#course my brain goes from ‘well if i can manage this surely i can plant strawberries’

[explode-this]

YOOOO MY PLANT IS GROWING

@blackindiaink printed me this nifty planter and gave me some soil and cat grass seeds and I planted them on Sunday and last night when I went to bed nothing was happening but this morning there were a couple of sprouts and when I looked at it in the afternoon there were more sprouts and that’s

✨ FUCKING MAGIC ✨

Okay, carry on as you were lmao

[thatfreshi]

can i request the reader has an emotionally abusive parent and astarion finds out and protects and comforts her?

TW - Emotional abuse, gaslighting, domestic violence

Recommended Song: The Archer - Adam Melchor

After settling down in Baldur's Gate again, you and Astarion have been slowly trying to fit back into the city. It's hard though, after such a long adventure, after trauma and perilous feats, to just be a person. You've reached out to a couple of old friends, trying your best to explain everything without revealing too much, especially without Astarion jokingly baring his fangs and saying "Be warned, I bite." The dumbass seems to think reverse psychology works on everyone.

So word slowly gets out that you're back in town. People that you knew forever ago suddenly stop by the house, and each time Astarion has to double-check that you know them, paranoid about people coming into the home you've built for the two of you. You don't blame him one bit.

It's a Summer afternoon, and you've just come in from tending your little backyard garden. Astarion calls out to you as you come in the back door.

"Darling, there's yet another person here to see you."

He gets a little overwhelmed by all these people wanting to come see you, but he tries his best to be supportive.

"Alright, coming."

You take off your gloves and hang them up by the door, making your way to the front of the house.

"Who is it?"

"Not sure, she wouldn't say."

He opens the door, and a shiver runs down your spine. Your mother.

"Oh, it's so good to see you Tav."

She lunges for an embrace before you can step away, your body is in shock. 'Why is she here?' 'How did she find out?' 'Who could've possibly told her you were back in town?'

"And who is this handsome man?"

Astarion realizes you're a little stunned, and he takes over the conversation for you.

"Astarion, and who might you be?"

"Well I'm Tav's mother of course! I'm sure she's told you all about me." He words are lined with spite, poison dripping out of her mouth. Your vampiric lover senses the tension, and yet you quickly switch tones.

"Come on in mother, we can show you around."

A fake smile, a facade. He's taught you well how to hide your intent, especially in peril.

"Yes, of course."

His voice trails off, wondering what you're up to. You simply start a tour of the house, acting like you would with any old friend.

"So obviously here's the little living space. I'd like to have some more plants in here, but somebody has to have a place to store all his books."

You try to shoot him a playful look, but when you meet eyes both of you know it's wrong. You chuckle a little too late, almost robotically.

"Ah yes, Tav here used to read all the time as a little one. Read all those silly little adventure books, even wanted to go on one."

"Yes, but-"

"BUT, instead we kept our lovely little offspring around to help with the business for a while, convinced Tav it was best to help the family."

Something triggered in Astarion's brain, the way she said family.

"Yes, of course mother. It was the right thing to do after all."

He realizes you never spoke about your parents, or about any of your family members for that matter. You've always spoken so freely, without a care in the world. Suddenly you were stiff, conforming to a conversation that you had no control over.

"Well, everyone must leave the nest eventually."

He smiles, trying to relieve the tension, still analyzing your movements.

"Well, my child here just up and disappeared a couple years back, left me and my husband in shambles."

Clearly she didn't know about the nautiloid, or about any of your adventures.

"And yet suddenly here you are, a house, a lovely man, and you feel no need to tell your parents you're home? After all, we could always use the help."

"Well, Astarion and I have been very busy mother, finishing up the house, settling in."

"You know I could've helped with all that."

"We've been managing fine."

The conversation starts to get aggressive. Astarion goes into that protective stance of his, standing tall next to you and wrapping his arm around you.

"Yes, if we ever need help we'll certainly reach out."

There's a slight hiss at the end of his sentence, and you nudge him in the side, trying to get him to keep his composure.

"No need to get all defensive. Tav and I, we understand each other. I just worry, my child being out in the wild, adventuring through forests with all those miserable monsters."

"Would've been better being away from the worst of them."

You mutter under your breath. It's frustrating, this woman coming back into your life, trying to convince you to come back and 'help' her out with the business. You did almost all the work, under her hand. And when you said you wanted to leave and go out on a grand quest...

"You know what, you need to leave."

You finally speak up.

"Excuse me?"

She's shocked.

"Yeah, before there's another accident. Would hate if I broke my leg again."

Astarion's grip tenses.

"That was a sad coincidence and you know it Tav."

"No, you pulled the ladder out from under me while I was climbing to fix something on the roof, and I fell and shattered my leg, and this just so happened to be the day after I told you I was going to leave the city."

"I was trying to stabilize it after I saw it was falling. Don't blame your poor mother."

"And what about when you refused to have a cleric come see me, and I was on bed rest for months on end, while you did nothing."

Your mother goes to speak again, but Astarion cuts her off.

"As my lovely partner here has already said, I think you need to leave, now."

He unwraps himself from you, stepping towards the defensive woman.

"There's no way you believe Tav's idiotic lies. Don't be a fool."

"You're the fool, a fool who's about to lose their head if you don't turn around and leave this house."

She goes to say something else, watching as he goes to grab his trusty dagger. Instead she simply huffs, and storms out the door. Astarion slams it behind her.

"You'll come back Tav, you'll see reason!"

He quickly deadbolts the door and comes back over to you, and you finally break down. That woman, she terrorized you your entire childhood, and some mind flayer ship took you away from her, thankfully.

"You... you never told me about your mother."

"Yeah, I didn't think it really compared to all of your shit."

You wipe at your eyes.

"Now, we don't need to compare apples and oranges my love. It's abuse, all the same, all evil."

He holds you for a while. You're still nervous you'll hear banging on the door, but hopefully Astarion scared her off well enough.

"She'll never be back here, not if I have something to say about it. Here, come sit."

You make your way to the sofa, and he just holds you for a while. It's silent, except for his breathing and a few soft sobs from your sorrows.

"You know, I don't mean to pry, and you don't have to answer if you don't wish to... but did she really let you suffer like that? With your leg just, shattered?"

"Mhm. I couldn't walk for months. I still don't think it ever healed properly. I begged for her to get someone to come look at it, and she just kept saying 'no Tav, they'll just charge us for some bogus potions' and that was that."

He wraps his arms around you tighter than ever. He's lost in thought, going between thoughts of your pains and his own.

"We're so lucky."

You're a little surprised. It's not often he's such an optimist, especially at times like this.

"What do you mean?"

"I think we understand each other better than anyone. Your griefs echo mine, it just makes sense. Not to say I'm happy you went through that... but we're just lucky, lucky to have each other."

You plant a gentle kiss on his hand.

"I agree darling. Thank you, for always being here for me."

"Only because I know you'd do the same for me, my love."

The two of you stay cuddled there for a long time, not really saying or thinking anything. Just two people, sitting in the air of each other's freedom. Just two lovers who were the first to be loved by one another.

[luvvixu]

sinner and saint

content: fluff, modern!au gojo, lowkeybf!gojo, this was written like last year so it's kinda forgotten but whatevs, im sure he's that guy who would do crazy things like that

a saint and a sinner. that's how people would call a trope like you two have.

you, y/n l/n, a saint—who grew up in a secluded family who thinks morality, being demure, and growing up like a holy being matters the most.

he, satoru gojo, a sinner—who grew up in a harsh environment but that did not stop him from being himself, a reckless little one, a total opposite of you.

but there was something in him that caught you head over heels. you couldn't even describe him properly on how you fell in love with him because your mind is a mess when his name reaches your brain—in a good way though.

all you can say is that he kissed you one time, and there you knew, and there you have it, love blooms whenever he goes.

meanwhile, from his perspective, it was different. satoru thinks you're way too out of league for him. but that does not halt him, either you, to show your full adoration towards each other. being with you is like a grace from above, he did not pray for it nor manifest it, you just came into his life and he found a reason to continue.

"come on, y/n. it'll not be that bad." a voice whispers from your windowsill. it belongs to your lowkey boyfriend, satoru, who snuck out from their house just to have a late night walk with you.

"hush! are you even aware what time it is?!" you whispered-ly yelled, worried for satoru that he might get caught. knowing that you grew up in a strict slash religious slash mentally draining household. of course, discrimination has no escape in your family.

your lover took a glance at your analog clock by the wall, he glanced up to you with a coy smile, decorating those luscious lips. "it's 11:37 pm, my love. you never told me that you do not know how to read an analog clock." satoru said with full cockiness in his tone.

a glare was sent towards the latter's way as you escalated a sigh at his silliness (you admire him for that). how did you even go in this situation? simple, he was reckless and you love him.

well actually, it all started when he passed you a note during school time. the paper itself looked like a contract more than an invitation, it stated that he was hoping you would join him in a late night walk around your neighborhood's vicinity.

you and your boyfriend live nearby each other. that is why everytime the school ends, you two would always go home together (with matching holding hands, of course). thankfully, the gossipers in your town did not suspect the two of you at all. with extreme carefulness and instinct, the two of you manage to hide your relationship from everybody.

and occasionally, he would steal a kiss from you when it's late and no one was nearby. this always never fails to make your stomach feel like there's a whole sanctuary of butterflies dancing inside.

"i did not even agree with this thing you're saying." back to the present, satoru has been nagging you constantly about this late night walk he's been excited about.

"but you did not disagree, either. So, i guess now that I'm here, you could make up your mind?" satoru planted his hand on his cheeks, looking at you so innocently.

did I mention that he was still literally dangling outside? like his feet were still planted on the roof that he climbed just to be here in your room.

"what if we got caught?" you mumbled, slowly walking back and forth, a habit of yours whenever you feel anxious.

"oh sweetheart, come here." he made you kneel by the window. his warm hands made you feel secure as he cupped your face, looking dead straight in your eyes.

"listen, you know that i would not do anything that will put you in danger, am I right?" you nodded, making satoru smile before planting a small peck right in your nose. "if we ever got caught, which i don't think will be happening in this current situation, i would be fully accountable and i would face the consequences alone."

"don't say that." your eyebrows immediately submerged into a frown.

"say what?"

your fingers reach for his face too, delicately caressing every inch of the face you love. "it's unfair that it would be only you who is at fault. i now want this too. don't taint your name alone with the mistakes we both make." there's a hint of pain and upset in your voice, which did not go unnoticed by your lover.

satoru immediately places a kiss on your forehead to cease the frown forming in your frame. "hey. i'm sorry, okay? i didn't mean to invalidate you. i just want what's best for you." he noticed your tense muscles suddenly came to loose, kind of relieved from what he said to you.

"you're the best for me." you let out your sweetest smile that even ants might get diabetes. you could also see your satoru blushes as his cheeks in your palm suddenly become more warmer and the tip of his ears are visibly red.

"ooh~? someone's blushing?" you teasingly said. the gentleman in front of you chuckles as he takes your fingers and kisses all of your fingertips.

"mmh…i am, indeed." his voice is so sultry that it was your turn to blush—maybe harder than he was earlier.

the couple giggled to each other as they continued to exchange endearing words and sweet little kisses. teenage love is really sweet. for sure when they grow up, this kind of memory would be stamped permanently in their brains.

"this might sound cheesy to you but whatever, i'm just going to say what I want to say."

"alright, but first, why don't you come inside? i'm worried you might get a cold from hanging out there…"

"eh, this is more convenient since you're coming out with me." he just offered you a thumbs up before proceeding to his next speech. you waited for him patiently with a gentle smile decorating your lips.

"as i was saying, whenever you would run your fingers through my hair as we watched the lights of the city go wild, you kept your eyes to me—only to me. at first, it feels wrong but you make it enough just to make it right."

"because i never thought that i would end up with you. a living goddess, a saint, a careful daughter—you're way too opposite of me. but, whenever i see you smile, i...i can see the sparks fly."

"i remember it all, that summer afternoon of July 7th—you held my hand and led me towards the staircase of our classroom building. you whisper my name ever so slowly and softly, and then you say you love me. god! that made me get so captivated by you, everything blooms like a fireworks show."

his blue eyes dived deep inside your own, swimming further as he got lost by your warmth. it held pure praise and adoration for you, and only you. every inch of his body screams that you only own him. That applies the same to you as to satoru.

"so, my love, would you like to go out with me?" your lover lends out his hand, encouraging you to join him into a reckless adventure. with tears slowly formulating in your eyes, you manage to let out a contented laugh—clearly touched by his confesst.

"do I really have to say anything when you literally told me a while ago the reason why you have decided to stay there by the window is that it is more convenient since you're coming out with me?"

satoru blushes slightly. "oh shush! don't make me embarrassed and just say your answer."

your eyes disappeared as you gave her your signature eyed smile, something you would only do when you feel extremely happy.

"whenever there's you, i will always follow you."

"is that a yes?" sometimes, your boyfriend is a big mood killer with his stinky ass jokes that make you want to throw him into the ocean and feed to those little fish who need his nutrients.

"do you not hear what i have said?" your eyes squint over his mischievousness.

"said what?"

this mother—

"okay, i changed my mind. goodnight." without a second thought, you turned your heel away and started to lay down on your bed.

"wait! No, no ,no! my love, i'm just joking—like really! i am just so happy you accepted my offer." you saw satoru struggle to stop you through your peripheral vision, it makes you smile but you remembered that you're annoyed, so you stop yourself.

"hmph! let's just go, we still have class tomorrow." he smiled at your answer before helping you to sneak out through the window.

mumbling some careful words, both of you successfully touch the ground without making any noises. a harsh wind of the night blew within your skins, as you were only wearing a thin fabric of your nightgown.

"here. good thing i bought you some of my extra hoodies." you grin at your boyfriend's caring attitude as he even helps you wear it.

the walk around your subdivision is just perfect and calming. just you and satoru, walking hand in hand, swaying your collided hands occasionally. the moon and the stars above are twinkling, serving as your light along with the light posts near the sidewalk.

"i've always wanted to do this, walking alone with you. i like it that it's just the two of us, i could kiss you anytime i want." you punched his arm weakly and told him to cut it out, but satoru was serious with his words.

"i love you—"

*drip*

"it's raining? damn, i should've checked the weather first." you man mumbles under his breath and was about to pull you to the nearest shelter when you held his hands. stopping, his blue eyes trailed at you with confusion.

"let's just stay here for a while."

"but baby, you might get sick."

"i won't." you let out a laugh as you pull satoru in the middle of the road, inviting him for a waltz. his hands slowly trail on your curves as you wrap your arms around his neck.

two eyesights are swimming to each other's gaze, drowning themselves with love and neverending adoration.

both of your foreheads are leaning to each other, still swaying and hands are clasping. satoru blew a peck on your nose, he could feel the coldness from the rain—but it was just right because of how the distance of your bodies brings warmth to each other.

"y/n, can i kiss you?" satoru's blue eyes bore into your own orbs, filled with extreme love and adoration towards you.

"you don't have to ask me." answering with the same loudness and softness, you smiled at your lover.

gently, satoru adjusted his grip on your waist before slowly capturing your lips with his. the dynamic rhythm of your kiss matches the dampness of the rain, creating a romantic air within your vicinity.

this is perfect. you couldn't ask for more, he couldn't ask for more. once again, teenage love is indeed very sweet when you're with that one memorable person. in this case, you and satoru are that memorable person.

who knew that a sinner and a saint had this fascinating chemistry?

©luvvixu2023

[goosessideblog]

FORGOT ANOTHER ADDITION TO THE ASK THINGY

you gave me Ridder I offer Muschio

If you forgot

I DID FORGET COMPLETELY IM SORRY ROBYN I TOLD MYSELF I WOULD ANSWER THE ASK(S) AND I FORGOT.

um. well :3 yeah PEBBLE TIME.

favourite thing: big fan of how the reveal about him being leonid was done!! it was very nicely paced and written props to weaver. of course it goes without saying i love everything about him but this is my favourite off the top of my head

least favourite thing: this is more nitpicky than anything but i’m sort of sad that he (or the demon, rather) broke character, per se, when talking to wes? i’ve always been a huge fan of overly formal/polite villains so i would’ve loved to see their conversation keep that politeness especially when they start physically fighting. not to say the moment when the facade fell wasn’t cool as fuck though, easily one of my favourite parts of the scene.

favourite line: chapter 26, panel 43:

Yes. Of course yes right good everything's fine hello. Hello good afternoon. I'm fine. It's all fine. A psychotic murderer is about and stalking around our home and an army of magical sprites may descend on us at any moment to turn us to electric ash and I can't stop thinking about the smell of death but everything is fine it's fine chin up Pendle old fellow look on the bright side no need to fear.

brOTP: honestly? huge fan of him and ridder. yes they’ve never interacted but this isn’t going to stop me. they both take comfort in the whole song-and-dance of social customs and manners, i think it would be very fun to see them talk, especially with ridder being a fan of the strategic side of things. they’d bounce off eachother very nicely i’d reckon

OTP: you know me robyn. its wespendleona. pendle has (at least) two hands and with what he’s been through he deserves both of them held. them :]

nOTP: since divequest doesn’t really have a fandom i guess i don’t really have any? i am yet to see a dq ship i can’t get behind, especially a fanon one.

random headcanon: his third set of arms is actually vestigial! he isn’t quite a spider but he isn’t much of a regular bugfolk either, he’s more somewhere inbetween.

unpopular opinion: again. dq is a fandom of 6 people. i don’t think it’s possible to have an unpopular opinion as of right now

song: i WISH i had one, alas i don’t think of divequest characters from the perspective of songs much. perhaps i’ll come back to the one day, maybe

picture:

moving onto the man the myth the legend. muschio!!

favourite thing: how clever he is at times. it’s especially clear in the recent few updates, which have been SO fun to read. sure some of his plans are stupid and sure he doesn’t harbour the most emotional intelligence but god can he be slick when the time comes. i love him

least favourite thing: i’ve never been much of a fan of his uh. glaring attraction. to many of the women in the series. i do think it’s a pretty iconic trait and it does fit his character but i’ve just never had much fun reading it, unfortunately.

favourite line: i don’t know if this counts, but like half the things the voices say? the suggesters are funny what can i say. as for actual lines in-comic he says so much stuff i don’t have the energy to sort through and pick my favourite right now. he says a lot of fun things

brOTP: him and dompag!!! i am a firm believer in the headcanon dompag has managed to befriend everyone in the vault and acts as a shoulder to lean on, which i reckon muschio could really use. muschio has many problems and dompag has been shown to be a very good problem solver, as well as making up for the emotional intelligence muschio lacks. i think they work great together

OTP: again. i’m a very obvious person. muschio/ridder has planted itself in my brain since the hot spring scene and it has not left since. what am i gonna do? say no to childhood friends to strangers to enemies to friends to lovers? scoff. i’m better than that

nOTP: same as for pendle, i don’t really have one? he has a personality that pairs well with most characters and i don’t really have much reasoning to dislike any ships with him.

random headcanon: ok buckle up it’s volto biology time. as an amphibian he doesn’t exactly fare well during the colder seasons and tends to be far more sluggish and far less focused, as well as practically clinging to any heat source he comes across. if he had the choice he would sleep through winter completely but since he can’t so much as catch a nap he doesn’t really get that luxury.

unpopular opinion: divequest six-person fandom strikes again

song: THE MAIN CHARACTER BY WILL WOOD!! this man and his protagonist complex. i’m going to tear him in half

picture:

[luimagines]

I’m back again :)

Reader finds bunny Legend in the forest, I don’t know what he’s doing there or why he’s a bunny — brain cells are for history homework tonight, but they decide to attempt to befriend the cute pink rabbit. Legend just lets them (because he has a crush and doesn’t wanna admit that he likes them petting him).

Reader notices he’s slightly injured, small cut on the paw, it is bleeding a bit though, and very gently picks him up and takes him to camp. Because obviously the little bunny needs at least some bandages, can’t have it getting infected now can we?

And Legend is dying of embarrassment and maybe gets picked on later by Sky and Twilight.

- Glitter ✨

Bun bun. Let's gooooo!!!!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

You weren’t intending on find anything in particular when you told the group that you were going to break off for a moment.

Between wanting some space and deciding to look around the area seem like a good idea at the time. You could defend yourself well and Wolfie hadn’t come back yet but Twilight did, and he said the place was clear. You could only assume that Wolfie was just hunting for a moment and will be back when he’s had his fill once more.

You were still on guard even when you just wanted to relax. The rustling in the bushes nearly got you to hack the poor plant in half before a something jumped out from it.

You paused.

The little creature didn’t seem to notice you. He rubbed his paws and rubbed his face and it was the cutest thing you swore you ever saw. You put your weapon away and watched the little bunny. Strange though, he was pink... and clothed.

“Aww.” The sound left you before you could stop it.

The bunny froze and looked up at you. You froze as well and stared back.

His little mouth opened. You crouched down and held your hand out. You never had such luck with bunnies but he looked so soft and sweet. You wondered if you could get him to come to you.

Hesitantly, he did!

He crawled forward and sniffed your hand. You tried to remain calm and confident. You didn’t want to scare his off now. Gently and slowly, you moved your fingers out. You managed to get a gentle sweep across his forehead before he placed his little bunny face into the palm of your hand.

You grinned and got onto to your knees to meet his height. “Oh aren’t you the sweetest little thing!”

You continued to pet him now that you’re sure that you’ve gotten permission. Enjoying your time with the soft fur, you tried to get closer. With enough patience, even if you’re not sure how you managed it, you got the bunny into your arms and begin to run your hands along his body.

“Oh I think I love you.” You coo. “Won’t you come home with me? You can live at my house where I’ll take good care of you and love on you every moment I can.”

You giggle and experiment with his paws. Surprisingly, he lets you grab them. Gently, of course. Until you brush over the pads on his front paw and he jerks. You freeze and apologize instantly.

But that’s a cause for concern.

“Sorry, buddy. Let me just get a look at this, ok?” You whisper, trying to keep the poor thing calm. You can feel his heart beating radically against your chest. He’s scared. Poor thing. He must think you’re going to hurt him.

You whine and pick up the paw, careful not to touch the same spot as before. You see it just he rips it back to himself. A small cut, blooming with red that nearly goes hidden against the pink fur that surrounds it.

You gasp. “Oh you’re hurt! Ohh...Oh no... Ok, buddy. Let’s see if we can fix you up.”

You carry him in your arms and stand. Trying to keep him as calm and comfortable as possible, you don’t look up to see the faces of the boys around you as you regroup with them.

“What happened?” Wind asks as you begin to rifle through the medical bag. “Where did you find him?”

“I ran into him while I was exploring.” You explain, taking out the gauze and disinfectant with one hand as you speak. “He has a cut on his paw. I’m going to take care of it the best I can. Rabbits can have a lot of things go wrong so I want to give him his best chance.”

The rabbit squirms a bit in your hold but you hold on tighter. “I know buddy, I know. You won’t like this. But I’ll be fast and then you can go on your merry way just like before.”

“Can I pet it?” Wind asks quietly.

You pause and hum. “Maybe not. I don’t want to make things too stressful for little guy. He’s surprisingly well behaved though. the rabbits back home would have never let me do this. So I want to be quick.”

“And what do we have here?” Time says to your left, having also come back from wherever he went to.

“A bunny.” You reply as you dab the little spot on his paw. As expected, the bunny squirms in your hold but doesn’t actively try to leave. Weird, you think. But maybe he knows you’re trying to help him.

Something clicks in your head then. “Time, can I keep him?”

Twilight, who was watching this entire time, starts choking on his drink. He starts to laugh but it only send the liquid flying through his nose. It looks painful and he reacts as such.

Time looks at you, ignoring his descendent. He crosses and his arms and raises an eyebrow. He looks amused. “I don’t think so.”

“Please?” You ask again. “Please? Please? I’ll look after him! look at how cute he is! How can you say no that that face!”

The rabbit for his part bends his ears back and pins them down. He tries to burrow down into the side of your arm where it would successfully hide his face from the view of others.

“Wild has Wolfie!” You try to defend before Time can respond to your earlier pleas. “How is that any different?”

“Wolfie can come and go as he pleases.” Twilight smirks, more amused than you think is necessary for this. “Can this bunny do that? I don’t think that’s what you’re asking.”

“Stay out of this Twilight. I’m not asking you.” You stick your tongue out and glare at him. You turn on your best puppy eyes and look at Time. “He’s hurt too! We can let an innocent creature go out while he’s hurt! It could get worse!”

Sky snorts and you turn to him but he’s not looking at you. Weird, you think again. That’s a strange reaction.

Before anyone else can talk, the rabbit leaps from your arms and dashes away into the woods. You cry out and jump to your feet but he’s gone before you can take a step. “Twilight, I blame you.”

“Wha- What did I do!?”

“I don’t know but it’s your fault.” You stomp your feet.

Time laughs and pats your shoulders. “It’s ok. I doubt he would have been able to stay for long regardless.”

You pout but have to agree with him on the basic fundamentals. Sky gets up as well and walks calmly into the forest in the direction of the bunny. 

“I’ll be back.” He says, taking the Master Sword with him. Twilight follows and Time allows it.

You huff and puff and really are just trying to deal with your disappointment in anyway that doesn’t actually end in tears. It’s dumb and you know it but you think you fell in love with he little guy despite only being near him for ten minutes tops.

“Hey guys...” Legend comes back. He had left before you did and he’s all red in the face now. He raises his hand in greeting and you gasp.

He has a slice down his palm. Another person injured today.

“Legend!” You cry out and run to him. “What one earth happened? Does it hurt? Come here! Before it gets infected.”

You pull him over and down, not to dissimilar to how you yourself were sitting on seconds prior. Legend’s face gets a bit pinker but you blame it on the fact that he caught red handed. Literally.

You just thank the stars that you already had to tools out.

“Honestly Legend, what are we going to do with you?” You sighs and shake your head. Twilight and Sky come back to the camp with knowing smirks.

Legend elects to ignore them while you’re too focused on making sure his hand in properly bandaged. You may not have been able to help the bunny but you can certainly help your friend. 

Besides you’d take Legend over the rabbit any day. He’s cuter.

[frostyyyroyalmilktea]

Nevermore!Tyler x Thorpe!Reader pt.4

This is pt. 4 of my series

part 1 part 5 this fic on ao3

Also, exiting news! I finaly managed to make that playlist! I'll let you know in the future if I'm gonna add new songs there. It's only on spotify, because I don't really know how to make one on youtube sorry.

Let me know what you think!

***

Next morning you oversleep again. To be fair, there was never much of a chance you’ll start waking up earlier, but for a good fifteen minutes there you were truly determined to become a better version of yourself. 

The Universe probably thinks that you’re pretty cool as is because when you stumble down to the dining hall Tyler is already at your usual table, and on his tray, there is a bowl of Captain Crunch and a carton of low-fat milk. 

He bashfully moves it toward you when you flop down on the chair next to him with your cup of tea in hand. One would think it’s such a little thing but you literally can't remember the last time someone did something so mundane but ultimately caring and thoughtful for you. You're so overwhelmed by how sweet he is that your body decides to not consult your brain on the matter of the appropriate course of action to show gratitude and you end up just wrapping Tyler into a hug and planting a big wet smooch on his cheek. 

His cheeks turn tomato-red and he manages to croak ‘you're welcome, y/n’ before resolutely staring at his hashbrowns for the next fifteen minutes. 

You’re not usually the type to become fast friends—let alone fast more than friends—but for all that this boy is turning your brain to mush from time to time, you're unusually comfortable around him. It feels right to do things you do even if they cause the rational part of your brain to want to pack its things and leave you behind. 

You don’t know how to do anything moderately and giving affection is no exception. So if Tyler plans to stick around—and he shows no signs that would indicate otherwise—then exposure therapy is the way to go.  

So that's how it goes. You eat together and then he walks you to your next class after breakfast and lunch. In the evenings you hang out in the common room together and play Switch. Your dad gave it to you as a birthday present but you never really got into it the way some of your friends did. Tyler enjoys it, though, so you tell him he can keep it in his room to do whatever needs to get done to his Animal Crossing island. 

He's hesitant about accepting such a costly thing even if it’s not a gift but more of a loan situation. It might as well be a gift, you think, because it was simply collecting dust in your desk drawer before you offhandedly mentioned to Tyler you owned one, and his eyes lit up in child-like excitement. You assure him—with the most gravely serious expression you can muster—that if you're to ever want it back, you'll let him know. You know you won't, though. He looks so happy playing with that damn thing that you'd rather look your father dead in the eyes and tell him the aliens stole it than ever ask Tyler to give it back.

The two of you hold hands like a pair of smitten kindergarteners when you walk to class and sometimes people give you weird looks but ultimately it doesn’t bother you too much. 

You have zero problems telling those people to go fuck themselves  take a picture as it’ll last longer. Tyler always carries your bag too, even though you have a Kindle and never actually carry any textbooks, but seeing him carry a giant jigglypuff on a strap with the utmost purpose is so fucking adorable, it makes you want to explode. So naturally, you never deprive yourself of such pleasure.

What also becomes a semi-regular occurrence is you turning into a bloodthirsty angel of vengeance when people are mean to him. You don’t seem particularly intimidating—especially not in your rainbow platform shoes—but you sure are determined. On a Thursday afternoon, when the two of you are walking down the hall discussing the peculiarities of the Spiderverse, some guy decides that he has a death wish apparently to call Tyler a string of particularly unpleasant things. Tyler has to physically hold you back by the waist—with no tangible strain of course, because to him you probably weigh like a couple of grapes—so you won’t actually start a physical altercation, while you rather audibly promise the guy to liquify his kneecaps. 

The incident makes it into Enid’s blog and you rewatch the damn video a million times because someone filmed the moment after the guy has fucked off, leaving a vague air of fear and confusion behind him. Tyler was still holding you in his arms as he burst out laughing and called you his knight in shining armor. 

He tells you afterward that it’s worrying him that you are inviting antagonism towards yourself right off the bat, but you assure him that before Nevermore you went to a private school in Beverly Hills so you have full immunity to antagonism as a whole, and, as a matter of fact, you eat people like that guy for breakfast. Tyler stares at you like you’re the best thing since sliced bread.

You hang out with Eugene a couple of times, planning the concept of the Etsy shop in more detail. Wednesday begrudgingly joins you and while your presence still rattles her somewhat, you’re surprised to discover she’s taking economy classes and is interested in business planning. 

She’s alright, you decide eventually. After all, it would be way worse if your brother fell in love with someone utterly dull. Both you and Wednesday get very crabby and argumentative with each other about any a topic, and while Enid thinks the two of you are well on the way to murder each other, you’re sure Wednesday actually has as much as you during those little debates. Although, maybe for her it's actually both.

When Tyler goes out to Jericho to see his dad, you hang out with Bianca and her friends. They remind you a little of the crowd you used to keep company with back in Cali, but they’re alright. Xavier is grumbly and refuses to reply with full words when you ask something, preferring vaguely affirmative sounds. 

That doofus can’t hold a grudge to save his life though, so when the two of you end up having History of Art together, he sits with you and copies your notes because he’s shit at remembering dates. He’s such a baby sometimes, but he’s your baby, and if someone tries to hurt him, you’re prepared to draw blood. 

The curriculum at Nevermore is pretty odd, to say the least. But you got to give to Weems, it’s really diverse too. You choose natural sciences as your main academical domain so you study chemistry, physics, geology, and astronomy. You're also required to take one subject outside of the domain, so you choose History of Art to hang out with Xavier and learn just how gay every prolific art figure was. 

Xavier’s domain is humanitarian sciences, so he studies literature, art, theology, and history. His out-of-specialty subject is Botanics, and it just so happens that Wednesday attends it too. They have a new teacher this semester because the last one turned out to be a bigoted psychopath with a penchant for raising the dead. It all ties to Tyler somehow, you know it, but none of the people who were also the participants of those events strike you as particularly reliable narrators, if you’re being completely honest. So you decide to wait it out and let Tyler present you the whole story when he feels comfortable enough to do so.

Tyler himself chooses social sciences. He studies history, anthropology, ethnology, and economics. His out-of-his-specialty subject—to your immense joy—is astronomy so you have classes together on Tuesday and Friday. He's really good at it but in a very different way than you are. He can use the stars for navigation and orientation, while you know all the legends behind the constellations’ names and the dates when they were discovered.

***

You, Bianca, and Yoko start watching The Sandman on a Friday evening, and while the girls are out cold by one in the morning, you can't sleep until you finish the whole thing. When your alarm goes off at 8 o'clock in the morning to go to therapy, you’re only about 30% conscious of your actions as you brush your teeth and get ready. You don’t do anything with the hair—not like there’s anyone to impress anyway—so it looks a good deal like an explosion at the macaroni factory. You just wear the warm beanie Enid knit for you after you utterly horrified her with the news of you not owning any winter hats. It’s very comfy and soft, even though it makes you look a bit goofy. 

You realize that you fell asleep in your contacts last night—or rather this morning—because when you blink, your eyes feel like they're full of sand. You use the soothing eyedrops and resign to wearing glasses for the day. They lowkey hide the dark circles too, so you got that going for you at least.

You dig out a red-and-white striped winter jacket from the back of the closet and drag yourself downstairs. Weems said your unfortunate driver will meet you by the main gate. 

You can see the truck parked to the side when you cross the school grounds. Not a new car, but seems well cared for and unlikely to give out in the middle of the road. The driver is rounding the car to meet you and… oh crap.

“Y/n?”

Of course, it would be Tyler. Because the Universe is funny like that.

You try to squash the insistent thought that you bear an uncanny resemblance to Where’s Wally right now as well as not be awkward about the whole we’re going to therapy thing.

“Whassup, dude?” Great. Truly masterful. “So you're my unfortunate Uber driver.”

Tyler snorts, opening the passenger door for you. “I don't feel particularly unfortunate right now," he says, watching you intently. “Also, didn't know you wear glasses. It’s really cute.”

“Thank you,” you say for both the compliment and the door. “I can't see shit without them and I fell asleep in my contacts last night so I need to give my eyes some rest.” 

You manage to climb into the car without tripping on your own limbs, which is quite impressive considering that the ground froze overnight and was slippery as fuck. 

“I was worried I'll get stuck with some horrible dude that listens to Machine Gun Kelly and I would be forced to jump out of the car full speed.” You inform Tyler when he joins you in the car and starts backing up out of the driveway.

“I'm more of an Eminem fan,” he smiles. “But you can play whatever you want," he reaches for the aux cord, before handing it to you. “You have good taste.”

You grin as your brain starts broadcasting static.

After a moment you manage to shake off the stupor and plug the aux into your phone.

“Can’t say I’m a huge fan of the guy, but I like the song he has with Aerosmith.”

Tyler just hums approvingly as the first chords start playing from the speakers. 

“Do you mind if we stop for gas?” Tyler asks after a few minutes, as the car finally turns onto the asphalted road. “It’s just outside Jerico, minimum detour time. I barely use the car now that I'm at Nevermore, so I forgot to check the tank before today.”

He’s not acknowledging an elephant in the room car and you’re not too eager to do it either.

“That's cool. I’ll get snacks and I can really use a Redbull right now,” you sigh.

“Late night?” Tyler asks, amused.

“More like an early one. In the morning.”

“Ouch. What kept you?”

“The Sandman. On Netflix, I mean. Not—you know—the actual deity.”

Tyler smiles, not looking away from the road. “You like fantasy?”

“I do. But also, like, anything else, as long as it’s good. Or not good but in a good way.”

“Like Twilight?”

“Yes!” You exclaim. “I’m so glad you understand, mon chou. Finally, an intellectual with finer tastes in life.

Tyler laughs. “I sense there’s a story there.”

“Oh, let me tell you.” You half-turn in your seat, leaning on the door. “I was rewatching the Twilight movies during Christmas break, right? And like a caring sister I asked Xavi if he wanted to join me. And this asshole had the gall to tell me—,” you drop your voice a few octaves in your impression of Xavier, though you land closer to Squidward and you can’t say it’s completely unintentional, “I am not dignifying this embarrassment with even a second of my time.”

“That does sound like him,” Tyler agrees, grinning.

“A load of crap is what it sounds like. Like, who are you trying to bullshit here, dude? I know who stole my 10th-anniversary collector's edition of Twilight books when we were 13. And then my copy of Midnight Sun last summer too. He ain't beating the allegations, I know the culprit! But I’m a nice and caring person so I let it go, and this is the thanks I get?! Unbelievable! Shame on his cow!”

Tyler bursts out laughing at your recollection of Xavier’s dishonorable thievery and as you look at his profile, surrounded by the soft morning sunlight, you think to yourself I’m never ever letting you go.

Woooah. You file that thought for—much—later.

When he finally catches his breath, Tyler says: “I kind of like chick flicks in a guilty-pleasure sort of way, but since my mom died I don't have anyone to watch them with. My dad's not a fan of both the genre and spending time with me. 

Fuck. You can feel a familiar sense of protectiveness curling up inside. You’ve never even met the man, but you already dislike him quite ardently. 

Tyler clearly doesn’t want further questioning on the subject and you get a distinct feeling this is his way of testing you. Not with any malicious intentions, though. He’s probably not even aware he’s doing it. 

Well, you already chose a strategy and you plan to stick to it. You won’t come digging for what is not freely offered to you. 

“I personally don’t feel guilty about any of my pleasures,” you grin. “We can watch something together if you’d like, though? I can introduce you to European cinema. There’s a lot of good stuff to choose from whether you want something campy and fun or something serious and dramatic. If you’re willing to read the subtitles, that is.”  

“Yeah. I… I'd love that,” he agrees, his voice soft and quiet. You don’t miss the way he exhales in relief once the questions about his family don’t follow.

***

At the gas station, the two of you split up with you going inside to get snacks while Tyler fills up the tank.

You decide to forego the Redbull after all, its slogan almost mocking you from the banner above the cash register.

You grab a six-pack of cherry-flavored Dr Pepper, an unholy amount of those mini Rise Krispies, and a big box of Reese’s for Tyler.

When you emerge from the little shop, you see two guys nearing Tyler’s car with slimy leers on their faces.

Oh-oh.

“Do you see this Benny?” One of them asks the other rather loudly. “They let him out in public without a muzzle. No leash too. I’m shocked.” His companion laughs in a way that reminds you of a sound that styrofoam makes if you rub it against the glass. Screechy and revolting.

Tyler’s shoulders stiffen but he doesn’t turn to face them.

“Oh no, Charlie!” the presumable Benny exclaims tauntingly. “He’s got so poncy in that godforsaken school, he won’t even say hello to old friends.”

You see Tyler take a deep breath, close the tank cap with perhaps more force than the action requires, and turn around. “What do you want?”

“Not happy to see us, Galpin? You’re hurting my feelings.” The first pipes up again.

“I’ll hurt way more than your feelings if you don’t piss off,” Tyler grits through his teeth.

“Not when your daddy can’t cover up for you anymore.” You see the sun reflect from the hand of the second guy. He’s flicking out a blade.

Shit.

You make a few calm but quick steps toward Tyler, like you didn’t see the scene unfold, nor noticed that one of the guys has a knife.

“You ready to go, Ty?” you ask with a smile, not acknowledging the unwanted company.

Your sudden appearance seems to throw them off, and you hope that while they collect their wits—if there are any in the first place—you and Tyler will hop in the car and be gone.

But the shitheads turn out to be of a persisting kind and they shift their attention entirely to you now. Tyler takes a step forward to stand between you and them as if to shield you. 

Shithead №1 laughs, while the second one—the one holding the fucking knife—studies you carefully. “I see you didn’t waste any time, Galpin. Got yourself a freaky girlfriend right off the bat,” he scoffs.

“She looks normal to me,” shithead №1 observes, perplexed.

“Maybe we should test that,” shithead №2 replies.

Tyler growls.

If you don’t do something he’ll fucking shift and tear them apart. His distress echoes sharply in your ribcage and you feel your fingertips tingle in a way you have only experienced once. Fuck.

You will yourself to squash the panic, lest it leads to the encore of that shitshow that happened when your powers manifested for the first time. 

You need to do something pronto.

You take two steps forward, stopping next to Tyler. 

“Can you hold this for me for a sec, babe?” Without looking you hand Tyler the plastic bag with snacks in it. When you feel his hand curl around the handles you let go and make another step forward.

The idiots look puzzled but their hateful demeanor doesn’t budge one bit.

“Did you hear that Benny?” The first one starts to laugh but it’s short-lived because once he can’t take a breath, he starts choking. His eyes widen in panic and he looks at his companion, who also came to the realization he can’t inhale. The knife falls out of his hands and you kick it with your little pink ugg to the other side of the gas station where it disappears in the shrubbery. Neither the trajectory of the knife’s path, nor the speed with which it flew there, couldn't have been plausibly inflicted without a supernatural force.

“You know this saying,—” you ask, making eye contact with the shithead №2. His face starts tinting blue from the lack of oxygen. “— don’t bring a knife to a fight with a girl that can manipulate natural forces. Maybe that’s not word for word how it goes, but you get the point, yeah?” 

Shithead №1 starts twitching and you realize you’ll have to let go soon if you don’t want the idiots to actually pass out.

“Point being,” you elaborate, “you mind your fucking business or you get your ass handed to you. Or rather your lungs, in this particular situation.”

You relax and command yourself to release them. Surprisingly, it works.

The shitheads start coughing and hungrily inhaling the cold winter air.

Your hands start trembling but if there’s one thing you are a master of, it’s keeping face.

So your lips curl into a smile that doesn’t touch your eyes when you say “Good day, gentleman.” You tip the invisible top hat at them. They look back with the fear of God in their eyes. Good. “I hope—for your sakes rather than mine—that I will never see you near Tyler ever again.”

With that, you turn around intending to hop into Tyler’s car and have a nice little freak out about the whole situation but the look on his face stops you short after only a few steps.

He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. His pupils so dilated, they almost eclipse the irises.

For a second your blood runs cold. He’s scared of me, is your first panic-induced thought. The other one follows rapidly. I fucked this up before there was even an anything between us. 

The avalanche of panic threatens to overwhelm you…but it never gets the chance. Tylers comes out of his stupor and in a few quick steps crosses the space between the two of you. He wraps his hand around yours, intertwining the fingers. The most brilliant smile you’ve ever seen adorns his face. “Thanks,” he says, looking at you the way one might imagine people look at Northern Lights. With awe.

He’s not scared.

***

Tyler

Back in the car, with the snacks safely deposited on the back seat, the two of them sit in silence until Tyler maneuvers the car back to the main road. Y/n slumps in the passenger seat looking exhausted and groggy.

“So,” Tyler starts carefully. “I take it you don’t know what exactly you did to them?”

“I know what I did,” she mumbles into the puffy collar of her winter jacket. If Tyler didn’t have enhanced hearing, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make out what she’s saying. “It’s the how that’s the problem. This shit happens on pure instinct, and it’s volatile. Could’ve fucking killed the bastards,” she sighs, slumping further into her jacket. 

Volatile. It’s how he described her in his mind that first day in the dining hall, he remembers.

“No harm done,” he assures her. “Killing them was not your intention,” he says. So your powers reacted accordingly.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or freaked out that you're being so chill about it all,” she says with a chuckle. He relaxes a bit at the sound of it.

“Even-Steven,” Tyler announces with a grin.

That gets him another laugh. Every time he makes her laugh, he feels like he’s won something but he can’t understand what exactly.

“That’s why they sent me here. Here being both Nevermore and therapy,” she says. 

“What is your power exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She doesn’t reply for a few moments, and Tyler worries he has crossed some kind of line. He’s about to backtrack and change the subject when she speaks up.

“I manipulate gravity, and by proxy the objects in it.” She looks at the scenery flickering in the passenger window.

“So, theoretically, you can fly?” Tyler asks.

That also gets him a laugh, but not the kind he enjoys at all. This one’s sharp and self-deprecating.

“Theoretically,” she jeers. “I’m afraid of both flying and the heights in general. Like, clinically. Phobiacally. My most optimistic prospect is some make-do telekinesis, and even then I can’t control when or where it manifests.”

He hates to hear this vibrant, animated girl sound so… defeated. It almost physically hurts him. It’s not the same of course, but he knows what it’s like to feel useless against your own power.

“I didn’t know I had the Hyde until someone forcefully awakened it, binding me to their will and using me to kill people.” He blurts out.

That does the trick. Her attention laser-focuses on him in an instant, and from the corner of his eye he sees her face take on a peculiar expression. The same kind it took in the hallway this Thursday. Righteous anger.

Then, as if she caught herself mid-fall, it changes into something soft and empathetic and Tyler is ready to see pity there. But he never does.

She takes his free hand, intertwining their fingers. They land somewhere around the cup holders and she just starts gently brushing her thumb over his palm. He doesn’t really know what to do with such a casual show of affection. But he thinks he wants to learn. He wants to reciprocate someday.

“You’ve really been dealt the shittiest hand I can possibly imagine Galpin,” she says after a few moments.

He scoffs. "You don't know the half of it."

“I mean, not factually, no. But I can see it in your eyes sometimes.” She sounds thoughtful.

Tyler chances a quick glance at her. “What do you see?”

“It's hard to put into words but… the weight of living I guess. The burden of responsibility you didn't ask for.”

He hums, squeezing her hand tighter. “My last therapist apparently didn’t see shit, because she missed the whole shitshow unfolding and wanted to testify against me in court. Come to think of it, I still don’t know why she didn���t.”

“Kinbott? Is that why you’re seeing Dr. Shin now?”

“Mhm. My dad found him when he was looking for someone to give an alternate opinion to Kinbott’s in court. He specializes in outcast phycology so his testimony could possibly trump Kinbott’s in the eyes of the jury. I see him ever since. He’s very nice. I’m glad you’ll be seeing him and not her.”

“Yeah… yeah me too, babe.”

***

Author's notes:

Xavier's complicated relationship with Twilight franchise is inspired by this tiktok lol I just imagined MC watching Twilight on christmas break and Xavier thinking he's being subtle

[littlefreya]

Syverson’s Dirty Alphabet

Warnings: +18, smutty situations, mentions of oral, anal, risky creampie, breeding kink, lactation, masturbation, peach eating, etc.

* I give no permission of copying or reposting my work *

Syverson’s NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

It takes a few good seconds for blood to reach his brain again, and he is a bit lost for words after nearly breaking both your hips and the bed, but once he manages to climb down from his high, Sy lies you flat on the mattress and begins examining your body.

His coarse beard grazes your skin as he explores every inch of your sweat-drenched flesh, planting tender kisses to soothe you after an intense session of love-making.   

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

That would be your sweet peach, of course. 

“You’ve got the perfect peach, kitten, sweeter than honey and more addictive than drugs, just one taste makes feel alive.”

Never in your life have you met a man so eager to eat pussy. Even when it’s quick and dirty, Sy would make sure to spread your open and dive in to drink the elixir between your thighs. 

As for Sy’s own body, it’s no secret he is in love with his big fat cock. And he has a good reason too, he has a really nice-looking one and so thick you almost climax the moment he enters you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It’s no secret that Syverson has a breeding kink, thus he loves to bareback and come inside you and damn, he has quite the thick load to give you. He pounds you wildly and grinds you up once he comes, making sure to pump his seed into you until it seeps out and dribbles down your cunt. After giving you the very last drop, he pulls out and holds your legs open, admiring the sight of your battered hole stuffed with his cum.  

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

You’re the only one who knows that Sy comes the hardest when you have a finger massaging his puckered little hole. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The Captain lost his virginity when he was 15 while skipping gym class to hang out with a girl who was a year older than him. 

Since that day, he had more than a dozen of ladies and with each woman, he made sure to perfect his style. Fingering, oral, anal and old school vaginal sex, he tried it all and made sure to perfect his way in order to make his lady reach the highest peaks of ecstasy. 

Nothing makes him harder than to please his own lady shrouded in tendrils of pleasure and he will do anything necessary to get you there.  

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Sy loves having you flat on the table with him standing up and ramming you. That way he has a great view, both seeing your tits bounce with every thrust and being able to see his cock slip in and out and weave in your gut.  

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Depends on his mood. If he is having a bad day then he might fuck you like a bull with fury and rage burning in his eyes. But Sy can be hilarious at times, cracking jokes and calling you silly names like “sugarbutt” and saying he is having some of that peach pie for dinner tonight.  

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Groomed? Sy? Don’t be ridiculous. The man takes pride in being a hairy beast. Manscaping is definitely not for him. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

People who know Syverson closely, know he is not a man of many words, but he can be extremely sensitive after sex and every now and then he breaks into a confession telling you how much you mean to him and whispers sweet nothing in your ear.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Being away half of the time, one of his favourite activities is jacking off while on video chat with you. At first, you were slightly reluctant to try it, you’ve never done that before, but all it took is for him to call you in the middle of the night with his shaft erected and gripped right in front of your very eyes. You joined him in sin right then and there, touching yourself while listening to him groan and promise you all the nasty things he intends to do to your body upon his return.   

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink, fully intent on getting your pregnant one day. The mere thought of seeing your big and rounded with his child makes the blood steer in his loins and even though you said you are not ready yet, secretly he hopes for a mistake, though of course, he’d respect your choice.

Sy also has a lactation kink, watched it in some porn once and since then been fantasising about the moment he’ll finally knocked you up to suckle on your tits. 

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Sy is a man of nature. So when he asks you if you want to go for a walk in the woods, don’t bother with your panties because it’s sure to end up with your skirt hiked around your waist while Sy is nailing you against an ancient tree.   

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Might sound ridiculous, but seeing you in the morning without your make up, in nothing but his t-shirt turns him on the most. So don’t be surprised to be awoken by his tongue deep inside your slit. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He doesn’t like being dominated, so don’t even try. The only way you’ll get to be in charge is with him cuffed to the bedposts and even then he might break them apart and punish you for being a brat.  

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Always up for getting head but Sy is a southern gentleman and he will definitely prefer to devour your peach and make you scream first. For years he has perfected his system, learning how to use his tongue, his lips and even his beard, though Sy also knows that each woman is different, and he will spend a large portion of his time learning your body to figure out what makes you cry for him the most.     

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rough and slow and eventually fast, he loves to grind you deep, and bottom out, fuck you painfully so you feel him for days. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

When you gotta you gotta, usually when you’re outside and you are giving him that look… suddenly you are leaning against the wall in a dark alley with Sy pounding you from behind while whispering profanities in your ear. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Definitely risking getting caught, wouldn’t give a flying fuck if someone walks in on you two fucking in public. Would also risk an unprotected creampie if you’re up for it. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Being a big, heavy man, he can usually go for one round every several hours but damn if he doesn’t give you all that he’s got and lasts long enough. He takes his sweet time making you come at least thrice during foreplay.  

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He quite loves using toys on you. He got you a vibrator and pack of three different size butt plugged when you mentioned being curious about anal and damn he loves using that vibrator on you and explore your body.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If you’ve been a bad girl be sure to be punished. He’ll have you bound and take up to an hour teasing and kissing you all over before reaching that one spot you need him to. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Sy can’t keep it down even when he tries, he is very vocal during sex and with that low baritone of his, the walls shudder with even grunt and growl that sputters from his mouth. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You found out pretty early that he loves to talk dirty during sex, calling you his dirty little slut, describing to you how good it feels to have your tight little pussy gripping his big cock and in return he wants to hear you speak back, demanding you’ll tell him how much you love having him rearrange your insides.

“That’s right, that’s my good little slut, tell big Sy how much you love riding his cock.”  

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Incredibly girthy, large and circumcised. The first time you saw him naked, you had to pick your jaw from the floor because you’ve never seen one this big before, and admittedly sometimes it hurts when he penetrates you, but no one ever made you come this hard either.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He is pretty much horny all the time, everything with him is a dirty joke or a sexual pun. He likes sending you dick pics and letting you know how much he misses you even though you’ve seen each other just a few days before. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sadly, quite soon after sex, he’ll fall into a deep sleep, with his hands around your breasts of course, so be sure to sneak away and relieve yourself as soon as you can, otherwise, it will be a bitch to try releasing yourself from Syverson’s death grip. 

[nobody7102]

Belle, it's been a while but the fishing line in my brain just hooked something for Rhett (lol).

Rhett and wifey's kids (one in pre-k, one in kindergarten, one 1st and the oldest in 2nd grade, cuz Rhett as we know is the biggest horn dog Wabang has ever seen) and their friends have been learning about Ancient Egypt in school and when they have free time in the school library, one of them manages to get their hands on a book called "Mummies Made in Egypt" and they DEVOUR that thing.

Rhett's working around the house, it's a gross, rainy day in the fall while wifey's on strict bedrest with twin boys who are weeks away from arriving. Rhett's waiting for dinner to be done when he hears a loud "what the fuck?!" coming from upstairs. He goes to see what's up and sure enough he crosses paths with Perry who's griping that there's no t.p. in the bathroom. Rhett of course is deeply perturbed and of course makes a snide remark to his brother, something along the lines of "well maybe you shouldn't eat Indian food three times a week ya dillhole"

Cue Royal coming up the stairs, biting his lip as he's trying not to laugh, he looks at Rhett and goes, "come see what your little headcases just did in the laundry room."

Rhett follows Royal to the laundry room where the kids are drawing really crude hieroglyphics on a long cardboard box while one of the boys is laying inside, wrapped head to toe in toilet paper with only his nose sticking out. Rhett's just done at this point, gently pounding his head against the doorframe as Perry's making some sarcastic remark about his nieces and nephews and Royal is once again, laughing his ass off, knowing his own son couldn't keep the snake properly caged. Rhett comes back upstairs to wifey and lies back next to her with the most exasperated groan ever. She asks him if everything was ok, to which Rhett simply replies, "I can't believe we've got two more joining them." He's happy, but knows that they'll be troublemakers when they're old enough (lol).

BABES! (Wifey is a goat, I mean 6 kids(and I'm a twin myself so oof))

Honestly Perry not having TP is probably the least of what he deserves.

I can fully see Amy helping her cousins out, she's being an architect and telling everyone how to stack the boxes to look the most like a pyramid, and when Rhett walks up the stairs shaking his head at the antics of the newest set of Abbott kids have gotten into. "What?" You smile watching him approach the bed before he crawls up beside you. kissing your cheek and resting his head in the crook of your neck.

With one hand propped behind your neck and the other rubbing over your bump as one of the little boys kicks his hand, Rhett sighs "I can't believe we've got two more joining them."

"Your telling me?" you joke "Your not the one pushing two this time" resting your hand over Rhett's you groan feeling two sets of feet against your hands instead of the usual one.

"Hey." Rhett started leaning down to your bump, he moved your hands to rest his nose against the area that had just been kicked "You two play nice in there... your Ma's doing a good job taking care of you two..." he mumbled against your skin "wait three weeks before you start ganging up on her"

moving your hand to rest in Rhett's hair you hummed for a moment "Speaking of waiting..." you started, causing Rhett to perk up "second grade, I just wanna wait till these two can keep up with their siblings" your arms wrapped around Rhett as he moved to be level with your face "Then after that if you want... we can work towards that Baseball team you told me about when we first started dating"

Rhett raised his brows with a smile "Deal" he hummed leaned over you to plant a kiss on your lips

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Camlann, except no one is being held back by stupid destinies;

Merlin manages to keep Morgana and Mordred on the side of the light, which has a few rather influential knock-on effects.

Morgause leads her army onto the barren fields of Camlann, her hair and eyes wild, but her sword and focus sharp. Opposite stands her traitor sister’s half brother, the Boy-King of Camelot, surrounded by his precious knights. Today, they would all die, she would make certain of that.

Arthur struggles to keep his hands from trembling, he’s well aware that this battle will likely be his, and subsequently Camelot’s, downfall, but his nerves are settled slightly by Merlin’s comforting presence at his side. Which he feels immensely guilty at. 

He’d done his best to urge Merlin to run, to take Gwen and Gaius and maybe even Morgana, to go to Ealdor to pick up his mother and run even further, just in case. Merlin had refused of course; Gwen and Morgana had squawked at Arthur’s stupid chivalry and planted their feet firmly in the throne room, a symbolic last line of defence, and Gaius rolled his eyes and reaffirmed that he would be in the infirmary tent, as planned. 

He’d given his men his speech and they all seemed content to die for the cause, for one last desperate attempt to keep their home safe, but that didn’t stop the freezing claw of guilt from shredding Arthur’s lungs every time he took a breath. They were just waiting now. For someone to make the first move, for Morgause to get a little closer, for someone to send a messenger. 

Arthur’s broken from his stare when a warm, soft, steady hand takes his gently. His head whips to the side to see Merlin, stood without armour (oh, how The King despaired) staring at him with a slight frown. A frown, Arthur thinks, that should be much deeper, and much more afraid. He’s grateful it isn’t. He’s not sure he could cope with seeing Merlin scared:

“Arthur, if... if I knew a way to win this, once and for all, with not a drop of Camelot blood spilt... would you let me?”

It takes Arthur a few moments to process what Merlin had said, on account of his brain focusing on how grateful he is to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his hand instead of actually listening to him speak, but when he does, he copies his servant’s frown, though his is slightly more confused. He doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand as he responds, instead tightening his grip:

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

Merlin gulps and looks away briefly, a look of guilt if Arthur ever saw one, but he finds he doesn’t really care. They’re all about to die, he’d forgive Merlin anything:

“If I could win this battle, and the war, right here, right now. Would you let me?-”

At Arthur’s continued perplexed look, Merlin rolls his eyes and huffs, smirking slightly as he adds on:

“-Just humour me.”

Arthur gulps, glancing towards the slowly advancing army before once again squeezing Merlin’s hand and looking back at him:

“It would... depend on the consequences, I suppose. Would you get hurt?”

Merlin shakes his head, then stops, and tilts it sideways as though he’s considering something he’d really rather not think about. He can’t meet Arthur’s gaze as he responds:

“I... might need a few hours to rest, afterwards, but any... long term consequences would depend on your reaction.”

Arthur recoils slightly at that, frown deepening as he shakes his head, completely oblivious to the keen listening ears of his six most loyal knights, and another, hidden towards the back of the group. If he’d turned to see them, Arthur would’ve noticed the blank looks of steely determination on Lancelot and Mordred’s faces:

“Well we would never have to worry about that. I... I could never see you hurt, Merlin.”

The King’s voice cracks as he mentions Merlin getting hurt, and the servant’s gaze softens, knowing that Arthur was thinking of their inevitable demise, creeping closer and closer. He squeezes his hand, giving him a soft smile as his other hand lifts up to rest on his shoulder; his question comes out soft and pleading:

“Do you trust me?”

Arthur has to use all of his self control not to yell his answer across Camlann:

“More than anyone.”

Merlin smiles sadly and steps back, dropping both of his still-steady hands to his sides; Arthur feels the gap between them more heavily than he feels the armour on his back. Merlin goes to turn away without another word, but before he can take even one step, a figure is pushing through to the front, gripping his wrist and pulling him back:

“I’m coming too.”

Arthur’s eyes go comically large as he hears Morgana’s voice come from under the hood. He steps forward to rip it down, and she only spares him an annoyed glance before she’s back to staring purposefully at Merlin. A gasp goes up around the group from all bar two, and Mordred dismounts his horse, walking forward to be in line with Morgana. The three of them entirely ignore Arthur’s outraged words:

“Morgana, what the hell are you doing here? You need to be safe at the castle, you’re meant to take the crown what the hell are you doing here?!”

Merlin meets Morgana’s determined glare with a resigned one of his own:

“No, this is my-”

Mordred interrupts him, his voice strong in a way that Arthur had never heard from the youngest knight before:

“No. No, it’s not. You’re not just fighting for Camelot, Merlin, you’re fighting or us, for our people.”

Merlin looks like he wants to argue, but Morgana crosses her arms and holds her head high as she speaks:

“You’re making a stand and you have no right to stop us from doing the same. This is bigger than you, bigger than all three of us, this is our fight just as much as it is yours.”

Merlin can only hold their stare for so long before he sighs and looks to the floor, entirely oblivious to the knights panicking (bar Lancelot, of course). He looks up with a small, relaxed smile on his face, and if Arthur weren’t so preoccupied with the fact that Morgana was definitely not supposed to be here, he would’ve found Merlin’s almost-nonchalance calming. The servant holds both his hands out:

“Together?”

Mordred grins widely, taking one of Merlin’s wrists as he responds confidently:

“For Camelot.”

Morgana does the same, a sudden wind whipping her hair behind her wildly:

“For our people.”

Without another moment’s of hesitation, Merlin turns and marches towards Morgause and her army. His steps are purposeful and strong, and Arthur can’t bring himself to stop him, no matter how desperately his brain is screaming at him. Morgana turns to him with a not-quite-cruel smirk:

“This has been a long time coming, brother. Enjoy the show.”

Arthur can only blink in surprise as she turns and walks towards Merlin. Mordred looks to him next, though the young knight’s smile is a lot softer, a lot more pitying:

“You should consider yourself lucky, Arthur,-”

Arthur barely registers the use of his first name:

“-my Lord gave up his throne in favour of serving you, buried his crown in favour of polishing yours.”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, his voice quiet and confused and strained as he asks:

“Your Lord?”

Mordred looks to Merlin, still marching across the seemingly never-ending field, with an awed smile; his voice is quiet and holds notes of what almost sound like worship:

“He’s more than you know.”

Before Arthur can respond, Merlin and Morgana stop, turning to look at Mordred expectantly. Merlin stares blankly, his brows slightly furrowed, but Morgana sports a wild grin as she yells back:

“I though you wanted to join in on the fun, Mordred?”

The young knight grins in response, turning to Arthur and giving him one last short bow as he cheerfully says, not a trace of worry in his voice:

“Lady Morgana is right My Lord, enjoy the show.”

He turns away quickly, jogging to catch up with the other two before anyone can say anything. Gwaine is the first to react, jumping off his horse and starting forward, to catch up with them, to pull them back, to ask them what the fuck was going on, but Lance quickly lands behind him, grabbing his shoulder:

“Wait, don’t. You trust them right?-”

He casts his gaze around the others, all looking slightly confused but mostly panicked as they dismount their horses. Mordred, Merlin, and Morgana make their journey to the centre of the field, but Lancelot’s eyes focuses on Arthur:

“-You said you trusted him, so just... this is what he does, Arthur. Please, just trust him, everything’s going to be ok.”

Arthur is desperate to question his knight, to demand that he explain what’s going on and give up anything, everything he knows, but before he can say anything, Elyan gasps and points somewhere beyond their friends. The whole army seems to resume their earlier jitters as Morgause differentiates herself from her soldiers.

~

The three magic users spread out slightly as they come to a stop, Mordred on the left, Morgana on the right, and Merlin, of course, in the middle.

A storm seems to be fast approaching and the loud wind makes hearing each other difficult, but they don’t need words to speak, and Mordred’s question echoes in Merlin’s head as all of their gazes focus on Morgause stepping forward:

“Are the other two coming?”

The Warlock nods, tapping his finger to his temple briefly as he replies:

“I called for them hours ago, they’re almost-”

~

Arthur is distracted from all that’s in front of him when a desperate and terrified voice screeches out from the back of his army:

“DRAGONS!!”

He, and all the other knights, whip their heads around in panic, only to see exactly what had been yelled about. The Dragon that Arthur had supposedly killed years ago is flying towards them like a hurricane, golden scales shining bright even in the shadows of the approaching storm. Next to him flies a much smaller dragon, pure white and clearly young, unstable in the air but still graceful, still terrifying.

Arthur’s heart sinks even impossibly further as they both fly straight over them, aiming for the other side of the field. If Morgause had two Dragons at her beck and call somehow, there was no hope, no matter what ridiculous plan Merlin had. Arthur felt the tears fill his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. If this was to end in fire, then he’d sprint to Merlin, just so he could see him, hold his hands, beg him for a smile, one last time.

Lancelot holds him back with a hand on his shoulder and a soft smile:

“I know this doesn’t make sense, but just... trust him.”

He turns back to Merlin just to see the great beasts land in front of them, almost acting as a barrier between the three of them and the opposing army.

~

“-Took you long enough.”

Kilgharrah does his best imitation of rolled eyes before dipping his head in a bow:

“Where would you like us, young Warlock?”

Merlin grins, allowing Aithusa to push her head into his hands as he answers:

“I want you somewhere off to the side looking vaguely threatening. Only intervene if you have to, I don’t want the Camelot knights getting twitchy and skewering you, you’re an old man after all, I’m not sure you could take it.-”

Morgana laughs aloud and Mordred snorts behind his hand, but Kilgharrah just rolls his eyes again, giving another bow that this time somehow seems sarcastic before clomping off to the side, prowling up and down the edge of the field and huffing the occasional puffs of smoke in the opposition’s direction. Merlin looks down to Aithusa next, scratching her chin and using a much softer voice:

“Go watch over Arthur, keep him safe but don’t let him or any of the others hurt you, I’m sure Lance will explain. Try to stay out of the fighting and don’t let Morgause get anywhere near Arthur or the knights, you understand?”

The creature purrs and nods, stepping around her master and beginning an impossibly fast sprint towards Arthur.

~

Arthur stares with wide eyes at the gathering in the middle of the field, letting out a deep breath when the Great Dragon bows down to Merlin’s confident stance. The smaller creature bounds to him as he... exchanges words with the beasts, and all Arthur can do is stare as his brain argues over which emotion should be at the forefront. Fear? Confusion? Betrayal? Some kind of guilt? Pride, maybe?

Lancelot definitely looks proud, worried, but proud, and Arthur spares him a questioning glance; before he can say anything, Leon lets out a quiet yelp, pointing across the field and drawing his sword on instinct. Arthur whips his head around to see the white Dragon speeding towards them, eyes bright, teeth bared, and sharp claws ripping up the ground with every step.

He draws his own sword, panic clawing at his gut, but before he can step forward in some pointless attempt to protect his men, Lancelot pulls him back again, stepping in between Arthur and the approaching Dragon with a placating hand held out to each of them; his voice comes out quickly and desperate:

“No, no, she’s on our side, don’t hurt her. Merlin sent her here to protect us, don’t hurt her.”

Arthur stares between them with a mix of blood-curdling fear and endless confusion. But he trusts Merlin, and he trusts Lancelot, so much to Leon’s displeasure he lowers his sword, though he doesn’t sheath it, not yet.

The Dragon finally reaches them, coming to a skidding stop a few feet away. Arthur’s fear is overpowered by confusion, and an odd fondness in the back of his mind, when the creature almost topples over in it’s haste. She purrs loudly, and even Leon appears to relax slightly, even more so when she dips her head in what appears to be a bow to Arthur, before turning her attention to Lancelot and pushing her face into his hands.

The other knights all start forward on instinct, but when Lance lets out a low chuckle and begins... scratching the creature’s chin?? They step back again, watching as the Dragon begins purring even louder, almost bowling Lancelot over as it rubs it’s scaled body across his legs. It’s... acting like a cat...

Gwaine coughs very deliberately and Lancelot looks up with a blush, biting his lip before saying, his words awkward and stilted:

“Uh... guys, this is Aithusa, she’s... a Dragon. She can’t speak yet, but-”

Percival makes a confused noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head with wide eyes as he asks incredulously:

“Dragons are meant to be able to speak??”

Lancelot grimaces, but nods, but before he can say anything, Morgause’s crazed voice echoes over the field, and their attention is drawn back to the face off between Merlin, Morgana, Mordred, and the enemy.

~

“You can not beat me, not even with your precious pets!!”

The gang can hear Kilgharrah’s low growl at the insult and the sound vibrates across the ground and up into their very bones, even with the distance between them. Aithusa tenses in response, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as she detects the anger and insult swarming in her Kin, but Merlin holds a hand out to the Great Dragon, and both creatures relax as he monotonously responds:

“I’m giving you one chance, Morgause, do not send your followers to a pointless death.”

His tone is even and confident, his back straight, his head held high, and Arthur wonders how he’d never noticed Merlin’s obvious power before. Despite speaking normally, his voice is heard by everyone, even over the howling wind.

The knights can see Morgause’s hands shaking in her rage, her eyes wide and bright golden as she screeches her response, her anger showing through clearly:

“I am no coward!! You are nothing but a servant, a child soldier, and a pampered princess! What hope do you have against me?! I am a High Priestess, you are nothing!!!”

Merlin lowers his head, nodding slightly in resigned sadness. His muttered words, once again, somehow seem to echo across the field, and Arthur recoils at the grief in his tone:

“So be it.”

He slowly lifts his arm, holding it at a forty-five degree angle from the ground, his fingers splayed wide, and Elyan gasps, pointing wordlessly to the lightening dancing between his fingertips. Gwaine lets out a boisterous laugh, grinning as he realises with sudden clarity that Merlin is about to kick ass in a major way.

Arthur just gapes, struggling to process what was happening even as Gwaine whoops and Lancelot smiles proudly. The other knights are also staring, varying levels of confusion, awe, and happiness on their faces. 

From where they’re standing, they can see Mordred and Morgana get into a fighting stance, though neither of them draw the swords they have hanging from their hips. Morgause lets out an ear piercing screech, this one wordless, giving the distinct impression that her mind had snapped under the weight of her fury. Her army begins their march forwards as she hurls a fireball the size of a horse straight for Merlin, but he simply twists his wrist sharply forwards. A bolt of lightening rips down from the sky, intercepting the fireball and forcing it to the ground where it explodes in a miniature storm of silver sparks and golden flames.

Morgause screams again, her and her army speeding up in their approach as Merlin gives some sort of unseen command. All of a sudden, Mordred gives a small leap forward, planting his feet firmly as he thrusts his hands towards the ground before ripping them up again; with the movement, the ground at his feet explodes, vines and rocks and roots bursting from the field in a sharp line heading straight for the army. Morgana, at the same time, swirls her arms gracefully around her head, a few sparks of fire lighting up in the darkness as if from the friction between her hands and the air. She brings her arms down again, completing the elegant flow, stepping forward as she blows harshly into her cupped hands. A great, hot fire bursts forth, huge and angry and writhing as it shoots towards the enemy.

A few feeble counter attacks are thrown from Morgause and the sorcerers she has in her ranks, but ultimately, the army can only look on in horror at their approaching deaths. After a few moments of Merlin staring proudly at Mordred and Morgana’s handy work as it rips apart the first few hundred soldiers, he takes his own step forward, raising his arm to the sky. Lightening dances between just his fingertips at first, then down his arm, then all over his body; he connects to the flashes in the sky, and he glows brighter and brighter until he thrusts both arms forward. A tornado of flashing, crackling light shoots out from his hands, striking down thousands of soldiers. Shards of lightening jump from enemy to enemy, leaving none untouched by magic, each being struck down by Mordred’s earth, Morgana’s fire, or Merlin’s sky.

The Camelot army can only stare on in shock and horror as the enemy is wiped out in minutes, screams of those being buried alive, burned as if on pyres, or fried from the inside out reverberating across the field. Arthur’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide and frozen on Merlin as he conducts lightening as if it were what he was born to do. Something deep in Arthur’s soul tells him that this is what he was born to do.

Aithusa’s protection isn’t required; none of the enemy soldiers get within ten metres of Merlin and his pupils, let alone Arthur and the other knights, but she patrols the front edge of Camelot’s army regardless, nudging back those that step too far forward (everyone was too focused on The King’s manservant, knight, and half sister being... well... Godlike, to care about the fact that a Dragon was using her snout to gently push people around), always with one eye on Arthur, just like her master had asked.

Within minutes, the field goes almost silent; the only sounds to be heard are the gentle crackling of still-smouldering bodies, and the deep breaths of Morgause, Mordred, Morgana, and Arthur. Merlin seems entirely unbothered, his stance still strong and powerful where Mordred and Morgana sag slightly from the exertion.

Morgause falls to her knees, tears on her cheeks as she finally realises the power that she’s up against; Merlin tilts his head slightly before clicking his fingers. The four of them disappear in clouds of deep black smoke and Arthur struggles to stop himself from yelping and falling back when they reappear in front of him.

Morgause is still kneeling, Merlin in front of her with a blank expression on his face. Morgana stands to the side, her face an odd mix of sorrowfully defeated—Morgause was her sister after all—and vindictively victorious. Mordred stands at her shoulder, looking a lot more tired but still managing to stay upright as he gazes upon the scene with well put together indifference. Aithusa bounds over to be stood at her master’s side, and even Kilgharrah joins them, standing behind Aithusa a way’s off.

Morgause finally speaks through her deep breathing, staring up at Merlin in desperation:

“Who are you?”

Merlin just tilts his head and frowns slightly, crouching down to place a soft hand on her shoulder:

“Who do you think?”

Morgause sags even further, her tears streaming down her face as she almost whispers, her voice cracking:

“Emrys.”

Merlin nods slowly, looking to Arthur for the first time since the whole ordeal started. Arthur is taken aback at the shining gold of his eyes, but holds his gaze, gulping and waiting for his servant (?) to make the first move:

“Your orders, My Lord?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, looking first down at Morgause, who is staring at the floor blankly, then to Mordred and Morgana, who raise eyebrows at him, then Lancelot, who shrugs, and finally the other knights, who stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for his answer just as Merlin is. His hands clench at his side, but he looks back to the dark-haired man, his face determined and his voice strong:

“Your suggestion?”

Lancelot nods approvingly at Arthur’s obvious show of trust; the question is more than just a question, it’s a display that The King is treating Merlin like an advisor, asking for his counsel and trusting his allegiance in front of a crowd. Merlin smiles slightly, tightening his grip on Morgause’s shoulder, not that she notices:

“I’m not overly fond of execution, but we don’t have dungeons strong enough to hold her long term, and too many have suffered at her hand.”

Arthur nods, though he sheathes his sword. He takes a deep breath before his next instruction, knowing that this is... delicate, and important; a turning point in his Kingdom’s history:

“Make it merciful.”

Merlin holds in his proud smile and Morgause only has time to gasp quietly as his hand moves from her shoulder to her forehead. Her eyes roll back and she collapses to the floor, dead before she even hits the ground. 

The Warlock spares the dead witch a quick, pitying glance, and the grief in his eyes, even after all she had done, is endearing, reminding everyone around them of the compassion Merlin is capable of. He stands quickly, but is careful not to make any of his moves too sudden, stepping away from the body and towards Arthur. His stance is strong once again, allowing some before unseen authority, confidence, power to shine through; Mordred and Morgana take their places either side of them, and even Aithusa sits up, tall and proud, as Kilgharrah edges forward slightly.

This is Merlin, showing off his army, presenting it to his King, offering it up for judgment. An army consisting of himself, his two apprentices, and two Dragons; not large, but likely the most powerful the land has ever known, and ever will know.

Arthur gulps, but meets Merlin’s golden gaze. The atmosphere is thick and charged and The King couldn’t pinpoint whether it was from the residual lightening still jumping between Merlin’s fingers, or the sheer power that was just displayed, seemingly effortlessly. He glances over the Warlock’s shoulder at the carnage behind him and can’t help but take a deep, fortifying breath. Merlin tilts his head, glancing at the massacre for just a moment before looking back with an almost repentant smile:

“I apologise for the theatrics,-”

He’s interrupted by Morgana’s whispered murmur of “I don’t, that was brilliant.” but ignores her:

“-but I can... fix that. If you like?”

Arthur frowns slightly, confused and so far out of his comfort zone that he doesn’t even want to hazard a guess at what Merlin might be implying. He feels a mould grow spontaneously in his gut, a horror with spores that spread throughout his bloodstream as he realises that... he doesn’t really know anything about magic, about how it works, about how Merlin is offering to use it. It had yet to occur to him to be afraid of Merlin, but the sudden realisation that he’d been persecuting his servant’s people with no real understanding of his own former hatred was... jarring.

The Warlock sees Arthur’s hesitation, widening his reassuring smile slightly as he repeats an earlier question, from a time that felt as though it had come years before, but was really only minutes. The discrepancy in timelines between Arthur’s head and the real world does not alter the King’s answer

“Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone.”

Merlin closes his eyes, holding his hands out to the side slightly as he lets out a deep breath. The storm, which Arthur and the knights had become entirely oblivious of despite it’s ruinous thunder and blinding flashes of lightening, quickly dissipates; blue sky and bright sun peek through the fading clouds. A gold shimmer ripples out across the ground from Merlin’s feet, spreading backwards like a wave over sand, turning pebbles and leaving the beach clean and fresh in it’s wake. The ground clears, bodies sinking into nothingness and fires being smothered by magic, even Morgause disappears into the dirt. 

Arthur absentmindedly thinks that that could be seen as honorary or disgracing; he supposes it depends on what type of person you were before the end of your life. Merlin would see being entombed within the Earth itself as a blessing, he somehow thinks that Morgause, with her God complex and inflated feelings of infallibility, would find it... demeaning.

Merlin sags his head slightly, and when Arthur’s brain comes back into focus, mostly prompted by the gasping and widespread whispers of the uneasy army behind him, he sees that the barren fields of Camlann, soaked with blood and scorched by lightening, no longer exist. In their place was a vast meadow, bright with the colours of spring and summer; untameable wildflowers stood tall and crimson butterflies were the only reminders of the bloodshed that had watered this paradise before them.

Arthur feels the smile on his face before he had even made the conscious decision to smile, but he decides that today, of all days, he doesn’t mind accidentally wearing his heart on his sleeve. Trust Merlin to do something as unspeakable as rip an army to shreds with lightening, and then apologise for his dramatics by creating heaven on earth.

The King sighs before shaking his head slightly, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. He can feel the sun on his skin, and his smile grows with the knowledge that the heat warming his cheeks was entirely unnatural for this time of year; Merlin really was pulling out all of the stops.

“You’re a gift to this world, Merlin.”

His voice comes out softly, as if he were afraid of ruining the peace, though he only adds to it; The King finally turns to his Warlock again and almost stumbles back at the immeasurable devotion shining from his now-blue-again eyes. His whispered response carries on the wind as if he were a part of it, and Arthur wonders just how much of this world Merlin has touched, just how much of this universe Merlin has created, extended himself to. Did the wind exist before Merlin? Did the sun? Did butterflies, or lightening, or the colour gold have any space in this universe before Merlin willed it? Gaius’ thick books say they have an answer, but Arthur thinks they might be lying:

“A gift to you, Arthur, only to you.”

~

THE END!

I’ve been looking forward to writing this one for a while, so I hope y’all liked it!! I LOVE writing BAMF!Merlin, (and BAMF!Mordred/Morgana as well so) :D

Same as always, you wanna extend it/write it properly/remix it, then that’s fine, but drop me message before hand and credit/tag me!! :)

[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating 

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k 

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

 ~~

 The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red. 

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

 Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him. 

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.” 

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips. 

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory. 

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

 ~~

 The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow. 

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times. 

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

 ~~

 The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night. 

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap. 

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

 ~~

 There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your  life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead - 

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

 ~~

 Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply. 

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh. 

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him. 

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

~~

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone​ @harryslilkat​ @galacticferns​ @ficrecrry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @hoeeforstyles​ @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music​ @mintchipstyles​ @sstarkme​ @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l​

[ayuki-ikuya]

Dorms and Archons

Twisted Wonderland x Genshin Impact

Part 2 of 2

Part 1

Dendro Archon

The Recluse Scholar

𝓚𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓶 𝓐𝓵-𝓐𝓼𝓲𝓶

Kalim was excited to have a new friend! Oh the parties they'd have! The fun! The food!

When he met you, you were... distant. Did he do something wrong? Did he upset you?

He really did try to find out what he did wrong, and often sent you invitations (Malleus eyeing the invitations) you some of the parties he makes, but you don't show up nor reply, making him sadden.

Jamil low key face palming

During a normal sunny day at school, he and Jamil headed to the library to grab some books, and during the process, he found you, tucked in a corner with mountains, upon mountains of books around you, and you? You were reading.

"Ah? S/o??"

"HEEEEK!!!!"

he startled you so badly that plants from outside grew. which of course caused a commotion.

Kalim apologised for startling you, but he asked a question about your attendance, your reply was to fiddle with your sleeves before answering with a small voice that you were afraid of people despite being a deity.

Kalim immedietly thought of Idia, but he crossed the line of no return, but Kalim smiled warmly, held your hand, making you choke, and said a more softer voice that he'd throw a smaller party, just the three of them. (Don't tell me you forgot Jamil, HE MAKES THE DANG FOOD)

You accepted.

Several parties later, you two were unsurprisingly in love with each other that the students of NRC were rolling their eyes at the moments the two shared. COULD YOU TWO DATE ALREADY!?!?

When you two started dating, Kalim made a celebration, but kept you in a more secluded section, that way you could be apart of it, but not near a large crowd of people. And you were thankful for it.

As a couple, Kalim practically adores you. And he's super affectionate too! Jalim is glad to have someone more tameable and it also makes it easier to locate Kalim if he ever goes off by himself.

𝓙𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵 𝓥𝓲𝓹𝓮𝓻

He thought nothing of you at first.

Until you had full scores on everything.

He had requested you to help with Scarabia's studying, in offer of full meals, which you complied with due to living in a run down dorm and doesn't have a lot of money to support themselves with.

However, the study group went wrong due to the amount of people.

Jamil then figured that you didn't work too well with large numbers of people, and he found that you were slightly dependent on him when it comes to speaking.

He ended up planning smaller groups, working on those who had the worst grades then up.

And thanks to you, their dorm gradually got better.

Jamil spent time with you whenever he was free from following Kalim, and he was fairly fond of you.

You were soft, very soft, but highly reliable in terms of knowledge. So he'd often vent to you which is surprising.

But your presence and advice helped him grow better.

Jamil fell for you when he found you smiling at a Scarabia student showing you their improved grade, you looked like a warm hearted maternal parent, and his heart skipped at the sight.

When you two began dating, it was a bit rocky due to Jamil's family duty to serve the Al-Asim family. But Kalim was very kind to allow Jamil more free time, in exchange that he brings you over for more study parties!

You figured since Kalim wasn't fond of studying and more for partying, that you'd make a study party which improved Kalim's grade by ten folds. Jalim practically wept tears that the seven sent him this angel.

Geo Archon

The Consultant

𝓐𝔃𝓾𝓵 𝓐𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓸

Azul was greedy for the power you possibly possess. and your money.

Azul underestimated you since he witnessed your lack of brains in terms of money. You forget about having your wallet on you, and whenever someone offers to pay for you, you attempt to buy everything without a single thought.

This was going to be an easy contract, Azul thought. They're an idiot, Azul thought. They can't complete this contract, Azul thought.

"I've completed my end of the contract. Now you must do yours."

"Huh? Nani?"

Azul was stupefied by this, he whipped his head towards the Leech twins, both begrudgingly nodding their heads in confirmation at the archon completing their conditions of the contract.

Azul had tried to change the details of the contract, you of course allowed it the first time.

But when you returned with the conditions once again completed, Azul tried to add more.

However, you weren't having it.

You stood up and leaned down to Azul, towering over him. A sudden pressure weighed the three mercreatures, it was heavy and foreboding. Your eyes glowed a gold with the amber ombre in your hair glowing gold as well.

"I was lenient to allow you the first time. Either fulfill your end of the deal or break the contract. But if you break the contract, you will suffer the wrath of the rock."

Azul was terrified.

When Azul fell for you, he questioned himself. How in the seven did he fall for a person like YOU!? He will never remember how, but all he knows is that he's in waaay to deep.

When you two became a couple, you were far more charasmatic and charming than before, it was like it was turned up a notch. Or two. or more...

The contract loving couple have been making more money than ever thanks to the Geo Archon, the avatar of contracts. It's either fill the conditions or suffer the wrath of the rock. Or just, don't make a contract. Simple.

But then we got the one brain cell trio doing their dumb sh**.

𝓙𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓮𝓬𝓱

Oya?

What an intriguing being.

Jade was the first to be interested in you. But he couldn't exactly find you that well since you practically mixed with the crowd a little too well than he'd like. [Bro, Zhongli and Venti has statues of themselves around Liyue and Mondstaft, AND NO ONE MANAGES TO THINK "hmmm.. You know, he looks like one that statue there.. Wait a minute-" LIKE, SRSLY!!! Venti is more obvious, I can understand Zhongli since he wears more funeral consultant clothing, but he still somehow blends in with the crowd. Unlike a Lil wind spirit.]

But when the moment came where you made a contract, Jade was more than happy to hinder you, only for you to complete the conditions before he could figure out your plan.

"... What?"

["OSMANTHUS WI-"]

After that fiasco with you giving a very large heavy warning, Jade was by your side whenever he wasn't with Floyd, questioning your knowledge, in which you were more than happy enough to comply.

Jade fell for you when you showed how competent you were unlike the other miserable guppies in school. Sure you had a few problems, but nothing with a little Jade there and everything is perfect. He also favored your knowledge, specially about fungi.

When you two became a couple, it was.. Strange to say, a air headed but scary consultant with a sadistically calm eelman? That's ringing bells for everyone.

𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔂𝓭𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓮𝓬𝓱

Floyd had zero, zip, non, 100% no interest in you. Why? You looks, sound and seem boring. And he stand corrected.

it was later when you completed the conditions, which, not gonna lie, spooked Floyd.

"Hah?"

Later, he began to go after you like he did with Goldfish (Riddle), and when he tried to squeeze you, he found himself squeezing a shield instead.

He found himself utterly thrilled and had did several attempts at you, which failed.

His interest in you and your abilities heightened.

Then your relationship bloomed.

It was hard to say if it was romantic or platonic, but either way, Floyd was perfectly happy. Happy to have a partner who continues to show things or tell him things about their world.

As long as Floyd kept out of trouble and/or content, Jade and Azul didn't say question their relationship.

Pyro Archon

The Warlord

𝓛𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓪 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓻

Who are you? What are you? Why are you here? What are you doing? Get out.

Leona didn't care for you, not one single bit. Until you messed with his sleep schedule due to your chaoticness.

Whenever your around, you just bring trouble with you. And he doesn't like it one bit.

And when you bring trouble, you bring noise.

Which officially ruins his nap times.

However, Leona praises and respects your prowess in battle. You always gave it your all, which he liked. You weren't holding back, which allowed him to gauge how powerful you were as a deity with or without your element.

As it turns out, you're stronger than what you make yourself out to be, but what catches Leona's attention the most, was how calculating you were. It was as if you were analyzing him

To be honest, he felt violated.

At most times, you're energetic, but when your quiet or serious, it's either pack your sh** and leave or get out of their way.

Because when your either if those, you will either send someone to the nurse with severe casualties or some of the schools property will be destroyed. And of course, there is a justified reason for this.

Other than to make Crowley very upset of course.

Leona fell for you with your strength. He loves a woman who can lead and he could just relax. Unless it comes to some other type of leadership, like in the bedroom, then that will change. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

These two are dangerous as a couple when Leona's awake and active. And when Leona's on the move, expect a gremlin to be tailing after him, and be sure to clear out of their way. Mercy didn't in their vocabulary.

𝓡𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓮 𝓑𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓱𝓲

Huh? Do I know you? No? Goodbye.

Ruggie, quite literally, didn't give a rats ass about you.

To him, you were like any other beast man, rowdy and rough, other than your form that is.

But thankfully, you knew how to take care of yourself. Less work for Ruggie. I guess.

Not only that you knew how to cook. That was a god sent gift to Ruggie. Sadly though, you only know how to make mostly meat dishes. If it contains vegetables, expect the veggies to be over seasoned.

Leona was scared when he saw you in the kitchen, only to calm down seeing you being calm and not rowdy.

Ruggie fell for your cooking. He is literally the term "To get to a mans heart, you go through their stomach". although you should work on cooking vegetables better for a more healthier lifestyle.

𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓗𝓸𝔀𝓵

Strong? Strong.

You two are 100% besties.

You two are glued to the hip whenever you guys are free or share classes.

You both like to exercise and spar, so you two mostly go for each other.

To say the least, Jack mostly saw you as a sibling. Sorry, no romance.

Jack often scolds you for not eating more vegetables.

Which makes you pout and huff.

Cute lil tyke - Leona

Hydro Archon

The Judge

𝓡𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓵𝓮 𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼

Nice, another rule setter like me. We're gonna be great friends.

"Explain why two cubes of sugar should be in a lemon tea? It's blasphemy."

I see you have chosen violence 😌

Riddle at first liked you, until you learned about the rules of the Queen of Hearts, did he start to hate you.

"BE QUIET OR IT'S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

He loathed you.

He thought that since your a judge, you'd understand the rules, much like him. But no, you judged the rules as well, evaluating if they are fair or not.

Whenever you call out on the rules that appeared ridiculously stupid to have (like the two sugar cubes in lemon tea. That's bs to you.)

After the overblot, you were more nicer when he changed.

He stand corrected.

But he didn't mind it, he low key enjoyed arguing with you, without him screaming at you of course.

You two as a couple sends fear in everyone. A judge and a tyrant? That's a deadly combo.

𝓣𝓻𝓮𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻

Trey had taken a liking to you, seeing how similar you are to Riddle.

He enjoyed answering your questions about rules, but if there were rules he can't remember, he'd look at them with you to not only answer your question, but to commit them to memory in case.

What he's scared of is when you give trials regarding about incidents. Riddle would present his case then the 'innocent' or innocent would present theirs.

If the person is guilty, you ensure punishment, because like Riddle, you detest rule breakers unless in reason. You didn't mind them bending the rules as long as it doesn't break.

Trey is envious of your abilities, but you reassure him the his Doodle Suit is superior if you can use it against others magic.

You often praised him as well.

You admitted to thinking about a scenario of if Trey was born in Tevyat, he'd receive a hydro vision.

He flushed in response, secretly happy to have caught your attention.

You two as a couple puts everyone, minus Riddle because it's you, at ease.

𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭

#ohmyseveniminlove #calltheambulance #loveatfirstsight #goddescendingfromheaven #pinchme #PLSNOTICEMEANDLOVEME #foryoupage

He practically fell for you.

To him, you were perfect.

"You have flaws? I only see perfection!"

He's a smooth talker, albeit feminine due to having a lot of sisters, but smooth nonetheless.

He's a simp for you, willing to use his unique magic to do anything and everything for you.

Literally fell at first sight of you.

As a couple, Cater often takes couple photos with you, at first you were content with the pictures, but at this point they kinda peeved her when he takes pictures on every occasion.

"Smiiiile~"

"Cater, I love you, but please, stop."

"If you give me a kiss I might~"

𝓓𝓮𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓪𝓭𝓮

You're his role model.

Literally the Geno to your Saitama.

He carries a notebook with him to take notes on you since he strives to be like you. A model being.

Even if he looks smart, he still has a split braincell between Ace and Grim.

Don't hold it against him if he's trying to know almost EVERYTHING about you.

More platonic than romantic.

𝓐𝓬𝓮 𝓣𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓪

Complete opposites.

And completely disliked each other.

You rubbed him the wrong way, maybe it was because you were more justified than him, better at things than he was.

He didn't know what, it was just you being better than him. He understands he's not smart, because he foes dumb sh** with the other two.

But whenever you have to deal with their messes on their own, he feels irritated.

He often tries to get after you as well.

"Oh wow, such a god you are. Pathetic."

*cue angry archon noises with an 8 feet tall wave behind them, ready to flood Ace's ass.*

Yeah, your relationship is very... Rocky and slightly concerning.

Here's part 2! I'm happy that you read this! I will have a link to the first part after connecting the links to certain parts. Feel free to request or refer to the main master list pinned on my blog if you wish to see other choices to make! Happy reading!

[jameui]

SPECIAL PRESENT 1

Requested

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

PAIRING: Sugar Daddy!Jung Yunoh x College Student!M!Reader (featuring: Bestfriend!Lee Jeno)

GENRE: Fluff, Smut

WARNINGS: Unprotected intercourse, huge age gap, a lot of IMPORTANT flashbacks (i think), daddy kink, sex toys, overstimulation

SUMMARY: You were a striving student in Resonance High and had perfect records. Besides your devotion to your education, you were also gifted with a talent. All these stuffs making your sugar daddy, Jaehyun, proud of you, so he decided to give you a night you won't forget.

(P.S. so i was fucking dumb to actually think that when you said performance, you meant by performing on a stage, when you actually meant, how male reader actually did good in school. I was too late to notice. sorry. if this didn't reach your expectations.

The school's foundation day is fast approaching and each student at Resonance High are all excited preparing for that certain day. During the school's foundation day, events such as competition in sports and performances like singing and dancing or spoken poetry. All sorts of event takes place in that particular, not only a day, but a week, that every students can take part in.

The school's foundation day does not only happen after a day. It's a week of celebration for the foundation and, of course, free from homeworks and projects that students have to worry about. All their focus must be on having fun on those days and be active in participation. Some students never liked the thought about celebrating a foundation day, but you on the other hand, thought otherwise as it's your first time celebrating it with a friend, since you never really get to do it with any due to you practically being locked up in your house for almost all years of your life.

Now, you were away from your family and you got to finally do anything you wanted. For example, having a sugar daddy who gave you all the help you needed. Sure, at first, you were just doing it out of mere fun, but you never quite expected to actually grow feelings for the older male. You didn't know when it started, but the first time you ever felt the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach was when he became worried and concerned when you got sick after a very excessive practice, the day prior. You wanted to tell him so, so bad, but you didn't know how to.

You were scared that maybe you were crossing the line or coming off too strong or maybe he'd walk away if you broke the agreement. It first started with just you only being up for it because of the agreement. Though, you never really went as far as you giving him a good blow or having a steamy bath with him. Either way, he was still someone you could trust and the only person you could rant about all your problems. The thought of losing all these scared you the most.

Unlike some other people, Jaehyun was smart and was a successful businessman, owning one of the richest companies in the industry. Jaehyun, when he's not busy, he'd help you out with your math homeworks or would just do it for you, since he found it fun and easy. Sometimes, you think he's Einstein, reincarnated.

Jaehyun, besides his brains, is also fun to be with. He knows about your passion and talent for singing and dancing and your once dream to be an artist, so he would sometimes play loud music in the living room through the speakers and you two would be singing along, him making up lyrics when he have no idea what the song artist's saying in their song. He'd sometimes call them drunk, because they sounded like they were slurring their words, which you would always laugh to. Also, he'd let you teach him a few dance steps you saw on tiktok and you'd record it together, only for the fun of both of you.

You were seated by your section's booth and couldn't help, but crack a smile from the thought. That was until one of your classmates decided to cut the moment. "What's with the smile?" Jeno, one of your friends, questioned with a smirk whilst carrying a case of bottled apple juice, placing it beside the stand of the booth.

"Here to tease me, again?" You scoffed at him, as he shrugged his shoulders. You rolled your eyes at him and stood up from your seat before heading to the school's gate where the rest of the important necessitated items are waiting. You skipped along the way and stopped by the pick up truck that was parked at the parking lot. "Anything I can help with?" You asked with a smile.

"Here's the last of 'em." He gave you two cases of the bottled drinks, one stacked above the other making you grunt.

"This is heavy." You muttered under your breathe, your thin hands barely holding onto the handles. "Th-thanks." You told them your feet wobbling from the heavy weight of the trays.

Jeno who came walking back outside saw you struggling, making him chuckle deciding to help you. "Need help with that?"

"Yes, please." You said before passing the trays to Jeno carefully, so it doesn't topple over. "Thanks." You smiled at him, cracking your knuckles and shaking it to reduce the pain you felt on your hands.

"Welcome." He said, then walking back to the booth, with you beside him. "Ah, M/n. By the way, are you attending the practice this afternoon?"

"Yeah. Of course. Why do you ask?" You chuckled, kicking on a pebble that came your way.

"Oh, I just thought you'd be busy sucking your daddy's—"

"JENO!" You yelled at him with an evident blush on your face cutting him off to avoid anyone hearing what Jeno had to say. It's always been like this. Since the day you told him about having a sugar daddy, he'd always tease you no matter where you are or what you're doing. He'd always use your excuses against you and now, you're regretting ever telling him.

"Okay, okay. Damn." He laughed at your reaction, you staring daggers at him.

Just as you were about to spat back at him, you heard a group of girls' voices calling out to you. "M/n! M/n! M/n!" They were successful in gaining your attention, while they smiled running up towards you. "M/n! You didn't tell us you have a handsome brother..." One of them said, while batting their lashes.

You knitted your brows in confusion. "I have?" You asked the girls, who looked like they knew better and nodded their heads. First of all, you don't have a brother, but you have three sister, two are older and one is younger. Second, you don't even know who these girls were and yet, they mysteriously knew your name and who you were. "Wait, who are you talking—"

"M/n-ah." You heard that sweet raspy voice of the man you loved, your head snapping towards him who stood by the side of your booth. You guessed he was on his break, since he was still in his suit and it was already past twelve in the afternoon.

"Jaehyun!" You giggled as you ran to him, all the while opening his arms for you to throw yourself in. You gladly complied and wrapped your arms around him, the lot older male doing the same as he hung his long arms on your waist. You snuggled into his chest before you looked up at him to see him already looking down at you with a smile that displayed his deeply carved dimples. "What are you doing here? Aren't you busy?" He made you giggle when he patted your head and planted a kiss on your forehead.

"I wanted to see my baby." Jaehyun replied, then pouting. "I've been so tired lately."

You furrowed your brows in concern and hugged him tighter. "Can't you take a three days off?"

"I want to, but I got to keep the company running if I don't want it to fail." He answered you, making you nod your head.

Once the girls saw these, they quickly felt embarrassed and walked off without making a sound, Jeno laughing at them.

"Then, why don't I treat you to something sweet? How's that?" You wanted to do something for the older and this was the only thing you could ever think of.

The pout was still glued to his face when he looked back down at you. "Angel, we agreed that I would do the treating."

"Well, you're the one who needs my help, right now, so I want to do something for you, other than..." You cleared your throat and mumbled, "...the other things I do for you."

Jaehyun chuckled, as he finally gave in to your offer while he ruffled your hair. "Alright."

You pulled away from him once he had loosened his grip from around your waist. You took him by the wrist and told Jeno that you'd be somewhere else, leaving Jeno with the rest of the responsibilities, promising him to make up to it.

You were leading Jaehyun to the canteen, before he gently pulled on your hand. You turned your head towards him, your eyes moving down to where he held you. You chuckled and smiled. "What's wrong?"

"Can... I hold your hand, M/n?" The question took you aback, only since he never really asks those type of questions. Ones he only asks are some that goes by the line 'can you suck my dick?' or of some sort.

"Sure." You managed to smile from the obvious shock that got Jaehyun a little red. "You didn't even have to ask." You added to which he nodded to shyly. It would be times like this when you would forget that he is a good thirty years old because of his cute personality.

You two finally made it to the canteen, the taller male receiving a lot of stares from all those present inside. Jaehyun was yet to spot the attention he was gaining, but you were already feeling iffy even though you knew that those heart eyes were for Jaehyun. But, you couldn't help the feeling that those eyes didn't like you being around Jaehyun. "J-Jaehyun..." You squeaked out silently, tugging on the sleeve of his suit, taking his attention whilst smiling down at you. His smile faltered upon noticing how you looked subtly shaken and cowered in fear. "I.. I think we should leave."

"Baby, what's wrong? You look so tense." Jaehyun asked you out of pure concern, cupping your cheeks as he gently tilted your head upwards, so you could face him, but you removed his hands from your cheeks that got him almost shocked since you'd never really let yourself move away from his grasp, instead you would usually just lean into his touch and let yourself succumb to the warmth he was radiating, but this. This was different and he knew exactly that something was bothering you.

"Can we go, please?" You sounded like you were begging for you two to quickly move outside, leaving Jaehyun with no choice, but to nod his head and let you drag him out of the place. Alas, you were outside, but he never received even a word from you nor a hum, a sigh, nothing. Just complete silence.

He grew more worried thinking that he might have done something that he shouldn't have or said something that made you feel so uncomfortable. He was getting anxious as you continued to keep your mouth closed and never said a word. "Baby, you know you can trust me, right?" Jaehyun caressed your thumb in a comforting manner, his eyes showing how much he truly cared for you and how genuinely worried he was. He was scared that he might have done something wrong to you.

He himself never knew how it got to this. At first, just like you, he had only intended to find some fun in the relationship you both had and not actually grow some feelings towards you, but the first time he ever met you, all he ever had thought in his head was to protect you at all cost and give you everything you wanted, spoil you with all his money and riches, give you forehead kisses and pleasure that can make you see stars. Since the start, he only thought of this as something platonic and that it was a part of the agreement you both had consent on, but as you two got to spend more time together, he always felt something blossom inside of him. He always looked forward to every day, mainly because he had you to wake up to. His usual stoic expression, completely turned into those that said 'sunshine' all spread out on his face. That's when he completely knew, it was not only the benefits he was up for, anymore. It was you and his love for you.

He was just your usual workaholic man, who had nothing in his head rather than work, work, and work. Not until the day he bumped into you on that one faithful day, when you were so drained from all the studying you had to do and decided to buy coffee. You were so intimidated by his face that he got you cowering in fear when you turned to look up at him. The only courage you could muster was so small that you were only able to give him a polite bow before you entered the coffee shop to buy your favorite cappuccino coffee.

He was so intrigued by you that the next day, during that same time, he waited for you in that same exact location, but you never showed up. Until later. You were so shocked from the sight of him. You feared he'd beat you into a pulp, so you hid your face with your hand, hoping he didn't see you, but luck wasn't on your side that day and decided to let Jaehyun notice your presence.

"Hey, I—"

"Sorry, sir. I'm quite busy, right now." You immediately cut him off and got inside the shop, Jaehyun following suit. Your eyes made its way back towards the older who was following behind you closely. You stopped in your tracks and turned around to look at him, retracting his body from looking through your shoulders, throughout the whole time smiling down at you with his dimples showing. "Excuse me, sir, but do I owe you with something?"

Jaehyun pursed his lips, thinking before smirking and leaning closer to your face, with you, all the while, pulling your head back. "Yes." He answered you with his hands shoved confidently inside his pants.

Your gaze averted from his mesmerizing eyes to the table that supported you and kept you from falling. You gulped and felt your lips go dry. "D-do you need money? I don't have much, but will 7,000 won be enough?" You fondled through your pockets and took out your wallet.

"What? No, no." He chuckled, one hand taken out from his pockets and scratching his eyebrows while he sighed. "I have an offer."

Your brows were pulled together looking up at him, curious. "What is it?"

"Give me your number and I'll tell you over the phone."

And that's how it all started. Of course, he told you about lying that you owed him something, either way you were thanking the God above that he created you as gullible as ever.

As of the moment, Jaehyun could only feel his nervousness rise as he continued to stare at your back. "M/n, please say something. You're making me feel so worried."

"Jaehyun..." You finally stopped walking and spoke, before throwing yourself into him, the impact suddenly taking all the air inside Jaehyun's lungs away. "Don't leave me... please." You pleaded, your arms around him going tighter.

Jaehyun softened and felt himself get blanketed over with relief. He raised his hand to put it on top of your head and caressed them softly and soothingly. "I won't, M/n. I promise you."

In the end, Jaehyun was the one who treated you with something to eat. You were sat at a bench near your class' booth, Jaehyun next to you, while you swayed your feet back and forth. "Hyunnie." You called out to him with a new nickname you came up with, Jaehyun choking on his burger letting out a few coughs while you patted his back, laughing. "How the hell do you eat a burger that it got you choking on it?"

His coughing finally stopped and looked at you with a surprised face. "The nickname. You never called me that before."

You pouted in reply and blushed in embarrassment. "Do you.. not like it?"

"No, of course not." He was quick to shake his head, then cleared his throat, looking away. "It's cute."

You were able to see the pink tint painting his cheeks that you always found cute, since it's a very rare sight to see. Teasingly, you peeked over and was able to confirm that he was, in fact, blushing from just the nickname you created. "Oh my gosh, you're blushing." You cooed and immediately, Jaehyun scoffed, facing you to land a small kiss on your lips that got you widening your eyes and wiping away the mocking smile you had on your face. Your fingers made its way up towards your lips, unable to speak.

"Now, tell me who's blushing." Jaehyun smirked.

You glared at him, but instead of feeling intimidated, he found it cute. "I'm just surprised, since you never really like to, er, kiss me on the lips." You whispered the last part, loud enough for only you and him to hear.

You two were so happy in each other's company, that you both forgot that Jaehyun had somewhere else to be. That being his work. He wouldn't have noticed the time passing, if it wasn't for the alarm he had set, knowing he'd lose track of time when he's around you.

You walked him to his car and saw him off, waving your hand at him, not leaving until he was finally out of sight. You put your hands back down and sighed happily, walking back towards where you should be: at the booth where you should be finishing the preparation.

"So, how was the quick date?" Jeno asked you with a smirk, the sleeves of his shirt pushed back inside the hole that connected it to the shirt, showing his perfectly built muscles.

"It was great! Save for the part where I received death glares at the canteen. That felt terrible." You shuddered at the thought, but smiled again. "That aside, it was great."

"Your schedule didn't change? Are there still room for practice later?" Jeno asked you for the nth time that day. He's been asking you since you entered the classroom.

"It didn't, Jeno. Why are you so eager with me being present in the practice?" You chuckled at him, deciding to help him pack the treat bags you will give out to your customers.

"I just can't be left alone there with people I don't know. I'm an awkward person." Jeno told you.

"Jeno. You're literally known by all the students here and you're scared because they're strangers to you? I bet they all even want to be friends with you." You said, but Jeno just shook his head, his hair moving along with him.

"No, M/n. You must and need to attend the practice, either way." Jeno demanded of you.

You rolled your eyes at him and sighed deeply through your nose in defeat. "Fine, fine." Jeno's eye smile appeared and let out a small 'yes' making you chuckle.

"Hey, M/n." A voice started from outside the booth and saw a girl with her arms crossed, looking down at you whilst you seated at the ground. You looked up at her, but she didn't look friendly. She looked angry than friendly.

Your eyes flickered toward Jeno, then back to the girl and smiled. "Yeah?"

"Don't give me that smile, you whore." She spat at you, all of a sudden.

Your eyes closed shut, your mouth wide open and your forefinger raised up while you pushed it towards her way and scoffing. Your eyelids tore open and you smirked at the girl. "Excuse me? Whore? Who you calling a whore?"

"Listen, midget—"

"No, you listen here, Barbie." You said, a mocking tone with the last word. "You full on plastic, bitch. Get away from my sight. You look like a parasite."

The girl gasped in shock and opted to pull on your hair, but Jeno held her by her wrist and angrily stared at her. "You heard him. Get away. I'm not afraid to punch a person, even a girl, if they're purpose was to mistreat and shame on an innocent person." Jeno threw her hand away like it was trash, sending the girl from moving two steps back before stomping her foot and turning on her heels to walk away.

You could still see Jeno glaring at the girl while you looked at him in shock. "Wow, wow. Look at you."

"Sh. I'm not done yet." Jeno hushed you, before he continued his work. "You were saying?"

"Nothing. Was just shocked you told that girl off. I could have handled myself just fine, but thanks to you, I'm saved from causing a ruckus." You said, Jeno huffing through the nose.

"Seriously, you." He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose and knitted his brows. "Stop making the problem bigger."

"No way. I need to put up a fight. If I don't, they'd see me as someone weak." You defended yourself.

"And you can't even handle death glares that's being sent towards you?"

You were about to speak and fight back, but he was right. "That's... that's a different matter."

"Sure, it isn't, M/n." He said rolling his eyes.

Later that afternoon, past 5 p.m., you and Jeno excused yourselves from the class, since you have a dance practice for your performance on the opening of the foundation day. Out of habit, you skipped beside Jeno who was happy that you got to attend the practice today. Again.

You never really liked the person who choreographed the whole song. It was under a genre you thought you could never pull off or fit in, so your confidence was at a very low level. During practices, though, you try your best not to make it obvious that you were uncomfortable for that certain concept, but you still had to be seen making a lot of mistakes, some of the other students who joined clearly agitated. You could only bow and bow and bow at the mistake you knew you clearly had done, feeling guilty for the reason why always had to start again from the top. The reason why you never really got along well with these students.

You have arrived at the practice room, taking quiet steps as you both entered the venue trying your best not to make a sound. The intense gazes you received from the other students didn't come unnoticed by you, the reason why you pulled your knees closer to your chest as you buried your face in it. Clearly, they were enjoying those two few days you were absent, since they got to finish practice early and with no interruption nor mistakes. But, now that you're around, they knew exactly what awaited them.

Jeno saw you curled up into a ball and eyes making its way up to the students who looked so angry with you making him frown. "M/n. Don't mind them. You're actually doing even greater than them." He tried to cheer you up, so you acknowledged it with a smile.

"Thanks, Jeno. But, I don't think that will change the fact that my uneasiness with the dance is the reason why we have to start over and over again." You sighed and placed your head back down on your knees, Jeno drawing circles on your back.

A moment later, the mentor came walking in, displeased to see you present. "Oh, welcome back... M/n." He stated before you could hear those loud snickers coming from the students. You and Jeno were the first ones to stand in position, the others following suit. The mentor's face lit up with an idea on his mind. "Can everyone please take a seat for a couple of minutes?" He smiled, then looking at you. "Except for you, L/n."

Jeno's eyes fell upon you, a worried look on his face, mouthing 'I'll be fine' to reassure him as he sat back down along with the other students until it was only you and the mentor left standing. "You think telling your 'boyfriend' about me would scare me?" He mocked you with your head still hung low. "You have to try better than that." He smirked, pulling a chair to seat on it. His legs were on either side of the chair, so his chest was pressed upon the back rest of the chair to face you. "Start."

You were startled by the sudden order and went into position, but you only started fidgeting out of fear. "Where... I.. sir.. Do I stand—"

"L/n!" He yelled at you, making you jump from the sudden raise of his voice. You knew telling Jaehyun was a bad idea. "Fix yourself, will you? The performance is due tomorrow and you're such a mess." The misery you were caged in were the happiness of the students as they started to giggle, your fist clenching hard until your knuckles turned white.

The music started, but you were still nowhere from moving your body. You just stood there, head hanging low while gnashing your teeth. You weren't angry at the mentor. You were angry at yourself. You were angry that you couldn't do any better. You practiced the dance so hard, yet it were still so far from perfecting it. You just wished some kind of spirit would possess you and lead your body.

The whole place started to laugh at you as they watched you shamelessly froze on your position. You felt a small jab on your ribs that made you open your clenched fists and saw Jeno standing right beside you with a grin on his face, your expression softening as he started to lead the dance. Slowly, you felt your own body move to the beat and rhythm of the song, being at the same flow with Jeno. The students only watched while the song ended.

A slow clap from your mentor was heard, a smile plastered on his face. "Way to impress me you two, huh?" He stood from the chair and waisted his arms. "L/n." His eyes moved to you, expecting yet another scolding. "I'm proud of you. Keep up that confidence and I just know you'll do great." You felt a smile creeping its way up to your face, before the mentor closed in on you and ruffled your hair. "Alright, everyone. From the top."

-----

The practice ended at exactly eight o' clock in the evening and you were already feeling drained, your sweat soaked shirt sticking to your body. Your forehead glistened with sweat, that ran down to the side of your cheeks. You panted heavily and flopped your body down on the polished floor.

Why that late you ask? Well, you and Jeno decided to stay for a few hours to polish the dance, him pointing out your mistakes and going back to the steps to correct you. You were grateful Jeno was a very patient guy, so whenever you made a mistake or wasn't executing the dance properly, he'd just chuckle and help you with your 'cute mistakes', at least that's what he called it.

"Finally..." You panted, Jeno settling himself beside you, his limbs sprawled all over the floor. "Done."

"You did so great, M/n! I knew you could pull this off." Jeno gave you a compliment that made you giggle, a hand on your chest to catch your breathe.

"And it was all thanks to you." You told him.

Jeno shook his head. "Ey. The only thing I did was help your body to loosen up."

"Exactly." The cute noises coming out of your mouth once more. "Do you think we should practice more?" You asked the older who moved his head to look at you.

"Still up for one more?" He smiled knowingly at you, while you nodded at him. You both stood up from where you both lied and you went to your position with Jeno moving to the speakers to play the song for the last time.

The minute you both finished, you were so exhausted that your knees couldn't hold themselves up anymore and you fell to the ground, groaning. You were panting heavily, starting to even your breathing at the same time laughing proudly at yourself for how well you've done. "When I get home, I'm gonna take a shower and then, throw myself on the bed and sleep."

Jeno could only laugh and you two were left with half an hour talking about all the things in life. You listened to him rant about how the mentor was being more harsh on you than the other students, but you only shook the topic off telling him that it no longer mattered and that he should already move on. You had also thanked him for helping you, during that time when you had to do the dance routine all by yourself. You really didn't know what else to do than to just stand there and sulk.

A few minutes later, both of you were now starting to pack, Jeno having to make a quick visit to the restroom, leaving you all alone inside the studio. You were changing into a dry shirt, when the voice of the janitress from behind the window made your body go tense as you jumped and turned towards her. "Oh, fuck." You sighed out in relief, holding your hand close to your chest. "You scared me, ma'am."

Her eyes turned into those that looked like crescents and smiled. "My bad. Probably shouldn't have passed by unannounced." She nodded and proceeded to mop the hallway floor.

You were about to ask her about a certain matter that was troubling you, but when you lifted your head to face the woman, she was not there anymore. "Uh.. probably left for something." You shrugged it off and went back to scrolling through your feeds, the certain feeling of being watched sending chills down your spine. The silence was so deafening that you started to whistle to a song you were currently into, just to help calm the unnerving feeling. You started to feel all the hair on your body stand on its end when a very harsh opening of the door sent you off flying, then to the ground your heart beating so fast. "Shit!"

Jeno was obviously confused why you got so scared by him just pushing the door open, but he was also laughing at your state which made you glare at him. He helped you stand back up to your feet, as you dusted your pants from any invisible dirt. "What the hell happened to you?"

"You scared the shits out of me. That's what happened." You scoffed at him, hitching your back higher onto your shoulders. "Let's go." You two vacated the room, making sure to lock it, but you told Jeno not to since the janitress was still yet to finish cleaning, but Jeno was greatly puzzled at what you had said.

"What in the world are you talking about?" Jeno laughed lightly before proceeding to lock the door and hung an arm around your shoulder.

"I saw her through the window." You added.

Jeno shook his head in disbelief and didn't fall for your trick to scare him off. "First, the school does not hire a janitress or a janitor, since they have working students. Second, so the dance major students don't get distracted, the window inside the room is tinted, so you basically don't see anything outside."

You felt your heart sink at the revelation as you felt all your blood get drained. "Are you... s-sure?"

"Yeah." Jeno answered your question. You slowly turned your head back towards the room, the windows and saw a black figure waving their hands at you that made you sprinting off to the entrance, leaving a dumbfounded Jeno as he followed behind you. "What the hell, M/n?"

"Shut... up! You were not the one left inside the dance room, so you wouldn't know how much I'm fucking scared, right—"

"M/n!"

"FUCK!" You screamed on the top of your lungs, stomping your foot and punching the air for no apparent reason. "Jaehyun, you... nevermind. Just take me home, please. I think I'm already fucking wasted." Jaehyun, who was on his casual attire, approached you and placed a kiss on top of your head.

[readerstories]

Body Heat - Aaron Hotchner x male!reader

Summary: Been re-watching Criminal Minds lately, and ofc reading fanfics, and I see that there are very few male readers out there so here’s at least one. Some classic bed sharing because something breaks during a snowstorm and it’s freezing, so time to share body heat ;) (AO3)

Warnings: nsfw, smut

Wordcount: 3891

A case in a small and remote part of North Dakota during the middle of the coldest winter in memory was not ideal to say the least. 

You liked snow and the cold, but even you had your fill by now. Everything is frozen, the ground, the bodies of the victims, even the snow was crunchy and no good to make snowballs with. (All of you had at one point or another almost face planted before getting wise and buying shoe spikes.)

At least the case was over and you had caught the killer alive this time, so that was good.

What was not good, was the snow storm currently raging outside the cabin door, causing the whole team to be stuck waiting for it to clear so you could take off. Because of course, this being a small town, there was no hotel, only small cabins to rent. But at least there were beds to sleep in, a small desk with a chair, a small bathroom (and a fireplace that you had yet to use), which was really all you needed.

The team had split up, since there only were two queen sized beds in each cabin. You had ended up with Hotch, which you really didn’t mind. He was always a quiet roommate, very polite and proper. Didn’t talk much, mostly went right to sleep when he got in, or stared at case files all night.

He was doing the latter right now, while you try to read a few more pages of your book before planning to go to bed for the night. You are trying your hardest to keep your eyes open, determined to at least reach the end of the chapter before sleep takes you. The only lights in the room were the one above your head, and the one on the desk Hotch was using which made it actually kind of cozy, which made your goal even harder.

That coziness disappears in seconds however, when the lights flicker, and then turn off.

Silence, then the both of you try to turn the lights back on a few times. Hotch’s cell pings with a new text, which he quickly reads, the cold light of the screen now being the only light source. 

“Seems the power is out, Morgan is going to the reception house to ask the owner about it since he’s in the cabin closest by.”

“Okay, good, at least it’s not only us.” A few beats of silence, and then another text. Hotch frowns as he reads it.

“Seems like the whole town is dark, the storm has taken out the power, but this place has generators.”

“Great!”

“But it only covers the essential stuff so no pipes will freeze, so we need to keep everything else off.” You nod, forgetting he can’t really see you in the dark.

“So only heat on in the bathroom I’m assuming.”

“Yeah.” You both eye the fireplace, and you sigh. 

“The owner told Morgan they are fully usable.”

“Well, let's see if I remember how to light one, it’s been a while.” You get out of bed, walking over to the fireplace to start trying while Hotch texts with someone, presumably Morgan again.

Stacking wood and finding some old newspaper curled up in the firewood basket, it only takes two tries and a few minutes to get a budding fire going. Proud of yourself as you watch the flames slowly catch while crouching in front of it, you feel Hotch’s eyes on you.

“Did Morgan say anything else?”

“He suggested we move to fewer cabins. I told everyone to stay in their respective cabins, we don’t need anyone risking going out in this weather when we all have good heat sources.” You nod, getting up and stretching.

“Well, I’m going to brush my teeth then try to sleep, and you should too.” Hotch opens his mouth to say something, but you interrupt him.

“You can look at those casefiles tomorrow, a fire is not the best light source when reading and making notes.” Hotch sighs, knowing that irritatingly you got a point. You smile a quick smile before going to the bathroom. While you’re in there the lights you had turned on before come back to light, but Hotch is quick to turn them off, two small clicks following right after one another. You check the oven in the bathroom, turning it down to half, knowing that should keep the temperature above freezing at least.

Neither you or Hotch speak another word to each other before going to bed, curled up almost fully clothed in your respective bed in the already colder room, even with the fire now going quite well in the fireplace.

You close your eyes, sure that sleep will come easy, as it was not that long ago you had almost fallen asleep while reading, nodding off between each sentence on the page.

But sleep doesn’t come.

Instead, you lay there, head empty of any thoughts, calm, but still you just can’t sleep.

You hear the wind blowing outside, each gust of wind making the cabin creak and groan quietly, barely there, but noticeable in the quiet of the night. The fireplace crackles, giving back at least some of that cozy feeling from earlier.

You can also hear Hotch toss and turn, which is unusual for him. The few times you had seen the man sleep or just been in the same room as him while he did so, he had been still, almost never moving other than his chest going up and down with each breath.

It takes an audible shudder coming from the other bed for you to realize why.

Hotch is cold, very much so. You can’t help the little smile that grazes your lips, almost a quiet laugh in its own right. So the cold is what does the big bad unit chief in huh?

You don’t feel good about it for long however as it’s clear that some solution to the problem is needed, as Hotch sounds no nearer to sleep than you are, and you are certain that like this neither of you will get any rest soon. So you cast a glance over at the fireplace before quickly getting out of your bed. Hotch quietly speaks your name, a question more than anything else. You drag your mattress, your pillow and duvet in front of the fireplace and put it down, turning to face Hotch, who has propped himself up on an elbow, confusion in his knitted brows.

“Come here.”

“What.” The tone is deadpan, not really a question in the word.

“I can hear your teeth clatter, I know you’re cold, so take your duvet and get in front of the fire.” Hotch slowly does as he’s told, surprisingly without asking anything. Or maybe he just sees your point. He drops his duvet next to yours, farthest from the fire, but you tut, moving it closest instead.

“You’re the coldest one, so you can sleep closest to the fire.” Hotch quirks a brow, but sits down on the floor as close to the fireplace as he can.

“Are you sure there is no ulterior motive? Maybe you just want it to be me to catch fire if things go wrong.” You grin, loving when Hotch lets his humor shine through his normally stoic facade.

“Maybe.” You get down on the floor too, laying down at the same time as Hotch. Before he can really react, you pull him close to your chest. It’s the surprise of it all that lets you drag him so he’s tucked under your chin, his hands on your chest.

“What are you doing?” You feel his whole body stiffen, even his words come out like that.

“Body heat.” You hum. Hotch stays stiff for a little while, but then there’s a big sigh as he relaxes a little. Slowly, one of his arms goes over your sides, still slightly unsure about this situation. You smile, resting huffing out a small laugh.

It’s already a lot warmer this close to the fire and though sleeping on the mattress on the floor like this isn’t the best, it’s better than being cold at least. And you’re not complaining about having an excuse to hold Hotch close like this, feeling him shift as he tries to get comfortable.

You feel your eyelids grow heavy, sleep creeping up on you as you get warmer. The last thing you hear before slipping into dreamland is the crackling of the fire, and a faint snore coming from Hotch.

----

Sadly, you wake up just a few hours later needing to pee. You somehow manage to get up without waking Hotch, so you are as quiet as you can be while doing your business. He’s still asleep when you get back, face relaxed.

You stop briefly to watch him sleep, as weird as you know it is. It’s just that you rarely see Hotch without a frown or a face made of stone, so you drink in the sight as long as you dare. Which is only a few seconds, but you stop yourself when you yawn.

With quiet steps you walk over to the mattress, slipping under the duvet and back to the shared warmth. This time it’s you that are dragged into Hotch’s arms as he mumbles something in his sleep. You try not to make any sound of surprise, as not to wake him still. You don’t mind this turn of events at all, as Hotch mumbles some words into your hair before they yet again turn to occasional soft snores. Letting out another yawn, you slip an arm over Hotch’s waist and let sleep take you.

----

It’s still dark out when you wake next, although this time of year it doesn’t say much.

This time it was Hotch moving that woke you, as your arms have made their way around his chest like he has done with his, holding him close and feeling his every move. You can tell by his breathing and movements that he’s awake, so you slowly talk, more or less asking the only question you have right into his chest.

“What time is it?” Another movement, most likely checking his phone.

“6:30 AM.” You groan, his deep and sleep laden voice doing things to your heart and brain you don’t have the awake awareness to think about right now.

“Back to sleep it is.” Hotch chuckles.

“This is past the time I would normally get up.”

“Is the storm still going on outside?” You both listen, and yes, over the low crackling of the now almost dead fire you can still hear the wind taking a hold of everything around it.

“Sounds like it.”

“Great, more sleep for us Aaron.” You can’t see the raised eyebrow, but you can almost hear it in his voice.

“Aaron?” You nod, trying to get in the perfect position to go back to sleep.

“Yeah, it feels weird using your last name when I’m cuddling with you.”

“Sharing body heat.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Aaron chuckles, and weirdly enough he ruffles your hair a bit. Your heart aches at the familiarity of the motion, but again, not awake enough for any of that.

It is then that it happens. In your effort to get comfortable, you shift your leg a little to high, and suddenly your thigh rubs against a clothed, but very obivous, erection. Aaron draws in a small sharp breath as you turn to stone for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry, I, uh-” Suddenly more awake, but still not quite there yet, you say nothing at first. You could have made some lame joke about it you suppose, but instead you are just as awkward as him.

“It, it’s uh, fine, um..” Silence for a few beats, then you come to a mutual and unspoken agreement to just ignore it.

However, you find that no matter how hard you try, you can’t.

You’re not pressed up against his crotch or anything anymore, you moved your leg way too fast out of the way for that to still be the case.

But you are still in Aaron’s arms, which makes it hard not to think about it. He’s warm, a little soft, strong, and you can smell his cologne this close. His breath is steady, but too steady, like he’s trying to will himself to sleep. Your head almost spins by the feeling of it all, and your thoughts are no help either, replaying the moment over and over again in your head.

The noise he had made had made you stiffen, perhaps from other reasons than you would like to admit.

You don’t know how long you both lay there, trying to or pretending to be asleep, but you know it feel like forever and torture of the slowest kind.

An idea slips into your mind before you can really stop it, making everything else go quiet.

What if you did it again?

You had for a long time admired Aaron, perhaps in more ways than you were willing to admit to yourself or anyone else. And in some fleeting and weak moments you had thought he might be too. A lingering glance or two during a case when he thought you wouldn’t notice, him letting small smiles slip onto his face more often when you were around, him bringing you coffee from time to time.

Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself as you move your leg again.

Another sharp breath from Aaron.

“What are you doing?” He asks as you still with your thigh pressed up against his still there erection.

“Trying something.” A beat where neither of you move.

“Stop me if you want.” Aaron says nothing and does nothing, so slowly, oh ever so slowly, you use your leg to rub against him. His breath deepens, and one of his hands moves to your hip, but doesn’t push you away, simply letting it rest there. Your own hands roam across his back, shifting, fluttering, trying to find purpose. In the end you grasp the back of his t-shirt as you slowly start to try to move him too.

Aaron groans, something that makes your own dick start to stir, and then he’s moving, and oh.

He seems in no rush, just rocking his hips ever so slightly forward, pressing himself against your thigh.

His breath is speeding up, and so is yours, almost panting in the quiet of the room.

As good as you are sure it feels, you want more, you almost need more. Removing one hand from his back, you replace your thigh with your hand, rubbing and fully feeling Aaron’s dick strain against the front of his pants. A hitch in his breath, an audible swallow, him continuing to move, now into your hand, spurs you on.

As far as you can tell through the fabric, Aaron is rather large, and certainly excited. You let your hand wander, squeeze, and rub as you please, every so often pausing to grab at his thigh instead, teasingly letting your fingers drag and dance along it.

A thought, and then your other hand is in front of you, gently touching his chest. You back away a few inches, careful to keep your touch still on him. Casting a glance upwards as you start to push his t-shirt up from his stomach, you’re met with intense eyes watching your every move. You swallow, Aaron’s eyes shift to follow the motion, then to your lips as you lick them.

He lets you push his t-shirt up under his armpits, and only then does he do any of the work himself, lifting himself up slightly so he can take it off and drop it on the floor behind you. You don’t let your eyes or hand linger on his scars, instead focusing on his chest.

He’s less hairy than you imagined, but you don’t care at all.

And you had imagined it.

But nothing could compare to the real deal. Feeling him turn to putty in your hands as you rub him through his pants, hear him groan as you let your hand brush against a nipple.

“God, fuck, you-” Aaron stops himself, letting out another groan as you you lean forward and plant a kiss on his chest.

“Ah, fuck, come here.” Before you can ask what he means, there’s a hand in your hair yanking you up, and then you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing Aaron Hotchner.

Fuck.

Fuck yes.

In less than a second you’re kissing back, mouths uncoordinated and messy as they meet. Your hand which had stopped rubbing him, starts up again while you kiss, and he moans into your mouth, which, fuck, that’s hot.

Both of his hands tangled in your hair pull you even closer as you both almost forget you need to breathe, only breaking apart to gulp down some air before diving right back in, lips moving firmly against each other.

Aaron is the first to add tongue, which makes you let out a little gasp, giving him full access.

He takes the opportunity, and not to be outdone, you move your hand from his bulge to the button on his pants. A noise of disappointment turns into a small moan as he realizes what you are doing. With all the noises he is making against your lips, it’s hard to concentrate, so you break the kiss so you can concentrate on zipping him down, and getting into his pants. Aaron moves forward so he can kiss along your throat, letting his teeth nip along the little skin that is showing from under your shirt.

“Fuck!” You groan, feeling the small smile Aaron can’t hide as he kisses your skin.

“Could get used to hearing that more often.”

“Yeah, good, fuck.” You curse whoever invented zippers as you fumble with it as if you were a fucking teenager.

Finally, a few seconds later, you are able to shove your hand into Aaron’s underwear and the smug smile you could feel against your skin turns into a moan.

“Fuck.” It’s low, but you hear it, glancing at him with a grin.

“I would like to hear that too.” You say as you start to pump his length, using his pre-cum as lubrication. Another nip to your skin makes you moan.

“At least your shirts have higher collars.” Aaron teases as he moves his hands from your hair to the hem of your t-shirt, dragging it up. You let go of him only so you can take it off fully, then your hands are right back on him. One on his dick, the other tugging slightly at a nipple.

Aaron drags you in for a kiss, and you moan into his mouth as he lets his hands wander all over you. Up your sides, over your chest, down your stomach. Your breath hitches as you think you know where he is going, but instead his hands settles on your ass, pulling you even closer, so close you can barely move your arm, but fuck, he raises his leg a little and now your hard dick is rubbing against his thigh. He rocks forward, seeking friction for you both, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth.

His cock is heavy in your hand, heat radiating from all off him were you are pressed close, still under the duvets. Your movements aren’t rushed, neither of you in a hurry to finish, but fuck, it feels good. Every rock of Aaron’s hips moves his dick in your hand, and presses him against yours, building up on the desire you feel taking over you.

One of his hands move from your ass to your hair, pulling at it as he stops kissing you briefly to moan into your throat.

“I’m close, fuck.” Your eyes flicker all over his face, greedily drinking in the look in his face. The normally stoic Aaron coming apart in your hands  is a sight to behold. Hair sticking in every possible direction, breathing heavy trough kiss-bruised lips is a sight you will carry forever.

You nod quickly, diving on for another kiss.

“Yeah, yeah, come on, don’t hold back on my part.” Aaron groans as he comes, cum seeping trough your fingers as he shakes apart in your hold. You keep gently stroking him as he comes down from is orgasm, stopping when a shiver runs trough his body.

You’re still pressed close, so you you notice quickly when one of his hands moves down your front. He squeezes your cock trough your pants, and you buck your hips into his hand. He chuckles, and then he’s unbuckling your pants, and within seconds his hand is around your cock and moving. You moan, trowing your head back, giving him ample space to lean forward and kiss along your neck.

“Fuck, ah, no marks.”

“Good for you that it is scarf season.” Like the fucking tease that he is Aaron lick a long stripe along your throat, but he does move further down, sucking and biting bruises into the skin on your chest as his hand moves up and down slowly on your cock.

You can’t help the noises the escapes you, moans and groans mixing with heavy breaths. his hands is firm on you, taking you closer and closer with every second, building up until your toes starts to curl.

“Fuck, A-Aaron.” He hums against your skin, placing a last kiss on your collarbone before moving so you’re on eye level once more, a hand in your hair tugging lightly.

“Don’t hold back on my part.” The words are said with a small grin his face, and you div in to kiss him as you cum, spilling all over his hand.

For a few minutes, neither of you move, just catching your breath together in silence. You are the first to move, twisting around so you can get your t-shirt back. Aaron frowns, but you just use it to wipe his hand off and yours. You kiss his knuckles after you clean them off, getting a single laugh as a reaction. Discarding the t-shirt once more, you tuck yourself back into your pants, Aaron doing the same.

A few beats more of silence, both of you not really knowing what to say.

“That was-” Aaron breaks first, but stops himself.

“Yeah...” You can’t help but slowly break into a grin, then a little laughter. He does the same, quiet laughter and a smile making your heart warm as he pulls you back into his still shirtless chest.

You let him, content and almost ready to fall asleep again, but not before you get out some last words.

“Next time I would prefer a bed though.”

“Next time?” He questions as his hand settles against your back.

“Mhm.”

“Alright, I’ll remember that.” He ruffles your hair, placing a single kiss on top of your head. Within minutes you are asleep, back to dreamland in your arms, for once content with sleeping in.

(You don’t take your scarf off on the whole way home, but if anyone in the team notices, none of them mention it, but you can see a smirk threaten to break out on Hotch’s face every time he glances at it.)

[the-insomniac-emporium]

RE8 Ladies + S/o with chronic pain HCs

Type/cause of chronic pain is kept ambiguous, but some of the hcs might seem geared towards migraines, since that's the main thing that I personally struggle with (and these are very definitely comfort hcs). Features Alcina, Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, Donna, Mother Miranda, and as a 'lil bonus Ava. Not particularly long, but the combined length of every character is enough to be put under a read-more (About 2,500 words in total).

Alcina:

It’s difficult for her to know that you are suffering, but be unable to deal directly with the source of the problem. Chasing off unwanted nuisances or hunting down threats to the castle was one thing, trying to solve complicated medical issues was another thing entirely. If only she could tear your condition asunder without tearing you asunder.

That being said, she’ll still support you endlessly, however she can. It doesn’t matter how expensive or hard-to-access possible treatments are. If there’s something you haven’t tried, and are interested in trying, she’ll find a way for you to get it.

The biggest, and arguably most helpful, thing that she does is set up a space for you within her office. She spends quite a lot of time there for her family’s business, but doesn’t want to leave you alone on bad days. So this was her idea of a nice compromise.

There’s a very comfortable sofa that folds out, a cabinet filled with the softest blankets, and several pillows of a few different sizes. Servants are instructed not to interrupt Alcina’s work without good reason, but she has a couple who ensure your snack cabinet is always well stocked.

If there are certain environmental factors to your condition, such as sensitivity to light and sound, she does her best to reduce their effects. Lights remain dimmed (or she’ll rely on candlelight), her music will be kept quiet enough to be soothing, and she’ll refrain from taking any calls while you are with her.

Bela:

To think that Daniela once tried to claim that Bela would “never need to know any of that (medical) stuff”! Sure, there haven’t been many people who have needed (and received) treatment from her, but that didn’t mean the skill was useless. Admittedly, she doesn’t know enough to replace one of your doctors, or try to create her own version of a cure, though no one really expected that much from her.

Still, she knows enough to help soothe your pain. Obviously there are different techniques for different kinds of pain, and she does research before trying anything specific. Bela’s also aware that you’ve been dealing with this for far longer than she has, meaning that you probably wouldn’t be pleased if she came in, acted like an expert, or assumed that you hadn’t really thought about the most popular remedies. So she’s tactful with how she approaches things, always checking if you’re familiar with a subject before she tries to explain anything.

Bela ends up surprising you with a lesser-known skill of hers: Massage. Studying anatomy has given her a decent idea of the body’s more sensitive spots, and the rest she’s figured out through her own, ahem, experiences. Regardless of where you’re in pain, your girlfriend can help reduce your suffering. Okay, well, if your pain is more internal than external, it’s a bit harder for her, but she can still help you relax.

One of her favorite things to do after giving you a massage is to just pull you in close for some cuddling. Preferably you’ll be in her lap, with her arms around your waist, her chin tucked on top of your shoulder. Then she’ll do her best to whisper you praises, reminding you how strong you are, and that she’s incredibly proud of you.

Cassandra:

She’s, uh, not great at this. At least not at first. Maybe she’ll never be more than good at it, though. But she’s definitely trying! And learning! By Jove, that’s something, right?

First things first, she’s always ready to try to distract you, primarily through kisses and gentle touches. Fingers softly trailing over your skin, lips tickling your neck, featherlight in all the right places… It’s not inherently sexual (though it can quickly go that route if you ask), just intimate. It’s harder for your brain to process pain when you’re also processing pleasure, so there is some science behind Cassandra’s methods, even if she herself isn’t entirely aware of that.

While she’s not great with words, there are certain things that she manages to articulate well enough. For one, she makes sure you know that you aren’t a burden. Taking care of you- no, helping you take care of yourself- is a labor of love, if a labor at all. More than that, she knows full well that you probably don’t like feeling pitied, or coddled. That, over time, being sick ends up being beyond frustrating. She never wants you to feel like your condition defines you, or like it puts any strain on your relationship.

That said, she’ll avoid telling her family any specifics unless you do first, and ensures that the staff know how to accommodate you (without telling them why, because it’s none of their fucking business, and she’s their boss, and for fuck’s sake it’s their job to do what she tells them. Maybe she gets a lil bit overzealous with it). At no point will she ever complain about helping you, or otherwise indicate that your needs are “troublesome”.

At the end of the day, the best comfort she brings you is her presence, simply being near you, endlessly loyal, tireless in her affections. Especially considering she gets clingier the worse your symptoms get.

Daniela:

Hope you enjoy cuddling. Seriously. There’s nothing Daniela loves more than curling up with you, and that goes double for bad pain days. Some adjustments will be made position-wise if you need, but she’ll still hold you as close as possible, for as long as you need. Although she might eventually fall asleep (because damn are you comfy), she’ll play with your hair or run her fingers along your scalp until she eventually dozes off.

If you want a little more from her than light snoring, or if she feels like going above and beyond, or honestly just if she’s thinking about how much she loves you (so all the effing time), she’ll do something she’s always loved in movies/books: Reading to you! She’ll pick special books that neither of you have read before, so you can experience them together on your sick(er) days. Which does, of course, mean that it might take months to finish even a single one. Surprisingly, Daniela won’t even briefly consider reading any without you. Even if the plot is really good.

But, uh, if you wanted her to read to you on a day where you aren’t bedridden? Hell yes, my friend, she’s absolutely down for that!

On days where she’s too busy to spend hours upon hours in bed with you, or days where her ADHD is just particularly bad, she tries her best to leave you with a “substitute”. AKA a massive fucking teddy bear, in a reddish brown color, with a green bowtie. Custom ordered (The Duke did not dare tease her for it). There’s a heart stitched onto the stuffed animal’s chest, which features your first initial alongside a D for Daniela.

Additionally, she has a blanket she only brings out for you, which she periodically sprays with her favorite perfume. That way you can hold it close when she’s not around, as if you were cuddling her. For her sake, though, don’t hold the teddy bear or blanket too tightly when she is around. Homegirl here will get jealous of inanimate objects, even ones that she gave you.

Donna:

“I think I have a tea for this…” Damn right she has a tea for this. Donna has a massive garden, with dozens if not hundreds of different plants, including a variety of herbs/spices. At least one of them has to be a little helpful for you. Whether it relieves pain, helps you nap off some of your misery, or just distracts you by tasting bloody-well delicious! Besides, few things make you feel quite as loved as holding a cup of freshly brewed tea in your hands, knowing your lover made it just for you. Like a hug in a mug, it is!

Similarly to Alcina, Donna will also try to create a comfortable space for you, but isn’t likely to put it downstairs with her workshop. Instead she’ll let you take over one of the larger guest rooms, customizing it to suit your specific needs. There will be some easy to care for plants for decoration (ones that won’t mind potentially missing out on natural sunlight), a couple relaxing paintings, and a shelf near the bed with things to help you pass the time, mainly books.

Furthermore, she’ll do her best to keep you company as often as possible. She’s naturally a fairly quiet person, so you won’t have to worry about sound if that’s something you’re sensitive to. While she prefers using a sewing machine, she’ll do things by hand while you’re in pain, just to reduce the chances of you getting irritated by the sound.

Speaking of potentially irritating sounds… by god can Angie be difficult to be around when you’re ill. Thankfully, Donna is perfectly understanding of this, and, as the only person Angie ever listens to, makes sure to give the doll a stern talking to about your health. To your immense surprise, it actually works. You’re not exactly sure what was said, but Angie certainly becomes a lot more compensating afterwards. She’ll keep her antics to herself, and usually even on another side of the house from where you rest, but only for as long as you’re tucked away in your room. As soon as you set foot outside, her restraints are metaphorically removed. All hell breaks loose (as is her universe-given right as the physical embodiment of both Chaos and Entropy).

Mother Miranda:

If the two of you weren’t lovers, there’s a decent chance you would completely misinterpret her actions. She might come off as irritated, like she has bigger concerns than your health, you fragile little human. After all, she is a goddess (well, practically). But the truth is that she’s aching inside every time you have a bad pain day, knowing that (for once) she cannot cure your ailment. Maybe if she had infinite subjects with the same condition as you…

But, at the end of the day, that’s the problem. There’s only one of you. One of her beloved, her little human darling, so dangerously fragile in comparison to the scale she works on. Even with all the time in the world, which she most certainly has, she cannot cure you without taking incredible risks. With your life at stake… It is a gamble she refuses to take. You are hers, and while she hates to see you suffer, the truth is that she’ll always be selfish enough to let you endure on your own.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t help, though, just that she doesn't do a full-out experiment on you. Instead, she keeps notes. She’ll track your activities, bedtimes/when you get up, dietary habits, when you have pain, what you do to treat said pain, how effective the treatments are, etc, etc. All of this can be very useful in establishing patterns (a skill she’s gotten very good at, in her many decades of being a scientist), which can in turn lead to less pain days.

(For example, many people with migraines find that certain foods seem to trigger a migraine, or at least increase the chances of getting one. Though admittedly they don’t always end up cutting the food out of their diet. I mean, come on, you want me to give up chocolate? You want me to drink normal milk, like an adult? Kidding, kidding, I don’t have any food triggers. Nor do I particularly enjoy chocolate milk, nor do I dislike it.)

Moving on! While her work seemingly takes precedence over your condition, Miranda is not heartless, and she does do some things to lend you more direct comfort. Specifically, she tries to work in the same room as you when she can, normally while making electronic copies of physical documents, or while looking over the details of a finished experiment. She’s not always one for cuddling, so she won’t often get in bed with you during the daytime. But at night? Yes, fine, she will wrap her arms around you, maybe one of her wings too if you like how soft they are.

Just don’t think that she secretly loves every second. It’s not like she’ll spend half an hour whispering about how sweet and adorable you are as soon as you fall asleep, or anything like that. It’s twenty minutes at the most.

Bonus!Avaskian Caldwell:

“Oh, fuckin’ mood!” Followed by a solid thirty seconds of pure regret. Seriously, though, Ava has spent xer entire life (starting at age 10) dealing with chronic migraines. For a while xe also dealt with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), which meant lots of chest pain, but that (thankfully) faded as xe grew into an adult, as is fairly common with the condition. If anyone in Castle Dimitrescu understands unrelenting, unexplainable pain, it’s xer.

That being said… Ava never really managed xer chronic pain, at least not when xe was at xer worst. Xe had to drop out of school because of it. Hell, xe didn’t have a “real” job until xe was almost 23! Didn’t have a chance until things just calmed down for xer. So xe gets anxious whenever you talk about your health, worried that things are (or will at some point be) as bad for you as they were for xer. Other than that, though, you might initially think that xe doesn’t care, or didn’t understand the conversation.

Truth is, xe knows how absolutely fucking ANNOYING it can be to have to explain your health to every new person you meet (like the dozen different doctors you’ve met over the years, possibly every nurse who takes your pulse and thinks it’s a little bit high). So xe did a shit ton of research on your condition, in order to reduce how much you need to explain. Sure, xe will still have questions, and there are always aspects that only you can tell xer, but it’s a nice gesture.

As for helping you destress, xe’s pretty much a mix of Bela and Miranda. You’ll get plenty of massages (because Ava has learned from personal experience what sort of touches help with which sorts of pain), but also some scientific insight on any noticeable patterns. Lots of holding you close and telling you that you’re the coolest person in the world, and that Ava feels beyond lucky to have you.

[fluffallamaful]

Llama! Hello, how are you? Hope you're doing well! :D

-long ask incoming-

Your last 3 sentence ficlet (lee Dream ler XD) was sooooo cute🥺. And it also kindaa reminded me of something I could absolutely see XD doing to Dream, espc when he was younger/a little kid still.

There's this game/deal kind of thing I know that older siblings propose to their baby siblings when they want something they're not really allowed to. (Irl I know it w stuff like watching wayy more TV or sth, but this is ingame mc so probably... climbing too high trees or exploring cave entrances?? Whatever kids in rl minecraft would get up to I suppose).

The thing with this "game" is.. it's setting the younger sibling up to fail. It's more like a tool for older siblings so they don't have to deny them outright yk?

The "game" itself is pretty simple. If the younger sibling comes to the older one and begs them to allow them to do otherwise "forbidden" stuff the older sibling proposes a deal:

If the younger sibling manages to lay down and keep from laughing/making a sound while their older sibling pushes up their shirt and plants a ticklish kiss (or raspberry, if they're feeling extra mean) on their tummy, then they're free to do whatever they want. But... since kids are terrible with anticipation that's almost never the case. (The most fitting translation I can manage for the name would probably be "tummy-kiss without laughing" or sth similar btw)

Now... we're probably in agreement that Dream doesn't handle anticipation very well, even as an adult. And as a kid he probably was way worse. So I'd imagine this "game" was a favorite of XD's to keep Dream from doing whatever dangerous shit he was about to get up to as a small child (/future-parkour-and-pvp-expert).

Your ficlet, especially the dialogue with the "its part of a deal" implication fit this so perfectly for me idk.... like XD dusted the game off when Dream was about to do something stupidly dangerous even for his current skills, bc he was being too cocky. And Dream thinking he'd be able to manage beating the game easily bc he's older now, he can hold in his laughter right? Wrong.

He'd forgotten to take into consideration that the flustering 'nostalgia' from these games you played as kids (i.e. like the tickle monster or this tummy-kiss game) always makes everything soo much harder, and so he finds himself already choking back his giggles as he goes to lay down on the ground. And with XD now looming over him and seeing their claws move for the bottom of his hoodie to push it up he's... not quite so sure that he's able to handle this anymore.

(Meanwhile XD is watching in amusement as their brother, who was soo confident just a few seconds before, lies on the ground, body tensed in anticipation, hands pulling at the grass, head turned to the side, face completely red and eyes tightly closed. They quirk a grin at the choked whine Dream let's out when they let one of their claws lightly graze his tummy, by accident of course, while pulling up his hoodie. He already lost. (That doesn't mean XD's going to stop though. There's no way he's wasting this opportunity... also leaving Dream so wound up would just be mean now, wouldn't it? :)

AHHHHHHHH juno this is so cute i was smiling the entire tiimmmeee eeeeeeee!!!!!

first off, im a sucker for childhood games suddenly coming up in adulthood, ESPECIALLY from older siblings 😭

second, the whole idea of dream having to stay still while XD places a single, harmless kiss on his tummy is absolutely too adorable for my brain to handle. and dream still not being able to do it even in adulthood is even more adorable

third, this ficlets are so much fun because they open up so much room for interpretation??? because you’ve taken it as XD has promised dream something in the future, but i wrote imagining that dream had already received the thing. and both of them work so perfectly.

because the first scenario (a future promise), involved dream having to agree to play XD’s games, to get the thing. which is just the whole admitting thing that makes anticipation so much more awful (“Ok fine, you can tickle me then…” and then having to actually lie down and lift arms up and everything)

but then in the second scenario (XD shows him something or brings him somewhere or allows him to do something first), then there’s several stages of, “well maybe they’re not serious.” or “ok they’re serious, but hopefully they’ll forget?” and agreeing to it. and then being so excited about the ‘something’, that they forget about the second half of the deal themselves. but of course XD does not.

[bosspigeon]

could you maybe write another ATOC fic about D? maybe crown getting D super flustered or maybe how their first kiss goes?

"I want to kiss you. Very badly, actually. Is that alright?"

Dara freezes, and he is stock-still for long enough for Shamshi to grow concerned. "Did I not do that right?" he asks, drawing a thick spiral of dark hair over his shoulder. His eyes are bright, soft and fretful, and Dara wishes he could say something, but he feels like his jaw has frozen shut. "Xelef said to just ask— Well, he said to, um, just 'plant one on you' but that seemed rude?"

Dara's jaw finally unfreezes, if only to allow him to flex it soundlessly for a few seconds before he manages to eke out, quiet and strained, "Xelef's suggestions usually are."

Shamshi covers his mouth to stifle his snorting snicker, a sound so unpolished that Dara is, once again, starkly reminded of the Crown's humble origins. It warms him in a strange way, to see that becoming royalty essentially overnight has not completely stripped him of some of his simpler charms.

One of them, of course, being his bluntness.

"So, can I?" Shamshi asks, lowering his hand to show his mouth again, and Dara cannot help but stare at it, soft and plush and curled sweetly into a shy little smile. "Kiss you, I mean." He looks up at the general thoughtfully, tapping at his lips, which only makes it harder for Dara to look way from them. "I don't know what Xelef was thinking, suggesting I kiss you without letting you know first. I wouldn't be able to reach!"

Dara is not sure what he's supposed to say to that, beyond a jumble of "Um— I don't— My Crown—"

"It's alright if you don't want to," Shamshi hurries to assure him, once again twisting a hank of hair fretfully between his hands. "I would never want to, well, to force you, or abuse my power, or—

"No, I—" He very quickly snaps his mouth shut, while Shamshi's golden eyes brighten with hope.

Dara should deny him. He could, easily, and he knows Shamshi would never bear him any ill will for it. It would never occur to him to somehow punish Dara for maintaining the appropriate boundaries between the Crown and those he rules. But Dara has been holding himself back for so long, and his indomitable will is, well...

It's becoming more and more domitable with every passing day.

It does not help, seeing Shamshi growing closer and closer with Rêzan and Azad, and especially with Xelef, while he forces himself to remain at arm's length.

He is so caught up in his thoughts, his battle of wills against himself, that he doesn't quite notice the Crown inching closer, until a small, surprisingly calloused hand rests lightly, gently against his own.

"Dara?" Shamshi asks him, his voice hardly louder than a whisper.

"My Crown?" Dara replies instinctively.

Shamshi's eyes, so bright they almost hurt to look at directly, soften to a gentle daybreak gilt that warms Dara down to his bones. "You know," he says, his fingers skimming delicately along the general's knuckles, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake, "I know I've said I prefer when you call me by my name—"

Dara is stricken by the urge to apologize, and as he opens his mouth to do so, the Crown squeezes his hand.

"But," he barrels on stubbornly, before he can be interrupted, "I think I like being called yours just as much."

Dara's knees tremble, and without input from his brain (which seems to have fled entirely, such as it is wont to do whenever his Imperial Majesty is near) one of them gives out beneath him, and he drops to one knee before the Shamshi in some mockery of deference, his hand clasped gently in the Crown's.

He crowds closer, his body radiating warmth like the sun, and in such a position, Dara almost has to look up to meet his eyes. Almost.

"Can I kiss you?" Shamshi asks, softly and breathlessly.

"Please," Dara says, his voice cracking.

The Crown almost falls over himself in his eagerness, clasping Dara's hand between them like he'll float away without it to anchor him. The kiss is sweet, graceless and unfettered by anything so tedious as propriety, and Dara is thankful for it. He's pleased to find that Shamshi's lips are as soft as they look, warm and clumsy and heart-achingly sweet as they brush over his own. He wonders if it would be improper of him to— to hold on to him somehow, his shoulders or his waist, because as solid as he is, Dara feels as if he is in just as much danger of drifting away as Shamshi is.

Dara can't be sure which of them pulls away first, if only because it seems to be such a colossal effort for both of them. He feels the Crown's teeth dragging at his lower lip, and is quite surprised to find he has to take a moment to untangle his fingers from that artfully riotous tumble of rich, dark curls.

He feels so... warm. It's as if his magical signature is radiating out from within him powerfully enough that Dara feels as if he is lying in the grass on a warm spring day, basking in the sunshine.

"You're very... warm," he says, and immediately feels himself blushing at his own social ineptitude.

Shamshi does laugh, as he expected, but it isn't a cruel or mocking laugh at all, and he smiles too, though he hides his own ruddy flush behind his hair. "Thank you," he says earnestly.

He kissed the Crown.

He kissed the Crown, and it felt right. It felt natural. Simple, and easy, and warm.

Shamshi leans into his space again, and he can only do it so easily, because Dara is still on one knee.

And, well, when the Crown sways towards you, with gilded doe-eyes framed by long, dark lashes, and soft lips still wet from being kissed, only someone made of stone could stand up and walk away.

And Dara, though he might look it, strong and steadfast and stoic as the earth itself, is only a man.