#my labour of love still lives in new readers!!

[littlelasagne]

Hi! Just wanted to pop by and say very confidently that Beginning, Middle and Overture has become my ultimate comfort fanfic, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read since I discovered it a couple months back!!! You’ve captured the characters so perfectly and the story is so enticing, I love it so much

Wow, thank you so much 🥲😭 What an honour! I'm so happy you like it 😭

[muxshwriting]

almost (sweet music)

Bradley Bradshaw x reader

summary: a summer where you and Bradley remind Maverick of Goose and Carole || warnings: literally one swear word, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth (mentioned) || word count: 793 || masterlist

You had Bradley had met at the Hard Deck and hit it off instantly. You were charmed by his carefree attitude and charisma, and he was charmed by your kindness and your heart. Both of you had found the perfect person to spend the rest of their lives with, to be yourselves with. Bradley had never been more sure about anything in his life when he thought about marrying you. Your family loved him and, in turn, the squadron and especially Maverick, loved you.

Maverick viewed Bradley like a son, and was very particular about the girl that had captured his heart. However, the second he saw you, he was pulled in my your very soul, the pureness that was simply you. Bradley was lucky to find someone so well matched for him. There was something else, though. There were moments where Maverick would glance over to you and Bradley and see Goose and Carole staring back at him.

It began the night you and Bradley got engaged and went out to the Hard Deck to celebrate. As all good nights at the Hard Deck do, it ended with Bradley at the piano. Despite being at least eight beers in, he was rather coherent and playing a recognisable tune. Patrons and other people all joined in on the fun, crowding around the piano. You, smiling unabashedly at your man, were standing directly next to Bradley, leaning against the piano, glass in hand as you sang to whatever he was playing. Bradley had reached up, pulling you closer and down onto his lap. He kissed you passionately, laughing with you as he continued to play, choosing to stare lovingly at you instead of what notes he was hitting.

★--~-~--★

Then came your wedding, a beautifully private affair with a few friends and family members from both sides. Your vows were perfect, encapsulating your love for Bradley in a few short words. “Bradley, there are no words to fully describe how I feel about you but I will say this: I’ve never felt as much comfort as I have whenever I hear your name. It’s so bizarre to have a word that can make you feel so much in a second, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world. I love you.”

Maverick was thrown backwards to Goose, drunk on his bachelors night out, leaning against Maverick and rambling about his soon-to-be wife. “She’s like the wind beneath my wings. It’s so weird that her name makes everything feel alright whenever I hear it. God Mav, she’s perfect.”

★--~-~--★

Maverick will never forget the day that Rooster came to him with the amazing news that he would become a Great Uncle. Or a great, Great Uncle as he reminded Bradley. He had had a few beers in the back garden, talking about everything and nothing going on with life. “Gods Maverick, I’m gonna be a dad. That sounds terrifying, a good kind of terrifying but still terrifying.”

Goose had come onto base, a giddy grin plastered onto his face. “Carole’s pregnant. We’re gonna have our own little bird in the nest.” His eyes widened as he sighed. “A kid Mav, a whole entire human. That’s crazy.” He had hugged Goose, giving him his congratulations for him and Carole, wishing them the best for the future. Goose had stayed ecstatic for a week after the news, nothing could bring his mood down. “I’m gonna be a dad!”

★--~-~--★

He had gotten the call from Rooster that you’d gone into labour and that his son had been born (his son!), inviting Maverick down to the hospital to meet his great nephew. He got to hold him in his arms, a newborn baby, so small and innocent. “What did you name him?”

Rooster had smiled proudly, “Nick Bradshaw.”

From the bed you had perked up, taking your baby back when Pete handed him over. “His full name, however, is Nick Mitchell Bradshaw. We had to fit you in somewhere.” Maverick couldn’t stop the tears from springing in his eyes as he tearfully embraced Bradley.

“I’m a dad!” Goose was whisper shouting through the phone to Pete, trying not to wake his sleeping wife. “Do you want to come meet him?” Maverick was there as soon as he could be, bring in flowers for Carole and patting Goose on the back. “Uncle Maverick, meet Bradley Bradshaw.” Goose was standing there, a shit-eating grin on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows and Maverick burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

Carole swatted at both their arms, telling them to keep it down for the baby. “Don’t make me regret his middle name.”

“His middle name?” Maverick had asked.

Her expression softened as she glanced over at the baby. “Bradley Pete Bradshaw.”

[wileys-russo]

house wife II l.willamson x reader

for our charming LW6, yet another fixation of my blondie obsession.

house wife II l.williamson x reader

if they said the way to someone's heart was through their stomach, one woman who would never disagree, was leah williamson. 

with no cooking ability of her own, life since living out of home had consisted of jumping from one team mates table to another when wanting a hot meal, or seemingly endless takeaway containers and microwave meals filling her yellow bins.

little did she know that was all to change, the day that leah met you.

for you, life growing up with three older brothers meant a childhood and early adolescence of rough housing, relentless teasing, and playing football with only boys. and as much as you were more than able to stand up for yourself physically when pushed around, all thanks to having three older brothers, you had always been a lover and not a fighter. 

choosing your words diplomatically and carefully even from a young age your brothers often teased that you were adopted or dropped off on the doorstep by the postman one morning, all of them preferring to settle things with fists than words. but as they soon found out just because you preferred to speak things out, you weren't above a swift kick to the groin or firm punch to the stomach at their teasings.

growing up around boys, playing football with boys, befriending boys, meant you craved feminine company and attention in other aspects of life. this lead to most of your free time on a weekend spent tucked away in the kitchen with your aunts, grandmother and mother, attentively watching and eagerly learning all of the little tips, tricks and secrets of cherished family recipes.

the older you got and the more serious your football career became, the more your passion for being in the kitchen grew, cooking becoming a somewhat therapeutic escape from the pressures of the pitch.

hosting dinner parties for loved ones, dropping off baked goods and flowers to friends on birthdays, your heart swelled to see people appreciate your laboured work. 

your favorite part about cooking being doing it for other people, your own little love language.

having grown up in the young lionesses playing alongside the likes of georgia stanway, alessia russo, ellie roebuck and ella toone, you had heard of leah in passing from your friends and team mates long before you actually met her. 

you should have met her during your senior call up for prep camp pre olympics, but unfortunately suffering a bad tackle in your early seasons playing for man city you'd missed out on your chance due to a knee reconstruction surgery. though an also injured alessia and yourself still made sure to watch every game together on the couch at home, screaming encouragement to your friends through the tv as if they could hear you. 

your confidence in your football ability took its first serious knock when you completed your post reconstruction rehab with flying colours and returned from injury, only to learn your man city contract was in fact not being renewed.

you admittedly shut down at the news, withdrawing into your shell and pushing away friends and family who attempted to console or support you .

you fell out of love with being in the kitchen, preferring instead to sit on the lounge and feel sorry for yourself as you spent time encompassed in all of the creature comforts you’d often forgo in order to be match fit and game day ready.

but all of this came to a screeching halt the day you got a call from your agent, well the day you answered a call from your agent. the older woman finishing telling you off for the days spent ignoring her, your stomach flipped as she then announced multiple clubs had been reaching out and showing interest in securing you before your man city contract was up within the week.

some of the figures and sums put forth to you that day had been more money than you ever knew.

you grew up mostly comfortable in a middle class family, but with four kids being raised by a single mum, times could be tight and often were full of over sized hand me downs and second hand boots.

there was one club offer however that peaked your interest far more than the others, which had absolutely nothing to do with money. it was the team you spent years secretly supporting behind closed doors, hiding jerseys and flags in a battered and beaten shoe box underneath your bed, lying about your whereabouts to sneak off to games.

your brothers all chelsea supporters you were sure you'd be disowned and thrown out on the streets had they discovered the arsenal merchandise squirreled away expertly all throughout your childhood bedroom.

but now all adults and very proud of you (and forever telling people they taught you all you know), you couldn't help but tease as all three of them proudly showed you the bright red shirts with your last name and number plastered across the back the day your signing with the club had been finally announced.

the sheer euphoria felt at this new opportunity meant you quickly readjusted back into life, calling and messaging friends and team mates you'd been icing out, offering sincere apologies and making plans to catch up. you returned to the kitchen, sending off cupcakes, cookies and brownies to your loved ones, cooking cosy home cooked meals for friends as they came over for dinner parties once again.

having been given a proper tour of the arsenal grounds and emirates stadium, and days spent full of media and interviews during the last of the off season, you didn't get a chance to meet your team mates until around a week and a half after news of your signing had gone public. though never being a particularly shy or outspoken individual, it didn't take long for you to get to know the team, and in turn for them to warm up to you. 

leah having been given a very stern warning from georgia to look after you, it was following a particularly brutal training session that the older girl properly sought you out, asking if you wanted to join her in the recovery pool.

only having encountered the defender briefly during your first few days you were quick to agree, relishing in the opportunity to get to know her a little better.

having been taken under the equally watchful as they were dangerous wings of katie mccabe, the irish woman had been whom you partnered up with for most drills and spent your off time hanging out with.

but needless to say after only a short twenty minutes speaking with you leah found herself absolutely enamored with your cheeky smile and quick wit, unknowingly setting into course the actions which would eventually flip her world upside down.

fast forward a few years and here you stood now as her girlfriend staring her down from the end of the lounge, having happily lived together in your shared flat for the past eighteen months.

"lee please!" you begged, stepping to the side to again block the tv with your body as the england captain tried to crane her neck to see past you, attention fixated on the arsenal mens match on the screen.

"babe they just scored and i missed it!" leah moaned in frustration as the crowd erupted behind you, the blonde dragging her hands slowly down her face. "they lost 4-2. you promised me you would do this while i'm recovering!" you now glared at her sternly as the blondes mouth formed a small o in shock. 

"and you said you didn't watch it without me!" leah huffed at the betrayal, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring right back at you, once again completely ignoring the rest of your sentence which had been your reason for interrupting her in the first place.

"leah." you warned as you continued to stare her down, free arm reaching to point away from the living room and into the kitchen, also known as your girlfriends least favorite room of the house. the blonde simply moaned louder at the silent request, throwing her head back and soppily sliding her body down the lounge like that of a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"or we could just order dinner?" she tried with a charming smile, holding up her phone and wiggling her eyebrows. "okay fine you win lee. i'll just continue to cook for us as always. but of course let me first just take my arm out of this sling and-" you began with a shrug, reaching out to undo the velcro strap hooked under your elbow, having dislocated your shoulder at last weeks game, nothing too serious but it meant needing to take a further 2 weeks off for rehab.

"don't you dare!" leahs eyes widened and she scrambled to grab at you, carefully tugging your free hand away from the sling and holding it firmly in her grip. "sling stays on." the defender commanded, determined both as your girlfriend and team mate for your recovery to be a smooth one so you could return to the pitch again as quickly as possible.

"then you cook dinner tonight." you retorted back in the same tone, staring her down stubbornly as the two of you stood locked eye to eye, neither wanting to be the first to back down. "kitchen, go!" you ordered firmly, pointing again in its direction as leah simply scoffed. "you know that sounded a bit sexist." the girl retorted as you raised your eyebrows in challenge.

"the other morning you quite literally woke up and the first words you said to me were 'well where's my breakfast then woman?'" you mocked your girlfriends MK accent, her unimpressed glare melting into an amused smile. "yeah that was a good one." she chuckled fondly to herself with a shake of her head, smile quickly dropping from her face when you continued to blankly stare her down.

"oh for fuck sakes fine!" leah gave in with a loud groan, dropping your hand as you smiled victoriously, leaning in to quickly press your lips to her own. "yeah yeah, just get on with it!" the blonde rolled her eyes moodily, pulling herself to her feet and trudging after you as you practically skipped off towards the kitchen.

for years you had happily cooked for and fed the english captain without any complaints, after all it was one of the main ways you showed your love.

but as time passed on you began to try to attempt to teach your girlfriend to fend for herself in the kitchen, but the defender would always insist she didn't need to know, and you were honestly worried that if anything should happen she would have no choice but to live her life off of 5p tesco ham sandwiches, with no mayo of course.

so as the weeks and months ticked on, determined no longer to let her be completely useless you began to request her help more and more frequently. knowing that with a bat of your eyelashes and a few sweet words you could get her chopping or prepping things for you, which though seemingly small was still a huge win in the long run.

now, with your arm needing to be in the sling for almost the entirety of your days, and very minimal things you could actually cook and prepare with only one good functioning arm, was your red hot chance to commence phase two of your master plan; teaching leah to actually cook something.

this of course was all heading up to the final hurdle. it was long overdue yours and leah's turn to host team game night, and with the hosting duties came the responsibility of feeding everyone. due to commitment clashes, family events, game days, early training's or just rotten luck, it had been rescheduled about 5 or 6 times now.

but it was locked in for the upcoming weekend, and as much as leah had begged you both reschedule and blame your injury, you were determined to avoid this at all costs. the backup option was of course to just order in some food, but following beth and vivs elaborate 3 course meal of the last game night, you figured the least you could do was teach leah to whip up an easy pasta and some garlic bread.

though this a seemingly simple task to you, it loomed over leah like her own personal everest. 

having talked her through the steps twice, and now supporting her to locate all necessary ingredients, you sat on a bar stool happily instructing from the island in the middle of the kitchen.

with your ongoing encouragement and praise at even the simplest of tasks, leahs competitive drive had kicked in and she found herself believing there was maybe a slim to slight chance she could pull this off.

"you know i don't like the look of this. i thought this was a pesto pasta!" things began to click for leah as she grabbed out the last of the things she needed from the freezer, peas. "i fink you'll find it is the same pasta i cook for you frequently babe, which you love." you replied, purposely mocking your girlfriends common tendency to replace her th's with f's.

"we agreed you would no longer mock my speech impediment." leah deadpanned at the comment, hands on hips as she glared toward you unimpressed. "you do not have a speech impediment, you're just from milton keynes." you continued to tease with a cheeky grin, loving nothing more than winding the older girl up when you had the chance, the shoe often on the other foot with her own relentlessly teasing of your habits and quirks.

"well the secret is now out. it is not a pesto pasta, the green sauce is made from blending peas, mint, olive oil, garlic and lemon juice. delicious!" you kissed the tips of your fingers before flicking them into the air, a look of bewilderment and disgust forming on leahs face as she registered the information. 

"but i hate peas." leah grimaced, glancing to the bag on the counter with utter contempt. "no, you think you hate peas. realistically, you've been enjoying them all along!" you smiled smugly, popping a strawberry segment into your mouth from the bowl on the counter, already having had leah cut them up for you as a refresher of her knife skills.

"right. so then our entire relationship is built on a foundation of lies!" leah yelled dramatically, throwing her hands into the air before smacking them back down on the counter and pointing a finger toward you threateningly. "what else have you been secretly feeding me then woman?" the girl asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion as your own practically rolled into the back of your head at her childish antics.

"those are secrets i will take to the grave williamson, you'll never know." you replied cryptically, popping another strawberry segment into your mouth before clapping and ordering her back to the task at hand. "so bossy." leah mumbled to herself, now her turn to roll her eyes as she busied herself prepping things, you ignoring her little comments about how she would never get over this pea related betrayal.

"ah! we're doing that from scratch." you tutted at her as she opened the freezer, reaching for a pack of pre made garlic bread. "what! need i reminder you i am a beginner." leah protested, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. 

"oh i know, i don't think i've ever put anything as bland or unseasoned into my body as that sandwich you made me for lunch yesterday." you shook your head sadly, shuddering at the memory. "oi! how's that for gratitude then, should have just let you starve." leah huffed, shifting her concentration to dicing up the bacon she had just finished frying off.

"need i remind you again of the 'well where's my breakfast then woman?'" you cocked an eyebrow in her direction as her face again broke into a grin, the blonde once more chuckling to herself at the memory, never being someone afraid to laugh at her own jokes, especially if she was the only one laughing.

"i obviously meant to say where is my breakfast then my gorgeous, wonderful, lovely, lovely girl." the taller girl smiled charmingly, making her way around the island and slotting her body in between your legs as you spun around on your chair to face her. arms wrapping around you your back pressed against the edge of the cool granite countertop. "nice try." you hummed against her lips, pushing her away from you as her tongue ventured into your mouth.

"mmm not yet, littlee bit more." leah was careful of your injured arm and shoulder as she pressed you harder against the counter top and reconnecting your lips. quick to take advantage of a hitch in your breath as her cold hands wandered up the inside of your hoodie, which was technically her hoodie, easily dominating control of the kiss.

"no, you're cooking. focus!" you pulled your head from the cloud of pleasure it forever drifted to when consumed by leahs affections, once more shoving the taller girl away and smacking lightly at her chest as you panted, now slightly out of breath. "cock blocked by a bloody kitchen, typical." leah rolled her eyes, pushing herself off of the counter she had you trapped against and padding back towards the stove.

"i can't believe you won't just let me order pizza for the girls, they won't care!" leah whined as she stirred the sauce, glancing at you over her shoulder, bottom lip jutted out in a pout. "it's the principal of it baby. if only life was like ratatouille and i could sit on your shoulders, tugging on your hair and doing all the hard work for you." you pouted back at her, eyes twinkling as she shook her head, shoving her hair to the other side of her head with her spare hand, still stirring the rapidly thickening 'pesto'.

"well now my girl you know i would never say no to you practically sitting on my fac-" you cut off the girls cheeky remark before she could finish, calling out that her pasta water was over boiling, leah turning quickly and letting out a yelp of panic at the sight, looking to you with wide eyes for help.

talking her through what she needed to do to settle it again you watched on in amusement as she zoomed around the kitchen, focus heightened, multi tasking between watching the pasta and sauce both cooking on the stove and making sure not to burn the home made garlic bread baking away in the oven.

 and sure enough her focus paid off as a little while later she finished off the meal with a small sprinkle of grated parmesan into your serving, refusing to add the same into hers despite you pointing out you'd always done that for her anyway, another thing she hadn't picked up on.

"i'm so proud of you lee." you beamed, jaw almost hurting from the face splitting grin you sported as the two of you sat tucked up together on the lounge, bowls of pasta resting on your knees as leah browsed through the tv trying to find something to watch.

"yeah yeah, no biggie." the girl muttered dismissively, but you didn't miss the small smile of pride that flickered across her face at the praise, craning your head back to sweetly kiss her jaw. "oh no come on, leah!" you protested loudly as your girlfriend clicked in to watch a golf tournament repeat, full well knowing you absolutely detested the sport.

"ah ah ah. i cooked, i choose, isn't that right?" leah smirked down at you as she held the remote out of your reach, echoing back your own regular words as you huffed moodily, protests falling silent as you shoveled a mouthful of pasta into your mouth instead.

"good girl." leah whispered into your ear, kissing your cheek which had flushed bright red at her words, settling back into the lounge as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound the clinking of your forks against your bowls and the droning on of the golf commentary on the tv.

"where you going?" leah asked a couple of hours later with a confused frown as you unwrapped her arms from around your mid section, carefully sliding your body out from where it laid between her legs.

“upstairs. it’s shower and movie time." you stretched your good arm, glaring down in annoyance at the one strapped to your chest, feeling pins and needles crawling around but unable to really do anything about it.

"where do you think you're going? you cooked, you clean. isn't that right?" you mocked her words from earlier as she stood to follow you, nodding to the small mountain of dirty cookware laying in the kitchen sink. "what!" leah spluttered out in shock, protesting that it wasn't fair.

"1, i can't help you clean even if i wanted to." you started, gesturing to your slinged up arm. "and 2, you never help me clean up after i cook unless your mums here to nag you about it!" you reminded with a shrug, turning back around and heading for the stairs, leah collapsing back onto the lounge with a loud and frustrated moan.

"better hurry babe, i think you forget i require your help to shower." you called downstairs, grinning as you heard leahs feet pound off into the kitchen, the obvious clanging of pots and pans signaling her frantic efforts to finish the task as quickly as possible.

game night.

"well, i personally think a big congratulations are in order!" katie announced, standing to her feet and clapping to gain everyone's attention. the rest of your team mates sprawled around your living room quietened down, bowls of pasta in their laps and a large board of garlic bread sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

"this should be good." leah quietly murmured in your ear, a smirk crossing her features as she readied herself for the praise coming her way from the irish woman for the meal she had cooked, mostly on her own.

your arm now out of its sling you had assisted her with prep but refused to do much more than that, blaming your shoulder was paining you with a pout as leah had rolled her eyes and playfully swatted at your bum as you left her alone in the kitchen.

"to y/n - for making none other that leah williamson into the little domestic house wife none of us thought was possible!" katie shouted proudly, raising a glass of wine into the air in a silent cheers as you suddenly burst into a fit of laughter at the unexpected toast, leah yelling out shocked protests toward your team mates cheers of agreements to katies statement.

"nah that's a violation!" leah huffed angrily, head shaking firmly and eyebrows knitted into a deep frown as she stabbed aggressively at her pasta, lia reminding her to lighten up with a laugh and a light shove from beside her.

some more light teasing and a few heated rounds of mario kart later, leah had downed a few drinks and indeed lightened up. "you all laugh now but once her shoulder heals up she'll be right back into her old position. attending to my every need like the well practiced little house wife she is." leah grinned, right arm wrapped around your neck as you laid against her chest, most of your team having slowly filtered into ubers, only the two of you and a few select others left.

"i'd love to deny it but this was truly a one off fluke, without me she's useless!" you slurred drunkenly, katie reaching over to swipe your glass of wine as you reached for it, pouting up at her as the older woman shook her head, downing it herself and handing you back the now empty glass with a wink.

"mccabe!" you gasped, flipping her off as she returned the gesture, glancing at her phone and announcing the final uber of the night had arrived to take the last of your team mates home.

wishing them all goodbye and making brief drunken plans for brunch tomorrow which none of you would likely remember, they headed off down the driveway and leah closed your front door.

just before making quick work to press your smaller frame against it as soon as she had.

"hi." "well hello."

you grinned as your lips met and the usual fireworks exploded in your stomach at the sensation. fueled by red wine and a few too many rum and cokes, the kiss quickly turned sloppy as leahs hands groped at you anywhere they could, a quiet moan leaving your mouth as her attention quickly turned to your neck, knowing exactly how you to send your body into overdrive.

"no we can't, i'm still a cripple!" you cried out both dramatically and drunkenly, pushing her away and stumbling at the sudden action, leah quick to dart in and catch you before you fell over entirely.

“okay bed time it is." the older girl chuckled, though drunk she was not quite as bad as you, the taller girl tossing you over her shoulder and heading for the stairs.

"it feels demeaning you can do this so easily." you slurred out, smacking at her bum as the two of you ascended towards your shared bedroom. "you look after me, i look after you. that's how this whole relationship thing works." leah gently placed you down onto the bed, stealing a kiss and making quick work of changing into something more comfortable as you did the same, though with a little more struggle.

flicking off the lights and climbing into bed beside you, leah clicking into netflix the two of you were quick to intertwine your bodies, your girlfriend selecting the first thing she saw knowing it was more so going to be white noise than something either of you paid attention to, already fast fading toward a good nights sleep.

"you did really good tonight baby, my house wife in training." you mumbled quietly, blindly reaching up and patting at leahs cheek, feeling her body gently vibrate with laughter underneath you. "don't get used to it, you deserve far better than a mediocre pasta every now and then." leah smiled, running a hand through your hair and placing a soft kiss to your warm forehead.

"now i know you're capable of washing dishes best believe i'm never doing them again." you muttered into her elbow, burying your head into the crook of the defenders arm. "you're lucky you're cute." leah smiled tiredly, eyes fluttering closed as both your breathing evened out, drifting off into a dreamless sleep as the office played quietly in the background.

no longer one but now two happily domesticated house wives.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Forever mine

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I'm not gonna lie this didn't come easy but I'm glad I managed to write it. It's somewhat like a first step back to writing and it's S2 Sihtric again as he is my absolute comfort character. @volklana it's for you darling for inspiring me to write again.

Warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Sihtric being a sweetheart as always

Summary: A young Dane awakens something long buried in you, but the truth threatens to shatter your stolen moments. Can love survive built on lies?

Word Count: 7,8 K

Pain had always been a constant in Sihtric’s life—a relentless reminder that he was still alive. He had learned to endure it, to push it aside and keep moving. But now, with every laboured step, he knew it was different. A heavy grunt escaped his lips as he stumbled, the growing heaviness in his limbs warning him that the injury was far worse than he’d initially thought.

Warm, sticky blood trickled through his fingers as he pressed his hand harder against the wound in his side, trying to staunch the flow. The gash throbbed with a fiery intensity, each pulse sending fresh waves of agony through his body.

The scouting mission had gone terribly wrong, and he had only himself to blame.

Slipping away from the camp, determined to prove he was the best scout among them, had been reckless. But he wanted – no, he needed – to prove himself to his new lord, to show his worth, to show he was more than just a follower, more than a shadow.

Yes, he had found the Danes, but they had found him too. Now, the burning pain in his side served as a cruel reminder of his foolishness. 

Each step harder than the last, the forest around him slowly turned into a blur of green and shadows as his vision dimmed. Sihtric clenched his jaw, forcing himself forward – if he could just make it back to camp, if he could just hold on a little longer. 

Was he even heading in the right direction?

Sihtric stumbled, his legs barely able to hold his weight, and this time, he couldn't catch himself. He crashed to the ground, the thick moss cushioning his fall, but the sharp, searing pain that tore through his side forced a strangled moan from his clenched teeth.

He lay there for a moment, sprawled on his back, chest heaving. Above him, the thick canopy of leaves let in slivers of golden light, the first signs of dawn breaking through.

The sun was rising, marking the beginning of a new day, a day he might not live to see the end of.

Yet, he felt no regret.

Even now, with life draining from his body, he would make the same choice again. If this was where it ended—alone in a forest, bleeding out into the moss and leaves—so be it.

He had chosen this path.

For the first time in his life, he had given his oath freely, not out of fear or obligation, but out of loyalty and honour. He wanted to serve, to be worthy of Uhtred’s trust, to prove that he deserved his place, that Uhtred had made the right decision accepting him. That was worth any pain, any price.

His vision blurred, but Sihtric kept his eyes fixed on the shifting patterns of light above, with a shuddering breath he rolled over and slowly forced himself up on his knees.

He had no intention of dying here, not yet. He still had something to prove.

There it was: the small, crooked house that resembled a giant mushroom, leaning precariously against the mighty oak tree beside it.

The villagers called it the Witch's Lair. The old house greeted you silently, as it always did, the only constant in your ever-changing life.

Perched on the outskirts of the village, right at the forest’s edge, the house was hidden from sight by a tangle of towering trees and dense bushes.

It had stood empty for years, and no one could remember who had last lived there. Its roof was thick with moss, the window shutters hung crooked, some hinges rusted and loose, and the steps leading to the entrance were so rotten they had collapsed the first time you set foot on them.

You remembered every word of the gruesome tales whispered around the village fires—the stories of the witch who had lived in the house, stealing children and casting curses on anyone who dared to approach.

They said her ghost still haunted the place, luring in unsuspecting travellers and never letting them leave. On nights of the full moon, it was said you could hear their cries, calling for help that would never come.

No one dared to approach the cursed house, let alone step inside. Perhaps that was the very reason you had chosen it as your safe haven, your refuge.

This was the one place no one would ever dare to look for you. Of that, you were sure. Yet, as you approached, the house looked so peaceful, so calm, almost as if it were inviting you in.

You pressed your palm against the weathered wood of the outer wall, feeling its roughness under your skin, and listened to the quiet.

The sun hung high overhead, but its light barely penetrated the thick canopy of trees that loomed over the house like ancient guardians. Their tangled branches stretched out, like strong veiny arms, casting long shadows and shielding the house from the outside world.

A strange sense of peace settled over you as you pushed open the door. It creaked loudly in protest, a long, drawn-out whine that echoed in the stillness but yielded to your touch.

For a fleeting moment, you wished the stories were true—that you could disappear behind these doors and never have to face the world again.

Inside, you moved with practised ease, avoiding the sagging floorboards that threatened to collapse underfoot. You crossed the dimly lit room, heading for the large, dusty cupboard by the window.

It held your most cherished possession: an old, leather-bound Bible, the only thing you had managed to save from the fire that had consumed your home, your past, your life.

The weight of the book in your hands was familiar, a comfort that pulled you back to memories of a time before everything had changed. You held it close, the leather cool against your skin, savouring the past swirl around you – a fleeting, almost forgotten feeling of a home, of a place to belong to. 

But today, something felt different.

A faint sound reached your ears—a muffled moan, barely audible, coming from the other room.

You froze, your heart pounding, a chill running down your spine. Your legs felt weak, as if rooted to the spot, even though every instinct screamed at you to run.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling in the silence, yet the sound hung in the air, sharp and intrusive, like a blade slicing through the stillness, violating the house's sacred peace.

There was no answer.

Just silence, thick and suffocating.

A shaft of light broke through the dust-laden air as you placed the Bible on the table by the window. The book landed with a dull thud, and at that precise moment, you heard it again—a moan, clearer this time, unmistakable.

Panic thundered in your mind, urging you to run, to flee before it was too late. But instead, to your own surprise, you turned and headed directly toward the other room, the source of the sound.

The deafening cry you let out as the mountain of blankets on the bed suddenly came to life, sprang to its feet, and tried to grasp your arm, would have made anyone in the village run for their lives. But here, in the eerie silence of the old house, it only seemed to echo back at you, swallowed by the dark, empty rooms as you fought to pull away.

You drove your fist into the stranger’s stomach with all the strength your fragile frame could muster.

He doubled over, and you yanked your arm free, sprinting towards the door.

Behind you, there was a loud thud as his body hit the floor, followed by an agonised moan.

“Please, help me,” the stranger’s voice, unusually soft and melodic, was laced with desperation, making you stop and turn back.

The crouched figure on the floor was a young warrior, clearly a Dane judging by his distinctive haircut and clothing.

As your eyes widened with growing fear, you took in the scene: his hands pressed tightly against his side, his face contorted with pain. He made no effort to stand.

“Please…” His whisper trailed off into a groan.

Driven by an inexplicable urge, you took a cautious step toward him.

“I’m no threat. I will not harm you. Please, help me!” Each word came out with difficulty, mingled with ragged breaths. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his body trembled.

You crouched down, raising your hand slowly.

The young Dane flinched, instinctively trying to pull away, but the movement only made him wince in pain. His eyes—one a striking blue, the other a deep brown—watched your hand with a mix of fear and uncertainty as you gently placed your palm on his forehead.

It was burning hot.

“We need to get you back into bed,” you said with unexpected certainty, surprising even yourself.

There was no rational reason to help someone who might, at the next opportunity, return to burn down your village. Your mind screamed to run and alert the others, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Hold on to me,” you murmured, slipping the stranger's arm around your shoulders as you tried to help him to his feet.

Each step drew a muffled whine from the young Dane. He struggled to keep up, dragging his feet with great effort, his breaths growing more laboured with each movement.

He collapsed onto the bedside and sank back into the blankets, exhausted.

Your eyes wandered over his lean, almost gaunt frame, the muscular arms exposed by his sleeveless leather armour, and his strikingly handsome, youthful face.

What was he doing here, in your secret hideout?

A pained groan pulled you out of your thoughts, your eyes drawn to the blood staining the blankets.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” you said, already moving toward the door.

You chuckled at your own foolishness.

“As if he has a choice in his condition,” you muttered to yourself.

The hearth hadn’t been used in ages, and it was a miracle no birds had nested in the chimney. After a few failed attempts, you finally managed to light a fire, and soon the water in the kettle began to bubble.

Finding clean rags proved to be more of a challenge. You’d decided against returning to the village to avoid awkward questions and there was in fact no time for that, which left you with only one option—to sacrifice your underskirt.

You returned to the room, your makeshift rags in hand. The young Dane was still lying on the bed, his breathing ragged and uneven. His eyes met yours, filled with pain but also a hint of trust, as if he had decided to place his fate in your hands.

“We need to get you out of this armour,” you said softly, kneeling beside him.

His face tightened in a grimace, but he nodded, his jaw set in determination.

Gingerly, you began to unbuckle the leather straps of his armour, your fingers moving quickly yet carefully with a practised ease. Each movement was met with a wince or a sharp intake of breath from him, but he made no sound.

You bit your lip as you peeled back his tunic, revealing the wound. A deep gash ran along his side, the skin jagged and torn. Blood oozed slowly from it, staining his skin and pooling onto the bed.

“This is going to hurt,” you warned, your voice trembling slightly.

He merely nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a steady gaze.

You cleaned the wound as best as you could, using the rags and hot water from the kettle. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, and his breathing grew more laboured, but he didn’t flinch. He endured it silently, and you could only marvel at the self-restraint the young Dane showed, holding himself with a stoic resolve and refusing to cry out.

Next came the stitching.

You had never imagined that your sewing kit, meant for mending your best dress—now faded and threadbare—would be used for something like this. But here you were.

You threaded the needle with steady hands, even as your heart pounded in your chest. You had never done this before, but now was not the right time for uncertainty. 

The first stitch drew a low hiss from his lips, his eyes squeezing shut. You kept going, each pull of the thread through his skin accompanied by a muffled groan or a shuddering breath. He clenched his fists, gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t move, didn’t protest.

Minutes passed, feeling like hours, until finally, the wound was closed.

You wiped away the last traces of blood, bandaging his side as carefully as you could. He was sweating, his face pale, his eyes glazed with pain, but still, he managed to look at you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

As the words left his lips, his eyes rolled back, fluttering closed, and he collapsed against the pillows, losing consciousness.

You sat back, releasing a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, and your hands shook slightly, adrenaline still coursing through you. 

What on earth were you doing?

The thought pierced through your mind, sharp and unrelenting. This was madness—helping a wounded Dane, an enemy.

And yet, as you watched his chest rise and fall, the tension slowly leaving his chiselled, muscular frame, you couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief that washed over you. Against all reason, you felt a flicker of accomplishment, knowing you had saved his life, at least for now. 

None of it made any sense.

The moment he opened his eyes, Sihtric’s first instinct was to run, but his body refused to cooperate. His limbs felt as if they were filled with lead, collapsing under him after just a few steps.

Memories returned slowly, emerging from the fog clouding his mind like fragmented images.

He had been injured, certain he was going to die.

The solitary house on the edge of the forest had seemed like a possible refuge, even though it looked empty and abandoned. As his strength faded and the cold seeped under his skin, the bed with its old, tattered blankets had seemed so inviting.

He heard footsteps approaching and turned his head towards the sound. His eyes found you—the face he recognized now.

The beautiful, slightly pale face, the gentle voice, the big, fearful eyes brimming with determination and warmth. He remembered the way your fingers had trembled as you held the needle. He remembered everything, yet none of it made sense.

Why had you saved him? A Dane, a stranger, an enemy. And yet here you were, holding a steaming bowl in your hands, concern evident in your eyes.

“Take it easy,” you said with a soft smile, one that made Sihtric feel like he was losing himself in its warmth. “You need to eat to regain your strength. Let me help you.”

As much as Sihtric hated to admit it, he was in no condition to even hold the bowl himself. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he accepted your help, allowing you to feed him. 

The real trial, however, came when you returned with clean wraps, clearly determined to change his bandages.

Sihtric's eyes widened as you approached, a wave of discomfort washing over him.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said quickly, his voice betraying a hint of panic.

He tried to sit up straighter, but his body protested with a sharp jolt of pain, forcing him to lie back down.

“What’s your name?” you asked, your hand gently resting on his forehead to check for fever.

“I’m called Sihtric, lady,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

He felt himself melt into the unexpectedly comforting tenderness of your touch. It had been so long—he couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness and care. 

“Nice to meet you, Sihtric,” you replied, as simple as that.

No questions, no suspicious inquiries, just another soft smile and eyes filled with compassion, tinged with a hint of sadness.

If not for the persistent pain in his side, Sihtric might have believed this was all a dream.

“It’s alright,” you replied softly, setting the linens down beside the bed.

“You need proper care if you’re going to heal.” your voice was strangely calm as you furrowed an eyebrow as if sensing his unease although you couldn’t quite grasp the reason for it.

Sihtric swallowed hard, his gaze shifting away.

“I can manage,” he insisted, though the strain in his voice betrayed his struggle.

You sighed, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

“I know you’re strong, Sihtric. But even the strongest need help sometimes.”

You moved closer, your hands reaching out to remove the old, bloodstained bandages.

His body tensed, and he mustered enough strength to grasp your hand, holding it tightly.

“Why are you so kind to me? Why are you helping me?” he asked, his voice low as he drew a deep, shaky breath. “I could have been your enemy.”

The question caught you off guard. You tilted your head slightly, studying him—the handsome young man before you, his large, expressive eyes locked on yours, searching for answers.

Could you admit that you’d been asking yourself the same question over and over? Could you confess that, in saving him, you had unknowingly saved yourself from the emptiness of your own life—given it purpose, given it meaning?

“Maybe,” you replied softly, “but you’re not my enemy. You needed help, and I was here. Sometimes, it really is that simple.”

The moment of silence stretched on.

Sihtric didn’t release your hand, his grip tightening briefly as if holding on to some last bit of resistance. But then, with a heavy sigh, his defences crumbled, and he loosened his hold, surrendering to your care.

Gently, you reached out and began undoing the bandages.

Sihtric’s gaze followed your movements, a blend of curiosity and something deeper—gratitude mixed with a hint of awe.

“There,” you said softly, tying the last knot. “All done.” You looked up and met his eyes.

The coolness of the fresh bandages against his skin seemed to ease his tension, and he exhaled, the pain dulling under your careful touch.

Sihtric cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted, his voice low. “Being taken care of.”

Your expression softened as you met his gaze. “Everyone deserves to be cared for,” you said gently.

He looked down, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You’re kind,” he said, after a moment. “Kinder than I deserve.”

You shook your head, dismissing the doubt in his words. “You deserve kindness, Sihtric,” you replied firmly. “Just like anyone else.”

Sihtric’s fingers brushed yours, hesitantly, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Sensing your acceptance, he took your hand in his, slowly lifting it to his lips.

The kiss he placed on your palm was tender, almost reverent, and lingered longer than you expected.

He wanted to say more—to spill everything he was feeling, to let you know how your kindness had shaken him to the core. He had never met anyone like you.

There was such a beauty in your warmth, in the way you looked at him, in how you cared.

He wanted to tell you that he would give everything he had, even his life, just to see your smile again. To feel deserving of your compassion.

A small, tentative smile finally curved his lips—the first real one you’d seen since he woke. “Thank you,” was the only thing he managed, his voice rough and unsteady, eyes dropping to the floor again.

A week had passed since the young Dane had stumbled into your life.

You had feared he wouldn’t make it.

His sleep was restless, plagued by fevered dreams. He tossed and turned, drenched in sweat, painful moans escaping his lips.

The fever refused to break, and the greedy midwife had demanded a small fortune for a potion that promised to reduce the fever and ease his pain. You paid for it anyway.

Sihtric was incredibly sweet, reminding you of a big child—a big, neglected child, you had to admit.

The first thing he did upon waking was try to leap out of bed, but he didn’t get far, stumbling after the first unsteady steps. You couldn’t help but notice the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks as you helped him back into bed.

The crimson in his cheeks deepened every time he had to accept your help, whether it was eating the broth you prepared or when you insisted on changing his bandages. 

He seemed so confused, even lost, his eyes never leaving you as you moved around the old house. You could feel his gaze, a blend of curiosity and wariness, as if he were trying to make sense of this unexpected sanctuary and the stranger who had offered it. 

Yet beneath the confusion, there was unmistakable gratitude and awe in his eyes, and you clung to it like a drowning man grasping a plank in a stormy sea, letting it become your anchor, something to wrap around yourself like a warm scarf, shielding you from the coldness of the night.

You didn’t ask any questions.

Part of you was too afraid to hear the truth—who he really was, where his injury came from. And another part of you dreaded being asked the same in return.

It was he who eventually broke the silence, telling you that he was Lord Uhtred’s sworn man, wounded during a scouting mission.

Did you believe him? No, not really. But you didn’t let it show.

It was easier this way—two strangers brought together by the unpredictable currents of fate, waiting for the next tide to carry them apart again.

And yet the questions came.

“You know about me,” Sihtric began, his voice tentative, “but I hardly know anything about you. Tell me about your family.”

You hesitated, your hands pausing over the cups with herbal tea you were making. You forced a smile and turned to face him.

“Oh, there’s not much to tell,” you said lightly. “I come from a big family. My father runs the mill in the village and often works late, so I have to help my mother with the household and look after my younger brothers and sisters in the evenings. It keeps me busy,” unable to explain to yourself why it mattered at all, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the truth. 

Sihtric nodded, his eyes softening with understanding.

“That must be hard, all those responsibilities. But it must also be nice to have such a big family.”

“It is,” you replied, feeling a pang of guilt for the lie. “There’s always something happening, and never a dull moment.”

He smiled, and for a moment, the room seemed to brighten. “It must be nice to have so much noise and life around you. I never had that.”

You nodded, looking away to hide the conflict in your eyes.

“It has its moments,” you said, keeping your tone casual. “But it’s nice to have a bit of quiet now and then, too.”

You knew this couldn’t last.

It felt like a dream—one you dreaded waking from each morning as the first rays of sunlight touched your closed eyelids.

Suddenly, your lonesome refuge had become a home, a place to return to, something to care for. You were needed. 

Each morning, it was as if your feet had grown wings, carrying you swiftly to that old, decrepit house. And each evening, as you reluctantly left Sihtric behind to return to the village, your heart sank with the fear that he might be gone by the time you returned the next day.

Deep down, you knew that day was coming, faster than you wanted to admit.

It was one of those evenings when the moon hung low, perched on the treetops, so large it seemed as though you could touch it if you just stretched out your hand.

Sihtric had been unusually silent all day, and as you prepared a simple meal in the kitchen you struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel it.

The wound on his side had healed remarkably well, thanks more to his youth than your limited healing skills.

“I... I need to…” Sihtric’s voice came from behind you, hesitant.

You paused, hands stilling over the vegetables, and quickly wiped away the salty tears that had slipped down your cheeks. Forcing a smile, you turned to face him.

He stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I know,” you said, your voice was calmer than you felt inside. “It’s time. You’re well enough now.”

Sihtric nodded, his expression softening. “It is,” he murmured.

There was nothing more to be said.

You nodded, turning back to the table in an attempt to hide the conflict swirling in your eyes.

You didn’t want to cry.

It was foolish, really.

You had known from the start that it would end this way. You were strangers from different worlds, barely knowing each other.

Yet, the ache in your heart told a different story.

You heard Sihtric move closer until he was just behind you, so close that his warm breath grazed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your grip tightened on the knife as you resumed chopping the vegetables, forcing yourself to focus on the rhythmic movement. Up and down. Up and down. The blade moved faster in your hand, each swing becoming more erratic as your emotions tangled.

Suddenly, two large palms closed gently over yours, halting your frantic motion.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to steady yourself. Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, and you blinked hard, willing them away.

“You’re different,” Sihtric’s voice was soft, his thumbs lightly brushing against your hands. “You could have turned me away, but you didn’t. I owe you my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, but whatever words were forming on your tongue dissolved into a silent sob that you quickly masked with a sharp inhale.

Sihtric had never been this close before, never intruded into your space so intimately. His muscular frame pressed gently against your back, steady and comforting, but what caught your attention most were his hands—his hands were trembling, just as yours were.

“I don’t know how to repay you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, filled with something raw, something that tugged at your heart. “But I want to.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to remain calm. You could feel his warmth against your back, and every part of you wanted to turn around, to face him, to let everything you’d been holding back spill out. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

“There’s nothing to repay,” you said softly, your voice almost breaking. “You don’t owe me anything, Sihtric. I helped because you needed it. That’s all.”

The sensation of Sihtric’s right hand slipping away from yours, travelling slowly up your arm, sent your heart racing wildly.

There were no delicate butterflies in your stomach—there were frogs, leaping and tumbling inside.

His trembling fingers brushed your loose hair aside, revealing your shoulder and neckline.

You sucked in a sharp breath as Sihtric’s warm lips grazed your sensitive skin.

You closed your eyes, a soft whine escaping your lips, mingling with your uneven breath as you involuntarily tilted your head, giving him better access to your neck. A strange heat consumed your senses, making it impossible to focus on anything but his touch.

Sihtric’s breathing quickened, his body pressed more tightly against yours.

You steadied yourself, bracing your hands against the table to keep from losing balance.

“Sihtric...” you breathed, a surprised whimper slipping out as you instinctively pushed back, only to feel the unmistakable hardness of his growing arousal against your body.

Sihtric instantly pulled away, and you finally turned to face him, his hands slipping away as embarrassment flickered across his handsome features.

It wasn’t a conscious movement on your part, but more an instinct—driven by the fear of losing this moment, of letting go of something you had both craved and feared all along. Without thinking, you reached out, grasping his hand and pulling him closer, your other hand reaching for his chin as your foreheads gently touched.

“I... I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sihtric whispered, his gaze dropping as his breath warmed your skin. His voice was hoarse, raw, and even somewhat trembling. “Please, just tell me to stop. Tell me I’m a fool for wanting something I have no right to.”

“Sihtric, look at me,” you murmured, biting your lip as the ache in your chest grew.

Slowly, you reached out cupping Sihtric’s face in your palms, gently guiding his head back toward you. You didn’t speak, but your thumb traced the curve of his lips, silently urging him to understand that you felt the same pull, the same desire. 

“I... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...” he stammered, uncertainty rippling through his tense body and before he could pull away or before doubt could grip you both, you rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, cutting off the words that never came.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped him, melting into the kiss.

You had imagined this moment so many times.

Foreign hands roaming your body, bruising demanding, you had dreamt of this gentle, hesitant kiss like a promise waiting to be fulfilled, soft and filled with reverence you hadn’t expected.

It was everything you’d longed for, and more. 

As the kiss deepened, the sweetness gave way to something more urgent, more consuming. Sihtric's initial surprise and hesitation melted into raw passion.

Your fingers tangled in his braided hair, pulling him closer, drawing another delicious moan from his lips.

His rough, calloused fingers caressed your back, tracing slow, deliberate paths along your spine, his breath growing heavier, more rugged, betraying his youthful eagerness.

You knew this would be the last time you’d see him. There was no future for the two of you—just this fleeting, fiery moment.

The thought twisted in your chest, knowing it would leave your heart aching, raw with longing for what could never be. But it didn’t stop you. It only made you crave him more.

It was anyway more than you could dream of, more than someone like you deserved.

You didn’t care anymore about keeping up the charade of the modest miller’s daughter. At this moment, it didn’t matter.

You were who you were, and you craved him—this young, handsome and strong, yet sweetly hesitant man who touched you as if you were made of fragile glass. You wanted this to be a memory worth keeping, for both of you.

With a confident tug, you hooked your fingers into the hem of his breeches and pulled him flush against you, crushing your lips to his in another kiss that was hungry, deep, and filled with all the passion you had kept inside.

In a swift, determined motion, you turned him around, pressing him against the table.

He let you.

Sihtric would let you do anything. His world was spinning.

From the moment he’d first opened his eyes and met your gaze, filled with warmth and care, he had craved you. He had craved this.

Even the dull ache in his side couldn’t stop the way his body responded to your touch, how his breeches grew tighter each time your hands brushed his skin while tending to his wound, his blood staining your fingers.

He had nothing to offer in return for your kindness—no riches, no freedom. And yet, if he could, he would pull every star from the sky and lay them at your feet.

But even himself, he could not offer. Bound by his oath to Lord Uhtred, he was not free.

He was sure you wouldn’t accept him anyway. After all, he was a Dane, a bastard and a warrior, and you—a Saxon maiden, with a life rooted in the stability and safety of your village. A life where there was no room for the uncertainty that would surely follow if you were bound to him.

It was a mystery to him why you were even tending to him, why you were here at all.

And now, your lips on his had set his mind spinning in a whirlwind of emotions he had never felt before.

Sihtric’s wide eyes tracked your every movement, his breath catching in his throat as your hands skillfully untied the laces of his breeches.

“Oh, gods,” he hissed, and you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched him shudder, his sharp breath filling the air between you as your hand boldly slipped inside, stroking his fully hard length before freeing it from the confines of his breeches. 

You kept stroking it, slowly, teasingly from root to tip, as you licked your lips, listening to the soft gasps, escaping Sihtric as his beautifully formed and thick cock twitched and pulsed under your touch.

You leaned in, rolling up his tunic as your teeth lightly grazed the hard muscle of his abdomen.

A heavy moan escaped him, and you felt him suddenly hold his breath.

Smiling, you let your lips trail further down, but just as quickly, his hands shot out to grasp yours, stopping you.

“Wait... no, let me...” he murmured, his voice thick. "Let me take care of you."

In one fluid motion, Sihtric pulled you back to your feet and spun you around with such ease, it stole the breath from your lungs.

You had always suspected he was strong, despite his slender frame, but the way he handled you like you weighed nothing sent a shiver down your spine.

Sihtric’s fingers brushed along your jawline, his rough palms framing your face with a tenderness that nearly broke you and you blinked back the tears threatening to blur your vision.

“Will you let me have you?” his voice was soft and pleading, eyes dark with lust, searching yours for an answer. 

Suddenly unable to find your voice you just nodded, letting your teeth graze your bottom lip as your fingers slipped under his tunic, eager to explore again the tight planes of muscle beneath his skin.

This time, your touch wasn’t filled with the care of tending to his wounds, but with burning passion, with unrestrained desire.

You needed him closer—needed to feel his breath mingling with yours, his lips on your bare skin. You longed to hear him moan your name, to feel his breath hitch as he made you his, even if it was only for this brief moment of shared bliss.

A low hiss escaped your lips as Sihtric’s hands began to hurriedly bunch your dress up your thighs, his calloused fingertips grazing your skin. His eyes flicked up to yours, questioning, as if giving you a moment to reconsider—to stop him.

Impatience coursing through your veins, you took over, pulling the dress over your head and discarding it carelessly on the floor. The same urgency drove your hands as you pulled his tunic off and helped him get out of his breeches, leaving nothing between your bodies.

Sihtric’s large hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you down on the table. The half-prepared supper clattered to the floor, forgotten, as he hastily cleared the space for you.

You spread your legs, inviting him closer, craving the warmth of his body against yours.

“Please, let me taste you,” the raw, husky tone of his voice made your core clench around nothing. 

“You can do whatever you want with me, Sihtric. I’m yours,” you whimpered as you let him urge you down until your back met the rough wooden surface of the table. 

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he placed a wet, open-mouth kiss on your ankle.

You closed your eyes, shivering in lust, as his lips travelled up your leg. You gasped loudly, feeling his lips getting closer to your pulsing core, placing a lingering kiss on your inner thigh. 

His hands took hold of your hips and then with a soft whimper he licked over your slit.

You moaned, your hands gripping the edge of the table, back arching against the wooden surface. It felt so sinfully beautiful, like a forbidden pleasure you knew you shouldn’t want but couldn’t resist, like tasting temptation itself and craving more with every breath.

Each lap of Sihtric’s hot tongue against your pearl drew another loud moan from you.

You slid your fingers into his hair and pulled hard on them.

Sihtric hissed, not letting go of you, as his tongue started to circle your pulsing bundle and his lips nipped and sucked at it, making you squirm and whine as stars exploded behind your tightly closed eyes.

He took you gently, slowly, almost hesitantly pushing forward into you, his eyes locked with yours, his sweaty, shaky palms, pinning your hips down on the rough surface of the table, betraying his nervousness.  

You gasped, feeling his length stretching and filling you, your core throbbing with a greedy need. 

Sihtric moaned as he finally sheathed fully inside of you. He stilled. Eyes locked with yours he savoured your walls taking him in and clenching around him.

The feeling of him buried deep inside of you made your walls flutter in arousal and need, you dug your fingers into his flesh, pushing your hips against him, begging for more.

And he gave you more.

Sihtric pulled out, before pushing forward again and then again, his movements tormentingly slow but thorough, driving you mad with want and desire.

Spurred by the lewd sounds rolling over your lips, his thrusts started to pick up pace until he was pounding into you, his hips meeting yours with every move.

“Oh god, Sihtric, you feel so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you mewled, clawing at his skin. 

You glanced up at the young Dane through your lashes, taking in the sight of him as he thrusted into you—his flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes rolling back into his head, breath catching and lips parted in deep, intoxicating groans—worshipping you like you had never been worshipped before.

He was completely entranced by you, utterly under your spell, and the sight of him like this—vulnerable and beautiful—was one you knew you would never forget as you cursed and thanked fate in equal measure for bringing you together in this secluded, forgotten place.

“Please, don’t stop, don’t ever let go of me,” you whispered, barely aware of the words escaping your lips, lost in the moment, already too far gone, too close to the edge.

“I won’t. You’re mine. Forever mine,” Sihtric’s voice reached you through the haze clouding your mind, his words wrapping around you like a promise, solid and unwavering, making your walls start clenching around him.

Sihtric pulled you up, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to thrust into you, his strong arms holding you close, securing you against him.

His lips found your neck, kissing, sucking and bruising your soft skin with his teeth, his breath panting and his moans growing stronger and heavier with each thrust, mingling with yours.

“Forever mine,” he breathed in your ear, the sweet promise in his words adding the last weight to tip the scales and sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your climax hit you with a force of a tempest, filling you with pure bliss as tears welled up in your eyes.

Thighs trembling and head spinning, your whole body shook while hot waves of pleasure washed over you as Sihtric fucked you through your peak, his panting breath, laced with strained, twitching moans, hot against the skin of your neck as he came only a few moments later. 

You knew the old house would be empty, greeting you with the same heavy silence it always had. And yet, as you pushed open the creaking wooden door, you held your breath, a flicker of hope still lingering in your chest.

“I will come back. You’ll see. There’s nothing in this world that can keep me away from you,” he had whispered, holding you tightly against his chest.

“Not even your oath?” you had asked, lifting your gaze to meet his.

He didn’t reply at first, his mismatched, searching eyes darkening as he looked down at you. Then, almost hesitantly, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

His embrace was strong but gentle, as if he still feared you might pull away. But you didn’t.

You leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat against yours, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones.

“Not even my oath,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

Did you believe him? No, not really.

Now, your footsteps echoed through the empty rooms, a hollow ache settling in your chest as the crushing truth hit you. 

Your gaze fell on a single, delicate white flower in a vase on the table. It stood out against the emptiness, a painful remainder of something gone, something lost forever.

Slowly, you sank to the floor, the weight of it all breaking you. Uncontrollable sobs shook your body as a loud cry tore through you, the tiny shimmer of hope you had clung to slipping away with each tear.

The tavern buzzed with activity that evening, a small party of warriors having stopped in the village.

Their presence initially sent villagers into their homes, shutters drawn tight in fear. But the clink of silver flowing freely from the warriors' hands as they ordered food and ale quickly spread, and the fear began to dissipate.

Curiosity took hold, and soon the tavern filled with villagers eager to strike a bargain or sell their wares. It promised to be a profitable night for everyone—especially the tavern’s ladies.

Hearing how generous the strangers were, you had pulled your best dress from the old chest, carefully checking for any loose stitches before slipping it on.

The voices and laughter from downstairs grew louder as you descended into the bustling, lively room, mingling easily between the tables, your eyes scanning for the strangers in hopes of catching their attention.

A booming voice cut through the din, drawing your gaze to a table where several men sat, one of them clearly the leader.

The girls had whispered that the others called him "Lord."

You mustered your most enticing smile as you neared, eager to catch his eye—until a snippet of their conversation froze you in place.

Your eyes went wide, shock coursing through you, the noise of the tavern fading as the weight of what you were hearing settled in.

“Sihtric, you did what you could. Sometimes you just have to accept things as they are,” the man said, stepping aside and placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

“There isn’t even a mill in this village. There’s no point in asking for the miller’s daughter. She didn’t want to be found.”

“It can’t be,” Sihtric’s voice trembled, his grip tightening around the ale mug. “She told me... she said she loved me. The night before I left, she said she loved me.”

"Maybe she loved your cock,” came a mocking chuckle from a bearded man with a thick Irish accent, earning a desperate, angry glare from Sihtric.

“Sihtric,” Uhtred interjected, his tone gentler now, "none of what she told you about herself or her family was true. I spoke to the innkeeper. You need to forget her."

Sihtric’s gaze lifted slowly from the floor, his cheeks flushed with the weight of shame and disbelief. As he turned to face Uhtred, his eyes caught the figure of a young woman standing nearby, unmistakably one of the tavern's whores.

You wanted to run, but your body refused to obey. Your feet felt rooted to the floor as you watched recognition and surprise flicker in Sihtric's eyes as he stood.

It seemed impossible, yet it was true—your dearest dream and worst nightmare had collided into reality.

With the last remnants of your strength, you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs wobbled like jelly as you stumbled toward the door, using the tables for support. Behind you, Sihtric's voice called your name, spurring you forward.

You reached the door, shoving it open before tumbling down the steps outside. You hit the ground but scrambled back to your feet, desperation driving you. Shame and embarrassment burned at your heels as you broke into a run.

"Wait! Please, stop!" Sihtric’s voice rang out behind you.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you back against a broad chest.

You fought against it, struggling to free yourself, pounding your fists against the leather armour covering him. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Let me go!" you cried, your strength and resistance fading as his unyielding grip held firm. "Now you know!" you sobbed, your voice cracking. "Now you know everything. Just... please, let me go."

Hurt etched across Sihtric’s handsome face as he loosened his hold, but your strength had left you.

Without his support, you sank to the ground, trembling with sobs.

"So it was all a lie?" you heard him ask, his voice strained. "You didn’t mean it? But why?" His voice nearly broke with the question.

"Why does it matter?" you cried, burying your face in your hands. "You'd never want me if you knew who I really am."

"But you know that's not true," Sihtric said, crouching down beside you, his hands grasping your shoulders. "Look at me. Please, just look at me," he pleaded, his voice so full of emotion it made your chest ache.

Slowly, you withdrew your hands from your face, tears blurring your vision, as you reluctantly met Sihtric’s gaze.

His eyes, though pained, were full of something you hadn’t expected—understanding. His hands tightened gently on your shoulders, steadying you as you trembled.

“Do you think I care about that?” he asked, his voice soft but firm. 

Your breath hitched, disbelief swirling in your chest. “But I lied to you, Sihtric. I told you things that weren’t true. I’m not who you thought I was.”

He shook his head, his grip on you firm and unwavering. “You are exactly who I thought you were. You’re the woman who saved me when I had nothing, who didn’t judge or despise me for what I am, who cared for me when I was weak. You’re the woman I can’t stop thinking about.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, but you still felt the weight of shame dragging you down. “But I’m not the miller’s daughter. I’m no one. I’m just...”

Sihtric cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle but insistent. “You are everything to me,” he whispered, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. Sihtric’s fingers gently trailed the contours of your face, his thumb lightly pecking your lips, as he lifted up your chin.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The hurt, the shame, the fear—they all melted away under the weight of his words. His touch was steady, his presence grounding. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him soothe the storm inside you.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmured, barely able to voice the words.

“Maybe I don’t deserve you,” he countered softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. 

His lips met yours in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it sent a wave of warmth through you, stirring something deep inside—a longing so powerful it left you breathless.

With trembling fingers, you cupped his face, pulling him closer, as if you couldn’t get enough of him. And when you finally pulled away, a sense of lightness washed over you, as if a burden you had carried for far too long had suddenly lifted.

“What now?” you whispered, your voice trembling with both hope and uncertainty.

“Don’t you remember?” Sihtric chuckled softly. “You are mine, forever mine.” His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Did you believe him? For the first time, yes, you did.

[capr1pengu1n]

Let's go paint the town on our way home

Summary: After her latest crime, Harley comes home and wants nothing more than to rail her girlfriend in her adrenaline fueled state.

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader (no use of y/n), villain kink/crime kink, dom!harley, thigh riding, fingering, strap-on use, praise and degradation, harley and reader are dating

Words: 3.1k

Notes: Wanted to write my gf while i work on a riddler request, I love writing Harley (and tbh I love writing wlw)

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‘This is Vicki Vale reporting live from downtown Gotham, where we’re receiving information that a business meal seating various members of the board of directors of Lexcorp was interrupted by known criminal Harley Quinn, who proceeded to hold them at gunpoint and rob them.’

Observing the TV with wide eyes, you watch the cctv footage of your girlfriend skipping into the Plaza Hotel armed with her pink and red glittery gun and baseball back strapped to her back. You sit up on the sofa, following the story as it’s being reported. Knowing she was planning something, she hadn’t told you anything about it, not a completely uncommon occurrence for her. But now as you sit and fidget on the cushions, fiddling with the expensive bracelet she’d given you a few weeks ago, you can’t deny the heat that rises to your cheeks.

Having a girlfriend who’s as dangerous and…unpredictable as Harley certainly kept life interesting, but you couldn’t deny how much her criminality excited you. Something about her bubbly personality being contrasted by the violence that she could display at any given moment was something that thrilled you and slightly scared you in equal measure.

Still, seeing the shaky phone camera footage capturing how she tormented the rich bastards of Lexcorp certainly makes you feel more thrilled and excited than anything. She’d opted to wear the red and black corset you loved on her, accentuating her body and pushing her chest up just right. It made you feel a little pervy, with your first thought being that you wished the cameraman lingered on her before he tried to duck under a table.

Regardless, that thought didn’t wait for long before you hear loud rhythmic knocks at your apartment door. You get up, but seemingly not fast enough before the door is rammed open. Gasping, you panic a little before your girlfriend bounces in, a bag on her shoulder and a wild look in her eye. Placing her gun on the sideboard and unclasping her bat from her back, she smirks.

“Awe sugar, you watchin’ about me?”

You can recognise her facial expression and general demeanor as she comes over to you. Her breath erratic and slightly laboured, her pupils blown wide, and that laser focused look in them. She’s high on adrenaline, on the thrill of committing a crime. And the way she slams her lips into yours proves that.

Stumbling backwards, you brace yourself on the sofa’s armrest before she pushes you fully on the sofa and climbs onto your lap. Her lips move quickly against yours, her red lipstick mostly likely smudging and leaving a mess. Licking your bottom lip teasingly, she giggles against you and pull away, now fully straddling you.

“Ya saw me on the news then?” She grins, clearly fishing for praise you were all too happy to give.

“Yeah, you looked amazing.” You breathe, staring up at her like she’d hung the stars for you.

“Mhm, I was pretty good huh?”

She leans down and kisses up your neck, kiss marks littering your skin in a frantic manner. Humming against it, she grins before sucking and leaving a large hickey, reveling in your soft noise.

“What did you…steal from them?” You ask, wanting to get a little more information out of her before she presumably rails you into oblivion.

She huffs against your neck, clearly not wanting to remove her teeth from your pulse point but she sits back up. However she grins and changes her mind as she hops off you and grabs the bag.

“Those rich shmucks had so much in those fat wallets, you got no idea sweetheart.” She grins, before dumping it all out onto your carpet.

Eyes widening, you take in the Rolex watches and wads of dollar bills and cuff links and…suit jackets?

“Oh yeah, made a few of ‘em strip naked. Heard ‘em sayin’ rude things about the waitress.” She explains with a cruel laugh, and you can’t deny how much you bite your lip a little at the thought of her humiliating those pigs. Noticing, she tilts your chin to look up at her now you’re sitting up, her chipped nail slightly digging in.

“You like that? The thought of me bein' mean to those men? Does it make your pussy wet to know how bad I am?”

Her slightly teasing and slightly demeaning tone has you nodding in agreement before you can process what she said, pathetic eyes looking up at her. Grinning, she bends over to kiss you again before groping you through your pyjama shorts. You gasp, not expecting her to touch you so quickly before she pulls her hand away with a smirk.

“Fuckin’ drenched, that’s my girlie.”

You whimper softly and nod, before Harley straightens up and bends down properly again to sift through some of her loot. Her ass is squeezed into a pair of her favourite red and black leather trousers, as you ogle her shamelessly. Just when you’re about to reach out and get some payback for her groping you, she moves and turns back to you, grabbing your arms and starting to place the expensive watches on you.

You almost laugh at how big some of them are on your arms, as she loads you up with watches that most likely cost more than your rent for a whole year. She hums at her handiwork, adding a few bracelets she got from the women of the hotel before sitting on your lap once again, running her hands along your chest.

“They look much better now, on the arms of someone much prettier.”

You smile a little at her compliment, before she slowly pushes your pyjama top up. She waits for your permission before pulling it clean off, starting to fondle your breasts. Pushing your chest out, she grins and circles you nipples with her thumbs. You respond with a soft noise, gripping her waist before gently trying to move her onto your thigh.

“God I’m desperate for ya dollface, seein’ you sat here so polite and civilian like, watchin’ reports of my crimes on the news.” She growls out, clearly excited as you make a strangled noise. She laughs before readjusting herself, starting to grind on your thigh as she kisses you once again. She completely dominates the kiss, her tongue in your mouth as you both swap spit. It’s messy and filthy and just what she wants. After her past partners, she’s overjoyed that she managed to find a girl like you, someone so innocent. In a way you almost remind her of herself, but she’s determined to treat you better than she was treated. You’re her goddamn princess, her pretty pet to be pampered and spoiled; as well as to be used for pleasure.

Starting to move her over your thigh, you let her hump against you, releasing her pent up energy. She moans softly into your mouth, causing your hips to buck up as your clit throbs. Head spinning, you shift her back and forth, attempting to keep up with her frantic and disjointed kiss. When she pulls away for breath, saliva connects your lips as she keeps grinding. Your hands move to her hips, before moving to squeeze her ass, finally doing what you’ve wanted to do as soon as you saw her in the skin tight leather.

She responds with a soft groan, gripping your neck as she keeps moving. With the sudden pressure, you gasp and start to bounce your leg, wanting to give her the most pleasure you can. Eventually though she reluctantly gets off you, just to quickly unbutton her trousers and pull them down. Gazing at her black lacy panties, she grins and gives you a spin. She’s never been one to be shy about her body in any capacity.

“Wore ‘em for you sugar, you like?”

You can only nod dumbly as she resettles on your thigh and starts again, pushing you so your back is against the sofa completely and her hand can find a home around your neck once again. She moans softly, only her panties separating her dripping cunt from your thigh as she grinds. You run your hands over her now exposed thighs, feeling the smooth skin underneath you. The shiver that runs through your girlfriend’s body makes you almost moan yourself, gripping her hips and guiding her movements again as the grip she has on your neck tightens a little.

“Fuck…you’re so good f’me, so so good.” She praises, words a little slurred due to how worked up she was before she even got her hands on you.

Wanting her to feel more, you gently move your hand and brush your thumb against her clothed clit, causing a high pitched whimper to escape her. Taking this as encouragement, you do your best to rub soft circles as she grinds against your thigh, before she stills and allows you to slip your hand fully into her panties. You rub her clit faster now, knowing her body well enough to know how close she is to the edge.

“Yeah just like that, yeah baby…so good…” she moans out, gripping your neck so tight you feel lightheaded. But that feeling only serves to push you more, wanting to feel her come undone. Your twisted way of rewarding her for her twisted actions. She starts to hump your hand, breath getting more airy and stuttery.

“I’m gonna cum sugar…yeah that’s it make me cum…” she encourages you, but with the grip on your throat it’s not like you have much choice. Still, you keep your rhythm until she’s cumming on your hand with a loud whine, soaking your fingers in her wetness. You whimper as she releases her grip, as you gulp heavy intakes of air.

She grins, seemingly not needing a rest after her orgasm before she excitedly pulls you up to your feet, kissing you frantically once more before pulling away.

“Ain’t you perfect. Come on, this is just the start.”

She pulls you into the bedroom, the garish watches on your wrists and arms clacking against each-other as she pushes you face first onto the bed. You go to readjust yourself, slightly dazed from the fast pace, before she slaps your ass.

“Nuh uh, no movin’” she reprimands you, as she reaches under the bed for the box you keep all your toys in. Since you both started dating, your sex toy collection had increased dramatically, with Harley always keen to try out new things, no matter how daunting they looked to you. In fact, in the first few months of you both dating, Gotham’s sex shops saw an uptake in robberies, which Harley pretends to not know anything about. She grabs a bottle of lube before she gets the blindfold out, going over and placing it on your eyes.

“Look at you…you’re the best thing I ever stole.” She says lowly, running a nail down your spine to make you shiver. Clenching your thighs together, you whimper and she has the audacity to laugh. “And so desperate already.”

She takes a moment to observe you, like a gift all for her, before she digs into the box again. You can hear her, but for someone so frantic and high on adrenaline earlier, she's certainly being slow now.

"Harley…”

“Don’t be a brat pet.” She scolds you, pinching your hip and causing you to jump a little. You hear the sound of metal clasps as you try your hardest to be good for her, to not move or squirm.

“Y’know…those men I robbed? They were sayin’ shit to the waitress about how good they were in bed. How good they could fuck.” She starts, causing you to frown a little in confusion before you hear the bottle of lube open and her wet fingers prodding against your hole.

You moan softly as she sinks them inside you, two digits stretching you out before she continues. “Thought it was so funny, the male ego and all that. As if they’re god’s gift.”

Trying to follow along with her words, you nod in agreement as she presses your g spot over and over again in a relentless pace. Your hips buck into the bed sheets, relieving some pressure on your aching clit.

“But it’s bullshit, ain’t no man that good.” She mumbles, pressing a third finger inside. That’s when you realise she isn’t just fingering you, she’s prepping you. Prepping you for something bigger.

Stretching your wet pussy, the lewd sounds make you whimper in embarrassment but only serve to spur Harley on. Her fingers dig into your hips to keep you still as she thrusts her fingers in and out roughly.

“Ain’t no way they’d be able to have you like this, dripping like a goddamn faucet for me.” She says proudly, smacking your ass as if to accentuate her point.

Roughly she removes her digits, before you hear the cap of the lube pop open again. You try and look under your blindfold and crane your neck but decide against it; when Harley’s in one of these moods, she can be brutal in regards to punishments. Then you feel the tip of a dildo against your needy hole, teasing your entrance.

“Ain’t no way they could fuck you like I can.” She declares, before the dildo is forced inside of you. Crying out, you claw at the sheets as it fills you, the size taking you off guard for a moment. Then when you feel her hips pressed against your ass, it all makes sense as she bottoms out inside you. She isn’t just fucking you with the dildo, she’s fucking you with her strap.

“Say it f’me sugar.” She tells you, pulling your hair gently.

“Nobody can fuck me like you Harls…”

“Damn right.” She says triumphantly before pulling out and thrusting inside again, causing you both to moan. It takes all her willpower not to just rail you into the mattress right away, knowing she needs to get you used to the pace and size. Despite her eagerness, she never wants to hurt you in a way you don’t enjoy, in a way you don’t beg her for.

Sliding her hand up your back, she settles on grabbing your hand, holding it as she rocks in and out of you at a steady pace. She peppers kisses along your shoulders, her red lipstick staining your skin in beautiful strokes of passion.

Every little gasp and whimper that falls from your lips is music to her ears, wishing she can bottle it inside a music box to play whenever she wants. Her thoughts drift to recording you and putting the sound in her fake jack-in-the-boxes; the look on penguin’s men’s faces or the pigs at GCPD when they hear your pretty cries before the trap explodes in a bomb of confetti and knock out gas.

However she’s snapped from those thoughts when she realises she’s slowed down. You’re moaning impatiently, trying to thrust back into her cock, to which she smiles.

“So slutty, all for me.” She coos, picking up the pace, “gonna whine like a little brat whenever i slow down?”

Nodding, you claw at the sheets as you're fucked, the laughter you hear from behind you only succeeding in getting your pussy that much wetter. Every nudge you feel the dildo against your g spot has you making pathetic noises, shivering as your girlfriend squeezes and gropes at your ass.

"C'mon doll, tell me you like it."

"I like it Harley." You're pretty proud of yourself for being able to remain coherent as you're railed, especially when she spanks you sharply.

"Yeah, bet you do. Bet y'were just waitin' for me to get home to fuck your pretty little cunt huh?"

Moving to nod, she spanks you harder, clearly in the mood to give you every scrap of sensation she can tonight. Scrambling forward a little, the jangle of the watches and bracelets on your wrists act almost like a bell on a collar, alerting her to your movements.

"Nuh uh, you ain't getting away from me babygirl. Just gonna lie there and take it."

And take it you do. You take each punishing thrust into your cunt, gasping for breath between whines and groans as Harley truly makes good on her word. She fucks you better than anyone ever has, anyone ever could. And you take it.

Soon your clit throbs from lack of attention, and you let out a pitiful noise, to which she responds "Awe, your clit all needy? Need ol' Harls to play with it? Make it all better?"

You nod and beg almost immediately, like a tape being played, desperate for her to give in. Luckily for you, she does, reaching around and rubbing fast circles.

"There ya are, ain't you a lucky girl. Could've made ya beg for it more. I'm in a givin' mood tonight."

Her words cause your body to tense, the pleasure simmering in your core as she keeps fucking you deep. God you wish you could see her from behind the blindfold, but you can't deny the sensations are all the more intense with it over your eyes. After a while, the build up of your orgasm threatens to reach its peak as you tell her.

"Oh baby, wanna see ya cum so bad. Come on sugar, gimme what I want. Want y'to make a mess all over my dick."

After her practically begging you, it only takes a few more thrusts for you to cum with a desperate moan, making good on her word and making a mess all over the plastic toy. She gives a shriek of happiness, not stopping until you twitch and gasp in overstimulation before reluctantly pulling out. Leaning down, she gives a comedically loud MWAH to your asscheek, branding you with a lipstick mark before undoing her strap.

"Did so well for me precious! God you're such a good girl." she praises as she lays beside you, beaming. You in turn thank her and snuggle up to her, letting her arms go around your body and pull you closer, reaching behind your head to undo the blindfold. Adjusting to the light, you squint up at her gorgeous face as she smiles down at you with pride.

"My favourite girl, you know that right?" she asks, pulling you impossibly closer. You miss it, but her soft expression conveys her satisfaction at your current situation; how safe she truly feels with you, and how grateful she is for that safety. You let her be herself, when at times she isn't completely sure what is herself. And hell, you even like it, you like her more obsessive and criminal tendencies. With a gently brush of her fingers in your hair, she feels at home in your bed, with you and only you.

"Yeah Harley, and you're mine."

[eluxcastar]

idk if we're meant to req this way but Pantalone Dottore and Capitano (separate) with #6?? please we're starving out here ri

Opening up to their s/o

── ୨୧：pantalone, il dottore, il capitano x reader (separate)

୨୧﹑synopsis :: more of this prompt more comfort drabbles spins

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff but I would maybe not call it straight fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, literally none of these people effectively communicate, kinda vague on purpose

୨୧﹑words :: 1.3k

Opening up for the first time.

is nobody feeding you?? I mean I know I've been slow but anon honey are you ok 😭

sorry this has taken so long as I said medical issues I swear I'm back to not starve you I've been thinking of this since I received it actually because you said you're starving. to everyone else, I'm getting off my ass

prompt list

── ୨୧：pantalone

Pantalone is not typically emotional. He is prone to fronts and lies, and he is not enthusiastic about the idea of sharing his feelings with you. It's not in his nature to be emotional, though Pantalone feigns such things and uses it to hide things from you. Playful with you each time you question him, he'll evade it and convince you, to his satisfaction, that everything is fine.

You hardly believe him, as is the case with many of the things he says. His well-crafted exterior hardly masks his stress once caught off guard, crushed under the pressure of maintaining the image of a well-groomed and high-class businessman.

The people he associates with disgust him, as do their actions and worldviews. They were raised in a world of glamour and decadence where he's belittled, new money in a sea of people living off of old money. It never seems to get to Pantalone until it does; the outbursts of anger are what follow. It's fine, he always says. He just needed a moment.

But nothing will ever be enough, he realises, your arms so inviting as you stand by the chair at his desk, running your hands through his hair, only a month after you made it official you were dating. Pantalone's poker face was pretty while it lasted, but his messier sides were always lurking just around the corner. To hold his head in your arms and console him through his pent-up anger is therapeutic to him, a labour of love for you.

His composure is fragile at times as he dances on the occasionally very thin line between put together and on the verge of smashing his wine glass in frustration right in front of an acquaintance. It's certainly not pretty, and he makes his fingers hurt at times from how hard he fights to refrain from doing it, but it keeps the very thing he works so hard for—his reputation.

Pantalone got so far, but it still amounts to nothing, even when he's the wealthiest man in the world. Nothing matters in the face of a reputation lingering, a poor man pretending to be rich, new money already too big for his britches. You don't care about his reputation, and you're not caught up in appearances. He likes that.

He likes how you laugh as you tell him that's junk, rich people crap, aristocratic bullshit. It feels comforting, like home to laugh his problems off as the pettiness of others. It's nice to let go of such a serious outlook.

 

── ୨୧：il dottore

Dottore's idea of sharing with you very much involves deflecting, avoiding and dancing around the many problems in his life, not eager to rely on a person when he could solve the issue himself. If you never need to know, you never start worrying and never dwell on it. He never has to face the problem properly.

For small things, that doesn't seem so strange. Dottore can quickly move on without them bothering him too much because that's the natural way of dealing with minor inconveniences, short of being ironically dramatic. Something goes wrong, and he can solve it within fifteen minutes. It's like water off a duck's back. Other times, Dottore will wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and his greatest worry is how to make sure he doesn't wake you up as he slips out of bed.

No matter how often you tell Dottore to tell you what's wrong, he tries to assure you it's nothing, insignificant or a temporary setback. It's not that, as evidenced by his troubled face. It doesn't shake his lies. He'll run off and try to fix it all himself just as he always has, previously stemming entirely from the fact he had to, now purely by habit. If it ain't broke, don't fix it (it's broke).

So to hear him open up is…strange, though you are used to long-winded rambles reminiscent of a raving madman. He talks quickly sometimes and expects you to follow to the best of your abilities. Whether you can or not is another question. It is different, tired and spent from a day of hard work, hands raking through his messy blue hair as words fall from his lips as quickly as they enter his mind, barely coherent sentences of every inconvenience big and small he faced.

In a way, he hopes it's so hurried and jumbled you'll hardly catch half of it, though you sit by his side and debate between rubbing his back and not startling him with the sudden touch. It feels like the release of every little thing he bottled up overflows, and he doesn't want to speak once he settles, quiet. He looks at you with such exhaustion in his eyes, and you touch your hands to his face with as much caution as you can muster. He lets out a sigh the closest filled with the closest to relief he can get.

It is not perfect; he is an imperfect man. But it is his first step, and he can be nurtured.

 

── ୨୧：il capitano

Capitano doesn't intentionally hide things at a glance. He's usually very open with what he says, but some things slip his mind, and he's hardly keen on speaking from an emotional standpoint. Everything is objective, a piece of news and not a conversation about what happened. Someone fell down a ravine. What happened? They died. And his reaction? It happens all the time.

Objectively, that measure is correct, but it ignores the fact that people are people. He never wants to acknowledge being part of something because Capitano can tell you things without needing to. You notice it but avoid bringing it up, wondering maybe if that's just how he copes with it all. The years of death and bloodshed will weigh down on him, but if he doesn't bring it up to you, he'll have a reprieve to retreat to.

It's not good enough, but people never are. Everyone has their vice, and perhaps Capitano's vice is separating himself from who he is in battle once he returns home.

He never had a single point at which everything came crashing down, and the world felt bleak, but a series of small moments where Capitano let it slip that he mourned each loss with unimaginable care. Capitano remembers their names and keeps items to memorialise them. Somehow, that's not unthinkable with the way he keeps his regiment running like a well-oiled machine, every person there to better it in some way. He picked those people by hand.

Capitano paces when he thinks. He paces more than usual around the room in circles on a particularly rough night. He suffered a great setback, as it was put. You try everything you can think of to get through to him, from asking him to talk to you to telling him to sit down. He insists on just being preoccupied.

Coincidentally, that gets you the furthest as he tries to push you away with excuses.

He's preoccupied. Why? He had a difficult mission. What happened? People died. And? And what? There shouldn't be more, yet it unravels, the loose thread of his stoic composure suddenly coming apart. He knew them by name; it hurt to lose them, and he wishes to personally deliver their belongings to their families as soon as possible. That's it. That's enough for him to curl up on the couch and quietly accept that you finally got him to say something and that it was pleasant to have it be less of a burden to carry such things.

[kitkatscabinet]

All I want for Christmas

For my lovely wife @juvenillia as a part of the secret Santa exchange. I'm sorry it took so long love

Simon Riley x f! reader

Summary: Your holiday plans are thwarted when the task force is abruptly called away for a mission.

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: reader celebrates Christmas.

You’d always been ambivalent towards the holidays, especially the christmas season. The wonder that had illuminated your childhood at the lights, the decorated trees and the general spirit people exuded had long since faded. While you didn’t hate the holiday season, it was hard to muster up the same level of excitement and magic that children seemed to naturally conjure. 

When it came down to it, you supposed the issue in truth was your family, or rather the lack thereof, most of the remaining members of your jagged family being low, to no contact completely. Atleast, that was the case until your old lieutenant, John Price, had dragged you into his new off the books task force. Sergeants Kyle Garrick and John Mactavish were hard people to hate, not that you’d tried, and both had very quickly wormed their way into your heart through the high stress situations you’d endured together over the years. 

Though given the way Soap had seemingly latched on with both hands and refused to let you go, dragging you to his concernigly empty home in Scotland to spend the holidays together a few years back let you know that he was likely just as lonely. Kyle had hosted the next, Captain Price had been bullied into opening his apartment for the third, and then when it became apparent this would be a 141 tradition, surprisingly Laswell and her wife had welcomed you all with open arms into their home. 

It was through your team, your family, that you started to once again regain that childlike wonder for the holidays. Even Simon, grinch that he seemed to be was always present, glass of Eggnog in his hand as he watched his teammates engage in childlike behaviour from the corner. Soap had tried to pester the large man into wearing the matching pajamas that you, Kyle and him all now proudly wore but that was apparently a step too far. 

You weren’t fooled by his nonchalant persona though, not when you could still so clearly picture the shock and vulnerability that had settled over his pretty unmasked face the first time you’d handed him a full stocking decorated painstakingly with his name in silver thread. The stockings you’d made for your team were incredibly shoddy, a labour of love not skill. Yet even two years later, frayed and chunky, they were still in use. Johnny had been genuinely aghast when you’d tried to take them back, to buy them new, better quality ones. 

With the way your eyes seemed to naturally gravitate towards Simon it would have been impossible not to notice the way he had flinched slightly at your suggestion, hands protectively clutching his stocking. Nor could it escape your notice that every year as the stocking frayed more and more, Simon’s still seemed to be in immaculate shape. Somedays you could swear it seemed to be better off than when you’d first gifted it, though that was probably wishful thinking.  

Your fifth Christmas with the team was rapidly approaching, a fact Johnny wouldnt let you forget, practically vibrating out of his skin at the exciting prospect of celebrating Christmas at your place. As you and Simon were the only remaining members who hadn’t hosted the onus had fallen on you even if you hadn’t volunteered. It seemed the entire squad had silently assumed it would be you, not the paranoidly private Simon, yourself included. 

The apartment you lived in was small but comfortable, and with two weeks until Christmas it was already decked out with lights, tinsel and a small tree covered in garish ornaments. You’d received some odd looks from people in the shopping centre but you were too excited to care. Presents had been bought, multiple for each of your teammates in fact when you kept finding better gifts. Or rather, you’d gathered an assortment of gifts for everyone but Simon. Nothing seemed to quite fit. Sure, there had been a few bits and bobs that you could have settled for, but in your mind nothing had been good enough for him, his gift needed to be perfect. An announcement that the centre was closing ringing through the stores PA system had you dejectedly walking back to your car, the determined promise of tomorrow for sure ringing through your mind. 

Tomorrow is thwarted when the phone you keep in the bedside drawer rings urgently at 3am, rousing you from the light slumber that was characteristic of all your nights sleep. It only takes a few minutes for the gorgginess to exit your system as Price’s grim voice filters through the speaker as you roll out of bed with a less than professional whine. Couldn’t the terrorists or whoever have waited until after the holiday season? Until March even?

Johnny’s just as pouty as you and though the two of you form a coalition to turn your best puppy dog eyes on Price to try and convince him to pawn whatever bullshit mission you’ve been called on to another squad, the captain apparently doesn’t find the act cute enough. Simon jokes that Soap’s ugly mug probably hindered more than anything and thus you were stuck between the two as a sacrificial lamb before things escalated. 

Between the early wake up call and the prospect of being called out so close to Christmas tensions were running a little high. The lack of decent intel further fraying the nerves of everyone bar the ever unflappable Ghost who sat rigid and alert as ever even when you slumped down in the seat next to him on the helo. You’d barely been given a few hours to prep before you were already getting shipped off to Chechnya where the team was then tasked with entering the country very illegally and covertly. In otherwords the whole thing was a shit show and a half and it was felt through the silent tension that thrummed in the air. 

Simon’s large muscled frame pressed lightly against your side, something you were increasingly aware of as the flight droned on. Heat emanating from his body and sinking into your skin. Pressed so closely, you could smell him before he was marred by sweat, dirt and blood, a rarity. He didn’t wear a nice cologne, smelling like simple soap and washing detergent, but it was nice nonetheless. It was nice because it was just so Simon. 

Exhausted already both physically and mentally, you quickly fall asleep to the lull of the whirring blades and warm pillow of muscle sitting to your left, head lolling to slump against his arm. Lost in your slumber as you are, you completely miss the way he tenses minutely at the sensation before quickly relaxing, shuffling just a little to ensure your maximum comfort. He spends far too long staring at your sleeping face, warm eyes committing every little detail to memory. It’s not until he reluctantly tears his gaze away from your peaceful visage that he sees Captain Price’s amused look, brow raised pointedly as he stares at his two subordinates. Not for the first time in his life Simon is thankful for the mask, leaving none of the pink blush marring his skin visible. 

The mission goes totally fubar almost immediately, because of course it does, the whole thing was fucked from the start. Somewhere in the back of the alarms whirring in your mind as you ran through the dense woodlands you recognise that maybe Kyle’s theory of foul play wasn’t so farfetched. 

Price is barking something over the gunfire that you don’t hear over the chaos and deafening ringing  in your ears, Johnny’s swearing over the comms as he switches between sniping and hightailing it down from overwatch to the exfil location. You’re half dragging, half carrying Kyle along as he mumbles deliriously, head slumped into the crook of your neck and left leg hanging nearly limply as you both blindly stumble. 

You’re fucked. You and Kyle are so unbelievably fucked it’s a little funny, and if it weren’t for the fact your lungs were burning and working overtime to expand and provide you with desperately needed oxygen you’d probably be laughing. 

You’re fucked. You’re probably going to die. You and Kyle, who’s useless without you, who’s relying on you to get him to safety. That’s the part that stings the most, that causes your lower lip to wobble traitorously and tears of panic to build in your lashline. Not the fact that you’ll die, forgotten and buried in a cover up orchestrated by your government, but the fact that you’ll take Kyle with you. Sweet, loyal, driven Kyle who wormed his way into your life and into your damn heart. Your confidante. The only person who knew how you really felt about… Simon. 

Simon Riley. The goddamned smug, cocky, bastard that had taken it a step further than the rest of your teammates when he smashed his way into your life. The man you eventually came to realise was nothing like the fear tinged rumours. Sure, the Ghost was scary and more than a little rough around the edges but Simon was kind, generous, gentle, funny, and looking back on it you suppose you’d been doomed from the start. 

You were going to die and he was all you could think about. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was he safe? What if he didn’t make it out? Would he die alone, bleeding out in the snow, not knowing that you loved him?

Moving on a cocktail of adrenaline, muscle memory and desperation you finally burst out of the treeline and towards the road where the exfil vehicles were already roaring to life. A quick head count has you sagging in relief despite the situation. Johnny. Price. Simon. They’re all waiting for you and Kyle, and though it’s impossible to gauge any injuries just yet, it seems that you and Kyle are the worst off by far. 

The relief abruptly leaves your body with a yelp as you take one step down the small hill towards the road only to immediately trip, legs giving way as you and subsequently Kyle fall forwards and tumble down through the slush. Between one blink and the next the shouting starts up again and you’re ceremoniously pulled up from the ground and tugged into a vehicle in a mess of confusion and limbs. 

When your vision finally focuses it’s to the sight of brown eyes crinkled with more concern than you’d ever seen surrounded by a signature skull mask. Trying to sit up, the world tilts precariously once more as a large hand pushes your sternum back down against the seats and a gravelly accent barks something at you. Any other time you’d be elated at the touch but right now you couldn’t even begin to think to appreciate it.

Simon’s yelling something that sounds vaguely like your name, as if trying to get your attention between whatever he’s screaming at who’s driving. Your head lolls to the side in an attempt to better gauge your surroundings but the movement does nothing but send your vision spinning, a sudden sharp burning pain radiating from near your collarbone. Clumsily one of your hands attempts to clutch the aching site, attempting to locate the problem. You end up missing in spectacular fashion, blinking in confusion at your sudden lack of motor skills until there’s a hand on your chin, tilting your face back up to look into uncharacteristically alarmed eyes. 

Simon’s other hand pushes down on your shoulder harshly and pain anew lights your nerves on fire as you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks as you thrash. All you achieve is further agitating your injuries and expending the very little adrenaline fuelled energy you still had. 

“-me. Look at me!” Your hearing suddenly kicks back just in time to hear the tinge of desperation in the Lieutenant’s voice, the black spots in your vision clearing just a little to allow you one last look into Simon’s eyes. Even when they’re wide with terror you can’t help but think how pretty his eyes are, the sentiment might even slip past your tingling lips though you can’t be sure as you abruptly lose the battle and your body shuts down into unconsciousness.  

It’s a steady, consistent beeping that your mind registers first, before your eyelids that feel like they’re weighed down with glue even open. Your lack of vision quickly becomes second on the list of priorities when you try to breathe, only to find yourself gagging and choking on an obtrusion in your throat. You struggle blindly for what feels like an eternity, panic mounting as you fight for oxygen and to get your leaden, useless limbs to cooperate. 

Suddenly hands are grabbing at you, firm voice speaking over the now rapid beeping of what’s probably the heart monitor. Your eyes burst open at the same instant the trachael tube is pulled out, leaving you to gasp and cough for air as a warm hand cups your cheek tenderly whilst helping you sit up. It takes a few more seconds for the blur in your vision to completely clear but when it does it’s to the visage of Simon’s soft brown eyes once again. 

He’s not wearing his mask, giving you the perfect view of his deep purple eye bags and greasy, dishevelled hair. “You look like shit,” your voice is a croaky rasp, throat like sandpaper and Simon’s handing you a styrofoam cup of water before you can even ask. You take small sips of the cool liquid, savouring the soothing nature. 

“Pot meet kettle” he grunted, slumping down into the far too small chair that had been pulled to your bedside. You watch in appreciate silence as he brings one arm up to rub the back of his neck, the muscles in his biceps flexing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Though after a few more seconds of observation the corners of your lips dip into a frown, he seemed far too used to the room, almost as if he was used to it. Had he been watching over you? Waiting for you to wake up?

You don’t comment on it though, a sudden panic smacking you square in the chest as you sit up instinctively once more, ignoring the pain that shoots up the left side of your body once more as you suddenly remember, “Oh god Kyle-” 

“Garrick’s fine, already discharged. We’ve just been waiting for you to get your lazy ass up sleeping beauty.” You hate the way your traitorous heart skips a beat at his words, the monitor betraying your emotions and given the way Simon smirks at you it’s clear he noticed. 

Though the embarrassment is quickly flushed away by a second round of panic, “wait, what’s the date today? What happened? How long have I been out?” the questions fly out rapid fire. He answers all your questions calmly and with patience, not at all angry. You’d been shot, which certainly explained the fierce ache in your chest and arm even through whatever drugs they’d doped you up on. That made sense you supposed, but it was hardly as alarming as when the date registered in your mind. 

“Wait it’s the 26th?” devastation coloured your tone, “I missed Christmas?” It was such a silly, trivial thing to get upset over. You’d almost died, but that was nothing in the face of missing getting to celebrate with your team. Your lower lip starts to wobble dangerously before you can stop it as Simon’s eyes widen in alarm, standing so quickly the chair falls over with a clang that gets ignored as he hovers anxiously, taking your clenched hands in his own and rubbing calming circles over your pulse point in your wrist. 

“It’s ok lass, nobody’s upest with you. We’ll celebrate when you get discharged yeah?” Looking back on the memory you’ll laugh, but right now you’re too emotional to react logically. 

“S’not just that, I didn’t have time to get you a present! Everything was s’posed to be perfect and now it’s all ruined” you exclaim. The two of you must make quite the sight from an outsiders perspective, a near hysterical woman more upset over the prospect of missing Christmas than the fact she’d been shot and a hulking man in black hovering somehwat frantically in an attempt to soothe. 

“You waking up is the best present I could’ve asked for darlin’” he finally murmurs, so quietly that you almost don’t hear. His long, calloused fingers entwined with yours as he sat on the edge of the mattress, having finally disengaged the finnicky railing. 

“That doesn’t count” you weakly protest, once again cursing the heart monitor for giving away your internal struggle, “‘sides, Johnny and Kyle got three things.” Some of the humour has returned to the situation for Simon, and your pout only deepens when he smirks at you. 

“Did they now? You playing favourites?” You know he’s teasing but you still can’t help but squawk of indignation. “You’ll have to make it up to me,” he continues on, completely unphased even as you smack him on the arm like a child throwing a temper tantrum, “How bout a kiss? That should be enough yeah?” The heart monitor blares like thunder in the background in a way you’ll know will probably alarm the nurses but you can’t think about that. Can’t think about anything other than Simon. The baritone lilt of his voice that had trailed off as he dipped his head towards you, leaving enough of a gap for you to pull away if you wanted though the warmth of his breath still fans across your face. 

His lips are rough, chapped and the scruff of his unshaven face is uncomfortable against your skin but the kiss is perfect nonetheless. Even with the blaring monitor and the burning fire that consumes the left side of your body in agitation from your sudden movement you don’t pull back just yet. Both hands cupping his cheeks reverently as you all but threw yourself at him. Despite the pain and slight embarrassment, it’s perfect. 

When your lips part neither of you pull away, and Simon rests his forehead against your own as you hum contentedly, the both of you leaning desperately into each other’s touch. It’s not until you hear a whooping holler and a series of whistles that you both startle and jerk away from each other in alarm. Kyle’s clapping and jeering alongside Soap whilst your captain simply sighs in exasperation at the scene, though there’s amusement detectable in his smile. 

“And here I was thinking ye’d need this” Johnny grinned mischievoulsy, waving around what you quickly realise is a bushel of mistletoe, causing you to roll your eyes at his theatrics as Simon huffed. 

“Just cause you need an excuse to get kisses doen’t mean I do Johnny” Simon quips and it’s your turn to laugh at the blatant offense that covers the Scotsmans face. The four of you are then promptly made subject to unintelligible Scottish blathering as Simon presumably gets cussed out. Your laughter is briefly interrupted when you feel fingers entwine with yours and you briefly shoot Simon a look from the corner of your eye before you squeeze his hand, face beaming as you turn back to look at Soap. 

It may have been a day late, but as you sat surrounded by your team, with Simon by your side, thumb stroking circles over your wrist you had to admit that it was the best Christmas to date. 

Taglist: @ghostslillady @bunnyreaper @tokusho@ohworm-writes @kmi-02 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jumpofmyclif @tiredmetalenthusiast @Chibijustuff @cooliofango @101crows

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 4

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (though biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, arguing, cursing, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to early child rearing, crying, Uncle Bob (because he deserves his own warning), Uncle Rooster and Uncle Javy (because they also deserve their own warnings)

Clifton, Texas, 10 ½ years ago

“Dude, what are you doing? Don’t stop!”

“I’m telling you: my vocal cords are going to start to bleed any second! I need to stop!”

“I swear to God, if you stop, I’m going to find an actual rooster and sneak it into your bedroom at the ass crack of dawn!”

Jake rubbed at his forehead with one hand as he took another lap around his living room, bouncing a screaming Charlie in his arms as he went. The last nine months had been…rough, to say the least. Though his grandfather had graciously opened his home up to his grandson, great-granddaughter, and their two friends, it turned out that securing a home was the least of his worries.

Grandpa Wyatt had quickly hired Jake, Javy and Rooster on as farmhands, their physiques and familiarity with rising early making them ideal candidates for the jobs, but Jake wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving his baby girl with a sitter all day just yet, so he did what chores he could with her strapped to his chest, and spent the rest of the day in the office, doing administrative work with his daughter asleep in her Moses basket behind the desk. Between the physical and mental labour, Jake was ready to hit the sack early almost every night.

However, clocking out for the day didn’t mean that his day was done. Charlie wasn’t a fussy baby, not by a long shot, but she still required an amount of work that Jake hadn’t been expecting. Her first pediatrician visit had revealed that Charlie was slightly behind on her goal weight, which meant Jake had to get up for an additional feeding during the night. But Charlie didn’t like the bottle, and Jake honestly couldn’t blame her. She’d gotten used to breastfeeding from her mother for her first four months of life, and Jake knew firsthand that Buttercup was infinitely better than some plastic bottle.

On top of trying to get her weight up, the Seresin family had also been battling sleep regression, teething, colic, Charlie’s first cold, and delayed milestones. If the doctor was saying that Charlie should be crawling by 8 months, she was doing it at 11 months. The whole thing had Jake lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, worrying about his baby girl, wondering how Buttercup had managed it all on her own, kicking himself for expecting her to manage it alone when he was deployed.

A loud, shrill shriek had him yanking his head away from his daughter as she sobbed unhappily, her tiny fist curling into his flannel shirt.

“C’mon, Charlie girl,” he murmured into her curling blond hair, pressing a small kiss to her head as he paced. “You just had your first birthday a few weeks ago. Can you be a big girl for your daddy and stop crying? Please?” Her green eyes glimmered with tears as she continued to sob in response.

“Rooster, please, man…” Javy groaned, half buried in a pile of Charlie’s toys that he had been shaking and tossing around in an attempt to get her to stop crying.

“My—”

“Rooster, I will buy you a new set of vocal cords,” Jake bargained as Charlie hiccupped before resuming her shrill shrieks. “Please, if not for me, then for Charlie. I need her to stop crying before she makes herself sick.”

Rooster whined before turning back to the piano against the wall. “You guys owe me so bad,” he grumbled before placing his hands on the keys and pressing out a familiar tune. “You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain…”

Jake held his breath as the song came to an end, the air ringing with blessed quiet, punctuated by an angelic baby giggle. With a groan, he sank to his knees, his legs too tired to carry him the five feet needed to get to the couch.

“Thank god.” He hefted Charlie up to sit beside him on the floor, keeping his hand on her back as he sagged against the wall. “So, she clearly doesn’t like sweet potato,” he sighed, watching her crawl over to a sprawled-out Javy and snatch one of her toys from underneath his leg.

“You feed her sweet potato again, you’ll be the one getting the rooster in your bedroom,” Rooster grumbled, closing the piano with a light thud.

“You do that, and you’ll wake her up,” Javy pointed at the little blond baby currently chewing on her toy giraffe’s foot. “And then we’ll all be miserable.”

Jake fixed his oldest friend with a glare. “No shit talking my daughter, dude.”

Charlie’s head popped up at the shift in tone in her father’s voice, her green eyes searching the room until she found him, her face breaking out into a wide gummy smile. She pressed her tiny palm into Javy’s stomach and propelled herself to her feet, wavering unsteadily even as Javy’s hand automatically rose to cushion her back. Jake leaned forward, scrambling away from the wall to sit a few feet directly in front of her.

“Come here, Charlie,” he called, waggling his fingers at her, smiling back as she grinned. “Come on, baby girl, you can do it.”

Time seemed to slow down as Charlie looked towards him before taking a small, shaky step in his direction. Javy propped himself up on his elbows and Rooster turned on the piano bench to watch on bated breath as she took another step, then another.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve got this!”

“Let’s go, Charlie!”

“Atta girl!”

Jake’s heart was in his throat, a feeling better than going Mach 10 racing through his body as his daughter took one last, final step before collapsing into his arms with a giggle. With a loud cheer, he scooped her up and paraded her around the room to the sound of Javy and Rooster’s applause before whisking her into the office and collapsing into his chair.

“I’m so proud of you, baby girl,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she cooed softly at him. He’d missed so much, and his heart panged when he thought about Abby and what he was missing from her life. His hand was halfway to his phone when he stopped himself, pulling it back to hold Charlie tighter against him. He’d tried before and he wouldn’t be putting himself through that again. He missed Abby, of course, but Mav had always told them that they couldn’t afford to be constantly looking backwards, that thinking would be the death of them, so he had to focus on the here and now, on the ranch, on the daughter he did have instead of on the one he missed.

“Da-da…” he looked down at the sound and smiled through the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Yeah, baby girl. Dada is here. And he’s not going anywhere. I promise.”

The Airport, Now

Charlie’s hands trembled around her passport as the camp bus pulled into the drop off lane of the Buffalo Niagara International Airport. She looked up as Abby gripped her wrist with a determined grin.

“Last chance to change our minds,” she whispered as the campers around them started to disembark with loud promises of keeping in touch.

“No,” Charlie whispered, handing the passport out to Abby. “I want to do this. I want to meet mum.”

Abby nodded, taking the outstretched passport and handing Charlie her own. “And I’m desperate to meet dad.”

“Remember, he’s going to meet you at the gate in Waco, so you’re going to have to bring your A Game right away.”

“I’ve got a five-hour flight in order to prepare,” Abby assured. “I’m more worried about you. Uncle Bob is meeting you at the security desk. Are you ready?”

Charlie nodded, a look of steely determination overtaking her face. “I didn’t cut my hair and let you pierce my ears for nothing.”

Charlie thought that Amelia was going to have a heart attack when she walked into the Brig on their last day of their punishment to find them looking identical, their hair the same length and an extra pair of Abby’s earrings studding Charlie’s ears. She’d nearly collapsed onto one of the beds when she heard that they didn’t want to return to their cabin, that they wanted to stay in the Brig. To her credit, she didn’t ask any questions, just shook her head and walked away.

Abby nodded, fiddling with her duffle bag nervously. “Remember, Uncle Bob will be taking you from the airport to meet mum at home. She—”

“Abby, breathe,” Charlie placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders and shook her lightly. “Dad is going to love you. And mum is going to love me. And they’re not going to figure out that we swapped until we tell them a week from tomorrow.”

Abby bit her lip and nodded. “I know. I just…I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I know…” she smiled back. “I’m so excited to meet mum.”

Abby smiled suddenly and tugged her into a hug. “I’m so glad I met you,” she whispered, and Charlie wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tight.

“Me too.”

Abby pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “Okay. You need to get to the security desk. Remember, Uncle Bob will be waiting for you. Brown hair, tall, glasses.”

“And Dad will be waiting for you at the gate in Waco. He might have Uncle Rooster or Uncle Javy with him. You remember who is who?”

Abby nodded. “Rooster’s got the moustache. Javy has tattoos.”

“Exactly.”

The girls looked up as an announcement came over the loudspeaker, calling an Abigail Floyd to the security desk.

Charlie bit her lip anxiously. “I guess this is it.”

Abby grabbed her up in a hug again. “You’re going to be great. Call me whenever you need, and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon!”

Charlie took a deep breath and headed off in the direction of the security desk. Coming around the corner, she saw him. A tall man in a pilot’s uniform, with brown hair and glasses, his blue eyes scanning over the crowd until he spotted her, his eyes studying her for a moment before breaking into a smile.

Charlie took a moment to compose herself, whispering under her breath in the British accent she had been practicing for weeks, “You can do this. You have to do this.”

“U-Uncle Bob!” she finally called out, her accent ringing true as she rushed towards him, tossing her duffle bag to the floor before launching herself into his arms.

“Whoa! Easy, kiddo!” Bob chuckled, gathering her into his arms. “I missed you too!”

“S-sorry,” she murmured into his neck, her arms tightening around his neck. “I just missed you so much.”

“Six weeks was a long time, huh?”

Charlie pulled back, sniffling slightly. “Yeah. It…it felt like a lifetime.”

Bob crouched in front of her, his brown eyes tracing over her features like an X-ray machine, and Charlie gulped. There was no way he could know she wasn’t Abby, right? They were identical, save for a few freckles here and there, and a scar that Charlie had on her knee. But nobody could remember the exact pattern of someone’s freckles, and her knees were covered, so there’s no way he knew.

Finally, he smiled. “It felt like a lifetime for me too, sweetheart.” He reeled her back in, hugging her tightly before releasing her and drawing himself up to his full height. “Now, come on. We’ve got to get you checked in and ready to go for our flight back home.”

Charlie woke with a start as she felt the plane touch down onto the runway, a smooth landing executed by a skilled pilot. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Even though Bob had been with Dagger Squad, like her dad and uncles, he was a WSO, not a pilot, so she was surprised to hear that he was flying passenger aircrafts after retiring, but Abby had told her all about how Bob had gone for his pilot’s license after retiring from the Navy and how Nat had helped him study and prepare.

Charlie gulped nervously. She had had the whole transatlantic flight to soothe her nerves over meeting her mother for the first time, to convince herself that her father wouldn’t be too disappointed in her for running away, to assure herself that her and Abby’s plan would work. She had a sister. And a mother. And an uncle and an aunt that she had never met before. The risk of her father’s disappointment was worth it in order to meet them.

As Abby had instructed her, she waited patiently in her seat until all the other passengers had cleared out before taking the duffle that was being pulled out of the overhead compartment by one of the flight attendants and heading towards the front of the plane, where her uncle was waiting.

“You ready to go see your mom?”

Charlie felt her cheeks flush. “Yes!”

Bob chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go see your mom.” Bob shouldered the duffle and led her off the plane, through customs, and down to a town car that was waiting for them. “From the last text she sent, your mom is working in her office at home, and Nat is at work,” Bob informed her quietly.

Right. Auntie Nat worked as a kickboxing instructor now since she was given a medical discharge from the Navy. And mom’s office was at the top of the stairs, two doors down on the right. Both Abby and Charlie had drawn maps of their houses, ensuring to include even the slightest detail so that there would be no surprises. Charlie had studied the map multiple times a day, until she felt like she could walk it in her sleep, even though she’d never been there before. Abby had also printed her a map of the neighbourhood when they were given their computer privileges back, as well as a map of the London tube system, though she had assured her that she would never have to take the tube alone if she didn’t want to.

“Abby?”

She hummed as her eyes darted here and there, taking in the old buildings and the people. They looked the same as the people in Texas, just less plaid and cowboy hats, but they seemed so different to her. She’d only been to a big city a few times, preferring to stick to her small ranching town, so everyone seemed so busy, rushing down the street, their cellphones stuck to their ears.

“Abigail?”

Everything was so new, so shiny. She gaped as an actual, real life red double decker bus drove by their town car, and her stomach was knotted over the fact that they were driving on the wrong side of the road.

“Abigail Floyd, for someone who hugged me so hard you almost cracked my rib, you sure seem intent on ignoring me right now.”

Charlie blinked. Abigail Floyd. That was her. Well, not her, but who she was supposed to be, at least for right now.

“Oh. Sorry, Uncle Bob,” she yanked her British accent into place. “I was just…reminiscing. You know, about camp…and about how homesick I was.”

Bob smiled softly at her, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “I’m glad you had such a good time. I know it’s a struggle to be away from home for so long, but I knew you’d have fun and make friends.”

“I did,” she replied quickly. “I met some great friends, and I downloaded WhatsApp onto my phone so I could keep in contact with them. Is that alright?”

“I’m sure your mom will be fine with that. That’s why she got you the phone, after all. To keep in touch with family and friends who are in the States,” Bob’s voice twinged with…something. Perhaps a hint of regret or maybe even anger.

“Good. Because I really like this one girl,” she grinned. “We became best friends.”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he smiled back. “You never know where you’ll find your best friend.”

“Like you and Auntie Nat, right? You met at Top Gun.”

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

Charlie grinned. “Now the two of you are basically brother and sister.”

Bob chuckled. “Yeah, we basically are. Maybe you and this girl will be like sisters too,” he replied, shooting her a playful look out of the corner of his eye.

She gave him a tight-lipped grin in return. Uncle Bob had always been strangely intuitive, she knew that much from Abby’s stories, but he was hitting a lot of nails on their heads right now and it was spooking her like crazy. So much so, that she hadn’t even registered that the car had stopped moving.

“We’re here!” she cried, scrambling to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out of the car, her uncle’s echoing behind her as she launched herself out of the open door and up the stairs towards the bright red front door.

“The door’s open, sweetheart, so you can go on in,” Bob called, grabbing her duffle and his suitcase from the trunk of the car.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door into the flat that Abby shared with their mother, uncle, and aunt.

The interior was exactly as Abby had described. Homey and cozy, but still posh. The living room to the left of the door held brown leather couches, lots of bookcases, and a few plants hanging from the curtain rod. The window seat was where Abby and their mother read, together and separately. Charlie knew that the kitchen was just on the other side of the living room, where her family ate dinner together whenever Uncle Bob wasn’t flying.

But Charlie wasn’t interested in any of that, no matter how comfy it looked after a long international flight. No, her sights were set on the staircase in front of her, which she climbed slowly, her legs trembling with each step. She could picture Abby’s map so clearly in her mind: the first door on the right was the bathroom, the second was mom’s office, and the third was Bob’s bedroom. On the left came mom’s bedroom, then Abby’s, then Auntie Nat’s.

Charlie stepped onto the landing of the staircase, her eyes locked on the door of the second room on the right, which was cracked open just a touch. Her heart pounding in her chest, she slowly approached and, with a ringing in her ears, she quietly pressed the door open and walked inside.

There she was.

Charlie dashed at the tears that were welling in her eyes at the sight of her mother. Her mother. She wasn’t some imaginary figure anymore. She was solid flesh and bone. For years to come, Charlie would be able to picture the way her eyes scanned over the screen in front of her, the way her hair was piled up on top of her head, the way her slim fingers danced across the laptop keys, the way her buttercup tattoo peeked out from the neckline of her shirt. They weren’t images conjured up by her lonely mind anymore. They were real. She was real.

“M-Mum?” she whispered.

Her mother almost jumped out of her chair. “Oh my…Abby?”

Charlie swallowed hard as she nodded. “I’m home.”

“Oh, honey, I missed you so much!” Buttercup scooted her wheely chair across the floor and pulled her into a hug, and Charlie felt herself melt as she hugged her mother back just as tightly.

“I missed you too, mum,” she whispered.

“Six weeks is just way too long, love. I don’t care how much Auntie Nat raved about this camp, six weeks of you being across the ocean is just way too much for me.”

“I agree,” Charlie nodded into her shoulder. “I don’t want to be away from you for that long ever again.” She sniffled as she felt her mother press a kiss into her hair before pulling away.

“You won’t be, love. I promise.” Buttercup’s thumbs gently stroked away the tears from her daughter’s cheeks before tugging her into a hug again. “I meant to be finished with this chapter before you got home so we could spend the rest of the day together.”

“That’s alright. Is it coming along?”

Abby had filled her in on how their mother was a relatively successful author, Charlie even recognizing a few of her book titles from her bookshelf at home. Their mother’s writing was part of why Abby felt that their parents would fall in love again when they had to meet to switch them back. Buttercup’s current, more adult story was about a military man meeting and falling in love with an artistic woman, falling apart, and coming back together to live a happily ever after, and it had Abby convinced that their mother still had feelings for their father.

“I’m struggling, baby,” Buttercup sighed. “These two clearly love each other, but I can’t seem to figure out how to get them back together.” Buttercup looked up and smiled at her. “But they don’t matter right now,” she shut her laptop with a click. “What do you say you and I go out for lunch? You can fill me in on everything that happened at camp. I want to know everything. Six weeks is just way too long and I just know that you have stories to share.”

Charlie’s smile was so wide, it hurt her cheeks. “I’d love that, mum.”

Buttercup pulled her into another hug and kissed her hair. “Go get changed and I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.” Buttercup smiled as she pulled away from her. “I missed you so much, baby. I love you.”

Charlie’s heart sang in her chest. She knew, of course, that her mom thought she was talking to Abby, but it didn’t matter to her. Her mom loved her, it didn’t matter who she was directing those words to. No one would be able to take them away from her. They would echo in her mind for an eternity. She’d heard those words from her father a million times, and they meant the world to her, but from her mother? They were sacred, special. They felt like a gift she hadn’t know she was going to receive.

“I love you too, mum,” she whispered, hugging her tight before racing towards the bedroom Abby had marked out for her on the map.

She finally had a mother, and she wasn’t going to miss a second.

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[poppadom0912]

Anyway we can get a part 2 to Grandchildren? Just a whole thing about how the Firehouse is with the reader throughout her pregnancy and the aftermath of her giving birth?

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and labour. 

A/N: This was sent last year I'm pretty sure but I only just got it done today! Very sorry about that. This will probably be my last fic of the holiday before going back to full-time education and I'm highly sure I'll be so stressed that writing won't even be on my mind. But please bear with me and depending on time, I might be able to get some stuff out to suffice you all.

You weren’t too sure what to expect following your pregnancy announcement. There were two ways things could go but knowing your firehouse family, there was only one direction they would follow. 

In the early months of your pregnancy, you were in the process of moving out your joint apartment with your fiancé and trying to find a place of your own. After an insistent Sylvie and your dad’s invitation to move back home, you moved into Sylvie’s apartment and became roommates with your paramedic partner. 

Living with one of your best friends definitely helped everything. She was everything that you needed and more both on and off shift. It was hilarious how she was more useful then your ex who was the actual father of the babies you were carrying. 

The twins were thriving. Every doctor's appointment, someone from the firehouse was attending with you and every time you were given only good news. But pregnancy was definitely hitting you hard with the morning sickness, incessant cravings, your unrelenting bladder and forever changing mood swings. 

Work in itself was relatively fine disregarding the overprotective adults you worked with. If being Boden’s daughter wasn’t enough, then being pregnant with twins increased their naturally protective natures tenfold and you weren’t too sure how to feel about it. On one hand, you adored how much they loved and valued you and your unborn babies' lives, you would never take advantage of their love but on the other hand, it was so constant and sometimes quite extreme that a break away from them sounded like paradise. 

But then you reached the six/seven-month mark and everything suddenly changed. Twenty-four-hour shifts became hell on earth. Now, you welcomed all their coddling, you could no longer do bare human necessities alone such as putting your shoes on – Sylvie helped you tie your boots up every morning – you couldn’t stand for too long, so you had someone help cook and take over for you, and the list goes on. 

Giving birth, gosh that was a story in itself.

You were at home when your water broke. You decided against going to Molly’s and Sylvie stayed with you, both of you putting your feet up and relaxing with a cheesy romcom and the perfect snacks to go with it. Sylvie was in the bathroom while you were in the kitchen when it all happened. 

It was nearly painless, your Braxton hicks hurt more surprisingly. It trickled down your leg, your shock rooting you in your place besides the sink. You’d been so silent that Sylvie came looking for you when you didn’t reply to her calling your name. 

Her surprise was evident for mere seconds before the paramedic in her kicked in. You were surprised nothing in you moved into motion, you were a paramedic for goodness sakes, you dealt with these things all the time. 

On the way to the hospital, you called your dad and step-mum Donna who immediately claimed they were on their way. This was happening way too fast for your liking; you knew premature twins were the norm, but you still couldn’t hide your concern. 

You’d decided several months ago that since you had no partner to be in the room with you, Donna and Sylvie would be there with you instead and to say they were emotional when you broke the news to them was saying the least. 

Seeing your stepmother already waiting for you at the hospital nearly made you break out into tears. You wanted to feel bad for making them leave Terrance home with a sitter but the next contraction made you shut up. 

While Sylvie spoke to the nurse at the desk, your dad and Donna helped you up, holding your sides to help you walk into the labour and delivery ward where you would spend the next several hours of the night. 

The pain only got worse the more time passed. You asked for an epidural, but an hour passed and then two and then Donna was demanding her daughter’s request be fulfilled. Donna’s anger could not be masked by anything but the tears filling your eyes from the tripling pain. 

According to them, your labour was progressing too quick for an epidural. Your dad and Sylvie were struggling to hold back an absolutely livid Donna. Had your mind not been so hazy from the pain, you would’ve been supporting her anger. 

Eventually, your midwife arrived causing you to nearly cry out in joy. She had been the most perfect angel who eventually forced your dad out the room. Chocking back a cry, you let him kiss your sweaty forehead, wishing you the bestest of luck and whispering his love for you in your ear before leaving. Your dad leaving you made you feel like a little kid again, his absence making you want to cry more. 

Everything blurred together once you were dilated enough. You were squeezing the daylights out of Sylvie and Donna’s hands, guttural screams and sobs ripping out your throat when all of a sudden you felt a wave of relief wash over you. 

Before you knew what was happening, a tiny little body was gently being placed on your chest and you were still crying. 

“It’s a boy!” You faintly heard the doctor as you heart thundered in your ear, all your attention solely on the life you gave laying on your chest. The nurse was cleaning it with a towel and without a second to waste, you held his head with the lightest touch against you. 

But then things started moving again, your first baby was taken for his first ever check-up and you were being told to start pushing again. You were barely able to concentrate, your mind still on your firstborn. 

“Sylvie… please.”

Two words were all the blonde needed to leave your side and follow the baby that was practically her nephew. 

Fourteen minutes later exactly, your daughter was born and you weren’t embarrassed to say you full on sobbed when they placed her on your chest. 

“You did it Y/N. You did it honey, you were perfect.” Donna comforted you, pushing your sweaty hair back, watching you stare adoringly at your second born. “You did it mama.”

*****

When you got cleaned up and was informed of the clean bill of health your babies had, you were knocked out, Donna and Sylvie promising you they’d be awake for anything needed and they could tell the good news to the rest of the world. 

Sylvie was talking to one of the nurses when Donna slipped out the room, walking into the waiting room that was empty when they arrived but was now filled with nervous family. They looked almost restless, it was apparent on their faces that as soon as morning came, they all came running. 

Under their curious eyes, Donna didn’t stand a chance. “It’s a healthy boy and girl.”

And with that, the waiting room erupted into cheers. 

With the nurse's permission, the firehouse broke into several groups to visit you and every group was as emotional as the next. 

Your dad shed several tears seeing you and his grandchildren. He cried the most you’d ever seen him cry when you announced your baby boys full name. To top his reaction, you laughed and cried at the same time when you told Matt, Kelly and Sylvie the news you’d been wanting to tell them ever since you got pregnant. 

The titles godparent made your three best friends more emotional than they would’ve wanted. Sylvie nearly crushed you in her hug when you told her your baby girls middle name. 

Who would’ve thought having namesakes was this emotional? 

They kept you another day for observations but after that, there was no reason for you to remain at the hospital any longer. So you were finally at home, with two new additions.

Two newborn babies were hard work. It took what felt like hundreds of sleepless nights, several cries of your own, feeding non-stop and the list went on.

And it was hard on your own. Most days, Sylvie had to go to work, leaving you on your own for an entire 24 hours but it would always be the biggest relief when she was off for the next 48.

And everyone was always offering their hands. You lost count the amount of times Donna came over to help with food and cleaning, Cindy always calling, providing you with all the advice and things you needed.

It was very emotional and you found yourself coping perfectly fine without your ex.

Yes, you did feel slightly guilty raising your children without knowing their father but it was the better alternative than if he was still around.

And your children were constantly surrounded by people, family who would always love them and would always be around. Your firefighters were fiercely protective and you wouldn't change that for the world.

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Hii can u do something fluff with daemon being in love with his grandchild. His daughter with Rhea Royce have a baby that look just like daemon and he can keep his eye of the baby.

A/N: I hope you like it! It's totally alright!

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x daughter!Reader

summary: daemon being in love with his grandchild. His daughter with Rhea Royce have a baby that look just like daemon and he can keep his eye of the baby.

Word count: 2,1K

Warnings: Fluff

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"How are you feeling?" Rhaenyra, your stepmother, asked kindly. You rubbed your grown belly with a soft smile. This was your first child and everything was all new to you but you loved every minute of it.

"I feel bloated and my feet hurt along with my back but that has not weakened my excitement" You answered. Rhaenyra laughed at your words. Being Daemon's eldest daughter and with a couple of years in between you and your sisters you were already married while they remained betrothed. You were married to your cousin Aemond a couple of years back, it was not an easy marriage nor was it out of love which id why it took you several years to conceive, Aemond and you took time warming up to each other before giving this marriage a real chance hence the babe in your belly.

"You remind me of myself when I was swollen with Jace" She patted your hand atop you belly. A smile grew on your face at the feeling of your child moving around in your belly trying to find a comfortable position inside.

"I just hope they are healthy, the maester said I have passed my due date and it worries me" Your heart filled with worry. Aemond held you bights back as you cried fearing for your child saying that he will be by your side no matter what and he would do anything in his power to ensure your and your child's safety.

"Tis normal with the first pregnancy" Rhaenyra tried assuring you. You gave her a wary smile, breath shaking and hands beginning to tremble.

"Thank you" You were grateful for her support. She may have not been your mother but she and Laena before her both embraced you as if you were their own and loved you as such as well.

That night you were more at ease when getting ready for bed with a little more discomfort than usual, however you had a smile and your mood had lifted. You spent the day with Rhaenyra and your sisters before going to the yard and watched your father and husband have a friendly spar which ended with your father wining. Lastly your entire family had supper together showing a united front and supported you with the many laughs and conversations circling around, even Aegon was on his best behaviour.

"You look happy, wife" Aemond pointed out as he slid into his side of the bed which seemed to grow smaller and smaller in the passed couple of moons. You fixed the pillows behind your back still feeling uncomfortable before leaning back against them.

"I am, spending the day with you all made me feel at ease" Your hands wrapped around your middle rubbing soothing circles to lull your child into a slumber so you could sleep yourself.

"It gives me comfort that this child will have a loving family if I were pass during labour" Your eyes filled with tears. You turned to look at Aemond by your side.

"Do not say that, you will live to see him or her grow and present them with many siblings as well" Aemond reached over to rub your bulging your stomach as well. It was after a couple of second of silence you felt a rush of water between your legs a sharp sting in your belly making you gasp.

"What is the matter?" Aemond pushed himself into a sitting position to look at you. He withdrew his hand fearing he was the cause of your pain.

"I think it is time" You responded. It was a couple of minutes later when a second rush of pain hit. There was time before it would be time to push, the maester had informed you of the steps during labour.

"I will call the maester" Aemond pushed the comforter to the side with the intend to leave the bed but you latched yourself to his arm before he could.

"Promise me first" You whimpered. Aemond's eyes filled with confusion.

"Promise me that this child will have a happy life if I were to die" You repeated. You watched as Aemond gulped looking between your eyes with his own worry.

"You will not" His voice was weak. He did not utter a singular word as your tightened your grip when a new contraction hit you.

"Promise me" You yelled shaking his arm. Your other arm was trying to sooth the tensed muscles of your stomach.

"I promise" He pushed your hand off gently and moved to the doors. You leaned back against the pillows content with the promise he made.

You did not know how many different feelings coursed through your body as you awaited the maesters arrival. Happiness, you were going to become a mother and you were going to make Aemond a father, and in public you were finally doing your duty. Excited, you were going to meet the being you and Aemond created from your love and passion, you were going to get to hold the small person who has lived inside of you for many moons now. Fear, you feared the pain and dying, you did not want to leave your child motherless. Anger, angry that Aemond did this to you and had the audacity to leave you in your room alone in so much pain.

"Aemond! Get back here!" You yelled. Aemond turned to look at you shocked as the guard stationed at your door sprinted down the corridor to bring the maester. Your face was already turning red and small beads of sweat were growing on your hairline.

"My love?" he tilted his head to the side confused. You let out an anguished yell clutching your stomach even harder. He moved without thinking to your side to help adjust you.

"Do not touch me you cunt! This is happening because of you" You pushed his hands away harshly. Aemond was taken aback by your harsh words, you have never spoken like this to him even when you were sparring, you were Rhae Royce's daughter after and it would be a shock if you did not know how to wield a sword.

"You fucker had to get your prick wet" You slapped his shoulder with all your strength which was painful. Aemond coughed with pain and shock moving away from the bed fearing your wrath and strength.

"Come back here you cunt "You hissed, your pupils were dilated and it was like you were going to be breathing fire any second, a true dragon.

In that moment the maester walked in followed by some midwives and Queen Alicent. She could see the horror on Aemond's face but his face paled when the maester moved the blanket off your lap to show your nightgown already soaked with blood some clear water.

"Her waters have already broken but seeing as the princess was not in any pain prior I believe this will be an easy birth" The maester sounded joyed. Alicent shared a tight smile with him knowing that labour was going to still hurt.

"Easy birth my ass!" You yelled attempting to kick him the face but one of the midwives stopped you by holding your leg.

"We need to wait a while until your body is ready to deliver" The maester explained. You let out an annoyed huff turning to glare at Aemond who was frozen to the side.

"This is all your fault" You gritted your teeth. Aemond looked at his mother for help but she only shrugged.

It was several hours later when your baby was finally born during the hour of the nightingale, dawn was only an hour or two away at this point. It was a healthy son and he announced his arrival by screaming his head off the second he slipped out of you and did not stop until he was placed in your arms.

"Oh my darling" You cried holding the bloodied child close to your chest. He had tufts of white-blonde hair like his father unlike your dark brown hair like your mother. You turned to look at Aemond still frozen in the same spot and held out your hand for him to take and he finally found the courage to step closer to you.

"Look at our son, is he not the most beautiful child?" You asked. You leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead before handing him to his father. Aemond's hand were shaking but he forced them to be steady when the most precious thing in his life was placed in them.

"Yes, the most beautiful child" He was mesmerised by the sight that greeted him. wide purple eyes and full cheeks.

"Looks just like Prince Daemon" One of the midwives pointed out as she helped pack some of the things the maester had brought with him. Alicent leaned closer to look at her grandchild and to your surprise a look close to disgust grew on her face.

"Yes as if you fucked your own father and birthed his son" She shivered at the thought of such a queer relationship.

"Mother!" Aemond explained shocked by the suggestion and that she even let her imagination run so wild, he knew you were faithful. This kind of relationship was queer even for the Targaryens.

"Where is my grandchild" The glaring contest was interrupted by your father strutting in with a huge smile on his face. Rhaenyra was hot on his tail moving to sit on your other side.

"Are you alright?" She asked running a hand through your sweat soaked hair with no problem or even feeling disgust unlike Alicent who at some point could not bare looking at you.

"I am alright" You assured her. Aemond handed your son to your father gently. Your father tsked as he bounced the small babe in his arms.

"A beautiful boy" he chuckled looking at you. You were grateful to have your father here to experience such a moment with you, your first moments with your child, the moment you became a mother.

"What will you name him?" Rhaenyra asked curiously. Aemond turned to look at you watching as you grinned, eyes glued at the babe in your father's arms, you were glowing like any new mother.

"Daemon" Aemond said. Your father's head snapped up to look at your husband.

"Yes?" He cocked his eyebrows confused. You gasped when you finally understood why your husband had uttered that name.

"We will name him Daemon, as it was pointed out he looks like a spitting image of his grandsire so it is only fair he is named after him as well" Aemond explained. Your father had a genuine smile on his face as he turned his gaze back to his grandchild.

"Welcome little Daemon" He laughed alongside you all. Alicent rolled her eyes taking her leave quietly.

By the third moon of your son's birth your father had asked you to move to Dragonstone at least a thousand times leaving you no choice but to agree for his sake. Aemond was happy to pack his things and leave the stinking city of King's Landing. You traveled on dragonback with Daemon strapped securely to your body and his dragonling that had hatched days after his birth was with Aemond.

Your father completely ignored your presence at the welcoming and went straight to his grandchild. Aemond laughed as you pouted now arms empty of your child and your father ignoring your existence. Of course later on your father made it up to you when Daemon was asleep.

The more Daemon grew the more he resembled your father as if he truly was his own child, he had the same forehead, nose and lips and even the eye shape. Aemond did not care for his son's looks and loved him nonetheless but rumours stills circled that you had been unfaithful to your husband with your own father but Aemond was quick to shut them down.

By the time Daemon was two you were pregnant yet again which excited the toddler. Daemon followed after his grandsire like a lost puppy most of his awake time. Your father did not grow tired of it and he never would. He would keep your son close by even during council meetings. He would take him with him to the training yard to make him watch until he was of age to sword fight himself. To say your father was obsessed with your son was an understatement. Even you birthed your second born, another son, Daemon remained your father's favourite and he was not ashamed of it.

[askinkiskarma]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ ɪ - ʜᴀɴᴅᴊᴏʙ

pairing: Neteyam x avatar!reader

a/n: hi and welcome to kinktober x if this first work seems familiar, that's bc it is lol. i have been so so busy and so i have decided that for prompts that fit some of my previous work, i'd give myself a little grace and use those instead. now, i think this works great because there's a lot of new besties here, so this way people get to read some of my earlier work and (hopefully) enjoy it for the first time!! i can't wait to go on this journey with you 🎃🧡 smooches x

words: 1,3k

warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: oral - male receiving, inexperienced Neteyam.

taglist (x)

Being a human had its perks, and being an avatar, well, that goes without saying. One of the perks, turns out, was the wealth of information available to you at the touch of the button. Say what you want about the Sky People, but they were informed in things you could barely even conceive, and well, you've always loved to learn. You spent your whole life learning everything you could get your hands on, from more useful things, like how to patch a wound or how to treat an infection to... less useful things for day to day endeavours, but definitely intriguing to you.

There was a lot in Hell's Gate that the Na'vi and the scientists that were granted leave to stay were unaware of, and you were glad. Your research led you to unearth some... unsightly discoveries, that you were more than happy to have to put to good use right now, after a relaxing swim in the nearby lake, with your best friend that... has some questions. Well, you were nothing if not a good friend, and a dutiful teacher.

His eyes were wide as you smile and push him until he falls to the ground with a small thud. It was quiet in the forest, only the small chirps and trills of the animals living peacefully could be heard over the sounds of both your laboured breaths. He was anxious, you noted, based on his fluttering ears and his erratic tail wags.

"Are you nervous, Tay?" you couldn't help the teasing tone of your voice, as you traced your fingers down his body, from his collarbone, to his chest, down his defined abs, until you hooked your fingers in the band of his loincloth, tugging at it gently.

"Let me make you feel good, Tay. Let me show you what it feels like to be human for a little while."

With that, you untied his tewng and let it fall to the floor, and you gasped a little at his size. He was bigger than you expected, and the sight aroused you beyond belief, beyond words and comprehension, because if before this was just supposed to be a learning experience, now you knew that while he would get his, you would definitely get yours, too.

Almost inquisitively, with a tinge of wonder and awe, you run your fingers over the patterned stars of his length, from the base to the cotton candy pink tip, marvelling at his beauty and how nothing you've ever seen before in movies or magazines could ever compare to it. You tighten your grip and smirk when a sudden inhale broke through the silence and you raise your gaze to meet his eyes, that were tightly shut as his head was pushed back, and you knew then you wanted to see this face, see how he reacts to you, to your lessons, every day of your life.

"...f-fuck!"

You slowly start pumping him, taking your time, analysing each contraction of his facial muscles, thrilled at how he's falling apart around you and you haven't even properly started yet. When the tip becomes covered in pre-cum, you can't resist the need anymore, and you slowly inch your lips towards it, a little startled when Neteyam gets up suddenly, concern deeply embedded in his features.

"W-what are you doing?"

A hand still pumping him, you placed the other on his chest, pushing him back, willing him back in the same position he was in before.

"Shh, relax, tay. you wanted to learn, right?"

With that, you placed a small, gentle kiss on the tip, licking every drop of pre-cum, and you were shocked at how sweet it was, how you wouldn't mind having it coat your tongue, and your mouth, and your throat, until it was all you could taste. You shuffled uncomfortably at the ache that took over you, and how good you knew his cock would feel filling you, how just the stretch itself would bring you to the brink of orgasm. Maybe next lesson.

You couldn't help taking more of him in, your tongue pushed flat against his length as it went further down your throat until you gagged slightly around it. The groan that escaped Neteyam, low and uninhibited, emboldened you as you started a steady bob of your head up and down his length, one hand continuing to pump what you couldn't reach otherwise, while the other rubbed circles into his thigh, hoping this way he wouldn't overthink this and just relax. After all, what were friends for if not to help each other... learn and unwind?

His hand finds your hair and you purr against his cock when he starts petting you, the little gesture enough to make you excited for when he'd be experienced enough to take charge, the way you knew he had it in him.

"You feel so good. S-so good, fuck."

His hips buck against you and you moan as he slips further down your throat, as he starts thrusting in your mouth, and you let him, impressed about how quickly he seems to catch on and turned on about how his first instinct was to immediately take control. This would be easier than you thought.

"I'm gonna, i'm cu-"

Ropes of cum shoot down your throat as his cock throbs in your mouth, and the noises he makes, carnal and primal, make you slowly start grinding against the ground to find some of your own release. You make sure to suck him dry as he pulls out with a small pop, and you smirk as you lick your lips, watching him trying to catch his breath, watching him panting and slowly regaining him composure.

"Enjoy yourself, friend?"

"So... when's the next lesson?"

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @

[joekeeryswife]

Steddie x reader when y/n goes into labor while one of the boys 💖💖 are out the house and the other is helping y/n get through her contractions while she is panicking over one of the dads missing the birth

Home birth ?

Panic - s.h & e.m

hello angel! thank you for your request (this is adorable what🥹). i love dad! imagines they just always melt my heart. kinda hate this because i feel like i’m repeating it over and over but oh well (also hate the ending lmfao). it’s pretty long. enjoy 🤍 set in 1993 (reader is 24, Steve is 26 and Eddie is 28)

taglist (feel free to add yourselves🤍) @eddieamoremio @loverboy-poems @ladyapplejackdnd @alexxavicry @lovurry @bibieddiesgf @plk-18 @Heyyimmissunderstood @m-rae23 @adaydreamaway08 (if there’s a line through your name i can’t tag you xx)

you were in the last few days of your pregnancy, leading up to the 39 week mark and to say you were relieved was an understatement. the past few weeks had been awful from back pain, braxton hicks, swollen ankles, heartburn, headaches, nausea. the list went on and on. you, Steve and Eddie had moved a few hours outside of Hawkins wanting a fresh start in a new house and it was absolutely perfect.

with it only being a few hours away from Hawkins it meant you could still visit your friends and family and vice versa. as you were pregnant you didn't like sitting in the car for the almost three hour drive, it hurt your back and Steve didn't like stopping the car every ten minutes so you could get out and walk around to try and ease the pain. so they usually opted driving to your house.

today, Eddie had to drive back to Hawkins to help Wayne at the garage with a few cars. Wayne hated calling Eddie to help him and Eddie hated leaving you with you being so close to your due date but you insisted you were absolutely fine and he'd left in the morning before both you and Steve woke up.

you had woken up around nine with intense back pain and cramping. you had been having braxton hicks for the past few days and that's what you usually put it down to but not this time, this was painful. so painful it made you groan slightly which you never did. after the pain subsided you sat up in bed, Steve no where to be found making you sigh and get out of the bed.

you could hear the radio playing quietly and Steve's humming to enjoy the silence by Depeche mode making smile softly. you tried make your steps as quiet as possible trying to to disturb his 'party' whilst doing the dishes and he luckily didn't notice you. his back was facing the door as he hovered over the sink, cleaning the few plates that had been left in there from the night before.

you walked towards him and wrapped your arms around his waist trying to hug him as best you could with a huge bump in the way. "morning honey" he put the plates down and turned to face you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. he placed a delicate kiss on your head and smiled when he felt your arms tighten around him.

"you sleep okay?" he asked as you pulled back from the hug to kiss him and nodded. "i had a really bad ache this morning, it was so painful it woke me up" you said like it was nothing, walking to the other side of the kitchen to grab a bowl to make some cereal but it made Steve's heart race. this could be you going into labour and he was here without Eddie who was adamant on being here for your labour.

you had all decided to do a home birth, the pool set up in the middle of the spacious living room ready to be filled when you went into labour. you'd always wanted to try a home birth, being in your own home made you feel so much more comfortable than thinking about being in a hospital. if something went wrong you were only twenty minutes away from the hospital so there was always that option if you decided to change your mind.

after making your cereal you walked to the living room, sighing as you sat down to finally be off your feet. your legs ached all the time and walking made you out of breath. you rested the bowl on top of your belly, slowly eating as you watched some random tv show but after a few minutes you felt another pain shoot through your lower stomach.

this time the pain was like a period cramp but way more intense. you lent forward to place your bowl on the coffee table and delicately place your hands on top of your stomach, closing your eyes and breathing through this pain as best you could. as luck would have it Steve walked into the living room so he could relax but that thought went completely out of his head when he saw you.

"baby, what's the matter?" he sat down next to you and stroked his hand up and down on your back. when the pain finally stopped after thirty seconds you sighed feeling relieved that it had finally stopped. it felt like it was going on forever. "i think i'm having contractions and Eddie's not here" you looked at him. his eyes went wide as he listened to you talk.

he knew how much it meant to you that both of them were there. you were all becoming parents and you really didn't want one of them to miss it. Steve knew some days the shop was so busy that Eddie couldn't physically answer the phone and most of the guys that worked there were assholes and let the phone ring. but he prayed that these were false labour pains.

"it's okay. we need to be sure that they're contractions honey and if they are we will call Eddie. he'll be here" Steve kissed the side of your head and continued to run his hand up and down your back to try comfort you as best he could. "what time did you wake up?" he knew from the many books he read that he needed to time your contractions.

with you saying you woke up with one he needed to make sure he was being precise about this. "i think it was nine" he looked down at his wrist watch and saw it was 9:14- fourteen minutes apart. "you tell me if you have another okay? i just need to make sure these are contractions" he said as the both of you got comfortable on the sofa.

Steve wrapped his arm around your shoulders bringing you into him as the two of you watched the tv, well you were, Steve was sneaking glances at you every so often just making sure you weren't having contractions but after he finally settled down after ten minutes you sucked in a breath and sat up. another contraction. he glanced down at his wrist watch again and realised they were getting closer together.

you were definitely in labour. you grabbed hold of Steve's hand and squeezed it tightly as the pain was almost unbearable. your mum had told you contractions were painful but you didn't realise they would be this painful. you moaned in pain as the contraction continued. "breathe sweetheart, that's it" you heard Steve say as you squeezed his hand tighter.

"could you get me some water please? i feel really hot and i need to cool down" you asked fanning yourself with your hand as the pain from the contraction subsided. "of course, do you need anything else?" with a shake of your head he got up and walked back to the kitchen to get your water.

whilst waiting you felt a popping sensation before water gushing out of you, soaking your pyjama pants. "Steve" you shouted as you slowly stood up, hearing his footsteps quickly approaching you. he looked at you then looked at the sofa which was soaking wet with clear fluid. his eyes widened he honestly felt like he could throw up. this was it.

"holy shit" he whispered walking towards you. "you have to call Mary" Mary was your midwife and would be with you at home whilst you gave birth. she had told you at your last appointment that you needed to alert her as soon as your water broke. he nodded, his eyes still wide "i will but let's get you into something clean, do you think you can walk up the stairs honey?"

his right hand went to your back once again, trying his best not to freak out in front of you. he saw you nod and held out his left hand this time so he could help you walk up the stairs to change. once the two of you were in the bedroom Steve walked to your draws, pulling out a new pair of pyjama pants.

"do you need help changing?" he asked as he walked toward you with the new pants. you shook your head and took the pants from him, whispering a small thank you before you felt a kiss on the side of your head. "i'm gonna go call Mary then i'll call Eddie. shout to me if you need help okay?" you nodded this time and watched as he left your bedroom.

after a few minutes of you changing into your new pants you felt another wave of pain through your stomach making you sit down wincing. the pain was almost unbearable. "i've phoned Mary. she's on her way but i couldn't get ahold of Eddie." Steve said walking into the bedroom.

Steve saw your pained expression as he stood in front of you "another contraction?" you only nodded. he held his hands open so he could help you stand up. "you need to keep calling him. he can't miss it" you squeezed Steve's hands as you pulled yourself up off the bed. "i will honey don't worry. he'll be here" he kissed your cheek reassuringly.

-

"where the fuck is Eddie" you said as you bent over the kitchen island, trying to relieve your pain in any way you could. Mary was behind you massaging your back as you breathed through your contraction. "he didn't answer. he might be really busy-"

"Steve they have people who answer the phone. keep calling" you cut him off. it was now 2pm and Eddie still hadn't answered the phone. your labour was going slow and Mary had told you that you were only at 4cm. that meant you had another 6 to go. "y/n sweetheart try not to stress. it's not good for you or the baby" Mary said as she took her hands off your back.

Mary was old, it may be rude to say but she was. however when she saw you in the hospital for your first midwife appointment with both Steve and Eddie sat next to you she said nothing and just smiled. many people judged your relationship but to be honest you all didn't care. you all loved each other and that's all that mattered.

"but what if he does miss it, he promised he'd be here, he wanted to be here" the last thing you wanted was for Eddie to miss the birth of his daughter. it was special and you'd never forgive him for not being there- he would never forgive himself for not being there. "and he will be, i'm gonna call one more time and leave another message if they don't answer. after that i'm not gonna call again, i gotta look after you honey"

Steve walked to the phone which was in the living room and after a few beats of silence you were met with Steve leaving yet another voice mail. your heart sunk. you couldn't understand why they wouldn't answer the phone. Wayne had two people who sat by the phone all day talking to customers about their cars or if they needed help with their cars but they never answered.

"i'm sorry. they didn't answer but i'm sure they're just really busy, Eddie will be here" Steve said as he came back into the kitchen, a sympathetic look on his face. "but what if he isn't? he wanted to-" you were cut off by another strong contraction, this one hurting so much more than the others you had been experiencing all day. Steve rushed to your side, holding your hand tightly as you groaned in pain.

you could feel your eyes filling with tears as the painful contraction got a bit more intense. after a minute it finally stopped but this contraction was a lot closer than the others. it meant your labour was moving along quickly and you would be pushing soon. you wrapped your arms around Steve's waist hugged him tightly.

"what if he doesn't make it" you whispered to Steve, tears threatening to spill over any second with the crazy amount of hormones running through your body. Steve wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back "he will honey i promise, if not i'll give him an earful don't you worry" he joked as he kissed your head, trying to make the situation better. but it didn't work. it just made you anxious. you just hoped by some miracle that Eddie would make it in time.

-

"hey guys" Eddie said as he walked into the office. he had finally gotten a break after working so hard. he sat down in front of Adam, a 20 year old who had been working with Troy to take phone calls for the garage. it was a system that meant Eddie, Wayne and the rest of the mechanics didn't have to leave their work to answer the phone and so far it had worked.

"it's been so busy today, crazy amount of people just brining their cars in for random shit that don't even need fixing" Eddie said rubbing a hand through his hair. he had a good few hours left before he could leave and come home to you and Steve and to be honest he was counting down the hours.

"did that Jerry guy bring his car in? i swear he comes in every week for the same thing" Troy said as he sat on his desk which was right next to Adams. "yeah he did. i mean he's old, probably doesn't remember bringing it in. i just pretend to fix something and he's on his way within ten minutes. never charged him though. can't make him pay for something that isn't actually real"

Adam and Troy were the only guys who were younger than Eddie in the garage, Troy being 24, meant that he could speak to them about the same sort of thing, he couldn't really speak to the older guys in the garage because he never understood what the spoke about. they spoke about stuff that happened years before he was born.

"anyway, anything happened with calls today? i heard the phone going crazy" Eddie said in a happy tone, he thought it was customers that were calling in for their cars which meant more money in his pocket for you guys and the baby. "don't be mad" Troy said scratching the back of his neck as he spoke. "we didn't actually answer any of them" Eddie rolled his eyes, a little bit of anger filing his body.

"c'mon guys that isn't cool. some people might be stuck of the side of the road and you've left them there" Adam nodded "we know, we just got a little bit bored but i'm sure it's nothing to worry about. i think they've left a few voicemails, the last call was ten minutes ago so we can listen to them now if you want?" Adam was always the mediator, he hated arguments and never wanted to get on anyone's bad side. it was obvious this was Troy's idea and not his.

Eddie only nodded, bracing himself for the many many voicemails from the different customers who were all probably angry that they didn't answer the phone. the first few were of customers only wanting to book in for a routine check of their cars but after those Eddie felt his stomach drop once he heard Steve's panicked voice.

"hey, uhh this is Steve. i really need to speak to Eddie about something so please call me back. it's urgent."

"hi it's Steve again, i know the shop must be busy for you guys to not answer the phone but this is really serious and i need Eddie to come home. please call me back"

"okay i don't know if this is a prank and you guys are not answering because you think it's funny but Eddie needs to come home. if you listen to these please get Eddie to leave the shop. thank you"

"i've called so many times i can't even count but Eddie needs to leave work now. his girlfriend is in labour and is probably going to give birth in a few hours and he can't miss it. she needs him here and so do i so please stop ignoring these calls and get him to come home"

Eddie stood up, ignoring the shocked looks on Adam and Troy's faces. he picked up the phone which was in front of Adam and dialled your home phone number. he heard it ring a few times before an out of breath Steve answered. "hello?" Eddie could hear you crying in the background as it seemed another contraction had hit you as he called.

"Steve-" "Eddie. you need to get home now, she's at 6cm and i can't speak for long, she's contracting but you need to get here fast. we need you, she is scared you're gonna miss it and i am to" Eddie could hear you call out for Steve and he felt his heart break, you sounded like you were in so much pain. "im coming sweetheart don't worry- just get here quick" and before Eddie could even say anything Steve had ended the call.

both boys looked at Eddie with guilt and sadness as they realised their little prank had gone way to far. "i am so sorry" Adam said as Eddie started making his way out of the office door. he turned around with the angriest expression on his face "this never happens again because look what's happened. i might miss the birth of my daughter because of you guys" he walked out, calling out to Wayne that he needed to leave and with that he got into his van and started making his way home.

-

"10cm finally" Mary said as she pulled her hand out of the warm water. your were sat on your knees facing Steve who was stroking your cheek comfortingly. you felt sad. this wasn't going how you wanted it to and now you weren't even happy that you were going to finally bring your own daughter into the world.

yes one of her dads was here and it should of been enough, but it wasn't. this moment was special, it might be something you never got to experience again and Eddie still wasn't here. it had been almost three hours since Steve spoke to him and your labour had gone pretty quick after that.

"i know it's not how you wanted it but i need you to start pushing" Mary said as she put on some new gloves and sat next to you beside the pool so she could watch you push your baby out. you took your shaky hands and grabbed Steve's holding onto the so tightly. "i want you to start pushing when you feel the next contraction y/n" after a few seconds of waiting you felt the now familiar pain of your contraction and started pushing.

"that's it, we'll done" you could hear Mary counting up to ten and you let yourself relax when she told you to stop. this pain was terrible. a lot worse than what you anticipated. "well done sweetheart. you're doing amazing" Steve kissed your cheek as the grip on his hands loosened slightly.

"and again y/n push with your contractions" you pushed again with another contraction, at this point they were about a minute apart. "keep pushing, keep pushing, well done" you could faintly hear Mary say as you focused on pushing your baby out.

after you finished pushing for another ten minutes you heard the front door slam closed and heavy boots running through the house. "i'm here" you could hear Eddie say and you felt all the sadness fade away. you had both your boys here now and you felt relieved. Eddie rushed to you, hands finding your face as he kissed you quickly, tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

"i'm so sorry. the guys were being assholes and didn't answer the phone. i'm sorry baby" he kissed you again before giving a quick kiss to Steve. "you almost missed it" you pulled one of your hands away from Steve's and laced your fingers with Eddie's. he nodded "i know, but look, Steve took great care of you and i haven't missed her being born. i've probably broken a few laws to get here but it's okay"

you wanted to laugh but you couldn't. another contraction made you cry out in pain "push y/n. you're doing amazing. i think you'll have her in the next few pushes" Eddie's eyes widened as you pushed, he was defiantly not ready for this. both Steve and Eddie hated seeing anyone in pain, but seeing you in pain made them feel awful. "a few more honey then she'll be here and all the pain will go away" Steve tried his best to console you as you cried.

if they could take the pain and give it to themselves they would but now there was nothing you could do. i mean, they were receiving some pretty hard hand holding, both of them wincing silently as you squeezed their hands harder with each push. "keep pushing sweetheart you're doing amazing" Eddie held your hand tighter and used his free hand to stroke your cheek.

"i can feel the head, keep pushing. well done" Eddie looked at Mary who was next the pool with her gloved hand in the water. "one last big push y/n and you'll have your baby" both Eddie and Steve looked at each other, their hearts beating fast, this was it. they were about to become dads.

you cried in pain one last time, face scrunched up as you pushed then it all went away. "5:48pm" you felt your body relax into the water as your pain finally stopped. you reached down and pulled your baby from the now murky water to your chest. you felt kisses all over your face as tears of happiness and relief poured down your cheeks.

you could hear the many praises Eddie and Steve were saying to you as you hugged your baby close. after a few seconds she started crying letting the whole world know that she'd finally arrived. "wow you've got a set of lungs on you haven't you" you heard Eddie say making you laugh through your tears. "look at her, she's beautiful" you said looking down at your daughter.

-

you were sat in your bed, sleep almost consuming you as you watched Eddie holding Penny with Steve stood right beside him, a small sleepy smile on your face. both boys were infatuated with her. she was wrapped in a baby pink blanket knitted by your mother with a matching pink hat on top of her head of thick brown curls.

Steve's hand moved to stroke her cheek making her grimace slightly. "she's perfect, i can't take my eyes off her" Steve whispered not wanting to wake up Penny. both boys couldn't believe that you were all parents now and neither could everyone back in Hawkins. Steve had phoned everyone to let them know Penny was finally here and they all couldn't believe it. they had all waited like you guys and it was exciting to finally get the call that she was here.

Steve had even phoned his parents and was surprised to get an answer. they were never in Hawkins and he expected the phone to just ring into the empty house but his mum answered and was actually happy for you all. she had even cried a little bit hearing that she was now a grandma which shocked him even more.

"her nose is so cute. exactly like her mama's" Eddie lent down to place a small kiss on her nose which looked identical to yours. she was practically your twin. "can you believe she's here. we've waited for so long and now shes in your arms sleeping"

"no. its crazy. we are actually parents now and we have this tiny human to look after" Eddie's eyes looking over her face trying to take in his daughters beautiful features. "i was so close to missing it. i'm sorry i wasn't here to help you guys" Eddie looked up from your daughter to look at you and Steve, eyes darting between the two of you.

“it’s okay Ed’s. you got here just in time” you reassured him, the smile never leaving your face. Penny woke up out of her sleep, face scrunching up as she cried making Eddie quickly make his way over to you. you were all still trying to figure out her cries but he assumed she was hungry and he was right.

she latched on to breast feed pretty quickly and her cries died down. Steve and Eddie were on either side of you watching your little girl with pure adoration in their eyes. the three of you were silent just watching the small baby in your arms. she was just utterly perfect. “thank you for making us dads y/n. we definitely couldn’t do it without you” Steve said kissing your cheek and Eddie hummed in agreement, kissing you before kissing Steve. you now had your own little family and you couldn’t be happier.

[thefrogdalorian]

The Bake Sale

Husband!Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When Grogu brings news of an upcoming Bake Sale hosted by the little school he attends between missions with the New Republic on Nevarro, his father enthusiastically throws himself into baking the the sweetest treats to impress his classmates. Din's devotion to the task makes you feel like there is a third person in your marriage as he constantly asks for your opinions on recipe combinations. Still, you are nevertheless charmed by his determination. Ultimately, while the fruits of his labour are delicious, you soon discover that Din Djarin's love is the sweetest treat of them all…

Word Count:  3.8k ✯ Rating:  General ✯ Content Warnings: One suggestive line, but apart from that, fluff (and cakes) so sweet they might rot your teeth! ✯ Author's Note: Took me like a month, but I finally got around to finishing this fluffy little baking oneshot inspired by a conversation I had with the lovely @suresnips about Din being a chaotic but enthusiastic baker! This one is also dedicated to you, Senna. Thank you for all of your help on TBOBW, much appreciated! Anyway it was a DELIGHT to imagine Din doing something so sweet and soft, now that he finally has his own home. I would love to explore more of this in the future! I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Din Djarin is a man who throws himself into any task with every atom of his being. Your riduur’s determination is never more apparent than when said task is for the benefit of someone he loves.

You have been privileged enough to observe Din’s love language firsthand and experienced how his love is all-encompassing, absolute and unconditional without suffocating. You know that if Din truly cares about someone, he will stop at nothing, no matter how tall the task, to improve their lives and ensure their happiness, even if the task demands everything of him for only a fractional improvement in their lives in return. 

That fact is particularly evident when it comes to his son.

Since their first meeting on Arvala-7, Din has been wrapped around each of Grogu’s tiny green talons. The hulking Mandalorian would do anything to ensure his boy’s contentment. 

Lately, that pursuit of Grogu’s happiness involves an activity utterly alien to Din—baking. 

Training his son in the ways of being a Mandalorian is important to Din. A task he has thrown himself into with the absolute devotion it requires. 

However, it is also important to Din that Grogu mixes with other children and learns how others view the galaxy. Din has told you on numerous occasions that he wants Grogu to be the best Mandalorian possible. 

Yet, even more than being a great warrior, it is more important to Din that he brings his son up to have a well-rounded perspective. 

After all, Din would never want Grogu to swear the Creed when he is old enough because it was the only path his father ever showed him. Din is determined to ensure that Grogu wants to be Mandalorian. 

Din is also in the unique position of raising a child who is actually older than him. As such, Din is not blind to the fact that Grogu’s lifespan will be far longer than his. There will come a time when Grogu has to fend for himself. Din wants to ensure that his boy is well prepared for that eventuality. He wants to ensure Grogu is well prepared for the multitude of fates and destinies which possibly await him throughout the galaxy.

That is precisely why Din insists on sending Grogu to the local school on Nevarro whenever there is a gap between their missions with the New Republic. It allows Grogu to be around other children, while also granting you and Din the opportunity to spend some precious time alone together. 

For the few hours that Grogu spends at school each day, you and Din enjoy time together without a mischievous toddler running around and causing mischief. 

However, as soon as Grogu returns from school, Din’s attention is fully turned towards his boy. You love watching Din as he dutifully helps Grogu with whatever projects or homework he brings home from the small school which Grogu attends whenever there is a gap in the steady stream of jobs that flow in from the New Republic. 

You are eager to see how Din is progressing with the task you left him in the middle of when you departed the small cabin you share near the lava flats to pick Grogu up from the repurposed Cantina in the centre of town. 

Din had been busy weighing out the ingredients to make Uj’alayi or Uj cakes, a Mandalorian delicacy that Grogu will take for his school’s Bake Sale. You are eager to see his progress when you arrive home. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greets you in the cabin’s small kitchen when you return home, however.

You and Grogu can barely stifle your giggles as you notice how the shine of Din’s gleaming beskar armour has been dulled drastically by the flour that, somehow, Din has managed to cake himself in from head to toe. 

“Oh, hi there, you two!” Din exclaims, slightly flustered at your presence, “Wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon!”

“Patu!” Grogu chirps from your arms and nods towards the chronometer on the wall above the stove. 

You smirk at the child’s sassiness, a trait he has learned well from his father. 

“Sorry, pal, I must have lost track of time,” Din apologetically shrugs. 

It is not the first time that Din has unintentionally let time get away from him. Baking the perfect Uj cake for Grogu’s upcoming Bake Sale has consumed Din’s every waking thought for the past few days. You and the little boy who brought home the assignment have served as Din’s tasters, checking each combination of ingredients until he settles on one that he is happy with. 

A few hours later, after dinner, it is a role you find yourself fulfilling once again. 

Usually, you and Din would spend quality time with Grogu, either inside or outside the cabin; mainly in an attempt to wear him out so he settles in his bunk without much fuss.

Tonight, however, as evening descends across Nevarro, you are alone with the tiniest member of Clan Mudhorn. Din has once again excused himself to the kitchen, mumbling something about how he needs to get the combination of nuts and dried fruits just right so that the sticky batter is not overwhelmed and weighed down by the fillings.

You would never have considered Din to be a baker when you first met him. You would certainly never have imagined he would throw himself into the pastime with as much enthusiasm as he has. 

Grogu’s task has seemingly reawakened the passion for baking that had lay dormant for some time. He told you it reminded him of his childhood, and you had learned that food played an integral role in Mandalorian culture. 

Despite his imposing demeanour, you have been privileged to see Din’s softer side evident beneath his armour. As you grew closer to him, you learned that he not only enjoyed baking and cooking but also tended to the assortment of plants he was cultivating in the fertile volcanic Nevarrian soil on his tract of land. 

Your husband is a man of multitudes, and Din continues to surprise you each day. 

As he does, once again, when he stands in the cabin's doorway and softly calls your name. His familiar deep voice travels through the warm Nevarrian evening towards the spot by the pond where you have crouched next to Grogu, who is enjoying his favourite pastime, levitating frogs. 

“I’ll be right back, pal. I think your father wants me to be a test subject for his latest creation,” you say as you playfully roll your eyes at Grogu, who responds with a giggle. 

You cannot help but smile as you return to the cabin, amused by Din’s determination to create the perfect Uj cake. Despite how endearing it is, you cannot help but be somewhat relieved the Bake Sale is tomorrow. If only because you fear the toll it is taking on your husband’s sanity. And his bank balance. 

Even though he is one of the New Republic’s most valuable employees with the wage to match, you fear you may have to take on debt to keep up with Din’s supply of ingredients. 

You hold your breath as you enter the cabin, mentally preparing yourself for the sight you that will greet you after Din’s latest attempt at baking. 

Fortunately, the kitchen is mostly clean. 

The same cannot be said of the man who occupies it. 

Din’s mouth is smeared with batter from his creations. His dark hair, which curls slightly at the ends, is stood up in every direction as though he has been furiously running his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down. Your gaze travels down his body. You notice that he has changed into comfortable cotton clothes. It is an outfit you know is supposed to be cream-coloured, but in reality, Din's garments are stained with various shades of brown from the Uj cake batter.

You cannot stop and gawp at him any longer as Din motions for you to come closer to him. A giggle escapes from somewhere in your chest. You are so endeared by his determination to perfect the recipe. 

“Try this, cyar’ika,” Din rasps as he holds the wooden spoon covered in a dark, lumpy batter towards your lips. 

Din watches as you lick the batter from the spoon he is holding. You savour the sweet flavours as they dance across your tongue, forming your opinions with a thoughtful expression. When you look at Din again, you see his eyes momentarily darkened with an emotion you might even consider lust. It marks the first time he has allowed himself to think of anything except crafting the perfect Uj’alayi for the past few days. 

Before the moment can continue, Grogu chirps from behind the two of you. In response, you and Din hurriedly jump apart as though you have been caught in a compromising position rather than the entirely innocent gesture of tasting the batter. 

The child whines unimpressed at the sight of his buirs dedicating more attention to the Uj cakes than towards him. To keep him happy, you scoop Grogu up into your arms and take him to the fresher for a bath before you put him down to sleep. 

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

With Grogu finally tucked up between a mountain of plushies, you wander through the narrow hallway of the cabin in the direction of the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, Din is still hunched over the countertop, working on the Uj’alayi. 

“Din, it’s getting late,” you sigh, gesturing towards the chronometer, much like Grogu had hours before. 

“Just one more batch!” Din pleads, turning towards you with a frenzied look across his features. 

You shake your head and let out an exasperated sigh, simultaneously amused and concerned by his antics. Din throws himself into everything with nothing less than one hundred per cent devotion, so you know better than to fight him on this matter.

Slipping beneath the blankets on your own is a lonely, miserable experience. You are used to it when Din is away, of course. But it is a strange sensation to know he is here in the cabin, and yet he is unable to be here with you. 

Too devoted to baking to cuddle you.

You sigh forlornly at the emptiness next to you, a stark reminder of Din’s absence. Hoping that sleep, instead, will cocoon you in its warm embrace…

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The other half of the bunk is still empty and ice cold to the touch when your eyelids flutter open sometime later. When you reach out to feel for him, the frigidity of the bunk beneath your fingertips makes it obvious that Din has not joined you. His absence is confirmed when your eyes finally focus and recognise the light streaming in from the hallway outside.

Din is still up in the kitchen. You groan, far too comfortable and warm to truly want to leave. Still, the buckethead’s well-being is somehow more important than your own.

You pad down the hallway towards the kitchen, groggily rubbing your eyes as you go. As expected, Din is still furiously mixing the batter.

“Din, have you seen the time?” you ask exasperatedly. Despite the late hour, Din is determined to perfect the recipe ahead of the Bake Sale. 

“I have to get it perfect,” he mutters, shaking his head in exasperation as he looms over the mixing bowl. 

“Darling, you look exhausted,” you whisper against Din’s neck as you wrap your hands around his waist, looking concernedly at the dark bags underneath his eyes as you pepper kisses along his neck. 

It might be a shameless attempt to seduce him. At least it would get him into your bunk. Still, Din is too hyper-focused on baking to acknowledge your advances.

“I’m fine,” he huffs, continuing to mix the batter, “Go back to sleep.”

You shake your head and retreat, knowing when you are not wanted. You know that Din will make it up to you and apologise once the Bake Sale is over. Although if he offers to bake you something to make up for his behaviour over the past few days, you may resort to using one of his weapons against him… 

You drift off for the second time, fantasising about which blaster from his armoury you would turn your hand to first…

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

When the alarm sounds next to your bed the next morning you thrust a clumsy hand towards the buttons to turn it off. You immediately notice that you are, once again, alone.

Din is nowhere to be seen.

It is a miracle that he hasn’t burned the cabin down.

Before waking Grogu up, you decide to see what kind of condition his silly buir is in. The rage that burns in your belly is extinguished the second you make it to the kitchen and lay eyes upon the adorable sight before you.

The golden light streaming in through the windows illuminates the entire room, where Din is slumped over the kitchen table, surrounded by plates piled high with Uj cakes. You shake your head and smile at him, not wanting to wake him just yet.

You busy yourself by getting Grogu up and ready for school, which is easier said than done, considering how lazy the child can be at times. 

When you return to the kitchen, you place a soft kiss on Din’s forehead. He stirs slightly, warm brown eyes flecked with honey in the sunlight and as thick with sleep as Uj’alayi batter. 

“Come on, sleepyhead,” you grin when Din finally focuses on you, “We need to leave for the Bake Sale in a few minutes.”

While Din dashes to the fresher and hurriedly pulls his beskar’gam on, you carefully pack up the Uj cakes. Grogu watches you, doing his best impression of a Porg as he looks up at you with pleading eyes, desperate for a taste of the sweet snack.

“You can have one later, Grogu,” you tell him, tone firm. 

You ignore Grogu’s whines as Din reappears, fully armoured and ready for the Bake Sale. Enthusiastic, despite how little he has slept.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The enthusiasm gives way to darker emotions when you and Din finally make it to the town centre of Nevarro.

As you begin setting up your stall, it appears that the other parents at Grogu’s school have not taken the assignment as seriously as your household. Most of them, it transpires, have used self-rising mixtures to hastily contribute to the Bake Sale. A fact that disappoints you as you watch them setting up their respective stalls, ready for the children to take over shortly.

Only Din had taken the task seriously, a fact that fills you with pride rather than embarrassment. How lucky are you to have someone as dedicated and driven as your riduur?

Despite how much more impressive your wares are than other stalls, the flow of customers is slow at first. Not helped by the fact that every unfortunate soul who comes to examine the Uj’alayi gets a lecture on their origins from an overly enthusiastic, sleep-deprived Mandalorian. 

When Grogu and his classmates appear to take over from their parents, you and Din make yourselves scarce. It is their Bake Sale, after all. 

You are intent on enjoying the rest of the fair; by exploring the stalls, sampling the food and playing traditional games which have been set up by the children.

You begin wandering through the fair, appreciating the effort that has gone into each stall. The children deserve a better school building and you have no doubt the fair will raise enough money to move them out of the former cantina.

But, when you do not feel the presence of your riduur at your side, you halt in your tracks and look around for him as panic sets in. 

Being the only Mandalorian on Nevarro, Din is not difficult to spot. You discover him pacing up and down, arms behind his back and helmet tilted in the direction of the stall. Although you cannot see his face, you are fairly certain that anxiety lingers behind the blackness of his T-visor. 

“Din, why don’t we go and enjoy some of the other stalls?” you plead, hoping that Din will relax and enjoy what should have been a fun event. 

Din shakes his head, “Can’t,” he murmurs. 

“Standing and watching them is not going to make them sell any quicker,” you huff, growing increasingly exasperated by his antics.

“You go on, I’ll catch up to you,” Din murmurs as he waves you away absentmindedly.

“Please, Din,” you beg, reaching out to take his gloved hand in yours, forcing him to look at you, “You’ve been so preoccupied with those kriffing Uj’alayi, it’s like you’ve been having an affair! Now that they’re finally out of your hands, can’t we please spend some time together?” you plead, hating how desperate you sound.

Din stands there motionless for a few seconds. Your breath catches in your throat as you notice him clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, a mannerism of his that you have come to understand is a sign of anxiety. Your heart drops as you realise you have upset him.

“Of course, cyare,” Din finally breathes, clearly conciliatory and not annoyed as you had feared, “I'm sorry for neglecting you. Let's go."

Din follows you without hesitation.

You are ecstatic at finally having a chance to enjoy the delights of the fair. So much effort has been put into organising such an event by the people of Nevarro, and you are happy to support them.

The Mandalorian by your side seems less awed by the assortment of stalls, however. The various traditional games and food are tricky for Din to enjoy from behind his helmet.

There is one stall you suspect he may succeed at, however. 

Your eyes lock onto a high striker, a familiar game synonymous with fairs. You stand back, watching a man cockily sidle up towards the stall. After exchanging credits, he picks up a heavy mallet and nods towards the woman who accompanies him. You think you sense him straining under the weight slightly. Especially when he draws it back to strike the base of a tower with a heavy mallet.

The puck rises pathetically, not even managing a third of the tower's height. Yet, if struck with enough force, the puck would strike a bell and the competitor wins a prize.

You do not doubt that Din could win. 

“Din, why don’t you have a go?” you nod in the direction of the high striker.

Din looks towards the stall, as the man who just attempted it murmurs something about how they are rigged. You aren’t so sure, convinced that your hulking Mandalorian could win you a prize.

“Sure,” Din shrugs, clearly not fazed by such a challenge.

Unlike the cockiness of the previous contender, Din approaches the stall with his usual calm, understated confidence. You enjoy watching him swagger towards the man, getting a kick out of the fact he is all yours. 

After exchanging credits, Din picks up the mallet without a hint of strain, nodding towards you as he raises it above his head. Sure enough, when he brings it back down in one smooth movement and strikes the base of the tower, the puck seamlessly rises to the top and strikes the bell. Announcing Din’s victory to the entire fair with a ding, to which he receives a smattering of applause.

“Congratulations!” the stall owner chirps, “Which prize would you like?”

The man gestures towards a collection of brightly coloured plushies in various shapes and sizes. Your eyes roam across them, stunned by the collection. 

“I want that one,” Din nods without hesitation, pointing towards a bright green frog plushie. 

You smile, knowing precisely who that is for. Grogu can barely sleep in his cot as it is, but you have no doubt he will find room. Especially for a frog. 

Yet, Din is unable to bask in the glory of his victory for much longer. A familiar booming voice behind you soon causes both of you to turn around.

“Mando!” High Magistrate Greef Karga exclaims, “I hear your Uj’alayi went down a treat. Perhaps if your job with the New Republic does not work out, a future as a baker lies ahead of you,” the kindly old man chuckles as he brings a hand to clasp Din’s vambrace in greeting.

“Seriously?!” Din questions, clearly taken aback by the apparent success of his Uj’alayi. 

“All sold out! Before I even got a chance, can you believe that?” Greef smirks, “Perhaps you’ll have to bake me some?”

You cannot help the way your entire body tenses up at the thought of your kitchen once again being overtaken by Din baking. Still, as Greef disappears into the crowd, those thoughts are far from your mind as Din laces his fingers with yours. 

Now he has confirmation that the Uj’alayi were a hit, perhaps your husband will finally return to you.

As you stroll through the remainder of the stalls together, the sweet treats that Din had been so preoccupied with are far from your mind. The sweetest thing is being in his presence, proudly strolling around the Bake Sale and being unable to stop the feeling of pride that spreads through your chest at the knowledge this man is yours.

No matter how many passersby stare at him admiringly, Din Djarin’s heart belongs only to you. 

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Later that evening, the two of you are standing in your kitchen back at your cabin long after the sun has set. Din is clearly in a pensive mood as you work together, drying the last of the plates which you used for the Bake Sale. 

“Cyare, I’m sorry for being so focused on making the Uj Cakes that you felt neglected,“ Din offers apologetically.

“It’s okay, Din,” you smile, “Thank you for apologising.”

“I was thinking,” Din pauses, raising a single eyebrow cheekily at you, “That I could bake you a cake to make up for it.”

“Din Djarin, you better sleep with one eye open tonight or so help me Maker, I will help myself to your arsenal!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Din smirks smugly, as he snakes his arms around your waist and brings his lips to yours. 

The sound of your laughter carries throughout the cabin, all the way to Grogu in his room. Cuddled up to his new froggy friend, with his little belly full of Uj cakes, he is blissfully unaware of the strain his school’s Bake Sale placed upon his parents’ marriage.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

[infernalodie]

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 || 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐙𝐨𝐫-𝐄𝐥

“𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰���𝘦 𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘰𝘢𝘩 𝘖𝘩, 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘩, 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩“

Inspo: Chase Atlantic - PLEASEXANNY Chase Atlantic - Tidal Wave

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: Kara knew this wasn’t right, but she needed you...

Warnings: Faint angst, kidnapping, branding, stockholm syndrome, mindless smut, praise kink, fingering and overstimulation.

Words: 1194

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

“So fragile for someone who promised me you would be strong. So disappointing.”

Tears streamed down your cheek, eyes puffy with the crimson complexion to them. Body quivering under Kara’s twisted gaze that didn’t shed a single ounce of mercy. The smell of burnt flesh plugged your senses as you fought the cold sweat. Still very aware of the ache between your legs that Kara wouldn’t help you deal with.

“I-I’m doing m-my best, Daddy.” Kara could only scoff at such a statement. You’d been sobbing since she plunged her fingers into your cunt. Fingers curling and pulling you skillfully toward the high you’d been begging her for.

But the moment she lasers her name into your name, that’s when you give up. It left a sour taste in her mouth that she fully expected you to fix. Which explained why she wasn’t going to give you any more of her help.

Kara ran her thumbs over the raw etchings of her work. Smirking at the sweet cries that echoed past your lips, wiggling beneath her vice grip. “Your best is not good enough, petal. I expect much more from you,” she said, “and I am waiting for you to prove yourself.”

You managed a whimper, shifting in her hold. But her thumbs continued to trace the wounds, enjoying your pitiful state. “Come on. Show me why you deserve to cum.”

Being under her calculated and judging gaze left you unsure of how to prove yourself to her. A month ago, you’d been fighting with her and paid the price for expressing the clear lunacy she displayed by kidnapping you. But now, you were trying to please someone who wasn’t afraid to hurt you. Clinging on to promises that she made that some small part of you knew wasn’t true. Because there was another part of you that loved her dearly.

Sitting up carefully, you pressed soft kisses along her neck. Eager to taste more of her skin on your tongue. Kara could feel your hands tremble, hesitant to grasp her forearms. She could hear your uneven breaths simmer to a steady labour.  Likely feeling the heavy exhaustion of the burns taking their toll on your state. But you continued to try and please her. Defiant to not let this night be full of disappointment.

So, you did more than you knew you were capable of in this state. Hoping that would get Kara interested in giving you what you needed.

She tilted her head, allowing you to press further against her. Her hands explore your sides. Letting you rest on her thighs and run your hands through her short strands of hair. Nails gently digging into her scalp with your teeth nipping at her jaw. And her eyes rolled back, hands slightly clenching on your sides and kneading at the flesh gently.

“So good for me. Such a good girl.” Her lips curled into a grin feeling you pressed further against her. “I’m never letting you go again, baby. Never again.”

Kara tried to step away—letting you live your life. She tried to focus on her powers and put them to use. But seeing you move on with someone new hurt. So, she promised herself that she would keep you to herself and that even if you are allowed the chance to leave her home, you would be known as hers. No matter how far and who helped you get away from her, they would know by the brand across your stomach that a storm was coming their way if they aided you in hiding.

She knew what she was doing to you wasn’t right. But acknowledging that; did it make her insane? If she recognized her problems, did it ultimately make her a bad person? See, she believed it didn’t. As long as she was honest, she believed this was just who she was. And she would eventually do what she could to change for you. But that wouldn’t happen until you gave yourself to her entirely.

One of her hands slid between the two of you, fingers slipping through your slick folds. Her smooth palm pressed against your clit, making you inhale sharply. Seizing the faint rock of your hips as you held her tighter.

A soft laugh fell from the Kryptonian’s lips, her other slightly patting your side. “You earned it, sweets. Go ahead.”

Her permission turned you into a puddle of eagerness. Rocking your hips without a set rhythm with your face mere inches from Kara. Eyes swimming in her twisted loving gaze that you remembered used to be pure.

Pushing thought away, you peppered her skin in kisses. Thriving off the fact that her little hums of approval were gifted with a faint delve of her fingers into your cunt. Ever so slightly pulling and tugging at the knot that slowly became increasingly tangled with each roll of your hips.

“Good girl. Keep it up.” Kara kneaded at the fat of your hips. If she had the choice, she would have your sable skin pressed against hers each moment of each day. And seeing you this desperate only made her wish upon it more. Drop everything superhero related to just be near you. Put you in this state constantly and have you for herself. She never wanted anyone to see you or ever have a sinful thought of you.

She wanted you for herself.

Eventually, your hips began to move roguishly. No deadset rhythm. Just desperation is found in your movements. The sweet little noises that fell from your swollen lips. And no matter how sore your hips were, you chased after the high.

So, Kara indulged herself by dipping two fingers deeper into your entrance. Gently prodding the soft spot that made you shiver against her. Each thrust was accompanied by a gentle press, slowly tugging you toward the summit you sought out.

And eventually, the knot snapped and the way your eyes clamped shut and muffled moans filled the plain cage was enough of an indicator for Kara who thrust three fingers into your dripping cunt. Ripping a sharp gasp from you as her fingers fucked up into you at an unimaginable speed.

Kara took amusement in the way your eyes rolled back and your cries of pleasure were sent directly into her ear. Barely able to comprehend or focus on what you felt. Bliss, numbing, overstimulation–they were all so much at once. And any chance that you tried to speak, it was full of incoherent cries as you drooled on her shoulder. Your nails embedded into your skin and pulled at her suit ruthlessly.

By the time Kara was done, you were a twitching sobbing mess. Your mind is barely able to formulate a thought not related to the constant shivers running down your spine. Or the inside of your thighs tensing and squeezing around the woman in front of you. Sharp and choked breaths fell from your mouth as you rested your head against Kara’s shoulder. A thin string of spit hits the woman’s chest as she gently caresses your hips.

“I’m never letting you go, Y/n. You’re mine till your last breath.”

[ilgaksu]

i will now be referring to this situation as weimargate, because i must laugh or i will dissolve into the void.

aka i have had a VERY weird experience of it in fandom lately, and it has escalated to memes in lieu of interpretative dance*, but also i want to talk about it because i think, in more general terms, it's relevant for discussion about how fandom is evolving.

(*as illustrated by @difeisheng because i am personally intimidated by photoshop. interpretative dance would've only had me to blame.)

so. hi! if you don't know me, i am an ao3 writer who goes by the pen name ilgaksu. i have 179 fics on my ao3 account, and of those, 46 of these are for DMBJ or grave robber's chronicles. i've been writing in this fandom for roughly three years, which means according to the laws of mathematics and my own inability to stop posting about my favourite blorbos, that's a new fic every 3.39 weeks. i have not counted chapter updates in this count, but given several have multiple chapters, i think we can see there's....a lot. one ongoing series is currently sitting at about 200k, word-count wise. i like to write, overall, about disability, reclamation, legacy and memory. i also overuse semi-colons.

i am also a very private person at this point in my fandom career. this will be the first post i've made in a while talking about myself where i have allowed there to be reblogs on it. this isn't intended as an affront to anyone else in fandom. my ask box is open, sans anon, and in the last few years, i chose to reply to every comment i could to make sure i still get to engage about the characters i love without compromising my own desire for privacy about my personal life. i choose to work under an explicit persona - because we all do on the internet but i have made mine obvious and enunciated and almost a brand - because i think there is something freeing about allowing myself that experience. it's allowed me to write work that i relate to deeply without having to divulge my life to be analysed by strangers on the internet. generally, i like to post my silly little stories, talk to people about them, and then go about my day offline.

anyway, so this week, i seriously considered walking away wholesale from my current fandom, and i'd actually like to talk about why, and talk about me as a person as opposed to the narrative of persona that i've crafted.

because the reality of a persona is that a real, living person is required to animate it. if i am the person who is small and human and anxious to even speak about this, then i am also the reason the operation is running. it's a one-man show. as much as i want my work to speak for itself without my need to justify its meaning or worth, without my experiences, research and choices about my time, the work would not exist. that's just fact. it's fact for every writer and artist and podficcer and person who labours out of love you see. i also deliberately consider myself a writer as opposed to a content creator, because i believe that label mimics a wider culture i have no interest in - that of someone creating a consumable, ownable object. my fanfiction is a hobby. it cannot be owned by other people. unlike my original work, where it can be bought, there is no formal, explicit contract between me and the reader. there is, however, in fandom, an implicit social contract of equality and collaboration, where we are all equals. i am fundamentally no better than someone who never writes fic and never wants to and never will. i reject the idea of superiority among fans because i do not engage in subculture to mimic the dominant culture, the one that tells me stories are something only certain people are allowed to see themselves in, or even tell to others; that production is the only means of social capital and intrinsic worth.

i am aware, also, that by being private the way i am, i end up sacrificing some experiences that i could have by being more accessible, but i want to reiterate that i have never gone out of my way to conceal my tumblr, nor ignored people who contacted me directly to talk about my fic. in fact, if you show up to talk about my fic, i will probably be so thrilled i'll never let you leave - especially since, when it comes to a majority of it - i spend a lot of time on research, something i enjoy, and deliberately cite my research in the notes because i want to share it as part of the experience of my writing. clearly, i want ideas i have come up with to be enjoyed and loved and shared, because otherwise why would i take the risk of putting them out online, where i then cannot control how they're received or transformed?

however, since about a year ago, i've maintained a policy of works based on my own that i've had outlined clearly in my profile on ao3 here:

as someone who is playing in someone else's sandbox for free myself, my only request is if when you use an idea, usually a headcanon, which is one i created, which you can as much and in whatever way you want because that is the nature of collaborative fandom and the reason i love it so much, you cite that i was the originator of the idea. and secondly, that you let me know. this is a personal request based on how writing can be a very lonely project, even in fandom. you put your work out into the world, with no sense of who it will reach and if it will mean anything to them, and you have to work on the faith that even if it doesn't, the work itself was worthwhile. but you hope it will, because everyone hopes it will.

all of this is outlining so it's understandable to people that read this how i was completely off my face bewildered when i found out a headcanon of mine had reached the level of fanon popularity where it's been mistaken for canon, and has been for over a year at the very least, and i had literally no idea this had happened.

which, frankly, was both hilarious, in a very bizarre way, and completely, deeply sucked.

i know this is my idea because of how distinctive it is, and how much it contravenes canon - namely, that a character, hei xiazi, was a medical student in berlin during the weimar republic. i know it's mine because the timeline with the canon we're told by the actual writer of the source material doesn't match up, which i was aware of and chose to retcon. it was designed and fitted to a personal interpretation of canon material i had been working on for years, and involved a lot of time and research and intense love for the era, the character, and the ways a story about being alone in a foreign country had intertwined with my own personal life. ever since i wrote it, i assumed that the one or two people who had used it with credit were the only ones who had, and because they had honoured my request i was honestly completely thrilled. i still am that those fics exist. that's because it was collaborative.

i want to be clear: nothing about the situation as it stands has been collaborative. a writer being the last to know about the commonality of their own idea in a small fandom is not collaborative. and while it might not bother everyone, it's bothered me to the point i've had serious consideration for several days about whether i should walk away from the fandom.

but ilgaksu, surely you should be flattered that people liked the idea so much?

yes. this was never about the use of the idea. it's about the way this idea has been isolated and used with an assumption that i would have no interest in knowing, or that i would even need to know. i'm not sure what has caused this - whether the persona element of my work has led people to believe i would not have any emotions about finding this out, but i am not, actually, a persona. i am the person who uses it. and as the person who uses it, this is how it felt to find this out. it felt, and still feels uncomfortable, hurtful and isolating to find out your idea has been so beloved but that nobody considered whether you would like to know. it feels like the collaborative element of fandom has been severed from you, specifically, and that your fanwork has been treated as entirely other from you as a fan. i hope nobody else making work feels like this, and i've been told this situation is so strange as to ensure that's hopefully not the case, but i think this is an ongoing issue more widely - the idea that writers are separate from fan culture, and their works are products as opposed to the shared results of a hobby.

do i think this was deliberate? not at all. do i think this was intended to be hurtful? not even in the slightest. but i want to be clear how personal this feels.

i don't have an answer for this situation. the cat is out of the bag, ilgaksu knows about the fanon, and hei xiazi is, despite all canon, going to medical school in 1920s germany. expressing my discomfort with how this has gone down feels important to me anyway, and it's also important to me that i do it in this very detailed way so that people who were unaware do not feel personally at fault, or feel like by me expressing this i am taking this idea back from them. i always wanted this idea to be loved and to be shared.

i also always hoped this idea would find people who wanted and needed a story about someone a long way from home following an ambition, and how much fear and hope and desire goes into the decision to do something like that, and what it means to be a disabled person in a foreign country, and what it means to be queer in a foreign country, and overall what it means to be a stranger in a strange land. i want to be clear that while i wrote this for me, i also wrote it for everyone who has also lived that. i want my work to feel like someone is holding your hand, not that they're at a distance and disregarding you, the reader, and the relationship we have together during the time you read my work.

i hope in future that if you use my headcanons and are aware of that being the case, you let me know. i don't have to read the work itself if you find that intimidating. i will not go out of my way to find it. whatever you've done with the idea, i will fundamentally see it as a compliment and evidence of an exchange between us as a fandom. but i want to know because otherwise, all i see is you taking something i loved and wanted to share and enjoying it with a door firmly shut between us. i am too old to care if i'm not invited to a party, but if the party is themed around a concept i put so much thought and love - for the source material, the people who were going to read it and myself - i can't help but care. it's hard to feel like a vending machine, even if the process of making the fic is so joyful for me that i won't stop until the joy is gone. it hasn't gone yet, but this week it's been dented a bit.

anyway - if you got to the end of this, thank you. please be considerate of how much this has taken for me to express, regardless of your own feelings on it, and how unusual it is for me to make a post that is able to be shared. if you use the idea in future, you do so with my blessing, which was always there. if you want primary sources, places to start, or anything like that - fashion, language, visuals - i want to be clear you can ask me and i will be beyond thrilled to help. i always have been and i'm concerned that because of this that hasn't been clear. but i also feel like if i don't state this experience in this way at this time, and how it was experienced by me, odds are i will now forever look over my shoulder and wonder if this will happen again, and i love writing for this fandom so much that i will not allow something like that to dim that love. i know you love these characters so much too - it's why you're here. i actually used to make a lot more meta posts like this, about fan culture, and i've been considering if i will again - just less personal and less anxiety-inducing to post next time. until and beyond then, i just hope we can all consider things like this in future - that i can treat you with the same grace - and understand the pressures and anxieties of writers in fandom at this point in time especially. a lot of us have hearts far more made of glass about the things we love, like our work, than can be immediately apparent.

anyway, i'm going back into hiding now.

your friendly local cryptid fanwriter,

ao3 user ilgaksu <3

[creamiesstoryconer]

Yandere Harpy x Reader Part 1

Chance Encounter

I ended up rewriting this whole chapter and reusing some of the content from the teaser I am so sorry!

This is my OC I'll probably post some more info about him at a later date and some world building stuff!

Word count: 1.5K

Total reading length: 12+ Minutes

Requests:Open!

TW:Blood and fighting

Baskets woven of fresh twine and twig, sitting on the soft palate of green crumpled underneath its own weight. Stacked high with the long forgotten labours of yesterday, fruits stained with the dew of early sun and ripened with the bitter winds of the night. 

Air crisp, smoking as you exhale, the condensate rising - dancing as it allows itself to be carried away by the senseless wind of the day. Gentle nipping of one's flesh, all warm bodies fall victim to the spring morn.

Haze settled in the distance, creating a golden sea that is bound to the floor. Almost a pure white light within the sky paints an ombre from deep greys and sea blues to a dusty hue.

Gravel path under foot, leading to rustic wall a deteriorating fence, scrapes and rolls each step taken. Tiny pebble tumbling down path, momentum faster than you can keep up with. A gentle smile nestled snugly upon your face. 

The start of spring, a true new year here. 

Following small path embed into ground, leading to a  patch of heaven. Plot of land, on the edge of the garden packed with love. Vibrant colours embraced alongside one another, roots embed into soft browns, out of sight yet still make themselves known. 

The scent as one passes by is catched in the breeze, pine that mutes the undertones of lavender. A refreshing scent against the early damp morning air.

Finger brush against aged wood, a gate whom had lived many a storm, shown upon the peeling of its face Overgrowth of ivy that had cast its grip upon the barrier. Ridges in the warping material cling to the moist air, the faint feeling lingers upon your skin as you pass yourself through. 

Into the arching corridor of nature that leads to the woods,  a path that is no longer rock, nor even dried mud. A long neglected walkway that mother earth had taken back for herself, tall grass flattened, a trace that you had been here just days ago. 

Trees hand in hand enclose the pathway, a canopy of dampened greens blocking out the sea of light that lay just above this seemingly separate part of the world.

Isolated and almost silent, it seems that time has grown stagnant. Further foot trod into the canopy walk, the gentle russell of leaves brushing against each other. The first songs of birds drowned out what little was not natural to mother Earth herself. High chirps and low croaks of frogs that called home to the rushing river just out of sight.

Flickering breaks in thick trunks that stud tall and proud, give opening to a flash of water that follows down hill. Cold clashes against stones that  leaves speckled clear upon plants that rooted themselves in the sloping waters. 

The natural web of nature, adhering to the splashes left by the waters. The transparent pearls that adorn exquisitely plumped ropes. glimpses of sunlight peeking through the thick foliage, its warm, golden light illuminating everything underneath.

Further onto ground you continue, colours finally spring to life, a refreshing taste to the repetitive greens and browns that had painted the day so far. Bunches of flowers finally make the canopy walk look bright, overhead gaps finally form allowing for break from dampened light.

A bit further up the overgrown trail you are familiar with, an annual springtime ritual. To make a sacrifice, to hope for world harmony, to continue a titration you have become tired of. Children should not be terrified of the customs and stories of the elderly; they are nothing more than fairy tales. 

At the opening's edge, feet stiffened as the deep green canopy of the trees gave way to a torrent of gold. Warm on the skin and a striking contrast to the morning breeze, the honey-coloured light completely engulfs the clearing. 

A few seconds it takes for your eyes to adjust. To be able to see a sea Of Clashing colours festival seemingly brought together by nature.Clashing smells of floral fight to enveloppe your nostrils. 

 Blues and pinks cramped by one another, twisting and fighting, reaching for the sea of light that washed over the bed of natural beauty. Delicate petals, untouched, pure.  Embodiment of times untouching hands where humans are not. 

Though at the moment feet had frozen, they had begun to move once more. The harsh cut out in the sea of purity, a feeling that causes legs to move upon their own.

A splatter of ugly red, tainting once faultless blossoms. A mark of impurity of ingrace. 

Flattening of the flower bed, a sin upon Mother Nature's Beauty, ones core told them to investigate. 

Your steps are cloaked by the cushion on greens and vibrance, Edging closer and closer to the flat  patch. In the air a metallic stench rises, the rusted colour of crimson upon translucent petals morphs from speckles to harsh thrashes. 

A trail leading to it…

Eyes glancing upon it, at first tanned skin, human. Deeply kissed by the sun, broad chest heaving. His warm breath clashing with frigid air that still plagued the thicket, a gutterel  wiring escaping from his body. 

A lingering look for too long, the source of what defiled the flowers around the laid body. A piercing arrow, through his shoulder. It’s deep oak and shaft crowned with it’s flesh wound. 

As if second nature, your fingertips reached forward, to aid or  to provide comfort you do not know. Softened Digits that grazed upon taunt skin, one exposed to the elements seemingly for a lifetime. 

Gaze focused upon the stranger's face for a reaction, though his features obscured by a mess of locks, a mixture of braids and tatters.

Then a hint of gold made itself  known through the nest of chestnut that hid most of the beings' identifying features. 

Time is still for only that moment. Only for a moment …

A blur and a impact,

The faint memory of something sharp around your waist before a harsh impact to one's back.

The coarse texture of dried bark entangled in once soft locks of hair. Throbbing, building a deafening silence is what over stimulates the nerves. Soothing warmth trickling down your neck, tracing itself past your crook. Allowing for a bud of red to flow and root itself onto once pristine white clothing. Now defiled with browns and quickly darkening crimsons. 

The rising of your chest like hard labour, air having been stolen from your lungs. Hoarse gasps replace a steady rhythm that was once there. Drying your mouth as a once cared for body folds in upon itself. 

Ringing in your ears causes one's head to spin. To not focus is to not be able to see. 

Blurs of greens, a blue perhaps the sky. Golden shines for a moment. Then the sight of flesh. 

Flesh unclothed, blotches of maroon identifiable upon the sun kissed skin. A guttural scream escapes your lips, ripping through your vocal cords, straining already fatigued muscle despite no fight being given. 

Cheeks, red as puffed eyes strained to stay open, salty water - your own tears-  sullying your face. Teeth bared as saliva bubbles and leaks from the corner of your mouth.  Instinct forces your disorientated body to stay awake.

Fingers tangled within a sickenly soft plumage of feathers. Almost comforting to touch under dirt stuffed nails.

Air that was once almost refreshing to the lungs now reeks of desperation and fear. Tawng of metallic lingering, your own blood that was long dried and flaking. A dried river of rusty colour liquid fashioned from your own wound, wrapping around your neck like a macabre necklace. 

It’s animalistic eyes boaring into you, pupils blown to unnatural size. Tilting its head, forcing itself to envelope your sight. It’s chest rumbling, trilling… studying.

Hands still entangled with the red feathers, weakened digits clasp desperately. Unable to keep your head straight for much longer, a final fight escapes your limps. Harsh, violent yanking down upon plumage in hand. 

Pure red decorating your hands and the floor below. Feathers flown, taken from the scene of pure instinct by the gentle winds.

Ringing in your ears accompanied with an unworldly screech, piercing a cry that would shatter one's heart .

 All within a moment a peaceful day ended with your hands painted in red , head once again snapped into wood. Before the shuddering that was your world goes black within a moment. 

Yet body still feels the dragging across the field of mother earth's patch of hidden gold.