Is she gonna be okay? What does she need?” Steve sounded more serious than Billy’s ever heard him. There was a weight to his voice that only reared up when Steve mentioned his father, a slight quiver in his words that made his anxiety palpable.

“She’s a tough one, Letty. Let her rest for about two weeks, only mild walking, and some ice at the end of the day wouldn’t hurt, either. We’ll talk after that and see if she needs anything more.”

There was something of a pause in the horsebox, and Billy held his breath, ignoring the fact that he was clearly eavesdropping now.

“You being careful with that boy?”

“‘Course I am.”

“Because I meant what I said last time. I’m not posing as your dad to get you an appointment at the clinic again-”

“ Jesus, Hop. I thought we agreed never to talk about that again, huh? And besides, I’m grown. I can make appointments for my own STD tests now. Plus, it was all fine.”

Billy nearly choked.

It’s not that he’s never had a scare before, and he and Steve were safe, but still.

“Good to hear, then. But you being careful ?” There was another silence from the box. One of the horses whinnied.

When Jim continued, it was with a much softer voice than before.

“I ain’t never seen you so attached before.”

The horse whinnied again, and Billy pictured Steve wrapping his arms around June’s neck and hugging her close.

“He’s under my skin now.” A scuff that sounded like Steve’s boot brushing against the hay-covered floor of the box. “First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.”

Those words crashed into Billy’s gut, knocking all the wind out of him.

He suffocated on them, drowned in Steve’s melancholy voice as he said them.

First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.

It stung at the same time it made Billy’s heart soar.

It hurt and it healed and it made Billy wanna throw up and lock Steve in his basement so he could never leave him.

Or maybe something less totally wacked-out and creepy.

“You know I love you like my own, but you gotta manage yourself. I ain’t judgin’, I just don’t wanna see you all hurt again.”

“Jeez, that was some real sappy shit there.” The mood shifted with Steve’s deflection, and Billy could hear footsteps leaving the horsebox.

He scrambled over to Steve’s little airstream, pretending he hadn’t been listening and freaking out over what he was hearing.

There was just. There was a whole lot to take in there.

Jim said he didn’t want to see Steve all hurt again, but also said he’s never seen Steve so attached before.

When had he been all hurt before if this was, in Steve’s words, the first time he wasn’t ready for a fling to be over?

And Billy didn’t want to hurt Steve, but it kinda, in a real shitty way, made him feel a little bit better that he wasn’t the only one ignoring the oncoming end out of sadness and a need to prolong whatever they had left.

That, and the added little bonus that Jim had once pretended to be Steve’s father to get him an STD test from a clinic.

Billy feels like he’s been punched in the face over and over again by that short conversation he heard. And he would know. He’s been decked in the kisser too many times to think about.

He leaned against the cold metal wall of the airstream as Steve came into view, Jim heading in the opposite direction towards the fairgrounds and the rodeo being shut down for the night.

Steve smiled at Billy, this soft, calm little thing that made the warm summer air even sweeter in Billy’s lungs and the words keep ringing through his head.

First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.

He could see something in Steve, now that he knew what to look for.

How carefree and easy he seemed anytime he was around Billy, but those devastating moments when he seemed to bite his tongue against saying something more meaningful, or shied away from a briefly intimate touch.

Billy could finally see his own anxiety in Steve at their dwindling time together, and it broke his fucking heart.

Robin had warned Billy not to get attached. She told him Steve slept around and played the field and left before anyone could get in too deep.

But he wonders if Robin had warned Steve against the same thing. If she had told him that Billy was going to fuck and run. That leaving someone behind can sometimes hurt just as much as being left behind.

He hopes that if she hasn’t, she’ll be there for Steve. That she’ll pick him up and won’t let him break his own precious heart anymore.

“So, how’s Loretta?”

“She’ll be okay. Poor lady just needs some rest and some ice, and she’ll be feeling her best in a few weeks.”

Steve matched Billy’s stance, leaning against the trailer and tilting his face to the starry sky.

It was quiet out in the sea of trailers. Now that the spectators had all gone home for the night, the cheering crowds and amplified commentators weren’t reverberating through the open grass.

Instead, they could hear the rodeo animals that had been put in their nighttime areas. The many whineys and brays from different horses spread through the place.

The rodeo seemed so fucking magic to Billy.

Something like Heaven.

“I’m going soon.”

Billy doesn’t know why Steve said it.

They both knew that fact.

He thought they were both aggressively ignoring that fact.

“Yeah. You are.”

Billy didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He really didn’t want to have this conversation. Ever.

Because talking about it makes it real.

And God fucking forbid Steve breaks it off now and not in the allotted five days they still have to laugh and fuck and be free .

He pulled out his slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes, lighting one deftly.

Steve didn’t smoke. Said his grandpa died really horribly of lung cancer.

Billy knew this was going to be a serious talk when Steve didn’t make one of his usual snide remarks about Billy smoking.

“I just wanted. To be sure,” Steve trailed off, still looking at the spangled night sky. “We need to be on the same page.”

That we’re probably, most definitely, in love with one another but too stupid and too poorly timed and too tragic to say anything about it.

“I think we are.”

“Okay. Okay. Good. Because, I mean, I really don’t want to hurt you, and, like, our arrangement’s been the same since the beginning.”

Arrangement.

That word.

Arrangement.

It was a fucking ugly word for whatever beautiful thing they had between them.

Arrangement.

It made Billy feel cheap, and used, and so fucking stupid.

And feeling like that only meant one thing for Billy.

He got fucking mad.

“So, that’s it then. You’re done with me. Onto the next poor sucker in the next shitty town that’ll fuck you through the mattress and hold your hand until you decide you’re sick of ‘em. Great. It was so nice being your fucking whore. Thanks for the. Opportunity.”

He wished he chewed tobacco like Jim. He would spit a glob at Steve’s foot. Probably make it land right on those stupid fucking red cowboy boots.

Steve finally looked at Billy, his face scrunched up and those beautiful eyes of his looking somewhere between lost and hurt and angry and confused.

“Billy, that’s not what I-”

“No. No, Harrington, I fucking get it. You go town to town, and feed these fuckers a sob story about how hard it is for you to connect with people, and that you’re lonely and your dad sucks, and all this other bullshit. When really, you’re just an insecure asshole with intimacy problems who’s too fucking stupid to get a fucking GED.”

Fuck.

The second the words were out of his mouth, Billy knew he had gone way too fucking far.

Steve’s eyes flashed, and his face seemed to morph right in front of Billy’s eyes. He was closing himself off right where they stood. Getting ready to chuck Billy away and never see him again.

And Billy fucking deserved it.

“You’re calling me an insecure asshole with intimacy problems? The only friends you’ve got are coworkers that only pity you because they can see how fucking pathetic you are. You beg for scraps like a fucking dog and the second things get tough you ignore it, or get angry at it, like a stupid goddamn child . You think you’re so tough. That you’re the only one with problems . You’ve got your head so far up your own ass that you don’t realize that shit sucks all over, and that everyone is just as miserable as you are, we’re just able to fucking make something out of ourselves instead of wallowing in self-pity.”

Steve’s little speech left Billy feeling dumbfounded.

He was seething with a rage he had never felt in his life before. Anger at himself, and anger at Steve for being so fucking right. For letting all of Billy’s flaws and insecurities tumble out of his mouth like they were nothing.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, leaning forward to put it out against the door of the airstream, leaving a tiny circular ash print on the painted cow. It looked like a bullet wound on the poor thing.

It’s how Billy felt.

“I hope your horse fucking dies.”

It was childish.

It was so dumb, and childish, and Billy really doesn’t hope any horse anywhere dies, especially Steve’s three wonderful mares, but he’s feeling something he thinks he could call jilted, and he’s hurt and upset and genuinely at a loss.

He didn’t let Steve get another word in. Just turned on his heel, and left the little cowboy behind.

[andromedasstarship]

in the stars - chapter 5

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader 

warnings - canon-typical criminal minds violence, stalking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drinking, angst

summary -  “Please,” he said, staring you straight in the eyes. “Don’t go.” 

a/n - i really love this chapter! cant wait to hear what yall think :DD also for reference i aged jack down just a year so hes 3 when haley passes away, about to turn 5 when reader & aaron get together. i dont claim any dialogue straight from Emma as mine! (emma dialogue is in italics) 

masterlist / series masterlist / read it on ao3 

chapter 4 / chapter 6 

-----

You were hyper-aware of the new way the team was looking at you as you entered the conference room. You shot a very anxious glance up towards Aaron, grateful for the very brief- but soft- glance he gave you before the business side of him took over again. You could feel the ghost of his hand hovering over that protective spot on your back again as he led you up towards the table. 

It felt like your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, upon seeing the seemingly endless piles of photos in front of you. Your brain was struggling to process everything that was laid out in front of you and you felt your heart rate start to pick up; seeing it in person was worse than anything your mind had created in the drive here. 

“Y/N.” 

Your eyes shot up to meet the voice and you saw Spencer looking down at you with a look that was just on the edge of pity. “We tried to sort the pictures into piles of time relativity. Would you be able to go through them and help us create a firmer timeline?” 

You nodded at that, vaguely aware of Aaron pulling a chair out behind you. You gladly slid down into it. Seeing Emily start to pick up one pile and push them towards you made you nervously laugh, the stress of the moment and how uncomfortable you felt forcing it out. When the entire team gave you a weird look you said, “Sorry, it just reminded me of last time.” 

You gently picked up the stack of photos, trying to hold them as lightly as possible. The knowledge that the unsub had packaged these himself sent a shiver down your spine. You knew it was silly, but you somehow felt that by touching the photos you were somehow also touching the remnants of the unsub. 

The first stack you easily dated as around four years ago, just from your hair; you’d drastically changed it for a role. You thumbed through the photos and could feel the knots in your stomach growing even tighter. Most of the photos were blurry and relatively distant from you, as if the unsub was still getting comfortable with what he was doing. 

“This was four years ago, I had to change my hair for a role and I’ve never had it like that before or again.” You said quietly, pushing the pile back to Emily. 

She nodded, giving you a gracious smile before pushing the next pile towards you. Your face fell immediately; something the team equated to how much more personal these set of photos seemed to be. You fanned the stack out in front of you. There weren’t many, as if even the unsub could recognize the inappropriate- ha!- nature of capturing you like this. In all of them you looked worn down, as if a cloud was following you everywhere you went. 

“This was about two years ago.” You said flatly. It took a moment, but you could see everyone connect the dots in their head and suddenly the room felt very small. 

Thankfully, the next pile was rather average and you guessed that this was just an ‘extra’ pile of photos that didn’t really seem to fit into a cohesive timeframe. As you scanned over them, one caught your eye and you pulled it a bit closer to you. You pointed a finger at the sign behind you. 

“This is an exclusive club house, it’s difficult to get into. Security’s intense and everyone that enters has to sign in.” You informed the team. JJ reached out and grabbed the photo, putting it to the side for later.

You turned your attention back to the pile, making sure to give each photo a proper amount of attention, desperate to notice something useful. 

“This one,” you said, pulling a blurry photo of yourself out of the pile. You were moving too fast for the camera to properly capture you, but you recognized the outfit. “I was wearing this the day Officer Reynolds told me you all were coming, isn’t this the outside of the station?” You said quietly.

JJ moved that photo to the ‘save for later’ pile as well. You gently re-stacked the pile and passed it towards Emily, waiting for the next one. 

You watched as Emily seemed to be literally holding her tongue as she pushed the next pile towards you, a certain playful glint in her eyes. Once you were able to look at it, you couldn’t help but snort. You could feel Aaron tense up besides you, but you could find the humor in it. The ‘Aaron’ pile. 

You fanned the stack out like you had done with the others, giving special attention to the details behind you. These were much more difficult to place and a much smaller pile, considering how careful the two of you had been. 

“These must’ve been in DC?” You questioned, not really expecting an answer. You looked up towards Aaron, raising an eyebrow as if to give him the opportunity to share his thoughts. “Whenever he came to LA, I had an iron grip on our security but it was a whole different field in DC-” 

Your sentence fell flat as your eyes went wide, nearly surging out of your seat up towards Aaron. He gave you a worried look, unable to place the sudden anxiety that had taken over you. “What about Jack?” You asked worriedly, “if he knows about you he must’ve found out about Ja-”

Aaron stopped you, putting a very gentle hand on the top of your shoulder, “He’s okay, I promise.” He said, using his hand to lightly push you back into a seated position. You nodded at that, eyes still wide, but your body seemed to deflate, the tension slowly leaving you. 

The rest of the team was quiet, recognizing the personal nature of the interaction. But it was impossible for them not to notice the way your bodies reacted to each other. The way your body’s natural response to a stressor had been to move closer to him and the way he angled himself in a protective stance around you near simultaneously. 

Emily pushed the final pile in front of you and you couldn’t help the corners of your lips pull up in a soft smile. You fanned out the stack of photos, taking a good look at all of them. They all seemed to either be promo photos or film photos of your time filming Mamma Mia in Greece. 

“This is definitely from Greece. But some of these are definitely promo photos, it’s why I’m ‘posing’ in a few of them.” You said, pushing out one that visually made your point. 

“What about this one? It feels a lot more intimate than a promotional piece.” Emily asked, pulling one out from the stack. In it, you were standing on the dock, face close to the camera. You had a big smile on your face and your thumbs up. 

“On set, we had a handful of little disposable cameras that everyone could use.” 

“Do you have any memory of who owned the cameras?” 

“I…,” you paused, eyebrows scrunched tightly in thought, “I don’t know. The studio distributed all the photos after the movie came out. They’re pretty public at this point, it was five years ago.” You said weakly, feeling really disappointed in your lack of help. “I’m sorry.” You added. 

Morgan stepped up closer to the table. “Don’t be okay? Now we know that the unsub has connections in Hollywood and we know he must be wealthy enough to fly to DC on a whim if he thought you were there. That helps narrow things down.” He assured you. 

“Are there any specific photographers that you’ve noticed? Or any guy you feel like you’ve seen too many times and it’s no longer a coincidence?” Spencer asked. 

You shook your head quickly. “I’m really used to cameras flashing in my face.” You said impishly. “I can remember a lot of fans that I meet, but if it’s just someone behind a camera I don’t think I’d really notice it at all.” 

You felt Aaron move away from you and towards the computer at the end of the table. He clicked a few buttons and suddenly a woman's face popped up on the screen. You recognized her immediately from all the stories and photos you’d seen. Penelope. 

Aaron brought the computer closer to where you were and her mouth dropped open for the second time today. 

“Oh my god! Hi! Wow! I am, I am such a fan. I just-, you’re always so-” 

“Garcia.” Aaron interjected but you raised your hand at him, giving him a ‘shoo’ gesture. The rest of the team had to stifle their laughter. 

“Hi, Penelope right? I’ve heard so much about you.” You said sweetly, leaning a bit closer to the camera. 

“Wow! Okay, I can’t believe this is-” 

“Garcia, I need you to pull up visitor logs from a clubhouse that Y/N used to visit. I want you to cross reference it with other visitor logs of recent film sets she’s been on and her housing development. She’ll be able to give you a more comprehensive list.” Aaron interjected, and this time you let him. 

You turned back to the screen, giving Garcia another smile. “The clubhouse is called Royal Blue, the picture couldn’t have been more than…, I think three years ago? But I’m not sure.” 

“Alright…, okay the visitor logs seem to be locked tight, but never too tight for me. What are some of those movie sets?” 

“The earliest photo is what? Five years ago?” You asked, looking around at the agents for approval. “Yeah, five years. So Mamma Mia, to start, Little Women. I’m working on Emma right now.” You droned, listing various movie sets you’d worked on in the past five years. 

“Oh my god! I have so many questions about Mamma Mia. Like what was it-,” Garcia’s question trailed off as she caught sight of Hotch giving her a firm stare from behind you. “Right sorry, alright. I will break into the clubhouse and cross reference all of these lists to see if anyone comes up more than once. It was so nice meeting you, I hope we get to-. Alright, hanging up now!” Garcia said in a rushed voice. You watched her click a button on her end and the screen went black. 

You leaned back into your chair, staring up at the rest of the team . “So…,” you said, drawing out the word, “what now?” 

-----

“What are you doing?” Aaron’s asked, voice coming out from behind you. 

You comically froze, hand just short of picking your keys up from the table. You slowly turned to face him, straightening your tote bag over your shoulder. “Oh! There you are, I was just on my way to come find you.” You said lightly, trying to diffuse some of the tension in the room. Aaron didn’t say anything, waiting for you to go on. “Johnny and I have plans tonight.” You said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world  

On your part, you’d already forgotten about the whole ‘I’m on a date’ aspect on your earlier phone call with Aaron. In your mind, there wasn’t anything inherently suspicious about you going to spend time with him in the evening.

Aaron was viewing the entire situation in a very different light. When he had first come around the corner, he noticed how nice you looked. When the two of you had finally returned to your place you immediately went up to your room, disappearing for quite some time. He had originally thought maybe you were upset, the cognitive interview hadn’t revealed anything and even though he knew you didn’t really believe in their accuracy, he also knew how badly you wanted to be of ‘use’ for the case. 

In your time upstairs, you had changed your outfit and styled your hair just enough to give it that ‘unstyled-styled’ look. It’s not like you were glammed out or anything, the only reason you’d put on a nice outfit was on the off chance you were photographed- hopefully not by the unsub-, on your way into Johnny’s apartment. 

“And what is it that you’re supposed to be doing?” Aaron asked, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible. 

“Um, nothing much,” You said with an awkward laugh, when he was still looking at you expectantly you tilted your head. “I’m supposed to go to his place and we’re gonna run lines for the scenes we’re filming this week.” You explained. 

“I can’t endorse you going out at night. Especially to someone’s home that we don’t have eyes on.” Aaron said firmly. 

You rolled your eyes at that, picking up your keys. “Johnny’s fine, he’s been in the same place as me when nearly all the bodies were discovered.” You argued, putting one hand on your hip. 

“With the recent development in the cases, I can’t let you do this.”

You started to walk towards him, intending to go around him. “Aaron-” 

His hand shot out and gently grabbed you by the arm, stopping you from getting past him. 

“Hey!-” 

“Please,” he said, staring you straight in the eyes. “Don’t go.” 

Your mouth fell open slightly in a mild form of shock. ‘We’re just running lines, I really need-” 

“I’ll do it with you.” Aaron interjected hurriedly. “We’ve done it before, I’m not too bad at it, huh?” He said teasingly. 

You pondered that for a minute. You and Aaron had run lines together plenty of times in the past, it was always something you got a kick out of, seeing Aaron try and morph into whatever character he was reading for. And while it wouldn’t be as productive as running them with your actual co-star, you reasoned it’d still be good enough. And as much as you hated to admit it, Aaron probably had a point about you not going out, especially in the evening.  

“Fine. I just need to go call Johnny and tell him something came up.” You huffed, pretending to be more annoyed than you were. 

“Here,” you said, reaching into your bag and pulling out your script, “I already have most of my lines memorized, I’ll just need you to fill in if I miss any. I have a pink sticky note denoting the scene we were going to start with. You’re reading as Knightely. I’ll meet you in the living room, alright?” You said, pushing the script into his hands as you walked around him towards the kitchen, pulling your phone out at the same time. 

----

“No, I’m just saying I think it’d be more believable or whatever if we did a few more like nonchalant meals before like, running errands together or something, ya know?” You said lazily into the phone, holding it between your ear and shoulder as you used your hands to mix up a drink for yourself. Out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of the Dalmore. You reached out with one hand and carefully pulled it down, still remembering exactly how Aaron liked to take a drink. 

“What meal really screams ‘we’re dating’? Dinner? That’s like the longest meal of the day, that’s gotta show some sort of commitment.” Johnny asked. 

“Hm…,” you droned, “well we just had a lunch. If we want to kick it into high gear, we should do breakfast. Perfect ‘just spent the night’ remedy.” You said with a snort. 

Aaron cleared his throat behind you and the sound made you jump. You pulled the phone away from your ear and saw you’d been blabbering for nearly half an hour. 

‘Oh. Sorry.’ You mouthed to Aaron, before pulling the phone back to your ear. “Hey Johnny gotta go, but we’ll figure it out later! Yeah…, for sure, bye!” You hung up and placed your phone on the counter. Then you grabbed the drink you had poured for him, holding it out. 

“It’s Dalmore.” You said plainly. 

“I’m working.” He responded. 

You rolled your eyes at that and held it out more aggressively. “Take it.” 

You watched happily as he begrudgingly took it out of your hand, though you knew it wasn’t too difficult for him. You picked up your own glass and tucked your phone into the waistband of your pants. “Ready? Sorry, got carried away.” 

While the two of you walked back into your living room, it was obvious something was bothering Aaron. You briefly wondered if something had developed in the case that he wasn’t telling you. 

‘What is it?” You asked. 

He looked down at you, confused. “What is what?” 

“Don’t play dumb, you have a tell.”  You explained, stopping to look up at him.  

“I do not have a tell.” Hotch replied annoyedly. 

“Yes you do.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“If you want to be a baby about it, fine you don’t have a tell. Tell me what’s wrong anyway.” 

“I’m trying to understand why you lied about not having a boyfriend nor seeing anyone recently. We’ll need to fully vet Johnny and look into his files, even if you don’t see it becoming serious.” Aaron near spat.

You snorted. “What do you mean lied?” 

“You very clearly told me you weren’t seeing anyone, yet today has proven those claims to be false.” 

“I know that sometimes, I like to be a huge pain but I’m serious, what are you talking about? I’m not seeing anyone.” 

“Your co-star, Johnny? You told me you were on a date with him today. I just heard you on the phone make plans to stay with him overnight. I saw the pictures of-” 

“Stop! Oh my god, I can’t believe you actually believed that.” You said, unable to hold back the laughter that bubbled out of you. 

“Believed it? You’re the only who told me!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed you read through the lines. Johnny and I have been going on publicity dates. We’re just friends.” 

“What were you supposed to be doing tonight then?” 

“We were legitimately going to run lines. Maybe get ice cream, we’re trying to determine the best ice cream in LA.” 

That’d explain the outfit, Aaron thought. 

“And the phone call I just heard?” 

“We were debating which meal screams ‘dating’. He thinks it’s dinner. I think it’s breakfast, ya know, cause it implies you spent the night.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that, before.” 

“Don’t you remember when I had kinda the same thing with Timothee during Little Women? They made us hang out a bunch so the tabloids could just do their thing. I just assumed you’d fill in the blanks.” 

Aaron was staring at you as if you had two heads. It was almost like you could see the gears turning in that head of his. Internally, he was more than embarrassed for how upset he’d gotten over the idea of you with someone else. 

When it seemed that Aaron had nothing else to say, you started to walk again, not stopping until you were both back in your living room. You plopped down in ‘your spot’ on the couch, playfully patting the space a few cushions down that Aaron typically sat in. 

“Crack open that script, I hope you looked through it. If you’re making me stay home, you better be useful!” You said pleasantly, trying to change the atmosphere into something more playful. 

Aaron awkwardly sat himself down on the couch next to you, picking the script back up. As you watched him flip the script open and further acquaint himself with the lines you couldn’t help but feel a sharp pang in your chest. It was such an unavoidable reminder of the way the two of you used to run lines together when you were still dating. You had learned early on that Aaron best showed his affection through acts of service and he actually wasn’t that bad at delivering a line. Since the two of you were rarely together in person- it’s not like you’d let him waste a visit with you building a shelf or running an errand-, running lines with you was the easiest way for him to feel useful. 

-----

Four Years Ago

“Okay Jack, you ready?” You asked, smiling down at the young boy standing across from you. He was dressed up in his winter clothes, despite the blazing heat of the summer. You and Aaron had tried to talk him out of it, but he demanded it’d be the only way for him to fully get into character. And who were you two to deny him? The sweet boy nodded, barely being able to contain his excitement as he bounced up and down on his feet. 

“Alright, places everyone!” You yelled out, holding the diy paper clapperboard Jack had made for you. You held it out from your body and did a very exaggerated clapping motion. “Action!” You said, quickly throwing the clapperboard to the couch. 

“Carrots!” Jack said, his voice more than enthusiastic for the role. 

“Huh?” You said, heavily overselling your voice and reaction. Even with the one simple word, Jack was already in giggles, struggling to keep it together. 

He leaned in closer to you, standing up on his tiptoes. “Behind you!” 

“Oh! Right, excuse me.” You said, stepping to the side and gesturing to the ‘carrots’ behind you. 

You made your voice really low to play the next part. “Woh, a real howler in July, yea? Where ever could it be coming from?” You asked, placing your chin in between your thumb and pointer finger. 

Jack kept giggling at your ‘deep’ voice, he held his ‘script’ up to his face to read his next line. “The North Mountain.” 

You jokingly ran a hand in front of your face, signaling a character switch. “North Mountain.” You stage whispered. You ran your hand in front of your face again, going serious. “That’ll be forty.” You said, holding your hand out with a ‘gimme’ gesture. 

Jack smacked your hand gently to ‘give you’ the money. But after his face fell ever so slightly. “Can we skip to when Daddy gets to come in??” He asked, giving you those big eyes you couldn’t possibly say no to. 

You stood back, putting your weight on your back leg with one hand on your hip. “Hmm.., I think that could be arranged.” You reached over to grab the clapperboard. “Alright everyone! Back to places, but let’s start at ‘Hi everyone’, okay?” 

Jack nodded excitingly and turned back to where he knew Aaron was standing, partially hidden by the hallway. “Places daddy!” He urged, pointing to where he should come stand. 

Aaron came out from around the corner and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand, trying to hold in the laughter. Aaron had a big white hat on his head and had let Jack put a small orange dot on his nose. You and Jack had definitely double teamed poor Aaron, dragging him into your little ‘movie game’ as Jack liked to call it. The three of you had started doing this a few months ago, Jack loved ‘running lines’ with you and you were more than happy to oblige him. It had started when a sleepy Jack had stumbled into the living room one night when he couldn’t sleep and he saw you and Aaron running lines for one of your other movies. Jack had taken to it so much you ended up ‘hiring’ him to help you with your more child friendly roles. 

“Alright, alright. Quiet on set!” You said, making a big deal of you bringing your index finger up to your lips in a ‘shush’ motion. “Action!” 

“Hi everyone. I’m Olaf. And I like warm hugs.” Aaron recited robotically , very clear that he was reading directly from the paper. You smacked your hand back over your mouth, unable to control the giggles. Once you started laughing, Jack fell into his own fit of laughter; both of you fueled off the others amusement. 

Of course, when you finally pulled yourself back together, a quick look at the way Aaron was standing with fake annoyance across his face and his arms crossed tightly against his chest sent you back into fits of laughter. 

“Are you two done?” Aaron asked, no true malice in his voice. 

It was rare that the three of you all got to spend time together. He’d been wary of introducing you to Jack. It wasn’t really a ‘you’ thing, but it was more of how Jack would be able to deal with it. There were the typical worries, what if you and Jack didn’t get along? Or what if you two did get along really well but then you and Aaron broke up and it hurt him even further? While you never intended to try and replace his ‘mom’, you still worried that your chaotic schedule would somehow hurt him, skewing his perception of yet another ‘parental’ figure. Not to mention the issues with him being able to keep your identity and presence in his life a secret; he wouldn’t even be able to tell people like Uncle Rossi that his dad was seeing someone. 

But now, you’d been with Aaron for over two years. And Jack had known about you for about a year now. And everything had been going perfect. Jack was a stellar secret keeper, the unfortunate events of his childhood maturing him faster than any child deserved and he was able to fully understand the importance of the situation. The two of you had taken to each other quite quickly and every night the three of you would have a ‘bedtime’ call; even on the nights when Aaron was busy with a case you’d still call Jack on your own. You loved spoiling him with whatever hot new toy was popular among kids his age or getting him special early copies of movies before they came out. Aaron used to get on you about it, saying it wasn’t necessary, but you argued it was the most necessary thing in the world. 

And now here the three of you were. Nestled away in Aaron’s apartment in DC. You had just flown in after wrapping up a shoot abroad and were just in time for the start of summer. Even though your career was at a seemingly new high, you had managed to secure a relatively empty summer. After long consideration and planning you and Aaron decided it’d be a nice treat for Jack to go spend a month or so with you in LA. You’d consulted heavily with many of your friends who kept their children completely hidden from the spotlight and had hired an airtight security team to assist you the entire time. Aaron was supposed to come out when he could, but you were all aware of how turbulent his poor schedule could be. Schedule permitting, you all would spend the next three days at Aaron’s apartment before you and Jack took off. 

“Daddy! You sound like a robot.” Jack said, scolding Aaron. His voice brought you out of your thoughts and you looked down at him with a big smile. 

“Daddy’s just no good at this huh?” You asked, shaking your head. “He’s no match for our talent, Jack!” 

“This is really hot.” Jack said, holding up his arms. He must’ve been sweating his butt off in all those winter layers. 

“You’re kidding me! I wonder who could’ve seen that coming.” You said sarcastically, reaching over to pull off his big hat and zip down the first of multiple jackets he put on. “I’ve heard that ice cream cools you down…,” 

“Ice cream!’ Jack exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. He didn’t even look to his father for ‘permission’, knowing by now you had the most sway in the house. 

“Go put on some normal clothes okay? Wouldn’t be fun if you passed out in your ice cream bowl, huh?” You told him, ruffling his hair before he dipped under your arm, making a mad dash for his room. 

“He hasn’t even had lunch yet, you know that right?” Aaron asked, giving you a fake stern look as he walked over to where you were standing. 

You rolled your eyes at that, reaching up to snatch the white hat off his head, letting your arms fall loosely around his neck. “Does it upset you that I’m always the cool one?” You asked teasingly, reaching up on your tiptoes to press the gentlest kiss on his lips. 

He gave you one of his small smiles, reaching down to press a second kiss to your lips. “How was your flight in?” He asked, one of his hands wrapping protectively around your waist as the other one found its way by your hair, gently stroking down it the way you liked. 

You let your head relax against his touch and pretended to think for a moment. Instead of answering you reached up again, pressing your lips against his, pressing yourself closer to him. You both thought you could stay this way forever; it being the first time you saw each other, in person, in nearly two months. 

“Gross!” Jack’s voice seemingly cut through the two of you. Aaron was the one to pull away first, quietly laughing so only you could hear. 

“Later.” He promised in a whisper. 

You loosened your grip on him, turning to face Jack. “Oh Jack! Funny seeing you here, ice cream, right?” 

----- 

Present Day.

“Page 103, right?” He asked, skipping to the bright pink sticky note you had used as a place marker. 

You jolted out of your memories, feeling the heat rise up your neck as you prayed it wasn’t too obvious you had just completely zoned out. 

“Yep!” You squeaked out, “page 103, line 19, you start.” You said, waving your hands. 

“And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my enemy, you will not ask me why, you are, you are determined, I see, to have no curiosity but I cannot be wise-” He started, keeping his eyes near glued to the page. 

You frowned, shaking your head a bit. “Stand up.” You ordered, already getting to your feet. 

“Excuse me?” Aaron asked. 

“Stand up,” you repeated, motioning upwards with your palms. “This,” you said, motioning between the two of you, “doesn’t feel right if we’re seated, we’re supposed to move around in this scene, it’s supposed to be painful.” You explained. 

He slowly stood up, looking at you for permission to start again. 

“From where you left off, please.” 

“I must tell you, Emma, what you will not ask! Though I may wish it unsaid the next moment-” 

“So do not speak it.” You cut in. “If you wish to speak to me, as a friend or to ask my opinion as a friend I will hear whatever you like.”

“As a friend, Emma. That I fear is a word, tell me Emma. Have I no chance of ever succeeding?” He asked, looking up at you for further approval, you nodded and he continued. “My dearest Emma, my dearest, you will always be my dearest most beloved Emma, tell me at once. I cannot make speeches, if I, if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more-” 

“Let’s do a different part, yeah?” You interrupted, voice incredibly tight. You ducked from his gaze, reaching to bring your glass to your lips. 

“Isn’t this the scene you have to practice?” Aaron asked, raising his brow at you. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, taking a long sip, “any practice as the character will be helpful.” 

“If this is the one that’s troubling you, we should go over it.” He pressed. 

“Page 56, start at line 9.” You ordered, throwing back the rest of your glass. “Read it over, I’ll be back.” 

Before you could fully turn to go and refill your glass, Aaron lunged forward and grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him. The sudden movement caused you to stumble, throwing your hands out to steady yourself against his chest. 

“You’ve been drinking a lot.” He stated, repositioning his grip on your arm. 

“Am I not allowed to have a drink or two in my own home?” You challenged. 

“What are you running away from?” Aaron asked, his voice so gentle it made your knees weak. 

“You.” You whispered, after a long pause. You looked up at him with sad eyes and only found confusion in his. “I can’t, I-, don’t you see how funny it is? Your character is desperate for mine to be with and my character is the one to deny yours.” 

Your confession pulled sharply on his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not sure there were any words to appropriately apologize for how he had treated you. 

“Why didn’t you ever call?” You asked, voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear you. 

“I, I-” He stuttered, unable to think of an answer fast enough. 

“I waited for weeks,” you said, looking up at him with a look that nearly brought him to his knees. “I waited so long and you never called.” 

He brushed the hair out of your face, letting his hand fall gently against your cheek. His thumb caught a stray tear that had started to fall, softly brushing it away. “I don’t know.” He responded, his voice as quiet as your. “I don’t know, you didn’t deserve that.” 

You pressed your face into his hand, closing your eyes as you felt more tears managing to sneak past you. He was finally admitting words you had dreamed of hearing for years, but yet you were unable to find any joy in them. 

“You didn’t deserve that.” He repeated, sliding his hand towards the back of your head, pulling you firmly against his chest, while his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist. You let your body relax into his, slowly bringing your own arms up loosely around his neck. 

You felt him gently press the faintest of kisses to the top of your head. “I’m so sorry angel.” He mumbled into your hair. 

You pulled your head out from under him, looking up at him with big eyes. The two of you were silent, basking in each other's presence. Your eyes flickered down to his lips multiple times; something he duly picked up on. Just as you began to push up on your toes, nearly pressing your lips to his, eyes half closed in anticipation, his phone rang out. 

You froze, falling back onto your heels with a small sigh. “Answer it, I’m getting a refill.” You said, pulling yourself out of his grasp. He gave you an uncertain look, as if he wanted to pull you back in and ignore the call completely. 

You wagged a finger in front of him, shaking your head. In on fluid movement, you grabbed your glass and nearly ran out of the room

-----

It took you ten minutes to calm yourself down and another five to hype yourself up to return to your living room. And that was after you had made yourself a new drink. 

When you entered the living room, Aaron’s back was to you; still locked on the phone. The tension was clear in his shoulders and your eyes drifted down to his free hand that you knew would be clenched in a fist. It was. 

“Thank you Garcia, tell the team we’ll be there soon.” He said, pulling the phone away from his ear and hanging up. 

“Aaron?” You asked. 

He rolled his shoulders back, trying to loosen some of the tension from his shoulders for your benefit. He slowly turned back towards you, his face pulled in frustration. 

“LAPD just reported another body.”

-------

taglist - @mac99martin @iwaizumiee @kylorendrip @hqtchner @lieswithoutfairytales​ @ssahoodrathotchner @midsummernightdream @weasleylovers @evans-dejong @itsmytimetoodream @yoshigguk @28cnn @cuddlyklaus @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yallgotkik @sunflowersandotherthings @averyhotchner @kimmy-k-k @uwu-sebastianstan @ivebeenthinkingboutu​

a/n - if youve sent a message asking to be tagged and dont see yourself here, let me know!! im so bad at remembering to move names to my taglist form!! tysm for reading! <3 ​

no permission is given to copy or republish my writing on any other platform or account. if you see this story outside of my blog or my ao3 it is stolen work. i do not own nor claim to own criminal minds or any of the character involved in it.

[stevesharrlngtons]

a/n: this is 110% inspired by @skarsgard-daydreams and her wonderful eric x reader series unto dead. if you haven't already, GO READ IT, it will change your life.

this is literally just filthy smut. that's it, nothing else, you've been warned why am i nervous? is everyone nervous posting smut? this came out of loving marie's stories with a passion, and wanting to bring some good solo pam smut to the table. with that being said, 18+ and sorry if it sucks lmao ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ enjoy!

Time meant nothing in the dungeon, and even less when you were under Mistress Pam’s rule. It didn’t matter to her if she went against her word and five minutes of spankings turned into fifty. She didn’t care if she promised that after she counted to three you could cum, and then let hours lapse between one and two. And she certainly didn’t care about your opinion on her lack of concern over the loss and fluctuations of time during your sporadic sessions.

Your sessions only happened on the rare occasion Eric was out of town, and the even rarer occasion that he allowed Pam to play with you without him.

Tonight, the stars had a lined and allowed both of the requirements to be met for her to handle his girl all alone. Although, his presence was never really left out of these affairs. The security camera in the corner always reminded Pam, and you, of his omnipresence.

As Pam looked over your restrained naked body now, she knew without even having her maker in the room that he was enjoying himself. Your lithe form shone under candlelight as sweat drenched your skin and wetness slicked between your thighs. Your chest was rising and falling in great succession. You squirmed uselessly in the binds that secured your wrists and ankles to the steel table, as your body subconsciously tried to curl inward for comfort after another orgasm had been cruelly ripped away from you. Pam smirked, lashes batting down at you as she weighed the heavy wand vibrator in her hand.

“Stupid girl, thinking she gets to cum whenever she wants. So greedy,” she ran the wand on low vibration over the length of your form, enjoying greatly the way it made you gurgle and whine, "I own your orgasms, your pussy isn’t allowed to pulse unless I choose to make it do so, correct?”

She rounded your pert nipple with the wand, “Correct?”

“Yes! Yes, Mistress!” you gasped out, knowing that not responding at all would only make your deprivation worse.

“Look at that, maybe you aren’t just a stupid little cunt after all,” she slowly moved the wand away from your nipple to draw it between the valley of your breasts, up your throat and along your cheek, just to press it hard into your jaw and chatter your teeth, “you’ll learn your place one day. Until then, I do enjoy teaching you.”

She said this in a mock sympathy, she said it like you should be grateful for her torture and her lessons.

Though, nothing that had happened this evening was surprising, and you should have mentally prepared yourself for the tribulations she would put you through. The foreplay and the lead up to penetration when you were alone with Pam was always maddening.

“He might be big, but no one fucks like me. We have to make sure you’re really ready,” she’d say in her signature drawl as she’d pull out a new toy to use on you.

“Do you think you’ve had enough?” Pam asked flippantly, pushing the head of the vibrator into your cheek firmly once more before taking it off all together.

This time, you knew better than to answer. Both answers were wrong.

“Let’s check, why don’t we?” she posed it as a question but it was rhetorical. Anything Pam wanted to happen, would.

She turned off the wand and placed it to the side, along with many of the instruments she had already or planned on using on you. Unable to crane your neck far enough to watch her walk to your bottom half, you relied on your peripheral vision and the sound of her stilettos on the concrete to alert you. Soon, you felt her icy soft hands part your thighs wider and the sound of a hum leave her lips.

“Would you look at that?” manicured nails came to spread your lips that were dripping with arousal, “quite the excited little slut, aren’t you? You don’t hate your punishments as much as you let on, it seems.”

Her touch felt so good you could barely control the moan that ripped through your chest when three of her flat fingers started to rub the outside of your pussy.

“That’s right, let that brain of yours melt out of your little cunt. You’re so much better when your Mistress’s little fuck doll and nothing more.”

Pam could smell the delicious aroma of your eager pussy and the sweet blood pumping steadily through your femoral artery. She wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into your skin and let your oozing blood mix with your arousal so she could slurp up her favorite cocktail. But she knew she had to refrain. Eric was always very strict with her biting his pets, especially when he wasn’t around.

“You just can’t resist, can you?” she chuckled lowly and your breath hitched, “pretending to struggle but soaking yourself between your legs.”

You wanted to reply, you wanted to say anything even if it was just to continue to play into the evening, but the second you felt her fingers breach your center, your brain powered down like a TV set.

“Even wetter inside,” she said in faux surprise, “with no resistance.”

“But you know what, little slut? I think I want more. I want your cunt to drool so much it makes a puddle on the floor for me, and then, but only then, will I think about putting a cock in you.”

The idea of finally being filled had you delirious, and when Pam crooked her fingers and started to pump them inside you, you felt crazed. Her skillful finger tips hooked and rubbed over your g-spot so well, you had the brief worry of passing out cross over you.

“Finally being a good girl, huh? A good little toy for me. You were such an insolent little brat earlier, weren’t you? But after a few hours with mistress, suddenly you're the perfect little pet Daddy and I deserve.”

Her fingers started to pick up their pace, “keep this up and who knows what will happen.”

Faster.

“But you better not cum. You better not even think about that pleasure.”

Faster.

“Because good little pets don’t own their orgasms. No, no they do not.”

Faster.

“Pa- Mistress, please, I-” you stuttered, anxiety started to blossom in your chest as you felt your stomach clench.

“Hold it,” she replied firmly, but didn’t stop her assault.

“I’m gonna- please, slow down!”

“I said to hold it.”

But it was too late, you had already started to tip over the edge before you could do anything else to warn her or ward her off. The way she was hitting your g-spot combined with the heavy edging she had subjected you to made your resistance useless.

The second she felt your muscles tighten hard around her fingers, she saw red. She didn’t even contemplate working you through your orgasm as she immediately pulled her fingers out of you, ruining the euphoria of your high as you were left pulsing around nothing and starved of the release you wanted. An involuntary scream left your lips as you began to thrash hard again, but a hard slap to your thigh stopped you.

“You dirty fucking slut! You’re nothing but a greedy little whore whose cunt rules her. You can’t even follow directions,” she stormed around the table to stand by your face, her hand coming to grip your jaw tight and angle it toward her, “fucking say it.”

You were still trying to catch your breath, to come back to your body as salvia caught in your throat.

Another brutal slap sounded through the room as Pam whacked you across the face with anger and conviction. The sharp sting made tears well in your eyes.

“Do I have to make you say it? Move these useless lips myself? You’re supposed to be a good little toy and yet I still do all the work.”

“I’m, I’m nothing but a greedy, a greedy little whore whose cunt rules her. I can’t even follow directions,” you did your very best to choke out.

“Not even an apology,” she scoffed and dropped your head back to the table with a clang.

“I’m-” but she cut you off.

“Save it. I don’t want to hear another word you have to say. Toys don’t need to talk. They have nothing important to say.”

Tears finally fell over your lash line and streaked your cheeks. But you weren’t ready to tap out yet. You didn’t want to.

“You will prove your atonement to me, and you’ll do it with that tongue of yours buried deep in Mistress’s pussy,” Pam sneered as she slapped your face even harder (if that was possible) in the opposite direction, “you better get to work to prove to me that I should show you any semblance of mercy.”

She started to hike up the latex dress she wore, “and you better get to work. We have a long night ahead of us.”

And you as strange as it may have sounded, you looked forward to it.

xx

i haven't written smut in years, and haven't written good smut maybe ever lmao, so i hope this was up to par! forgive any errors, i wrote and edited this at 2am

once again, plllsss read marie's series (and just everything she writes bc holy fuck are they are all so good) also very much blushing reading this back in the light of day who knows if this stays up lmao

[cornacopicimagines]

best of friends pt.2 │t.h

pairing: singledad!mob!tom holland x singlemom!reader

words: 5.7k

warnings:  SMUT, swearing, major violence, depictions of violence and blood, rough sex, oral (male receiving), face fucking, unprotected sex, dom!tom & creampie.

summary: Everything was perfect. The two-and-a-half years since they first met have been nothing but love and respect. Until, y/n comes home one night, her husband gone for the time being. It all somehow crumbles in front of her, she can't help but question it. Though this thought is nothing to what he feels in that very moment. It's pure fear and terror, a pent-up storm of worry. Their comfort zone is nothing longer alive, it was buried and left to rot. 

a/n: so. it must be said, i went through three different plots before i settled on this one. that is why this goddamn fic has taken me so long to write. This is probably the last mob!tom holland fic i'll write because bitch has a lot of other AUs that i would honestly prefer to write. enjoy! 

part 1

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n waited for a moment. It wasn't long, but it was enough she had to check the clock on her wrist. 1:37am. Although she heard the snoring of Lottie, sound asleep in her bed, y/n knew otherwise. She knew that as soon as her feet hit the carpeted floor of her daughter's bedroom, the girl would shoot straight up and whine for y/n to come back. She loved Lottie with all of her heart, like all of her kids, however sometimes the precious little angels got on her nerves. Just last Tuesday is a prime example as y/n desperately fiddling with the buttons of Tom's shirt, wanting nothing more to take every inch of him while his whole operation continued below them. Just as she had popped the last latch, James called out for his father from across the house, most likely because one of the boys got hurt again from the play fighting they insisted they do. Sadly, y/n redid her husband's buttons and let him leave her widely aroused and dissatisfied.

As she watched Lottie take in her small breaths, y/n recounted the moments. She still remembers her wedding, clear as day. It was in their garden, with the trees dressed in beautiful pink silk and the flowers somehow in full bloom. No one was around, it's was secluded and perfect. It was just them, Theo and James stood side by side, their matching suits made her heart swell. Their perfectly rosy cheeks lit up as they saw y/n make her way down the grassy aisle. Though she never saw it, Tom admits that it was Theo who smacked him on the arm to turn around. To come face to face with his bride, a blushing bride that was 7 months pregnant. It was a rush of a events that y/n never quite saw occuring so early into her life. Yet, the day she told Tom they were going to be parents, he asked her to marry him. Of course, y/n organised a typical wedding after she had given birth but at that very second, every bad thing she had to live through suddenly became a single speck of sand on a vast beach. A prologue to her wonderful life ahead of her.

The door swung open slightly, though the light from outside Lottie's room was off, y/n could instantly tell who was stepping over countless dolls and plastic cars. Tom knelt at the side of his daughter's bed, just below his wife as she softly stroked Lottie's forehead. "You need some rest Sweetness," he told her quietly, watching over Lottie's snoring figure.

"I can't" y/n stifled through a yawn. Though she greatly needed to run to her bed and pass out, she refused to leave Lottie unless she knew her daughter was absolutely deep in sleep. Tom sighed, letting his forehead hit the soft linen of the bed cover.

"You need sleep, I can't look after the brady bunch by myself," Tom joked. His hand came to draw soft circles on y/n's thigh. It was nothing if not soothing to her. He could directly make out her face in the darkness, but Tom knew his wife was smiling, a low grin painted upon her fatigued face. "I'll take this shift."

y/n reached out for his face, finding it in seconds. Her thumb now matched the pattern on his cheek that Tom was drawing on her thigh. "We made a deal," it was his speciality, but he never wanted it to get this bad. "You would help Theo with his Valentine's Day gift if I could get this one to sleep."

y/n possessed many traits that Tom adored. She was empathetic, a woman of incredible wit and intelligence, had the stamina of a bull but her stubbornness seemed to be her crowing glory. Tom knew his wife as well as he knew how to count to ten. She wasn't leaving until absolute confirmation was handed to her. "Sweetness, I would prefer if you came to bed with me," he tried, the approach was simple and usually it worked.

"As much as I would adore that, I'm not going anywhere with you mister," y/n teased. Her attention focusing back on Lottie. Perhaps it was the way her eyelids seemed to betray her, closing every few seconds or if it was simply the way the mattress felt beneath her legs. Eventually though, the mixture of all of those and her husband's head laying flat on her thighs, she began to slowly creep off the bed. The pads of her feet pressed against the floor in such delicacy, y/n doubted that she even touching it. She reached out for Tom, grasping slightly at his bare bicep as she lifted herself up.

Tom caught on to his wife's movements and made sure that the path was completely clear of any of Lottie's toys. Calmly, the pair of them tip-toed out. Every move halted by their daughter's movements but eventually, the door closed and y/n was free from the little montress's grip. y/n wishes that she was more awake, more alert because even in her half sleep dazed she could make out the tight white singlet that clung to Tom's body. She reached out for him, it was the weakest of touchs. Yet, her hand fell on his shoulder and running up to the base of his neck. It wasn't sexual in any form, instead they stood in the dim light in complete silence. Watching each other feel the affected of forced insomnia.

"How am I going to get up this morning," y/n giggled as she accepted the sudden embrace from Tom. Her head finding it's way into the same shoulder she tenderly caressed seconds ago. Tom's fingers coiled around her forearm gently as the began to quietly walk to their bedroom. "Hopefully Meg will be around at that time," she sighed as the soft breeze of their room hit her face. Meg was their nanny, a woman who has been employed by Tom since James was a baby. She was a sweet old thing, a cliché of the lovely old lady in fairtales.

"She will, sadly I won't," Tom told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as they both hid themselves under the sating covers. y/n wanted to continue the conversation, she knew that Tom wouldn't be back at home until tomorrow night and for the first time, she would be in charge of everyone but she couldn't. As soon as her head hit the lavender scented pillow, she was out like a light. Tom just chuckled in return, pulling her into a soft embrace.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n wasn't an idiotic woman. She has been with Tom for two and a half years; married to him for two years, she immediately knew when something didn't feel right. As her fingers gripped the steering wheel, she peered in her rear-view mirror. It was something Tom's bodyguards drive around in. The vehicle was large and bulky, looking like it a take down a building with minimum amount of speed. It was painted in the midnight black, even the widows seemed to be darkened. Like before, y/n recognised the model of the car to be a sister of the cars she would frequently have to ride in if she accompanied Tom anywhere, he thought posed even the slightest amount of danger. She knew that with every corner she took, the car would mimic her turns. y/n caught onto it in seconds, watching through Lottie's car seat and Theo's mop of hair. It didn't help that when she called Tom's head guard, he told her that he had followed her orders. To let her pick up her children to avoid the never-ending shock from the ensemble of 6'5 muscular men accompanying her wherever she went.

"Do you want us to do anything about it ma'am?" he asked through the car's speaker. y/n pondered for a few seconds. While her gut was screaming at her that this was something completely out of the ordinary, if there was any ordinary being married to a Mob boss. Her mind knew that if she did say something to him now it was no doubt find its way to Tom. He would instantly assume the worst and cancel any important deal in front of him to race home. The guard's voice pulled her out of her concentration.

"Get the house under lockdown," she ordered, for the first time she felt truly in control but as all things it was slipping. "Do not tell my husband."

"Ma'am, it is imperative that Mr. Holland know of this," the guard protested. y/n had been going through quite a rough day. She was tired, overworked and constantly around wailing children. She refused to be around another. Her jaw clenched as she pulled into their street, the car still hot on her tail.

"I don't care, Tom will not know of this," y/n snapped, peering up for a final time but to her initial surprise that car had vanished. She had no clue where the fucker had gone. "It's probably nothing," she spoke quietly. The sentence was more reassurance for herself than from him, yet he had heard her, accepted her terms and hung up.

As she pulled the car into the impressively large garage, she lets her bare forehead hit top of the steering wheel. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Mum," Theo called out from the backseat, "are you alright?" The boy's question was laced with genuine concern. It released whatever anxiety riddled grip had got a hold of y/n. She gazed up, smiling as she let all her negative thoughts leave her before turning to her three children.

"I am just really tired honey," she replied as she exited the car and proceeded to undo Lottie's buckled. "Not to worry, I think it is Boy's Movie Night tonight!" Both boys cheered in unison. The afternoon went on as usual. Theo and James spent the entire time with their faces glued to the screen in front of them. Squealing every time the supposed bad guys landed flat on his ass, jumping at every occasion that they could. Even if they lived in a mansion, y/n was positive that everyone in this house could hear their playful laughter.

y/n sat next to Lottie; her curly brunette hair clipped back into two adorable pigtails. Lottie was a carbon copy of Tom. Even next to her half-brother James, Lottie seemed to possess ever physical trait of y/n's husband. The smooth somehow flawless skin, the bouncy chestnut curls that y/n just knows will be her daughter's statement piece when she grows up and finally the pair of chocolate eyes that gets her father weak every time, she babbles up at him. She wondered how all of her children would look like when they get old enough to make their own decisions. While James doesn't have Tom's colouring like Lottie does, he has this glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes. Something y/n has loves about her boys, they all share this odd ball of high-energy. Theo looks exactly like y/n, her colouring and her features. Theo's look alikeness to his mother is something y/n feels is divine intervention. To show that, this is her son. Her baby boy and no one else's unless she says so.

"Ma'am" Meg's heavy Irish accent perks up. She's standing at the windows, peering through the curtains slightly. "I think you should see this," she advises before stepping away from the scene and running to grab Lottie from her highchair. y/n hesitantly waltzes over, she presents a cool face to her children, but she can feel her stomach crawling into her throat as she gets closer. y/n pulls the fabric back slightly, she prays that is it now in the early hours of the night and the light is off. It's the same car, it's now parked across the road from her house. Just outside of their camera’s visibility, the vehicle is camouflaged almost to perfection, she can still spot it. Its headlights are off and the car makes not a single sound. At first, y/n faithfully believes she is now seeing things, that her brain is so unfathomably tired it has resorted to petty tricks. That is until one of the car doors open quickly. She waits for a moment as does this figure in the car before a pair of fit hit the ground. Though it makes no clamour, it startles her. y/n doesn’t wait to meet his eyes as his head ducks under the car roof to fully meet the air. She turns around to meet Meg’s eyes, the women wear matching looks.

“Take the children into the spare room, go now,” y/n speaks softly as not to alarm her sons. Meg nods quickly, instantly holstering Lottie on her hips and shooing the boys away from the glowing TV.

She pauses until she hears the door close. It’s deafening. She turns her attention back to the scene, it’s worse than before. There’s at least 7 of them huddled around this car, pulling unknown bags from the seats. As the mystery bags hit the ground, the unknown men begin opening it. It’s filled to the brim with metal, the holsters of guns peeking through with the aid of the dim light of the streetlight. y/n refused to observe anymore, silently she alerts the guards in the house. She doesn’t even process the next second, it’s like nothing is working anymore. y/n knows what the sound is, she knows what is happening, she knows that in a matter of seconds the men have begun firing at her front landing. Killing anyone standing outside, she can feel the bullets entering their bodies.

It’s with that, y/n goes from a fast pace to sprinting. She rushes down the long halls to meet with her children. It’s feels like an eternity that she is opening doors, calling out for any of them. All the while, gunshots ring out like a bell, constant and terrible. Her phone vibrates,it send her nerves over the edge. y/n stops for a second to stare at it, Tom’s name lights up the screen. Instead of answering, her fingers lose all their function. Her phone drops from her hand and hits the floor. She wants to pick it up but her feet work against her and begin to simply pace herself away from her phone as it continues to hum against the tiles.

Finally, she reaches the room. Meg holds Lottie close to her chest, rocking the toddler back and forth as Lottie cries into Meg’s shirt. Theo and James are standing in the middle of the room. Both look like they are on their verge of tears and to be completely truthfully, so was she. Closing the door, y/n immediately wraps her arms around her sons. She feels the wet tears staining her shoulders. She feels their chests rise and fall drop as best they can.

“You boys are so brave,” she sooths, her palms rubbing circles atop their heads. Slowly, she peers up. While the gunfire continues to ring out, y/n stares at the people in the room with her. Not a single bulb is turned on, the area is pitch black, but she can still see how this if affecting the boys. How Meg clutches onto Lottie’s wailing body. “It’ll be over soon.”

“You promise,” James chokes out, he wipes his face of her blouse. y/n pressed a tender kiss to his hair. She lets a single tear escape her eyes.

“I swear handsome,” y/n tells him, but she’s not convinced by the sound of her own voice. The boys pull away from her, one of her hands reaches for their salty cheeks. “Everything will be alright, Mumma swears.”

She doesn’t want to; she wants to scream. She wants to burn the entire house to the ground. She wants to leave with her children and never come back. y/n has never felt this in her entire life. This is not only pure terror for the lives of her children but it’s uncontrollable rage. She’s being held together by a tearing material of a rubber band. Her limbs are coiled, feeling as though she has rusted in the rain. Her mind doesn’t stop, it runs as if it has never felt this wrathful freedom in its life. A million different thoughts threaten to take power, as if they should decide her next move. She doesn’t let them of course, y/n’s had practice at this, and she will not crack now.

“Meg, give me Charlotte now,” y/n’s voice is hoarse and breaking with ever vowel that drops from her lips. The old lady rushes over to y/n and hands her Lottie. The toddler instinctively wraps her arms around y/n, refusing to let go. Another 20 minutes go by, it's torture. The air seems to wash around y/n as she clings onto her children for dear life. Quietly, she pans over to Meg. The old woman looks as if she has turned from the humble baker's wife down the street to death herself. Their eyes lock, passing silent messages to each other.

I'm sorry, y/n pleads. She thinks if she spoke it aloud, it would travel barely above a whisper.

It's okay, sweetheart, Meg responded. Though the woman only truly meant the first part, y/n wanted to believe that she would have used the nickname to calm her nerves. Somehow it did.

The moment lasted for only seconds. A fleeting feeling of safety was ruined by the doorknob rattling furiously. At the speed of sound, y/n had handed Lottie over to Meg and told her to hide in the bathroom with the children. y/n heard everything, the door lock behind Meg and the muffled yelling behind the door in front of y/n. She scrambled to her feet, driving her to the wide bedside table. She threw open the doors until she landed on the one thing she never believes she's use. A small handgun. y/n didn't quite have time to question her morals at this very second in time. y/n wrapped her fingers around the handle just as the door swung open. Tears spilled as she pointed the gun aimlessly.

"Thank god," his familiar voice rang out. y/n sunk to her knees, the gun falling right from her fingertips. Tom rushed to her side; he didn't know what to say to her. He knew exactly what she was feeling, he knew whatever attempt he made at explaining the horrid situation would break his poor wife even further.

y/n studied his features in the dim light of the room as he got closer to her. She had never seen him in such a state. His hair flopping all over his face, hiding whatever panic was clearly evident over his features. More specifically, y/n watched as it became clearer. A large splatter of blood across his right cheek. She fell right into his arms, finally allowing herself to stain his shirt with her burst of weeps.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n's body was on fire. The fire was nothing but pure pain. As if bugs were nesting right under skin, desperate for a gasp of air. Even the clock ticked loudly, ever noise of the hand pressed her brain against her skull. Every joint rigid in its own specific way, damaged and tight.

"Sweetness, talk to me," Tom soothed, using the towel to clean the final fragments of blood off his cheek. Her eyes squinted at him, waiting for him to do anything other than be his normal gentle self. y/n slid herself off the foot of their bed and walked to the closed door. Flashing images of the other room crossing her mind.

"I need to check on the kids," she huffed. While y/n knew Meg was laying wide away on the floor of Theo's room as all three children slept contently, she wanted to be away from him at a moment like this. She needed to not see his face. Alas, Tom's hand gripped her wrist tightly. The touch sizzled her skin, the tension elevated for a split second.

y/n whipped around to face him; Tom felt his patience slipping from him. "y/n, be an adult," he hissed.

Tom knew he shouldn't be talking to her like this, but he was at his wit's end. A candle burning to the final wax. He mentally fucked himself over when he got that stupid fucking call. Sir, your wife has informed us of an unidentified vehicle following her, it engraved itself into his mind. Tom remembers sitting at the desk, wondering if she was witnessing the same group, he had fucked over a few months ago. Deciding it could wait, Tom told them to keep his updated throughout the night. As if whatever god was up there decided to play a tortuous comedy routine with Tom, it did begin to progress. First, the car pulling up hours before his arrival. Then the major security breach and finally as they began shooting at his house, ready to slaughter anyone they found inside. Especially his family.

She watched his intently. Waiting for a further response and yet, nothing. Her anger was bubbling over. "I am an adult," she seethed at him, her fingers unwrapping themselves from the doorknob. "I make sure that my children are safe, I make it my life's mission to ensure that I am not the direct cause of those certain dangers I wish to keep them so far away from!"

She had ripped her hand from his grasp, this wasn't something she was backing away from. It was something she could fight and to which she intended to do until the very end.

The little monologue broke Tom's heart. How could she believe that he would do such a horrific thing? How could she blame him for the events that unfolded tonight? He wondered if she truly knew this was never his intention. That he never wanted his family to come under direct attack all because he made one dangerous decision.

“You don’t talk to me like that y/n,” He grumbled. The air seemed to thicken with every word, cause more distance between the spouses. It was never like this they fought like a normal couple but never with this much venom. “I don’t deserve such criticism, especially from you.”

“Why?” she pondered, she moved closer to him. Inching closer with every second. “Is it because you question my authority? Or maybe is it because I am some silly little schoolteacher who got trouble with the wrong kind of people," she moved closer with every word of the sentence, pushing her dangerously closer. It’s a risk she must take if she wants to feel any sort of release.

“Stop being so theatrical y/n, you endured something horrible, but that is what you signed up for when you married me,” the room climbed in temperature. Tom had half a mind to strip himself just to get closer to peace, but with y/n so close to his chest, he preferred to work on her. Tom can’t pinpoint what made his mind switch in directions. Maybe it was the ever-growing heat, or perhaps it was the indescribable feeling of almost losing your wife and mother of your children. Either way, Tom thoughts were growing darker. The need to bruise y/n’s skin seemed to be the only thing he could really think about. “You wanted this,” he grunted, closing in on her. “Sweetness, you agreed to this lifestyle as soon as you sunk your sweet cunt onto me.”

The vulgarity of his words caught her off guard. Her breath stopped halfway when her back almost slammed into the wall. She wasn’t giving in so easily, even if the heat from her body had swiftly travelled to the valley between her thighs. y/n turned her head away from him in any desperation to not look at him. Unfortunately, Tom caught her actions as if he knew her every move. His fingers pressed against her chin to bring her eyes back to him. Tom was worried for an instant that she would truly be too furious with him to play into his game. Luckily, her eyes betrayed her. The big doe eyes of her stared up at him, pleaded to be fucked like an animal. Slammed into until all of her rage had slipped from her conscious.

“Screw yourself Tom,” she coughed out. She was playing along, y/n knew exactly where this was heading. A tender kiss was placed upon her lips, while the action itself was soft, nothing about the kiss genuinely was. It was the ultimate puzzle piece for him.

"You want to speak to me like a bitch," Tom chuckled, "you'll get fucked like a bitch." He kicked the back of her knees harshly, causing her to meet with the floor. "On your knees and hands behind your back." She wanted to protest, she wanted to act out the little brat but like most things, her arms instinctively pulled themselves behind her. "Now, I sincerely hope I don't have to punish you further sweetness," Tom soothed as he swiftly undid the buckle of his jeans, discarding the items of clothing across the room. His throbbing cock hit the base of his stomach with a soft slap. y/n bit her lip in instinct, it had been a while, and did she wholly miss this glorious scene in front of her.

y/n leaned forward and dragged her tongue from the base of him until her lips met with the beads of pre-cum drenching him. Slowly but surely, she wrapped her lips around him. Letting him enjoy the wet cavern of her mouth for a short time. He threw his head back in unison with a beautifully quiet moan. Her eyes never left him, as she bobbed her head gradually. If she was on her knees unable to reach out and touch him, she would at least make it fun for her. y/n only quickened her pace if their line of focus connected. As soon as Tom stared directly into her eyes, she would start her movements but if he turned away to enjoy the moment, everything would stop. It went like this before Tom had quite enough of it all. Without uttering a single word, Tom wrangle his hands into her soft hair and thrusted right up into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat roughly. She gagged loudly, making an awful sound as she attempted to regain her position. He pulled away from her, only to slam right back into her mouth. Unlike her plan beforehand, as he face fucked her, his pace begins to speed up.

y/n was now struggling to hold back her ragged gags as small tears slid out of her eyes. "Pretty girl, all worked out from my cock in your mouth huh?" Tom teased as he relished in the sounds of her cacophony of broken breaths. Just as quickly as he began, he pulled away from her complete. He dropped out of her mouth with a small pop and a trail of saliva that landed on the tops of her breasts. "Get up," to which she happily obliged. As soon as y/n had regained her footing, Tom's hands had completely destroyed her pants. The loose skirt was now in two pieces at her feet, along with her favourite pair of panties. Unfortunately, she didn't even get a second to scold him before he spun her around and slammed her chest against the wall. The pain excited her, it coursed through her torso and down into her legs, causing them to spasm slightly.

Tom looked at her, in the soft moonlight she was glowing. Ass facing him, tits pressed up against the wall. Complete ready for him. Tom gave her a small kiss on her shoulder, this time it truly was meant to be tender but in typical Tom fashion. As soon as his lips left her skin, Tom plunged right up into her. His hand covering her surprised squeal. God did he miss this. Filling her tight pussy right up to the brim. Even after everything they had been through, she still fit him like a glove. Hugged him so perfectly, Tom was worried he was shot his load right into her at this very moment. Sadly, he pushed the thought away and began rocking into her; his hand still covered over her mouth.

y/n could feel every inch of his like this. She could feel just how hard he was ramming into her cunt. Her nails gripped onto the wall in front of her as she whimpered into the palm of his hand. With every snap of his hips, her worries seemed to really melt away. All the tension built up in her body being oiled as he parted her legs to reach a nook in her that she thought impossible. “Tommy, f—fuck, oh my god,” it was incoherent garble. Nonsense talk as her eyes rolled back into her head for a few seconds. His head found the valley of her neck, peppering light kisses a major difference to the rough pace he had adopted.

“What is it sweetness,” Tom gasped right into her ear. The hot air tickling her skin. His other hand gripped callously at her hip, bruising the delicate skin under his fingers. “Come on tell me,” Tom was struggling to keep himself in check. The pure sound of skin against skin as he fucked her ass filled the air, pushing him closer to ecstasy. His hand pulled away from her lips, an immediately low moan tumbled from her lips. y/n waited for her body to response to anything, everything thrown out the window every time his dick hit her perfect spot inside of her.

“Har—harder,” she strained through strings of vulgarities and chants of his name. Tom smirked at her, she caught it before he pulled away from her. Tom started to slow his movements, observing how she swallowed him whole every time he thrusted into her tight hole.

“You really want it harder sweetness?” Tom asked, he was just as desperate for a release as she was. y/n nodded her head furiously, words seeming to fail her at this instance. “Turn around,” he ordered, she swivelled around to face him. Her once neat hair now a mess of pleasure tugged strains. Her lids fluttering shut and her cheeks flushed. She looked like a Greek statue. Tom bent and lifted her over his shoulders, earning a tiny giggle from his huffing wife above him. He frantically sprinted over to their bed and promptly chucked her on it. The force knocking a bit of wind out of her.

In a flash of actions, her face had been pressing into the mattress and her ass high up in air. Tom gave it a light smack before lining up and pounding right into her. Both of them let out a soft line of curses. It had never been this intense in their entire relationship.

The room was silent. Nothing could be heard outside but inside was a different idea. Tom brought her hips down roughly onto him, matching his tattered speed. y/n’s breaths were muffled by the cover of the blanks, her hands desperate for anything to latch onto for support as he fucks her relentlessly. It a beautiful mixture of sounds. Nothing like the soft breaths and gasps on a normal night. While those still as amazing as now, this was pure unfiltered animalistic need. No feelings, just a fantastic way to blow off incredible tense steam. Tom usually adored staring at her as her face scrunched up in pleasure but something about how every time his cock rammed up into her, everything moved with his thrusts. It was memorising, as if a painting had been brought to life. y/n had lost track of time during this, so focused on the way he was able to stretch her so wide that she had completely forgot how long she had been lying here. She didn’t dwell on it for too long before the divine familiar feeling presented itself to her, dwelling at the pit of her stomach.

“Go faster, I’m going t—to come,” she pleaded, lifting her head up for only a moment before diving right back into her muffled screams. Tom growled at this, picking up his already forceful speed. While he tried, his thrusts became sloppy and jagged.

“Come with me sweetness,” he whispered to her, his fingered rubbing cathartic circles on her sensitive clit. The sensation on her bud rupturing another last piece of sanity in her body.

With a final thrust, both y/n and Tom came. A relief as both almost shouted out in absolute ecstasy, their juices mixing together in a beautiful sense of the terms. y/n’s toes curled as she felt it all, every little piece of tension, anger and lust all combine and explode inside of her. Tom wasn’t even the slightest but worried as he had been before this had begun. His sweaty forehead lay against her spine, as his wife attempted to catch her breath. Slowly he pulled out of her, his cum leaking out of her. A sight he would love to have burned into his vision for the rest of his life.

“Feel better?” Tom asked her as he threw himself next to her. y/n turned to face him and for the first time that night an honest grin appeared on her face. A grin given to her by whatever relief she had received moments before.

“Much,” she replied.

━━★✼☆｡

[remmushound]

Bay/rise 34!! @brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88 @digitl-art-monstr @selfindulgenz @yarchurr @dakotafinely @yarchurr @sententiously-sarcastic @sprinklestheditty

“This is fucking stupid.” Raph was pacing anxiously, his frustrations coming out in the form of heavy breaths.

“I totally agree.” Donnie agreed, “But you know Leo. He’d not gonna let this go.”

“He he fucking ought to! We ain’t got time for this shit!”

The Leo’s were both separately getting ready for the spar, but with such an open space it was nearly impossible for them to get out of each other's line of sight. This resulted in what could only be described as a heated staring content between the both of them as they sharpened their katana and odachi almost passive-aggressively. The brothers and sister of both proud ninja were intermingled in a group together— their brothers’ antics weren’t enough to drive them apart completely, but it was enough for a wedge to be stuck between them.

“Is Leo gonna be okay?” Michelangelo appealed to Donatello, grabbing a hold of the older teens arm.

“I don’t know Michael.” Donatello sighed, sticking his nose in the air in his frustration, “Leon’s always getting himself in this kind of trouble! It’s gonna catch up to him eventually!”

“Hopefully not today.” Michelangelo said, looking to Leo. “Other Leo is very large. He’s jumbo sized!”

“Sadly, his brain didn't get the memo.”

Mikey was looking between both of the Leo’s with no small amount of guilt. Donnie had given him the clear after he had calmed slightly and the pain in his chest wasn’t so bad, but now the pain had been replaced with an intense sadness. Michelangelo nudged his brother and pointed to the sad box turtle, and then both brothers nodded at each other with similar intent as they marched over and each took a seat beside Mikey. 

“Why the long face?” Michelangelo pouted.

“I dunno, Mike, seems kinda… oblong to me.” Donatello motioned vageuly to Mikey’s face.

Mikey gave the slightest chuckle before he started to cry softly. Michelangelo frowned and looked to Donatello, who quickly pulled a tissue from out of his battle shell and offered it to Mikey. Mikey accepted it and, after a moments thought, said,

“You just carry tissues around wherever?”

“I never know when I’ll have to break out the dramatics~!” Donatello struck a pose.

“Are you okay?” Michelangelo gave Mikey a gentle stroke on the shoulder. “You look sad.”

“I’m just… useless.” Mikey hung his head.

That statement caused both Hamato brothers to erupt in loud, overlaying denial as they practically swarmed Mikey trying to convince him otherwise.

“You’re not!”

“You’re really not.”

“You’re incredible!”

“I once tried nunchucks for a day. Hit myself in the head, cried in a corner, slept in said corner. Very traumatizing.”

“You can do lots of things!”

“Except fight, apparently…” Mikey pouted, crossing his arms. “I just watched my dad and your dad get taken and I did nothing!”

“You’re not the only one who did nothing!” Donatello offered.

Michelangelo swatted Donatello and scowled at him a second before turning back to Mikey. “You panicked— that’s nothing to be ashamed of!”

“We were there! We— we could’ve helped stop them! We—“

“What could we have done…?” Michelangelo asked softly, laying a hand on Mikey’s knee.

Mikey gave a long, tired sigh reminiscent of someone far older with many more years of life bearing down on his shoulders. “Nothing.”

“Exactly.” Michelangelo said, “But what we could’ve done is gotten hurt! He took out all your brothers in one swing! All we would’ve ended up doing is getting taken out with them.”

“But don’t you think—“

“Come on.” Mikey’s words were interrupted by his Leo, who had lost what little patience remained as he strutted forward with the confidence of gods. “Let’s get this over with.”

Leo was the first in the dojo and he stood there as if he was still challenging Leonardo to back down at the cost of his honor. Leonardo didn't move from his place where he was still polishing his odachi.

“Well?” Leo prompted, “Come on! You challenged me to this, remember! Don’t you want to defend your honor?”

Leonardo thought for a second, and then shrugged. “Eh, never really had much of that to begin with. And I have all the time in the world baby!”

Despite his words, Leonardo seemed to accept his counterpart's challenge and stood from his seated position, giving his odachi a few experimental swipes before he came to join Leo in the dojo.

“This ain’t gonna end good...” April shook her head. Her face was painted to match Leonardo’s markings and she brandished a blue flag in support. Upon seeing Leonardo entering the dojo, however, she promptly cheered, “WHOOP WHOOP! YOU GOT THIS LEON!”

The rest of the gathered mutants— all except Raphael, who was still sleeping off his exhaustion— gathered in a tight group to watch as the scene unfolded. Donnie split from the group one last time in an attempt to appeal to his brother.

“Leo, this is crazy!” Donnie said, but it was like talking to a wall, “You can’t fight him!”

“Why not?” Leo asked calmly without dignifying Donnie’s concern with even a glance.

“Well, one, he's a child.” Donnie deadpanned, “And two, we need to be focusing on finding Master Splinter.”

“Trust me Don, this isn’t gonna take very long.”

“What you gonna do, punt the fifteen year old?!”

“He’s the one who picked a fight.” Leo growled.

“Yeah. Oh course he did.” Donnie leaned closer to his brother and spoke slowly, as if Leo were dense, “He’s. A. Teenager. A dumb, confident teenager!”

“So are we.”

“We’re gonna be twenty next month— I hardly think it counts!”

Leo didn't respond. He stared forward with a determined look and simply walked away from Donnie, leaving his younger brother staring after him with a frustrated disbelief.

Leo faced his counterpart. “Do you know the duel rights?”

Leonardo shrugged almost cartoonishly.

“Of course not.” Leo sighed, then carried on, “Rule number one: The offending party has the right to an apology and, if it is accepted by the offended party, then the duel will not carry to term.”

“Okay, so you gonna apologize them?” Leonardo asked, almost hopefully.

Leo narrowed his eyes and gave no answer. “If there is no apology met, then the next rule of order is to choose a second. The seconds are the judges— they try to reach a peace, and if a peace is unable to be met, then we move onto phase three. My second is my brother Raphael.” 

Raph grunted softly and split off from the group to hesitantly come to Leo’s side. 

“Don, you feeling up to it?” Leonardo looked to his brother.

Donatello gave it a moment's thought before shrugging and sauntering off almost in a bored fashion to Leonardo’s side.

“How do we win?” Leonardo asked.

“To win, you must knock down your opponent and hold your blade to their throat. Rule number three! The seconds try to negotiate a peace.” Leo gave a nod, and Raph lumbered forward to meet Donatello in the middle. The two of them quickly fell to a hushed discussion.

“Hello.” Donatello said, his eyes half-lidded and his voice dull.

“Hey— can’t you just try and get your Leo to apologize?” Raph almost pleaded, “You know this ain’t exactly a fair fight.”

“I know.” Donatello replied with little enthusiasm. “Your Leo’s gonna get knocked flat on his Gluteus Maximus. That’s science terms for buttocks. Aka: ass.”

Raph gave a half-amused snort. “No offense, pancake, but I think we both know that ain’t right.”

“Oh wowwwwww, so original.” Donatello slumped, “I’m so hurt. Then again you do have a good point.

Raph smiled, thinning himself victorious until Donatello added,

“I mean, there’s nothing Maximus about his Gluteus.” Donatello motioned to Leo with his thumb.

“No—” Raph growled and forced a smile as he addressed Donatello with slow words, “What I meant was that your brother is gonna end up with the same fate as a firework on Fourth of July.” He made an explosion motion and added his own sound effects, “I mean— come on! It’s like a dodge against a semi-truck— your bro stands no chance!”

“I think we can stand to disagree on that.” Donatello defended his brother calmly.

Raph fixed Donatello with a deadpan expression. “You’re not gonna back down are you?”

“Negatory.” Donatello finally smiled— little more than a slight curve of his lips, but still a smile. “Or way— would that be an affirmative? Eh. Doesn’t matter. Either way I believe we are done here.”

Without another word, he spun on his heels and carried himself confidently over to his brother’s side. Raph grumbled as he often did before taking his leave a few seconds after. There was a minute of stressful silence as both seconds reported to their brothers before Leo stepped forward again.

“Rule four. Draw your weapon only once there is a medic on sight with his back turned.”

Leonardo whistled. “I mean, not that I couldn’t beat you with my back turned, but seriously?”

“Not you.” Leo growled, “Donnie will be our medic on standby.” Leo motioned the tech genius to turn around, and Donnie hesitantly obeyed. This left only the Mikey’s watching. Once Leo was satisfied, he went on, “Rule five would usually include dueling at dawn, but I hardly think it matters down here.”

Leonardo looked up at the high ceiling and then down at Leo. 

“Rules six and seven are also moot given our particular circumstances. Unless you have a god you pray to…?”

“Eh, some may describe me as a God, but I think I forgive myself for my sins~”

It took everything Leo had to keep his cool. “Rule number eight. Your last chance to set the record straight.”

“Hey! That rhymed! Good for you!”

“Wait are you just getting these from the Hamilton Musical?” Donatello started to ask, but was interrupted; even as Leo spoke over him, he still continued to talk until he finished the sentence.

“Rule number nine! Look your enemy in the eye.” He and Leonardo locked gazes, “Meet your enemy in the middle…”

Leonardo and Leo took four paces each until they were directly in front of each other.

“Summon your courage in any way necessary.” Leo said cooly, giving a bow that Leonardo returned, “Take a minute to breathe, then take ten paces back.”

The Leo’s were almost in perfect sync as they took their paces backward, now several paces behind their seconds while still facing each other.

“Ready your sword…”

Twin katana and a single odachi were held at the ready.

“Take one final breath…”

No one in the room breathed.

“And count to ten. One… two… three… four...”

“...five...six…seven… eight... nine...”

“Ten.”

[reinersbb]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 [𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔] Chapter Two- Coffee Girl

Chapter Two of ‘Forget’

You could still recall the ringing sensation you felt vibrate through your ears when those words left Floch's mouth. Those horrid series of words tormented you for the rest of the evening, and through the morning of the next day.

You had spent the rest of your Friday night in bed, alone, in your dark dorm room by yourself.

A Friday night that'd gone to waste.

You were slightly thankful that your dorm mate never came back last night. Not that you didn't like your roommate, because you did, it's just you knew how awkward it would be to sob your heart out in front of someone. Your roommate was a good person, but when it came to emotions and people-stuff, she was very blunt and confrontational.

At this point during the day, you had no more tears left to give. You've run dry. The mid-morning sun that broke through the window to your immediate right caused a stream of light to cascade across you and your bed and into the rest of the blackened room.

Your fingertips curled over the edge of the comforter, pulling the blanket up against your neck as you rolled over onto your left side, facing away from the window and to the openness of the room. Your eyes were locked on the floor, or specifically, the light that snuck in from underneath the door. You held your gaze at that particular spot until the sounds of familiar voices approached the door, along with shadows that rippled in the light from under the door that peered in.

The door handle jiggled until eventually you were exposed to the people behind it in all of your post-breakup glory.

"Shit, (Y/N), you're still in bed? Are you hungover or something?" Your roommate asked, standing in the middle of the doorway with her girlfriend, "it's almost noon."

Almost noon?

By this point, you've already accepted the fact that you were going to have to face the music and spill what happened between you and Floch. Because she was going to get it out of you anyway.

Ymir was very perceptive like that.

"No, I'm awake," you admitted.

As soon as the reply left your lips, she went for the light switch and turned the light on. At the initial contact, the light burned your eyes and you tightly clamped your eyelids shut. You battled with yourself with a series of blinks until you were able to keep your eyes open completely.

"Hey guys," you finally greeted.

"Hi, (Y/N)," the small blonde greeted with a bright smile on her face, but once she got a good look at you, the smile faded away, "are you alright?"

"I'm not okay, actually," you knew for a fact that it wasn't best for you to lie.

Ymir got a better look at you, "what the hell happened to you then? You look like you've been crying," her intimidating eyes stared you down like she was doing a full-blown analysis.

"Floch broke up with me," you said, finally sitting up straight in your bed, the comforter rippling down from your chest.

Historia looked at you, eyes wide, "I don't understand, you guys seemed so perfect together, why would he do that?"

You sighed, "I don't know."

In all honesty, you asked yourself that question over too many times last night.

'Why would he do this? Why would he break up with me? Just because he wanted to go separate ways? What kind of excuse is that? I thought we were on the same page.'

"He must be out of his mind to break up with you," Historia approached your bedside, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress with you.

Historia was basically your third roommate even though she didn't live in the same dorm with you and Ymir. You thought it a little odd the few times Ymir would show up without Historia by her side. That just goes to show how often the two were with one another.

You and Floch weren't like that though. There were days you'd go without seeing each other but would make up on missed time on the days the two of you would hang out. Which was supposed to be last night.

"Men, such assholes," Ymir scoffed, the weight shifting in the bed when Ymir sat near the foot of the bed to the right of Historia, "I can't stand them," she wrapped an arm around the petite blonde's shoulders.

"Floch didn't even deserve you anyways," Historia spoke with a comforting smile, you could tell that she was trying her best to make you feel better.

You were thankful for both Historia and Ymir, especially in times like this. The two of them made up the majority of the small handful of friends you had.

"Thanks," your eyes fell, staring at the comforter as your fingernails fiddled with the material. "Looks like I'm going to be third-wheeling a lot more now," you chuckled dryly.

Occasionally, you, Floch, Ymir, and Historia would go on double dates together. You guessed that was an end to that tradition.

"Doesn't sound like a problem to me," Ymir said. "Speaking of being a third-wheel, you should come out with us tonight, (y/n), it'll be fun."

"Wha-"

"This frat party, we were invited last night," Historia said, her big blue eyes staring at you sympathetically.

A party? While the thought of going out did tempt you, you still weren't sure if getting shit-faced and having to deal with a hangover the next day would be worth it if you still had to study for a test you had on Monday.

"I don't know you guys, I have this test on Monday and..."

But at the same time, how could you even focus on studying when Floch was constantly stuck on your mind? Sitting in your room pining over a guy who probably wasn't even thinking about you for the second day in a row would be worthless.

"Come on, (Y/N), please come out with us tonight so you can get your mind off of everything," Historia pleaded with a cheerful tone, "there's no use sitting inside crying over some jerk."

Ymir pinched Historia's right cheek, "how could you possibly say no to this cute face?"

They were right. You knew they were right. You were just broken up with, you needed to go out and have a good time tonight.

Historia placed a gentle, comforting hand on top of your knee, "look, we can't force you to go with us, but just know you deserve to have fun and happiness."

At this point, you'd practically made up your decision in your mind.

"Fine, I'll go with you guys," your chest dropped with a light sigh and Historia gathered you into her arms with a small hug.

"Great!" Historia exclaimed before letting go of you to hop off of the bed.

Ymir followed Historia off of the bed, only stopping to turn and look at you, "be ready by ten, okay? Or sometime around then, it doesn't really matter."

After the conversation you had with both of them, you were invited to go out with them for lunch, which you accepted because you had skipped out on dinner yesterday. After lunch, you genuinely needed some time to yourself to get a short study session in, along with a post-breakup social media cleanse, erasing every single trace you had connected with Floch.

*****************

Your freshly shaved legs were crossed as you were sitting on the floor, your posture was anything less than angelic as you leaned hunched forward staring at yourself in your body mirror. You were wrapped in a damp cotton towel, getting ready for the awaited party. Music from your favorite playlist steadily playing in the background from your laptop that was positioned on top of your bed as you applied your makeup.

Historia sat down on the ground next to you, her petite frame wrapped in one of Ymir's robes as she applied makeup onto her face. While Ymir sat on top of her bed, one arm propped behind her head as she was absorbed into her phone absentmindedly, just waiting for both you and Historia to finish getting ready for the party.

When you finished applying your makeup, you packed up all of your items you had strewn about on the floor before zipping your makeup bag shut. You negligently tossed the bag of cosmetics onto your unmade bed before closing your laptop, cutting off the music with it.

Effortlessly scooping up the black satin spaghetti-strapped dress you had laid flat out onto your bed. Your fingertips needing over the cool satin material as you examined the dress in its entirety. While neither Ymir nor Historia was paying attention, you threw on matching black laced underwear before putting the dress, making sure to be careful not to mess up your hair and makeup.

"Ooh, you're wearing that number?" The sound of a sing-song expression from Historia made you forward your attention to her.

Historia ran a hand along with the material of her dress, adjusting the light pink halter dress she wore. A smile appeared on your face as you playfully stuck a pose.

"What do you think, Historia," you said, breaking from your pose, "am I doing too much?"

"I think you look like someone who is going to have lots of fun tonight," she winked at you knowingly.

After throwing on some black heels to match with the outfit, you examined yourself in the mirror. Turning around to stare at yourself from behind, examining the exposed portion of your back.

Just as all three of you were about to leave for the party, you spritzed yourself with a vanilla-scented perfume before grabbing your phone and handbag. After the three of you left the dorm room, you checked to see the time on your phone. The clock read half-past ten.

Only then did you notice the red battery icon in the upper right-hand corner on your screen. Somehow, you forgot to charge your phone this whole time.

"Dammit," you hissed under your breath, slapping yourself mentally.

"What's wrong, (Y/N)?" Ymir turned to look at you.

"I forgot to charge my phone," you groaned inwardly before locking the device and shoving it into your handbag, wanting to persevere any battery life you had left.

"It'll be alright, you shouldn't be needing your phone much tonight anyways," Historia shrugged, wrapping her arm around Ymir's.

**********

"Do I know anyone here?" You asked, following up the tall set of steps behind Ymir and Historia.

"You might, I know some of mine and Historia's friends will be here tonight," Ymir turned to look over her shoulder back at you momentarily.

Some of our friends. Though Ymir and Historia were your friends, you never brought it upon yourself to get to know anyone inside of their inner friend circle. It's not that you didn't want or care to, but most of the time when you went out it would've been with Floch or all four of you.

Most of the other times, Floch never seemed to be too much into parties, so you never indulged in those events either. Limiting your friend-making experiences.

Pushing through the already opened front door of the large frat house, the three of you entered into the overly-packed foyer. There were people already drunk out of their minds, even though it was hardly eleven.

The smell of different mixtures of smoke clouded your senses, and the volume of music thumped through your ears and all of your senses combined.

Historia held a grip onto your hand, along with Ymir's as the three of you formed a chain, pushing through the overly-dense crowd. The three of you stayed attached as a human chain until all of you made it across the scene where the majority of people were dancing.

Ymir informed both of you that she was going to run off and find some drinks for all of you before disappearing into the sea of people. Historia urged you to dance with her, complying with her demand, the both of you began dancing together along with the music that was bumping heavily in the background.

During mid-dance, you felt a hand firmly cup your ass, causing you to jump and lose your rhythm with the beat of the music. Immediately, you turned around to see who it was, only to realize it was just some drunk douchebag wearing sunglasses that was leaning in too close for your liking.

"Dude, fuck off," you snatched his hand away from your rear.

Historia bitched at the guy over the music as you regained your composure. Eventually, he retreated to somewhere else in the crowd.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry that jerk did that to you," Historia held onto your shoulders.

"I'll be okay, let's not worry about it," you tried reassuring Historia that you'd be fine.

"Okay, well we should probably go find Ymir," Historia called out, nodding her head into the direction Ymir left in.

Following along in agreement, you were only mildly upset that a drunk idiot had to ruin your mood this early on in the night. Almost making you wish that you stayed back home in the dorm.

"Ymir!" Historia called out, searching for her girlfriend as both of you pushed into the kitchen.

Skimming through all the random faces floating about in the kitchen, both of you realized that Ymir was nowhere in the vicinity.

Historia let out a sigh and turned to face you, "I'm going to go find Ymir, you can stay right here if you want to."

"I'll just stay around here and keep an eye out for Ymir, probably search for some snacks to eat on or something," you shrugged.

Historia smiled and made her departure from the kitchen. After the blonde-haired girl was out of sight, you forwarded your attention to the array of snacks and other food items laying across the large kitchen island.

Popping a few grapes into your mouth from the platter of different fruits and cheeses, you glanced around at the coolers placed against the base of the island. Flicking the top to one of the coolers open, you dove your hand into the ice and retrieved a wine cooler. You examined the flavor, mixed berry, and decided that would be good enough.

Pushing the lid on the cooler shut, you stood up straight and took a step back, twisting the cap off of the bottle. You lifted the bottle to your mouth, tasking a swig of the alcoholic beverage as you turned around.

The alcoholic liquid almost sloshed out of your mouth as you partially came into contact with someone. Large hands delicately caught along your waist to stabilize you, along with distancing yourself from said person.

'Seriously? Not this shit again.' You couldn't help but mentally scold yourself from the re-enactments of yesterday's events.

Your eyes flicked upwards, staring intently through your false lashes at the man who was currently holding onto you.

Familiar intense light brown eyes bored into you, taking in your appearance, "we seriously need to stop running into each other like this, coffee girl."

[twiceinadream]

“Lose control.”

Requested: Yup

Request: could you please do a part two for the namo x sub!s/o please

a/u: Hey, guys! I know said I would be posting more often but the second I said that I had to write three essays in one week so I’ve been creatively spent to the point where I didn’t even want to look at words. So, please thank my 5 am urge to write smut. Love you guys!

Part: 1.) “No touching.”

Background: Picks off right where, “No touching.” ended.

Category: NSFW and Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

Momo’s breathing became ragged as she pulsed around the viabrator inside her, her eyes filled with tears as she struggled against the binds Nayeon had used to tie her hands behind her back. A sadistic smile on the elder girl’s face as she soaked in Momo’s tear filled eyes and high pitched whines before finally turning off the toy inside the Japanese girl, ending her endless cycle of pain and pleasure.

A relieved sigh left Momo’s lips as she slumped back into the bed, shifting slightly as she allowed Nayeon to untie her hands, “Now, what did we learn, Momoring?” Nayeon’s tone was expectant as she looked at the completely fucked out girl.

Strings of pathetic mewls erupted from Momo before she could finally think somewhat clearly, “D...don’t dis..disobey, Mm...mommy.”

Nayeon nodded her head as she cooed at Momo, “Good. Now that you’ve learned your lesson,” The Korean girl turned back to you, running a finger up your thigh as the coil in your stomach tightened, “I think it’s time for your reward now, Y/N-ah.” You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat as you eyed your Mistress carefully. Your eyes grew hungry as you watched Nayeon strip before you, her shirt was thrown over her head as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. Ridding herself of the material in one fluid motion as she dropped it beside the bed, a small wet patch on the front of the fabric was noticeable as you smiled internally.

‘She’s enjoying this just as much as we are.’ But your small revelation didn’t last long as a completely bare Nayeon kneeled before you. Even in her most vulnerable state the look in her eyes still instilled fear into you, as well as wetness in your panties. Steeling your fear as you looked back at her, fearless.

“I want you to ruin me Mommy.” As the words left your mouth Nayeon’s lips turned upwards into a smile, her eyes growing dark as she crawled towards you on the bed. All thoughts of Momo’s disobedience momentarily forgotten as the Japanese girl still laid breathless at the end of the bed, watching with rapt attention as you subconsciously began spreading your legs the closer Nayeon got to you.

But before she could pounce on you like a predator to prey, she paused, “Are you sure you want this?” You nodded rapidly, if the heat building in your stomach didn’t already mean something, you didn’t know what would.

“Of course I am Mommy.” At the confirmation Nayeon gave you a nod before placing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Just remember you can always tell me to stop whenever you need. Okay?” You nodded again, and the hungry look came back into her eyes, “Okay.”

You had barely blinked when you suddenly felt the weight of her body on top of yours, her lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss as she nipped at your lower lip, asking for entrance. You opened for her almost instantly as you felt her tongue begin exploring your mouth, whimpers left your mouth as the intensity of the kiss made you rub your thighs together. Reminding you of just how turned on you were.

Nayeon’s hands began wandering along your body, fingertips dragging along your sides as she slowly pulled your shirt up, her thumbs rubbing at every new inch of exposed skin. Your shirt rode up just below your chest before she pulled away from the kiss, your breathing was ragged as she pulled your shirt over your head and threw it somewhere on the bedroom floor, a predatory smirk growing on Nayeon’s lips as she noticed that you weren’t wearing a bra. The heat of her gaze made you squirm under her as she leaned back down, her lips descending on your neck as she trailed kisses up and down the column of your neck before nipping at your pulse point. A needy groan left your throat as the action made you buck your hips towards your Mistress.

A light chuckle emitted from the girl above you as she began moving lower on your body, her lips moved to the top of your chest where her nipping and sucks turned into red and purple bruises that you were probably gonna regret in the morning as you got dressed for work, but that wasn’t here or now so you just decided to enjoy the moment. Feeling Nayeon’s lips trail further down as she kissed her way down to one of your breasts, a devilish smirk appearing on her face as she blew a small stream of air on your already stiff nipple making you groan in frustration before she ran the flat of her tongue over it and brought it into her mouth.

The contrast from cold to warm made you moan as the sudden stimulation caused your hands to shoot up to Nayeon’s head, your fingers tangled in her short locks as you kept her against your chest. Your legs rubbed together as Nayeon kept them closed as she straddled you, her free hand going up to your unoccupied breast as she began palming the soft flesh she found there before moving to pinch and roll your nipple between her fingers. Causing another wanton moan to fall from your lips as the stimulation-or lack thereof-started to burn hotter in your belly as you panted.

“M..mommy, please.” Your voice momentarily fell on deaf ears as Nayeon continued to suck and pinch at your chest before pulling away. Her eyes met yours as you silently begged for the release you have been after since the start of Momo’s punishment. A beat of silence passed between the two of you before she nodded, leaning back down to your sternum to please a trail of kisses down to your stomach. The action caused Nayeon’s body to curl up as her ass was pushed further back to the point she was basically presenting her wet pussy to Momo who could only look at it, entranced by the pink lips that clenched around nothing like it was teasing her as she could feel the wetness return between her legs as well.

Her trance was broken by your loud moan of frustration as a chuckle from Nayeon followed it as she placed a kiss to your lips to silence you, “Since you’ve so good for me Y/N, it’s time for your reward.” The Korean girl smiled to herself at the way your eyes lit up at her words, as she moved down slightly as she grasped the waistband of your panties and shorts, pulling them both down at once. A smirk on her lips as she discarded the remaining clothing, her eyes roaming over your soaked core. Your pussy was flushed pink as your lips already parted for her, stray drops of wetness leaked from your entrance as her eyes flicked to your exposed clitoris. The hood was pulled back slightly as it strained towards her almost like it calling out to her, and she answered.

Nayeon assumed her previous pose as she leaned down to place kisses along your inner thighs as her pussy was left exposed and presented to Momo as the Japanese girl balled her hands into fists, trying her hardest to remain some form of self control as your moans grew in desperation. Your Mistress’ lips left hot, open mouthed kisses along your sensitive thighs as she continued to avoid the place you needed her most. You felt as though you would go insane with how tight the coil in your stomach grew, to the point you began squirming to relieve some of the pressure that was becoming almost too unbearable to be pleasurable. But, Nayeon knew you like the back of her hand and pulled away from you, knowing that any further teasing would either be considered torture or result in a safe word and she really didn’t want to be the one to cause you pain and stop all your guy’s fun.

As your Mistress pulled away you couldn’t help but whine slightly as all the pleasure she had been giving you stopped. But it didn’t last long as she winked at you, “I have an idea.” Your interest piqued as you raised an eyebrow, “Sixty-nine.” Your eyes widened for a second before you nodded, waiting for Nayeon to get off of you as you rotated on the bed so that your head was near Momo as she watched. A smirk decorating your face as Nayeon settled above you again, her pussy inches from your lips as you waited for her signal.

Then you felt her tongue run through your wet folds making you moan out loud as you used your hands to bring Nayeon’s hips down to you. You licked up as you gathered your girlfriend’s wetness on your tongue, tasting the sweet and tang of her juices as you continued licking her slit. You felt Nayeon’s moan vibrate through your core as you bucked up into her mouth, the vibration sending a shock through your system that in turn made you moan into her as well. The display in front of her made Momo whine pitifully as she reduced herself to a whore in heat, a hand found its way between her thighs as she rubbed at her clit. Her breathing came out in pants as she fought off a moan, but the sound made the Korean girl’s ears perk as she turned away from your pussy to look behind her at Momo. The Japanese girl’s eyes were closed as her hand worked quickly between her legs, her breathing came out in clipped breaths as Nayeon rolled her eyes at how unsatisfiable she was.

The elder sighed to herself but was quickly replaced with a moan as you moved to suck on her clit, making her take a second to regain her thoughts, “Momo.” Her words were sharp as they seemed to burn the girl at the end of the bed, making her snap her head up to look at her Mistress. A look of fear in her eyes as she pulled her hand out from between her thighs, making the older girl just roll her eyes as she looked down to you, a smile growing on her face. “Momoring,” the name made the Japanese go pink as she looked to her Mommy, “be a good girl and,” Nayeon reached a hand back as she spread her ass to reveal the tight hole hiding there, “help Y/N and make Mommy feel good.”

Momo didn’t waste a second as she crawled forward, spreading Nayeon’s ass to reveal the tight sphincter that awaited her. The Korean girl’s head was already back in between your thighs as she redoubled her efforts, making you pull away from her as you moaned out loud, clenching around her fingers as they pistoned into your entrance.

Her rhythm faltered as Momo’s tongue began running along the tight ring of her ass, causing her to moan as she gripped the bed sheets into her fists. Nearly screaming as your fingers dipped back into her heat, before reattaching your lips to her swollen clit. “Oh my god!” Nayeon reared up so that she was almost kneeling, unable to comprehend the double penetration of your fingers and Momo’s tongue in her ass as she panted heavily, moaning in clipped bursts as she struggled to ground herself with all the pleasure coursing through her veins.

A smirk grew on your face as you pulled away from Nayeon’s clit, your fingers pumping in and out of her entrance as you delivered your final blow, “Lose control, Mommy.” At your words Nayeon felt as though she had been hit by a truck as her orgasm ripped through her violently, her body shook as her back arched back down. Her face was buried between your thighs once again as she sucked your clit between her lips, moaning into you all the while as you felt your release hit you out of the blue.

“Oh god!” Your hips bucked violently upwards as you felt a stream of wetness leave your core, surprising the three of you as you continued to shake beneath them. Your orgasm ebbing away slowly as black filled your vision.

-

When you came to, you blinked sleepily as you noticed that both Nayeon and Momo were at your sides. A smile on both their faces as they noticed you were up.

“Hi, baby.” Nayeon said quietly as she placed a soft peck to your lips, Momo used her hand to turn your face towards her before also placing a kiss to your lips.

“Wh...what happened.” Your voice croaked from not being used as they both smiled.

Momo snickered as she answered, “You squirted so hard you blacked out.” Your mouth fell open as a blush began creeping onto your face making your girlfriends giggle.

“It was cute.” You shook your head as your eyes rolled at Nayeon’s bunny smile, a content look on your face as you cuddled between the two of them.

“I love you both.” You said through a yawn as they both wrapped an arm around your waist, both their heads resting on your shoulders.

“We love you too, Y/N-ah.”

[crash-hawk]

Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn, this hurricane’s chasing us all underground...

Since I recently re-released Three to read in its entirety on Tumblr, I thought I would do the same for the first chapter of the follow-up fic Hurricane: a series of short stories set in the Passerine-inspired Kaleidoscope AU, focusing on the intersections and parallels between the series’ Hermit cast and their DSMP neighbors.  Chapter 1 is a direct follow-up to Three, taking place literally hours later, so it’s recommended that you read that one first!

Hurricane is a work in progress, with three chapters completed so far.  The rest can be read on Archive of Our Own HERE.

(For a look at what’s going down in this AU’s version of Third Life, check out @lunarblazes‘ devastating Give Me Back My Heart, You Wingless Thing and @exactlymypoint‘s stellar To Stars and Void He Will Return.)

The morning after’s always a bitch.

crash, crash, burn

No matter how many times that you told me you wanted to leave

No matter how many breaths that you took, you still couldn’t breathe

No matter how many nights that you’d lie wide awake to the sound of the poison rain

Where did you go?  Where did you go?  Where did you go...?

- Thirty Seconds to Mars, “Hurricane”

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

A strange hush falls over the island in the hours just before dawn.   The moon sinks into the water, unnaturally bright against stars that seem pale and faded and  unreal, and seems to take all sound and life with it; the ocean is a vast expanse of smooth glass that barely seems to lap at the shore.  

The Queen of the Hunt notices, and it disturbs her.

She does not live with the others in the main village.  She makes her home in a vast cavern on the far side of the island, beneath a quaint red-roofed house that’s more decoy than domicile.  The house is for the young ones and the new ones, who don’t need to know what she truly is (although every once and again one will come seeking her specifically, usually one who’s seen her in the Starborn’s tournaments, and if they show promise and she has nothing better to do she will take them on.)

She does not live with the others, but she’s aware of the visitors who’d come to their shore the day before.  She knows them well, one of them most of all.  Her own dark mirror; sometimes her twin and sometimes a stranger, sometimes an ally and more often an enemy.  His presence here, in this place meant specifically to keep him out, infuriates her, because she knows it for what it is: both an implicit threat and a deliberate insult on the part of the one who’d brought him along.  The thought of marching into the village and demanding that the interlopers state their intent was tempting, the thought of demanding that they leave even more so.  But she and her shadow have always been flint and steel, and with each hour that passes the island feels more and more like dry kindling.  The Huntress tells herself that no matter what happens, she will not be the one to strike the spark.

She wanders along the northern shoreline, not knowing why, not knowing where she’s going or what she’s looking for.  It feels like she’s waiting for something, some coin to drop, some axe to fall.  

And then it does.

The land around her has grown sere and scrubby, gnarled oaks making way for the flat-crowned acacia trees local to the northwestern point of the island.  A huge mountain, ridged and buttressed like a castle, bulks to the sky, black against the dim, faded stars.  She can see lights glowing softly from the windows of the homes her friends have built there.

A scream suddenly bursts from one of the windows.

It shatters the night into a thousand fragments, echoing from stone and tree and water, freezing the Huntress down to the bone because she  recognizes  it, would know the voice anywhere.  That’s Etho screaming, screaming and screaming in terror and agony and something else, something that sounds dangerously close to madness--the Huntress has heard enough screams in her life to know.  

She’s running before she’s even aware of it, her bow materializing in her hand from thin air, as dawn crawls over the eastern horizon behind her in a silent white line.

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Something’s wrong.

It pulses through Pearl’s mind in an insistent feedback loop, crowding out thought as they make their way back down the shore toward the village.  George rambles on at her side, the most he’s spoken since she can remember, the most he’s spoken in  millennia,  she thinks, ever since the old forests were a new thing too huge with potential for her to govern alone.  There are other siblings, of course, other gods of life and change and growth, but he is one of the youngest, and the most sensitive.  So she smiles and tries her best to listen as he talks and talks and talks, about his woods and his dreams and his nightmares and waking up choking on ash, about his animal friends and the valley he made bloom in honor of one that he lost, about the unlikely friendships she still doesn’t understand, treasure hunts and near misses and the universe saying I’m going to be the best thing that ever happened to you.

“Granted, they’re both idiots, Sapnap especially,” he says, smiling.  “But…”

“But they’re your idiots,” Pearl finishes with an answering smile.  She can’t help it, she’s all too familiar with the phenomenon.  And yet the maddening refrain continues:  something’s wrong.  Something’s wrong.  Something’s wrong.

To the east, dawn paints the sky in fragile seashell colors, washing out stars already strangely faint.  They’re close, now; Pearl can see the massive, irregular shadow of Scar’s ore pile and the dim violet glow from Grian’s observatory. There are few lights lit, and even though she knows that logically everyone’s probably still asleep, it still sits wrongly. Even at this distance, the village feels shuttered, empty, dead.

“It’s so quiet,” George murmurs.  Pearl turns to him, seeing anxiety in his eyes, in the way his arms wrap around himself.   He feels it too.

“Some of them should be up by now,” Pearl says absently.  “Bdubs at least, he’s staying at Impulse’s house this week and he’s always up and out with the sun, I don’t--”

“I think they’re all still there,” George interrupts, pointing down the beach, to where the the last embers of the campfire still glow dully in the early morning gloom.  “It looks like they all fell asleep there.”

Pearl looks, and fear washes over her like ice water.  

They’re arranged around the campfire in a ring, the way they gather almost every night if the weather permits.  Twenty-some people, it looks like, almost the entire village.  Some are still mostly upright, slumped against each other or against the logs of driftwood.  Others lie sprawled awkwardly in the sand or curled up tight against the wind.   Only one remains alert, prodding idly at the embers as they roast something on a stick.

Footsteps crunch in the sand behind them, making her jump, but she doesn’t turn around.  They don’t look like they’re sleeping.  Their poses are too awkward, too uncomfortable, as if they’d all been struck by the same bolt of lightning and simply lay as they fell.  They look--

“There you are,” complains the approaching voice, all smoke and grit.  “I’ve been looking for you all godsdamned night.”

“Sapnap--”

Pearl breaks into a run.

George shouts something after her, but she doesn’t hear it.  She runs for the campfire, her cloak and hood flying out behind her, heart pounding in her head and chest and throat.  

The one still awake looks up as she skids to a halt in the sand, smiling.  “Morning,” he greets. “Breakfast?  There’s fish enough for four.”

Pearl ignores him.  Up close, she can see that the younger ones do seem to be asleep, piled up on each other in awkward configurations and snoring quietly, but the others...the others…

“What have you done,” she gasps, before she’s even aware of what she means to say.

“What do you mean, what have I done,” Dream asks, blinking.  His voice and expression are the picture of bafflement, but his eyes are amused, glittering jade in the light of the rising sun.  “I was making breakfast.  They’re asleep.”

Impulse still sits next to Dream, slumped over the half-finished clock in his lap, head bowed. Beside him, Bdubs is face down in the sand.  She can’t tell if they’re breathing or not.  Across the campfire Scar lies curled on his side, arms crossed loosely in front of his face as if to ward off a blow.  And beside him--

“Grian!”

For a terrible, terrible moment, Pearl is certain that he’s dead.  He lies sprawled on his back, limbs bent awkwardly, boneless and loose as if he’d fallen out of the sky.  His wings are invisible, still cloaked, and that’s  wrong, Grian can’t hide his wings unless he’s conscious enough to think about it--

She drops to her knees beside him, laying one hand on his chest, the other cupping his cheek.  She feels him draw in a breath and sobs, vision blurring with relief.  So slow, though, a full minute going by before he draws another, and he’s so cold. Grian isn’t supposed to be cold.  Grian is quicksilver and solar flares and lightning in a bottle, rambling speech and manic laughter and too-warm hugs.  His fire is gone, his wings are gone.  Grian is gone.  What lies on the beach beneath her hands is nothing more than a placeholder.  A shell.  And she knows as certain as moonrise that if she were to go to the others, to lay her hands on their hearts, she would feel the same.

“What have you done?!” she repeats, pale eyes returning to Dream’s.  

Dream simply looks back at her, impassive, the unnerving smile still on his face. “Nothing they didn’t ask for.”

“They would never ask for this,” she hisses, standing slowly.  She can feel rage beginning to gather in her core, flowing down into her limbs like white fire.  

“Dream?” she hears George ask from behind her, quick footsteps shuffling through the sand.  “What happened?”

For a heartbeat, she sees the Green God’s expression flicker, a split second of something that might have been surprise or nerves or fear.   She doesn’t know, and doesn’t care.  Her rage is an incandescent, living thing, as though she’d swallowed a piece of the sun.

“I told her,” he says.  “They’re  asleep. Dreaming. They asked for a story, and I told one.  I might’ve...gotten a bit carried away, but they haven’t been harmed, George.  At all.  They’ll wake soon enough--”

“They are not asleep!” Pearl cries, and suddenly there’s a spear in her hand, the curved head glittering silver in the misty sunlight.  “Do you take me for an idiot? You’ve left their bodies here scattered like so many empty seashells, thinking I couldn’t tell the difference.  They’re not here!  What have you done to them, you lying bastard?”

In the space between heartbeats a white-cloaked shadow suddenly appears at her side, obsidian blade leveled inches from her neck.  “Put it down,” the War God snarls.  “Now.”

“No,” she says, not even bothering to look at him.  

“You’d break guest right?” Dream asks, still smiling congenially, stepping forward so Pearl’s spearhead rests just below his collarbone. “Your little commune holds that sacred, doesn’t it?  You’d run me through in the sight of the sun, in front of your ‘brother’?  Well, go on, then.  I’m right here.  I won’t even dodge.  Your place, your rule.”

“Pearl, Sapnap, stop,” she hears George cry, dismayed.  “Dream, what the hell’s gotten into you??”

Pearl’s hands tighten around the polished ashwood haft of the spear.  The rage in her is burning agony.  And yet she can’t move.

The Green God smiles, his eyes the color of acid and chlorine and radiation.  “I know you,” he whispers. “I’ve known you since you were formed.  You’re not cut out for this role. You don’t have it in you.”

There’s a sudden ‘twang’ and a puff of sand as an arrow strikes deeply into the beach a bare millimeter from Dream’s ankle. Another grazes Sapnap’s cheekbone a second later, drawing a thin line of blood.

“You’re no guests of mine,” a woman’s voice calls from a point above and behind them. “And I do.”

The War God’s sword jerks away from her neck, and Pearl’s paralysis breaks. She whirls, her spear falling from shaking, nerveless fingers, to see False, Lady of War, Queen of the Hunt, standing atop a wave-beaten spar of rock, longbow nocked and drawn.  Nor is she alone: beside her stand Iskall of the Mountains, his stone sword carved with runes and shimmering with enchantment, and Wels, Guardian of the Gates of Hell, in full dark armor and wielding a battleaxe the color of smoke.

“You,” Sapnap spits, black eyes narrowed and full of venom.

“Me,” False agrees.  

“What the hell,” Iskall thunders, fire glinting in his eye, “did you do to Etho.”

Dream rolls his eyes.  “Stars, Void, and In-Between, how many of you are there?”

“More than you’d believe,” Wels answers.  “This is our place.  Our home.  And I think it’s high time you returned to yours.”

“You’ve outstayed your welcome,” the Huntress states flatly, her normally blue eyes as black as Sapnap’s as they drill into Dream.  “I suggest that you and both of your friends get in your boat and leave.  Right now.”

“Mm,” Dream looks up at the sky for a moment, as if thinking.  “And if I don’t care to leave just yet?  I never got to read the ending to that story I was telling last night, and your student body was so excited to hear it.”  He glances over at the sleeping apprentices, and Pearl feels a stomach-clenching rush of fear and revulsion at the implicit threat.   “Besides.  You know you can’t kill me.  You know it better than probably anyone else here.”

False laughs.

Dream’s forehead furrows, and Pearl is gratified to see that awful smile slip just a notch.  “Care to share the punchline?”

“Oh, that’s true enough,” False admits.  “You’re right, it won’t be my arrow that brings you down, though I must admit I’d greatly enjoy the trying.  It’s just funny to me, how confident you are, considering where you stand.”  She smiles, a tight, icy little smile that makes Pearl shiver in spite of herself, as she glances back at the village.

No, Pearl realizes, not at the village: at the rickety, towering sculpture in the center of it...and the yawning sinkhole beneath.

Dream’s smile falls off of his face so quickly Pearl can almost hear it thump into the sand.  George stands beside him, looking confused and utterly miserable, hands twisting together.  Pearl hates Dream almost as much for putting that expression back on his face as she does for the motionless bodies at her feet.

“What in the hell are you talking about,” Sapnap snarls, scowling in confusion.  

“Shall I call him,  Dream?” False continues softly, still smiling.  “How about it? We’ve all got time, after all, while we wait for our friends to wake.  I’m sure he’d be very interested in your stories.  He’s a much more courteous guest than you are.”

“He won’t come,” Dream protests, but he doesn’t sound so confident anymore. “He’s busy, and lazy, and thousands of leagues away besides.   He’s got a new playmate, and they’re enjoying themselves too much with their little empire down in the Southern snows to bother with you.” The smile returns to Dream’s face as if it never left, but there’s no mistaking the undercurrent of fear in his voice, the obvious way he’s trying to convince himself of what he’s saying.  “And why should he answer to you at all, hiding away with your own little playmates on your nowhere island?  You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” the Huntress asks, dark eyes glittering.

A tense silence settles over the beach.  No one moves.  Even the waves seem to hold their breath, waiting to see which way the scales will dip.

“Why?” Pearl finally asks, her voice breaking.  “What did we ever do to you?”

“Like I told you, they’ll be awake soon,” Dream says with a shrug.  “Ask them.”

“Leave,” False reiterates, her smile gone, her voice cold.  “All three of you.  And don’t come back.”

“Very well, as my Queen commands,” Dream answers, sketching a mocking bow.   “George, Sapnap, let’s go.”  He turns to Pearl with a smile, green fire dancing in his eyes.  "Until next time, my dear." And with that, he walks away, moving off towards the docks.

Pearl recoils, skin crawling with loathing and a creeping, nameless dread. “George, wait,” she entreats, sorrow and desperation thick in her voice.  “You don’t have to go with them.”

George looks back and forth, from her, to False and Wels and Iskall with their weapons drawn, to his two friends, and then back to Pearl.  “They’re my friends,” he murmurs helplessly.  

He turns, walking off down the beach after Dream.  A sob escapes Pearl’s throat.  

Of the three of them, Sapnap lingers the longest, staring up at the three on the rocks with his sword still drawn.  

“He’ll betray you, you know,” False says quietly.

“Stop talking about things you haven’t the least idea about,” Sapnap grits.

“He will, though.  He’ll betray you the way the scorpion betrays the frog in the old tales, because it’s his nature.  And because you have something he doesn’t, a capacity he doesn’t understand and never will, no matter how badly he wants it.  I know, because you and I are the same.  You’ve already begun to discover that capacity, as bumbling and resistant and stupid as you are.  When you finally figure out the rest, he won’t be able to stand it.  He’ll turn on you, and he’ll hurt you.”

“Whatever you say,” he mutters dismissively, but he sounds unsure of himself.  At last, he sheaths his sword, stalking off after the others.  Pearl wonders if either of them will remember this incident two days from now, if they'll be allowed to remember it.

When they’re finally gone, their boat nothing more than a hazy speck on the water, Pearl collapses to the sand.  She pulls Grian into her lap and holds him, not letting go even as Impulse comes to with a strangled scream, clutching at his abdomen and hurling the half-finished clock into the waves with a cry; as Bdubs scrambles wild-eyed to the water after it, his legs shaking like those of a newborn colt; as Scar begins to cough and gasp and struggle to fill lungs that don’t seem to remember how to breathe; as the apprentices stir, looking around with dazed and uncomprehending eyes.

It’s only when Grian finally wakes, silent and gasping and threatening to shake himself to pieces in her arms, his pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks, that Pearl finally, finally allows herself to cry.

[miracul0us-multishipper]

“You”

A grin spread over Felix' face as he let the charade drop.

“Me.”

The black haired girl he now knew was Marinette rolled her eyes and turned back to her sketch book, a clear dismissal.

“You’re blocking the light. Go bother someone else.”

He sighed and brushed his hair back, decreasing the similarities to his cousin to the necessary minimum.

“Why would I? Everybody else is so boring.”

No one in this entire city had even realized he was back; not their classmates, not the teachers, not even the brunette fashion disaster that obviously had some experience with deception. Of course his little charade would have to end once Adrien had recovered from the cold that kept him at home, but until then Felix would have his fun. Yesterday he'd spend the entire day in the Bourgeois Spa, fooling the entire staff, the Mayor and his clingy brat. Despite the latter being Adriens “best friend”, not even she had realized who she was really inviting. Getting rid of her had been a little harder, but in the end he'd spent a wonderfully relaxing day in a steam bath and his skin was softer than ever. Courtesy of the ridiculously expensive mud bath he hadn’t had to pay a single penny for.

“Looks like you'd fit right in then.”, Marinette commented and drew an especially vigorous line in her book.

“Ouch. You wound me, darling!”

She shrugged and ignored him. Ignored him! That wouldn’t do.

With a last tug at his no longer messy strands he sat down next to her, leaning into her space as far as he could risk without getting slapped. His last few attempts had thought him that lesson.

“Oh, come on, Marinette, you must to tell me!”, he nagged her, happy when her face turned from concentration to annoyance. “What gave me away? Was it the wink? Or no, it was the greeting, wasn't it? Too much enthusiasm.”

“Why do you even care? You got all the others, didn’t you?”

He clicked his tongue.

“I have standards. If there's one person who can tell the difference, my performance is obviously lacking.”

She huffed and added a little bow to the skirt she was working on. Knee-length and plain colored, decorated with small ribbons. Classic and elegant, yet a touch of playfulness. He would have complimented it if he'd thought she might value his opinion.

“If it wasn’t my words or gestures, what was it?”, he asked on, not willing to give up and admit defeat. It was their little routine by now. He'd come up and try to pass as Adrien, she'd see through him and he would try to annoy her until she either gave him her full attention, or snarked him off. Marinette Dupain-Cheng – despite her cute appearance – could be mean, he'd learned.

“I don’t think I want to tell you.”, she shrugged, but he could see the beginning of a smile tugging at her lips. She'd deny it, but secretly she enjoyed their little battles of wits.

“What?”, he gasped and slumped against her in played shock, conveniently knocking the book out of her hands and onto the steps of the Trocadero. “But why?”

Now unable to draw on, she finally gave him her undivided focus.

“Because you, Monsieur Graham de Vanilly, are a major pain in my butt.”

“Oh? I would have thought you above such pettiness.”, he lamented. “To deny a fellow fashion enthusiast your criticism! To dishonor the sacred solidarity between artists! Truly a shame.”

“You? An artist?” She snickered. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Hey! Deception is as much of an art as these tiny scribbles of yours. And I am a master of my craft, thank you very much.”

She waved her hand and shooed him back a little.

“The questionable status of your craft aside, I'd hardly call you an expert. You were here for a day and already had the entire class plus three akumas after you. Your play didn’t even last an hour before it blew up in your face. Maybe you should ask Lila for a bit of advice! She's been here for months and is still on her unquestioned bullshit.”

He growled at that, drawing out another of these smug little smirks Marinette so rarely wore. After all his visits she knew how to rile him up.

“Do not compare me to that- that klutz! Anybody could spew some fancy tales and name drop, but that doesn’t mean she has skill. There's no finesse, no authenticity beneath that badly styled hair of her.”

“And there is beneath yours?”, Marinette said sweetly. He huffed and raised his chin.

“Of course there is. I don’t run around as Adrien for the fame, but for the fun of it. And I actually put in some effort. I was only found out because my goal required breaking character, and I still had a score to settle with my dear cousin. You think I only depend on my pretty face, because it looks conveniently close to Adrien? Wrong!”

His chest swoll a little as he spoke. With his accomplishments, he'd earned a little pride in himself.

“True, artful deception requires three things Lila Rossi couldn’t fake if her life depended on it: Discretion, Distraction and the right timing. She only ever barges in headfirst, unable to survive even a second outside of the spotlight.”

She hummed.

“My mistake. How could I ever assume you to be alike, since you obviously care so little about getting attention?”

Snarky little minx. Well, she wasn’t wrong, to be fair.

“Enough of that!”, he decided and eagerly turned back to her. “Now tell me what gave me away.”

“Let me see...”, she mused and pursed her lips. “I guess I could tell you that...”

“Yes?”

“...under certain circumstances...”

“Go on!”

“...it might be...”

“Might be?”

“The scent.”

He blinked. This had been his mistake? What kind of cologne did his cousin even wear?

“The... the scent.”

“Uh-huh.”

She moved to get back to her sketching, but he snatched the book before she could even touch it.

“Nah-ah! First you've got to expand on that. What perfume is he wearing?”

She shrugged and leaned back.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious? Adrien always wears “Manners and Class” N° 5. You on the other hand reek of “Wouldn’t know politeness if it hit me in the face”. A poor choice, really.”

She leaned in.

“You stink.”

It took a moment for her words to register, and he couldn't suppress a gasp when they did. With a satisfied smile she tugged her sketchbook out of his hands and crossed her legs, ready to put the finishing touch on her latest design. Felix fell back on the step next to her.

“That's it.”

“Yup.”

“You've won.”

“Fair and square.”

“I am defeated.”

“Annihilated. But to be fair, that opening was too easy.”

“Perfect set-up. Clean execution. Merciless punchline. You have earned your victory, so claim it properly.”

“I will.”

He fell silent after that, acknowledging his defeat. He lasted all but two minutes before his need for attention beat his shame.

“So? What do you want as your prize?”

“Peace and quiet?”, she proposed, gnawing at the end of her pencil.

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You're more ambitious than that, Dupain-Cheng. Here I am, Felix Graham du Vanilly, offering you everything I can give, and you settle for peace and quiet? Tsk, you can do better than that.”

“Maybe I could ask you to clear the area, while I’m already at it. For the entire week.”

He should leave. He wouldn’t get any real feedback out of her today, and now that he had offered her a prize she might develop some common sense and ask him for his connections, or some favors that could get her publicity. He was stretching his luck every time he decided to pester her again.

But he stayed. Whether it was his wounded pride, or his curiosity ever since she'd sent that little love declaration to his cousin... he couldn’t allow the only borderline interesting person in this city to dismiss him like that. Especially not when he hadn’t been able to get a rise out of her yet.

An idea popped into his mind and he spoke before he could think.

“You could ask me for a date.”

Now Marinette did put her book away.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

She blinked.

“Did you miss the part where I asked you to leave me to my scribbles, as you put it? Because I am sure I mentioned it a few times, now.”

“No, doesn’t ring a bell.”

She groaned and closed her book. He counted that as a victory.

“Well, then maybe you remember the fact that I’m in love with Adrien. Which you already know, since you watched the video clearly addressed to him. And deleted said video. And replied very rudely.”

He hummed and stood up to circle her. An actor had to have a sense of drama, after all.

“The past is the past. And in the present, I look just like Adrien.”

Now he finally seemed to have broken through her cool facade.

“So what?”, she snapped at him, crossing her arms. “Do you think I like him for his looks? Am I that shallow, in your opinion?”

Of course she wasn’t. But he'd finally struck a nerve.

“You're not?”, he provoked slyly.

“No!”

She stomped her pink flats on the ground with more force than should be physically possible.

“I love him because he is kind. And thoughtful. And funny and confident and fair and so classy, and because he loves to make friends, and because he's loyal and caring and-“

“Okay, okay, I get it. He's your little fairy tale prince.”, he interrupted a little harsher than intended. Clearing his throat he continued. “And you'll be relieved to know that I don’t want to date you either. No offense to you, but I am above such mundane things as crushes.”

She rolled her eyes and sat back down.

“Of course you are.”

“Fact is, my dear Marinette,” he lectured smugly, “that you can’t even say two words to your loverboy without seemingly suffering a particularly unflattering stroke.”

“What a flowery statement, Sherlock.”

“Another fact is that you can talk very fluently to me. Far too fluently, in my opinion.”

Marinette's eyes narrowed with suspicion and he smiled.

“What's your point?”

“My point is,” he finished his circling and came to a stand right in front of her. “that you can use me to practice. Here, I'll even mess up my hair again!”

“Wait, I didn’t even agree to-“

“You're welcome. Aren’t I a dashing little dream prince?”

He posed in true Adrien fashion and Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Please, just don’t.”

“Pah! Ungrateful as always. Anyway, back to business!”

He spun into a dramatic pirouette and kneeled down before her, taking her hand between his.

“Marinette, my fairest!”, he proclaimed with vigor. “Is there something on that bright mind of yours you want to share with me, Adrien Agreste?”

She groaned again, but didn’t pull away.

“If you'll leave me alone after that...”

“I'll do anything my good friend asks of me! I am sunshine personified!”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Close enough.”

He almost regretted looking for Marinette this late. The sun was about to set and most tourists had already left for locations with a better view. If there had been more, one might have captured a snap shot of Adrien Agreste kneeling in front of a random girl about to confess. His cousin would be delighted when he found out about his scandal in the news.

Alas, it was only the two of them who paid attention to each other. But Marinette was about to begin, so he didn’t ponder on the viewers anymore.

“I... I wanted to tell you that...”

He almost winced at that poor display of rhetorical talent, but she wasn’t done yet. Taking a deep breath, Marinette lifted her eyes off of her shoes and looked directly at him. And for a moment it felt as if she were looking into him. He'd seen these bluebell eyes roll in annoyance, glare in anger and sparkle with mirth, but never had he seen them this piercing, this all-consuming.

“Adrien, there's something I haven’t told you yet.”, she said, and it was as if he'd never heard her speak before. This wasn’t the voice that had teased and bantered with him, or the disinterested lull she mumbled in when she tried to ignore him. This was soft, yet firm and confident. Like tugging the strings of a violin: a clear, pleasant sound that offered a first hint of the potential in this slender instrument.

“I didn’t keep this from you because I don’t value our friendship.”, she said and her fingers tightened around his. Felix was suddenly sure that no expensive mudbath could ever make his skin as soft as hers. “It's the furthest thing from it. I didn’t tell you because I value our friendship so much. And I was scared to risk it.”

She took a step closer and he had to swallow.

“Adrien, you are the first person I think of when I wake up, and the only person I see in my dreams. Every morning, when I walk into class and see you, I feel like there's pure sunshine in my chest and springs under my feet. Like gravity is just a loose suggestion and I could float if I jumped. Like... like I could do anything I ever dreamed of.”

She looked down upon their hands. Disentangling their fingers surprised him, but even more surprising was that this time, she took his hands between hers.

“I know you feel trapped sometimes.”, she whispered and he found himself suddenly very insecure. Was she still acting? Was she this deep in their little charade? Or... or was she truly talking to him?

“I know you put up a smile and try to give everybody what they expect. And that you don’t have a lot of chances to just be you, not the heir of a great legacy. But I... I want to be your escape. Your safe haven. What I am trying to say is...”

She looked back up to him, and her smile was radiant.

“I love you.”

...

There was a tightness in his chest.

Because he wasn’t breathing, he realized.

Odd.

He didn’t have time to overthink this little detail, though. For as soon as he opened his mouth to say something – what, he didn’t know – she blinked and took a step back. The spell faded and his mouth fell shut again.

“So,” Marinette cleared her throat and looked away. “How... How was it?”

“Uh...”, he made, which was admittedly not the smartest reply he’d ever given her. The fact that he still hadn’t remembered to breathe in didn’t make things easier.

Marinette shifted her weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable.

“That bad?”

Ha.

Ha ha.

He shook his head and finally sucked in some much needed air.

“Good”, he croaked out, which was still not much of an improvement from his earlier statement of ‘uh’.

“It was... really good.”

Ah. The simple beauty of a full sentence.

“You think so?”, she asked, voice high with surprise. “It wasn’t... I don’t know, a little too much?”

“No!”, he answered a little too fast. “Uh, no. No, it was really... really good.”

Marinette's eyes went narrow.

“Are you making fun of me? Because I may be small, but if you did this to humiliate me then I swear to god, I will take this pencil and-“

“I was serious. What you said was beautiful.”

They both blinked at his words. He hadn’t meant to say that. This wasn’t how their interactions went. They were snarky. Mean. Teasing from time to time. But not... this. Never this open. Never vulnerable.

“Thank you.”, Marinette gave back, seemingly unsure herself. “I should... you know, it’s late and my parents are waiting.”

He nodded far too eagerly for his earlier efforts to make her stay.

“Yes, of course. I'll... No, you know the way better than me, probably.”

She laughed at that. It wasn’t a snicker, or one of her smug little huffs. It sounded... sweet.

“Yeah, no need to walk me home.”

She eyed him for a a moment, then the emptying place.

“I could walk you home, though. If you want to.”

Yes.

“No.”, he said and something in his chest roared in disappointment. “Thank you, but it would be quite the detour for you.”

She shrugged.

“Alright. Don’t get lost.”

Shouldering her bag she took her sketch book and moved to leave, but stopped mid movement to turn back around.

“Oh, and if you tell anybody – especially Adrien! – about any of this, you'll find out what I was going to do with that pencil! Got it?”

He rolled his eyes, finally in control of himself.

“Yes, oh great master of pencilmanship. Your weapon is as feared as its wielder.”

Satisfied she nodded and turned around, but stopped yet again. With a groan she dropped the bag, stepped in front of him and grabbed his collar. He'd never admit to anybody that the surprised squeal that followed had come from him. Utterly frozen in shock he could only watch as Marinette came closer and...

“There!”, she hummed and combed back his hair with her fingers. “I like you hair better this way.”

A small nod was all he could muster up, but it was enough for her. Waving him goodbye she turned around for good.

“Well then. See you around, Felix!”

He watched her leave, desperately trying to regain his voice.

“Y-Yeah. See you around, Marinette.”

Only when she had completely disappeared in the nearby metro station he allowed himself to sit down, wobbly knees no longer able to support him.

“What...”, he mumbled to himself, “...the entire fuck...”

What did just happen? Nothing made sense, not this stupid idea and certainly not his reaction to it. Sighing he leaned back against the steps and touched his hair. It was still a little messy, but laid back against his head in its usual fashion. If he concentrated he could almost feel the warmth of her fingers trapped between his strands.

He sighed deeply.

...damnit.

- - -

A little one shot because I hadn't written about canon!felix yet.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Charm of Carbuncles

Wolmeric Week Bonus: Ducklings

A/N: if you know me and you saw that bonus prompt and you didn’t think this would be the result, then i am very disappointed in you

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3 || Day 4 || Day 5 || Day 6 || Day 7 || Bonus!

RATING: G WORD COUNT: 1785 WARNINGS: Guess. Cross-posted on AO3

---

Snow fell gently from the heavens as Aymeric arrived in Saint Valeroyant’s Forum via the aethernet. The street sweepers were out in force removing snow and breaking up patches of ice; the blizzard last night had been short but fierce, but the skywatchers were predicting clear skies this afternoon, and as he walked across the Forum, he overheard some of his fellow Ishgardians discussing the possibility of getting hot drinks to watch the star shower the Athenaeum had been touting was to begin tonight. Not so long ago, the talk would have been about extra patrols on the walls in anticipation of a possible Dravanian attack, and he could not help but smile softly at the difference.

Just another day in the Republic of Ishgard.

As he approached the Congregation, the knight on door duty for the morning—Firmalbert, as ever, after the battle that had left him with little feeling in his swordarm, but Lucia and Handeloup had worked overtime to present an ironclad report to the priests about why the man could not be dismissed—saluted, and Aymeric nodded back in acknowledgment.

“Ser Firmalbert, good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Ser Aymeric,” Firmalbert replied cheerfully. Aymeric could see when the knight glanced away to resume watch—and also when he blinked, and looked down.

Hello, Ser Firmalbert!

The old knight’s shoulders shook once in the familiar manner of someone valiantly suppressing laughter. “Hello, Miss Amandina, Miss Roksana.”

Aymeric chuckled as he pushed open the rightmost door into the Congregation, and held it open long enough for the girls to file in after himself. He relaxed minutely once he had closed the door and stepped further inside: no matter how many layers were between him and the cold, the Congregation was always kept warm enough for it to be cozy inside and was a welcome relief even after a short walk from home to the Athenaeum aetheryte. The main hall was already a hive of activity, knights going to and from offices and barracks and training salles in the upper and lower levels, returning or departing for patrols throughout the city or Coerthas.

His arrival of course garnered attention as he strode for the lift that would take him to his office; salutes, greetings, jaunty waves from older knights who had known him since he was a green squire and had enough seniority that a bit of overfamiliar insubordination was a matter all present would turn a blind eye to. He nodded and smiled as ever, and flat out grinned when the gazes of his Temple Knights inevitably slid away and down to the carbunclets neatly following behind him. There were more than a few rueful head shakes or gasps of delight in their wake, and the girls were the exemplars of fine little ladies, greeting everyone by name as they passed.

The lift ride was short and uneventful, and his office unlocked without incident, which meant he wasn’t in immediate danger of being bodily thrown out of the city by either Lucia or Norlaise for overwork. He settled at his desk, taking a moment to enjoy the new chair he had shamelessly requisitioned upon the realization there was room in the Temple Knight budget for it—arms and a cushion and enough room to slouch if he so desired—and watched the twins neatly leap onto the ironwood desktop and crawl into the pillowed wicker basket he had placed there for their use. Once they had made themselves comfortable, he retrieved one of the books they had requested he bring for them today (a Nanette Dracht mystery, one of their first forays into chaptered fiction, though they still adored picture books), opening it to the first page and propping it in the basket so it was easily viewable by them both.

“All right?”

Perfect, Papa! Roksana peeped.

Thank you! Amandina said, wiggling her ears.

Aymeric smiled and gently pet them, Roksana and then Amandina, as the girls squeakily purred.

It was then that a knock came at the door, and all three looked up.

“Enter!” he called out.

Inside stepped Lucia, followed by Handeloup with a tray containing a pot of tea, thick-walled mug, a carafe of juice, two swallow dishes, and a plate piled high with breakfast pastries both sweet and savory. The girls cheered, tumbling out of their basket to scramble to the edge of the desk and bounce up and down excitedly.

Hi, Aunt Lucia! Hi Uncle ‘Loup! Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hiiiiiiiii!

His First and Second Commanders smiled at the pair of pearl carbunclets as Aymeric smothered a laugh behind his hand. Lucia’s was especially wide, and she held out her hands as she approached them. “Hello, little ones,” she cooed. Once she was close enough, she crouched down so she was eye level with them and gathered them up into her arms. “How are you this morning?”

Good! said Amandina, headbutting her chin.

How’re YOU? Roksana chittered, snuggling close.

“I’m doing quite well, thank you, especially since I’ve now had the chance to hug you!”

Aymeric and Handeloup exchanged a look as the letter set the tray down on the end of the desk, and then quickly looked away, casting their eyes towards the ceiling. If they even hinted at a tease of their friend for how quickly she turned to putty in the twins’ paws, she would chase them around one of the salles and beat them black and blue with the flat of her sword. And then she would sweetly suggest a joint training session with the Watch, and set Hilda on them, and his Synnove and Handeloup’s Odeve would have no pity for them.

Lucia, meanwhile, having gotten the cuddles due to her as honorary auntie, had set the carbunclets back down. Amandina and Roksana almost immediately sat down, tiny chests puffed out as they straightened their posture.

Notice anything different about us? they chimed.

His First Commander cocked her head, but quickly flashed them a smile. “Well, it can’t be your ears,” she said, reaching out to stroke the extremities in question. The girls purred. “Or your tails, they’re all still perfect!”

“And certainly still just as pretty as ever,” Handeloup drawled with a grin. He absolutely knew how to flatter a daughter.

As Handeloup spoke, Lucia glanced up at Aymeric, quirking an eyebrow.

Aymeric grinned and quickly flashed three of the Temple Knights’ hand signals: Synnove, magic, inside. The closest he could get to an off-the-cuff explanation that Synnove had recently given their pearl foci a fresh infusion of aether.

“Hmmmm,” Lucia said exaggeratedly, placing a finger on her chin thoughtfully, “could it be you’re a little bit more magical?”

Ooooh, hummed Amandina.

Close! said Roksana.

And, in chorus: We’re BIGGER! To emphasize the statement, they puffed their chests out even further, unmistakably posing.

Lucia widened her eyes. “Oh, my goodness, so you are.”

Handeloup, not in view of the girls, had slapped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking. It was a good thing he was in leathers rather than formal plate today, otherwise there would have been no hiding his amusement.

Aymeric made another two hand signs (height, shoulder) and then held up his hand, forefinger and thumb a half-ilm apart.

Handeloup’s face contorted in an effort to stay silent, and he moved his hand so he could bite down on the meat of his thumb. Lucia flickered her eyes towards him and, Fury bless her Frumentarium heart, kept her face from twitching out of the expression of doting wonder as she said to the girls, “A whole half-ilm taller, by the looks of it!”

The twins gasped in delight.

She’s so good at this, Roksana whispered loudly.

I told you she’d notice! Amandina said in the same tone.

Now Aymeric had to clap his hands over his mouth to keep from bursting into giggles and giving it all away. Handeloup was beginning to turn red. And Lucia’s smile ilmed over into a smug smirk at retaking the lead in the competition she and Synnove’s sisters had for being favorite auntie.

Later, after Lucia managed to get Handeloup out of the office before he asphyxiated—the girls had twitched in surprise at the explosive, wheezing cackle that had echoed down the hallway from the lift, looking around in befuddlement—and breakfast was consumed, and they girls had read an entire book and settled down for a nap before lunch, his linkpearl, the personal one, chimed softly. Aymeric smiled and set down his report, leaning back in his chair and lifting his hand to his ear.

“Hello, my lady,” he said softly so as not to disturb the sleeping carbunclets. “How goes the conference?”

“Hello, my lord.” Synnove’s cheerful voice came through clear as a bell; she must have retreated to her office for the time being. “I’ve refrained from strangling anyone, but we’ve only just finished the keynote and begun the first panels, so there’s still time!”

He laughed softly. “Perhaps this time you should refrain from raising poor Thubyrgeim’s blood pressure.”

“I will make no promises. How are my girls doing?”

“Quite well,” he said, glancing over at them. Roksana was gently chewing on Amandina’s ear in her sleep. Amandina’s back leg twitched every time. “And currently asleep; I’ll take them to the mess for lunch so they can properly show off for everyone.”

Synnove’s answering laugh was sweet and husky. “Thank you again for indulging them. I knew they wouldn’t get quite the attention they wanted here with everyone so focused on—” He heard a distant knock on her end of the line. “Oh, hells. One moment.”

“Of course.”

The line briefly went quiet, and when Synnove returned, it crackled with the force of her sigh. “Seven fucking hells, we’ve got a new record: first blood drawn at a half-bell past the end of the opening keynote.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Not until you have alcohol on hand.”

Aymeric chuckled. “Then I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

“See you at dinner! I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The line closed and Aymeric let out a quiet sight as he dropped his hand to fold both in his lap, a rueful smile on his lips. For all he complained about his dual responsibilities as Lord Commander and Lord Speaker, at least he didn’t have to manage arcanists.

He leaned forward and picked up his quill. The sooner he finished reviewing these reports, the sooner he could take the girls to lunch; the sooner he could take the girls to lunch, the more quickly the day would pass, and the sooner he would see Synnove.

He smiled, and got back to work.