#they have a wide grip and you can shake em to get the lead to push forward

[foursidecity]

Become such a mechanical pencil nerd in the past year

[sequinsmile-x]

Just Like a Folk Song - Part 3

Part 3: Our Love Lasts So Long

Emily and Aaron have been friends since they were children, what will happen when Emily realises she can no longer keep her feelings for him to herself?

A Young Hotchniss AU

Part 3/3

Part 1, Part 2

-x-

Hi friends!

This is the third and final part of this fic in celebration of @ssa-sparks birthday. Love you so much bestie, and I hope you enjoy this.

Thanks for all the love on this fic, it means a lot. Young Hotchniss always have a special place in my heart <3

-x-

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+, Smut

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

For a moment she allows herself to sink into it. 

His hands are on her cheeks, holding her in place as she finally finds out what he tastes like, an answer to a question she’d been asking herself for years. She places her hands on his chest, sighing into the kiss as she loses herself in it, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. 

It’s what snaps her back to reality. 

She uses her hands to push herself off of him, putting distance between them as she presses her fingers to her lips, the ghost of his kiss still pressed against her skin. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “What are you doing? You have a girlfriend, Aaron.”

He sighs, internally chastising himself for handling this so poorly, and he steps into her apartment, pulling the door closed behind him. His heart breaks a little bit as she steps further back as if protecting herself from him, something she has never done before. 

“No, Em,” he says, blowing out a breath, “I don’t.” 

She stares at him, her hand slipping from her face and to her side. She licks her lips, looking him up and down as his words sink in, “Wha…what?” She asks, placing her hands on her hips, “I met her yesterday. Haley. Blonde, pretty. Annoyingly nice.” 

He suppresses a smile, knowing now of all times was not the time to let her think he was making fun of her, “We broke up.” 

She feels like she can’t move. Her body heavy as she’s rooted to the spot, all the air pushed out of her lungs as treacherous hope fills them. She huffs out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and it shudders in her chest, “Why?” 

He steps towards her and this time she doesn’t move, she stays frozen in place, her eyes wide and shining. He stops just short of touching her, so close he can feel her breath skip across his face. 

“You know why,” he says, reaching out and grabbing her hand, linking their fingers together, “I know you didn’t say it directly to me, but I love you too, Em,” he chuckles dryly as her eyes go impossibly wider, and he places his spare hand on her back, testing how it felt to press his palm against the small of it, “I have for a long time. And if I’d ever thought for a moment that I’d have a chance with you I would never have started seeing Haley. You’re everythi-”

She’s the one to surge forward this time, her hand not linked through his cupping the back of his neck as she drags him in, swallowing the rest of his confession as she presses her lips against his. It’s soft, lacking the desperation of the kiss they’d shared just moments ago. His hand shifts to her hip, gripping her tightly through her t-shirt when she moans. They pull away when the need for air gets too much, and he rests his forehead against hers. 

“We should talk,” he says, and she nods, her forehead knocking gently against his. He leads her over to the couch and they sit down. They’d sat here countless times in the past together but as they settle down, their hands still linked as if they were both afraid to sever the connection, it feels different. They sit in silence, neither of them sure where to start. He takes a deep breath and asks the question that has been playing on his mind since that morning, “Why did you never tell me?”

She chuckles and looks down at their joint hands, her focus on how they fit together, as if they were made for each other. She looks back up at him, her lips pressed together as she shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Why did you never tell me?” She asks, raising her eyebrow at him as she repeats his question. She sighs and shakes her head, mostly at herself, before she carries on, “I was worried you didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to lose you.” 

“You could never lose me, Em,” he says, squeezing her hand, “Never,” he lifts their joint hands and presses a kiss to her knuckles, something that makes her smile, her cheeks flushing pink as warmth rushes through her, “I was worried you didn’t feel the same way about me,” he chuckles self deprecatingly, “Haley picked up on it after seeing us interact for just a few minutes.  She said that the only people who don’t know we love each other are the two of us.” 

She presses her lips together and shakes her head, her conversation with her mother, the conversation that had led to this, playing on a loop in her head, “My mom said the same thing.” 

He frowns and tilts his head at her, “She did?” 

Emily nods and they exchange a smile, “Apparently she and Dave talk about it,” she quips, and she laughs when his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. She reaches out and cups his cheek, pressing her thumb into the dimple there, and she bites her lower lip. “So, what do we do now?” 

He smiles, and it makes her stomach flip, love for him almost overwhelming her, “I guess we move forward together.” 

She leans in and presses her lips against his, revelling in her ability to do so after so long, and she wraps her arms around his neck, desperate to be as close to him as possible. He rests his hand on her waist, his hand warm and heavy through her shirt, and she shifts closer, the need to feel all of him almost an instinct. She hooks her leg over his hip and settles into his lap, moaning into the kiss as he licks through her mouth, his grip on her tightening as she rolls her hips against his. 

He feels a groan rumble deep in his chest and it knocks him out of how he’d briefly got lost in her, his brain winning out over his baser instincts. 

“Wait,” he says, pulling back from the kiss, his hands shifting to her shoulders and pushes her back gently, a wry smile on his face when she leans in to kiss him again, “I want to take you on a date first.” 

She groans and leans forward, pressing her forehead against his, “Aaron, we’ve known each other since we were kids. What could we possibly learn about each other on a date?” 

“You’ve always said I’m too much of a gentleman,” he says, tucking her hair behind her ear as she pulls back to look at him, “Now you’ve got to deal with it.” 

She sighs and shakes her head, rolling her eyes playfully before she eventually nods, “Fine,” she says playing with the hair on the back of his head, “We can still make out though, right?” 

He laughs and nods, stamping a kiss against her lips quickly, “Nothing is going to stop me from doing that.”

___

He takes her on a date the following day, both of them not wanting to waste any more time. 

It feels awkward and she hates it, her hands clasped together tightly in her lap as she struggles to know what to say. It feels nothing short of ridiculous, he was her best friend. The man she’d been in love with for years. Now she had everything she wanted, free of the adrenaline of the night before, of the high of finally kissing him, and she didn’t know what to do. 

“Are you okay, Em?” Aaron asks, his smile achingly kind and she blows out a breath, reaching out for her glass of wine and taking a sip before she answers. 

“Can I talk to you about something? As my best friend? Not…the guy I’m on a date with?” She asks, unsure how to categorise their relationship, the word boyfriend seeming too strong and not enough all at once.

He reaches out and places his hand over hers on the table, “You can talk to me about anything, you know that.” 

She smiles, feeling more at ease than she had since he’d arrived to pick her up at her place, and she blows out a breath, “There’s this guy I’m hopelessly in love with, but he’s the most important person in the world to me, and I’m worried about what will happen if things don’t work between us.” 

He feels his heart ache as if it was clenched in a fist, and he sandwiches her hand between both of his, hoping that the press of his skin against hers will feel like the manifestation of the love that he felt for her. 

“Well, it’s funny you should bring that up,” he says smiling softly at her, “Because there’s this woman I’m hopelessly in love with, I have been since before I knew what love was, and there is nothing that could ever stop that from being true.” 

She huffs out a breath and shakes her head at him, “You can’t be sure of that.” 

He shifts his chair closer to hers and for a moment he doubts his decision to insist on going on a date before they went any further than making out. He hated that it had given her time to let the doubt, the anxiety, sneak in, but he also knew it was important to have this conversation before they went any further.

“I can be,” he replies firmly, squeezing her hand, “I’ve always been sure of you.” 

She smiles, pressing her lips together in an attempt to suppress it, “I always forget how cheesy you can be.” 

He leans forward and stamps his lips against hers, “Well, since you’re my girlfriend now you’re going to have to get used to it.”

She can’t fight her smile anymore, the moniker making joy fill her chest, and she nods, all of her worries fading away. He’d never done anything other than make her feel safe, so she knew she had to trust him. She leans in and kisses him again, tasting the bottle of wine they were sharing on his lips, and she nods as she pulls back. 

“I guess I will.” 

After that, it feels normal, any awkwardness gone as they eat dinner and laugh as they always had, the laughter now interspersed with kisses and hand-holding. When they leave, he insists on paying, something she lets slide because she knows he wants to. They walk out of the restaurant hand in hand and he tugs her into a kiss when they are on the street, his arm banding around her back as he pulls her close. She pulls back and presses her forehead against his. 

“Let’s go back to mine,” she says, kissing him again, anticipation bubbling in her belly and he nods, fire she can feel deep in her gut sparking in his eyes. 

The journey to her place has never felt longer, his hand heavy and warm on her thigh as he drives keeping her on edge. She snaps when they get into the elevator, cornering him and smiling when he turns them, his hands on her hips as the cool wall touches her bare shoulders. Her heels mean they are almost the same height, and she sighs contentedly as she kisses him, her arms snaking around his waist, her hands moving upwards to rest on the back of his shoulders. He presses her further against the wall, the heat of him against her front and the coolness of the wall at her back driving her crazy. She moans as he licks across the seam of her lips, her grip on his jacket tightening as he deepens the kiss, licking the roof of her mouth. 

They are so lost in each other they don’t hear the door open, or the ding of the elevator letting them know they’d arrived on her floor. The thing that drags them apart, makes them move like they are on fire, is the clearing of a throat behind them. Emily’s eyes go wide as she sees her building manager standing just the elevator door, keeping it open, his eyebrow raised as he looks at the two of them. 

“Mr Gideon,” she says, clearing her throat, idly trying to flatten her hair where Aaron had been running his fingers through it, “Good to see you.” 

He clears his throat and stands out of the way, his arm still blocking the elevator door as they walk out of it, avoiding touching each other as if he hadn’t just spotted them making out. 

“You too, Miss Prentiss,” he says, clearly trying to cover his amusement, “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” she says back, a smile fixed on her face as he presses the button to close the elevator. He smiles tightly at the two of them and shakes his head, his final comment not quite cut off by the doors closing. 

“It’s about damn time.” 

Emily chokes on a laugh as she shakes her head and turns to look at Aaron, “Did everybody know?” 

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer so he can kiss her temple, “Apparently,” he says, kissing her head again before he starts to lead her towards her apartment, “At least we caught up eventually.” 

She kisses him, her hand gripping his lapel before she pulls back, “Come one, let's go inside,” she says, leading them towards her apartment, “If Penelope is home and she catches up we’ll never hear the end of it.”

He smiles at the thought of her exuberant neighbour, one of two roommates you lived next door, and follows Emily down the hall. He stands behind her as she unlocks the door to her apartment, his hands on her hips as he purposely crowds her, pride swelling in his chest at how she gasps, her body tense against him as he presses into her back. 

As soon as they are inside she takes off her shoes, smiling gratefully when he reaches out to steady her as she balances on one foot and then the other. She drops her purse on the side table and turns to look at him, looking up through her lashes as she bites her lower lip. He leans in, his lips hovering just over hers as he moves his hand to her back, pressing her closer. 

“Em, are you sure?” 

She smiles and nods, “I’ve never been more sure.” 

He kisses her fiercely, and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. They barely break apart as they make it to her bedroom, each of them taking turns to press the other into the wall, hands pulling at fabric as they leave her dress in the hallway. They are just over the threshold into her room when his shirt lands on the floor, a few buttons pinging off in her desperation, scattering in different directions across her hardwood floor.

Aaron gets her on the bed and takes a moment to look at her, his eyes trailing slowly down her body. He’d always known she was beautiful, but even in the moments when he’d allowed himself to imagine this he’d never imagined her to be this beautiful. He takes a moment to try and memorise the softness of her skin, the freckles that he’d never seen before, always hidden by her clothes, and he leans in to kiss her, a much needed reminder that this was real. 

He runs his hands down her body, chasing the goose pimples that he creates, and he reaches her hips. He runs his finger along the hip band of her lacey underwear, his eyes fixed on the matching bra, “I like this.” 

She tenses under his gaze, the intensity of it making her flush, her thighs clenching around nothing as she desperately seeks out some kind of pressure, “It’s new.” 

He smiles and kisses her collarbone, trailing his lips down her chest, alternating between nipping at her skin and then laving it with his tongue. He bites her nipple through the lace of her bra and she arches her back, chasing the sensation as she digs her fingers into his hair. He switches to her other breast, finally pulling down her bra and touching her skin directly, both of them sighing at the contact.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart,” he groans, pressing his hips into the mattress to find some kind of relief. He places his hand underneath her and unclasps her bra, shifting off of her just enough to pull it down her arms, throwing it somewhere into the room behind him, “So beautiful.”

She wonders if she should feel embarrassed at the way he’s looking at her, the reverence in his eyes almost overwhelming, but she feels empowered, emboldened by it. She pulls him into a kiss, dropping her thighs open so he falls between them, hoping he’ll take the hint. She almost sighs with relief when he smiles into the kiss before he pulls away and shifts downwards. 

He kisses her through her underwear, taking a moment to breathe her in, to smell her from the source as he presses his face into the lacey material. He licks her through it and her hips jolt, making him smile before he pulls back and kisses her thigh. 

“You smell so good, baby,” he says, kissing her thigh again before he hooks his thumbs into the sides of her underwear and pulls them down her legs, “Got to taste you.” 

She groans in frustration, pressing her head back into the pillow as she screws her eyes shut, anticipation slowly driving her insane, “For a guy who has never been particularly chatty, I didn’t have you down as a talker-”

He cuts her off as he licks through her, stealing the air from her lungs as she hooks a leg around his shoulders, her heel digging into his back. She breathlessly releases his name, and he thinks it’s his new favourite way of hearing her say it, and he decides right there and then he’s going to hear it that way as often as he can. He listens carefully as he builds her up, pays close attention to what makes her gasp, what makes her hips jolt into his face. All tiny bits of information he files away. Learning new things about her had always been one of his favourite things to do, and this just took it to a new level. 

She feels herself getting closer to the edge, his hums of satisfaction vibrating through her as he carries on, and she moans loudly, a little too loudly given how thin the walls of her apartment were, when he pushes two fingers inside of her. 

“Fuck,” she grunts out, her hips starting to stutter, but he holds them down, his spare hand pressing onto her belly, “I’m so close.” 

“I know,” he says, pulling away from her just enough to talk, and she looks down, the on his chin in the low light of her bedroom almost obscene, “I can feel it,” he says, his voice rough with desire, “You’re so wet for me.”

She nods, her elbows giving out from under her as dives back in, his tongue and his fingers unrelenting, “Fuck…Aaron.” 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, barely pulling away enough to speak and she does just that, her entire body shuddering as fire spreads from her belly outwards, every single nerve ending tingling as she yells his name. 

He doesn’t stop, his fingers not stilling inside of her until her orgasm passes, his lips now focused on pressing quick, soft, kisses to her thighs. A breath shudders out of her as he moves up the bed and lays next to her, and she chuckles breathlessly as she turns to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips. 

“God you’re good at that,” she says, her chest still heaving up and down as she tries to catch her breath. She reaches down and palms the front of his pants, smiling when he groans, the tables turning so quickly between them as they always had, “Your turn.” 

He stops her, grabbing her wrist before she tries to undo his pants, and she frowns at him, her head tilted curiously. He leans in and kisses her before he pulls back, “Next time. This time I want to be with you.” 

“Next time.” She nods and kisses him again before he stands up to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. She pushes herself up on her elbows and smiles as he pulls his pants and boxers down, her eyes fixed on him as he springs free from his clothes. He smiles curiously at her as he steps back towards the bed, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” He asks, settling back over her, both of them groaning as he nudges against her.

“Nothing,” she replies, pushing his hair off of his forehead, “Just an answer to a question I’ve had for years,” she says, her smile getting wider as he fakes offence, his fingers trailing through her again, notching over her sensitive clit. “Condom,” she chokes out, and he nods, looking around for his pants before she smiles, “In the nightstand.”

He knows her, he knows her past, so he doesn’t question it, doesn’t look irritated like other partners had. He simply sits up, the cool air of the room hitting her, and he reaches into the nightstand, pulling one of the foil packets out of the box. He rips it open and rolls it on himself, smiling when he sees the question in her eyes, and he stamps a kiss against her lips. 

“I think this would be over before this started if you did it, sweetheart,” he says, settling back over her, his hips in the cradle of hers, “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

She smiles softly and cups his cheek, “You could never disappoint me.”

He kisses her and links his hand through hers, resting them on the bed next to her. He uses his spare hand to slowly guide himself into her, his punched out breath lost against her collarbone as he finally feels her around him.

She gasps at the stretch, her hand clenching his as he pushes into her. He waits, stopping to allow her to adjust, and she pushes her hips up into his, silently asking him to move. She knows if they’d done this last night it would have been different, more intense and rough as they finally gave in to what they’d both wanted for years. Whilst she knows she would have loved that, and that they will have that in the future, she’s grateful that their first time is like this. Soft, tender. 

A perfect transition from their friendship to what they were now, a symbol of the love and care they’d always had for each other. 

“You feel so good, Em,” he grunts against her skin as they find a rhythm, the easiness of it surprising to them both, as if they’d done this a hundred times. 

“You too,” she replies, pulling him in for a kiss, her praise lost against his lips, “So fucking good.”

It felt as if they were made for each other, and despite not being a romantic, she likes to think they were. She eventually feels a familiar pull in her belly, white hot heat building as she clenches around him, his hips slowly losing their rhythm as he gets close too. 

“I’m close,” he mutters, his lips against her neck, and she nods.

“Me too.”

He reaches between them and presses his thumb into her clit, his touch more gentle than it had been before, and as he rubs a circle around her she finally tips over the edge. He joins her shortly afterwards, her orgasm triggering his, and he grunts her name into her chest. 

For a few moments, they lay there, limbs tangled around each other until she chuckles, her head back on her pillow as she once again tries to catch her breath. He pushes her hair out of her face and smiles when she looks at him.

“What?” He asks, his eyes soft and full of nothing but love, and she shakes her head and bites her lower lip.

“We should have done that a long time ago.” 

He chuckles and leans forward to kiss her, the action soft, somehow even more delicate, and he rests his forehead against hers, “We’re idiots.” 

She hums, “But at least we’re each other’s idiots,” she says kissing him as she plays with his hair, “I love you.” 

He can’t help but smile as he wonders just how his life has changed so much for the better in just a short couple of days. 

“I love you too.”

___

Emily wakes up suddenly, pulled from sleep so quickly it startles her. She blearily blinks her eyes and smiles as he looks at the other side of the bed. Aaron was fast asleep, his hair adorably messy, and he had his arm over her hip, heavy and comforting as he held her close. She had wondered at one point last night before she fell asleep, happy and sated, if she’d wake up to find that this had all been a dream. That he was still with Haley and her subconscious had tricked her with what she could never have. But it was real, he was here, with her. He was her boyfriend and she finally had everything she’d ever wanted.

She sighs happily, her body deliciously sore as she stretches slightly, and she’s about to snuggle back into his side when she hears a knock on her front door, the very thing that must have torn her from sleep. 

She groans as she pulls herself out of Aaron’s embrace, and she yawns as she stands up. She picks up his shirt from the floor and smiles to herself as she does up a few buttons, almost standing on one of the ones she’d broken the night before as she walks towards the door. She’s content that she’s covered up enough, the shirt coming down to mid thigh, and she checks the peephole, rolling her eyes lovingly when she sees her neighbour standing there. 

“Hi Pen,” she says, opening the door, making sure to stand behind it a little to cover more of herself, “Is everything okay?” 

Penelope gasps as she takes in her appearance, “I knew it. You had a guy here last night.” 

Emily’s eyes go wide and she splutters for a moment, her defences not quite kicking in since she’d only been awake a couple of minutes, “What? What makes you say that?” 

“Your pjyamas for a start,” she says excitedly, “Not to mention last night we could hear your activities through the wall. I said to J-”

“Okay,” she says, cutting her off, feeling embarrassment burn in her cheeks, “Well I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, no need to-”

“Em?” Aaron says from behind her, and it makes her sigh and close her eyes. Even though he was blocked by the door, Penelope immediately recognised his voice, her eyes almost comically wide as her mouth falls open. Aaron makes it to Emily’s side, the fact he was only wearing boxers confirming the conclusion Penelope had come to, “Is everything…oh. Hi Penelope.” 

There’s a moment of silence, a brief reprieve before Penelope almost bursts with excitement, turning on her heels and running back to her apartment, yelling her roommate's name at the top of her lungs.

“JJ!”

Emily groans as she closes the door and leans back against Aaron. He wraps his arms around her, and she places her hands over his as he turns his head to kiss her cheek.

“Want to get dressed and sneak out for breakfast before she comes back with reinforcements?” He asks, and she turns her head, smiling as she nods and captures his lips in a kiss.

“Yes please.” 

-x-

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[adventures-of-the-creeping-bam]

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM,  BOOK THREE: WARMER - CHAPTER 12

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Book 3 Chapter 1 is here …

MPORTANT:  Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWELVE:  THELGAEWYNN

The corridor round me seems to have grown surprisingly still as the dust finally starts to clear in the air after that particularly big blast Gael chucked out there, and from what I can see some of the black-clad fighters seem to be a bit stunned as a result.  I’m getting used to it, though, or maybe they’ve got some way of fine-tuning whatever it is they’re doing to make sure none o’ their companions are troubled by it.  Either way, when I lower my hands from over my head and start to stand up again, plucking my battleaxe from where I dropped it when I crouched in anticipation, I don’t seem to be experiencing the same effects.  Sure ain’t like when we were done in the ruins the other night, when my head was fuzzy and my limbs were jelly.  I’m glad o’ that.

That being said, reckon they might’ve gone a little overboard with that one.  So I look back as they take in the damage, hearing rather than seeing a huge chunk of plasterboard and shattered wood drop into the gaping hole in the wall ahead, and fix ‘em with a stare.  “Go easy, for Thorin’s sake!”  I hiss their way.

Their blush is instant, and they grip their staff tight in both hands against their chest in an action I’m coming to recognise as their show of anxiety.  I feel bad about snapping, but work not to show it.  They need reining in some.  “Yes, um … sorry.”

I hear a crack from somewhere behind ‘em, but all I can make out is the glimpse of a bright flash somewhere from the stairs leading up to us now.  At the same moment something small and fast scurries round the corner, and I recognise Brung a split before he jumps right on one of the muddy-headed hoods while they’re still trying to get up.  The others, making their way after us.

Mindful that whatever pause we just earned will be short, I turn back and start moving forward again, adjusting my grip on the axe’s shaft as I roll my shoulders.  It’s timely, some of ‘em are already shaking off the effects, and as I move in a half-orc sees me coming, frowning as his eyes instantly start to darken, and he scrapes his longsword up with surprisingly steady hands as he starts to stumble my way.  His first few steps are unsteady, but he keeps moving forward all the same, using his momentum to approach fast, and then he gets his feet under control and it turns into a feral charge as he lets a snarl go and makes a swing.

His blood’s up and he’s still rattled from the hit, so I just sidestep so it chops wide into the wall beside me with a great splash of shattered plaster chips.  The wall’s now too weak for it to stick fast, not with his strong arms, so I jump while he’s still just off balance, not trying a big swing of my own in these tight confines but instead just stepping up close in front of him and jabbing his face hard with the axe-head.  His nose mashes instantly, a great, bloody wet crunch popping under the heavy impact of good dwarven steel, the only thing I got left o’ my da’s, and he staggers back as he goes blind from pain and stinging tears, swearing in a great guttural grunt.

Not wanting to give him time to regroup, I twist so I can prime a sharp underhand swing round behind me, wheeling my body as I go so I don’t have to worry about the pitiful small amount of space I got to work with.  When I snap back round the whole movement’s taken me a short beat, and he’s barely starting to blink through the tears now so he ain’t got time to react as I bring the axe hard up into his gut, whipping my hip round so I can really power through.  It could almost be a shame he clearly didn’t have time to put his armour on, instead coming out in simple britches and a cotton undershirt, all he’s got to rely on to block it are his own abdominal muscles …

So the axe just bites deep into his midsection and I drive it into him so hard I actually manage to lift him bodily off his feet.  The hit drives all the air right out of him, the only sound he can make is a weak, winded gasp, and his eyes bug wide out at me as he finally starts to focus, too late to actually do anything now.  When I finish my swing his toes peddle in the air for a moment before his weight makes my arms sag again and his legs barely manage to support him on the landing before his knees start to give out.  As he starts to drag me down I give the axe a hard yank to free it up … and it won’t come.

Shit.  I should’ve expected that.  Thel, you stupid bint, you put way too much force into that hit, it’s stuck fast in his backbone.  As he collapses forward he almost brings me down with him … and there’s someone coming from behind him already.  All I can do is let go of my axe, but that means I got nothing in my hands and I don’t think I got time to pull anything else before they’re on me.

I start back-peddling, but I got no chance of opening up sufficient space to give myself time as I start to pull the handaxe on my right free, this one’s coming too fast and they’re more with it than the half-orc was.  Human, a woman, I realise, although she’s smaller than the average, broad-shouldered and stocky enough to be a particularly tall dwarf, but her smooth cheeks and smaller hands and feet give her away.  She ain’t screaming like I would’ve expected with this kind of hard charge, too focused as her eyes are locked on me, and she’s bringing her shortsword to bear to run me through while she’s cocking her handaxe in the other.  About all I got is to maybe throw myself aside at the last second and hope she just charges right by, but I don’t feel over confident about that one …

Something bright blue smacks into her and she’s bowled clean off her feet as whatever hit her knocks her back hard, crackling globules of aquamarine light flaring as they dance away before fading.  I find myself stumbling back anyway as I start to wheel about, the axe almost slipping from my fingers as I finally yank it free, too late to actually have done anything with it anyway, but Gael’s already turning aside as the crystal in their staff starts to darken again.  As I watch they wind the other end up and smash aside a stab before it can take ‘em in the side, smacking their attacker across the side of the head as they spin the staff back round on the counter.

Not bothering to watch the body go down as I get my own nerves back under control, I turn back to my own business again, seeing the woman rolling over onto her side, groaning loudly while she grasps her heavily smoking armoured chest.  I don’t doubt that fucking hurt, I seen Gael use that spell before and it puts you down.  But there’s another one already coming, so I ain’t got time to muse on it, instead adjusting my grip on my axe while I fish for the other too.

As I slip it loose I don’t bother waiting for this one to come, I just start my own advance, but don’t charge, preferring to watch what they plan on doing.  A human boy, looks awful young actually, younger than I seen amongst this lot so far, looks like he’s lucky enough they managed to get hold of a suit o’ leather armour that actually fits him, he’s still short and skinny.  But he ain’t moving with any awkwardness, looks pretty focused as he comes actually, handling his sword with surprising certainty.  He ain’t gonna show me any mercy, looks like …

But I can’t cut him down, I know that the moment I step aside as he closes the distance so I can dodge his thrust.  He’s already recovering as he plants his feet, not rushing past me like some, he’s on the ball, and as I skip aside he barely misses me with a backhand flick of his blade that has him frowning in some consternation as he realises he didn’t connect this time either.  He don’t give me time to breathe here either, rushing me again, and I don’t bother trying to dodge this time, just bringing my shoulder up instead and putting all my weight into a bull rush.  He ain’t quite quick enough to realise what I’m doing as I barge him aside, and too close to wall so he just slams right into it, bouncing off with a surpried yelp as I spin round to respond.

I twist my left-hand axe at the last as I swing, so I catch him across the side of his face with the flat of the beard rather than the edge.  I don’t pull the strike any, though, and his jaw crunches loud under the impact as the bone breaks badly, making him spit blood and bits of teeth as he spins on the spot.  For a moment he manages to keep his feet, wheeling in a drunken stagger now, but his eyes are already rolling up to show the white, and his legs buckle a moment later, spilling him backwards into a clumsy sprawl.

I got room to the next door now, and I make for it even as another one comes for me.  This one’s another half-orc, not even bothering with trying anything fancy, having forsaken the blades the others are packing in favour of a spiky mace, and he swings while making a clumsy leap at me.  The result is he’s just flailing it at me and hoping for the best while he’s still moving, and the momentum’s enough he’s flying headfirst as it comes whistling at my face.

If I was less on-guard right now he might’ve killed me right here, but instead I just duck and it whistles over my head, smashing into the wall with a great dusty crack as the spiky head breaks clean through the plasterboard.  His momentum carries him forward and he squawks with indignant realisation as it occurs to him that he’s sprawling face-first while also wide open to attack.  I catch the base of his skull on the backswing with my left-hand axe and don’t even bother to watch the body crumple, I just shuck it free and keep moving.

As I shove my way through the door I step right into a choking haze, suddenly I can’t see anything and can barely breathe.  I’m a moment realising that’s a mistake, I already clocked I ain’t alone, there’s shapes in here, some I can sort of work out are beds but others are moving, and coughing, I notice.  One seems like it might be somebody trying to dig another out from under a big pile o’ collapsed wood and plaster, but another’s already worked out they ain’t alone either, and then they’re coming at me and I can just make out a muted flash of bare steel.  That’s enough to put me on alert and I tighten up as they come at me.

Unable to make out any details in the roiling cloud of dust, I just concentrate on the sword this vague shadow’s hacking at whatever they can see in front of ‘em, and I respond in kind, knocking the blade aside before stepping in to swing with my other axe.  I don’t pull this hit any more’n the last, jamming the full beard up into the centre o’ that darker mass in the grey, and they must not see it coming cuz they practically walk right it.  I feel the blade strike home and the body jerks, and that nagging voice in the back o’ my head takes too long to remind me that I don’t know who I just killed.  Which is a problem, ‘course it is …

Not bothering to step forward, instead I just drag the body on the end of my arm forward and try to blink through the haze at whatever I can make out of a face, hoping whatever strength they got left in their failing legs is enough to keep ‘em from just falling on top o’ me.  Ain’t the half-elf, I lucked out there, instead it’s just some nondescript human male spitting blood as he collapses to his knees, so I just give the shaft a little yank upwards to tug the blade loose and yank the axe free.  Finally I step aside and the body just topples past me as I step towards the only two other individuals I can be sure are in here.

Waving my axes in front of me to try and clear the air just makes it worse, this whole room’s a mess.  As I move forward another cracking sound spills down at my side and a massive chunk of wall falls away, dropping on top of the wreckage already settled in here.  As this throws up a fresh cloud to make things worse the buried individual cries out, so even as I lose track of both of ‘em in the blinding wash of fresh dust I can still keep track of roughly where they are.  Throwing my arm over my face I try breathing into the crook of my elbow for a few moments while screwing my eyes tight shut so I won’t be blinded, but it stings all the same and I cough out a frustrated little curse.  What the fuck was I thinking coming in here?

More coughing close by wrenches my attention and I have to blink over my arm, and for a moment or two all I can see is more swirling haze, tears filling my eyes now as the dust stings ‘em worse.  Leaving my arm where it is I blink a few more times, hoping the tears might wash my eyes clean after all, then I can start to make out basic shapes in the blur again and I got a fix again.

“Just …”  A gruff voice breaks into a particularly aggravated coughing fit.  “Fucking leave me, you …”  More hacking.  “Fucking idiot …”

“No, I …”  The shape ahead of me seems to stiffen now, and I’m a moment realising they rumbled me getting close.  “Shit!”

As the one under the rubble starts coughing and spluttering again the other one drags something up from the floor next to them and charges me through the broiling miasma … I realise it’s a sword a split before the blade comes whipping right at my face.  Round the same time I realise I actually recognise this sword, then I’m ducking aside to avoid getting my head struck right off …

Something strikes my back and I’m already stumbling aside from a perceived attack when I realise it’s just the frame of a bunkbed.  Then the blurred silhouette hacks through the space I was just in and strikes the support instead, cleaving deep into the wood and fouling their blade, and in the seconds it takes ‘em to yank it free again I’m starting to recover my composure.  I plant my feet, hawk up a mouthful from my throat and spit it aside as I lunge.

Tog catches the movement surprisingly quickly, but he’s only just the got sword free and he’s on the backfoot in this fight.  The parry he manages to turn my own stroke aside is clumsy, if there’d been more art to it he could’ve unbalanced me, instead I’m already swinging my other axe up from under and all he can do to avoid getting tagged is jump back.  I press my advantage now and charge into his centre of mass, able to aim myself well enough since we’re so close together my shoulder hits home pretty perfect.

If the bed hadn’t been behind him I might put him down, but instead he tumbles backwards over the mattress and then the whole thing’s in-between us.  Shit … yeah, I didn’t really think this out.  But my blood’s up so I just jump right up onto the lower bunk after him and keep moving forward, and while he’s already scrambling back to try and clear some distance I just stay hot on his heels now.

He's close, I got him now and he’s on the run.  My blood’s up now, I’m so focused I can almost see him now through the dust, and as I jump down on the other side I charge, already winding up for another chop.

Not even bothering to try getting up again, Tog just scrabbles backwards with his heels, swinging his sword in big lairy haymakers that I imagine are intended to ward me off.  For a few moments it works, I’m wary enough to realise that if that blade catches me as I try to lunge in that’s gonna ruin my whole day, but finally I throw in a block and my timing’s true, battering the blade aside with a great ringing buzz.  I can’t see him well enough to make out his face but I know that hurt, his fingers’ll be screaming from that jolt, and I can make out enough to give me a target as I start to follow through with my other axe.  Aiming to cleave that smug little face clean in two even if I won’t get the chance to enjoy his expression when it happens.

“STOP!!!”  The shout is … there’s something about it, there’s more to it than just urgency that stays my hand at the very last split, when the beard of my axe must be a single hair’s breadth from his forehead.  It’s strange … it’s almost like my whole arm … hell, my whole body has just been locked into a banded prison of thick dwarven steel.  I couldn’t move if I tried … and fuck knows I am trying right now.

The thing is, as I’m rooted to the spot, unable to move a single inch, it gives me a moment to think, and I’m quick catching up to the fact I can actually see my opponent now, proper make out his features, really recognising him now.  Tog actually really does look younger than I would’ve thought he was before, it’s not just the fact that he’s a half-elf so he’s youthful, but the look on his face gives him away too easily.  He’s scared right now, a rabbit in torchlight caught in a night hunt, crossed eyes locked on the blade frozen barely short of the centre of his face.  The fear checks me too, I reckon … but actually being able to see it gives me that additional pause I need as I look through the corner of my eye …

Gael’s stood close by, staff in both hands with the crystal blazing bright white in its tip, and now I finally get that the air is suddenly very clear, barely more than the odd stray mote of dust lazily wafting through the air now.  Like they’re exuding some kind of aura that’s clearing the air, or maybe they just made it all disperse while I was distracted.  They look … different, mind, there’s something smeared right across their mouth, for a moment I think they’ve been splashed with blood, or maybe been chewing on someone, but it don’t look right, it’s more like a powder, although it’s sure red enough to mistake.  Then, as I watch, they turn their head aside but keep their eyes locked on me as they spit something out, and I realise that powder ain’t just on their face, they must’ve crammed a handful of whatever it is into their mouth to chew on.  Another component for their magic, then.

“Thel, please, just stop it.  You’ve caught him.  Don’t kill him.”  They’re imploring with their tone, even while their stare remains intense, unblinking even though their eyes must surely be stinging bad as mine have been.  “You remember?  Why we’re here?”

Fuck … damn it, the skinny kid’s got a point.  I’d growl if I could but I can’t, somehow my vocal chords seems to be froze up much as the rest o’ me.  All I can move is my eyes, so I just roll ‘em instead, and hope that’s good enough to interpret.

“Oh … shit.  Of course …”  Gael adjusts their grip on their staff as they shift their stance, moving a little closer, then pauses.  “I forgot you can’t … look, just please don’t do anything stupid, okay?  I don’t want to freeze you again, but I will.  All right?”

There’s nothing I can do but stare right back, but I hope that can convey enough of my frustration to cut through.  I see ‘em frown some, and there’s a subtle flush starting in their cheeks again that means they must sense my frustration … then they mutter something under their breath and it’s another of those strange sensory things where it’s felt-not-heard, and my muscles are suddenly released again.  I start to collapse, as much because I was frozen in a somewhat overextended position, and I can barely catch myself in time to keep my blade axe from cutting down as I instead fight to swing it aside again.

Tog winces even so as the blade just brushes the bridge of his nose before I can withdraw it, and I know he’s desperate to try and scramble out from under, anything to get away, but I’m already dropping onto all-fours on top of him as my limbs give out.  The axes in my hands clatter loudly as I land, and he’s skinny enough I can easily straddle him, my weight clearly substantial enough to lock him in place.  He’s a little winded by the impact on his midsection, but mostly just rattled as I sit forward fast so I can lean close to his face.  “Hello again.”

“Um … I …”  He falters, his eyes locked on mine now, then I catch the scrape of steel as he shifts slightly, remembering the sword still gripped at his side, and I tense, ready to push up so I can swat it aside, although I’m not sure if I can actually keep from killing him after.  My blood’s still hot right now.

Except Gael’s already there, I don’t hear their footfalls but their staff suddenly snaps down and batters the sword hard down again, sending the whole thing twisting out of his fingers with a great rattling buzz, and Tog winces again as he snatches his hand away.  “Argh … fuckin’ bitch!  What are you –”

“Shut … the fuck … up.”  I push myself up on my knees now so I can lean forward a little more, bringing my face as close to his face as possible, ‘til I’m pretty much nose-to-nose with him.  “Another sound escapes you ain’t asked for I’m gonna break your arm.  Just cuz I can’t cut you don’t mean I can’t hurt you.”

He goes very still again after that, looking up at me even as I start to sit back again, finally planting myself on top of his belly now as I draw my knees up so I can plant my feet, and after a moment’s consideration I give both my axes a good hard shake.  They’re not so gory as they could be, but they’re still messy, I don’t fancy slipping either one back into their loops just yet, not in this state.  So instead I finally just give the left-hand one a little toss down on my side so it thunks fast into the wood of that floor by my side, making sure it’s out of reach of Tog’s own hand, then cast about for something to wipe the other one with.

“Gael?”  I hear coughing from outside the room, and as I chance a look up again I see that, in fact, the dust was just forced out of the room and into the corridor instead.  After a few moments I hear someone call their name again, then descending into another coughing fit, before a hand emerges from the billow of dust beyond the door and starts shaking about like it’s probing.  “For the love of … are you there?”

“Oh!  Shit … sorry!”  Gael almost drops their staff now as they start juggling it, then steps forward and takes hold of the hand before it can flap about more.  “In here.”  They pull and Shay is towed into the room, still coughing as they emerge, looking a sorry sight indeed, actually.

I remember seeing her when she first came down from her room in the hotel earlier, dressed up in her full armour and looking pretty fucking lethal if I’m honest.  Certainly is was quite the impressive, stirring sight, I already thought she’s attractive but in this getup she’s genuinely hot … but since this all kicked off she’s clearly been through it some.  She doesn’t look to have taken any damage, but she’s definitely fucked somebody else up, liberally splashed as she is with blood, although most of it seems to be concentrated around his arms.  Unfortunately the dust seems to be clinging to that with some stubbornness now, and as a result it’s giving her a somewhat piebald look.

Looking back down at the boy now, I see his own attention seems to have been drawn by the new arrival, but he’s clearly also been trying to take advantage of my own distraction as he’s reaching for something underneath him, in the small of his back.  Tossing the axe to my other hand, I shoot my right hand fast under him and grab hold of his fist as he starts to withdraw it, squeezing good and hard and more than a little pleased to feel how his fingers start to compress a little too much under my grip.  He yelps again, flinching as he tries to pull away from me, but I got him tight and I’m still weighing him down, he’s got no leverage right now, so all he can do is comply as I drag his hand up.  I give his hand one last little crush, harder than ever this time when I see the knife he clearly intended to draw on me, and this time I hear the bones in it crack.

Needless to say he can’t hold on any longer after that, so when I finally let go he immediately drops the blade, which just clatters at his side.  Grasping it with his other hand, he lies back, whimpering in miserable pain, while I fish the knife up off the floor and give it a look over.

“You … ah, fuck, you bitch, I can’t believe you … you broke my fuckin’ hand you little cunt!”

Sitting forward much faster this time, I bring the knife up too and wave it in his face, finally pressing the flat of it against his cheek.  “I don’t like that word, don’t reckon there’s any lass likes that word, you unpleasant lanky piece o’ shit.  So I suggest you shut your mouth like I already suggested before I decide to just start cutting on you anyways an’ let you choke to death like the rest o’ your mates just cuz I don’t like you any.  How about that?”

“I … I thought you …”  He shuts up the moment I press the blade a little firmer, even though I’m making every effort to stick with the flat of the blade.  As a knife it’s nothing special, but it’s definitely sharp enough to do the trick.

“Maybe, but you an’ me been dancing round each other for a good week now an’ I’m getting a little tired of it.  I might actually enjoy getting chewed out for killing you early if it means I can watch you shuffle off this mortal coil.”  I cock my head, watching him for a long moment and very much making my point while I do it.  “We done?”

He don’t speak, don’t even make a sound, just watches me like I’m a fucking demon, and I can’t help smiling at that.  So I just sit back again, tossing the knife over my shoulder to clatter away somewhere in the corner without taking my eyes from his.

“Excellent.  Glad we could finally get that sorted out.  Best not try anything else, mind.”  After a moment I reach to the side and drag one of the blankets loose from the nearest bed, taking up a handful and using it to start wiping my axe clean.  Keeping my eyes locked on him the whole time.

“This him?”  I hear Shay before she arrives, stepping close now but stopping a few feet short as she seems to tilt in the corner of my eye, likely shifting her weight a little as she regards my prisoner.

“In the flesh.”  I slip the axe into its loop on the belt at last, before groping about for a moment before I’m able to retrieve the other, pulling it free from the board without breaking my stare from Tog.  “A little beat up but no leaks.  As requested.”

I hear the floorboards creak subtly under her as she leans closer, taking a look at him now.  “Huh … he is not what I imagined.”

“They seldom are, I found.”

“You all right?”  she asks after a moment’s pause, taking me somewhat by surprise.  I can’t help breaking eye contact with the boy now so I can look up at her.

“How d’you mean?”

“You’re …”  She frowns, reaching up now with a clear intention of brushing her bangs from her face, but she stops short just in time to keep from smearing what’s still all over her gloved hand into her hair.  This only seems to deepen her frown.  “I’m sorry, but … I mean, you’re in quite a state.”

Looking down again, I inspect myself, for what I realise is actually the first time since we started.  I’m pretty liberally caked in dust now myself, it seems, clinging to the blood the same as it is on her, but in my case there’s a good deal more of it.  “Hmmm … oh no, I’m fine.  None o’ this is mine, any more’n I imagine any o’ that’s yours.  They fought hard, but I fought harder.”  I look back down at the half-elf, still clutching his hand, watching me with the same rattled wariness.  “Most weren’t up to snuff anyway.  Once I started moving outside I was through the door almost before there was any real alarm gone up for the rest inside.”

“I see.”  Shay says it almost like a sigh, and when I look back this time she looks weary deep in her bones, and I wonder if maybe she’s starting to feel it again, the fatigue.  I know she’s been putting a brave face on since we set out this morning, I saw how hard she found that climb.  Reckon the fight itself probably didn’t touch her when she was in it, not once her blood was up, but adrenaline can only get you so far.  She’ll be crashing now.

But there’s more to it than that.  There’s been something in her since we met, if I’m honest, under everything else.  A touch of melancholy, I think.  Something happened to her, maybe quite recent, even before she almost got killed the other day, something that’s still weighing on her.  Something heavy.  Every now and then something’ll happen, like seeing something particular dark just triggers it, and she goes all quiet.  Withdrawn, haunted even.  I seen it before in others, I recognise trauma when I see it.

“Shay.”  Gael’s voice seems to stir her quick enough, at least.  The young half-orc blinks, her frown evaporating slightly, but I think it’s more just the tone of the voice than anything more specific.  “Shay, you might want to see this.”

Gael’s crouching next to the man who’s still trapped under the rubble, clearly having given up trying to drag himself out now he’s seen that he’s surrounded.  As Shay turns to regard ‘em both, I sit back, leaning some so I can take a better look myself, but I’m careful to shift my weight as little as possible now while I’m distracted.  If the wizard thinks this might be noteworthy …

Hmmm … once I can see past the dust caking part of his face, I get what she might mean as he blinks, spitting a little as he tries to clear his mouth.  He’s clearly older than most o’ the folk we been fighting, both in here and before, in the other groups.  He’s human, I can see, somewhat rugged and worn, so the years really show … into his forties now at least, maybe older still, and hard-lived years too from the look of it.  His face is clean save for a scruff of salt-and-pepper stubble, his jaw thick and square, brow heavy.  He’s got the look of a hard, serious man, but something in his eyes, teary as they are from the dust … there’s a clear intelligence in ‘em.

He seems more dressed up than the rest too, like he came from outside instead o’ just throwing the gear on in the rush.  He has leather armour on, but it’s pretty rich, and there’s a fine cloak strapped around his shoulder, kid leather gloves on his hands.  As I watch Gael looks about, seeming to spot something, the way they frown as they lean forward enough to pluck something up from the floor … with a subtle scrape of metal on wood I realise it’s a sword even before they’ve raised it, holding it out to Shay now.  A longsword, styled like the rest of the gear they’ve been using, well-made, simple but of a surprising high quality, but more than that the steel’s unusually dark.  Guild-made, then.

When Shay takes the sword from ‘em, she’s clearly thinking the same thing as she lifts it, turning it a few times in her hand as she checks it over.  “Hmmm …”  She shifts her stance a little, then turns and jabs the sword hard down into the floor so it wedges in place well out of the man’s reach now.  Then she takes a step forward and drops into a crouch on his other side from Gael.  “Who are you?”

Blinking again, the man looks up at her, and there’s none of the fear I seen in Tog, or would expect in any of the others.  He works his mouth a little, and I expect him to spit, but instead he simply growls and mutters:  “Piss off.”

“He wouldn’t leave ‘im.”  I say after a moment, around the same time the cogs in my head start turning proper again.  “Tog, I mean.  He was dead set on getting him out.”

“I seen him before.”  Darwyn takes us all by surprise, we didn’t see her come in, but she’s stepping over now too, and she doesn’t have to crouch like the rest of ‘em to get a proper good look.  The look on her face is complicated, I wonder if there’s more going on with her right now than I can see, but she’s clearly focused right now.  “A while back, he was younger, but … yeah, it’s him.  When I was just coming up, we had to deal with a bunch o’ punks from down the docks, tried to pull a fast one over on us.  Half the crew ended up getting the air cut out of ‘em before we chucked ‘em in the harbour.  This was one o’ the ones got let off with a warning, to tell the tale.  Didn’t get his name at the time, but … seemed like he might be a bigger deal if he learned his lesson.”

The man looks her over for a moment, then just lets out a frustrated sigh, looking up at Shay.  He cocks a brow, as if waiting for her to speak again.

“Who are you?”

For a long beat he just looks back.  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”  He says it in such a matter-of-fact manner it doesn’t feel like bravado at all.

Cocking their head for a moment, Gael just leans forward and reaches out, and he flinches away from their touch when they poke his face, just by his brow.  Where the blood’s running down, from his scalp.  The blood … wait.

“He’s still alive.”  Gael says it in a low tone, almost as if they’re not really thinking about what they’re saying, it’s just idle musing as they look at the little smears of blood on their fingertips as they work at it with their thumb.  “He’s bleeding, and he’s trapped … but he’s still alive.”

For a long, drawn out moment nobody speaks, or moves.  ‘Least not in here – I see movement just outside the door, slowly becoming aware that the dust must finally be fading because of it, but mainly cuz I can actually see Krakka standing just outside the doorway now, looking in but not joining us.  As he sees me looking he frowns, taking the scene in, but still doesn’t step forward.  Like he senses the gravity of the moment.

Finally Shay shoots her hands out, grabbing his left wrist hard and fast before he has a chance to yank it back.  He tries to jerk it away now, but when she holds on he stops,  giving up at last, and it’s clear he’s one cool customer, he knows he won’t get anywhere fighting her like this so he just won’t bother.  So when she starts unstrapping the bracer on his wrist he just lets out a sigh and lowers his face, looking at the floor now.  Waiting for the inevitable.

When she’s finally got it free she chucks it away without ceremony, and I find myself shifting a little more, starting to lift my weight ever so slightly as I start to crane so I can get the best view I can.  I already suspect what this is, but I wanna see all the same.  So when she yanks the sleeve of his shirt up from his wrist I don’t bother fighting the urge anymore, I just step right up as I start to move over, wanting as good a look as I can get now.

His wrist is clean.  There’s not so much as a freckle under the thick hairs growing on the back of that forearm, and certainly no tattoo.  “Son of a bitch.”  I hear myself breathe it before I quite realise I’ve even spoken.

“There’s no mark.”  Gael mutters, sounding as surprised as I feel.

“But that’s …”  Darwyn look around the rest of us, then past me, and that’s enough for me to remember my charge again, so I’m already turning back to find Tog’s seen enough sense to just stay where he is on the floor when she manages to stutter:  “That’s … it’s … but all the others … I mean every other one out there is dead now.  Even the ones shouldn’t have died from those wounds …”

“Except him.”  Shay muses.  When I turn back to her again, reassured Tog’s not going to try anything after all while I ain’t looking, she’s already straightening up again herself.  “Because he’s not just one of the flunkies, like the rest.”

For a moment none of us speak, just looking down at the man as he lets a low, frustrated sigh go before finally turning his head so he can look up at Shay again, having to crane somewhat now.  He doesn’t look fearful at being caught out, he just seems resigned.

In the end I’m the one who says what the rest must already be thinking.  “So this is Vik.”

“Yeah.”  Shay’s actually starting to smile now as she turns to me again.  “It fucking is.”

“Well that’s a neat turn-up for the books.”  I start grinning myself, although reckon mine’s got more of an edge.  “Best part is it means we don’t need this little twerp anymore.”

Reckon I see the start of a frown form on Shay’s face as she catches up to my meaning, but by then I’m already moving.  I don’t bother going back, I just wind up with the axe still in my hand as I turn, using the twist to help me whip it as I toss it spinning at Tog’s face while he’s still propping himself up.  He don’t have time to react, barely even gets a chance for his eyes to widen before the axe splits his skull with a nice, satisfying thwack, and he’s dead before his limp body hits the boards again.

Letting out a long, relieved sigh, I give my neck a little roll to work out the kinks and look down at my hands, then have a crack at dusting ‘em off.  I’m a few moments noticing the dead silence in the room, but when I look up I make the connection at last.

Everybody’s looking at me in open, dumbfounded shock.  Gael’s even got both hands over their mouth, eyes wide as I ever seem ‘em, looking particularly pale now.

Shifting my stance, I can’t help frowning over at them all, and offer up a shrug.  “What?”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

[talesofstyles]

Good Morning Indeed

absolutely no plot whatsoever, just a bit of husband and dad harry in the midst of the family’s morning chaos 😂

Harry

“Go get the condom on.”

“I’ll pull out, I promise.”

“Your pull out game is weak.”

“Oi, them’s fightin’ words.”

“There’s a reason we’ve got six kids.” Says the missus with a roll of those pretty—but sometimes deadly (please don’t tell her I said this)—eyes. “‘Sides, I’ve just changed the sheets yesterday. You are not coming on the sodding sheets.”

“Fine,” I sigh and reach down to the bedside table. Why is the drawer filled with sodding Duplo and those tiny, pricey Sylvanian Family bunnies? I’m guessing kid number two, three and four have something to do with that. A few more seconds of rummaging before I finally found my treasure in the very back of the drawer. I lay on my back as I sheath myself up, and seeing as I’m already here… might as well, right? I smirk at her as I say, “hop on then.”

“Fat chance that,” she mutters. “Do I have to take off my top?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, it’s cold, and I’m a considerate husband. “A flash will do. Just give me a visual.”

She rolls up my shirt that she wears to sleep, a really old white rolling stones t-shirt that has two holes and a loose thread hanging on for dear life from the hem. She looks homeless. Gorgeous homeless though. 

“Nice,” I flash her a boyish grin, like a teenage boy seeing his first pair of tits. “You’ve got great racks.”

“You’re just saying that…”

I know what she sees when she looks at herself in the mirror and I wish she could look at herself through my eyes. 

“Hey, don’t you dare. My babies grew in that body, that’s everything.”

Her tender smile hits me right in the gut. “I love you.”

“Love me enough to ride me?” I say with a playful flick to one nipple.

“Nice try.”

“I love you,” I mutter near her mouth and give her a searing kiss. I run my tongue over her bottom lip, then I kiss her down her neck, her cleavage and her breasts. I slowly circle one nipple, and she giggles, knowing it’s a well-rehearsed move that is guaranteed to do what’s needed. See, her tits are kind of like start buttons. No matter the situation, a little attention to those bad boys switches things around real quick. Her head slams back against the pillow. And she moans, holding my head in place.

We’ve got ignition lads. 

I nestle my body on top of hers, and there’s a bit of wayward angling and poking until I find my way inside of her. And then it’s on. Two bodies writhing on the bed. My hips rotate in long, slow circles.

“Bollocks!”

“What? The condom isn’t broken, is it?”

“No, it’s bin day. I forgot to take out the recycling bin.”

“S’fine, we’ve got time before the school run.”

The bin’s sorted, back to the shag…

I slide my hands under her, bringing us closer. Rocking us faster. My forehead hovers close to hers and I open my eyes so I can watch. What can I say? I’m greedy like that. I want to soak up every gasp, every flicker of pleasure across her face. Pleasure I’m giving her.

Her breathing changes. It turns panting and desperate, and I know she’s close. I move harder, grinding against her, inside her, with every forward push. Warms sparks tickle my spine and heat spreads down until every nerve in my body is shaking. I slam inside her, burying deep as her hips jerk upward. She spasms hard around me, gripping me tight. 

I rock back my hips and pull almost all the way out, but then I freeze. Because a dreaded sound echoes across the room, grabbing our full attention. It’s coming from the baby monitor. It’s a rustling, the sound of cotton rubbing cotton. Like snipers in the jungle, we don’t move a muscle. We don’t say a word. We wait, until the rustling stops. And all is quiet again. 

Too bad it’s not for long. Because two thrusts in, a light comes on in the landing. Followed by small footsteps heading down the stairs. Shit.

“Harry, just come already. They’ll all be up soon.”

“I’m close… don’t rush it, you’re scaring it away.” 

She grinds her hips. Also another well-rehearsed move that she knows will get me off. But I freeze again, because there’s a second set of footsteps and the sound of a toilet flushing. Oh, and the babies next door are starting to whimper. 

Great.

“I’M HUNGRY!” That’s James, darling little cockblocker number four who likes to be fed on time. He’s three.

“WE’LL BE OUT IN A SECOND!” My wife shouts over my shoulder. “Harry for the love of god-”

I pick up the rhythm. Small beads of sweat form on my brow. She grinds her hips again, and I try to focus. “Just like that, fuck, keep doing that.”

“Sshh, keep your voice down.”

“IS THERE ANY BREAD THAT ISN’T 50/50?” That’s Eleanor, child number two. She’s seven, and she’s one of those children who seem to possess a discernible palate that knows when we’ve changed brands of baked beans or attempt to bring sugar-free fruit squash through the doors.

“IT’S THE SAME,” I reply.

“NO, IT’S NOT. DO WE HAVE OTHER FOOD?”

“THERE ARE SHREDDIES.”

“DON’T LIKE ‘EM.”

“PORRIDGE.”

“I’M NOT A BEAR!”

Honestly, seven-year-olds gunning for a fight this early in the morning can go do one.

The babies are starting to gather volume next door so I try to focus again. It only takes a few more thrusts before ecstasy wrecks my body, making me shudder. I press my lips against her neck as I come back down to earth. But I don’t move yet. I know we should get going because things are already chaotic outside our door, but I just don’t have the will yet. I’m considering going back to sleep for a minute or two. She won’t mind, will she? Well, I’m wrong. Because she proceeds to perform the move that seems to amuse every sodding woman on earth. And causes every man to squeal like a bloody pig. Without warning, she uses her powerful muscle to squeeze my extremely sensitive cock. 

Girls, grab a piece of paper and write this down. I’m speaking on behalf of every man to walk on earth here; we hate that. We don’t think it’s funny.

I jerk back, pull out, and roll off her. I try to look annoyed as she giggles, and obviously I fail, because that freshly fucked, flushed-face makes it impossible not to grin back.

“CAN I HAVE JAFFA CAKE?” That’s Victoria, child number three. She’s five, and she’s yelling as she thunders up the stairs. 

“JAFFA CAKE ISN’T BREAKFAST,” my wife shouts back as she sits up and hands me a nappy sack. “Harry…”

I wrap up the condom with it and toss it to the bin. “You’ve just taken me life force, woman, give me a moment.”

“CUSTARD CREAM?”

“NO.” We shout in unison. 

“HOBNOB THEN?”

“STAY AWAY FROM THE BISCUIT TIN!”

“You want to wrestle a biscuit-hunting kid out of a cupboard and 50/50 bread drama or fussy babies with full nappies?”

“Babies.” I hear a small child get whacked by a sibling downstairs and I feel like I may have got the better deal here.

Next door, the twins are not happy. They’re six months old now, and they’re both teething. Thing one glares at me as I walk into their nursery and thing two stares at me stroppily from the corner of her cot. Their cheeks are scarlet, and thing one proceeds to bark at me like a seal. I pick his warm, sleepy, cuddly body and cradle it close to mine as I lay him down on the changing table. I smell the dampness. It’s definitely wee. He’s soaked through, I think I didn’t tuck his willy in when I last changed him around three in the morning so it sprayed in some upward motion and drenched his clothes. See, this is why girls are better than boys. There’s no way they can pee upwards. 

After I put a fresh nappy and a change of clothes, I put him down on the rug so he can wiggle around while I grab his sister and sort her out. After six kids, I’m definitely a pro with baby duty and can practically change their clothes one-handed. The whole thing takes only a few minutes.

I cuddle the babies on each side as I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. They immediately reach out to their mum who’s cracking some eggs as soon as they spot her, knowing she’s the only one who can cure their hunger this morning. 

“Uniforms!” She says to the big kids as she takes one baby into her arms. “We’ll do breakfast after. Please, please, please…”

Desperate pleas lead them to saunter out and up the stairs. I follow my wife into the living room and hand her the other baby as she plops down on the couch. She rolls up her shirt and the babies latch instantly. Tandem nursing is harder now that they’re a little older and aware of their surroundings. They’re trying to scratch each other’s faces as they nurse. “Oi, what’s this? You each get a tit, stop fighting.”

They seem to somehow listen to me and have stopped trying to poke each other’s eyeballs. We’ll see how long that lasts. “Finish the eggs?”

I nod. “I’m on it.”

I brew some coffee, finish the scrambled eggs, and pop the slices after slices of bread in the toaster. Breakfast is done just in time as my wife walks back into the kitchen with two full and happy babies. She puts them in their high chairs and I scoop a bit of eggs on each of their trays for them to nibble on.

George appears back in the kitchen clad in his uniform with his also dressed brother trailing behind. We always lay his clothes the night before on his bed and he gets dressed all by himself in the morning. And he’s getting better at it, seeing he only missed a button on his shirt.

“Hi mate,” I say as I fix his button and he flashes a toothy grin at me. I plop him down on the chair, he’s graduated from the high chair now but still uses a booster seat.

“No toast!”

“What do you want then?”

“Chee-yos?”

I nod before I grab a handful of cheerios and set them on his plate next to his eggs. Then I take a few steps back across the table. “Hey, James, set it up.”

He flashes me another toothy grin before he opens his mouth wide and keeps it open. I hold a single Cheerio between my fingers while I bend my knees and bounce my hand as if I were dribbling a basketball. “Three seconds left on the clock, down by one. Styles got the ball. He fakes left, he drives in, he shoots…”

I toss the Cheerios in a high arc. It lands right into his mouth.

“He scores! The crowd goes wild!”

James holds both hands over his head. “Core!”

“Viv stole the biscuit tin, you know? She ate three jammie dodgers upstairs.” Eleanor says as she walks in with book bags and school shoes. 

George, seeing his sister walks in, proceeds to open his mouth wide and flashes her the half-chewed eggs on his tongue. It’s his current thing and it annoys his sisters to death. The young’uns think differently though as they double over in laughter. 

“Eeewww!” She shrieks. “You’re so gross!”

“VICTORIA, PUT THAT BISCUIT TIN DOWN AND GET YOUR BUTT IN THE KITCHEN! AND GO GET THEM HAIR TIE THINGIES…” 

“I didn’t have any biscuits!” She yells and runs down the stairs.

This kid is the quintessential daddy’s girl. She climbs up onto my lap right away, handing me the brush and a hair tie. 

“See, poppet, I would’ve believed you if you didn’t leave evidence all over your face,” I arch one of my eyebrows as I sweep a speck of raspberry jam on the corner of her mouth. 

“You always do a ponytail,” she huffs.

“Either that or I give you a bowl cut with kitchen scissors. I reckon that fruit bowl will do. Your choice.”

“Can I have some more eggs?” George asks with his mouth full of his last bite.

“God, that’s like your third serving,” Eleanor grumbles.

“Nag.”

At that insult, Eleanor flings a piece of toast like a ninja. Before George can retaliate, my wife gives them both the look.

“Viv, will you at least have some eggs?”

“No.”

“Fine,” my wife sighs. “I’m gonna get changed then.”

I glance at the clock and, well, shit, I should get dressed too. “Can you lot watch the babies and try not to kill each other for the next five minutes?”

“Five quid each?” Eleanor tries to negotiate. “Babysitting isn’t supposed to be free, you know? That sounds like child labour to me.” 

Bollocks. 

“Two quid each,” I give her my dad look that says the offer is final and indisputable.

“Deal.”

[sweet-by-and-by]

Give Me What I Need- Arthur Morgan x Reader

summary: Arthur finally makes it home after a stagecoach robbery scouted by Uncle goes horrifically sideways. You have just the thing to set his sour mood right.

pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

warnings: smut🔞, small spoilers for "An Honest Mistake" in Ch.3

a/n: “It was a dark and stormy night” Just kidding! Kind of. The temptation to start this fic with that sentence was seriously too strong. Just a little diddy I came up with while sitting in a thunderstorm! With our first heatwave inevitably comes a string of wild thunderstorms, and I’m definitely looking forward to sitting in my sunroom and watching the rain. SO much love to @farbenfux for beta-ing this for me!! I can not tell you how much better this fic is now that she’s worked her magic on it ❤ Check her out to see her incredible artwork!

AO3

The crack of thunder startled you, making you jump involuntarily. You laughed at your reaction, chastising yourself for being frightened so easily. You shook your head and returned to your sewing, holding the needle close to the lantern to aid your sight as you slipped your thread through the eye and looped the knot.

It was late evening in Lemoyne, and based on the sound of thunder in the distance and the wind that had picked up after supper, one hell of a summer thunderstorm was rolling in. You and the girls had cleaned up quickly before retreating to your tents, them to their shared lean-to and you to the tent that you and Arthur shared.

As you returned to your mending, your thoughts drifted to your outlaw. The last you saw Arthur, he was riding out to rob some stage coach with Uncle, Charles, and Bill. He was already in a mood when he came to kiss you goodbye, and you were sure getting caught in a storm would do nothing to ease his temper.

You checked your pocket watch, your concern growing as you realized how late it was getting. They should have been back before supper, but the sun had long disappeared behind Flat Iron Lake and there was still no sign of their crew.

You pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, focusing on your task to distract yourself. It worked for a few more hours when the rain started, but when your watch read past midnight and your lantern flickered as the oil burned low, your stomach had sunk and your heart was hammering. Something had gone wrong and all you could do was wait for one of them to show up, yelling about how the law had got them and they were all fit to hang.

Just as your sinister thoughts had you rising to go find Dutch or Hosea and organize a search party, the canvas walls of your tent flew open. A crack of lightning struck in the distance, its accompanying thunder growing louder than ever. Rain wailed against the side of your tent, testing the waxed canvas for everything it was worth. You yelped as a very wet, very angry Arthur Morgan stormed in through the opening he had made.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of him, and relief flooded through you as you registered that he was okay. You took a deep breath and brought your hand up to your chest, settling yourself from your scare and your hours of worrying.

This was completely unnoticed by Arthur, who stomped over to the table to drop his soaking wet hat. You winced at the sound of water squelching in his boots, and you had to stifle a laugh at how deep the frown was set on his face.

“That man is the laziest, dumbest, drunkest no-good son of a bitch I have ever had the displeasure of knowing,” Arthur growled, sliding his satchel and gunbelt off and throwing them on the table beside his hat. “I swear, the next time he brings in some incredible tip, I’m throwing his pickled ass right into the lake.”

You blinked as Arthur continued his rampage, plopping himself on your cot and fighting to remove his boots.

“Arthur...” you said, drawing his attention to you. You moved to sit next to him on your bed, resting a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “...what the hell happened to you? I’ve been sitting here for hours worrying myself half to death.”

Arthur sighed and chucked his sopping boots, shaking his head and resting his hand on top of yours.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he said, “I didn’t mean to worry ya’. Things got a little out of hand with the stagecoach. Turns out they ramped up security after Uncle picked up the lead. Had to wait ‘em out in some barn and shoot our way outta the woods. Then this god damn storm came in and soaked me down to my bones,” he explained, gesturing to his dripping hair and soaked jeans.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline and your eyes grew wide. You couldn’t believe they had made it out of that glorious mess, and you couldn’t blame him for his frustration. Leaning in to kiss his cheek empathetically, you cupped your hand against the other side of his face and pulled him close.

“Tell you what,” you murmured, a smirk blooming across your face as you swung your leg over to straddle him, “why don’t we get you outta’ these horrible clothes and take your mind off of things.”

Arthur’s hands moved instinctually, settling on your hips. You worked the buttons of his shirt open, placing kisses against his skin as you revealed his neck and chest. You nipped at his collarbone, biting at the sensitive skin with just a hint of teeth before returning to kiss his neck. He hummed happily, the deep sound tingling against your lips.

You pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, forcing him to let go of your hips to free his hands. You took the chance to rise to your feet, hushing his protests as you backed away. He tossed his shirt to the ground with a splat, the sound of the wet fabric making you giggle.

Before Arthur could reach for you, you sank to your knees in front of him. You pushed his thighs apart and crawled in between, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes. Your innocent gaze was a sweet contrast to the movement of your hands, sliding up his thighs to reach for his fly. He groaned at the sight of you, his half-hard cock already straining against the buttons.

He threw his head back and moaned when you unbuttoned his jeans, cupping and squeezing his length through his union suit. You pressed the heel of your palm lightly against the base of his cock, stroking your thumb along the length of his bulge.

He whined quietly when you released him, shushing him as you hooked your fingers in his waistband. He arched to help get his jeans off, lifting his hips as you dragged the wet denim down his legs and tossed them behind you.

You turned your attention to his union suit, rising to your knees to start at the top. He roughly pulled you in for a kiss - all teeth and tongue in his impatience. A small bite to your bottom lip and the following soothing nibbles had you groaning. You forced yourself to pull back, leaning away as he chased you.

A firm push of your hand to his chest pushed him back into a half sitting, half leaning position on your cot."Ah ah,” you scolded, “you’ll get what you want, but you’ll get them on my terms.”

Arthur scowled at your words, glowering at you with unrestrained passion. His eyes narrowed and he grit his teeth, staring you down from his place on the cot. You laughed at his expression, keeping a hand on his chest as you leaned in to press a chaste kiss against his lips, appeasing him only slightly. You returned your focus to his buttons, baring him as you finally uncovered him.

The fabric was just as soaked as the rest of him, his skin glistened from the rain as you revealed him bit by bit. You ran your fingers through his damp chest hair, playing with the soft curls for a moment before resuming your work. Arthur’s hands rest anxiously on his thighs, squeezing the fabric as he tried to resist reaching for the buttons himself. He knew what your terms meant, and any disobedience would draw your motions out even longer.

You rewarded his patience one you were finished by letting him strip himself of his union suit before grabbing his thighs and pushing them wide. You lowered your face to his crotch, dragging your tongue from root to tip of his fully hard member. You wrapped your fingers around him, pulling back his foreskin to circle your tongue along the ridge below his head. He moaned loudly, his hands flitting to the back of your head as he threaded his fingers into your hair. You licked at the velvety crown with just enough pressure to send a shiver up his spine, savouring the taste as you lapped a bead of precum from his slit.

Squeezing the base of his cock lightly, your lips stretched over his head as you swallowed him whole. You felt Arthur’s grip tighten, pulling your hair as you pressed your tongue against him. You forced yourself to relax, taking him as deep as you could until his head brushed against the back of your throat. Arthur groaned at the sight of your nose pressed against the hair at his groin. Your eyes fluttered closed as you moaned in response, the vibrations making him thrust involuntarily as you held him down. You hollowed your cheeks and pulled off, the tip of your tongue teasing his frenulum before releasing him with an audible pop.

You looked up at him with a heated stare, pushing against his hands as you lifted your head. Arthur’s knees weakened at the sight of your pupils blown wide and your lips swollen and rosy, suddenly grateful to already be seated. He took his hands from your hair and held your face, pulling you up to press his lips against yours. He kissed you hungrily, bringing you up to sit on his lap once more. He dragged the tip of his tongue along your lip, seeking entrance while his hands worked at the buttons of your blouse. You let him undress you, complying as you deepened the kiss and allowed him to take over.

He made quick work of your blouse and skirt, fighting a little with your corset before getting you down to your chemise. He tugged the garment over your head, tossing it to join the rest of your clothing as he dragged his gaze up and down your body. You flushed under his attention, arching your back to give him a show. He growled at the sight, wrapping his arms around you to hold you against him as he thrust against you.

You gasped at the feeling of him pressed so close to your core, grinding down in search of relief. He ran his hands down your sides, reaching behind to squeeze your ass before slipping a hand between you. He rubbed his thumb against your clit, breathing hot against your neck as he circled your mound. You clutched him and groaned when he slipped a finger inside of you, surprised at how little resistance he met. He quickly added a second, your slick dripping as he stretched you out. You dug into his shoulder when he added a third, working you open perfectly as he crooked his fingers inside of you. He brushed against the spot that made you see stars, and it was your turn to throw your head back and moan. Your hips grinded against his hand, bringing you closer and closer to your edge.

You hissed at the loss of Arthur’s fingers, whining in his ear as he wiped his hand against the bed. He shushed you reassuringly and grabbed hold of himself, lining up until the head of his cock brushed against you. He pushed in slowly, rolling his hips and encouraging you to sink down onto him. You obliged, taking him inch by inch until you were fully seated.

You panted as you adjusted to his size, the tight heat making him whimper against your skin. You clenched around him at the sound, and he let out a broken moan. You rocked against him, his big arms wrapped around you as you eased off of him. He thrust upwards, meeting your hips each time as you set a steady pace.

You felt yourself clawing at his back as you took him deeper each time, the feeling of being so full sending your mind into a haze. Your world shrunk down to the feeling of him . Arthur slipped even deeper as he angled his hips and pulled you down onto him, leaving you gasping at the new stretch. You took him willingly, the sounds falling from your lips growing louder as you felt a familiar heat pool in your stomach. You quickened your pace, using your hands on his shoulders as leverage to ride him, the glorious feeling of him fucking in and out of you sending you barelling towards orgasm.

“Arthur,” you groaned, “I’m gonna-”

“Me too honey, don’t stop!”

The sound of thunder drowned out your cries as you tipped over the edge, the tight flutter of your walls bringing Arthur with you. He pressed his hips against yours as he came, moaning wantonly into the crook of your neck as he bit at the flesh there. You were sure it would leave a mark in the morning for all to see, but you couldn’t find it in you to care at that moment.

Your movements slowed as you both came down, the fogginess in your mind still hanging. You breathed heavily and reached out for Arthur, lifting his head to rest your forehead against his. You stayed like that for a moment, breathing together as you grounded yourself back to reality before dipping in for a kiss.

You pressed your lips against his softly, savouring the afterglow before you forced yourself to rise. Wincing a little when he slipped out of you, chuckling to yourself when you noticed he did the same. You crossed the tent to retrieve the wet cloth from his shaving kit, cleaning yourself up before bringing it back to where Arthur sat on your cot.

He had leaned back against the wagon, his eyes closed as he once again breathed steadily. You touched his knee, alerting him to your presence before you wiped up his spend with the rag. You whispered apologies at his grimace, still sensitive as he came down.

You tossed the rag off with the rest of your laundry and lowered yourself onto the cot. Arthur followed, pressing up against your back and swinging an arm over you. You nestled into him, shuffling to get closer while he drew up your blanket and wrapped you in its warmth.

“Feeling better?” you asked.

He tilted his head to press a kiss into your hair, humming thoughtfully as you squeezed against him.

“We can figure out what to do with Uncle in the morning, dear," you teased, closing your eyes and letting yourself give in to sleep.

“My vote is still on the lake, but I’m open to suggestions.”

[harrysgoldenline]

When In Italy Part 6

THIS IS THE LAST PART!!!! Let me know what you think! 

If you like this series/any of my other work and have the means and are intersted in supporting me, you can do so here! No pressure, it is just for those who want to! I am a broke college student and every little bit helps me write more :) I love you all so so so so so so much!

 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“Wow.” Harry whispered when he saw you, a shaky hand running his fingers through his hair as his other reached out towards you, extending another bouquet of flowers, “you look… perfect, angel. Absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you, Harry.” You blushed, walking forward and taking the flowers from his hand and bravely pressing a quick kiss on his cheek, squeezing his arm before letting your fingers trail down and wrap around the stems of the flowers, “and thank you for these. I’ll see if I have any vases left, you’ve been spoiling me.” 

Harry was left speechless, watching you move throughout your apartment, thanking god for running into you that day that he did. His heart had been racing all day, knowing how important this night was to your future. Having not seen each other since that night, it was nice to stay in contact as things were slowly coming back together, but he was desperate to see her. Feeling almost as if it were torture knowing she was less than a mile away and not being with, but each time he got a single text back he knew that the pain was worth it. 

He also knows he deserves the test, he needed to prove his love. Prove he was worthy of hers. 

“Can I know where we are going now?” you asked, batting your eyelashes up at with him an innocent smile you know almost always makes him crack and you watching him smirk, licking his lips before shaking his head. 

“Not today.” He chucked, lifting his wrist and looking at the time, “but, we can get going? Are you ready, lov- Y/N?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded, looking up at him before leading him out the door, locking it behind you both before following him to the elevator and soon out to his car. 

Fingers aching to reach out and grab his hand, to have kissed his lips instead of his cheek, but that’s what this was all about. Starting over in sorts, knowing if you fully dove back in like you almost did a couple weeks ago, it would just lead to deeper insecurities and the last thing you wanted was to go to resent him. 

You thanked him quietly as he opened the passenger door for you, smiling at one another as you glanced up when going to buckle your seatbelt, eyes meeting as he closed your door before running over and getting behind the wheel, engine roaring to life just a few moments later. 

You sat in a comfortable silence, one of Harry’s hand removing from the wheel and ghosting over the exposed skin of your thigh, his fingertips brushing over it before snapping back to the wheel, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned a ghostly white. 

“Sorry” he shyly spoke, clearing his throat, cheeks turning a soft pink,“habit… and the dress.” 

“It’s okay,” you giggled, looking over at him with a smile, “trust me, this whole going slow and starting over in sorts has been hard for me too.”

“Really?” He asked, eyes widening a bit, eyes bouncing widely between the road and you.

“Yeah” you breathe out, feeling shy under his gaze and glancing at the road, “I mean.. you know… but, it’s good, right? I think this is what we need… or I need at least. Do you think it’s a good thing? Honestly?”

“I would wait an entire lifetime for you, Y/N.”

***

As instructed by Harry around a couple miles back, you had closed your eyes in order to truly finish out the secret on what this date was. Now, you could telling you were slowing down, moving a bit slower as you started taking more turns, the road getting a bit bumpier as you pulled off to the side. 

“Okay, here we are.” He began, “keep your eyes closed, I’m gonna come get you out and guide ya, that alright?”

You nodded, eyes still closed and you giggled softly to yourself as you heard his side of the door open and close before your door opened. You could feel his body press against you, unbuckling your seatbelt before grabbing one of your hands, his other arm wrapping around your waist to assist you blinding coming out of the car.

“There you go, pretty girl,” he softly encouraged, closing the door behind you as you still stood with your eyes closed, “just keep ‘em closed a little longer, alright? Almost there.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, feet shuffling slowly and you gripped his arm a bit tighter as you stumbled over a rock and he quickly mumbled, got you, love under his breath, making sure you don’t fall. 

You walked together for a few moments, before he stopped you, slowly moving away from your body and you could hear him taking a few steps, “Okay, hold give me a second…. And open your eyes.” He softly spoke. 

Fluttering your eyes open, you couldn’t help but gasp at the sight in front of you. There stood Harry, underneath a beautiful pavilion, fairy lights decorating all around, a picnic blanket laid out among a delicious spread and a bottle of wine. Your mouth fell in shock, your eyes taking in the sight in front of you before making their back over to Harry, holding yet another bouquet of flowers. 

“Harry…” you whispered, frozen in your spot for a moment before rushing over, practically tackling him as you wrapped your arms tight around him. 

He dropped the flowers, the sound of the plastic crunching as they fall on the ground and he scoops you up, legs wrapping around him as you pull each other closer. Your hands came up to his chocolate locks, gripping them tight within your finger tips as he has his arms tight around you waist. 

“Thank you for this…” you whispered into his neck, “It’s beautiful, thank you for putting up with me and dealing with my crazy emotions, you just… make me crazy.” 

“You make me crazy too.” He whispered with a laugh, grabbing your jaw and looking deep into your eyes, “crazy in love.”

You throw your head back laughing, “Okay, Beyonce.” You giggle running your fingers through his hair, wanting desperately to kiss him but holding back, setting your feet back on the ground and shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “should we, um, enjoy this beautiful picnic?” 

He gave you a smile and a nod, sitting down on the ground and holding his hand out for you, assisting you as you sit across from him on the blanket. He silently poured you a glass of wine as you grab a grape off it’s stem, popping into your mouth as you looked across from him. Your fingers brushed as he handed you the glass, gripping the stem before taking a sip, watching him as he poured himself his own glass. 

You both enjoyed some small talk, avoiding the whole will we won’t we relationship talk as you filled each other in on other aspects of your life. Listening intently to Harry talk about his upcoming tour and all of the plans he had for it, all the places he was planning on going.

It felt like old times, laughing and chatting together like old times, like things had never changed.

Now, a couple hours later, you two had transitioned off the pavilion, Harry laying the blanket on the soft grass as you two laid close next to each other, looking up and watching the stars, fingers millimeters apart, just having to barley move your fingers to have them intertwine. 

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I will wait a lifetime.” He whispered and you instantly glance over at him, his jaw sharp as he still was looking up at the sky, but you could see his eyes were glassy, “As long as I have you in my life, that’s all that matters. I… I will wait a lifetime just to kiss you again. I would wait forever and do anything for you.”

“Harry,” you whispered, crawling over slightly to him, hesitantly laying on his chest and looking up at him, “I don’t think I can wait that long…” 

He sat up quickly and you laugh as you stumble a bit but he catches your face in your hands, his eyes bouncing wildly back and forth between your eyes and lips. “Can I…” 

You nod quickly, your lips smashing together in an instant and you crawl into his lap even faster, hands weaving into his hair as his dug into your skin, moaning and breathing hard on one another’s lips. 

“Please” he whispered, kissing down your neck and your lips again quickly before pulling back, staring deep into your eyes, your gaze getting stuck on his swollen pink lips before meeting his eyes again, “I know I don’t deserve it, but please be mine again. I’ll never, ever stop fighting for you, for us. I promise I’ll prove my love for you until I die.

Your hands come up to his face, leaning forward softly and connecting your lips, your finger softly running over the ring you gave him before pulling back, leaning your forehead against his.

“I’m yours.”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,759 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, references to gore, mentions of anxiety, disturbing imagery, typical TWD stuff Summary: Daryl and Y/N are outside the walls when they hear a baby crying. A/N: THIS IS SO SOFT I MIGHT DIE. Requested by anonymous! Hope you like it! Thanks for the request!

Your name: submit What is this?

You froze. You glanced back at the archer, “D’you hear that?” you asked him in a harsh whisper.

Daryl strained his hearing. “Heard somethin’.”

You’d been venturing out with Daryl for tracking lessons for quite some time. He’d been somewhat opposed to the idea at first, not liking the idea of you wandering around outside the walls, but you’d worn him down. Now, you were getting quite good at reading sign and he had noticed that you seemed to be much more observant, vigilant as you moved through the trees. Your footsteps were nearly silent.

You straightened up, turning from the trail of the deer you’d been tracing, and Daryl watched as you turned to the side, your eyes lifted to some unknown distant point in the trees.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing the slightly anxious look on your face.

You shook your head almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling more than anything.” You glanced back at him and were met with his steady blue eyes. You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment. “Come on,” you said, stepping away from the deer trail and moving in the direction you thought the sound had come from.

You didn’t have to go far before you heard the sound again, and this time it was much clearer. Your wide eyes met Daryl’s, his brow heavily furrowed. Your stomach twisted. You turned and increased your pace.

You moved through the brush as quietly as you could and finally you saw a shape looming ahead. It was an abandoned house, more of a shack really than anything. The sound was clear now as you crouched at the edge of the lot. Daryl knelt beside you and you exchanged a harried glance with him.

It was a baby crying and it was coming from inside the house. There were about a dozen walkers beating on the rotten woods of the dilapidated structure. It looked like it wouldn’t be long before they broke in.

Daryl worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “S’a lot of walkers,” he murmured.

You gulped and looked back. “We have to do something.”

He sighed, hesitating, his eyes flickering between your face and the group of the dead.

You couldn’t wait anymore. There was a swell of urgency growing in your chest, like a high tide rushing in. You swore under your breath and unsheathed the knife at your hip. You rushed out of the brush and right toward the walkers.

Daryl scrambled up to follow you.

You plunged your knife into the skull of the first walker lurching at you and immediately repeated the action with another. As you pulled your knife out, you landed a kick into one of the dead who was grappling for you.

Daryl was soon beside you, slashing and stabbing just like you were to clear the way to the building.

By the time you were done, you were drenched in sweat and Daryl looked at the circle of now still corpses around you. There was a spray of walker blood across your neck. He was about to scold you for rushing in, but he was taken aback by the number you had killed, and you weren’t done with your somewhat frantic mission.

You charged to the door and saw that it was splintered from the latch. They’d almost broken through. You turned the handle and pushed inside. You froze with just one foot inside the small house.

Daryl looked in past you, over your shoulder.

There was the desperately wailing baby, still swaddled to its mother in a makeshift carrier. She was dead. You made a lunge toward the infant, but Daryl’s hand clasped your shoulder gently and stopped you. You glanced back at him, your eyes glistening with tears and your expression pure desperation.

He nodded. “We dunno what she died from. And she could turn at any second. Be careful,” he murmured.

You nodded at him and he lifted his hand. You approached the prone figure cautiously, all the while the baby’s cries piercing straight through you. You knelt down and carefully lifted the swaddled infant from the body of its mother, being careful and kind to the body of the woman who had probably given her everything to see that her child survived.

Daryl watched as you murmured to the infant in a soft voice, shushing and humming. “Shhh, it’s alright. It’s okay.” You pressed the baby to your chest and stood, bouncing slightly to try and soothe the cries. Eventually, she stilled. You glanced up at Daryl, your eyes still wide and glistening, although no tears stained your cheeks.

He was staring at you with a curious expression on his face. It was soft and thoughtful. He shouldered the strap of his crossbow and moved farther into the house, looking around. “Gotta be some supplies for that baby here somewhere, right?” he said. He felt the need to focus on a task because looking at you with the little bundle against your chest was bringing to life some warm, fluttery feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Hopefully,” you said, wrapping the sling around yourself and settling the baby inside. You smiled sweetly as she grasped your finger and a little laugh of joy bubbled out of you. Daryl looked up from his search and saw you smoothing your hand over her soft hair. “She has to be starving,” you said, your eyes a little starry.

Daryl tore his eyes away from the scene again. “Mm,” he acknowledged, the best he could do because he was worried what might slip out if he said any more. “Here,” he said, picking up a small duffel bag. It had some bottles and formula in it, as well as cloth diapers and a baby toy.

He shouldered the bag and walked back to you, peeking in over your shoulder at the little face pressed against you, your finger in her tiny, curled hand. “C’mon,” he said softly, surprising himself and you as his hand landed lightly on your lower back. “Let’s get her back somewhere safe.”

You looked up into his face and saw that his expression was open, earnest, soft. Your heart jumped. You nodded, but hesitated a moment when he started to head toward the door. Daryl looked back when he didn’t feel you behind him and saw that you were staring down at the still figure on the floor. “We can’t just leave her like this. She’ll turn,” you said softly, your brow furrowing.

He gulped and nodded. “Alright. Just wait outside a sec. I’ll do it,” he said, unsheathing his knife.

You gave him a sad but grateful look, pressing the baby against you more securely and nodded. “Thank you.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You arrived back at the gate to Alexandria and Rosita let you in. Her eyes went wide when she realized what you exactly that bundle slung across your chest was. She came closer and peeked into the sling, her eyes flitting up to meet yours.

“We found her in an abandoned house, surrounded by walkers. Her mom was already dead,” you whispered. She was sleeping against you.

Rosita’s expression was sad for a moment, but then she smiled at the rosy cheeks and long eyelashes fanned out against the little girl’s cheeks. “Preciosa,” she murmured.

You smiled up at her.

Daryl was watching the whole interaction from a couple feet away and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were so soft and gentle, the look in your eyes like you’d never seen something more beautiful in your whole life. He kept feeling waves of warmth blooming out from his core and suddenly seemed unable to stand still, shifting his weight and tapping his fingers against his leg. “We should take her to get checked out by the doc,” Daryl said quietly.

You nodded, giving Rosita one last smile and then falling into stride beside him.

Daryl glanced over at you as you walked to the clinic. You caught him studying your face and gave him a questioning look.

“I wanted to yell at ya out there for rushin’ in like that,” he said. He glanced again at the baby. “But I get it. If you hadn’t, I woulda.”

You nodded. “I don’t what happened—I just couldn’t sit there and let them get her, even if it meant I might—” you broke off, not wanting to speak what was always a real possibility outside the walls.

“Yeah. Ya killed like seven of ‘em yourself before I even got there,” he said, slight amusement turning one corner of his mouth up.

You smiled abashedly. “Yeah…”

“I mean, I know ya can fight but—” he broke off, shaking his head, that vague smile still slightly curving his lips.

You arrived at the clinic and Daryl led the way inside. Denise looked up as he came in and immediately sighed. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me one of you needs stitches again?”

But she froze when you stepped in with that swaddled bundle in your arms.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked, bewildered, as you wandered over.

“Can you take a look at her?” you asked, lifting her out of the sling that was draped around you. She woke and stirred, immediately starting to cry again. The sound tugged at your heart.

Denise nodded. “Of course. Bring her over here,” she said, leading the way to a cushioned exam table.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s alright,” you cooed, setting her down on her back. You offered your finger and she gripped it tightly. You smiled up at Daryl and his heart skipped a beat at the breathtaking light in your eyes and that irresistible grin. “She feels strong. That’s good, right?” you asked, turning to Denise.

She was setting her stethoscope aside. “Lungs and heart sound great. She looks healthy.” She glanced up at you. “I don’t know exactly what happened out there, but I have a hunch she’s lucky you found her.”

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“I think I saw some baby formula and other stuff you might need in the supply room. Lemme just check,” Denise said.

You scooped the little girl back up into your arms and her cries immediately became less desperate. You pressed her to your shoulder and rubbing her back softly, shushing her and bouncing, pressing her soft hair to your cheek. “Daryl, would you mind making up a bottle for her?” you asked.

He nudged his nose up in a nod, and you felt warmth in your face as you watched the tough biker pull out the canister of formula and a bottle, which looked tiny in his hand. You smiled to yourself as he went to mix up a bottle.

Denise returned with another canister of powdered formula and more cloth diapers as well as some other odds and ends for baby care. She shoved them into the bag Daryl had found at the abandoned house. Denise smiled and smoothed a hand over her soft hair. “Pretty amazing. Everyone is going to lose their minds over her. Little ones are so rare now,” she said. “First Judith and now this sweet little one.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if Daryl and I had waited until tomorrow to go tracking, or if I had just ignored the first sound I heard.”

Denise nodded. “But you didn’t. And she’s safe and healthy now.”

Daryl came back with a bottle he had warmed slightly in the microwave and you grinned at him as he handed it to you. You adjusted her in your arms and she immediately latched on to the bottle and started eating. Daryl studied the tender expression on your face, that little smile that seemed like it might stay there forever now. He reached a hand up and rubbed absently at the ache in his chest. You looked up at Denise again. “Thanks, Denise,” you said. “We should head back to the house.”

“Anytime.” Denise gently smoothed her hand over the tiny girl’s hair one more time and gave you a kind smile.

You and Daryl started back toward the house at a leisurely pace. He still had the bag slung over his shoulder and you watched as she drank the formula hungrily. You could feel Daryl’s eyes on your face again and you glanced up at him.

“This mean you’re a mom now?” the archer drawled. You were struck by the question your eyebrows lifted.

“Huh… I hadn’t really thought about it that way,” you said, adjusting the bottle in your hand and looking back down at the little one in your arms. “She needs a mom. And I’m here,” you said softly. “I guess so,” you said, looking back up at Daryl. “Life is strange,” you said, shaking your head, peering back down at her.

“Mhm,” Daryl agreed. “She’s lucky to have ya.” Your heart skipped a beat at his words.

You were immediately swarmed by the group when you arrived back at the house. Everyone pressed in to see the baby, cooing and smiling. She was going to be so loved.

“Can I hold her?” Carol asked immediately.

“Hey! Nuh uh!” Daryl said, hurrying to set down the baby bag and his crossbow. “I helped save her and I ain’t even held her yet. Give her here,” he said, holding his arms out.

You grinned at him and carefully passed her to Daryl. He smiled down at her, rocking her from side to side. The sight of him with that sweet little baby in his strong arms was doing things to you… You hoped your face wasn’t turning red from the flush of heat you felt. “She needs a name,” you said thoughtfully.

“Easy. Lil’ Asskicker 2.0,” Daryl said, letting her grasp onto his finger. Everyone had a good laugh about that.

_ _ _ _ _ _

That night you fell asleep on the floor of the living room with the little girl beside you on a blanket. You were curled around her and she was pressed close against you, needing the comfort of someone to sleep.

Daryl was sitting on the couch nearby, alternating between cleaning and sharpening his blades and thoughtfully watching you sleep beside the new group member.

Carol leaned on the back of the couch beside him, looking over at you and the baby, smiling. Daryl turned to look at her.

“It’s nice to be reminded that good things can still happen,” she said softly.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, nodding. He flicked his thumb over the edge of the knife blade he was sharpening, testing to see if it needed more. “Ya should have seen her out there. She just ran right into this group of walkers and started takin’ ‘em out.”

Carol’s smile widened. “Maternal instinct,” she said. She glanced over at the archer and saw his blue eyes fixated on you. “Looks like she has a mom. She’s going to need a dad.”

Daryl’s eyes snapped over to peer back at Carol, his brow furrowing low. He scoffed a little at her statement. “She’s got a whole group of us. She don’t need me.”

“So, you wouldn’t like that? Having your own little family within our big family? Especially with Y/N…” she said, a knowing smile on her face. “Come on, your ears turn red every time she enters the room!”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably as Carol spoke a wish that was close to his heart, but which he was too terrified to act on.

Carol quit her teasing and sighed, looking back at you and the little one sleeping peacefully. “You’re not your father, Daryl. You’re you. And you’d be an amazing dad,” she said. “And if you don’t try, find something worth holding onto, worth protecting, what’s the point anymore?” And more than anything, Daryl knew that you were worth protecting. And now so was this little one. So, maybe it was time that he tried for what he wanted.

[timbertumbr]

Zoo Date (Underfell X Reader)

Underfell Sans- 

You had dragged Sans to the zoo to show you the wonders of the zoo. He was, of course, hesitant at first. But when all you did was just look at animals and even learn something about em, he was content. You then made it to the reptiles and Sans found the alligator enclosure.

He stopped in his tracks and literally stared at the giant reptile. It stared back and they had a staring contest. You notice San’s absence and see that he’s looking at the alligator. You giggle as you approach him.

“Did you find an animal you like?” Sans smirks and nods.

“Yup, we’re giving each other death glares,” You snicker.

“Yeah, If you were to turn into an animal, it’d definitely be an alligator, they’re smart, cunning, fast, insanely strong, and they care for their family! Have you SEEN a picture of an alligator mom carrying her babies?!” Sans shakes his head. You quickly pull your phone out and bring up a video of a mom alligator carrying her babies in her mouth.

“Aww, that’s cute. Ya know, for a carnivorous beast-” He pauses when you lose your grip on your phone and it lands in the enclosure. You both stare at it, not sure what to do.

“Whoops, my bad,” You mutter, Sans bursts out laughing.

“Hahahaha! Holy shit, that was amazing… Don’t worry sweetie, I got i-” The alligator zipped across the enclosure and grabbed the phone with its teeth just as Sans was about to use his magic to get it. 

“Oh you little- GIVE IT!” He growled, trying to use his magic to pull the phone out of the alligator's grip. It only bit down on the phone harder. Eventually Sans’s magic does get the phone back… but it’s absolutely destroyed.

“. . . Shit. I’ll get you a new one,” Sans mutters, rubbing the back of his skull awkwardly. You quickly wave your hands in protest.

“No, no! I was the one that dropped it. I’ll just get a new phone when I have the chance… The SD card is okay at least so that’s good,” You say as you examine the remains of your poor phone. Sans hums in thought before gently grabbing your hand and leading you towards the gift shop.

“Well, then let me at least get you something from the gift shop, as an apology,” You sigh.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Sans,” He flashes you a grin.

“Then consider a gift,” You narrow your eyes playfully.

“Oh, you sly son of a b-”

________________

You soon started browsing the many products in the shop, Sans casually following you and offering suggestions towards your interests which was sweet of him. And then you found the perfect thing, alligator plushies. You pick out two, and approach the cashier while Sans raises a brow.

“Why two if you don’t mind me asking?” You smile sweetly, paying for one of the alligators and handing it to him.

“A gift, to remember the absolute hilarity of this trip,” Sans smiles as he pays for your alligator and looks at his.

“I’m going to name mine ‘lil shit,’” You laugh out loud.

“Then I’m naming mine ‘phone destroyer,’” Sans smirks as you both leave the giftshop and out of the zoo.

“What if we made a lil story for em?” You gasp dramatically and hug your plushie.

“That’s a great idea! So, what if-” So the two of you begin making lore for your alligator plushies because you could and it’s fun damn it. Least to say, you enjoyed your trip to the Zoo. :)

Underfell Papyrus-

Papyrus was actually the one to bring you to the zoo, all because of an event being hosted near the African wild dogs exhibit. And that event would be learning a lot more about them! To say you were stoked was an understatement, especially since you were going with your favorite skeleton! Papyrus pays for the tickets and the two of you approach the event.

“Hey Paps, what made you want to go to the event anyway?” You ask out of curiosity, Papyrus glances at you.

“WELL, IT’S BECAUSE I RESPECT THEM OF COURSE. SEE, AFRICAN WILD DOGS ARE KNOWN TO BE FAMILIAL CREATURES, THEY CARE VERY MUCH ABOUT THEIR OWN KIN THAT THEY LET THE WEAKER EAT FIRST WHEN THEY CATCH THEIR PREY. SO, LIKE ANY REASONABLE PERSON, I’D LIKE TO LEARN MORE ON THE VERY THING I RESPECT AND LIKE,” a smile slowly creeps onto your face.

“Yeah, that sounds like something you’d do. And while we're here, I can teach you about my favorite animals if you’d like!” Papyrus smiles softly. 

“OF COURSE. PERHAPS EVEN EAT AT THE ZOO RESTAURANT. AN EXCELLENT PLACE FOR A DATE,” You gasp excitedly.

“Oh my goodness yes! We’ll be able to eat AND look at animals at the same time!” His smile grows.

“PRECISELY! THE PERFECT DATE FOR MY AMAZING DATEMATE! COME ALONG, THE EVENT IS STARTING SOON,” He gently grabs your hand and leads you through the zoo to the event where a little stage was set up by the African wild dogs exhibit. You and Papyrus watch and listen with interest, especially when they fed the wild dogs, Papyrus was very entertained by it. When the event was over, Papyrus brought you to the Zoo Restaurant which had a good view of various animals.

You watched them in awe while Papyrus looked over the menu. When the waitress came by, he ordered for himself and got you your favorite since you were so engrossed with the animals. The food arrived quickly and you both ate and chatted while observing the nearby animals. 

Papyrus pays for the food and off the two of you went to look at the other animals at the zoo before going home. While looking at the hippos, you suddenly turn to Papyrus.

“Wait here!” You exclaim before running off, he raises a brow but does what he’s told. You soon return with a gift shop bag and hand him an African wild dog plushie. He looks at it curiously.

“WHAT’S THIS FOR?” He asks a little confused but is grateful for the gift, you smile widely. 

“Well, you said that they’re family dogs so I got a bunch of plushies to give to everyone so we can make our own little African wild dog pack!” Papyrus stares at you before tears of happiness well up in his eyes, holy shit, you’re so fucking precious. He gently hugs you.

“YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR US… FOR ME…” He mutters, you pat his back.

“And you’re the best skeleton in the world. Now that we’re done stating facts, wanna go home and surprise the others?” He smiles as he pulls back from the hug.

“I’D LOVE THAT.”

Want to request? Please read this before doing so!

[arrowflier]

Lovely Arrow, a random plot bunny appeared and I just know you could do it justice: what if Franny has some friends over at Mickey and Ian's place when she's older and one of them is new to the group and wants to learn a little more about her uncles? And Franny starts waxing poetic about how they're made for each other and complement each other so well and both Ian and Mickey overhear and it makes them tear up a little. Just a thought 😋🥰

Evie, thank you! I've decided that Franny's friends love her uncles almost as much as she does, so that's kind of where this went.

---

“Why are we here again?” Tiffany asks as they crowd onto the stoop of the little southside worker’s cottage. Franny doesn’t bother to answer as she knocks on the door, but one of the other girls takes pity.

“It’s her Uncle’s house,” Susan says. “Jesus, Tiff, pay attention.”

Well, not too much pity. There was a reason she’d never been invited before, after all.

“Yikes, Suze,” Tiffany mutters with a frown. “I just meant why weren’t we at her actual house.”

“Because my actual house is loud as shit,” Franny finally chimes in, not even looking back. “My mom gets lonely so we live with like three other families, it’s a nightmare for schoolwork.”

“You’d have known that if you paid any attention,” Susan adds, and they all ignore Tiffany’s pout.

It doesn’t last long anyway, because the door creaks open not a moment later.

“Hey Fran,” Ian says from the other side. His hair is longer than usual right now, and looks windswept—or like someone had been carding hands through it all morning. His shirt was tight-fitting and a little too short, like it didn’t belong to him, and the socks on his feet didn’t match.

“Hey Uncle Ian,” Franny greets, then gestures to her friends. “It still cool if we take over the living room for a bit? This group paper is a beast.”

“Of course,” Ian agrees with a wide smile. “Anything to help my favorite niece.” He opens the door wider to let them in.

“Nice to see you all again,” he says as they start to file inside. “John, Rachel,” he greets them individually. “Susan, that new haircut is fantastic, I told you it would be.”

“Thanks, Mr. Gallagher,” Susan says with a grin, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

Ian grimaces at her, playfully.

"Ian, please," he begs. "I've never met a Mr. Gallagher I didn't want to punch."

Susan giggles, and moves inside.

“I don’t think I’ve met you,” Ian says with a thoughtful frown when it's Tiffany's turn, and Franny jumps in with an introduction.

“Uncle Ian, this is Tiff,” she says. “She got put with us for the project.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ian says, and holds out a hand.

Tiffany takes it, and when Ian lets go, her hand just hovers there.

“Make yourselves at home,” Ian says as he closes the door behind them. “I’ll be in the other room if you need anything, but—

“Try not to need anything,” they all chorus, with the exception of Tiffany.

“Good kids,” Ian laughs, and then he’s gone, disappearing through the archway that leads through to the rest of the house.

They settle quickly. John and Rachel take the love seat, as they’re always wont to do, sitting just a little too close. Rachel giggles as their knees brush, and Franny rolls her eyes at John’s blush.

She takes her own usual spot next to Susan on the floor, notebooks spread out across the ottoman, and startles when Tiffany suddenly appears on her other side.

“Dude,” Tiffany hisses, poking Franny in the shoulder. “Your uncle is so hot.”

Franny frowns, staring down at the wrinkle Tiffany left on her sleeve.

“Yeah,” she says idly as she smooths it. “So I’ve heard.”

“I mean I mean I always thought red hair looked weird--no offence," she tacks on hastily, "but it really works for him."

Franny focuses on arranging her things to avoid smacking Tiffany in the face.

"Does he have a girlfriend?” Tiffany asks, biting her lip. She toys with the ends of her over-crimped hair, bright nail polish flashing between blonde strands.

“No,” Franny answers, and doesn’t give Tiffany any time to think about that before adding, “he has a husband.”

Tiffany pouts, shimmery pink lips sticking out comically. Franny exchanges a look with Susan, who mimics the expression in a way that has Franny trying to swallow her laughter.

“So not fair,” Tiffany whines beside them, crossing her arms. “Why are all the cute ones taken?”

“Hey!” John protests from across the room, but they all ignore him except for Rachel, who hits him with her three-ring binder.

“Mickey would probably kill you for looking at him,” Susan chimes in, “so you should probably keep your eyes to yourself anyway.”

“Yeah,” Rachel agrees, even as she rubs John’s arm in apology. “He’s been to jail, you know.”

“Ew,” Tiffany says, wrinkling her nose. “There’s no way he deserves someone like Ian, then.”

Franny grips her pencil too tightly. Susan sends her a warning look, but she ignores it.

“Actually,” she says casually, hiding her irritation, “they’re perfect for each other.”

Tiffany‘s brow wrinkles.

“No way,” she disagrees. “You Uncle seems so sweet, he deserves someone nice at least.”

Franny’s pencil snaps.

“Shit, she’s done it now,” John mutters.

“Uncle Mickey is nice,” Franny grits out between clenched teeth. “He’s a hell of a lot nicer than you, actually.”

“Franny—” Rachel tries to interrupt, but Susan cuts in over her.

“She’s not wrong,” Susan says. “You’re in the man’s home, Tiff, have a little tact.”

“Besides,” John speaks up, “Mickey is great. He helped me with my math homework last week.”

“Come on!” Tiffany cries. “There’s no way some ex-con should be married to that hunk out there.”

“Ian’s an ex-con too, though,” Susan says. “Right, Fran?”

Franny smiles.

“That’s right,” she confirms gleefully. “They were in jail together, actually.”

Tiffany pales.

“No way,” she mumbles, but they aren’t done.

“Yeah, it’s the most romantic story!” Rachel all but squeals. “Mickey wasn’t even in the country, but he heard Ian needed him and he came right back!”

“They’d been together for like, years already,” John contributes. “High school sweethearts or something like that.”

Rachel latches onto him at that, and he flushes again.

“And they take such good care of each other,” Susan adds. “Last time I was here Ian wasn’t feeling too good, and Mickey made us all be quiet so he could sleep. Then I helped him make some soup, ‘cause he isn’t good at that stuff.”

Tiffany is biting her lip again, staring at them each in turn.

“But Ian seems so—”

“In love with his husband?” Franny cuts her off dryly. “Sounds right to me.”

The others all agree, but Franny isn’t done.

“My Uncles have the best relationship I’ve ever seen,” Franny continues, “and I was a little kid for most of it. So if you think they’re gonna care what some random kid their niece hangs out with thinks about their marriage…” she trails off.

Tiffany’s eyes are downcast.

“Didn’t mean anything by it,” she mutters, then looks up through her eyelashes. “Sorry.”

Silence, broken by Franny’s tired sigh.

“It’s okay, I guess,” she says. Then she hands Tiffany her notebook. “Here, you can write the introduction.”

——-

Behind a half-closed door down the hall, Mickey stands quietly, eyes wide. He startles when the door creaks open an extra inch, Ian slipping inside.

Ian’s eyes are soft when they fall on his face, and Mickey blinks hurriedly to hide the wetness in his own.

“You heard all that, I take it?” Ian whispers, and Mickey nods.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Kind of hard not to, those kids are fucking banshees.”

Ian laughs, soft and quiet.

“Banshees that love you,” he says, stepping closer. “As they should,” he adds when Mickey lets him wrap strong arms around him.

“Sounds like one of ‘em loves you more,” Mickey mumbles into Ian’s chest, and it shakes as Ian huffs.

“She’ll learn,” he says, holding Mickey tighter. “They all do eventually.”

“That I’m the better husband?” Mickey jokes, even as he rubs his face into the fabric of his own shirt over Ian’s broad chest.

“That we’re best together,” Ian corrects, and Mickey smiles.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, pressing a kiss to Ian’s sternum.

“Yeah, we really are.”

[12tardis]

Not That Dress (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Warnings: S M U T under the cut 

 Requested: yes @the-knights-of-saint-gay said ‘I want some dick (personally I think Newt is the pounding type and the reader is moan-in-his-mouth-while-doing-missionary type’  lmao this request still got me SENT- hope you like it love 💕 

 Summary: There’s a particular dress of yours that you know always drives your husband mad. You are having far too much fun teasing your husband but what will happen when you push him too far? Featuring shameless flirt!reader and very exasperated Newt on their honeymoon. 

 A/N: this is straight UP sin ppls I know I know I wrote a lot of fluff in the lead up to the thing - but is anyone surprised by this point? I tried really hard to not make Newt too OOC and I kinda vibe this for him ngl. I stand by my previous statements that Newt is a Hufflepuff through and through - even in the bedroom.  Seriously I feel like I need some holy water IM SORRY. 

 Words: 4611

 Taglist: @moonkissk7     @just-an-auror

 Newt knew he was in trouble the second you stepped out of the hotel room in that dress with a little sparkle in your eyes that told him you knew exactly what you were doing. 

 He should have known you were plotting something the moment you told him to wait out in the hall and that you would be ready in a moment. You’d never had an issue with getting dressed in front of him before though Newt would always face the other way to give you privacy like a true gentleman. 

 This was something you always teased him for, often draping yourself over his back and wrapping your arms around him from behind just to see him blush when he realised you were in nothing but your undergarments.

                                             -    -     -     -     -

 “Y/N, would you get dressed? We’re going to be late”, he croaked out in a strained voice, feeling the warm blush travelling down his cheeks as you skimmed your hands over his chest with a soft hum. 

 “Honey, we’re going to be wed in less than a month. I don’t think you have to look the other way when I’m getting changed anymore,” you chuckled as you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, trailing your hand over his firm chest one last time before you stepped away from him. 

 “I know but I wasn’t raised to be a Peeping Tom, darling.”

 “Well you had no problems looking at me last night when w-“ 

 “Y/N!” Newt cried out loudly and you could see the blush now working its way up the back of his neck.

 “Oh please Newt how can you possibly be shy after all the things-“

 “I’m NOT LISTENING! You’re trying to get a rise out of me and I’m NOT listening!” Newt called, clapping his hands over his ears and making a scene of humming loudly over your teasing. 

 You smirked to yourself as you tugged on the one dress, the one article of clothing you knew he would protest you wearing, checking your reflection over with a proud smile before you twirled him around by his shoulders to face you. 

 Newt’s eyes widened comically as he took you in and you caught the way his eyes dropped briefly to the neckline of the dress before he looked back up at you with his jaw agape “no no no no no. Absolutely not, anything but that.” he rambled shaking his head quickly. 

 He paused when he saw you glaring at him with one hand cocked on your hip “excuse you Newton Scamander but since when did you start deciding what I can and can’t wear?” 

 Newt actually let out a quiet whine then, looking at you with a pleading expression as he took your hands “I don’t and I can’t- I would never ever I am just begging you- not that dress. Not when we’re going to visit my parents.” 

 You dropped your peeved facade immediately at his pleading, the smug smile returning to your lips “why not this dress? What’s so special about this dress?” You tried to play innocent and clueless but Newt was not having it as he gripped your hips in his hands with a little more vigor than he usually would.

 “You know exactly what you little minx,” he said lowly as he pulled you in against him without warning and began to pepper the column of your neck with kisses causing you to squeal.

 And you did know. You had knowingly Pavloved your sweet, oblivious boyfriend to react a certain way whenever he saw you in said dress. 

 It had been the dress you had been wearing the first time you went down on him and the dress you wore before you slept together for the first time. You’d worn it several times since, when you had initiated sexy time. 

 Newt had eventually come to recognise it as the dress that drives him mental. 

 You pushed him away, looking up at him with a shy smile then because you knew he was right and it really wouldn’t be appropriate to tease him in such a way for lunch with his parents. 

 “Okay okay” you said, holding your hands up in surrender as you reached back to unzip the dress, rolling your eyes when Newt turned away from you quickly. 

 Shaking your head with a fond smile you made quick work of getting changed before you stepped around to face him. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sigh of relief he let out when he saw you were decent because your fiancé may have very well been the most adorable and sweetest man on the planet. 

 You smiled as he took your hand in his own, fixing you with one last exasperated expression before he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand “one day, I might just snap. And then what will you do?”

 “Sit back and take it like a good girl.” you said casually with a sweet smile, giggling at the look of utter shock he now wore. He took a few minutes to gather himself and lift his jaw from the floor. 

                                             -       -     -     -     -

 And now a month later you were on your honeymoon with your husband and you were travelling around the world with him as he’d promised. Currently you were in New York because it was where you had promised to drop in first and catch up with Tina, Queenie and Jacob. 

 You’d immensely enjoyed catching up with the Goldstein’s and getting to see how Jacob’s bakery was thriving and now you were due at the younger sisters' flat for a small cocktail night that Queenie and Jacob were throwing.

 Now you were looking forward to the chance to dress up but Newt had needed some persuasion as usual from the moment that Queenie had mentioned the word ‘party.’ 

 He was sulking in the hotel corridor when you appeared in the dress and you didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up instantaneously before a dark expression quickly passed over his features. 

 “Y/N”, he murmured in a half scolding tone but you were quick to shrug your coat on and take his hand in your own, tugging him down the corridor after you. 

 “Not another complaint out of you, mister. We’re going to be late.” You tossed his own words in his face as you pulled him along. The coat covered you up for the most part and Newt was relieved but he knew that relief would be short lived. 

 When you arrived at Queenie and Jacob’s place Newt was completely distracted by greeting the Goldstein sisters and the sheer volume of people packed into the tiny flat that he missed you slipping off your coat behind him. 

 “Ah Mr. and Mrs. Scamander have arrived!” Jacob called loudly, clapping Newt on the shoulder and you couldn’t help the smile and small flutter in your chest at the use of your new title. 

 “Sorry we’re late, the Niffler was being a nuisance,” you lied so easily that Newt quickly looked back at you where you were greeting Tina and Queenie.

 The retort died on his lips and he gulped audibly as his gaze roved over your form. He broke out of his ogling when Queenie’s surprised giggle met his ears and he glanced at the woman to see her covering her mouth as she looked back at Newt in amusement. 

 Odd. He could have sworn she couldn’t easily read his thoughts. 

 “When you’re thinkin’ em that loud honey I’m pretty sure even Jacob knows” Queenie teased as she hugged him tightly in greeting, squeezing his shoulder to reassure him. 

 “Relax sweet cheeks, you’re recently married to the girl of your dreams and your thoughts are loud with happiness. Ain’t no one here gonna judge you,” Queenie murmured for only Newt to hear and Newt smiled thankfully back at her though he couldn’t suppress the blush that filled his cheeks. 

 “Well I don’t suppose Y/N’s inner monologue is embarrassing like mine,” Newt murmured and Queenie smiled widely at him before she peeked back over her shoulder to where you were talking animatedly with Tina. 

 “She’s just thinking about you. And calling herself Mrs Scamander over and over again.” Queenie laughed and Newt looked back at you in adoration, shaking his head to himself as he made his way over to you with drinks for both of you.

 Not long later you were sitting pressed into his side at a small table listening to Tina ramble on about her most recent case at MACUSA. Newt was finding it increasingly more difficult to focus on Tina’s words as you lay your hand on his knee and slowly began to trail your hand up his leg. 

 Newt jolted a little when your hand drifted a little too close to the growing tent in his trousers and he quickly gripped your hand in his own, glancing down at you.

 But of course you just smiled innocently back up at him, tracing your other hand along the neckline of your dress and Newt had to dig deep to find the willpower to look away from you and focus back on Tina who was still talking about the pile of paperwork she’d had to sign that week. 

 Newt frowned when you worked your hand free from his and wandered away from him, his eyes following you as you made your way to the makeshift bar.

 You were in the middle of fixing you both another round of drinks when a gentleman sauntered over to you, grinning down at you widely “and who is this little heartbreaker we have here? What are you doing fixing your own drinks, angel face?” 

 You couldn’t help but twitch at the pet name because it sounded utterly wrong coming from someone other than Newt. The man in question was now leering down at you with the most obnoxious smirk on his face and your eyes quickly flicked to your husband. 

 Newt had noticed the man immediately as he’d been watching you from across the room and he felt a heat flaring up his neck at the way the other man was looking like he wanted to devour you. 

  He was just about to push himself to his feet and go and intervene as you were preparing to put the man in his place. But Queenie beat you both to it as she slipped between the pair of you, gripping the young man by his shoulders.

 “Patrick, Y/N is a married woman! And I suggest you remove yourself before Mr.Scamander unleashes one of his creatures on you.” 

 The man, Patrick, blinked quickly and glanced over at Newt before he looked back at you and then at Queenie “Scamander? Oh Mrs. Scamander m-my apologies! I’ll be right outta your hair!” He scurried away and you returned back to the table where Newt was sat with Tina with Queenie in tow. 

 You slid back into your seat beside Newt as he curled his arm around your waist protectively, lifting your hand to his mouth and pressing his lips to your soft skin. 

 He took particular care to brush his lips over your ring finger as he held your gaze, twirling the wedding band on your finger while you smiled back at him as if to say ‘yes I know. I’m yours.’ 

 The rest of the room and the people in it faded into the background as you gazed back at your husband, lifting your other hand to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, noticing his little shiver in response. 

 His hand fell to your knee this time and he thumbed at the fabric of your dress as he became vaguely aware of Tina still rambling on at him. Newt looked back at her, nodding along and plastering on a look of interest as he slowly pushed the fabric of your dress up along your thigh.

 He bit his lip when you scraped your nails along the nape of his neck and laid your head on his shoulder, smiling back at Tina nonchalantly as you slowly let your legs fall open under the table. Newt wondered how easy it would be to just slide his hand up between your legs and into your panties an-

 You both startled and sat up straight when Queenie began to choke on her drink violently, a pink blush colouring her cheeks as she looked back at the pair of you while Tina fetched her some water. 

 Newt flushed scarlet then as he realised what had happened. It was a mixture of the possessiveness he’d experienced just a moment before, the embarrassment he now felt along with the arousal that had been coursing through him all night because of you in that damn dress that had him getting to his feet quickly. 

 “I’m terribly sorry Tina, I’m really not feeling well I’m afraid we must go. We will have to resume this conversation another time.” Newt said in a rush as he pulled you to your feet, barely bidding his farewells to Queenie and Jacob before he was strolling out of the flat with his arm around your waist. 

 Jacob followed after you to fetch you your coat but he turned back to look at Queenie who had since recovered from her shock when he saw the two of you had already apparated away. 

 “Boy, Newt must really be feeling ill”, Jacob called out with a frown and Queenie laughed then, unable to stop herself as she took Jacob’s hand in her own. 

 “He’s not sick, sweetheart. More...excited,” she said slowly, laughing again as she watched the realisation dawn on Jacob’s face. 

 “Oh...OH! They grow so fast. It seems like only yesterday he was too shy to even kiss her!“

                                                    -     -     -      -     -

 You raised your eyebrows in surprise when Newt managed to apparate you both back into your own hotel room and you recognised the look of complete focus in his eyes before he was pinning you back against the wall and kissing you hotly. 

 You kissed him back with just as much vigor, trying to lean into him more and letting out a gasp of surprise when he pushed you back against the wall firmly, looking at you with dark and lustful eyes. 

 “Merlin, Newt, what were you thinking about back there?” you breathed out, letting out another gasp as he nipped at the soft skin of your throat at the same time he pushed his thigh between your knees. 

 “I was thinking about fingering you right there under that bloody table,” he murmured lowly into your ear and you thought you might faint then. 

 What had happened to your sweet and gentle husband? 

 “What you have nothing to say now, huh?” Newt murmured as he lifted you up by the backs of your thighs, carrying you to the bed where he lay you down and wasted no time in slotting himself between your legs. 

 “You’ve been teasing me all night- fuck it, all week really ever since the wedding. In this sinful little dress of yours”, he brushed his lips over yours teasingly before he worked his hand up under your skirt “and now you have nothing to say to me?” 

 Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, your eyes widening because he very rarely cursed and at his words you felt the heat and a deep ache building between your legs. 

 You moved to wrap your arms around his neck as you usually would, making a noise of surprise when he let out a growl and pinned your hands above your head firmly “no touching.” 

 You couldn’t deny the way you clenched in response to his rough handling but you were still surprised as you tried to wrap your legs around his waist, gasping in shock when he used his body to pin you to the mattress. 

 “I said no touching” 

 “Well then what do you suppose I do then, Mr. Scamander?” you said in a much brattier tone than you had intended, smirking up at him.

 Which you really shouldn’t have done because that only urged him to fix you with a smirk of his own “I don’t know...I suppose you could just- what was it? Oh yes,sit back and take it like a good girl,” he purred your own words back at you and it was your turn to stare back at him in utter shock and undeniable arousal. 

 He crushed his lips against yours again before you could come up with any more sarcastic retorts, his hand slipping under your dress and into your panties where he pushed two long fingers inside you without warning. 

 You cried out into his mouth as you rocked your hips up against his hand, clenching down on his digits hard in your shock. 

 Newt began to work his fingers deep inside you as he pulled back from the kiss, instead pressing hot opened mouth kisses down over your neck and between your cleavage before working his way back to your neck. 

 “So gorgeous for me my angel,” Newt breathed into your ear as he crooked his fingers deep inside of you, his cock straining and hard in his slacks. 

 “Newt please”, you whined desperately, clutching at his shoulder as you bucked your hips wildly in pleasure. 

 “Please what my darling? Tell me what you need.” he purred, freezing his actions completely in favour of sitting back and looking down at you. You just looked so pretty sprawled out for him, looking at him with such wanton beauty. 

 You whined in frustration when he stopped his ministrations and pulled his fingers free, trying to shift your hips and whimpering when he simply used his forearm to hold you still with that stupid sexy smirk on his face. 

 “I want you!” you whined again and Newt almost felt guilty for the briefest moment until he remembered how you’d been incessantly teasing him, driving him wild. 

 “You have me, baby. I’m all yo-“, 

 You groaned loudly in frustration, tipping your head back at his cruel teasing “oh my stars Newt! I want you. Inside me. Not your fingers.” You were practically pleading now but you were far too gone to care. Especially when he was rubbing teasing circles on your hip with his thumb and you could feel your own wetness on his digits. 

 Newt felt his cock give an interested jolt in the tight confines of his pants at your words and he relented his firm hold of you to reach for his pants instead. He made quick work of undoing his pants and shoving them down but you also used the window of opportunity to rise up onto your knees, pushing him onto his back before he could realise what was happening. 

 You wasted no time in straddling him, tugging your dress off over your head before you crashed your lips to his and reached down to grip his hard cock in your hand. You pumped the hard length in your hand a few times before you settled in his lap, rocking against him with a soft moan. 

 Newt groaned when you began to grind against him, grazing his teeth against your skin as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck “Y/N”, he groaned again when you gripped his throbbing cock again and rubbed the head of it against your glistening slit. 

 You rose up on your knees a little bit, gripping Newts shoulder hard in one hand and his throbbing length in the other and Newt held his breath and closed his eyes in anticipation.

 But he blinked his eyes open again after a few moments passed and you hadn’t moved an inch. He let out a growl when he spotted the teasing little smile you had on your lips and he pushed you back onto the bed in one fluid motion, spreading your legs with his calloused hands and then settling over the top of you. 

 “You just love it don’t you?” He looked down into your eyes as he positioned his cock at your entrance “you love driving me wild...teasing me so I’ll snap”, he murmured as he nipped at your earlobe, running one hand up your body and tweaking one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. 

 He relished the small mewl you let out in response as you wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to thrust your hips up towards him and whimpering when he held you down with his other hand. 

 “That boy is just lucky he had half a brain not to lay a hand on you”, Newt breathed against the skin of your neck, marking your sensitive skin. 

 “W-why’s that?” You managed to stutter out, your lips parting a moment later when his thumb rubbed over your clit. 

 “Because only I get to see you like this.” He thrust his length into you in one fluid thrust, letting out a low groan of pleasure and tipping his head back as you cried out from the sudden intrusion. 

 You were gripping his shaft with your walls in the most delicious way as you clenched your muscles tightly around him. “Oh Newt,” you sighed out, your voice high and breathy as you keened at the way he was stretching your walls. 

 It was a welcome contrast to his usual slow method of opening you up bit by bit with his mouth and fingers. Just the dark look of lust in his eyes and the unreserved pleasure on his face was enough to make you a trembling mess beneath him. 

 Newt pulled his hips back slowly until just the tip of his cock was inside you, slamming his hips forward in one motion with a deep groan before he set up a pace of thrusting into you continuously. 

 You couldn’t help your cries of pleasure as he had his way with you, completely captivated watching how unreserved and dominant your husband now was. He was pounding into you with abandon and you could do nothing more than lay there and take it, rolling your own hips up to meet his. 

 “You’re so incredible,” Newt panted, the sweat forming on his brow as he moved above you and inside you. His hips stuttered to a complete halt though just a moment later and you whined in response, trying to understand why on earth he had stopped but then you saw him scrambling for his wand and muttering about a protection spell. 

 “Leave it,” you breathed out without a second thought, taking his hand in your own and Newt whipped his head back to look at you in shock. “We don’t...I’m not worried. We’ve spoken about this already and- well I’m ready if you are,” you murmured as you squeezed his hand in yours, looking back at him with wide eyes.

 Newt stared back at you blankly for a moment and you were worried you’d upset him but then he was pinning both of your hands back above your head and crashing his lips to yours in a deep kiss as he began to thrust into you again. 

 This time he was really pounding into you with a whole new sense of purpose and you moaned into his mouth as you squeezed your legs around him, spurring him on to fuck into you harder. 

 He was handling you far more roughly than he ever had before and you were a trembling mess below him, shrieking into his mouth when one of his hands found its way between your legs again and he thumbed over your sensitive nub again. 

 Newt pulled back at your shriek but when he saw the look of utter euphoria on your face he tucked his own face into your neck, sucking at the marks he’d made earlier while he jackhammered into you “come on darling, let go for me. Come for me angel”, he murmured directly into your ear like he knew you loved, flicking over your clit even faster.

 Your entire body shuddered as the coil in your stomach finally snapped and you came, wrapping your arms around him tightly and crying out into his shoulder as you clenched around him rhythmically. 

 “Ohhh Merlin, Y/N, Y/N I’m gonna,” he trailed off with a groan when he felt the way you were clenching around him, as if your pussy was trying to milk his cock. 

 You were still in the midst of your orgasm when you heard him and felt the way his cock swelled inside you just barely and you nodded quickly “yes come for me, baby. Fill me up,” you murmured before capturing his lips again. 

 Newt rutted into you just a few more times before he finally shattered at the thought of spilling his seed inside you unprotected and the sensation of you still gripping his length. He pumped into you slowly as the warm cum spurted from his cock, filling you to the brim.

 You whined softly as the sensation and stroked at his messy hair  while Newt collapsed against you, panting heavily against your shoulder.

 When his breathing calmed after a minute or so he carefully pulled out from you and you closed your eyes, already missing the feeling of him. He flopped onto the bed beside you and you both lay there, catching your breath, you with a small blissful smile on your face. 

 “Y/N”, he said it so quietly with the most timid tone that you quickly looked over at him in confusion and when you saw the distressed look on his face you grabbed his hand in your own. 

 He opened his mouth to talk but you lifted your other hand to press a finger to his mouth, effectively shushing him “Newton, I swear to everything-you-hold-sacred that if you apologise for the best sex we’ve had yet I will hex your mouth shut.” 

 You looked back at his stunned expression and you moved your finger from his mouth and gently stroked his cheek “unless...unless you regret not using the protection charm. In that case we can reverse it, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  You sat up, reaching for your wand but Newt took your hand, shaking his head before he dropped a delicate kiss to the back of your hand “no it’s not that I promise...I was just worried, I got- I got carried away. You promise I didn’t hurt you?”, he murmured, flicking his eyes up to look at you in concern.

 “Sweetheart I promise. You didn’t hurt me. I would have told you if I wasn’t enjoying it. You have to trust that,” you soothed, gently caressing his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his lips a moment later. You were constantly surprised by how gentle and caring he was but you were certainly happy to have seen this new side of your husband.

 Newt smiled again and nodded before he gently pulled you into his lap, hugging you close and tucking his face into your shoulder “I love you Mrs. Scamander,” he murmured, smiling at the way you preened at the name. 

 He lifted you into his arms and headed towards the bathroom, and you wasted no time to smile flirtatiously up at him “ohhhh did I hear you say ‘round two in the shower?’ ” You teased winking up at him. 

 Newt rolled his eyes fondly at you, shaking his head “shut it you, that’s enough of your teasing for one week,” he said, dropping a gentle kiss to your forehead and you laughed softly in response.

 “I love you too, Mr. Scamander.” 

-Other Works Here!-

[there-must-be-a-lock]

All That I Ask

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 6990

Warnings: Smut. Smut, feels, and Sam Winchester being wonderful. There’s a brief moment of post-traumatic dissociation, but the traumatic event itself isn’t discussed or really even named. Otherwise, it’s about as gooey and sweet as a fuckin marshmallow. This is like... fix-it fic for life-canon. 

A/N: Whether it was rape or coercion or just a partner who didn’t care enough to make you feel comfortable, I think almost every woman knows what it’s like to feel powerless or unsafe during sex. This is about agency and trust and hang-ups and recovery, and how partners should handle those things.  

This was inspired by a request from @the-departed-patato. Thank you for trusting me with this one. I didn’t realize until I started typing that this was something I really really needed to write.

Also, major thanks to the Slack squad for edits and support and trying to curb my comma habit: @rockhoochie, @icemankazansky, @fangirlxwritesx67, @stunudo​ y’all are amazing.

Here’s my heart, don’t break it.  It’s all that I ask, nothing more.  - “Moonlight,” Future Islands

1.

This is so stupid. 

This is Sam. This is sweet, kind, gentle Sam, and I’m head over heels for him. 

I want him. How could I not? I’ve wanted to do this since I met him, and now I can. He tugs his shirt over his head, and I can run my hand up his side, down his chest, tracing the ripply contours of abs, and god dammit, I want him. 

He rolls me onto my back, hips slotting in against me. I can feel the drag and catch of denim, I can feel where he’s hard against the crease of my thigh, and I can feel his weight on me, holding me, pressing into me, trapping me, and I can feel myself start to shut down. 

This is so stupid. 

I remind myself that I’m safe. He’s being gentle, I tell myself. He’s not holding my wrists, he’s not pinning me, he’s not doing anything that should make me feel unsafe. 

I’m still shutting down. I stare at a point somewhere over his shoulder as he kisses my neck, and I remind myself that I’m being stupid, and I can’t fucking breathe. 

“Hey,” he whispers, and then he’s looking down at me, rolling onto his side again, and I try to focus on him but part of me is seeing someone else. 

“Sorry,” I whisper, voice small and tight around the lump in my throat. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, so fucking sweet with his sunflower eyes wide and concerned. I shake my head. 

“No, it’s stupid,” I squeak. “I’m being stupid. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, you didn’t — we can — I’m fine.” 

“Do you need space, or — how can I help?” 

“Don’t go,” I breathe. “Please don’t, I’m okay, just come… come here?”  

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, putting an arm around me, kissing my forehead. “Hey, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m right here. Take your time.” 

I burrow into his chest, tears stinging my eyes as I start to break the grip of whatever cold thing has been clutching at my ribcage. 

This is so fucking stupid. 

I remember to breathe, and Sam waits. He strokes my hair, whispers soothing nonsense, cradles me close. 

“I’m sorry,” I choke out eventually. I can’t look him in the eye; I look at his neck instead, the steady flutter of his pulse under the skin. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, soft but fierce. “Nothing. You hear me?” 

“‘Kay.” I swallow hard and try to shake it off. “We can — it’s not that I don’t want to. Do you want—” 

“Stop,” he interrupts. “There’s no rush, okay? If you’re doing this because you think you should… for my sake? That’s not how it works.” 

He curls a gentle finger under my chin, tilting my head back until I meet his eyes, and I feel hot all over at the tenderness in his expression. I blink away tears and give him a tiny nod. 

“This is about the guy you told me about?” he asks, tentative. “Was it… it was more than you made it out to be, wasn’t it?” 

I nod again. I don’t trust myself to make words. My heart is racing, and I can feel the panicked beat of it in my throat, choking me. 

“We need to talk about this, at some point. Okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, but I need to know what not to do. I don’t ever want to scare you.” 

“Okay,” I whisper, feeling raw and exposed and so goddamn crazy about him. 

“We don’t have to do that now, though. Just rest. You’re safe with me.” 

2.

 “Good morning, gorgeous,” Sam whispers when I stir. He’s spooned up behind me, one big solid arm around my waist, and I settle myself more comfortably in the cocoon of his embrace. Then I remember. 

“About last night—” I start hesitantly. 

“If you’re going to try to apologize again, stop right there,” he says, and I can hear the wry smile in his voice. “But if you want to talk about it…” 

We didn’t close the curtains, and the morning sun is filtering through the blinds of the motel room, making everything feel clean and bright and fresh. It’s easier like this, too, with my back to Sam. I don’t have to feel his eyes on me. 

“There hasn’t been anyone else, since,” I admit. My voice sounds very small in the quiet of the room. “So… I don’t really know what causes it. Not for sure.”  

Sam exhales slowly, his breath tickling the curve of my neck. “What happened last night, to set it off?” 

“Having you on top of me, I think. It’s not — you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Neither did you. That’s all on him,” Sam says. The faintest hint of a growl in his voice takes me by surprise. “No blame, okay? I’m not going to take it personally. Not ever.” 

“Okay. Um. Feeling… held down, or trapped. And you shouldn’t — don’t grab my wrists?” 

“I can do that. What else?” 

“I think… just, not too rough?” I ask, cheeks burning. “I don’t think I could handle… too much. The first time, at least.” 

“Okay,” he agrees calmly. “And what else? What does work for you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This isn’t about, like, just making it manageable for you,” he says, low and earnest, kissing the curve of my neck. “I want to make you feel good.” 

“Oh,” I say breathlessly. “Oh. Um.” 

I’m suddenly very conscious of his hand splayed over my lower abdomen, his palm warm through the thin cotton of my tank top.  He must feel the way my belly tightens, because he slides his hand a little lower, thumb tucking under the hem and stroking back and forth, tickling deliciously. 

It’s such a light touch, a barely-there brush, but it’s sending sparks down my spine. I wriggle back against Sam, wondering if the sudden crackle of tension in the air is just my imagination. 

“I want to know what gets you off.” Sam’s voice is husky and heated, and my breath hitches. It’s not just my imagination, then. “I want to make you come. It’s not just about… penetration, or whatever.” He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and I wonder if that’s the first time someone has made the word penetration sound sexy. “Do you want me to touch you? Do you want my mouth?” 

I shift, and I can feel him getting hard through his pajama pants. 

“Yeah,” I whisper.  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I want that. Sam… want you.” 

His hand slides lower, until the tips of his pinky and ring finger are dipping under the elastic of my shorts. 

“When you touch yourself,” he says quietly. “What do you do? Can you show me?” 

“I don’t—”

His hand finds mine where it’s curled loosely on the mattress, slides under it so that my palm rests on the back of his, and he laces our fingers together, bringing our joined hands back to my stomach. 

“Can you show me?” he repeats, and the warmth of his hand is burning through my shirt, pooling in my core, making me want like I haven’t wanted another person in a long time. 

“Oh.” I take a deep breath. 

I guide his hand lower, flush against my skin, under my waistband and down until his fingers cup my cunt. When I press my middle finger down against his, he moves with me, one long finger parting my lips and stroking through silky wet heat. He follows my lead, waiting for me, his knuckle bending when mine does, nudging against my entrance. His finger is so much longer than mine. When I curl it, pressing in, it’s him sliding into me, his fingertip, shallow and easy. 

I exhale slowly, not pushing, and he stays, chest rising against my back as he sucks in a deep breath, waiting for my direction. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” he says, low and gravelly. 

“Good.” 

I’m shaky and wet and aching with how much I want him, and I’m not sure where this is going, not sure I’m ready for more than his fingers, but I need him to understand: none of this, none of my hesitation, is because I don’t want him. 

I draw his hand up, showing him where to stroke with one slick fingertip, circling my clit, and I can feel him trembling too, all down my back, his cock hard where it presses against my ass. This torturous drawn-out intensity, the way he’s waiting for me… it’s almost unbearable, but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to move any faster. 

We breathe in sync, both our chests heaving at the same time as the zing of it ripples out through me, and —

Someone bangs on the door. 

“Up and at ‘em!” Dean shouts. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

“Fuck,” I hiss, as Sam lets out a low groan. It takes every bit of my willpower to pull away. When I roll to face him, he’s just as wild-eyed as I feel, flushed and panting and gorgeous. 

We’re both paralyzed for a second, staring at each other, until he lets out a long sigh. 

“Later,” he husks, and it sounds like a promise. 

“Later.” 

3.

Later, when we fall into bed, I’m shaking for a completely different reason. 

It wasn’t a bad hunt, in the end. It’s just one moment that keeps replaying in my memories on a sickening loop. There was so much blood, all down the side of his face and neck, and he went still in a way that made my heart stop for a second. 

Apparently ears bleed a lot. 

I felt a little embarrassed when I saw the injury, a barely-there slice through the cartilage, but I couldn’t shake the sight of all that blood. There’s still traces of it on his skin, dried in his hair. My stomach churns whenever I catch a glimpse of rusty red. 

He pulls the comforter up over us, lying on his uninjured side, and I kiss him, deep and starved, my entire body vibrating with the tension of lingering adrenaline, like my skin is sparking up with the reminder that we’re still alive and we should enjoy it while we can. 

I can feel it in his muscles, too, the way he’s holding back, holding himself stiff like he has to restrain himself. He rolls onto his back and takes me with him, arms strong around me, body warm and ready under me. 

I choke on a quiet sob, trying to hold it in.

Sam freezes, big hands cupping my cheeks as he breaks the kiss. He looks at me, eyes deep green-gold in the lamplight. 

“It’s not — it’s not that. You scared me.” 

“I know,” he says. “I know. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

“Want you,” I say fiercely, watching the way his swollen-red lips twitch into a bittersweet smile. 

“Not like this,” he says. “Not when you’re already on edge. If your fight or flight system is still all revved up…” 

He’s right, but I hate it. He brushes hair back from my forehead and kisses me again, chaste and quick. 

“Okay,” I whisper, against his mouth. “Just… god, you scared me, Sam.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and I kiss one corner of his mouth, then the other. 

“I need a shower,” he says. 

I frown, feeling childish as I confess, “I don’t want to be alone.” 

“I didn’t mean — come with me,” he suggests. “Shower with me. Not — no sex.” 

I raise an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Really?”

“You don’t have to,” he backtracks gently. “If you’re not ready to—” 

“Sam, I’ve wanted to see you naked since I met you,” I say flatly. “Believe me, that is not the problem.” 

He laughs, dimples flashing as he grins up at me. “Then… yeah. Come shower with me. I don’t want to let you out of my sight either.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

He only turns on half the bathroom lights, keeping it dim. The harsh fluorescents would be too much. It’s easier to pull my shirt off when I feel like I can still hide in the shadows. 

I try not to stare as he strips down matter-of-factly and steps in, but it’s not easy. It’s not easy to look at myself, either, when I compare my body to Sam’s. I get my clothes off before I can talk myself out of it, tripping clumsily out of my jeans. 

He must see something different than I do when I look at myself, because the way he stares at me when I step into the shower… he looks at me like he never wants to stop looking. 

I’ve never felt like this before, shaky and vulnerable and open but in a good way, because somehow I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling like this. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust Sam. That trust is what stops me from covering myself with my hands, stops me from doubting myself as I step under the spray with him and stand up on my tiptoes for a kiss. 

One kiss turns into more, syrupy-slow, water streaming down our skin as we melt into each other. Sam licks and sucks and nibbles at my mouth until my lips feel puffy and bruised. I adjust, slowly, to the feel of his body against mine, the way my soft curves mold to the muscled planes of his chest, the way his cock twitches against my stomach as he gets hard, and even though I can feel the length of him hot and heavy between us, he doesn’t press for more; he kisses me like this is all he’s ever wanted to do. 

By the time he pulls away, I’m light-headed. He looks down at me with water beading in his spiky eyelashes, and he smiles. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, and somehow, I believe him. 

I don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He grabs his shampoo from the edge of the tub and turns me around, my back to his chest. 

He massages little sudsy circles into my scalp and combs his fingers gently through the tangles. He shields my eyes when it’s time to rinse, tilting my chin back gently into the spray. Nobody’s done this for me since I was a child. It makes me feel innocent and serene and fucking treasured, the way he takes care of me. 

Sex has always felt like the height of intimacy to me. I always feel vulnerable, like that’s the closest I can get to another person, the most exposed. 

Sam’s fingers in my hair feel like a better expression of trust than anything I’ve ever done in bed. Sex has never felt this intimate. I’m not sure anything has ever felt this intimate. 

Everything starts to fade, the leftover adrenaline draining out of me, the outside world ceasing to matter. It’s just Sam and me, completely bare, wrapped in our little steamy cocoon. I feel safe. I feel exhausted, heavy-eyed and heavy-limbed, muscles aching, but I don’t feel pressured and I don’t feel nervous. I just feel safe. 

4.

Maybe it’s the booze talking, but I want to lick Sam’s arms. 

He’s stretched out over the pool table as he lines up his shot, eyes laser-focused, hands curled around the cue. He has his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and I can see veins standing out under the skin, corded muscles rippling, bunching and shifting with every twist of his wrist. 

Yeah. I want to lick Sam’s arms. 

Dean spits out a sip of his beer, spluttering out a vehement, “Ew, I don’t want to hear that shit!”  

So apparently I said that out loud. 

Dean stalks away, muttering to himself, and I chirp a quick “Sorry!” to his retreating back. 

He’ll get over it. 

Sam’s done with his game, and he’s walking toward me, grinning in that slow easy way of his as he tucks his hair behind his ears. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I can’t handle not touching him any more. 

“Can we get some air?” I ask breathlessly, and his eyes sparkle with amusement as he lets me tug him outside. 

There are a couple people smoking by the door, so I pull him farther away, down to the end of the building, where a tacky wooden statue of a bear stands between us and the door. It’s close enough to privacy. 

Sam slouches back against the brick, and I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him, leaning against him and trusting him to keep me upright. He goes with it, opening up for me as I take control of the kiss, his lips pillowy, and I can feel him smile. 

“What was that for?” he asks, when I give him a second to breathe. I nuzzle into the side of his neck and nip at his pulse, and his fingers tighten on my hips. 

“Just want you,” I say bluntly. I kiss him again, a deep filthy kiss that I can feel down to my toes. “I was watching you, and… yeah. Want you. Can we go back to the motel?” 

“You’re drunk,” he says, mock-admonishing, but he’s still smiling. 

“‘M not drunk, you’re drunk,” I mumble sulkily. 

“Yep,” he says, popping the P, and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay,” I concede. “Tipsy, maybe.” 

“Which is still too drunk,” Sam says gently. 

I let out a tiny frustrated sound as he kisses me again. “Fine.” 

He laughs, shifting his weight, getting one knee between mine, and when I settle closer, I can feel the blunt pressure of his thigh right between my legs. 

“Believe me,” he whispers, between kisses, “I would really, really love to take you back to the motel right now but… it’s not a good idea.” He shifts, and I whine at the friction. “I’m not going to have sex with you tonight. I want us both to be sober for that. When we get there… I want to remember every second of it.” 

“Kinda worried I’m gonna combust before then.” The drag of denim on denim pulls at the seam of my jeans, almost painfully good, and I shiver. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, like he didn’t realize that he was torturing me. He rocks forward experimentally. It feels like fireworks. 

“Don’t oh me,” I grump, except it comes out more breathless than grumpy. 

“It’ll be worth the wait,” he whispers. “Don’t want to rush it. Want to take my time with you. I want to watch you come for me, want to taste it —” 

I whimper, rolling my hips helplessly, clinging to Sam so tight that my fingers must be bruising his biceps. 

“Do you like thinking about that?” he asks, growling low against my ear. “My mouth?” 

“Please,” I bite out. “Fuck, Sam, I need — something. Anything.” I tilt my hips down again, trying to make my point. 

He hesitates for a split second before rocking up to meet me, and I let out a ragged sigh. 

“I won’t — not tonight, not more than this,” he says hoarsely, stumbling over the words. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as he asks intently, “Are you sure this is okay right now? If you really want —”

“Please,” I say again. I meet his eyes, embarrassed by how much I want him but steady in spite of it. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol making me feel like this, loose and relaxed and reckless, or maybe it’s just Sam, the way he’s letting me take the lead, the way he groans when I shudder against him, the way I trust him with my life and trust him enough to let him see me fall apart like this. 

And I am falling apart. I work my hips in little circles, feeling the dull burn of it clench in my gut with every tiny movement, pushing myself closer to the edge. 

Sam just lets me, chest heaving, murmuring filthy-sweet things in my ear: “I’m all yours. Anything. Don’t care how long I have to wait, just — want to make you feel good. Want you on top of me, want you to just — ride my mouth, rub yourself all over my tongue, want —” 

I let out a tiny, bitten-off whimper, hiding my face against his shoulder. My muscles spasm as I come, jerking against him, feeling it thud through me all at once like a punch to the gut. 

I’m almost surprised by it, and by the wave of relief that washes through me. It’s not the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, but it’s the easiest by far. I never realized I could get off like that. 

Then again, any experience I’ve ever had with dry-humping was with the guy on top of me, hipbones bruising my thighs, and… yeah. No thank you. 

“Jesus,” Sam breathes, arms around me, supporting my weight as I collect myself.

“That was… unexpected,” I blurt out, and I giggle helplessly as I pull back to look at him. He grins back, and there’s something so dazed and beautiful in his expression that I lose my breath all over again. 

“I —” Sam starts, but he catches himself, shutting his mouth abruptly.

I’m falling in love with you, I think, heart pounding, but I know I can’t say it now, can’t say it like this. 

Sam and I look at each other in silence for a second, and then the moment passes. I flush, self-conscious, an apology on the tip of my tongue. 

“Don’t apologize, that was one of the hottest things that’s ever happened to me,” Sam says preemptively, before I can form the words. “You should go inside, before Dean comes looking for us. Just… give me a second?” He adjusts himself in his jeans, making a face, and I giggle. 

“See you in there.” 

5.

“That was easy,” Dean comments, as we buckle our seatbelts. “Where to next? Sammy, did you find anything in the paper this morning?” 

“Actually,” Sam says. “I could really use an evening off. Can we grab some food and go back to the motel and just… chill for the night?” 

He and Dean exchange one of those Winchester looks that don’t mean anything to anyone else but the two of them. 

“Sure,” Dean says easily. Sam smiles at me in the rearview, and I think, oh. 

My brain is my worst enemy. By the time we pull into the motel lot, I’m panicking, and I’m not even sure why. 

Sam’s laughing at something Dean just said, bathed in gold late-afternoon light, and he’s incredible, and I should want nothing more than to get him in our room and jump him, but my chest feels tight and I’m convinced that I’ll freeze up, freak out, mess it all up, and he’ll give up, he’s already been so patient — 

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks. The driver’s side door slams behind Dean, breaking me out of my trance. 

“Fine,” I say, too brightly. “I’m fine.” 

He studies me for a second, head tilted, and I try to smile at him. It doesn’t work. 

“I’m not fine,” I amend, and feel my face crumple. 

“Hang on one sec?” Sam asks, and I take a second to compose myself as he jumps out of the car. He and Dean have a whispered powwow and then Sam returns, key in hand, sliding into the driver’s seat. 

“Come sit up front,” he says easily, without explanation. “Let’s go for a drive.” 

“We can —” I try, but he cuts me off. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like there’s pressure,” he says firmly. “I just want to spend time with you. Let’s just… go for a drive.” 

So that’s what we do. When we leave the strip mall hell that surrounds the motel, Sam gets off the highway and we’re in the woods, driving up a winding mountain road. Sam seems to know where he’s headed; he mutters “Think it’s around here somewhere,” at one point, and then eventually he turns onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. 

He drives slow, easing into the sharp curves. I can breathe again. It’s hard to feel panicky out here, up in the open air, close to the pink-tinted sky. When the trees open up there are views of sprawling valleys, just starting to turn orange and yellow in the first hints of fall. 

There’s a wide pull-off for a scenic overlook, “Rocky Knob,” and Sam parks. The sun is setting behind us and the clouds are lined in deep pink now. 

Sam spreads his coat out on the scratchy grass, right in front of Baby, and we sit next to each other, watching in easy silence as the light fades and dusk falls. 

“Thank you,” I say quietly, tilting my head onto his shoulder. He slips an arm around me and I shift, turning to settle more comfortably against his side. A sliver of moon is just visible on the horizon. 

“You know you don’t —” he starts. His voice sounds choked and strange. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I just like seeing you happy. That’s more important to me than… any of the rest of it.” 

“Thank you,” I repeat, firmly, and he lets out a laugh that’s more of a sigh. 

I twist to kiss him, intending to make it a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, but he turns to meet me, tongue flickering over my lower lip, teeth scraping ever so carefully. One hand finds my cheek, and his fingers are so long that I feel dwarfed by the way they cradle and caress and pull me closer. 

I crawl into his lap, straddling him. He has one hand on the small of my back and the other between my shoulderblades, steadying me. I trace the hard lines of bones under skin, running my fingers along the jut of his jaw and stroking the hinge of it with my thumb, sliding the other hand back to cup the shape of his skull, and for all his size and strength he feels fragile under my fingers. I brush over his pulse and rub the soft hollow behind his ear, and I can feel how fragile this is, this thing between us and the way it makes him shake when he breathes. 

We’re both shaking, I realize, as I rest my forehead against his. The tip of my nose nudges against his. The curve of his lower lip brushes mine, barely, not intentional enough to be a kiss, just… close. 

Not close enough. Never close enough. 

“Sam,” I start, voice wobbling dangerously, but I don’t even know where to begin. His fingers twist in the back of my shirt, fisted in the fabric like he’s afraid to let go. He exhales — inhales — trembles. 

Somehow I never considered that I might not be the only one here who’s scared. 

I kiss him one more time, trying to tell him how I feel even if I can’t say the words yet, and then I pull away to look at him. His eyes catch and reflect the moonlight, glittering in the dark. 

“Let’s go,” I say, and my voice isn’t shaking any more. 

6.

Sam’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to do with himself once the motel room door clicks shut behind us; he turns the desk lamp on and just stands there, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight uncomfortably. 

“We could watch a movie?” he offers. His hesitation makes it easier, somehow, to take the lead; I go up to him and tug at the hem of his shirt as I kiss his jaw. 

“I don’t want to watch a movie,” I say firmly. I slide my hands under his shirt and run my thumbs over the ridges of his hipbones. “Take this off?” 

He strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, smiling, shy and happy. 

We kiss and shed layers and kiss again, stumbling back toward the bed. When the backs of my legs hit the mattress, we’re down to our underwear, and even though I’ve seen Sam naked, now, the sight of him takes me by surprise. It doesn’t seem fair, how beautiful he is. All the bare golden skin throws me off-balance. 

He moves slowly into my space, running his hands up my arms to cup my shoulders, and when he kisses me, my head spins. I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling clumsy and stupid. Sam just folds to his knees in front of me, smiling up at me patiently. 

“Can I?” he asks softly. He runs his hands up my legs and hooks his fingers in the elastic of my panties. When I nod, he tugs, and I lift my hips to let him slide the fabric down until it’s out of the way. 

He moves closer, kneeling between my spread legs. He doesn’t look shy any more. He looks hungry, pupils huge in kaleidoscope blue-gold irises as he watches me through his lashes. 

I nod again, silently giving him permission, and his lips curl into a smile. Sam hooks his hands under my thighs and pulls me forward, until I’m right on the edge of the bed. 

“Give me your hand?” he asks, and when I do, he brings it to his head, tangling my fingers through his silky hair. I lean on my other hand to brace myself and the position opens me up for him even more. “You’re in charge,” he reminds me. 

The first lick is slow, just a smooth wet curl of heat tracing up my center, good in a way that’s easy and sweet even if it’s not the ‘god more now’ kind of pleasure. I run my fingers through Sam’s hair idly, trying to relax. He does it again, dipping down and dragging up, before swirling his tongue over my clit, and the friction coils up and rolls out through my core. The next lush swipe of his tongue has more pressure behind it, and he lingers on my clit, flattening his tongue, massaging. I let out a little sigh, and he hums approvingly. 

“Want you to tell me what feels good, okay?” he asks, mouthing at the crease of my hip. “Or show me. Hold me where you want me.” 

How does he just say those things? 

Sam buries his face between my legs again, not just licking but working me over with his open mouth pressed to my cunt like he’s kissing me. He gets my clit between his lips and sucks gently, and it’s so good that I tug him closer helplessly, giving in to the pleasure before I even have a chance to hold back. 

“Sorry,” I gasp, relaxing my grip when I realize how hard I’m pulling. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to —” 

“I like it,” Sam growls, the words vibrating right up against me. Then he’s doing that thing again, slick pulsing pressure, and I give in, twisting my fingers in his hair and tilting my hips up to meet his mouth as my eyes roll back in my head. He moans low in his throat.

Every wave of suction feels more intense. It’s sharp and bright and perfect, building so fast I’m not sure what to do with myself; all I can do is hold on and arch up and shudder. I can feel it pulling up from my fingers, my toes, an inevitable swell of pressure under my skin until the wave of it finally crests and I come with a shout, long and drawn-out, one shock of pleasure after another. 

“Fucking — fuck, Sam,” I whine, my voice coming out embarrassingly high-pitched and cracked. He flicks his tongue over me again and I twitch, jerking away from the raw-nerve feel of it. 

When I drag my eyes open he’s looking up at me, smiling, a dimple just visible as he turns his head to kiss my inner thigh. 

The fuck am I supposed to say to that? 

Apparently I can’t say anything to that. I think my brain has gone permanently offline. 

Sam sort of scoops me up and deposits me farther back on the bed, where I’m not at risk of falling down on my ass, and I grin dazedly as he stands up. His mouth is red and swollen and it looks like sin. 

“Still with me?” he asks, and I nod. “Be right back.”  

I scoot back until I can get under the blanket and sink into the pillows. I hear Sam rummaging in his shower kit, then the water running, but I don’t have the mental capacity to pay attention. My eyes are half-closed by the time he comes back. 

He sets a bottle of lube down on the nightstand and I avert my eyes uncomfortably, taking the glass of water he offers before he slides into bed next to me. 

“Why did that just make you get all shy?” he asks softly, correctly interpreting my expression. I shrug and twist away to set the glass down, but when I turn back to him, he’s still waiting for an answer. 

I cuddle close, tucking my head under his chin, listening to him breathe for a moment. He’s naked, hard against my hip, and I’m almost surprised by the way my body responds to that; my stomach flips, hot and eager, in spite of my racing thoughts. 

“It’s like… all of this,” I say hoarsely. “It just makes me feel like I’m being a pain in the ass. Because it’s supposed to be simpler than this. It means I’m not wet enough, and… I want you, and that should be the only thing that matters, and instead we have to go through this whole process of talking about my issues and… it’s supposed to be easier than this, and it’s my fault.” 

Sam is very still, muscles stiff, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s angry. 

“It’s not ‘supposed to’ be anything other than good for you,” he says sharply. “Look at me for a second.” 

I pull back, taking in the fierce, raw expression on his face. My chest feels tight. 

“Everybody’s different,” Sam says, quiet and intense. “Everybody has shit they like and don’t like, places they like being touched… it’s not an issue, and it’s especially not your issue. You’re not being difficult by telling me how to help you enjoy yourself. I want that. I want to know how to make you feel good. Okay?” 

“Okay,” I whisper. 

“And if I ever meet any of your exes —” he says, jaw clenching, eyes stormy. I let out a nervous little giggle, and his expression melts from thunderous to soft before he continues, “It makes me happy knowing that you feel safe. It’s hot, watching you get off on it… your reaction is what turns me on more than anything.” 

My stomach swoops. I slide closer, running a thumb over the soft swollen curve of his lower lip. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice dropping down low. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He rubs his palm over the curve of my hip like he can’t get enough of my bare skin. “When you were pulling my hair and just — the way you were shaking —” 

I cut him off with a kiss, melding my body to his, and he smiles against my mouth before opening up easily, kissing me back with these slow, sultry swipes of his tongue. I can feel him everywhere: bare all down my front, hands roaming like he can’t help himself, close and feverish under the blanket. I push it down, shivering at the cool air on my sweaty skin. 

When I tangle a hand in his hair and tug slightly, Sam makes a gorgeous needy sound, and his cock twitches, hard and thick against my stomach. I push him onto his back and he goes easily, pliant under me, looking up with a flush on his cheeks and a smile on his lips as I straddle him. For a moment I feel paralyzed by the sight of him. The moment stretches and I just stare. 

Sam runs his hands up my hips, sliding one hand up between my breasts before tracing the curve of one with his knuckles, dragging his thumb over my nipple and circling as the skin pebbles under his touch. My shivery sigh of pleasure breaks whatever spell we were under. 

I duck down to kiss him again, and the movement presses the ridge of his cock right between my legs, silky skin hot where it slots up against me. When I roll my hips, we both groan. 

I reach for the lube. His smile goes smirky at the edges. 

“If you say ‘I told you so’ right now, I swear to god —” I blurt out, and we’re both laughing as I touch him, slicking him up messily. 

It’s the laughter that erases the last of my doubts. My nervous giggle bursts like a bubble in my chest, releasing whatever tension I was holding there. I just feel light and giddy and happy as I wipe my hand on the blankets and position myself. 

Then I’m sinking down, opening up around him, and the sudden aching stretch turns my laugh into a breathy moan. Sam is watching me as I work my hips down, taking him in. His eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

I understand, now, what Sam meant: your reaction is what turns me on. Because if I’d wanted him before, it was nothing compared to how I feel now. He tilts his head back, arching up and exposing his throat, tendons shifting under the skin as he strains under me and gasps out my name, and the clenching wave of need in my belly is blinding. 

Fuck. 

I shift, lean forward, sparking up some new kind of friction deep inside where I’m so full of him, and I’m whimpering as I kiss him gently. 

“Okay?” he asks. I cup a hand to his jaw and he brings his own up to cover it, an oddly tender gesture. 

“So much better than okay,” I tell him. It’s the truth. 

I take it slow. We kiss, mouths clumsy with need, and I take it slow. 

It takes a few minutes to adjust to his size. I rock my hips in tiny little movements, circling, twisting, feeling all the different ways there are to just feel him. Every movement brings some new sort of sensation as he drags against every sweet spot deep inside me. 

I’m barely moving. I know he must want to fuck up into me, thrust, but he holds back, holds himself steady, lets me take what I need while he whispers sweet bits of nonsense against my lips. He tells me I’m beautiful, tells me I feel incredible, tells me I’m safe, and I trust him. 

Then I grind down harder, and something flares up inside me, quivering out from where his cock is pressing deep in my belly. I do it again. The low dull throb of it has me trembling, panting against his mouth as I brace myself to get more, harder, clenching around him desperately. 

Sam slides a hand down between us, flattening his palm over that spot, and I can feel the pressure building right there, but I need more. 

“Sit up for me?” he asks raggedly. “Lean back, it’ll —” 

He grits his teeth and cuts himself off, but I do it without questioning, sitting back on my heels and bracing my hands behind me. I would feel exposed if I wasn’t distracted by how good this feels. I’m barely moving, still, but Sam presses his palm down and tilts his hips up, and it’s like I can feel the molten force of it everywhere, like it’s going to split my skin. 

Sam looks as close to the edge as I feel, eyes glazed, and I can feel him jerking up to meet me. 

“Do it,” I hiss, and when he thrusts up for real, the surge of pressure makes me cry out, loud and shameless like I never am. 

One last urgent grinding roll, one last surge of pressure, and I’m gone. I let my head fall back and let go, trusting Sam to keep me tethered to the earth as everything else goes brilliant white and sends me flying. 

I’m distantly aware of the way he curses and twists up, the way he swells and twitches inside me, but there’s so much sensation that I can’t separate what’s him and what’s me; it’s all just one hot slick rhythmic pulsing rush as we ride it out, together. 

When I start to go shaky and useless, Sam tugs me so that I flop forward onto his chest. I melt against him, face buried in the sweaty crook of his neck, skin thrumming with satisfaction. I kiss whatever bit of him is close to my mouth, and he tastes like salt. 

“So that’s what that’s supposed to feel like,” I mumble. 

“I don’t think it’s ever felt like that, with anyone,” Sam says quietly, like he’s telling me a secret. “But… I’ve never felt this way about anyone, so.” 

I can tell he’s holding his breath. I put my palm on his chest. His heart is pounding, racing in counterpoint to mine, and I want to tell him that he’s safe; he can trust me with this. 

“Me too,” I whisper, and he exhales. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or leave me a message? It means the world. 

Thanks for reading. 

[wlwloverwrites]

Third Party

Pairing: Sub!Emily Prentiss x Dom!Reader x Sub!Aaron Hotchner

Warnings: porn without plot, threesome, voyeurism, oral(male & female receiving), small mention of subspace, smut(18+)

Summary: You offer Hotch to be the third party with you being the host.

A follow up to this > Part I

Main Masterlist

DO NOT STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS ON ANY OTHER PLATFORMS. NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO DO SO

“You like him watching, Em?”

All the woman beneath you can do is moan each time she saw white. Your three fingers curled inside her hitting her sweet spot repeatedly. Emily’s dark hair was beginning to stick to her forehead as her body began to melt with your touch along with the extra set of eyes on her.

Hotch is sitting in the corner of bedroom, his tie is resting on his thigh and his white button up had the first three buttons undone. His hand resting above his bulge, massaging his throbbing cock. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sinful sight in front of him.

Your lips are teasing Emily’s naked skin as your right hand disappeared between her shaky thighs once more. He would see how responsive the submissive woman was when it came to your voice. Each praise you gave made her whimper with a small nod.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

You hum in approval, squeezing the woman’s jaw with your hand, her lips are puckered as she does nothing to pull away from your harsh grip. Your tongue darts out to lick the agent’s lips. The act is exotic causing Emily’s thighs to clench together. Moaning into your mouth when your teeth capture her bottom lip and pull.

Emily moans when you use your thumb to rub her neglected clit. The pressure on her clit mixed with the fullness her felt made her whine. Her walls clench repeatedly on your fingers, her wetness soaking them. Her whiney moans become louder and her need to come becomes larger. 

“Ma’am, please. May I come?” 

Instead of torturing her you nod while peeling her soaked through panties away from her legs. Lowering your head between her thighs, replacing your thumb with your tongue. Licking up her slick and sucking her clit into your mouth. Smirking against her pussy when her thighs shaking around your head. Your name falls from her lips as her juices spill onto your tongue and fingers. Pulling away when Emily flinches away from your touch. Her thighs close around your head when you press a gentle kiss on her sensitive clit. 

“Aaron, come look at my girl.” you say aloud, tilting your head towards the tired and blissed out woman as your use the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. Still, she’s ready for anything the both other agents were willing to give her. Well, more what you decided what to give her. 

The man shuffles to stand, his hard-on is digging into his zipper. His leaking tip wetting his underwear did nothing but make his zipper hurt him more. He could almost come in his pants when he finally gets a good look at Emily.

Her lips are swollen, given you had just kissed the living hell out of her. If Hotch looked hard enough he could see the outline of your handprint on her flushed cheeks. He sneaks a look between her legs, admiring the way her pussy was soaked and puffy, 

“She’s so pretty, right Aaron?”

“So pretty.” Hotch’s eyes are stuck on Emily’s body, drinking in her naked breasts. It taking everything in him to not reach out, tug on her nipples, and kiss her. But he had to wait for your orders. 

His attention is drawn to you when you grab his jaw and lean to kiss him. The kiss is messy and makes him groan and all Emily could do was watch. His heart races as you took complete control of the kiss. He flinches when you dig your teeth into his lip, you snicker in return. Licking his cheek, covering him with your saliva, everything is so messy and wet. The man’s eyes flutter shut when you press soft kisses onto his jaw, leading up to his ear. 

“She’ll look prettier sucking your cock.” Hotch is blown away from your words and lips, his eyes are fluttered shut once more as his body refuses to move. Almost as if they were opposites, Emily scrambled onto her knees, bouncing on her heels in front of Hotch.

“Good girl,” you praise her while looking down at the woman eager for her mouth to be full, practically drooling onto her chest. You knew if you wanted you could leave her in this position until her chest was dripping with her drool. But that would have to be saved for next time. 

“Take ‘em off for him.” You hold in a giggle as Emily practically rips off Aaron’s pants. Her eyes are wide when his cock stands in front of her face, stiff and leaking with precome. 

“Ready, baby?” 

Hotch blushes at the use of the nickname, such a sweet and endearing tone that urge him to do such nasty things. First, flirtingly luring him in to your share bedroom and now shove his dick into your girl’s mouth. He should feel guilty at his lack of self control by his skin tingles from your touch and command. 

“Ready.”

“Go ahead.”

The man listens and slowly pushes himself into Emily’s mouth. Groaning at the feeling of her warm and wet mouth. So perfect. The pleasure distracts him as you unbutton the last few bottom of his shirt, tugging off the white material. 

Carefully he thrust his hips, eyes rolling back when the woman beneath him takes more of him in. His aching tip is dripping precome onto her tongue. The exotic sight makes Hotch let out a needy whine. He’s slipping and you know it. 

Whispering sweet words into his ear as Emily bobs her head up and down on his dick. The filth of it all makes him blush, your short nails leaving angry marks on his chest and Emily gags on his cock. Groaning as he feels the back of Emily’s throat. 

“Please, can I come?” Hotch begs for permission. His begs are broken and needy. He needs you to tell him it’s okay. That you allow it. “Please-”

“Mhmm, I’ll think about it, baby. Hold it for now.” You hiss while running your fingers through his dark hair. You almost laugh when he cries out then fixes himself and nods, thanking you. 

You attention is now on your girlfriend. Her eyes met yours and she swore she could come from just your stare. She’s ruined while you're perfectly clean. Bold makeup left untouched, while hers is running. Such a gorgeous lady, she is. Smudge red lips, running down mascara, and tears shinning so pretty. 

Teasingly you send her a playful wink and she flushes, even with her mouth so full and soaked folds, she blushes red at the small act of affection. Determine to have your eyes on hers she puts on a show. Bringing her hand to help reach what she couldn't fix into her mouth. Sucking harshly on Aaron’s tip, the sudden action cause his thighs to shake and him to moan her name. 

“You can come, baby.”

Aaron groans loudly when he spills everything he has to offer down Emily’s throat. His salty yet manly taste makes Emily hum. Aaron’s eyes are heavy and filled with lust, his lips are parted and he craves for your touch. He falling into a dream state, a dream where he lives to serve you, submit to you. 

“Baby.” A soft voice calls, your soft voice, calling back Hotch from his sleepy and safe mind. Rubbing his back with a soothing touch. 

“I’m sorry, I don't know what happened.”

“It’s okay, why don't you sit this one out?” You tell him calming, leaving no space for judgement, taking in how sensitive he began. He nods as he plopped down on the chair he sat in earlier. “You can watch, huh?”

reblog please :)

[skellebonez]

(kicks door down) INVERTED AU WITH PROMPT 72, SPECIFICALLY WITH MK

I’m not going to write out the ENTIRE TikTok so just. Watch an enjoy the madness that is B Dylan Hollis. It will make this fill so much more entertaining.

Don’t you dare.

Had it not been even a few weeks ago things would be almost completely on their normal “regular day with no special plans” schedule. Wake up, work, hang out with Pigsy and Tang, get Mei to have some fun, run off to Mount Huaguo for training with Sun Wukong, make sure the immortal Monkey King is taking care of himself, go home and sleep (a few gaps between each in case he needed to chuck a water bottle or granola bar at any of his friends and make sure they weren’t overworking themselves and if he came across anyone who needed his special brand of, as Macaque once called it, “aggressive self care affection”).

But no. Oh no. This was not a few weeks ago.

This was now, not even a month after the Lunar New Year Festival. Not even a month after he was finally introduced to the rest of Spider Queen’s family- plus one not so accidental addition who had decided it would be a fantastic idea to experiment on himself for funsies and “oops all spiders”.

Said addition stood, or rather half stood and half reclined on the mechnical legs protruding from his back, diligently typing away at his computer. The same computer he hadn’t stepped away from except to take a shower earlier in the day.

17 hours ago.

“Syntax,” MK said with the most gentle warning tone he could muster... which, to anyone unfamiliar with MK would sound like he spoke the human turned spider demon’s name like a threat. “Please tell me you have eaten more than a single calorie bar today.”

“I have eaten more than a single calorie bar today,” the scientist assured with a barely thrown over his shoulder smile in the younger man’s direction.

“Ok g-”

“I ate 2.”

The proud look on Syntax's face, as if he had figured out the loophole to end all loopholes, was a stark contrast to MK's expression of angry horror.

"You can't just eat TWO CALORIE BARS, Syntax!" He shouted, grabbing the scientist by his lab coat sleeve before starting to drag him out of the laboratory. If anyone was there to witness this they would find this feat impressive given how Syntax dug his mechanical legs into the floor in protest.

"I have survived on these so far and I will conti-"

"Survived, yeah, as a human," MK noted as he realized the other was simply allowing him to lead him along without a fight in the least. "But you're a spider demon... cyborg... guy now, you need more sustenance than that. And you needed more before!"

"3 bars?"

"NO MORE OF THE FUCKING BARS!"

The moment Syntax shrunk back in reaction to MK’s yelling the Monkie Kid took his chance and gripped the scientist’s sides and tossed the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before breaking out into a sprint down the halls of Spider Queen’s lair.

“Don’t you dare!” Syntax yelped, attempting to free his arms or move his spider legs but gave up on the later and instead retracted them out of fear he might accidentally harm his captor. “I have work to finish, young man!”

“You can’t finish if you die of malnutrition, I’m teaching you how to cook!”

As they ran toward the entrance they passed Spider Queen who, upon realizing what was happening, gave them a calm wave and a smile.

“Make sure to have him back in time for you to get home before dark, MK!”

“EVEN MY QUEEN IS BETRAYING ME!”

~

Syntax eventually gave in. After all, despite his new enhancements he was still no match for the sheer strength of the Monkey King himself in the hands of a very determined young man with a hard line stance on self care.

And somehow this man decided he should be deposited in... his kitchen.

In front of a phone set up like... a camera.

Huh.

“Uh-”

“Hold that thought!” MK said, positioning Syntax just out of sight as he grabbed a cook book and hit record. “A bean PIE from the 1920s! Today we’re doing something different-” he reached over and grabbed Syntax’s arm, pulling him into frame without even a single change in his expression. “Today I have an assistant because SOMEONE doesn’t know how to EAT NUTRITION and needs more Vitamin B.”

As he let go of the scientist’s arm he turned to him, face as serious as a miscalculated formula when a project was due in 1 hour.

“OK, you’re the science dude. Let me tell you something from experience,” MK grabbed the cook book, holding it up. “Cooking IS science. And this science insists that BEANS can be made into a PIE which I think is bullshit and I am going to prove on camera. Until you learn how to eat things that aren’t instant bars, you are going to join me on my cooking science experiments. Understood?”

Truth me told, Syntax didn’t see the appeal in cooking. It was far too much hassle for something as basic as nutritional supplements you could acquire from far easier means that did not involve making a mess you had to clean up later... but...

The idea that cooking could be a science... that he had never considered before. And MK seemed to be pretty well convinced that he was correct in this assertion. This was part of why Syntax had, for a while now, considered reaching out to him with an offer of becoming his assistant. His tenacity and determination was something that was a great asset in the field of scientific discovery after all! And well...

If making a weird pie could get him into the young man’s good graces...

“Where do we start?”

~

MK held up a bowl of beans to the camera. “Now these took a long bath last night-” he turned to Syntax. “-I’ll splice in some footage from earlier here later-TIME TO COOK EM!”

~

“The pot,” Syntax noted, pointing to the pot on MK’s stove that had begun to over boil.

“AAGH!” MK yelped, sliding over from where he was grabbing his mixer. “BEAN REBELLION!”

~

“Eggie,” MK chuckled out, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl with the rest of the ingredients.

“How many eggs does it call for?” Syntax asked, trying to make sense out of the madness he was being witness to.

“How many? I don’t know, it just says EGGS.” MK gestured to the cookbook before them as if it has just insulted Pigsy himself to MK’s face.

~

“FORE!” MK yelled, closing his eyes and turning on the blender as Syntax held a frying pan in front of himself in preparation for disaster.

And disaster came... just not in the way either expected, as the blender sputtered and just.... stopped.

“... did you just kill my blender?” MK turned the knob on it, shaking it and tapping it gently. “HELLO?”

He shook it harder, twisting and turning the knob on the front wildly before he broke down into laughter. “THE BEANS KILLED MY BLENDER.” MK crossed his arms on the counter, laying his head down on them as he devolved into equally amused and annoyed cackles. “This has never happened before, how the hell!?”

“Well...” Syntax looked around, finding an induction blender sitting half buried on the opposite side of the counter. “Will this work?”

~

Finally. After waiting for the pie to bake. It was done.

A piece sat on a plate before both men, looking both intimidating and somehow delectable at the same time. But both were well away this concoction was primarily sugar, cinnamon, and BEANS. They looked at each other for a moment before nodding, each taking a fork full of the pit before shoving it into their mouths expecting the worst.

MK looked at Syntax as they chewed. Then the camera. Then he started to laugh through his bite as Syntax’s face went on a journey from “this tastes good” to “HOW THE FUCK DOES THIS TASTE GOOD”.

“Nothing makes sense anymore,” he moaned, gesturing to the pie slice before him as he began to laugh in disbelief.

“WHY ARE YOU GOOD?” Syntax asked, shaking his plate slightly. “You have a bag of BEANS in you!”

MK laughed harder, needing to put his plate on the counter as he needed to hold his sides from the pain of trying not to laugh louder than he was.

“This is like if tomato soup made a cake that tasted like chocolate!”

“I-It!” MK wheezed, holding up one hand to get the scientist’s attention. “It has!”

“I’M SORRY- WHAT!?”

~

“Yes? Oh, that’s fine dear! Yes, as long as he has somewhere to sleep and I know where he is- ... yes, we would love to try some when you escort him home tomorrow! Thank you, take care now,” Spider Queen said, smiling as she hung up the cell phone that Pigsy and Tang had no kindly helped her acquire.

“So, uh...” Huntsman asked, rubbing the back of his neck in concern and confusion. “What’s up?”

“Syntax will be spending the evening with MK!” She announced, smiling wide. “He’s taken up an interest in baking, apparently. Something about needing to unlock the secrets of tomato soup and beans.”

[stealingpotatoes]

The Thorns of the Crown

ao3 link

summary: After everything Corvo’s family has been through in the past six months, he’s not so sure the throne is worth it all. (Emily doesn’t take the throne back au)

--

The Loyalists had been fools to think they could kill him and take his daughter, and still get away with it.

Corvo had silently fought his way through the Lighthouse, putting guards to sleep as he forced his way to the very top, where he knew his would-be murderers were. Where he knew Emily’s now-captors were.

He entered the foyer of the highest part of the Lighthouse as quietly as a ghost, and was immediately met with the grotesque sight of a golden statue of Hiram Burrows, standing proudly in the middle of the golden-gilded room. It was ironic to lay eyes on the false sight of the traitor Corvo had defeated, while on his way to deal with the very traitors that had ordered him to do it. The Loyalists had not learnt from the mistakes of those before them, it seemed.

A grand staircase wound around the circular walls that surrounded the beastly statue, leading to a room above. That was where they had to be.

I’m coming Em.

Corvo lifted his mask off as he quietly ascended the winding stairs. There was no point of hiding behind the face of Death; the Loyalists knew who he was. Or, at least they thought they did.

Corvo finally drew up to the entrance to the war room, and put his back to the wall beside a bust of Burrows. With a deep breath in, he channeled the Void through his hand, and watched the world shift into muted reds.

He looked over his shoulder, through the wall.

There were only two yellow shapes -- two men -- in the room ahead. Not guarding, but sitting at a table. No, slumped against the table. Are they sleeping? Or something else?

Corvo checked his crossbow, making sure it was loaded with sleep darts, and rounded the corner fast.

A dead man’s silence lay over the room like a heavy shroud, interrupted only by the harsh patter of rain.

The top of the Lighthouse was a purpose-built war room. It was finely wood-panelled like the rest of the building, but the left wall was covered with a huge map, places circled and labelled with smaller papers. There was a lit fireplace at the far end, with chairs surrounding it.

At the room’s main centre was a large war table -- where Burrows had no doubt spearheaded his campaigns and his war on the common people of Dunwall.

But it was not being used to plan any wars now; at the end of the table, fine foods had been served with expensive-looking wine. The food had not been eaten -- but the drink had been poured.

Martin’s body was slumped in place, and Pendleton had fallen half-off his chair. Neither of them were moving in the slightest.

Corvo slowly began to lower his crossbow, keeping a firm grip on it, and skulked towards Pendleton.

He put two fingers to the pulse on Pendleton’s neck, and heard the crunch of boots on glass. Corvo stepped back.

Shards of glass were shattered about by Pendleton’s limp hand, with drops of blood-- no, wine spilt around them.

Corvo glanced back up across the table; Martin had a glass in his hand too, and Corvo was willing to bet he had no pulse either.

Corvo stood up straight. From the glasses and past experience, he did not have to guess what had happened to them. Poisoned -- but with no boatman to save them.

But where was the man that had done this?

Corvo activated his dark vision again, scanning for any more yellow shapes that might have been out of range before.

His dark vision melted back away, unsuccessful -- but as it did, Corvo’s eyes halted on a purple shape on the floor behind Martin.

He moved over to it, a new sense of dread filling him, and crouched to pick it up. He inspected it for barely a moment; he didn’t need any longer to recognise it. It was Mrs. Pilsen, Emily’s favourite doll, the one Corvo had given her back upon his return to the Tower.

Corvo ran a thumb over a new, small crack in the doll’s painted porcelain face -- Emily must’ve dropped her. But she had been here. She had to have been. So where is Emily now? And where is Havelock?

A little girl’s scream was Corvo’s first answer.

Corvo’s eyes widened. Emily.

The voice had come from above, and-- outside? Corvo looked around the room again, and he zeroed in on the second set of stairs, behind the wall. She had to be up there. She had to.

As he rushed up the stairs, he noticed the small splashes of blood on the wood of the stairs and floor. If so much as a speck the blood is Emily’s, Corvo thought, running, then I am going to make damn sure Havelock wishes he had never been born.

The trail of blood continued into the office at the top of the stairs, out onto the metal balcony that began out of a door in the glass-roof and wall. Corvo continued his pace, unfolding his sword as he burst into the pouring storm once again.

There was no sign of her there. Corvo raced to his left, up another set of stairs. He paused on a landing -- the trail stopped there, on a maid, dead, surrounded by her own blood. It was no relief.

“NO! Let me go!”

Corvo’s eyes darted up.

On the walkway far above, two people were moving-- struggling, silhouetted against the sky. One far larger, one far smaller.

“Quiet now! And move already, child!”

Havelock.

A hundred words of vengeance filled Corvo’s head, but he said none of them. He only darted to his left again, bounding up the rest of the staircase to the entrance of a sheltered stairwell. The voices were audible again as he entered.

“Hold still you stupid girl!” Havelock’s voice boomed through the rain.

“Let me go! I am the Empress!”

Corvo kept running up the twisting stairs.

“Didn't you learn anything in your short life?” Havelock yelled seethingly. “Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die--”

Corvo stepped out of the shelter and onto the walkway. He didn’t need to announce his presence -- Havelock looked up the second Corvo laid more than two steps on the metal.

Another bout of thunder and lightning struck somewhere in the storm.

“No! Stay where you are Corvo, or I jump,” the Admiral yelled over the rain.

“Corvo! Save me!” Emily screamed.

Corvo stopped walking.

“That’s right,” Havelock said, a maniacally grim satisfaction rising in his voice at Corvo following his orders. “If you take one step closer, we’re both off the edge.”

I don’t need to take a step to get to you, Corvo thought.

He made a show of folding his blade back up and sheathing it, before holding his hands up slowly in a surrender. The rain was beating down on him.

Corvo let himself lock eyes with Emily -- but only for a moment. Then he fixed his blazing-ice gaze on Havelock, who wore the grin of a man that thought himself entirely in control.

Havelock opened his mouth to begin some taunting speech. Lightning struck beyond the edge of the walkway.

Corvo curled his raised left hand into a fist, feeling that sharp pins-and-needles sensation on the Mark and called the Void forth. It heeded his demand with a sharp whisper. Time ground to a complete halt around him.

The lightning behind Havelock and Emily stopped its descent half way down, looking like a harsh rift of pure light in the sky. Water droplets stood in place, small gems floating against the dark storm clouds.

Everything was still.

Corvo didn’t waste a second; he ran forward and at once pulled Emily out of Havelock’s unknowing grip, shoving the Admiral hard as he did it

Corvo took a short, undeserved moment to take in the frozen sight of Emily, half in his arms, before releasing his taxing hold on time.

The grey scream of the dragged-out present disappeared. and the world resumed its pace. Emily almost tripped onto the metal floor with the force of time’s discharge, but Corvo held her safe.

Havelock hung for a moment, as if time wasn’t yet properly flowing, his footing just lost and surprise written all over him. He had expected one last piece of control -- control over his own death. But he had fallen into the same trap as all those before. He had become too comfortable in his position, and he had forgotten that Death belonged to no man, and followed no man’s orders. No matter their station.

Havelock fell.

Corvo, still holding tight to Emily, peered ever so slightly over the edge. He watched the Admiral’s screaming descent until he hit the jaws of the rocks below.

After what felt like a moment too many, Corvo turned to his daughter, still holding onto him for dear life. He held her back, and tucked a drenched strand of messy hair from her face. The rain still beat down on them, ceaseless, soaking their already-soaked clothes and hair.

“Are you okay?” Corvo asked hurriedly.

Emily gave him a shaky nod, eyes still wide with fear. “I-- I think so.”

Corvo nodded in return. “We need to get out of the storm.” Logic was slowly returning, replacing the blood haze seeing Emily in such danger put him in.

Corvo made himself let Emily go for the moment, and she ran ahead onto the covered metal stairwell he had just come from. Corvo followed just as swiftly. They both traversed down the small stairs, the sound of Emily’s little shoes on metal filling Corvo with more and more relief.

He had only paused by the bottom doorway for a second when Emily barrelled right into him for a hug. “I knew you’d save me! You’re my hero, Corvo,” she said, voice half-muffled by his wet coat but slowly coming back to herself.

When she pulled away briefly, Corvo knelt down to just below her eye level and pulled her into a proper hug. He knew was probably hugging her too tight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but the feeling of his daughter in his arms. She was shaking and freezing-wet, but still warm enough. But still alive.

The storm raged on on the walkways outside of their small shelter.

Eventually, they both pulled back, and Corvo took Emily’s tiny hands in his. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“You-- you already asked me that,” Emily said, still shivering from the cold and the fear. When Corvo’s worried expression didn’t change, she told him, “I think I’m alright. I’m alright now you’re here.”

Corvo nodded, feeling some small part of the weight on his shoulders go.

“Is it going to be okay now? Will I-- will I be Empress?” Emily asked, almost eagerly.

Corvo glanced down.

He thought of Jessamine. Of her cold dead eyes in the Gazebo. Of her blood on his hands.

Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die.

The Heart was beating, an unrelenting pulse in the back of his mind. An incessant reminder that what Havelock had said was true; Empresses die. And who was Corvo to be able to stop it? He had failed once; he could fail again. Death followed no one’s orders; not orders from Empresses, nor those from Lord Protectors.

I know what it felt like to drive a blade into your Empress.

Empresses die. And for what? So men could take control of the damned city of Dunwall? This city didn’t care about them. It didn’t care about anyone. It ate everything alive. It would not let an Empress be safe, no matter how good or pure of heart she was.

The crown and throne were nothing but a curse and objects of desire for ambitious men who thought themselves the better of people. The curse of power nearly took the last of his family from him -- the family that, because of the crown and its rules and its curses, he had never been able to openly call his own.

Empresses die. And so did Burrows, and Havelock, and Pendleton, and Martin. And so did everyone else that tried to hold that kind of power.

Now I want nothing but to leave this wretched city, and fade from the memories of those who reside here.

Emily was just a girl. She was Corvo’s girl, his baby girl. She wasn’t meant to be a piece on a board, a piece in Dunwall’s deadly game of power. She wasn’t meant to hold an Empire in her small hands.

She wasn’t meant to die.

If they went home, if Corvo let Emily take back the throne… what fate would he be damning her too? She would be forever caught in the crossfire of power-grabs and the schemes of conniving politicians. All it took was one wrong move, and Corvo would lose her to that crossfire. That was not the life he wanted her to live. That was not the death he could ever let her die.

This was the only way he could protect Emily. He wasn’t sure if Jess would ever truly approve of it, but she had not been through what they had been through. He hoped what was left of her would understand.

Empresses die. But Emily wouldn’t. Not if Corvo could help it.

The Heart continued to beat.

Corvo pulled Emily closer and planted a kiss on her forehead, “It’s going to be okay now. I promise.”

A relief seeped into Emily’s big brown eyes, and Corvo felt something squeeze in his chest at her expression. “Are we going home then?”

Corvo swallowed. He shook his head.

Confusion knit itself between Emily’s furrowed brows. “What?”

“We can’t go home, and you won’t be Empress,” Corvo said slowly, forcing the words out. This was how it had to be. I can’t protect you from this city. Nothing can, Corvo thought. “Dunwall and Dunwall Tower-- they aren’t safe,” he said instead. “They aren’t ever going to be safe.”

Corvo had expected Emily to show more resistance, or be more upset at the idea they couldn’t return to Dunwall Tower -- but maybe he still expected Emily to be the girl she had been six-and-a-half months ago, before this all happened. But she was not that girl; Emily merely nodded, with a look she was too young to have in her eyes.

“So where are we going to go?” she asked.

Corvo tightened his grip on her hands. “We’re going to take a ship out of here--”

“Like a pirate ship?”

Corvo huffed out a half-laugh, relief at really having his daughter back hitting him hard. I love you so much, he thought. “Yes, like a pirate ship,” he said with a small smile. “We’re going to take a ship out, and-- and we’re going to make a new home, somewhere else. Just the two of us.”

“Three of us,” Emily corrected. After seeing Corvo’s confused expression, she made an obvious face. “Mrs Pilsen! I grabbed her when they took me, but I left her downstairs.”

Corvo shook his head, half-laughing again. All that had just happened, and Emily’s first concern was her favourite dolly. It filled Corvo with faith. They could do this. They could live a normal life, where Corvo could just be a father and, Emily could just be a daughter. Where she would be allowed to be a child, and not a piece to be manipulated.

He squeezed Emily’s hands. “The two of us and Mrs. Pilsen. We’ll make a new home. How does that sound?”

Emily’s eyes drifted to the floor below, and she bit her still soaking-wet lip for a moment. “I…” her gaze returned to Corvo, and she slowly gave him a small smile, “I’d like that.”

Corvo pulled her into another hug.

---

Emily woke up to the slight sway of the sea beneath her.

They had been on this boat more than a week now. It wasn’t like any boat she had been on before -- far less fancy, and far more dirty.

Emily knew a smuggler was a lot like a pirate, but this boat didn’t look like the boats from Emily’s story books. This was a big metal steam-ship, not a pirate’s sailboat with a flag of skull-and-crossbones.

And the pirates in the stories never had to check themselves for signs of the plague, or make certain no rats had come aboard, but the smugglers had had to. So had Emily and Corvo.

Emily wasn’t sure “Slackjaw” was a real name, but apparently it was the name of Corvo’s friend who set this all up. He owed Corvo one, because he had saved “Slackjaw”'s life. Which made sense -- Corvo was good at saving lives. He’d saved Emily’s life more times than she could count. He’d been saving Emily’s life since before she could even count.

But Corvo had saved Slackjaw’s life, and so Slackjaw owed him a favour. Corvo used that favour to get him and Emily on a smuggler’s ship with new clothes and made-up papers.

The papers didn’t have Corvo or Emily’s real names on them, but Corvo had said that he and Emily would need to take new names, to stay safe.

Emily hoped they could come up with something better than Slackjaw.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her cot-bed, before glancing to the other side of the tiny cabin.

The cabin -- if it could even be called that; oversized cupboard seemed more apt -- was flakily-painted metal, like the rest of the ship. The tiny room was almost empty, besides Corvo and Emily’s few belongings, and the two foldaway cots pressed against the walls.

The size of the room allowed very little space between the two cots -- and so Emily had a very good view of Corvo, sitting on the far end of his.

He was fully dressed already. It still was funny to see him in something other than a long coat, but Emily supposed the roughspun jacket and shirt he was wearing now suited him well enough. His folding sword was somewhere underneath the jacket, and that gave Emily no small amount of comfort.

She squinted in the near-dark. Corvo was looking down at his hands, clasped as if they were tenderly holding something. He mumbled something at his hands, entirely fixated on the empty space.

“Father,” Emily started, barely able to stop herself from grinning as she did every time she called him that. Corvo said she was allowed to now. “Father?”

“Mm?” Corvo hummed in an almost-startled reply, quickly looking up from the nothing in his hands.

“What time is it?”

“Early enough that you can go back to bed,” Corvo said fondly.

“Is it early early?”

“What does that mean?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Is the sun out yet?”

Corvo glanced back ahead, as if he could see through the walls of the cabin. “No,” he said, turning back, “but it will be soon. The crew’s beginning to wake up.”

Emily perked up. “Can we watch the sunrise? Please?”

She thought Corvo might say no for a second, but instead he smiled and nodded. “If you really want to.”

Emily nodded gingerly, then shuffled to the end of her cot and pushed herself onto the floor.

Corvo stood up too -- bent over slightly, unable to stand to his full height under the cabin’s short ceilings. He’d moved his hands apart now, as if he’d put the nothing he was holding back down somewhere. Emily paid no mind to it, only grabbing her coat from the back of the door and putting her shoes on, before giving her father a big smile to say she was ready.

Corvo returned the smile, and quietly opened the door, letting her pass into the cramped metal hallway.

He didn’t have to tell her to try to be quiet too. Emily knew that some of the crew would still be asleep, and they needed to be nice and courteous to the smugglers, as any guest would be towards their hosts.

Part of that meant Corvo had to help around the ship a bit, so he and Emily were more worth their while. The smugglers seemed to like him; they’d told him that if he ever wanted a solid job, he could join their crew. Corvo didn’t seem that interested.

After a short time of quiet footsteps in the hall, Corvo and Emily reached a heavy metal ship-door, which Corvo opened with ease.

The fresh not-yet-morning sea air hit Emily with a gentle breeze as they stepped onto the side deck of the boat. It had been getting warmer every day, as the ship got further from cold Gristol, and closer to sunny Serkonos.

The sea ahead was almost dark, but a peaking of the sun on the horizon drove a warm streak across the water.

Emily walked up to the ship’s metal side railing and peaked over it, but didn’t look off the edge. She had done that on the first day on the ship, and promptly regretted it, needing Corvo to calm her down and remind her that they weren’t at the top of the Lighthouse anymore. That she was safe.

“I can’t wait to be in Karnaca,” Emily said. “Will you show me everything you told me about?”

Corvo nodded with a small smile, a fond and loving look in his eyes. “I’ll show you whatever you want to see in Karnaca.”

“And can I go swimming in the bay, like you said you used to? Ooh, or climb the big trees? And-- and--”

Corvo chuckled, “You can do all of that, and more.”

Emily grinned giddily, and looked back to the sea ahead.

The sun was beginning to rise over the waters, painting the world around them hues of orange. Emily wondered if the sun was rising just the same in Dunwall. She supposed it didn’t really matter; what mattered was that it was rising, and that she had her father by her side to see it.

A new day was dawning for them both, and Emily found herself apprehensively excited. It would be a strange new future ahead, one that she did not know, but she had decided it would be a good future. She knew Corvo would make sure of that.

Emily leaned in closer to Corvo, who too was partly leant on the railing, and rested her small head on his arm. In response, he lifted his arm up and pulled her closer to his torso, before settling his arm on her shoulders in a warm half-hug.

Emily smiled, snuggling nearer and keeping her eyes on the rising sun ahead.

[ahkaahshi]

a parenting moment [miya atsumu x reader]

pairing: miya atsumu x fem reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): none

word count: 2.3k

overview: when yours and atsumu’s five-year-old daughter gets into trouble at school, it’s up to him to practice his good parenting skills

note: though this is a reader insert story, it focuses more on atsumu’s relationship with his daughter and sheds some light on how I think he would be as a dad :) also I wrote this months ago and am just now posting lol hope you enjoy

Atsumu’s features settle into a look of discontentment as his honey colored eyes scan his young daughter’s short figure, taking note of her dirtied shoes and the slightly disheveled appearance of the French braids he’d woven into her dark hair that morning. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and letting out a small sigh, he asks, “What happened, girly?”

She turns her (e/c) gaze towards the polished wooden flooring of the large gym and mutters, “I got in a fight at school and they made Mommy pick me up.”

Instead of towering over her, as he had inadvertently been doing before, Atsumu kneels down in front of her and places his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, look at me, (daughter’s name),” he requests, making her tilt her chin up the smallest amount so her eyes can meet his. When their gazes connect, he purses his lips before saying, “We’ll talk about it when we get home, ‘kay? Right now, Daddy’s gotta practice, so jus’ sit tight with Coach Foster for a bit ‘n hang out.”

She nods slowly and Atsumu lifts her light blue backpack off of her shoulders to carry it with him over to the bench beside the court where his team is currently running through serve-receive drills. The head coach gives him a small nod of acknowledgement and a promise that he’ll protect her from any rogue volleyballs as she takes a seat.

Knowing that his daughter’s safety is in good hands and that she’s occupied--since she had pulled out a notebook from her backpack to doodle and write in--gives Atsumu a sliver of comfort as he returns to his practice. It takes himself some time to get his thoughts off of her, however, given the situation.

Minutes earlier, you had appeared at the gym with (daughter’s name) and offered a brief explanation of the matter at hand. You’d had to pick her up from school after receiving a call that she’d gotten into trouble, but, because of your own responsibilities at work, you’d had to drop her off with your husband. According to what the teachers had explained, she had gotten into a physical altercation with another student that had ended in tears, screaming, a few scrapes, and a dropped popsicle--your daughter’s, unfortunately.

(Daughter’s name) was a well-behaved, studious girl--though she did have a bit of a wild, energetic streak in her, thanks to Atsumu--so to hear that she’d been involved in a fight was understandably shocking to both of you. Sure, she enjoyed roughhousing with her dad and her uncle, but you’d been adamant about reiterating that real fighting was not allowed.

Atsumu hated seeing his daughter so distressed. It broke his heart. Usually, she was upbeat and full of life, but, now, she looks so defeated and ashamed. In an attempt to cheer her up in any way he can, he enlists the help of Bokuto and Hinata to tell her funny stories during each water break; and while they provide her some temporary relief, the cloud of sadness casting a shadow over her still lingers.

Though she holds onto his hand and clings to his side during the commute back home, she’s unnaturally quiet, and goes straight to her room upon returning to the house. He decides it best to leave her alone for a bit, but he can’t ignore how quiet the house feels without the sound of her favorite show blaring from the television in the living room. To busy himself for some time while you’re at work and she’s in her room, Atsumu sets himself to whipping up a snack after he’s taken a shower, and icing his aching joints.

After preparing some onigiri that looks rather sloppy compared to that his brother always serves, Atsumu shuffles down the hallway towards his daughter’s room. Her door is open, so he can see her sitting on her bed with a selection of colored pencils strewn across the comforter, and one in her hand that she’s using to color in a project she has to complete for class.

“Hey, girly,” he greets her and stands in the doorway, “Wanna eat some onigiri with me?”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but nods her head without lifting it to look over at him. So, he walks into her room and plops down on the bed beside her, setting the plate down in front of him. Before he can even get so far as to offer her one of his homemade creations, he hears her sniffle loudly.

Turning his honey-colored gaze to her brings him to the realization that she's stopped coloring and, instead, has her hands pressed against her face as her body shakes with quiet sobs. His paternal instincts to protect and comfort her immediately kick in, and he pushes the plate aside so he can sling an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer to him.

“Hey, hey, li’l princess, what’s goin’ on?” he murmurs.

She leans closer to him but keeps her hands over her face. “It wasn’t my fault, Daddy,” she whimpers softly, the sound of her strained voice nearly shattering her father’s heart, “There’s a really, really mean girl in my class. She always pulls my hair, a-and takes my markers, and cuts in line so she gets the last orange popsicle--and that’s my favorite flavor--and... I hate her!”

Atsumu grabs a tissue to dab at the tears spilling down her cheeks once he gently moves her hands away from her face. He’s silent for a moment as the previous sadness he felt at his daughter’s suffering morphs into anger upon hearing that she was being bullied. “Didja hit ‘er 'cause she was bein’ mean?”

She nods and cries, “S-She pushed me during recess ‘nd I got mad and pushed her back,” before finally lifting her head to gaze up at him with watery, (e/c) eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Daddy! I-I was just scared she was gonna hurt me!”

Wrapping both of his arms around her small frame, Atsumu brings her face to his chest and holds her tightly in his embrace in an attempt to comfort her. “It’s alright, (daughter’s name). Mommy ‘nd I will make sure this gets fixed, ‘kay?” The grip she has on the back of his t-shirt tightens slightly as she presses her face into his shoulder. One of his hands rubs her back to calm her down while the other smooths down any stray hairs sticking up from her head.

After a few minutes of crying, whimpering, and venting, she’s finally relaxed enough to let her dad lead her into the living room so they can sit and watch a few episodes of her favorite show together while snacking on onigiri.

“Hey,” he calls out to her, making her tear her wide-eyed gaze away from the television screen, “I know me, Mommy, ‘n Uncle ‘Samu always say that fightin’ ain’t the right way ta go about things, but I’m proud of ya for stickin’ up for yourself, girly.”

A small smile sprouts across her lips that’s made even cuter by the fact that her cheeks are puffing out from the amount of rice she has in her mouth. The sight makes him chuckle and ruffle her hair.

“But don’t go tellin’ Mommy I said that. Instead, use yer words, find one of the teachers, ‘n let ‘em deal with whoever’s givin’ ya trouble, alright?”

When she’s finished chewing her food, she replies, “M’kay.”

“Mind tellin’ me what started the fight in the first place?” he asks, one of his thick eyebrows raising in curiosity.

She twiddles her thumbs and slowly directs her gaze back to the television. “She made me drop my popsicle when she pushed me.”

“And it was your favorite flavor, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah...”

With a hearty laugh, he comments, “Man, you really are yer mom’s daughter, ya know that? She don’t mess around when food’s involved.”

The sounds of his daughter's giggles ripple through the air, sending waves of warmth over him as he continues telling her stories about all the times he’d dealt with you getting on his case about food or treat-related issues. He made sure to include an anecdote about a time when you’d nearly knocked him over after he’d jokingly swiped your candy bar during lunch in high school. 

Needless to say, he never did it again out of the fear that Osamu wouldn't let him live it down if he got destroyed by a high school girl over food. However, the passion and unrelenting desire he’d seen in your eyes that day had made him absolutely sure that you were the one for him.

By the time you step into the house a few hours later, your daughter--being the mature, young girl she was--has moved her schoolwork from her bedroom to the living room table to do her assignments while her dad snoozes on the couch. Upon noticing that she’s in a better mood than she had been when you’d dropped her off at the gym with Atsumu, your heart lifts slightly.

“Hey, honey,” you greet her as you slide off your shoes and set your purse down on a table in the entryway, “What’re you up to?”

She holds up a piece of paper with colored markings on it that vaguely resemble Atsumu’s tall figure holding what you assume to be a volleyball, along with a few, familiar faces in the background. “I have to draw a picture of what you and Daddy do at work to show my teacher.”

You smile at her and plant a kiss atop her head before commenting, “Looks good so far. You drew Bokuto-san’s hair perfectly.” She chuckles and quickly returns to her masterpiece, since your compliment seems to spur her to keep creating. “I’m gonna talk to Daddy, real quick, okay? I wanna see how you draw Omi-san’s hair when we’re done.”

With that said and your daughter on a mission to produce her version of the prickly, outside hitter on Atsumu’s team, you rouse your husband from his nap so the two of you can head into your room to talk about the situation. Once out of earshot, he explains what your daughter had told him and the two of you work together to devise a plan and time to speak with her teacher about the true story. Amazingly enough, this entire exchange occurrs without your usual, good-natured--but sometimes cumbersome--squabbling.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu,” you call out to him, reaching for his hand and wrapping your fingers around it gingerly. 

He had been on his way to the bedroom door so he could head to the kitchen and start making dinner while you showered, but he stops in his tracks and turns to face you once more. When your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat, like always.

Taking a deep breath, you tell him, “Even though we may argue from time to time about parenting, and you sometimes let her have just a tad too much sugar before conveniently deciding to take a nap so you don’t have to deal with her going berserk, there's nobody else in the world that I’d rather share a kid with than you. She loves you so much, and so do I.”

His unoccupied hand finds your waist to pull you closer to him, and he leans down towards you to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. As per usual, the tender moment you shared doesn’t last long, since he always has something smart to say. “What’s gotcha all sentimental, (f/n)? Does seein’ me doin’ fatherly things give ya the hots for me, or somethin’?”

“Oh, yeah, sleeping on the couch while our self-starter of a child does homework by herself is so fatherly.”

He frowns. “I had a long practice. Bein’ a professional athlete is hard work, baby.”

 With a sardonic smile on your face, you mention, “Working a nine-to-five is pretty tiring too, baby.”

“Fair,” he groans and slides his arms around your back, “But, seriously, what’s got you feelin’ all in love with me, huh?”

You snicker at his tone and the mischievous look on his face as you brush his golden hair away from his eyes before letting your hands come to rest on his cheeks. “It’s just that when I picked (daughter’s name) up from school today, she was all sad and mopey. Yet, when I come home after dropping her off with you, she’s all smiles and rainbows again. It just reminds me of how good you are to her and it makes me happy that she has you as a father.”

A genuine smile rather than a sly one appears on his lips, and you press your own against them to give him a few, affectionate kisses.

“You know I’d do anything for my favorite, li’l girl, (f/n). She’s only as good of a kid as she is 'cause of you, anyway.”

Your lips form a giddy grin, as if he’s a high school crush who’s just delivered the sweetest of compliments to you, and you allow him to pull you closer so he can shower you with more kisses. “I love you, baby,” you murmur as you plant another peck on his cheek.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a short moment of silence as he pulls you into a tight hug that seems to wash away all the stress that you didn't even realize had been building up within you at the day you’ve had. His breath fans across the tender skin of your neck when he nestles his face there and allows his hands to roam up and down your back. However, after the two of you release each other, you notice a sneaky smile playing at his lips that oftentimes makes you wary.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go see (daughter’s name)’s rendition of Omi-Omi?”

Chuckling and following him out of the bedroom, you agree, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

masterlist ⭐︎ treat me to a coffee!

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @krynnza, @yamagucji​, @tendo-sxtori, @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki, @shinsurou, @ichorizaki, @dominikmagnus​

atsumu: @pretty-setters, @misora-msby, @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @tsumue, @heyhinata

[drabbles-of-writing]

my head is pounding (I can't stop the pounding)

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“They say you travel dimensions,” Luz said, gazing up at the man, flickers of hope in her eyes. “Is it true?”

“My dear, of course it is!” The man chortled, a tall demon of sorts covered in fur, with a mane like a lion around his neck. “Interested in learning my ways, are you?”

“Very much, sir.” Luz nodded, a smile spreading across her face. “I’m looking to find a way to the human realm. I got separated from my mom, and she’s got to be worried sick about me by now.” 

“I see, I see.” The man hummed, digging around in his pockets. “Yes, I believe I can help you. Come with me,” He said, withdrawing a card with his name on it and handing it to her. “Are your friends interested, as well?” He asked, peering over her shoulder towards the witches poking around at the knickknacks and items around in his shop.

“They’re here to help me find a way to the human realm,” Luz explained, swelling, just a bit, with pleading in her eyes. “We’ll take as much as you can offer.”

“That,” The man said, eyes flickering to the wanted poster sporting a crude drawing of a figure dressed in a purple and white cloak, an owl mask covering her face. “My dear, depends on how much you are offering.”

The building rippled like water, the scene smearing like wet paint. In the blink of an eye, the scene changed to inside a tent, Luz holding a potion bottle in her hand and peering at the murky, brownish green contents within. The man spoke words that meshed together like gibberish, as though his words had been forgotten, as he gestured towards gadgets with springs sticking out of them.

Luz quietly watched, clearly not listening to a word he was saying. Her face was blank, the faint traces of weary hope gone, like they’d never existed at all. Her shoulders were slumped, and she glanced at the potion in her hands before shaking her head and sighing.

“You’re not real,” She muttered, eyes downcast.

“Come again?” The man startled.

“You’ve never been to a dimension outside your own, have you?” Luz said, raising her head. 

“What in the nine realms are you--”

“Nine realms?” Luz snorted bitterly, shaking the potion in her hand. “You really commit to the bit, don’t you?”

The scene rippled again. The two were still inside the tent, but the man had moved. There were tables covered with cloth now. He had a table between him and Luz, who was still holding the potion.

“I’m very busy,” He gruffed. “And I can’t afford to convince you of what's right before your eyes--”

“This isn’t even a potion,” Luz said, raising the ‘potion’ in the air before letting it drop, watching it dully as it cracked on the ground and the contents spilled out. Muddy swamp water, by the looks of it. “I would know. I’m practically surrounded by them.”

“Honestly,” The man scoffed, eyes darting around. “Do you want my help, or not? I assure you, it’s an arduous journey, but I could accomplish it, I believe you could, too.”

“I wanted your help when I thought you had the faintest idea of what you were doing,” Luz huffed, eyes half-lidded in annoyance as she kicked the fake potion aside. 

The tent flickered, like an old tape with a scratch on it. Luz was on the other side of the tent now. The man was closer, one hand in his pocket.

“--vious really.” Luz’s voice faded back in.

“Well,” The man said, rearing back, his mane puffing up. “If you're so insistent that I am a fake, why are you still here?” He said, nose turned up.

“Because I told Gus to find me if you took longer than ten minutes, because Eda was worried you might try to jump me.” Luz said simply. “And it’s been fifteen, and he’s never later than two minutes. Which I’m willing to guess means you either tipped off someone, or you set traps. It was the biggest among my many lists of clues that you don’t give a damn about this whole thing.”

The man growled, looking around wildly as his fur continued to puff up. It would’ve been pretty amusing if Luz was in any other situation.

“I have been searching,” Luz started slowly pressing a hand against her face. “For five days straight trying to find you. And the last two people I met before you tried to feed me to a pit or get me in on their murder clan when they found out who I was.” She moved her fingers aside to free an eye, sending a seething glare.

“And you knew why I was trying to find a portal out of here,” She continued. “You knew I was trying to find my mother, and you insisted you had the answer. Why? Honestly, dude, why?” She threw her arms out in a wide gesture. “What do you gain out of this? Do you get a kick out of leading on grieving people? Cause you need to see someone for that.”

“Everyones trying to make a living, and I’m just making mine.” The man hissed, withdrawing his hand from his pocket, fist clenched. “You know how it is.”

“I’m trying to go home,” Luz spat, the seething in her gaze bordering on barely restrained fury. “And yet I’m standing here, wasting my time on the excuses you're throwing at me. So, no, I don’t--”

A tear tore through the scene, sections of the tent smeared over and blurred, forgotten. Words combined and mumbled like they were talking under water. Luz had her hood up now, turning away with some inaudible, but clearly harsh, words spitting out.

The man unclenched his fist, revealing a retractable blade that he switched upright. He hissed and held it tightly in his grip, crouching for just a moment, enough for Luz to give a bored glare back, before charging her.

In that same moment, a small, furry demon leapt out from under the cloth-covered tables, latching his teeth and claws into the man's leg.

“King!” Luz exclaimed, jerking back as soon as the man charged her.

The man howled, a distorted sound, kicking out his leg as he stumbled and tried to shake off the demon clinging in like a burr, drawing blood as he growled and kicked. 

Eventually, the man just slammed his leg against the closest table, King squawking as he was hit straight on and falling to the ground with a wheeze, curling into a ball.

The man had barely turned to resume his attack before a pillar of ice hit him square in the face. He fell as vines wrapped around his limbs, pinning him to the ground as he struggled. Luz shoved the glyphs she didn’t use back into her pockets before rushing to King, scooping him up into her arms. He raised his head slightly, giving an affirmation he was fine, just winded, and Luz relaxed ever so slightly.

“Emperor’s Coven showed up,” King explained with a wheeze, waving off Luz when she tried to fret over him. “They’re fine, keeping ‘em at bay outside.” He said, tilting his head in the direction of the exit to the tent. “I just thought that, you know, you might be in trouble.”

“And what a brave demon you were,” Luz agreed, smiling down at him as King perked up under the praise.

Smoke flickered over the top of the tent for a moment, like a tape had skipped a scene, before returning to normal.

“You’d do best to stick to what you know!” The man snapped from where he writhed on the ground, managing not to wilt under Luz and King whirling to glare at him. 

“Spreading that wild magic of yours to the human realm won’t do any good.” The man continued, hatred spilling off him in waves. “The Emperor didn’t take kindly to an Owlet like you, why would the human realm be any different?”

“It’s not,” Luz agreed, withdrawing a fire glyph and holding King closer to her with her other arm. “But my mom is.”

With that, she tapped the glyph with her thumb and let it fall to the ground. It burned away at the plants, momentarily singeing the man's limbs tied down. He yelped and sprung free when he could, staring with wide eyes when the fire quickly spread to the cloth across the tables of fake items, catching ablaze near instantly, like frames had been passed over to allow a smooth transition.

King stared wide-eyed, looking between the growing flames and the cold, hardened fury on Luz’s face. He shrunk back in her arms, though she didn’t seem to notice. With that, she turned sharply on her heel and left, storming out through the tent flaps as it, too, caught ablaze the second she touched it, glitching as it did so.

The scene itself was wrapped up in the inferno the moment Luz left it, flames cackling as they grew and spread and consumed everything it touched. 

There was soon nothing but the roaring of the fire, the blinding smoke, the rippling of the world, and a golden eye blinking into existence behind the bonfire.

,

“Luz?”

She shot upright with a start, breathing heavily as she gasped and tugged at the sheets, staring at the far corner of her room. King jerked away from her old mattress she called a bed, head lowered and eyes wide, claws fiddling together.

“Sorry, sorry,” King said quickly, tucking his tail around his legs like a scolded cat. “I...is this a bad time? Should-should I get Eda…?”

“Huh?” Luz said dumbly, voice sounding hoarse as she turned to stare down at King, her body feeling weighted and numb.

“You, um…” King pointed to the side of his face, right under his eye.

Luz felt at her face, feeling instantly that she’d been crying. She quickly wiped at her eyes, breath raggedy as she tried to dry her face.

“Is...is it an episode?” King asked quietly. “Should I leave? I don’t want to--”

“No, no, it’s--” Luz sniffled, hating how her voice sounded and shaking her head, dropping her arm. “It's fine. Small one, mostly just...just a dream, really.” She said, cringing at how slow her movements felt as she leaned back against the wall her bed was pushed beside, attempting to shake off how it felt she was under an ocean.

“Oh...okay.” King said, staying right where he was, claws clinging to the edge of the bed as he looked away.

Luz closed her eyes in the ensuing silence, attempting to banish the memories from her head. It had been just a few days ago, and they’d finally made it back to the Owl House after all their walking and dodging the Coven only yesterday. Everything in between was a little hard for her to remember now that she thought about it. Probably for the best.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Luz eventually asked when her head didn’t quite feel like it was going to roll off her shoulders.

“No, I just...wanted to visit.” King mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

Luz exhaled, forcing herself to bite back the desire to bury herself in her blankets and never see the light of day again, opening her arms slightly with a small, half crooked smile.

King noticed the invitation and took it instantly, scrambling up onto the bed and scurrying into her arms. He curled in her lap as she pulled him close, leaning her chin on the top of his head and exhaling heavily, only by force of will not slumping over and crushing him. 

They stayed like that for a bit, waiting in the silence as Luz calmed herself down, clutching King tightly. If King was uncomfortable or had trouble breathing, he gave no indication. He stayed perfectly still and loose as Luz’s raspy breathing slowly calmed to something more manageable. It was late, but only just past dusk. The soft sounds of others in the house moving and talking softly on the floor below them could be heard if you strained your hearing.

“What brings you in here?” Luz finally asked, straightening her back a bit and squinting an eye, realizing King left the door open a crack and a sliver of light was seeping into the dark room.

King shrugged, a little comical considering Luz had wrapped her arms around his midsection like he was a teddy bear, his arms forced up a bit.

“Wanted to visit,” He repeated.

Luz didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t push, slumping back against the wall and crossing her legs as she situated King in her lap. She knew King would break and tell her if she left it be for a moment. Sometimes he needed a moment to get his thoughts in order.

“Back when,” King paused again and Luz didn’t move, waiting patiently until he spoke again. “When you were talking with that demon guy…”

Luz looked down at him again, only able to see the back of his head and horns from this angle. He didn’t attempt to turn around and she didn’t do it herself.

“Your mom,” He tried a second time. “If we…” King stopped when Luz tensed, ever so slightly. He kept quiet for a moment before tilting his head back, still not enough for Luz to see his face. “When we find her,” He started again. “What’s...the plan after that?”

“What?” Luz blinked in confusion, loosening her hold on King to let him sit more comfortably in his lap.

“It’s just…” King said, turning halfway now that Luz could see his worried, contemplative face. “You always talk about how much you want to get back to your mom, because she must be worried sick about you, but...what are you gonna do after you find her?”

“...apologize for the next decade?” Luz tried, raising a brow in confusion. “Be grounded for the rest of my life?”

“I mean, just,” King struggled for another moment, leaning back against her leg and glaring up at the ceiling. “What...what are you gonna do when you're home again?” He asked quietly. “Is your mom coming to the Boiling Isles?”

“Oh, definitely not.” Luz snorted, shaking her head, not noticing his sudden reclusion. “My mom would freak out at this place. No, she’s a human realm type of human.”

“Then...are you staying with her?” King asked, drawing his limbs close to his body.

Luz watched him then, surprise evident on her face. King wasn’t looking at her, only the ceiling. He was already pretty small, but now he looked as though he was trying to make himself shrink even more.

“Course not,” Luz said softly, pulling King closer to her chest. “I love my mami, but the human realm isn’t for me. Never really has, if I’m being honest.”

“But you said your mom wouldn’t stay here,” King frowned, looking up at her now. “Are you going to stay separate again?”

“Well, no, that’s not,” Luz pursed her lips, frowning as she glanced to the side. “We...we’ll work something out. Maybe I could visit. Or...you know, it’ll depend on the portal, so we’ll have to see.” She decided on. “She’ll have to watch the tapes first.”

“So you don’t know, then?” King said simply, as if he was discussing common knowledge.

“I know I just...need to work out finer details.” Luz insisted. “Look, it’s fine, really. I’m not going anywhere.” She assured, drawing him up and giving a quick hug. “And I’m sure my mami would understand. I’m sure she remembers how crazy I was, this shouldn’t be that big of a surprise.”

She didn’t sound too convinced herself. King frowned, hooking his claws into her shirt and thus keeping her from pulling him away. He used his new leverage to give her a serious, no-nonsense expression that was honestly pretty cute on him. His nose almost touched hers.

“But don’t you miss it?” King asked, tilting his head. “I mean, you’re always talking about how different the human realm is from here and...how safer it is, really.” His eyes strayed, only for a moment, towards the edges of a scar that poked out of the collar of her shirt, one that he knew stretched far further along her arm and body like an angry, tangled thicket.

“I mean, nothings trying to kill you the moment you step outside, yeah, but the human realm isn’t perfect.” Luz said with a shrug. “If I’m being completely honest, if my mami wasn’t there, I don’t think I’d ever be trying to go back.” She said, sounding only slightly surprised at her revelation. 

“But it's your home, isn’t it?” King insisted. 

“My home,” Luz said, booping his nose as she sat him down on her crossed legs, taking a moment to pull his claws off her shirt. “Is where I decide it is. And it’s not there.” She said, giving him a small, soft smile. “But my mom is part of what I consider home, and I won’t be home until I find her. Does that make sense?” She asked, head turned.

“I...think so.” King said with a frown.

“Hey, at the end of the day,” Luz said, scratching at the fur just under his skull, the demon leaning into it. “Just know that, no matter how much the Emperor tries otherwise, you guys are stuck with me, okay? Getting back to my mom won’t change that.”

King curled closer to her hand, still appearing a little doubtful, but far more reassured than earlier. Luz giggled as she used her other hand to scratch at his side, the demon kicking out his back leg happily.

“And, who knows,” Luz continued. “Maybe we’ll find your dad, too. Ask him a few questions, figure things out with him.”

“He probably wouldn’t care,” King sighed, deflating a bit and going limp in Luz’s lap. “You’ve at least got memories of your mom. I don’t have any.”

“Then he’s missing out,” Luz said, swooping down to hug the demon and giggle at his squirming. “His loss, really. I’ll be sure to tell him that if we ever meet him.”

“Even if he looks as big and terrifying as his mural?” King asked, moving his head just slightly.

“Even if he looks scarier than his mural.” Luz said with a very serious nod.

“Alright,” King said with a tsk, shaking his head. “But I’m not responsible if you get stepped on.”

“That’s fair,” 

The two smiled at each other, chuckling quietly as Luz turned and flopped back on her bed, jolting King before he crawled up and curled into a ball on her stomach. Luz smiled up at the ceiling, stroking a hand down his back. King nuzzled her hand, yawning as he shut his eyes, wrapping his small claws around her fingers.

She turned her head to the side, off towards the bundle of items she stashed at the other end of her room. Her eyes locked on the box of tapes under a pile of clothes, the words FOR MOM written as large as possible on the side in sharpie. Her smile fell, and she looked away from the box, face pinched.

“I hope your mom likes us,” King mumbled sleepily. “It won’t change anything if she doesn't, right?” He cracked open an eye, the yellow and purple glow looking eerie as he gazed at Luz.

“She’ll like you,” Luz assured quickly, forgoing answering his second question as she stroked her other hand over his skull and down his back. King shut his eyes again and purred in response, tail wagging. “She’ll like you.” She repeated, quieter, gently squeezing her fingers around King’s claws.

She didn’t speak after that. She did, however, tighten her hold on his back with her other hand, like she was afraid he’d get ripped out of her hands from a simple gust of wind. If she was squeezing him too tightly, he didn’t say anything.