#okay that might be a bit of a stretch but I CONNECTED THE DOTS

[kindlythevoid]

I agree. It might be more fae than damned but I feel like it could still work, especially since they need permission, so the clause could negate the explicit permission said by the welcome mat. I totally forgot about Dracula's insurance though, you're so right. XD

Guys, guys, look, guys, I know that Dracula is terrible. But I unironically want to start greeting people with his "Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring!". I want to find a sign that says this and hang it on my front door. I need to incorporate this in my every day speech. I'm 65% of the way to making it my lock screen on my phone. I am actively adding it to my blog as we speak. This is by far my favorite line of the whole book. I just.

[moonstruckme]

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

lovely weather for a bonfire tonight!! congrats on 5k you beautiful beautiful writer 🫶🏼🫶🏼

can i please get forced proximity with remus 🤭

Thanks for requesting gorgeous!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 874 words

You look up at the sound of movement in the stacks, and you groan when you connect the dots. 

“You’re joking.” 

Remus lifts his brows as slides into the seat across from you, the scar next to his eye stretching with the movement. “You look surprised to see me.” 

“Slughorn told me he’d ‘connect me’ with a tutor.” You roll your eyes, dragging your thumb and forefinger over the feather of your quill so it ruffles. “He didn’t tell me it’d be one of Gryffindor’s golden boys.” 

“He might have suspected you wouldn’t accept the help.” You scoff but don’t deny it, and Remus starts taking books out of his bag, one amber eye on you. “I’m a bit surprised you need tutoring, to be honest.” 

“I barely do,” you say, hating how petulant the lie sounds as soon as it’s out of your mouth. “I just like to stay on top of things. Don’t want to fall behind.” 

He hums, a soft curl to his bottom lip as he sets his books down on the wooden table. “Suppose that’s how you’ve always stayed right on my heels.” 

“I’m going to pass you in charms this year,” you reply reflexively. Then heat rises to your face, because you very well might, but Remus will likely pass you in potions. Though the two of you have been nearly neck-and-neck for marks since you got to Hogwarts, you’ve always been better than him in potions, at least until now. 

Remus must see the shift in your mood. His posture changes, and you hate the gentleness of his tone when he says, “You probably will. So, what are we working on?” 

You huff out a breath. “Um, I’m supposed to be brewing an antidote to this poison Slughorn gave me.” 

“Okay, and what’s the problem?”

You glare at him, but Remus only looks at you steadily. “I don’t know what the poison is, much less how to find the antidote. I’ve memorized every poison in our textbook, and it doesn’t seem like any of them.” 

“It may not be in the book,” he says, voice lower and far less sharp than yours. “Do you have it with you?” 

You dig in your bag, retrieving the small vial of liquid. It’s clear but thick, a sludge that sticks to the edges of the glass when you try to swirl it. Remus takes it from you. 

“It’s not about knowing what the poison is so much as what’s in it.” He removes the stopper, sniffing tentatively at the semi-liquid stuff inside. “Once you can figure out some of the key ingredients, you can use other ingredients to nullify those in your antidote.” He holds it out a few inches from your nose. “Smell.” 

You lean directly over it and breathe in, and instantly, instinctively, recoil back into your seat. You feel your face scrunch up, throat convulsing in a gag. 

“Fuck,” you choke out, “is that how it kills you?” 

Remus chuckles, and the sound tickles down your spine like a grazing touch. 

“You did that on purpose,” you accuse. 

“It wasn’t on purpose, but it was entertaining.” 

“Dick.” 

He grins. It’s an effort not to return it. “How did it smell?” 

“Rank. As if you don’t know.” 

Remus’ grin worsens. “I mean what did it smell like, love.” 

“Oh.” You ignore the way your heart stutters at the endearment, slipped in at the end of his statement like it’s automatic. “Um, kinda like piss? But mustier.” 

“Good.” Your tutor’s voice is coaxing. He leans his elbows on the table, his eyes on yours. “What common ingredient in poisons does that remind you of?” 

The realization must show on your face, because Remus’ lips twist upwards before you even speak. “Hemlock,” you breathe. 

“There you are,” he says, nearly as quietly. “And what is the easiest ingredient to counteract hemlock with?” 

“Bezoar.” You tilt your head back, covering your face with your hands. Remus laughs again, and you hear him stoppering the vial. “I can’t believe I’ve spent all week agonizing over this, and it was that simple. I just need to make a potion with bezoar?” 

“And preferably a few other things to counteract the less fatal side effects, but yeah.” You lower your hands and Remus is giving you a knowing look, almost proud, as he passes you back the vial. “See, you managed it.” 

“Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. 

“I think you’re getting too in your head about needing to memorize everything,” he says, propping his chin on a hand. And he looks nice like this. Boyish, like someone you could honestly enjoy talking to. His hair pushes up above his ear. “You’re a hard worker, but you need to give yourself some credit for your intuition, too. You knew what the poison was once you let yourself think about it, you were just too focused on the facts to get there without help.” 

“You shouldn’t be telling me this.” You feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m just going to use the knowledge to beat you out in potions and everything else, you know. Being nice to me doesn’t get you a free pass.” 

Remus’ eyes crackle with challenge. “Wouldn’t expect any different.”

[the-kr8tor]

HIIIIIIIII SWEETHEART I LOVE YOUR WRITIN STYLE EVERY FANFIC I READ FELT SO NATURAL AND REAL!!! 💗💗💗 was thinkin, could you write a hobie fic how would He react to y/n dyeing their hair I just recently dyed ma hair and had this idea in the back of ma head, HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY OR NIGHT, LOVE 💗 YOU AND ADMIRE YOUR WORK💗💗💗😊😊😊

Thank you hun! You're so sweet, I'm glad you like my fics ❤️ hope you like it! Thank you for requesting!!!

Hobie Brown x gn! Reader

Mention of injury, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie wakes up groaning, he instinctively lays his hand on your side of the bed, trying to find your warmth. He finds your pillow cold, fighting to keep his eyes open, Hobie blinks away sleep. Craning his creaking neck, he glanced at the clock– 1:00 pm.

"Ah, fuck" he moves his aching legs off the bed, the fight with mysterio last night left him worse for wear. Hobie sits on the edge of the bed, contemplating whether or not it's worth getting out of bed today.

He stretches his back, arms wide, Hobie yawns loudly enough to get your attention. He waits for your sweet voice to ask him if he's okay, but the whole flat is dead silent.

He raises his brow, "lovey?" Hobie calls out.

Hobie stands up, wobbling a bit on shaky legs. Maybe you're in the living room? He comes out of the bedroom, roaming his eyes to find your familiar form. It's the weekend, why aren't you home?

His anxiety gets the best of him, mind jumping to conclusions, they're not all good.

"Love?" He calls out again, a bit desperate this time. Hobie scratches his neck, maybe you're in the bathroom?

He heads towards the bathroom door, knocking tentatively "oi you in there?" He knocks twice, thrice, but no one answers.

Hobie wiggles the doorknob, he finds it unlocked, opening it slowly, in case you don't want to be disturbed. "You decent?" His voice echoes out in the tiled room.

Hobie's eyes widened at the red-stained tub, crimson splotches covered the once white bathtub. His heart stops, where are you? Who hurt you? Is this the work of mysterio–

A hand touches his shoulder, waking him up from his daze. His spidey senses betraying him, he slightly jumps at the contact.

"You okay, Hobie?" You ask him, slowly turning him around to face you.

He takes note of your hair in a towel, the white cloth stained pink, where it's closest to your hair. Your hand, and fingernails stained, like you've been trying to scrub it off, but gave up halfway.

He connects the dots, a sigh of relief escapes him.

"Yeah, 'm fine" Hobie tries to put his forehead against yours, but you stop him with your palm, shielding him.

"You might get it on you" you smile, apologetically.

"Right, where were you?" He pulls away, opting to hold your waist instead, Hobie rubs circles on your hips, effectively grounding him.

"I borrowed a hairdryer from the neighbor's" you show it to him, "mine fizzled out for some reason. You missed me?"

"No," he pinches your nose teasingly, you pout at his answer "I'll fix your old one for you, can I see?" Hobie tugs at the towel on your head.

You still pout at him, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, feigning sadness.

"Fine," he rolls his eyes "I missed you, now may I see your hair?"

"Only because you asked nicely" you change your pout to a smirk rather quickly.

Tugging off the towel, you let your hair breathe, the bright cherry red color a stark difference to your natural hair color.

Hobie whistles "Goddamn, look at you, lookin' like a proper punk!" He cups your jaw with both hands, moving your head from side to side. "Hmm, you missed a spot" he points out.

"What? Where?!" You rush to the mirror, trying to find the spot you didn't color in.

"Right, here" he pokes the side of your head.

When you turn to look at him, so you could ask him to show it to you, Hobie leans towards you, crashing his lips to yours, stopping you mid-turn.

You smile into the kiss, Hobie grabs a handful of your newly colored hair, ignoring that it might stain his hand so he can pull you closer, deepening the kiss. You hug his torso, stabilizing yourself as your legs wobble.

Oh, he definitely likes your new hair color.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

I definitely didn't base this when I colored my hair red, once lol. I made the description of the hair as vague as possible, hope it worked well.

Thank you for reading! Consider reblogging if you enjoyed ❤️❤️❤️

[28whitepeonies]

Xander's dad had a friend who was a photographer and he ran a blog called Philly Chats. It was partly about Philly in general but he would also post a lot about Harry and Xander. He posted photos of them together, or Harry out and about in Philly, and sightings. He had an instagram page too and answered fans on it. He never said that they were in a relationship but imo he talked in a way that suggested they were like mentioning romantic dates, sleepovers, meeting parents, sharing clothes, jewelry etc. He wasn't the only one who did this because there were several others connected to Xander who also pushed the Xarry thing including his brother Max. So that is what made me think it was fan service because for what other reason would they do that? Unless they were looking for attention from Harry's fans and went about it in a creative way lol. I understand why Brad wiped his IG but not why most of his instastories are about Harry. Like clockwork, he posts a pic at a location and then we get pics the next day of Harry having been there. So now fans have connected the dots that Harry is everywhere Brad is. Other things like sharing clothes. The yacht pics of them in Australia. The backstage Brits pic where Brad was beside Harry but the rest of his team were at the back. The matching tattoos which the media brings up. Fan vids of Harry with Brad in the background, fan accounts of meeting Harry and Brad being there too. Pap pics, sneaky fan pics. I really doubt Harry and Brad are together all the time so why do they make it seem like it? Again, I don't think they're in a relationship but I thought maybe it was to keep fans speculating. But I 100% agree with you that they panicked when the tabloids picked it up. After that we didn't see Brad for like a week. But now we're seeing him again and the media does tend to post fan chatter. So I'm curious how they're going to manage this lol. Maybe they'll have Brad post a pic with a girlfriend, it's probably the only way. Sorry this is so long but am interested in your thoughts!

Okay I think maybe the issue here is just a fundamental difference in how we look at celebs and relationships.

My starting point generally when it comes to friends/family of celebs is this - people share about all sorts of parts of their lives and that might include their famous friends. I’m not sure how useful it is to get into specifics but let’s imagine that I was right and Brad doesn’t want to share his personal life now that he is under more fan scrutiny but he does like to share bits of his life on social media, especially if he’s doing a job that’s interesting/fun/prolific - why would there have to be a wider agenda? Maybe staff on LOT are encouraged to post about the tour also? I’ve worked in jobs where a social media presence has been encouraged and in jobs where it’s highly restricted.

Some of this I just don’t agree with also, like the matching tattoos thing I think is a bit mad to try and make work, sharing clothes like don’t you share clothes with your friends? My pal was here for the weekend and wore my hoodie out for the day, we’re not dating.

You said you really doubt that Harry and Brad are together all the time, but I don’t think that’s up for debate here bc I agree, I do think that they’re together a lot while Harry is on tour. There could be many reasons for it - I do think him being someone Harry enjoys being around or is doing his job is a valid enough option.

I’m also not familiar enough with the Philly chats content to comment on how things were framed, you can defo send me some if you have it, but I’m pretty confident in what my position will be.

I think Philly Chats was maybe trying to raise its profile by maximising the connections he had. I also think it’s a bit of a stretch to think that Xanders dad’s friend who runs a public blog would be posting about his friends son’s famous boyfriend or would even know about any relationship they had beyond ‘they know eachother’.

I’m not sure I think they need to do anything else just now - I think the bradrry rumours have died down a bit. I also don’t think it’s likely at all that Brad having a girlfriend would be related to this, the issue is not Brad but speculation about Harry’s sexuality - the obvious response would be for Harry to continue to perform heterosexuality.

[evispunk]

QUIET

a/n: if the name 'mila' snuck in here at any point lmk bc i went through 1 too many name changes summary: After the party, the Fantastic Five and their friends make it back to the girls' apartment where Ethan musters up the courage to ask Camille out on a date. warnings: cringe, barely edited writing, pepsi lover wc: 2320

CHAD TURNED THE TV volume down a couple of notches as Cami had been napping on the girls' couch, still slightly tipsy and exhausted. She didn't want to sleep alone in her dorm due to her being drunk, so she ended up deciding to sleep over at Tara's place. Now, she was wearing her pajamas from earlier along with her fuzzy lined Crocs and Chad's Varsity jacket overtop so she didn't freeze.

"The coroners have confirmed that the two young men found inside of their apartment were found dead." they announced into their microphone, flashing red and blue lights behind them. Camille shuffled from her spot on the couch, stretching out from the fetal position she was in. Ultimately, she fell back asleep and retracted back into her fetal position, pulling Chad's jacket over her face just below her nose.

"Hey, you guys might want to get your asses in here and check this out!" Chad called out to the rest of their friends who were in the other room and he banged on Quinn's door a bit.

"Their names have just been released: Jason Carvey and Greg-"

"Jason Carvey?" Camille mumbled from the couch, "That's the creepy dude I always see when I'm on my way to Art History."

"Holy shit, that's the chode from our film class." Mindy declared, pausing before looking at the girl in front of her. "When did you wake up?" she poked Cami's shoulder.

"I didn't. Goodnight."

"Also found at the crime scene were various Ghostface costumes - the character popularized by the Stab movie franchise." that was all it took for Camille to shoot up, pushing her curly, faded black hair behind her ears. Most everyone's blood ran cold as they all stared in silence, watching the TV for any more information.

Sam, of course, was already running around the apartment and concocting.

"Pack a bag, both of you. We leave in ten-"

"OMG, why can't we just live in peace?" Camille groaned.

"We've got to get out of this city."

"Namaste." she said, bringing her hands into a prayer position and sitting criss-cross. Everyone looked away from her, clearly not amused and she rolled her eyes in return. "Fucking Ghostface ass ugly ass murdering ass bitch." she muttered to herself, biting on her nails as she walked into the kitchen.

"Sam! You can't be serious! Look, this- this may not have anything to do with us!" she heard the rest of the conversation as they came back into earshot.

"Okay, really? You believe that?" Camille scoffed, annoyed with the shorter girl.

"It might not, okay?! They could just be some fanatics that don't actually give a shit about the past and just want to go kill someone while in a Ghostface mask."

"It's really not that hard to connect the dots, Tara. They were killed! Someone clearly didn't want them to become Ghostface before they had the chance. Okay, someone else is out there, Tara, and they're going to come after us next. It's your decision whether to believe it or not, but we both know what the right choice is." she finished, biting into a PopTart.

"It's a big city, it's Halloween-"

"Tara! It's not a coincidence! We both knew him, and now he's dead!"

"Barely."

"Chad, Mindy, back us up." Sam intervened, growing frustrated and tired. Chad turned to face them, shrugging.

"It is a little bit-"

"Close to home." his twin finished from across the room. Sam nodded, as if to say 'I told you so'.

"Okay, uh- Quinn, your dad's a cop, right?" Camille continued, and Quinn nodded. "Can you call him and try to find out what's going on?

"Yeah, before we make the decision to give up my whole college experience and flee the fucking state? Again." Tara eyed Sam, and the redhead pulled her phone out of her pocket.

"I'm calling him now." she put her phone up to her ear when suddenly, Sam's phone began to ring. They all jumped, and Cami bumped into Ethan who had walked up behind her. She mumbled a quick apology and he shrugged it off. Sam slowly walked over to her phone as the rest of them stood silent.

"Who is it?" Tara asked, attempting to see the Caller ID.

"It was just Gale," she let out a sigh of relief, and most everyone else did too.

"Yeah, that was bad timing on her part." the tall black-haired girl said, pinching her bridge.

"Why did everyone just freak out when her phone rang?" Ethan asked from beside her, looking around in confusion. She turned to face him directly, and hit him in the head.

"Hello? Stupidity leak!"

"You gotta keep up, my dude." Anika sighed, slightly rolling her eyes.

"I'm going to the bathroom." Camille sighed, walking to use the bathroom. Once she walked in and closed the door, she ran a brush through her hair and pulled it back with a claw clip. She the turned the sink on, splashing cold water over her puffy face.

She took a deep breath, hoping this was all just a coincidence and it would be over soon- or, maybe this was all a fucked up dream and she would wake up in a matter of a few minutes. Though, subconsciously, she knew it wasn't. Ghostface was back, and this one was just going to be even smarter than Amber and Richie and all of the other ones before him.

She dried her face off and stepped out of the bathroom. Everyone else had scattered and she caught Ethan's eye.

"Hey," he pulled a tight lipped grin for a second.

"Hey. Where did everybody go?"

"Sam had to go down to the police station. They found her driver's license next to the bodies."

"Wait, seriously?" he nodded. "Shit. Do they think she did it?"

"I don't know. All of those rumors online..."

"I don't wanna talk about it." she pushed one of her curtain bangs behind her ear, but it came back down to her face as it was too short. Ethan and Chad shared a couple of glances before the jock urged him to do whatever they had seemingly talked about. This went unnoticed to Camille.

"Hey, Camille, um." he began, looking at the girl next to him as she glanced up at him.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my dorm tonight and- and watch a movie, maybe?" he finally asked and she looked at him with a smile.

"Like a date?"

"Uh, no. Or yeah. Whatever you want it to be."

"It doesn't matter what I want, it's what you asked. Come on, is it a date or no?" he looked at Chad, who nodded less subtly than he had probably intended.

"Yes- yeah. It's a date." he nodded.

"Perfect. What should I wear?"

"Just something comfortable. I guess come over around... ten?" he replied and she nodded. Cami got up, pecked his cheek whilst cupping his other one, and left to go to her apartment just down the hall from Tara, Sam, and Quinn's. He smelled her coconut perfume for the rest of the day.

Camille had Chad come pick her up so she didn't have to walk to their dorm alone, especially now that there's a chance a new Ghostface was lingering amongst them. She had ended up wearing a large, faded navy blue crewneck and oversized black sweat shorts. Her hair was still in the same claw clip from earlier that day when Ethan had originally asked her on this date. Her mini Bailey Bow Uggs kept her feet warm alongside her black fuzzy socks.

"Dude," Chad laughed. "He was so fucking scared. I think he's had a crush on you since we all first met."

"Stop it, you're being mean." she laughed too, walking side by side with him. It was cute, and she thought he was too.

"Just don't hurt him, okay? He looks fragile. Like- like if you opened the sunroof on a windy day he would fly right out the car." he replied, the sentence almost not making it out of him before they both doubled over.

"That's terrible and you're going to Hell."

"Okay, whatever. Have fun with your nerd." he said, closing the door behind her as she walked into their dorm, leaving her alone in a room with a nervous Ethan. She let her eyes drag down his lanky frame, taking in what he was wearing. Large, grey sweatpants and a black long sleeve.

His side of the room wasn't all that nerdy, just a few posters here and there, some clothes on the floor - but his bed was kept and his desk was organized.

"I like it in here, Ethan. It's very clean- unusual for a college guy."

"Oh, thanks," he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as she took a seat on his bed. "Uh, what movie did you want to watch?" he asked and she was surprised for a split second. She had assumed he had some sort of nerdy action movie picked out, but she liked he was letting her pick.

"Have you ever seen Coraline?" she queried, patting the spot next to her and she slid under the covers. He shook his head, and made a face that led her to explain. "You know, The Other Mother. It's kind of weird, but I love it."

"Then let's watch it. I'm going to go grab the popcorn. Do you, um, want a drink?"

"Sprite if you have it, please?" he sent her a thumbs up, and left the room. Camille pulled out her phone, and texted Mindy.

camimi: omg

im at ethans rn

he asked me out earlier

loml mindy: NO WAY

I didn't think he had the balls

camimi: u knew ?

loml mindy: Yeah

Chad told me he talked to him abt u

I have a professional wingman for a brother

camimi: i think he's cute

smash

loml mindy: Gross

Anyways update me laterrrr

Ethan came back to the bed with one big bowl of popcorn in his arms and the sodas in his hands.

"Pepsi?" she asked, taking the Sprite from him.

"What's wrong with Pepsi?" he debated.

"Um, okay, probably everything. Sprite is so much better!" Camille defended.

"It's basic." he said, and her jaw dropped in cinematic shock.

"I can not believe you just said that."

"Well, fun fact for you, Pepsi and Coke taste the same if you drink Pepsi cold and Coke warm."

"That is the nerdiest thing I've ever heard you say."

Continuing their banter, Ethan grabbed his TV remote, clicking to Prime Video. The two quieted down now that the movie was starting, and he turned off the lights.

"This movie's great, you're gonna love it." she smiled, throwing a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth.

About an hour into the movie, Camille ended up falling asleep against the curly-headed boy and Ethan found himself blinking and breathing manually. He had never really hung out with a girl alone before, and now he had his arm wrapped around one that was cuddled up against him. Chad knocked on the door, then opened it a few seconds later.

"Hey, bro, how's it g-"

"Shut up!" he whisper-yelled at his roommate.

"Ohh, shit! My man gettin' hoes!"

"Don't call her a hoe, Chad."

"Okay, whatever, my bad. But, see, I told you! You're a snack."

"Go away." Chad held up his hands in defense, nodded once, and shut the door quietly, heading back to his friends' dorm. Soon enough, Ethan fell asleep too.

The next morning, Camille woke up to a bright sunlit room and a light snore coming from beside her. She looked up, and saw Ethan propped up against the headboard, sound asleep. She also followed his arm and found it wrapped around her side as she moved a bit closer to him. She couldn't help but smile to herself. Ethan was cute, and he seemed like a good guy. He was a bit of a nerd, and nerd's don't usually do anything crazier than the occasional all-night study session.

Cami pulled her phone from her shorts pocket, and checked the time. 11:47 AM. She had already missed her first class of the day, so she decided it was best if she just stayed in bed. In hindsight, an 8:00 AM class wasn't the best decision she had ever made.

"Hey, Siri." she whispered. Siri responded with her signature noise, and she flinched. "Siri, be quiet. Call Mindy."

"Calling Mindy." her phone practically yelled back at her.

"I said be quiet!" she screeched in a whisper. The phone rang a couple of times before her best friend picked up.

"Hey, girl, what's up?"

"I'm at Chad and Ethan's right now, and I slept on Ethan."

"Don't you mean you slept with Ethan?"

"No, like, I fell asleep on him. We're cuddling, or whatever."

"AWW!"

"Be quiet! He is asleep!"

"Not for long, I think high-pitched screeching tends to awake people from their slumber."

"You're a dick, I'm hanging up on you.

"Love you!"

Camille threw her phone back down on the navy comforter, and laid her head on Ethan's chest. The peace and quiet ended a few minutes later when the boy beneath her suddenly stirred, and his hands flew to his eyes as he rubbed them.

"Oh, hey, good morning." he stretched his arms behind his head and arched his back with a yawn, causing Camille to sit up.

"Morning. Did you sleep okay?"

"How could I not?" he looked down at her.

"You sure gained a lot of confidence overnight." she smirked.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Is it bad?"

"No," she laughed. "I think it's cute, but you're even cuter when you're shy." Ethan only blushed. He was still his typical shy, nerdy self after all. "Come on, we should go get some coffee."

[five-bi-five-mind]

Maybe This Time (Pt. 3)

Fandom: Wonder Woman/DCEU

Pairings: Diana Prince (Wonder Woman) x fem!Reader

Words: 3.8k+

Summary: What comes next after your capture has you surprised. Is there hope? Will things truly be okay? Will you ever be safe again?

Genre: Angst, Hurt & Comfort, some light fluff

Warnings: Okay, there’s a bit more talks of violence in this. A lot of talks about burns and even death. I went into a little more detail on injures, but still it’s not like there’s gore.

Series Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4 ||

(gif not mine)

Part 3: Walls

“Up…” you heard a voice call in the distance. It was so faint, you could barely make out the words over the shrill ringing in your ears. “Come on… Have to…” The voice kept calling out. You tried, oh how you tried, to focus in, but your head felt like it was underwater. You weren’t entirely sure where you were, your body simultaneously felt like it was floating and like it was barely connected to your consciousness. Try as you might, you couldn’t even manage to crack your eyes open.

“Stand up!” The voice called louder, the agony in its tone finally shaking something within you.

All at once, the floating feeling disappeared and you were entirely too aware of your every nerve ending. Your body was shaking violently. You still couldn’t bear to open your eyes, but you knew now that you were laying on the ground, stretched on your stomach. Every intake of air felt like you were breathing in pure fire, your lungs felt like they were burning inside of you. Then you realized, from the smell in the air, you were breathing in thick, pungent smoke. The strength of its oder almost made you gag. And what really made your stomach churn was that, deep down, you knew it wasn’t just the smell of burning wood or burning metal even....

You managed to roll to your back, pain shooting through every part of your torso as you did. A coughing fit erupted from your lungs and with each excruciating squeeze of your chest, you wondered just how many of your ribs were broken. Your mind might’ve still been in a fog, but it didn’t take much awareness from you to know that you were seriously injured. Superhuman or not, it was going to take a minute to completely bounce back from this, even with your healing ability.

Finally, after what felt like ages, you were able to push through some of the haze that filled your mind to crack your eyes open. The sun was bright, blinding. In the back of your mind, the last memory you had was of nighttime. So how long had you been laying there? It felt like there was a wall, and your mind refused to surpass it to access the memories. You turned your head to shield your eyes from the sun and that’s when your heart stopped.

Surrounding you was pure destruction, bathed in flames. Your eyes scanned your surroundings and you realized you were laying in the dirt on the side of the road, in what seemed like the absolute middle of nowhere. Military vans were strewn across the road, on the side of the road, in the distance, most of which were on fire or not in one piece or both. What was worse was the bodies. Your stomach lurched and you finally realized what that smell was. Charred forms of men were scattered throughout the wreckage and from what was left of them you could tell they were uniformed.

Tearing your eyes from the horrors around you, you decided you had to get up. But when you moved your arms, you bit back a scream as pain shot through your system. You knew you had a couple of broken ribs, you could handle that. You also knew you had some bad cuts and bruises, that wasn’t anything new to you. Neither was this searing pain currently shooting through your limbs, but it had been a long time since it was this bad.

It took all of your will power to even want to see the state of your arms, but when you finally began to survey them, you began to connect the dots. Your arms were in bad shape. Third degree burns ran up from your fingertips all the way to your shoulders. The adrenaline that was preventing you from fully feeling the extent of your injuries was no longer present and, while your body might not be on fire anymore, it felt like every cell inside of you was. You also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you caused this destruction. This was on you. Your pain was caused by your powers, and as much as you tried you still couldn’t piece together what had happened yet.

“We have to go.” You almost forgot about the voice from earlier, the one that woke you from your floating feeling and brought you back to this hellish reality. Red and gold boots stopped right in front of you and you tried to focus on them, focus on the voice that barely hid its concern, but being so aware of your injuries had the fog threatening to yet again invade your mind.

You looked up and away from the wreckage and tried to focus again, but between the blazing sun and the fading of your vision, all you could make out was blurred colors of crimson and gold towering over your broken form. And then you were being hoisted up and you couldn’t help the pitiful cry of pain that broke from your lips when something brushed against your raw, barely healing skin. You heard what sounded like a curse from the voice of the one currently holding you, and you were then repositioned in a way where you were being cradled, yet purposefully held to avoid any more contact with your burnt flesh. And you both started moving. Moving fast. You were pretty sure your rescuer wasn’t even going on foot anymore, but you could no longer keep your eyes open, let alone hold your head up. The pain wasn’t subsiding. Your body was trying to heal itself, but it wasn’t going to just be that easy, even with your abilities.

Your head lulled back and as your eyes struggled to stay in focus, you saw through blurry vision, the flames that still raged on around you. In a small broken voice you managed to whisper “what have I done?” before surrendering to the fog clouding your mind. Your body went limp.

You woke up somewhere you didn’t recognize. To be in an unfamiliar setting was never a good sign for you. You started to jolt up, but a hand pressed flat to your shoulder stopped you from rising from the bed. Your head snapped to the side, alarmed that you didn’t even notice you weren’t alone, before completely relaxing when you saw who it was. Diana was sitting in a chair pulled up to the side of the bed. She looked exhausted. As if she hadn’t slept in days. She was scraped up too, but just barely. Different parts of her were littered with healing cuts and fading bruises.

“Stay resting,” her voice was hoarse, filled with emotion that you couldn’t place.

“How long have I been asleep?” Your mind flashed to the last memory you had. Your scorched arms, your back pressed against rough pavement in the middle of nowhere with the smell of burnt flesh filling your lungs. Your arms didn’t feel injured though, in fact you weren’t really in much pain at all. That must mean you’ve been out for quite a few days.

“A while.” You caught the way her jaw clenched as she said those two words. It didn’t take much deduction to realize she must have been worried sick about you.

You both stayed silent for a moment. She gently guided you to fully lay back on the bed and you allowed her to, but kept your eyes on her the whole time. There was something going on with her, but you couldn’t tell what. Diana put up a lot of walls, but she was starting to take them down with you. However, right now, you could tell she was trying to put on that strong, stoic expression she wore when she tried to play the part of Diana Prince hero to the world, but she was failing miserably. There was sadness behind those eyes and fear. You may have been the one barely clinging to life not too long ago, but she seemed to be the more fragile one in the room. She looked so… small. You wondered how long it had actually been since she left your side. She had to have slept a little right? Considering you were pretty healed from your wounds you would’ve been out for days, maybe weeks. You seemed well cared for, you peaked the IV in your arm, she must’ve known how to take care of you properly and did just that. But even so, looking at her, you had a sneaking suspicion she barely left that chair. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if she even slept in it next to you rather than opting to leave your side.

Slowly and with great hesitation, you reached for the hand that rested in her lap, placing your palm over hers. Eyes locked to where your hand was now laying upon hers, she didn’t look back to meet your eyes as you finally whispered the question you were dreading since you woke up. “What happened?”

“You tell me,” was all she said. It wasn’t hostile, her tone wasn’t accusatory. It was a genuine request and that caused you to tilt your head in confusion. Wasn’t she there? Wasn’t she the one that scooped you off the side of the road from all of the wreckage? How does she not know what happened?

“I don’t remember,” you admitted. “I remember being attacked and then I remember waking up on the side of the road and you rescuing me.”

“I didn’t rescue you,” her jaw clenched as she spoke. She looked at anything but you as she said that. It was obvious she felt immense guilt, you just didn’t understand why.

“I know it was you who picked me up,” you insisted. You remember her strong arms, you remember her holding you to her chest before you blacked out again. If there was anything you’d recognize in this world, it would be Diana. The woman you’re most familiar with than anyone in your many years of fleeing. Even if you were in a haze, even if all you could make out were blurred shapes and colors as she pulled you into her strong embrace. You felt her presence the moment she’d walk into a room, even with your back to her. So, how could you be mistaken?

“I found you like that.” She shook her head and took a breath, grounding herself before continuing. “I found you half alive in the middle of nowhere, (Y/N).” Her voice was filled with such anger. You knew it wasn’t directed towards you, but herself and you hated that fact. “I did not rescue you, I was almost too late.”

Pushing her chair back with a bit too much force, Diana stood up to turn her whole body away from you. With her back to you, you watched the rise and fall of her shoulders as she tried to collect herself. Her head hung low as she took deep, ragged breaths.

“I don’t understand,” you pleaded.

After a beat, Diana turned back to you, this time sitting on the side of the bed, next to where you still lay. “Is there any detail you can recall? About the people who took you? Faces? Names? Anything they said?” Her voice was level, but you could hear a hint of desperation in it.

So you were captured. A flash of that night hit you like a ton of bricks. You saw her bloody and beaten on the asphalt, you felt the heavy hand dragging you away. If you could focus more maybe you could make out more details, but it was like the time between your capture and your liberation was blocked by a mental wall. The more you pushed through it the worse your head felt.

“No,” you sighed in frustration. “Nothing.”

Diana simply nodded, her jaw clenching as she yet again refused to make eye contact. Hesitantly, you reached for her hand yet again and she let you take it, but she still refused to look into your eyes, choosing instead to focus on where your fingers intertwined with her own. You still watched her face though, studying every single movement to pick up on her emotions. To give you any sort of hint at what was going on in her head.

“Why do I feel like there’s something else going on?” you whispered as you looked up at her.

There was a pause and an uncomfortable stillness filled the room as you watched Diana struggle with her inner turmoil right in front of you. The pain she was feeling was clear in the way her lips turned into a frown at your question and her eyes continued to shift to everything in the room but your face. You squirmed where you lay next to her, your anxiety growing as you waited for her response and after a minute she took a deep breath and spoke.

“I can’t go through this again,” she sounded so defeated as she spoke. “I won’t.”

“Go through what?” She mentioned loss before, you knew it broke her, you knew she was still healing. The patterns she always displayed with you, where she would look at you like you were the most beautiful girl in the world, where she would get ever so close to you, only to pull you away and treat you like this breakable thing she needed to keep at arm's length. You were used to this pattern, part of you thought maybe it was about you, about how you’re a flight risk or about how you’re still not quite the same as her. For one you’re not a goddess like her, you’re just some sort of fucked up lab experment. So when she pulled away each time, when you thought maybe each time was the time and then it never came, it hurt. You’d remind yourself she was processing something, something you were still trying to piece together, something she mentioned in passing. You had a feeling, though, that this time you’ll get more of the story.

“I lost someone,” Diana started, “twice actually. The second time–” she stopped herself for a second and squeezed her eyes shut, “The last time was right before I met you. I thought that I had him back, for good. I knew it was too good to be true, but I had just thought that it was a miracle.”

Her voice was bitter as she spat out the last word. It was clear that there was a lot more for her to say, whether she was going to give you the full story now or not, you didn’t pry, you just continued to sit and listen.

“I had to make a choice and once I did… just like that, he was gone. I didn’t love again when I lost him the first time and I spent years alone. Then he came back and I wasn’t alone anymore, but it was only for a moment. Then it was back to just me… until you showed up.” She finally turned to look at you, a pained smile on her face. You saw the tears that rimmed her eyes and you could tell, even from what little she had said, it was causing her pure anguish to relive all of this. But, still, you couldn’t help the spark of selfish hope when you heard her say the last part.

You just continued to look back at her, trying your best to give her a look that told her you understood her pain, you took all her words in and your heart broke for her, but that you desperately wanted her to keep going. To expand on what she was saying. What about you coming into her life gave her pause? In the months you’ve known her she’s become the most important person in your world. Granted, she’s the only person in your world with the way you’ve been living, but that didn’t mean your feelings for her were any less real. In your time with her, she captured your heart and, while you don’t remember much from your second capture, you realized from that experience, that you’d rather face the thing you’ve spent years running from than lose the woman you were falling in love with. In that one moment, when you saw her bloody and broken that night, you had realized your greatest fear wasn’t capture or torture, it was losing Diana.

As Diana sat next to you in silence for a moment, you remained patient letting her collect her thoughts. Her hand left your own after a moment and fingers moved to brush ever so lightly across your cheek.

“I have always been strong,” her voice was a whisper as she spoke again. “I have survived so much, I have lost the man I loved not once, but twice, and I carried on each time. But the moment…” her hand cupped the side of your face as you looked up into her shimmer eyes. “The moment I thought that I had lost you everything in me felt like it was breaking. I truly felt powerless for the first time.”

A single tear slid down her cheek as she spoke and you moved incredibly slowly to sit up. This time she let you and, after a little effort and a small wince of pain you were finally face to face with her. Your hand shot out to wipe the tear away and Diana left her hand pressed to your cheek, her thumb running across your skin softly as you both waited for someone else to speak.

“But I’m here now,” you offered, your voice cracking as you spoke, not realizing how overcome you were with a whirlwind of emotions. “I survived.”

“Barely,” she said through gritted teeth and you could see immediately that she was about to pull away again. This time, you just couldn’t let her.

“But I did, like I always do, okay?” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to hers.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, her other hand reaching up to the opposite side of your face. She held you there with her for a moment and you could feel as her grip on you tensed and relaxed. The emotions were running high in both of you, but you had never been this close to her before. This close to finally getting your feelings out there, to hearing about hers. Maybe this time things would work out. Maybe this time, if you had to run you’d run with her, maybe this time you could keep something that made you happy for once. Flashes of a future you so desperately wanted ran through your mind. There were dreams of a future you could build with her. It may not be a normal human life, but it would be your own with the woman of your dreams, with Diana Prince, with your hero and goddess. You saw years and years of endless love and support, you saw yourself learning from her and growing with her, you saw so many things.

“No matter what happens, Diana” you began again, “I will fight to stay by your side. I survived, I don’t know how but I escaped, and if I get captured again and again and again I will keep fighting to come back to you, okay?” Diana took a sharp breath as you spoke. This sudden burst of bravery filled your being as you kept going. “I will stay by your side and if we get separated again I will do everything in my power to find my way back to you. I can’t offer you much, I have spent so many years running and hiding and putting down roots has never been something I’ve done, but I will for you, I will fight for you even when I don’t know how to fight for myself.”

“So please, Diana, please…” your voice was breaking as you spoke and you felt tears brim your eyes as well as you spoke. You didn’t even know what you were pleading for. For her to take you as you were? For her to take a chance on you? For her to tell you, by some miracle, that she felt the same way you did? All of it, you pleaded for all of it. “Just don’t pull away this time. Don’t–”

And before you could continue to beg, the hands that rested on either side of your face were pulling you in. Her lips pressed to yours and it felt like the air was knocked out of your lungs. This was the moment, this was the breaking point. Diana had finally crossed that line and you knew everything between you two was finally about to change.

You melted into the kiss, letting her guide you as her lips moved against yours gently, yet still filled with an incredible need that left you reeling. Her hands slid from your face into your hair and you let yourself be pressed closer to her. Kissing Diana Prince was better than you had ever imagined, and in the months you had known her you imagined it far too often.

“Shh, little dove, shh” she murmured against your lips and it took you a moment to realize tears were beginning to freely slip down your cheeks. Her lips moved from your own, only to brush against your cheek and a hand that was once in your hair untangled itself to wipe your tears away.

“I will not fail you again,” she pulled back as she spoke, her hands moving to slip into yours. You both sat there on the bed, your eyes locked. Hers were so full of conviction and you could tell in that moment that every single wall she had put up was finally, completely gone. It was a huge relief, it was everything you’ve been waiting for, it was terrifying, but in the best possible way. “You will be safe with me for as long as you remain by my side.”

Her hand came up to cup your jaw and yet again she drew you in. Her lips ghosted over yours and you shivered as you felt them brush against your own. And then, before she pressed them fully to yours, you heard the words you didn’t know you’ve been waiting to hear, you didn’t know you were even ready to hear. In a hushed tone, against your lips, she whispered, “I love you, little dove” before bringing you into yet another heart stopping kiss.

In that moment, regardless of all the questions that swirled in your mind, regardless of the circumstances, everything melted away. For the rest of that night it was just you and Diana and nothing else mattered. She held you that night, poured all her love onto you in the most gentle of ways, took care of your remaining wounds and stayed next to you as you rested and let your body continue to heal. Things felt perfect, despite the uncertainty.

But little did you know what was to come.

Tag list: @liladoesfanfics @screechcat @yamum-com @groovychopshopstranger @desperate-gay @gaylorvader @gayyasssimp @tintedrose12 @queenidis56​ @marvel3000anddc 

Want added to the taglist? Go to the master list for this series and make a comment!

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Okay for context (although I’m sure u probably already know the books by heart at this point bc ur the queen of tfota analysis) this takes place right after Jude stabs Valerian and as Locke is walking up to “save” Jude from Cardan. Before Locke comes over Cardan has a practice sword and points it at Jude noticing Valerian’s blood and is all like you seem to have cut yourself

Okay I’ve always been very confused as to why this was Cardan’s response to Jude

And I’ve been trying to riddle it out and look at context and figure out why exactly he would say that about Locke and Jude when he clearly doesn’t want them to be together (which I say bc of the scene where Nicasia tells Locke that Cardan won’t forgive him for what he is doing with Jude)

but more than that I want to know why Cardan used the word ‘Perfect’ bc… that’s a lie ????? not even Madoc thinks they’re well suited for each other… NEITHER does Jude! she’s tells Locke that they’re both pretending and that they don’t belong together but it’s still fun any way (this was at his manor before the party)

Cardan, for very justifiable reasons, doesn’t like Locke… bc Locke slept with the woman he loved… in Cardan’s bedroom… while being Cardan’s so called friend… nuf said

But we know from HTKOELTHS that Cardan has some form of attraction to Jude at this point (a disgusting attraction in his opinion)

Of course Cardan doesn’t necessarily like Jude at this point he hates her and says as much when she interrogates him (he hates her most of all bc he thinks of her often which is disgusting bc he can’t stop) (but also bc he is jealous that she is loved by her family)

Cardan and Jude are not in good standing with eachother. But he begrudgingly longs for her. Which definitely makes me think for more reasons than what’s explicitly stated in the book that he wouldn’t want her to be with Locke especially after what Locke did with the last woman Cardan was with. Even if Cardan doesn’t like the fact that he wants her, he doesn’t want her to be with him or at least that’s what context seem to imply. Also he shows concern for her on multiple occasions and prevents her from serious harm from his friends and then sends her a dress in secret and scribbles her name Over and over again

So to me the only thing that makes sense would maybe be if he is referring to himself?????

It seemed like Cardan tried to find an excuse to talk her. he has a practice sword with him which he had no reason to have, bc he isn’t one to care for swords and Jude was like he was waiting at the bottom on the tower as soon as she comes down. When he sees her he points it at her (and shows concern) and they have a little banter til Tayrn runs to get Locke

And my stretch of a theory is that if Cardan was thinking of Jude and himself when she said “you don’t think I deserve him”

Since he is tricky with his words when she said ‘him’ it could mean any guy, and if Cardan was on his own mind then when he responded “"Oh no, I think you're perfect for each other.” He could have been referring to him and Jude

… perhaps??? Idk bc even that sounds like a bit of a stretch to me… but less of a stretch than him actually thinking Locke and Jude are perfect for each other

I’m just very stumped on this phrase and I really want to know what your interpretation of the scene is (sorry that I’m incapable of getting to the point ever)

gvskdjsk okay i am LOVING the depth of thought here, and i think you're on the right track, but i'm going to connect two dots for you that might make sense of the situation:

1. just because Cardan thinks they're perfect for each other doesn't mean he wants them to be together. it just means he thinks they would pair nicely. and at this point, i truly think he believes this.

just before the above pictured quote, and after the quote where Cardan says she's cut herself, Jude takes her bloodied knife out of her pocket and says "I could cut you, too". then, in QON (ch. 18) Cardan says to Jude, "But that's what you do. You trick people". two things about Locke are that he is a little bit fucked in the head, and he tricks people.

Cardan doesn't know why Jude's blade is bloody. he doesn't know that she's just been attacked by Valerian, or that she lives every day in fear for her life. he just thinks she's loved by Madoc so she must be safe and well cared for. ergo, Jude pulling a dirty blade, smiling, and then threatening to cut Cardan would certainly seem like fucked in the head behaviour; and she has been known to lie and trick people. he hates both Locke and Jude, so they're perfect for each other.

2. Cardan smiles when he's nervous.

–Em 🖤🗡

more theories & analysis

[introloves]

anon: okay so i just went through (the entirety) of your bokuto tag and lemme just say, boxer! bokuto??? yeah top tier. you just KNOW that every time he wins he wraps that medal round your neck and makes you watch in the mirror as he uses it to choke you and keep your head up and eyes on his while he absolutely rails you. shit after fights you’d look just as bruised as him.

— boxer! bokuto + marking + choking + pain + possessive! bokuto + overstimulation + size kink + bokuto calls reader ‘puppy’ + cream pie + f! reader

— word count; 2k

— boxerverse! bokuto: one shot no. 2

he’s trembling, high strung with the adrenaline that still hasn’t left him. it’s funny seeing him whine for your attention, someone so big and muscular like him looking absolutely destroyed when you give him a stern look against his kisses.

it’s so very apparent in the way he handles you that hes looking at you to help him come down.

“bo, calm down.” you pant, trying to push his hands away, its a futile attempt to keep his wandering fingers away from your pants. its like he’s magnetized to the waistband of them, digits twitch when you slap them down.

he’s big, strong, a finely tuned machine built for taking hits and giving them back like a bullet but your rejection makes him pout.

there’s a twist of pain in your chest when he gets like this, but he needs to rest.

despite everything, he acts like its just been another day, but it hasn’t even been two hours since his last fight. theres a bruise painting his lip, another one against his brow, red splotches litter his sides and stomach but he shakes your prying hands off thick wrists, fingers hooking into your waistband and pulling them down to your thighs. he looks up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. waiting for the okay he knows is inevitably going to come.

“fine, but if i see you wince, we’re stopping.” you sigh, smiling at the absolute beam of teeth and curled lips he gives you.

he’s so fast, peeling off every bit of clothing you had worn tonight. he had to have you, needed it like he needed that win.

a win that he already has, now he just needs you.

you cant deny that his excitement isn’t making you wet, he’s like a god above you, vying for your attention and body. he was truly glorious tonight, muscles taut and coiled as he bounced along the white canvas. biceps curled and ready for his opening to land one of his signature right hooks. he takes every hit against his body like it’s nothing, completely unfazed by his opponent. at one point during the match he taunted them, dropping his arms and baring his teeth, just waiting for the fight to truly get good. it makes you squirm, he could be so intimidating, watching like a predator for any opening, any hole in the opponents defense.

your body flushes in memory of watching him land that final hit, he sees the way your thighs squish together. groaning at the thought that your body was responding to his advances, surely knowing by memory how good he fucks you.

your bo always looks so strong and powerful. no matter where he is, whether he’s fighting or when he’s trapping you against those strong arms.

it makes you sigh at the pure determination he’s dripping in, rolling your eyes as he gives you a once over, wiggling his eyebrows at you, torso stretching to reach something from the bedside table, canines flashing as he shows you his newest trophy. its a devious look, proud eyes glinting down at you.

you feel that you can read his mind, about to tell him that, no you won’t fuck him while he’s wearing it, but he lowers it over your head, giving you a bigger smile as the heavy and cold metal lands right between your tits.

“that looks real good on you.” he finally says, abs contracting with the pangs of arousal crawling up his neck. he flinches just a bit at the soreness there, he’s a little more beat up than usual, but hides it well. if there’s anything he needs other than rest, its to fuck you dizzy.

he thinks he might be a total meat head with just how much he likes the image of you wearing something he worked so hard to win, a primal heat licking at the arousal also flaring inside him. you’re really truly his, bokuto can see it in your eyes, regarding him like hes strung the moon up in the sky.

you belong to him, just as he does you. just like that shiny medal you’re wearing.

the bed creaks under his weight when he leans down to kiss you, hand grabbing your face, keeping you right where he wants you. tongue immediately slipping past your lips, pulling a cute whine. he’s sloppy with it, teeth bumping against your own, spit trailing down the corner of both your mouths. when he pulls away, your eyes cross to watch the string of spit connecting the both of you.

he swipes his tongue out and catches it, mumbling something when he sees you reach for him.

“sit back.” you realize he says a little late, snapped out of the haze by the gentle tap of his index finger against your cheek.

koutarou makes a show to peel the rash guard he was wearing under his shorts off. his creamy, muscled thighs finally grace your vision. it makes your body temperature rise several degrees at once, the hot flash only encouraged when you see his dick lying pretty against his thigh. you reach for him, but the advance is stopped by his hands, he doesnt say anything but grips your wrists a little tighter.

your gaze moves from his purpled knuckles up to his eyes, the amber there looks just a tad bit cooler and you immediately know it’s going to be a bad day for you tomorrow.

“want you on your tummy.” bokuto states, and you listen.

waiting for his hands to grip your hips, but he lags just a little. turning your head to look at him you ask if everything’s okay,

“you remember our safe word?” he inquires, and you nod, blanching just a little. his words send a prickle of fear down your spine, you suddenly feel very vulnerable and exposed.

“well, what is it?”

bokutos hand comes down to grip your shoulder, huffing against your ear. theres a small pull there, bringing your shoulders back to meet him halfway.

“j-juice.”

he’s right there, waiting for the last syllable to leave your lips, poking the head of his dick against your cunt. it leaves you breathless, smooth, velvet skin leaving a wet trail of precum right on your clit.

it makes you exhale out a high pitched keen, unable to stop it from tumbling out a little louder than expected.

the whine has him purring, humming out a, “good girl.”

there’s nothing in the world that you can compare the way he splits you open. the first stroke is always careful, makes sure youre nice and relaxed, wet enough to take him. you always are of course, how could you not with the way he holds you, pulling you back by your shoulders, making your back bend as much as it can, the twist of your body like that makes for a real tight squeeze, feels like the already limited room inside your cunt is cut back to an absolute zero.

it should hurt, but you’ve taken him enough that hes practically carved the shape of him into your pussy.

he has you nice and compliant under his hands, head thrown back to leave the most fucked out sounds of pure ecstasy rattle through your lungs and into the room.

he can feel the chemistry, something akin to electricity, between the two of you. if he could form into words what its like when you lean agasint him, completely trusting him to take care of you, to make you feel good, he’d fill a book up- and pocket it to reread over and over.

bokuto releases you, letting your shoulders fall forward gently before reaching around and pulling the, now, warm metal from between your body and the bed.

it catches you by surprise when he gives it a tug, the silk cutting into your prominent veins, making you go weak and dizzy.

if you couldn’t think or talk before he was doing this, you definitely weren’t going to be able to while he was.

your hands find the pillows above you for leverage, biting down onto your lip when he begins a brutal pace against your hips. hes pinned you down onto the bed with his mass, not even letting you arch your hips to give him better access to your cunt.

“ghh, kou- kou feels good.” you cry, taking an index finger into your mouth to bite, theres not a spot on your body where you dont feel him, so big above you, you can feel the press of his dick in your throat.

“i know it does puppy.” he grits out, still biting back the pain that each brutal contact against your body brings him. hes got the stamina, the sweat hes broken out thus far isnt too bad, but the position and the way hes taking you- hand still holding onto that precious medal- is taking a toll on him.

he knows he needs to make you cum fast.

and knowing his sweet baby, the way to do that is to rough you up just a bit. it’s real endearing.

the silk burns just a little when he shifts behind you, making sure to keep a good grip on it- you dont connect the dots of what hes preparing to do, not until he pulls back.

you’re mid scream before he cuts you off, tears forming in your eyes against the rasp and wheeze of your breathing. the tension around your throat isnt forceful enough to cut your oxygen off completely, it just leaves you wheezing and gives you a nice haze to your vision.

you’ve tensed up completely, knees locking, hands gripping the pillow above you for dear life.

the reaction from you makes him shake, you can feel the stutter of his hips, hearing the high whine leave his throat, he powers through it. he clashes his teeth together and snarls, blinking back stars when he speeds up.

“c’mon, cum. cum for me, puppy.” bokuto grunts.

its not like you to not listen, as soon as his words leave his mouth, you’re closing your eyes.

you’ve gone limp for a second, and bokuto truly fears that hes overdone it, he drops the grip he has on his trophy, about to stop everything, but then your tremors start.

your legs, still pinned down between his own, shake. he sees your cute little hands slap the pillow and swallows deeply. you’re silent- but he can hear the echoes of moans that want to leave your throat thanks to your open mouth and head that’s thrown back. it takes you two seconds before you seem to flicker back to life,

“ghhhh, hhhh! koutarou, kou!” his name is the first coherent thing that leaves your mouth, and he swears there’s nothing better. he cant compare you to winning a match, knocking out his opponent in a KO- because seeing you like this, hearing you scream his name like that would win every time.

he’d like to comment on how eagerly you’re milking his cock, but the pulsing of your cunt around his fat, big dick does him in.

there’s no time to pull out, wasn’t planning on it anyways, but the squeezing of you againts him, leaking your cum down to the base of him, wetting his pubes with you, also leaves no room for it.

it’s obscene, the squelching sounds of his pistoning, cumming cock, creaming your insides white, all the while pushing it out of your cunt with every thrust.

it splatters against your ass and his thighs, white globs of it stick against the two of you while he rides out the throbbing. there’s nothing more satisfying than filling you up, a deep tingle nipping at the base of his skull when he thinks about his cum kept warm in your cunt.

this is what finally tires him out. the tremor and twitching of his strong arms visible when he reaches down and pulls his limp dick from you, he saves you the pain of his weight crushing against your already fragile body by plopping down beside you, you jump up on the bed with the force of his weight collapsing beside you.

the sticky heat is no match for his eagerness to hold you after it all. you slot against his front easily, almost completely dwarfed by his frame.

“‘re you proud ‘fme.” he slurs against your neck, trapping his thigh between your legs. he shivers when he feels the mess of his own cum smear absolutely everywhere.

your hand comes down to rest over his arms, protectively secured around your torso.

“always. i love you so much.” you whisper back, voice just a tiny bit raspy and sore.

“mm, loveyoumore.”

he’s out before you can count to ten, hearing you say that puts a smile on his face while his breathing evens out behind you.

you take the lightest of touches to the bruises on his knuckles, your koutarou truly was something else. while he sought out your validation, you basked in the glory and security of someone as grand as him holding you tight.

[party-gilmore]

This is still just a half formed thought but @pebblesrus got me thinking bout The Pool Scene and Eliot viewing his body/safety as something to physically exchange for that of others, combined with the commentary about how Eliot was counting the seconds Hardison was without air, like

There's still the thrum of angry tension stretching out from Hardison between them through the night, during Flores's call, on the way in and through the airport... Eliot isn't avoiding Hardison's angry gaze, but he's not seeking it out either. It burns under his skin, a hot coil of discomfort and the sinking sensation of having ruined something unless he manages to make things even.

At some point midflight, Hardison gets up to pace near the bar (because it might have been last minute, but he's NOT gonna make the team fly coach - even though he's still upset with Eliot and may have thought about it for a minute). Eliot follows a few seconds later and catches Hardison on the way back, quickly shoving him into the small lavatory and locking the door behind them.

"Man! What the hell! If you don't get your hands off me, I-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Hardison stops flailing against Eliot's grip around his wrists and just... stares, incredulous.

"...what?"

"You were without air for one minute, nineteen seconds."

"...you were counting." It feels a little like a question, although it isn't. Not really. Eliot's grim expression softens often imperceptibly. Hardison would've missed it if they weren't crammed so tightly in the small bathroom. Eliot answers the non-question anyway, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"Course I was."

Hardison tumbles that around in his head for a bit. Of course Eliot was counting. Probably to know when it was too dangerous anymore to stay in character. Hardison knows how important it was to gain Moreau's trust at the time. In his head, he knows that. Knew it, even then. He was just... so afraid, at almost drowning, and angry at the secrets Eliot was keeping... but he was counting. He would've gone in for him, if he needed. Blown the whole damn thing.

Yeah the situation just sucked all the way around, sure, and yeah Alec's still a little pissed - why wouldn't he be! He's got the right! - but Eliot was counting. That means even though he'd had to put Hardison's life at risk, he was willing to risk even more - his own safety, the entire con - to pull him back out if needed. That was something, right? That was still-

-Hardison's too busy turning the pieces around in his own head to notice Eliot shifting his grip from Hardison's wrists to his hands. Tugging them closer. Pulling them up.

Alec snaps back to the present when his fingertips graze the warm, flushed skin of Eliot's neck.

"What-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Eliot suddenly presses Hardison's hands tight around his throat, guiding his thumbs to the appropriate hollows beneath his jaw.

"You... you can't be fucking serious!"

He tries to pull away, but Eliot's grip holds fast.

"Damnit Hardison," his growl comes rough, grating, as he puts pressure on his own windpipe through Hardison's palm. "You were right! Okay? I risked your life. For one minute and nineteen seconds. So that's what you get. Just... just do it, man! Get it over with, then we're even!"

"Even-... man, do you not realize how fucked up this is? I'm not... I'm not doing this!"

With a growl, Eliot tears his hands away from Hardison's, and Alec snatches his newly freed palms back to his chest. Eliot clearly wants to pace, but can't in the cramped room, so he settles with carding his fingers through his hair.

"Then what the fuck else do you want from me, man!" His voice already sounds ragged, even with how short of a time Hardison (or rather, Eliot by way of Hardison) was pressing around his throat.

"I just wanted you to be honest with us! With me!" Hardison slumps back against the far wall, anxiously rubbing his jaw as he tries to find the words. "Alright, look, I get it, what you had to do at the pool. I do. That doesn't mean my being upset about it is just gonna... go away!"

"I know that!"

Hardison flinches as Eliot slams his fist against the side wall. He knows the strike wasn't meant to be pointedly 'at' him, that in such a small space there's not a whole lot of room to safely lash out in when feeling cornered, but it was still too close to him for comfort. Eliot clocks the flinch, and for a moment the frustration on his face morphs into a clear expression of the guilt he's been masking since the pool.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't... fuck, I'm sorry," he pulls away, shrinking in on himself like he does on the grift, trying to consciously make himself seem smaller. "I just... I just don't want to have ruined us, man. Whatever is we've got... you and me, this team... I just wanna fix what I broke. I want us to be good."

"We are good, man," Hardison cautiously steps forward. He thinks to put a hand on Eliot's shoulder, but that's too close to his throat at the moment, so he goes for the outside of his arm instead. "You don't gotta... let me hurt you to make things even. That's... I don't know where the hell you learned that, but I don't like it. I'm not gonna do it. You just... you just gotta let me feel my feelings for a bit, okay? We'll get Moreau, and that'll feel fucking great, and have a little party, and everything will be fine. "

Eliot looks up at him and the ragged, raw desperation in his gaze about knocks Hardison back against the wall.

"...that's it?" Eliot's almost laughing, with a dry sarcastic bite behind his tone that makes him sound unhinged... well, more unhinged than usual. Although, he did just ask Hardison to choke him, so Alec figures we're not exactly working with the usual state of mind here.

"It's that easy, huh? You just... say we're good, and we're good?"

"Uh, yeah." Hardison shakes his head, tightening and loosening his grip on Eliot's arm in what he hopes is a soothing pattern. "That's how normal feelings work when somebody you care about pisses you off. You talk your shit out, it hurts for a bit while it heals up, then you're good. I don't know who fucking taught you you had to pay for-"

Oh. Oh but then it hits him. The dots finish connecting and he's looking down at Eliot, who's been strung tight and volatile as a clumsily stripped live wire ever since they closed in on Moreau, and in that moment Alec knows who taught him that.

He steps in close, carefully taking the back of Eliot's neck in a gentle grip, and ducks slightly to even out their gazes. Eliot’s whole body is tensed so hard he's almost shaking with it, but his eyes start to lose their sharp edge with Hardison's easy hold.

"I need you to hear me, Eliot. If I say we're good? Then we're good. No strings attached, no games, no doing any 'favors' for me first to prove any kind of loyalty or whatever. You know I don't play that shit. Yeah? You hearing me, man?"

Eliot's body starts to lose a bit of it's tension. A hesitant nod starts, but stops early. Hardison's seen Parker do that before, when she's too nervous to fully commit to a new idea even if she wants to, so he softens his tone and backs up a bit like he does with her.

"You hear me, babe?"

"I hear you," the reply is soft, almost embarrassed, and Eliot's eyes dart away. Hardison let's him go, indulging the gruff 'pretending to shake off the touch' Eliot does a second too late to be any kind of believable, and respectfully ignores the clearing of his throat and wiping at his eyes.

"We, uh..." Eliot turns to the door, fidgeting with the handle for a moment. "So, we'll talk. In San Lorenzo. When it's done?"

"When it's done."

Affirmation granted, Eliot darts out of the room. Hardison takes a few more minutes. Washes his face. Processes all the data thrown at him in the past few minutes as much as he can before filing it away for later. For 'when it's done.'

BONUS:

I feel like later, when they have their actual talk and Moreau is dealt with and both parties are a little more calm about it, Eliot is still like okay, I hear you, I understand that you don't need this to feel like we're square... but I do. Please.

And this time, knowing a little more of the whole story, Hardison is more comfortable accepting that like you know what, okay. If this is what you need, now that we've talked it out in a much less charged scenario and I can trust that you're in (more of) your right mind about this, okay. So long as you know I don't need this, that this is for you, and that if you need to stop early you swear you'll tell me.

Eliot probably rolls his eyes a bit at that like c'mon not even a full two minutes of getting choked out? He's had to go [absurd amount of time] without air in [equally absurd situation] in [obscure country], he'll be fine.

So Hardison sets a timer, and gently presses Eliot up against a wall, hands wrapping round his throat, Eliot's hands around his wrists - the deal is that he holds on for as long as he's good, if he let's go then so does Hardison - and he starts pressing in.

The whole scene is far softer and more intimate than either of them expected. They keep crazy intense but somehow still gentle eye contact almost the entire way through - the only exception being when Eliot's eyelids start to flutter a bit near the end, his grip loosening but not letting go - and when the time's up Eliot almost doesn't want Hardison to let go. He didn't even know that was a Thing for him. It had never been like that before, and like he said it's hardly his first time being choked... but something about trusting Hardison with that level of control... it makes him realize he maybe likes it a little too much. Putting his actual life in Hardison's hands in such a very physical, tangible way.

It kind of scares him, to be honest, how easily he'd be willing to let him do it again. And thinking about Hardison always leads to thinking about Parker, and thinking about Parker always leads to thinking about Parker's hands, and he realizes that he'd even trust "I hang off buildings by my fingertips" hand strength Parker to do it too... maybe even gets excited at the idea of it...

...and realizes he's well and truly screwed.

[sweetsbfreex]

lethologica

when you can’t think of the word for something...like this fic </3

Summary: Harry’s family navigating his impending fame, and the activity of reader and harry making their first belly cast

Warnings: fluff, slight angst?

Pairing: Husband, Dad!Harry x reader 

“Hey! We’re back!” you yelled out, Harry following closely behind you as he shut the door,  carefully slipping off your sneakers. It was pretty late at least for the two of you now. The sun was away, you and H coming back from your well deserved date night. 

At the familiar sound of the slamming door came the different steps of your kids. Shuffling down the steps from your view you could see the face of your oldest ahead of the covey, bolting towards the two of you. The various sounds of ‘mom’,’mummy’, and ‘dad’ spoken out. 

“You guys took forever” Sydnie; seventeen, was the first to say, exasperated as she latched onto you. But was quickly shuffled away by the twins. “Bloo” the seven year old was born a Penelope, but after watching her favorite show Winx Club when she was three. Demanded she be called after her favorite character Bloom, but couldn’t pronounce the name all the way through. If you had called her by official name she wouldn’t respond, going on about her day as if no one was there. And it had stuck since then, forever the stubborn one only to grow into a sweet, shy little girl.

 And Alec, fraternal twins who had just turned seven.

“Careful babies the baby, remember” Harry lightly reminded. With that reminder he had loosened his secure hold.

“Well sorry” you teased, kissing all their forehead quickly “But we bought you guys some food too” you reported, holding up the labeled bag.

They responded with excited statements, as Sydnie took the bag from your hold, running to the kitchen with her siblings. 

“My hugs!” Harry yelled out, hands cupping his mouth then putting his brawny arms out like a plane awaiting their bodies to clash into his. “ought to take away your allowance for that one” Harry teases, fingers stretching out to tickle anywhere they could. 

As a result he got a lively mix of groans, laughs, and pleas.

“Joking” Harry says abruptly, kissing each of their cheeks before conducting all of you to the kitchen, assisting the twins into their own seatings at the kitchen. The light above all of you illuminating the room.

Embarrassingly enough it had been when you were pulling the plastic containers from the brown bag that you realized you were missing a kid. 

“Where’s your brother?” you asked, opening Bloo’s Spaghetti and spreading it on the white plate.

“Talking to his girlfriend” Sydnie air quoted, rolling her father-like eyes.

“Why do you say it like that?” Harry asked, wonderingly his back turned, reaching for the Placemats, setting them in front of each child. Placing one in front of an empty stool for Chase. 

“Daddy, he’s delusional! I’ve told him a million times. She found out his last name, connected the dots, and now she’s interested. I would know it’s happened to me hundreds of times since middle school” she said indignantly.

Finishing the last plate up, from the side of your eyes you could see and sense his deflation at the statement. Always overthinking about their last names and what it would entail as they grow up with Harry Styles as their father. His top five worry ever since the first time you were pregnant. His breaking point, however, had been when Sydnie came home, furious. From a day from school finding out that some girl in her class had tried getting closer to her with ill intentions. 

He could also sense the worry that washed over you, catching your eye to let you know he was fine. 

“He’s old enough to know better. He’ll be fine Syd,” you let her know, reaching your hand to fix the hoodie that overshadowed her precious face.

“I wasn’t, it sucks and he’s not taking me seriously”

“Cause you’re full of it” shifting your eyes to the doorway, the sixteen-year-old walked in towards you. His arm over your shoulders before placing a kiss to your cheek. Then making his way to his dad, who had pulled him in setting a kiss to his temple. 

“You say that but just you wait!” she walked over to him quickly, flicking his the back of his head, shifting her way over to the fridge before he could retaliate. Pulling out a drink and some cups for everyone else, almost bustling into you, as you made your way to the microwave.

“Don’t wish that on your brother” Harry persisted.

“I’m not, but he better not come crying to me”

"Whatever” he paid her no mind, shifting the conversation to his parents. “How was your date?” he asked, setting himself at the island. 

“‘Was fine we went to the arcade, I beat mum’s butt––”

“He’s lying, I beat him at air hockey”

“Just air hockey mum?” Bloo asked, a slight lisp from her missing front teeth. Her attention strayed away while Sydnie placed her cup in front of her, filling it with juice.

“Sadly” you mimicked a pout, Harry smiling with a smug grin. 

“Then went to dinner. Guess what” he exclaimed, directing his energy towards Alec”

“Mummy looked so pretty tonight, some chum couldn’t stop eyeing her. So I had to give him a knuckle” he told the story, raising his fist and mirthfully brought it to Alec’s stomach. Eliciting giggles from his which bounced off to Bloo. The rest of you with gratified smiles at the meaningful interaction. 

“Why are you such a fibber tonight” you urged Harry, smacking his shoulder. 

“I’m not lying” he said, walking to you till he was hovering over your back, trying to annoy you with his insistent cheek kisses.

“Go away” you whined, faking your displeasure, shrugging your shoulders. The kids could note your slight smile except for him.

“Go away” he mocked.

“We all know you wouldn’t hurt a fly” Chase pointed out correctly. Thanking you as you set his plate of food in front of him. 

Harry stood across the herd,resting back against the quartz countertop, arms crossed. Until you cuddled yourself into his side. His arm reaching down so his thumb could rub against the side of your belly. Your arms encircled around his waist, head on his chest.

“Not true” he replied. 

“It’s okay, it’s why I married you” you sweetly said with a smile adoring your face. He could only look down at you with a close lipped smile reflecting yours, his dimple digging deep. Leaning down to kiss you, filling you up with his love for you. 

Both of you had pulled away abruptly from the range of disgusted protests and a slam of an utensil. All except for sweet, shy Bloo. Who had watched with a smile on her face idolizing the love of her parents, swearing it was like the Disney movies. Like her favorite Princess and the Frog.

“We’re trying to eat!” Chase had said dramatically, pasta in his mouth. Sydnie covers her eyes with both hands, while Alec stuck out his tongue finger to his mouth. 

“None of you would be here, if it wasn’t for this” you emphasized, your finger waving between you and H. 

“No duh, you both won’t stop having children” Sydnie overstated, shuddering stagy. 

- 

It was late now, all of you stayed downstairs, more overdue than intended. The twins went down an hour early before the other two. Chase and Sydnie finished their meals for the night and instead of leaving, stayed up talking to their parents.

In your sleep shorts and a light weight tank top, your hands were in Harry’s who was massaging them softly. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you asked feebly, peeking up at the overly focused man. 

“We’ve had this conversation a handful of times, don’t see why we need to have it again” he replied, glancing at you quickly.

“I know, but it might make you feel a little better” you tried again not wanting to push him too far. 

“I–It’s just” he had to stop for a minute, his throat closing up too much to even speak clearly. You propped yourself up against the headboard, your lower back aching a little bit, adjusting Harry so his red tainted face was laid on your shoulder. 

You could only coo at him, kissing his forehead, while your hand ran laxly on the side of his face. Your fingers brushing against the slight scruff against his cheek. Before moving your arm so your hand could massage his scalp at the back of his neck. Letting your fingers run through his lengthy hair at the same time. Your other arm reaches over to pluck a piece of tissue from the box, wiping under his nose softly. 

“Just want them to have a normal life like you and me, it isn’t fair to them that they’ve got to deal with shit like this constantly because of me”

“Baby don’t say that, regardless of it all they’d still have to go through life meeting awful people”

“It isn’t the same y/n, with people like them they know the reason is because of their stupid last name.”

“H” you start sternly, rocking the both of you slowly “Don’t say stuff like that, you think if they had to choose you wouldn’t be their dad? They cherish you so much. I know it sucks I do, but you’re an amazing dad, there’s no one better for them. They would never hold something like that against you, they love you too much to”

“You’re a brilliant mum too. I’m sorry”

“You don’t need to apologize baby” You stopped rocking the two of you slowly, smiling down at him only to see: glossy somber eyes, a subtle simper, and a hiccuping chest.  

-

“Stomachs getting bigger” he stated, his hand rubbing against your stomach absentmindedly.

“Thank you baby, just what every girl wants to hear” 

“No! Not like that beautiful. Just meant now people can see your pregnant again”

“I’m teasing H, I promise the hormones haven’t kicked in yet.”

“Finally get to sleep with ur boobs in front of me every night” He said smugly, naturally looking at you for his favourable reaction.

“You’re such a child” you return, pinching his arm lightly “You wouldn’t want to put it in the nursery?” you ask.

“Wherever you want angel”

That radiant morning led you to now, an impromptu family trip to Target, the kids getting whatever their hearts desired–– to an extent–– while you and Harry stood here astonished by the arrays of different casting kits. 

You raise your conjoined hands to point your finger at a baby blue box.

“That one? Genie told me that’s the one she bought” you queried.

He inspected it, twisting the box practically reading every word, before turning to look at the ingredients. 

“H you probably don’t know what half of those things are”

He shrugged his shoulder in response, looking at the box one last time. “Sure it was this one?” 

“Positive”

You were both meant to go find the kids until they had bustled around the corner, Chase pushing the loaded cart while everyone walked ahead. At the view of his parents. Alec had run ahead towards the two of you a motor car in his hand. 

“Mummy! Daddy! May I get this please?” he asked, raising the toy above his head. 

“Can I get this too please?” Bloo asked quietly, a lego set sat up in her palms.

“You guys were meant to keep them away from the toys” Harry told the older two. Knowing this would just add to their continual influx of toys. “Yes you guys can, go ahead and put it in the cart”

Alec had done his little dance, skipping his way back to the cart while Bloo walked herself carefully. Placing her set down as low as she could without causing any noise or crushing anything else. 

“You both get everything you need?” you asked, following after the twins along with Harry, placing the kit into the cart. 

You looked down at everything noticing some groceries, a few skincare items, a book, something for their rooms, and other things you couldn’t find that laid underneath everything else.  

“Yep, ready to leave when you are” Sydnie had responded.

“Okay let’s head out, Styles” Harry exclaimed, as low as he could, to not disrupt anyone else, Clapping his ringed hands together once.

“Dude, you’re such a dad” Chase quipped.

“Almost like I’ve been raising kids for seventeen years huh?” He jested back, eyes opening wide in faux disbelief, traveling to bother Chase some more. 

Giggling at the two, you looked down when you felt a body pressing into your leg. Familiar arms around your thigh. A distraught Bloo, looking up at you, her chin resting against your thigh.

“What is it, baby?” you asked, softly, tuning out the rest of your family.

“There’s a lady over there. She keeps looking at us” she informed you, pointing her dainty finger discreetly as she could to the woman at the end of the aisle. 

Being only seven the twins had a mutual understanding on why their dad had to leave at times, but that decreased once more when you had fallen pregnant again. They understood all the rules. 

a) if anyone was ever following, acting suspiciously always let mum or dad know–– if dad was there, definitely dad. b) never talk back to the idiots with the bulky cameras. c) Be careful who you talk to and what you say, some people aren’t always what they may seem. 

“H” you called him over.

He walked over to the two of you, eyebrows elevated in question. His hand instinctively brushing over bloo’s hair.

“Uhm maybe we should send the kids to checkout” you tilted your head backward at the not so prudent woman with the shocked face. Her phone pointing towards the two of you. 

You undoubtedly saw the happiness of his face shift to one of vexation and frustration as he glanced quickly, shrewdly at the woman. He extended his hand out to rub your elbow soothingly, nodding wearily. 

He turned to the kids, masking his face as best as he could. “You guys go ahead and save a spot for us, me and your mum are gonna grab one last thing”

They didn’t care much, just wanting to get home as quickly as they could, Sydnie grabbing both of the twins’ hands. 

-

Harry had kindly walked up to the woman, a displayed smile on his face, asking her to delete whatever she had managed to collect. You watched the encounter from the side, rubbing your belly softly, filled with mild angst. 

She had apologized profusely (the embarrassment seeping in her voice), the kindness in Harry letting her know it was fine as long as he could watch her delete everything. 

From her camera roll, Harry could see a video still of before the kids came, when you and him were looking for a casting kit. And some other videos of the family loitering in the target section. 

He bid her a tight-lipped goodbye, after he kindly asked her again, though it was starting to run low, to go to her recently deleted–– he wasn’t the most tech savvy but he also wasn’t an idiot. Once that was ultimately done, he locked your hand into his. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, securing your other arm up to wind around his.

“Just tired of the bullshit...” he sighed. He was just happy that he was able to protect his family this time. 

You halt him swiftly; he looks back at you in confusion, until you lug him down for as much of a hug as you could. Feeling his shoulders sag in relaxation and his arms winding around your waist. 

-

You stood next to Harry, in front of one of the sinks, reading the instructions. 

“So we start with the lubricant first, use these...” holding up a roll of the plaster tape “dip them into warm water, and just putting them on” you informed Harry of your summary.

He nodded, his lip between his fingers as his eyes roamed over the paper once again. “I’ll go get you a chair, pee before we start” He yelled over his shoulder.

He walked back in, a wooden chair between his hands. Setting it to the floor gently, smiling at you to take a seat. Walking back to the sink,resting his hip against the packet of lubricant in his hand. 

You smiled back at him as you took your seat. Deeming it be fit to wear running shorts and a tank top. Harry only in a pair of his joggers. Surprisingly after four kids, this was your first time trying a belly cast and you were a bit nervous wanting it to look just as perfect as it could–– adding your husband being a precisionist into the mix there was no guessing how this would turn out. 

“Take off your top” Harry said smugly, bringing the white packet to his teeth– side eying you–– while he ripped it off. Turning to start the camera propped up on the counter. You insisted this had to be recorded as a little keepsake for the two of you. 

You could only roll your eyes, trying hard not to feed into his ego. But the heat rising from your neck reported him otherwise. Tucking your arms back in the arm holes and raising the shirt off your body. Your body is bare except for the shorts adorning your legs. 

Ogling at you like a caveman playfully at the sight of your boobs out and about, eliciting quick giggles from you. He walked up to you clasping your face between his palms, pressing your aglow cheeks together lightly–– the white, cold packet sitting against your left cheek lightly. Giving you three earnest kisses to your lips and leaning down in front of you, giving a peck to your belly button. 

He squeezed some of the lubricant onto his fingers, deciding to start under your belly. You hissed at the sudden coldness hitting your skin. 

“Okay?” he asked, eyes a bit wide and mouth slightly open.

“A little cold, but you can continue” you let him know. 

He got at it quickly, once he finished that area he stood up a bit getting the sides of your stomach coated. Once he had finished, you stood up looking in the mirror at the shine of your stomach. 

“Now for the fun part” clapping your palms together sitting back down, wistfully watching Harry wash his hands of the substance. He got the scissors cutting the strips of various sizes. Walking to you at times to make sure it fits properly. 

‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I was next to you’ you asked.

Only to be replied with ‘No reason to have you on your feet, if I can walk to you.’ He unquestionably is just a bag of sunshine and everything good in the world.

Filling the sink with warmish water and placing on gloves. Snapping it on dramatically as if he was a doctor in a drama series.  

“Dork”  

He walked over with the first strip in his hand, water dripping behind him as he stepped closer to you. You pulled out your phone quickly wanting to capture a cute picture of this. Right as he placed the first strip you snapped the image. The only thing being seen was your protruded belly and below, his hands placing the plaster tape to your stomach, and a small tuft of his hair from the top of the picture. 

He pulled away proudly, smiling down at his work, with his hands on his hips. “Look at that, looks perfect huh?”

“You’re doing good so far H” you confirmed.

-

It was only fifteen minutes later, half of your stomach–– and that wasn’t saying much.

“Baby it’s fine we’ll just sand it down” you tried to convince H for the last time, but he was stubborn as ever.

His mouth open in excessive concentration, puzzled brows pulled together as he removed the plaster for the fifth time. And from your point of view, you swore, he placed it back on the exact same spot.

“Just wait” he sighed, it wasn’t where he wanted it to be.

“Harry, we’re gonna be forever” you sighed, swaying your feet softly until one of them accidentally knocked into Harry’s leg. He looked down at you, eyes telling you to quit it. 

“See there, you big baby” he grumbled.

“You’ve set it back into the same spot!” you exclaimed.

“No I haven’t, you’re just impatient...sounded a little brit there” he hummed, turning his back to you as he grabbed another slip. 

“Shut up!” 

-

Then there was, naturally, the sudden interruption.

Bloo had stumbled into the bathroom, expressing out about something one of her brothers did when she stopped taking into account, trying to figure out what was wrong with her mum. 

She gasped, eyes wide at the greying stuff. “What’s wrong with mummy?” she asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Turning mummy into a mummy!” He screeched, holding up a plaster strip. 

She brought her hands up to her mouth eyes growing only wider, her lip already starting to tremble. 

“You and your stupid dad jokes” you pulled Bloo closer to you, turning her back to Harry flipping him off behind her head. 

“We’re just doing a cast, don’t worry baby. Remember that episode of Jessie when Ravi got that mask stuck on Luke’s face and ripped his eyebrows off” you explained, She laughed at the connection of the episode. 

“Kind of like that, but without the eyebrows and we’re just using my belly” bringing your thumb to brush her brows up and the corner of her mouth clean. God what were they doing down there.

“Ohh okay that makes more sense.” you smiled back at her. 

-

And Harry who had a bit too much fun when it came to the upper portion of the cast. Acting like Alec does when Paw patrol was on or when Sydnie when her dad allowed her his card to shop. Finding any reason to smooth down the cast with his wet hands. Or taking his time to cover your nipple, using his thumb to level it out. A haughty expression on his face growing the higher he got from your belly button. 

“You’re acting as if we don’t have sex or take showers together” you tell him, popping another goldfish into your mouth (But not the good ones, the disgusting wheat ones Harry urged you and everyone else in the house to eat instead.)

“As if you don’t act like this when I take off my shirt”

He got you there, looking up at you to see you were not going to give him the eye contact he wanted. Your lips closed tight.

He delicately planted the last strip over the top of one of your breasts. 

“Wait, it doesn’t look right” 

“Harry!”

“Just joking y/n, now we wait five minutes and we can pop this off, sand it, and decorate it however you want” he told you, smiling at the finished product, leaning down to kiss your forehead then your lips.

“Wanna do it like this” you twisted your phone around to show him the image on Pinterest. A light blue belly cast, but you wanted it a pretty purple color, that was held against a frame, with butterflies of surveying sizes going across/diagonally the cast.

“However you want lovie” he told you again, pulling your head to his stomach, leaning down to kiss your head. Your arms winding across his waist.

“Thank you” you hummed in satisfaction. 

– – – – – 

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

thank you to the anon who requested this!

[sunshineseung]

Journal Part 1 // Jeongin

🍄 | genre: smut ☁️ | pairing: Yang Jeongin x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 2.8k 🌸 | includes: milf!reader x babysitter!college student!virgin!jeongin, invasion of privacy (not the cardi b album), smut within the smut??? [handjob, begging, “mommy”], mentions of voyeurism, light dom/sub themes, “mommy” kink, teasing, stripping, blowjob/oral (m!receiving), no swallowing

☀️ | synopsis: Yang Jeongin babysits your two children, and he’s always been the most polite boy you’ve ever met. Unfortunately for him, he leaves his secret journal at your house one evening, and your curiosity got the better of you.

🌊 | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Finale |

Being a single mother was never in your plans. After your husband left you with two kids, your world nearly fell apart. You went from being a stay-at-home mother to working two jobs. The daycare took care of your dayshift, but your night shifts were harder to arrange a babysitter for. That is until you offered the position to your next-door neighbor’s son. They complained about how he was in desperate need of a job, being in his first year of college with no work history. Your offer was perfect for them, and Jeongin was happy to fill the position. He was always the nicest kid, and you could see his eyes light up at the idea of working for you, or more likely, at the concept of getting paid. 

He’d come over to your house at 5:00pm, book bag on his back, ready to do homework while he watched your kids play. Your two daughters were quick to warm up to him, and the rest is history. He was the best babysitter you could ask for, and even if you had to stay late at work, he was always understanding. Jeongin was a perfect kid with good grades and a good heart, and you’d always see him writing in a journal. When you asked him about it, he’d say he’s “writing a story for class.” It was always the same excuse, day after day. You paid no mind, more worried about the status of your kids after you’ve left them with a teenager for hours. 

Jeongin was very protective of his special journal. It was just a regular composition book, but whatever he wrote in it was sacred to him. He’d hide it from you when you walked by and hold it close to his face as he wrote. Whatever he wrote was his little secret, but if it’s for a class like he said, it can’t be that terrible, right?

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

Returning home from a late shift, you see Jeongin settled on the couch, sleeping with his phone in his hand. His head was back and his mouth was wide open, snoring loudly. You nudge him to wake him up, but he doesn’t budge. All you can do is scoff at him and check on your daughters in their room just as sound asleep as their babysitter. Going back to the living room, Jeongin’s turned to his side, snoring quieter than before. You sit right at his feet and get comfortable, kicking your feet up on the coffee table and turning on the TV. When your heel lands on the table, you kick over Jeongin’s journal, the book falling to the ground and opening to a blank page. 

Your eyes dart to Jeongin and back at the book, and you’re mentally debating whether or not to look through it. You’ve hardly talked to the boy aside from a few conversations about school in a “back in my day” type dialogue. This would be a major invasion of privacy, but there’s no way it’s a diary. He writes in it constantly, how would it be a diary? 

You pick up the notebook, looking at the cover that read “Yang Jeongin Journal 1” on the title lines. Skipping to the one of the first few pages, you read a couple lines, which turns into reading a paragraph, and later an entire page. The more you read, the more you begin to understand why he hid it from you while boldly writing in front of you. Your jaw hangs slack as your eyes glaze over the lewd words written on the page. Your mind is blown imaging the sweet boy Jeongin imagining these scenarios, especially when you realize that you’re the other character. 

Her hand feels like heaven wrapped around my cock, stroking me up and down as I quickly become breathless from the sensation. She looks into my eyes, staring me down like a predator watching her prey. Her touch quickly becomes overwhelming as my dick starts to twitch in her hand, begging to cum despite her only beginning to play with me. I thrust into her hand, hips quaking as I seat myself again. “Please let me cum, mommy.” Y/n laughs and nods her head, lowering her lips to my cock, ready to catch my release on her gorgeous face.

Seeing your name on the paper makes your heart jump. All of these dirty thoughts that Jeongin pens in his journal are about you. As you shuffle through the pages, your name is practically highlighted to your eyes. Every few pages, there’s a description of your body or what you wear, occasionally an imagine of you undressing in your bedroom window that happens to face Jeongin’s bedroom. Although you always keep your curtains shut, Jeongin’s writing describes him hoping that you leave your curtains open to put on a show for him, undressing slowly until you notice Jeongin jerking off in the house across the fence. 

You slam his journal shut. You’ve seen enough. Laying it down on the table as it was before, you attempt to calm yourself and watch the TV you’ve been craving to watch since you got off work. Despite your best efforts, your mind begins to wonder to Jeongin, sleeping quietly beside you, and how ecstatic he’d be if you’d reenact some of the scenes he wrote in his special journal. 

Jeongin groans and stretches, finally waking up from his nap. You tap his leg to signal that you’re home, and he nearly jumps out of his skin feeling you near him. He coughs as he sits up, pressing down his shirt to get out any wrinkles and fixing his hair that looks like a bird’s nest. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” You laugh, smiling brightly at him as if you weren’t just reading his book of sexual fantasies. “Did you have a nice nap?” 

“Yes, yes!” Jeongin fumbles over his words, worried that you’re about to fire him for sleeping on the job. “I’m so sorry! I promise I didn’t fall asleep until after the girls went to sleep.” He bows his head, sincerely apologizing for something any college student would reasonably do once work was over.

“No worries. I’m sure my girls were in good hands.” You reach for his journal and hand it to him, and he begins to turn a bright shade of red. He knows what’s in that book, but he assumes you’re still naive. “I almost used your little book as a footrest, so put this somewhere safe, okay?”

“Oh, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to leave it out. I was just writing in it until I fell asleep.” He grabs his bookbag and shoves it in gently. 

“Wow, you write in that thing a lot.” You cross your legs and you face him, totally ignoring the television show at this point. “How long have you had that assignment for class?” 

You clearly caught him off guard. He seems confused before he remembers his lie, widening his eyes once he realizes that he’s about to dig himself into a hole. “Oh, it isn’t just one assignment. It’s for my creative writing class.” 

“Ah, I had a creative writing class too.” If he was going to lie to your face, it was only fair that you rebuttal with another lie. “Can I read some of what you wrote? Maybe give you some critique?”

Jeongin’s mind went blank. He broke out in a cold sweat. If he lets you read it, his life will be over, but on the other hand, if he doesn’t let you read it, it will look sketchy since it’s just supposed to be innocent writing for a freshman level college class. 

“Uh, it’s a little personal.” He’s adamantly avoiding eye contact with you, looking anywhere but your face. “I don’t think that would be appropriate since you’re my next door neighbor.” 

“Not appropriate, huh?” You can’t help but smirk, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees the sideways smile grow on your face. His heart begins to dip as he finally starts to connect the dots, thinking that his job, no, his existence as your neighbor could end within a matter of minutes. “What’s so inappropriate about wanting your neighbor, who is over ten years older than you might I add, to sit on your face and call you her baby boy? Hm?” 

Jeongin is frozen in place. He’s been outed. All of his wildest sexual fantasies have been revealed to the woman he wants to do them with. Knowing you’ve read his journal at least a little bit, he can’t help but get hard under his joggers, mentally cursing himself for wearing them once he notices your eyes drift to the tent in his pants. 

“Sorry, but curiosity killed the cat on this one.” You scoot closer to him, taking his hands in yours and rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand to warm him up. “I can’t believe my neighbor’s cute little son grew up to be such a dirty minded boy that can’t keep his thoughts in his head, but has to put them on paper so he can read them and imagine his neighbor fuck him again and again.”

“How much did you read?” Still with his head down, he squeaks out the question that’s been running through his mind since you started teasing him with your words. 

“I read enough.” You remove one of your hands from the hold and perk his chin up so he has no choice but to look at you. His eyes are sparkling with lust as you’re just centimeters from his face. “Tell me, Jeongin, what do you want me to do to you?”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

He pauses to ponder and collect his thoughts. Everything he’s ever imagined is running through his read: the pet names, the toys, the punishments, the pleasure. It’s all too much, and he can hardly speak another word before you pet his face, holding his head in your palm as he shyly presses his cheek into your hand. 

“M-mommy,” he had never said that word out loud to you before, “can I strip for you?”

“All for me?” You smile, gladly accepting this offer. “Go ahead, baby boy. Show mommy what she’s been missing.”

He removes himself from you and stands up, timidly facing you as you lounge back on your couch. His shirt goes first, being neatly tossing onto the couch where he once sat. His fingers fiddle with the hem of his sweatpants before he pulls them down, showing you his bulge that’s painfully pressed against his tight boxer briefs. He’s bigger than you expected him to be, but that’s welcomed in your eyes.

You hold your hand out, stopping him before he can pull down his underwear. Standing up with a groan, you walk around his body, eyeing him up like he’s a buffet. One of your hands gently grabs at his ass, squeezing the skin between your fingertips and making him whine. You bite your lip when you hear him, sounding cute as a button despite the situation. From behind, you pull him back to you and run your hands around his body to feel his toned abs, finally moving upwards to tease his erect nipples. You feel him take a deep breath to calm himself, but when one hand pinches his nipple, he whines again, louder this time.

“Quiet, baby. You don’t want to wake the girls, do you?” When you whisper in his ear, all of the thoughts leave his head. You’ve hardly touched him and he’s dumb, and as embarassing at it is, he loves feeling helpless in your arms. “I haven’t seen another man like this in ages. You’re exactly what I need right now, Jeongin.” 

“Y-you need me?” He can hardly believe that you’re just as horny over him as he is for you, although his longer dates back far longer than just an hour or so. You hum in his ear as your hands slide down his torso to his cock, palming him over his underwear. He hisses and moans from the lightest stimulation. His reaction to all of your touches is perfect, and you can’t wait to see how he reacts when you’re riding him or sucking him off, although you could do anything to him and he’d be thankful. 

You remove your hand from his cock and pull down his underwear, finally seeing his length in all its glory. He gasps from how fast you undress him, but at the same time, he loves being on display for you. As much as he wants to hide his erection out of reflex, he holds his arms to the side tightly, allowing you to come in front of him and take in the view. 

“Jeongin, are you a virgin?” As embarrassing at it is, he nods and holds his breath, waiting for you to answer. “Aw, my pretty little boy’s never been fucked? That must be why you’re so infatuated with me.” 

You get down on your knees so you’re eye-level with his cock, now red and angry, begging to be sucked. Although your skills might be a little rusty, if your ex-husband’s reviews were any indication, you were about to blow this kid’s mind. With a little lick, he’s whining and staring down at you as you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock before moving back again and wrapping your hand around him like he’s always imagined. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Your voice sounded so calm and gentle, it was honestly shocking to Jeongin since he could hardly speak at all. He nods, and you take him to sit back on the couch. He spreads his legs for you to sit in between, once again jerking him off with one hand while the other plays with his balls. You kiss the tip before taking his member into your mouth, bobbing your head only around the tip. 

Jeongin’s convinced himself that he’s dreaming when he looks down to see your face moving up and down the very top of his cock. It feels so good, better than he could have ever imagined, and surely better than his hand. As you slowly start to take him more into your mouth, he’s clutching onto the couch cushion for dear life. He gets close very fast, tapping his thigh with one hand to try to convey that he’s about to cum. Quickly catching on, you take him fully into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, almost making you gag. 

After a few twitches of his cock, you feel him cumming down your throat as he moans out expletives from the overwhelming sensation. When he’s finally done, you pull your mouth off of him and let his cum drip out of your mouth and onto your chest, which was still covered by your button-down work shirt. When Jeongin finally opens his eyes, he’s greeted by you lazily resting your head on his thigh, looking up at him, waiting for him to come back down to Earth. 

“Ah, thank you, mommy.” In his post-nut state, the name he’d given you leaves his lips more hesitantly, but he knows that’s what you want to hear. Looking up at the clock, he notices that it’s past his self-determined bed time, but he’s still dazed enough to not care, at least for a moment. “That felt so good.” 

“And maybe tomorrow night we can do more, hm?” You slide onto his lap, his soft cock resting between your thighs. “I’d love to ride my baby boy and finally take his virginity… only if you want of course.” 

“I- … Yes, I’d love that.” Before he can say another word, you kiss him on the lips, and despite them just being around his cock, your kiss is sweet, and he needs more of it. Trying to avoid a make-out session, you pull away and get off of the boy’s lap, telling him to get dressed and go home so you can both sleep.

Your goodbye to him is the same as always, waving as he walks back home, but knowing what’s going to transpire tomorrow night, you can’t help but finish yourself off after being all worked up from Yang Jeongin. You decide to save your panties from today before you get into the shower, because they’re absolutely drenched and you’re sure Jeongin would love to have them for when he’s home alone. 

After pleasing yourself in the shower, you peek out your bedroom window. Just as you had hoped, Jeongin’s curtains were wide open, and he was beating his cock with one hand and sucking on his fingers with the other. He was clearly thinking about you by how he’d had his journal sitting next to him opened to a random page. 

You sleep good that night, pleased and excited for tomorrow. Although you were always the submissive one, you came to realize that maybe being the one in control was just what you needed. 

[presidentbungus]

I’ve been working on this big halloween fic literally since I joined the fandom and I basically just didn’t write anything that was actually usable for 2 years but now. now I am making progress. I feel strong

anyway I think a total of like 7 people know what it’s about and vaguely because I refuse to sit down and write a whole big post about it. but I desperately want to share some so here’s a part im proud of as a little sneak peek:) you will not understand what’s going on and I think that’s funny. do not attempt to comprehend. enjoy

It takes Demo a second to connect the dots but something hits the brick right by his leg and he registers a gunshot—a sniper rifle.

Oh, god. For a second his mind scatters as he desperately looks for cover, leaps behind a row of crates and rests for a moment—god dammit, living target dummies and now there’s somebody else after them—and then another gunshot doesn’t come, and when he steels the courage to raise his head he looks across the field and sees a familiar gloved hand stretched out a window and waving across the other end of the field.

That bloody bastard. Demo’d be lying to say he isn’t relieved to see him alive, but—but still. Solly comes stumblin’ up after him, like he was just sitting still on the other end the whole damn time, and he must see Sniper cause he starts waving like a madman, and then he belts a nice clean “hello Sniper” across the horizon and Demo has to tackle him to the ground to stop him saying more.

“No,” he says, and he feels a little bad so he gets off Soldier and says: “I’m sorry. They can’t know where we are. We gotta be quiet.”

“… Understood.”

Quiet. That gives him an idea.

A few months ago Engie made everybody learn a bit of sign language, to make Pyro feel better about it and cause it’d be good to know anyway—lots of things are good to know anyway when it comes to Engie. Demo shakes Solly off him and gives Sniper a wave to catch his attention and signs: You okay?

It takes him a second of squinting to realize that he is not going to have an earthly idea what Sniper’s signing back to him, so he tacks on One gunshot is yes.

He does it two more times before a bullet lands in the sand in front of him, and he might make out a distant thumbs up, and it occurs to him there’s something else there—a little red dot with a black dot on top of it. Pyro. There’s another one, at least.

Another shot hits right by his foot, and he jumps back and looks at Soldier—whose hands are moving through sentences he could not dream of comprehending. Another shot, then two in a row, then one.

Demo grips his shoulder, stopping him for a moment. “What are you saying?”

“Good news,” Soldier says back, hands a blur. “They said we can go to them. They are safe, for the time being. And…” Another two shots. “They think your costume’s stupid.”

“What?”

“Pyro says it’s entirely historically inaccurate and the quality is garbage, anyway. I’m sorry to say this Tavish but I think they’re in the right here—“

“Where’d you learn to sign like that?”

Here Soldier kind of pulls his lip up, nostrils flaring like it’s the most obvious question he’s ever been asked. “Engie taught us,” he says, flatly. “Were you drunk?”

… Maybe at this point it’s best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Okay,” Tavish says, defeated. “Do they know what’s going on?”

Two shots. “No.” One shot. “They—Sniper’s leg is cardboard. Sitting ducks.” Tavish stares forlornly at the wall as it’s riddled with holes. “Pyro says your eyepatch historically would not have had a sequined skull and bones on it and they’re not even sure where you got that idea. And the hat’s even worse. It’s more of a—“

“It’s not meant to be accurate it’s meant to sparkle—and they’re yes or bloody no questions, where the hell are you getting this?”

“Well I’m asking a lot of questions.” This earns a punch to the side. “And we share a lot of opinions. And—“

Soldier keeps talking, but Tavish listens past it—something in the distance, small but unmistakeable. A “meem”. “Aw, cripe,” Tavish says—punching Solly in the stomach to shut him up. “Took too goddamn long.”

And of course it’s their bloody luck that the stupid cutouts can climb ladders—or something along those lines, cause Soldier turns around and punches the head right off a cardboard Medic and Tavish feels a little sick. A few feet away from him one gets a bullet right through the head and he watches it fall over—almost dead, for a second, until it just comes right back up like nothing happened. Tavish puts Solly in a headlock to stop him running away and getting more but it only buys him a little time—there’s only one ladder down from this section of the roof and it’s completely swarmed, and he crawls up to the edge and just sees soil.

Five seconds he goes oh, guess this is it, and to be honest he never thought he’d go out this way but Soldier wriggles out of his grip and Tavish catches something on his back—and as he ogles it it occurs to him Solly was just practicing rocket jumping before this happened, and—of course.

He grips Solly by the arm, desperate to maintain grip—watches the sleeve of his crappy job-issued uniform start tearing, and he gives one good bloody spin and keeps holding on don’t let go don’t let go don’t let go—and the momentum sends Solly careening over the edge, really bizarrely calm despite the circumstances (being: currently falling to death), and for a terrifying moment they spin through the air and Tavish can’t find the bloody pull and this time, this one, it’s over. They’re dead. They’re gonna hit the ground and respawn’s not gonna be up and they’ll be remembered as the two bloody idiots who decided it was a good idea to let themselves be cornered on a roof in the middle of an apocalypse—and Solly flips midair and hugs him tight, stomach-to-stomach instead of back-to-back, and something connects, and everything goes red. And even though every thought in his head flies out right here time slows down enough to find the cold little piece of plastic on the back and pull, and they draw their faces away from each other as the chute expands, and Tavish feels like he’s lost something.

They’re only caught in the air for just half a second before they land painfully in a pile of cloth and flesh—and for a second, ears ringing, it’s like he’s dead. Trapped under six thousand kilos struggling to breathe, too warm, bloody all over and so dark, but he feels hands grappling at his chest, pulling and pulling, and Soldier sits up on top of him and something cracks and the sun shines too warm on his face.

“I’m sorry for landing on you Tavish,” Solly says—Demo would reply if he were able to take a full breath. “Quick thinking, private. You deserve a medal.”

“Did we—“ his hands find Solly’s chest, feeling along the tear on his sleeve, trying to find the breath and the words for whatever he’s going to say. It’s there and it isn’t. Cigar smoke, maple, something sweet he’s not able to place. “Solly, I—did we just—“

“Did we what?” Jane’s expression reads the same oblivion as always, or at least that’s what Tavish hopes he sees. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s… nothing. We should get going. Thank you, Jane.”

As Soldier helps him up something feels profoundly wrong—like there was something else he was supposed to do here.

Instead, he just says: “Let’s go find Sniper, huh?” and Jane whoops, and Demo decides he will just try not thinking from now on.

[sapphicquill]

congrats on 100 followers friend <3 may I ask for anything with ler!Fjord bc the way you wrote teasing in your TAZ fic was so good? or lee!Lucretia during the Stolen Century arc being tickled out of her antisocial little shell if you're in a TAZ mood :) -Chock

Whoops. This is what happens when my whole life gets flipped upside down and I have to move cross-country back home out of no where! Sorry for the long wait, I'm finally making headway on these fics. I owe the entirety of this fic to @ticklishnonsense's honey-tongued because that’s the Ultimate Teasey Ler!Fjord fic and to @poesparakeet-fics for the plot because my smol brain could not come up with anything good and she gave me THE GOODS. Hope you enjoy, @chockfullofsecrets!

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Fjord, Caleb Widogast

Wordcount: 2423

After everything they’ve all been through, Fjord thinks he can handle most things. Spitting up salt water in the mornings, nearly getting impaled by strangers on a regular basis, Nott rifling through his shit—while he’d rather not deal with all of that bullshit, he can and that’s the important thing.

But the crushing weight of all the damn pining happening between Caleb and Essek might be the one thing Fjord absolutely cannot handle for any longer.

It had started innocently enough. Hands brushing and secret smiles and eyes briefly meeting before diverting, full of nerves and excitement and swirling butterflies. He’d experienced some of the same with Jester, but the two wizards were starting to get insufferable. It was painfully obvious to anyone in the room that they had a thing for one another, and even if it wasn’t, Fjord had overheard Caleb whining to Jester more than once about the entire situation, so it wasn’t like he was entirely oblivious to his own crush.

But apparently perpetually sad and stuffy wizards are really bad at just admitting what was right in front of their faces. Fjord’s worried that one of them might just explode soon, and that’s the entirely altruistic reasoning that finally inspires him to insert himself into the situation.

Caleb’s problem, Fjord thinks, is one of confidence. He gets too caught up in his own keen mind, tangling everything up in his head and overthinking and overanalyzing and panicking and deconstructing until everything’s just a jumbled mess of knots. He just needs a little push is all. A little something to nudge him past the trouble that is thinking and into acting. And Fjord thinks he knows a fairly good method of encouragement.

Thus, Fjord is currently standing in the doorway of the mansion library, trying not to reveal his presence too early. Caleb is folded over a desk with a pinched expression on his face that Fjord knows by now means he’s reached some sort of roadblock in whatever he was working on. In other words: a perfect time for an interruption.

“Productive afternoon?”

It’s a testament to how close the group has gotten that Caleb only sort-of flinches at the sudden sound of Fjord’s voice.

“Ah, nein, not really,” the wizard replies as he straightens up. His back makes an ominous cracking noise as he sits up and Fjord winces in sympathy.

“Gods, then maybe it’s time to take a break, hm?”

“Ja, a break…” Caleb trails off, eyes drifting back to the scattered parchment and books on the desk. Fjord resists the temptation to roll his eyes at the utterly predictability of their headstrong wizard.

“Okay, well now I’m making you take a break, Widogast,” he says as he marches swiftly over to Caleb and practically hauls him out of his chair. Caleb, unsurprisingly, goes willingly, letting himself be shuffled over to a nearby sofa.

With a huff, Caleb sits and begins massaging his temples, willing away either a physical ache or a swirling mass of snarled thoughts and ideas. Fjord lowers himself down next to the human and pretends like he isn’t thrilled over what he’s about to do.

A comfortable silence descends then. After a few more vigorous rubs, Caleb leans his head back against the leather of the sofa and closes his eyes and Fjord figures this is the best chance to spring the trap.

Quick as a slash of his falchion, Fjord twists from his spot next to Caleb and pulls him down into a horizontal position before caging the human in from above. He hovers over the now-prone wizard and tries not to feel too smug as Caleb yelps but doesn’t move an inch to try to wiggle away.

“Scheiße, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something,” Fjord says casually as he can. Caleb gives him an exasperated look, complete with raised eyebrow and suspicious frown.

“And this ‘something’ requires you to pin me to a sofa?”

Fjord grins before scooping both of Caleb’s wrists up with one hand and pulling them above his head. Exasperation shifts quickly into a mix of disbelief, fear, and anticipation and Fjord is lucky that around his friends, Caleb wears his emotions very clearly on his face.

“Well,” the warlock starts, “I kind of figured that this particular topic would send you scampering off if I didn’t take some preventative measures.”

A fiery blush colors Caleb’s cheeks and Fjord tries not to laugh.

“And something tells me I thought correctly.”

Caleb makes a noise not unlike one Fjord’s heard from Frumpkin and finally starts to struggle lightly in his grasp, like his body is only now catching up with the rest of him. Fjord lets him, figuring that letting the wizard work himself into a bit of a tizzy will just make his own task easier. Caleb’s terribly predictable. As the human squirms minutely under him, Fjord lets his free hand curve subtly into a claw and hovers it just next to Caleb’s lower ribs.

“Now, see, I also think you might benefit from a little preemptive encouragement, because you’re the most stubborn fucker I’ve ever met when you have to talk about anything personal...”

Fjord trails off when he notices that Caleb’s eyes have locked onto his hand, mostly because he knows that the brilliant mage has connected all of the appropriate dots and will voice a protest in three, two—

“N-nein, Fjord, wait just a moment, there is no need for—”

Fjord slowly flutters his fingers, still poised a hair’s breadth from the stretched expanse of Caleb’s ribs, and Caleb cuts himself off with a hitched laugh-gasp, eyes wide as saucers.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate right now,” Fjord says, the edges of his voice tinged with a low growl as he keeps the motion of his fingers going. Caleb doesn’t really do much aside from grow ever so slightly redder in the face.

Without further preamble, Fjord finally moves his hand to meet Caleb’s torso. It’s like the wizard has been hit with a successful Thunderwave—his whole body jolts before tensing up so tightly he trembles. Continuing the fluttering from before, Fjord traces across the space between Caleb’s two lowest ribs and grins when Caleb lets out something between a giggle and a whine.

“Gods, you’re so easy to rile up, you know that?”

Caleb’s giggling picks up at Fjord’s words. He’d have pity on the wizard if it wasn’t so adorable. Still gently teasing at the softness of Caleb’s lower ribs, the half-orc leans forward until his mouth is right next to his victim’s ear.

“You’re just that ticklish, huh?”

Caleb thrashes, throwing his head from side to side so rapidly Fjord would be worried the human would hurt himself if he hadn’t watched this happen numerous times before. For good measure, he lets his fingers drift up Caleb’s ribs and lets out a small laugh himself as the giggles morph into airy, full-blown laughter. Exactly as planned.

“So you and Essek,” Fjord says casually as he straightens back up, pitching his voice a little louder to be heard over Caleb’s bubbly laughter. The wizard definitely seems to register his words if the cut-off gasp and even more desperate wiggles are any indication. Fjord laughs a little to himself at the adorable way Caleb scrunches his nose when the increased movement does little to deter his attack. Taking a little pity, Fjord pushes on, his free fingers swirling tight circles up and down Caleb’s right side.

“You know he likes you too, right?”

Fjord’s not exactly sure humans are supposed to turn that shade of red, but Jester’s got healing spells to spare right now, so he continues.

“And as amusing as it is watching you two dance around each other, it’s getting a bit old.”

“B-bitte, Fjord—!”

Caleb’s own laughter cuts off whatever plea was going to escape next. The wizard flops his head a bit side to side, like if he shakes enough he’ll clear Fjord’s words like trapped water from his ears. It’s downright precious and one hundred percent ineffective.

Adjusting his grip on Caleb’s wrists, Fjord lets his fingers trail up his captive’s ribs in the same slow pace he knows will drive Caleb up the damn wall. It’s a little impressive, actually, how easily this light tickling can take their resident wizard apart. Particularly useful at certain times. He can feel Caleb trembling under him, laughs high and desperate as the light tracing fingertips slowly migrate up to what both Jester and Molly affectionately refer to as his worst “death spots.”

“So, here’s my idea.”

His fingers flutter just below the space where his holsters normally are—fortunate Caleb feels comfortable and safe enough to remove them when at the house—and the wizard groans through his laughter.

“Either you promise that you’ll confess to Essek the next time he’s around, or I’ll just have to keep tickling you forever. How’s that sound?”

“Wh-aaat? Bitte, no, that is e-eehviil!”

“That’s kind of the point, bud,” Fjord replies around another laugh of his own. He floats his fingers up the scant few millimeters to the space between Caleb’s uppermost ribs without prompting and hopes that the wail the human lets out doesn’t worry the rest of the Nein. (It shouldn’t, not with the frequency Caleb makes noises like that.)

“I’m not letting up until you tell me the first words out of your mouth when you see Essek next are ‘Can we talk somewhere privately, Shadowhand?’” Fjord pitches his voice into a terrifically awful imitation of a Zemnian accent that has Caleb laughing, somehow, even harder. Though, on second thought, that might have more to do with the rapid little scribbles he’s got focused on the space above Caleb’s top rib than his attempt at accentwork.

Unsurprisingly, Caleb doesn’t say anything much in response, instead throwing all of his effort into laughing and squirming ineffectively. Fjord keeps a careful ear out for any hint of the safeword Jester had insisted everyone know about and respect upon pain of near-death, but the only thing coming out of Caleb is whimpered begging and a spray of foreign curses. Perfect.

Fjord takes a split second to send a silent apology to Jester, who will no doubt be massively upset she missed out on assisting Fjord with this bit of encouragement, but this was his game right now, dammit, and it was time to go for the kill.

(Would it be worth the inevitable tickling the blue tiefling would dish out later? Most definitely.)

“Alright, well, suit yourself, Widogast.”

With that, Fjord moves the tickling to Caleb’s exposed underarm and focuses the entirety of his attention on making the human melt.

With an impressive amount of core strength, Caleb attempts to jackknife in half to throw Fjord off. Fortunately, their wizard’s tricks are well known by now. Fjord barely budges as he keeps up the spidering under Caleb’s arm, letting his fingers trail just the slightest bit up the underside of Caleb’s bicep before reversing back down to the soft spot just above Caleb’s uppermost rib.

The fight drains out of the mage just as quickly as it revved up, leaving him loose and floppy and lost in the throws of his own cackling. Fjord would feel bad if he didn’t know how much Caleb was enjoying himself. Time to step things up a notch.

“You know how to get me to stop, Caleb. Do you really like the thought of me tickling you like this more than the idea of confessing to a crush you know is damn-well mutual? Really seems like it.”

More wailing, more thrashing, but still, no dice. Maybe a slightly different approach…

“Gods above, you’re just too ticklish for your own good, aren’t you?”

As always, Caleb responds viscerally to the mere word and that, of all things, seems to be the final straw.

“Scheiße, bitte! Habt mitleid! Ohhkay, I pr-promise!”

“You promise what?”

“Oh please, I caa-aan’t—!”

Fjord shifts from light tracing along Caleb’s top ribs to a solid press of his palm, steadying the human as his laughter slowly eases up. After a few gulps of air, Caleb continues.

“I will tell Essek how I truly feel when we next encounter him, I swear to you!”

“You’re absolutely promising me you’ll spill about your deep, undying love for Essek Thelyss the very moment he’s within twenty yards of you?” Fjord taunts, curling his fingers back into a claw at Caleb’s right side. The human tenses and anticipatory giggles start bubbling from him almost instantly.

“Ja, ja, I a-ahh-m!”

“Good!” Fjord says brightly, pulling his hand away from Caleb’s squirming form. He smiles down at Caleb, who looks about ready to protest the large hand still pining his wrists to the sofa, before lowering himself to speak directly into the wizard’s ear.

“And maybe after you two have worked everything out, I’ll have a little chat with Essek myself about how much you like this particular method of torture.”

Caleb looks a bit like he’s swallowed a toad.

“F-fjord, mein Gott, wait—”

“I’m sure Molly and Jester would be more than happy to help me tell him all of the best ways to tickle you senseless, hmm? They’re tieflings, you know how honest they get when tickling comes up. They’ll just gush about how much you love it when we wreck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

He isn’t even tickling him anymore, but Caleb is giggling, light and bubbly and tortured, all from Fjord’s teasing alone.

“Hell, maybe we’ll all get you the next time Essek comes by the tower. How’d you like that, him watching you get tickled by every single one of us until you cry and knowing you love every minute of it?”

Caleb’s just babbling in Zemnian through his laughter, eyes squeezed shut and a grin pulling wide at his lips.

“D’you think he’d join in if we asked him to?”

Caleb just keeps laughing. Fjord grins. Mission successful.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 23

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

It doesn’t feel real until she sees the flutter on the ultrasound, the grey and white pixels flashing erratically confirming a healthy ten-week pregnancy. The doctor gives them a due date of September 17th, and she explains to Mulder repeatedly that the due date is only an estimate, that the baby will most likely arrive sometime in the two weeks before or after that day. Nonetheless, he prints little numbers in the corner of each date on the calendar, counting down.

She is lucky to experience very little nausea, but the time saved clinging to the toilet is instead allocated to bursting into tears at every tiny inconvenience. Mulder comforts her with a confused expression when she cries because she can’t find a Tupperware lid that fits, or her latte has too much foam, or she realizes she can no longer see her toes. She cries because she’s crying, because she feels out of touch with her own body and thrown off by her own emotions. They marvel at the growth of her belly as well as her breasts, which are even more sensitive than they were before. Her libido kicks into overdrive at the same time that she becomes incredibly self conscious about her protruding belly, her fuller face, her swelling feet. This leads to more tears as she grapples with both wanting desperately to be touched and not wanting him to look at her.

He tells her each day how beautiful she is, her hair growing longer and thicker, her skin glowing, her rounding belly housing the perfect little life that they created together. When he’s home, he rubs her feet every night, fetches her countless glasses of water and then helps tow her out of the bed so she can pee ten times in the night. When he’s on the road with Monica, he calls three times a day, asks Missy and her mother to go by and check on her, calls in dinner to be delivered so she doesn't have to cook. As her due date nears, he stops going on out-of-town cases, needing to be close enough to be by her side immediately when she goes into labor. He will not risk missing the birth of his child.

The apartment becomes cramped with a bassinet, changing table, pack n play, and various other baby gadgets. They consider moving, but the idea is too overwhelming for Scully so they decide to stay put until the baby becomes mobile and they really need more space. Mulder breaks the lease on his apartment and moves his fish tank into the living room, putting the rest of his furniture in storage until they buy a house. Priscilla breaks in all the baby gear, sleeping in the car seat and jumping into the swing, covering the tiny onesies with her black fur and making Scully cry yet again. Mulder refuses to let her scoop the litter box, even though she insists it’s safe if she wears gloves and washes her hands afterward. Other tasks she’s forbidden to complete include cleaning the toilet, carrying in the groceries and hauling laundry to the washing machine. When he’s on the road, she misses him as much as she is relieved to be able to be independent, not much caring for being treated as though she’s made of glass.

For the majority of her pregnancy, Scully insists that she doesn’t want to know the sex of the baby, that she wants to be surprised. Mulder respects her decision, even though he would personally like to know, and they create two lists of potential baby names, Scully crossing off “Lisa Marie'' each time Mulder tries to add it to the “girl” column. When she reaches 39 weeks, her pelvis widening as the baby drops into the birth canal, she is so miserable that she has a change of heart, needing to feel connected to this thing that is destroying her body and stealing her sleep. They call the doctor together on a Thursday afternoon as Scully sits on the couch in tears, having woken that morning to find angry red stretch marks marring her previously lily-white belly. When Mulder relays the doctor’s message that the baby is a girl, she sobs harder, and he’s not sure whether it’s because she’s happy or disappointed.

She wakes him at 3:00 am on September 21st, the irregular Braxton-Hicks contractions she’s been feeling for weeks having taken up a predictable cadence, now ten minutes apart almost on the dot. He starts rushing around, scrambling for her hospital bag and his shoes, and now it is her turn to provide comfort, to let him know there’s plenty of time. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital until the contractions are five minutes apart, and so they wait. The progression to nine minutes, then eight, then seven is alarmingly fast, and by the time she agrees that they should head to the hospital she’s starting to feel pressure low in her pelvis. Mulder drives too fast, the streets thankfully still quiet in the early morning, and she is wheeled into labor and delivery with not enough time for an epidural, much to her lament.

Molly Katherine Mulder has blue eyes and a dark shock of nearly-black hair. She barely cries at her entrance to the world, instead searching the room with a curious gaze, squeezing her daddy’s finger with an impressively strong grip and latching like a pro. They are able to go home the following day, Scully wincing as she moves gingerly from the bed to the couch, rinsing her tender stitches with a bottle of warm water and bleeding through entire packages of overnight maxi pads in a day.

Mulder takes off work for two weeks and they spend blissful days curled up in bed with the baby nestled between them as Priscilla curiously sniffs around her, licking her hair with a rough tongue and making them laugh. Each time Scully wakes at night to nurse, Mulder insists she go back to sleep while he changes the baby and walks her around the quiet apartment until she is asleep, singing softly and lulling them both.

When Mulder returns to work, Scully insists that he get a full night's sleep and let her wake up with Molly, reasoning that she can take naps during the day. She does not, of course, take naps during the day. Instead she tries to keep the apartment clean, the clothes washed, the diapers taken out to the dumpster, the litter box scooped. She does too much, and he sees it each day as she grows more and more weary, more and more defeated, the bags under her eyes deepening in color and her mouth rarely hosting a smile. He begs her to let him do more, to ask less of herself, but she is stubborn and strong-willed, the very things he loves about her now keeping her from properly taking care of herself.

They struggle through sleep-deprived arguments over who left the breast milk out on the counter all night, why it matters if he changes the baby on the floor instead of the changing table, why Scully doesn’t want to supplement with formula so he can take some of the night feedings. Her doctor releases her as medically clear to have sex after six weeks and she cries as she tells him that she doesn’t feel ready, that she can’t imagine anything worse than sex right now, and he holds her as he tells her that he doesn’t care, that she should take as much time as she needs, that he can wait.

They struggle, and they thrive. Moments of absolute unadulterated joy are punctuated by intense despair and overwhelm. The gain of a family against the loss of a life where you could pick up and go, stay out until 2:00 am and make love in the middle of the day. They are happy, and they are stressed, and they face it together.

On a Saturday in December, Mulder wakes early and takes care of every conceivable task in the house; the laundry, the dishes, cleaning the bathroom, scooping the litter, buying the groceries. He checks every item off Scully’s to-do list and then takes Molly for a long drive, leaving Scully alone with nothing to do in hopes that she will rest for once. When they return from their excursion, he creeps into the quiet apartment with a sleeping baby in his arms and sets her in the bassinet by the couch. At first he thinks maybe Scully has gone out, but he finds her in bed asleep with soaking wet hair, Priscilla curled up behind her knees. He watches her for a bit, affection clutching at his chest, then changes into sweats and kicks Priscilla out so he can snuggle up behind Scully. It feels so infrequent that they just lay like this anymore; one of them is always about to get up with the baby, about to get ready for work, or doesn’t want to be touched after a tiny person has clung to them all day. He pulls in a deep breath, smelling her lavender bubble bath and feeling the rise and fall of her ribs against his chest. He doesn’t want to disturb her, but he can’t resist pressing a tiny kiss to the side of her neck.

“Mmmm,” she hums in response, twisting her body around so they are face to face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s asleep in the living room.”

She sighs and snuggles closer to him, pressing her forehead into his chest and pushing one of her legs between his.

“This feels nice,” she says contentedly, and he brushes his hand softly up and down her back.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Tired. Frumpy. Like I haven’t put on real clothes or a stitch of makeup in three months,” she laments.

“Well, I’ll give you tired,” he says softly, “but I can’t agree on frumpy. I think you look very beautiful.”

She scoffs against his chest.

“You don’t have to placate me, Mulder. I know I’m a mess.”

“Maybe so, but you’re my mess,” he retorts, pushing his fingers into her hair to gently scratch her scalp.

She tilts her head up to look at him, appraising his face with a skeptical eye.

“Is this what you thought it was going to be like?” she asks, her tone open and vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “I guess I didn’t really know what to expect.”

She sighs. “I just wish I knew when I might start to feel like myself again,” she says sadly. “I can’t help but feel like you’re not getting what you signed up for.”

“What do you mean?” he asks with a concerned frown.

He sees her eyes growing glassy, dampening with impending tears. “I mean the woman you asked out in the autopsy bay isn’t the one you’re with now,” she whispers, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

“That’s not even a little bit true,” he implores, cradling the back of her head with his hand. “You are everything you were then, and more. I’m amazed by you every day.”

She closes her eyes, a tear rolling across the bridge of her nose. He feels his chest ache; the need to make her understand is overwhelming.

“Hey,” he says, pulling the blankets back, “come here.”

He pulls her into a sitting position and slides off the bed, towing her along with him to sit on the edge of the mattress. He kneels on the floor between her knees, his hands on her hips.

“If you think for one second that I want to be with anyone but you, you’re fucking insane. I don’t care if you wear giant milk-stained T-shirts and have spit up in your hair for the rest of our lives, Scully. You’re it for me, okay?”

She pulls in a shuddering breath and wipes at her eyes, but won’t look at him.

“Stay here,” he commands, and disappears into the bathroom for a moment. When he comes back, he returns to his post kneeling at her feet.

“We knew this was going to be hard,” he says tenderly, holding one of her hands in his. “You said it yourself before Molly was born, that it would be the hardest time in our lives, and that we’d be at our worst. And I’m telling you that if this is your worst, sign me up, okay? It hasn’t changed how I feel about you.”

He holds up his other hand, a diamond ring perched between his thumb and forefinger.

“If you’re not ready to say yes yet, that’s okay, but I need you to know that I still want to marry you, Scully. I’ll wait forever if that’s what you need, but there hasn’t been a single day since I asked that I haven’t still meant it.”

Her tears have stopped, though her eyes are still wet and the tip of her nose is red. She looks from him to the ring and back, her eyebrows stitched in contemplation.

“I didn’t hear you ask me a question,” she says quietly, and he picks up on the slightest lilt of playfulness in her voice, which makes him break out into a smile.

“Dana Katherine Scully, love of my life, mother of my child, will you marry me?”

She smiles then, and he thinks his heart may burst right out of his chest.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she answers, and he takes her left hand, slipping the ring on her finger.

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him repeatedly, soft pecks devolving into lingering smooches as he shifts up slightly, pushing her back gently to recline on the bed. He moves over her, kissing along her jaw and down her neck, not going any further, not wanting to rush her.

She brings her hands to his hips, letting the tips of her fingers slip under the waist of his sweatpants, and his cock stirs. It’s been so, so, long, and he wants her desperately, but not until she’s ready. She pushes her hand down the front of his pants, gripping him as he grows hard under her touch. It’s overwhelming in the best way; he feels like a teenager being touched for the first time.

“I wanna have sex,” she breathes into his ear, the words rushing out quickly as though she’s afraid she might change her mind if she waits too long to say them.

He pulls back to look at her. “Are you sure?” he asks, and she nods, bringing her palm to his cheek before glancing at the ring on her finger and smiling.

They move slowly, though still with a sense of urgency that a baby sleeping in the next room brings. He pushes her shirt up and she lets him take it off, then slips the yoga pants off her hips, leaving her in basic black cotton briefs. He sees the hesitancy in her eyes as he looks at her body, now softer than it was before Molly, curvy in different places, purple streaks running from below her belly button to disappear under her panties.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing her chest, her breasts, her belly, running his tongue along the grooves of her stretch marks. He loops his thumbs under the waist of her panties and tugs them down slowly, quickly undressing before he rejoins her in the bed.

“Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” he asks with a serious expression, and she nods, letting her legs fall open as he settles between them. He lines himself up with her entrance and pushes in achingly slowly, watching her face raptly. Her mouth opens slightly, and she takes in a sharp little breath. He’s about to ask her if it hurts when she closes her eyes and her mouth drops open further as she breathes out “oh,” in a way that he knows means pleasure, not pain. When he’s all the way in, their hip bones pressed together tightly, he stills and kisses her for a while, feeling like he could melt into a puddle for how good everything feels. His heart, his mind, his body, he is all wrapped up in her and it’s exactly where he wants to be.

He begins to move, and she responds with an arch of her back and a little gasp, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Little by little, he increases his pace until he knows he won’t last much longer.

“What do you need?” he asks, and she brings her hand to her breast.

He dips his head, flicking at the hardened bud of her nipple, and feels her clench around him. He plays with the level of pressure, licking and sucking, pleasantly surprised that she is enjoying it even as her breasts have taken on a purely functional role these last few months.

She pulls in a huge breath, arching her back and pressing her head into the mattress and he groans as he feels her tighten around him. She emits a single piercing cry when she comes, stifling it with an arm slung across her mouth. He pours into her, burying his face in her neck, clinging to her like a life raft. She is, in fact, all he needs to survive.

Resting half his weight on the mattress beside her, he stays inside as they both come down, panting and smiling, brushing hands over each other’s skin, reconnecting.

“Ah!” Molly yells from the living room, and Mulder laughs.

“You’re being summoned,” Scully says with a tender smile.

He withdraws from her, handing her his T-shirt to clean up while he slips on his sweatpants and retrieves Molly from her bassinet.

“Guess what, Goose?” he says, using his special nickname for her, “Mommy and Daddy are getting married.”

“AH!” She squeals, flapping her arms.

[writingsbychlo]

💬 blurb request for ff!tommy smut?? honestly Chloe your writing is so good, and ff!tommy is my favorite and it would be such a blessing!! ilysm and congrats on 9k!

if you requested ff!tommy smut, I have rolled them all into one. because there was a surprising number, lol. y'all really thirsty for ff!tommy and honestly me too so here we go! I did y'all a little mix of headcanons and blurb, because all the requests were mixed. I tried to include everything from them all!

no more requests, the sleepover is over! I am just filling out all the ones left in my inbox!

okay, so, it's not like y'all haven't done stuff

I mean, he's hot, you're hot, and you're both mad in love

you've just not done that yet

but, it's been busy, and you kinda want it to be perfect

you had a whole weekend away planned, but it got cancelled last minute after another team injury that meant your team took over

and now, there's just a lot of pining

I mean, there's not much left to the imagination

you're no stranger to one another, a few showers and a lot of wandering hands has left you with a pretty solid fill of your imagination

if you really think about it, you can still feel the way cold shower tiles felt against your back as he scissored his fingers

or hear the way he'd groan ringing in your ears still when you'd go down on him before work

just to smirk all morning as it takes him hours to actually clean his head after a mind-blowing orgasm

not to mention the way your throat had been fucking sore after he'd gone down on you, a pillow over your face just to stop complaints from your neighbours

but you wanted more

you wanted to feel connected to him in that way, because there was only so much foreplay could do

and you were fucking needy

he'd whispered a lot of dirty promises in your ear about what he was gonna' give you, and you were waiting for him to deliver

this time was no exception

stumbling through the front door of your place

a pretty dress on a hook and a suit next to it, both still in their protective covers, waiting to go

steam from the bathroom was pouring out from under the door, and you whimpering embarrassingly as his fingers rubbed slowly across your clit, sucking marks into the skin of your chest where he knew your hemlines would cover

"tommy, please.."

"please, what, angel? tell me what you want?"

it had been a chaotic shift, a lot of adrenaline, and he'd smelled of smoke and been a little sweaty and dirty and he was pretty much entirely what wet dreams were made of

you'd been dripping since you'd gotten back to the station, and uncomfortable ever since

with your back pressed up to the counter, hair still dripping wet much like his own from the shower you'd recently taken, you let out another cry of his name

tracing your fingers over his chest, he twitched a little as you dragged your fingers over his nipples, and down, several spaces marked with raised pink skin, scars of all his saves, dotted between dark hairs along his chest and to his defined abs

"more, tommy, please.."

he grinned, head raising back up to capture your lips, and his fingers slid along slick folds

two slender digits easily slipping between your walls, pumping at the best speed he could manage from the angle

despite the relief, he wouldn't be enough

"no, more, like, I need you to fuck me, tommy."

"we don't have time, we'll be late for newt's birthday pa-"

"so we're late, newt'll understand. if I have to spend the whole night staring at you in that tight fucking suit, looking so fucking good I could pop, I won't make it, thomas. you hear me? 'might just die."

"you're gonna' die if I don't fuck you?" he'd tease, but slip his fingers free, raising them to his lips to lick them clean, and that fucking filthy look he'd get would take over his face. "well, I can't let that happen. I'd better fuck you real good, just to keep you in top shape."

"I think that's a good idea." You whispered, hands hooking underneath your thighs, fingers of one hand still wet as he lifted you, and your legs sealed around his waist. Only a second later, your back was meeting the bedding, stray droplets soaking into the fabric, and his body was following quickly after you. Kneeling before you don't he bedding, he was stretched out in all his glory, hard and toned muscle, dark hair trailing down from his pecs, and his cock tall and leaking, red at the tip in a way that made your thighs clench when he bobbed in the air.

Large hands pushed your knees apart again, letting out a harsh breath as he stared at you, gaze trailing up from your slick core to find you, propped up on your elbows. "You got no idea what you do to me, angel. Fuckin' hell."

"Think I got a pretty good idea." You whispered, red flush growing from his neck to his cheeks, but he gave you a cheeky wink nonetheless. Leaning down again, his lips found yours, a delicate kiss, and you bit gently on his lower lip, that deep and raspy moan you loved shaking along your body when he emitted it.

"You sure you wanna' do this? Want it to be perfect for you. Wanna' take you apart, piece by piece, make you mine."

"We have all night for that once we get home, you can make love to me, but right now, I just need you, Tommy. Been waiting too long." He groaned, your nails scraping over his chest, before your fingers were wrapping around his cock, his hips bucking into your hands.

"Well, if that's how we're gonna' do it, then flip over, hands and knees for me." The request jolted something filthy though you, and you did as told, turning over, before two large hands were palming at your ass. "D'you even know how good your ass looks in, like, everything? Fucking hell, if you weren't wearing heels tonight, I'd fuck you 'til you couldn't even walk. Maybe next time."

Lining himself up and sinking within your walls, your eyes were rolling back in your head. Thomas was by no means small, a voice in the back of your mind that was quickly silenced taunting you about comments once made, and the warmth of his chest covered your back as he leaned over you. Pressing several kisses along your spine, he gave you a moment to adjust, and you wiggled your hips against him.

Calloused hands were on your hips, holding so tightly you thought he might bruise, and he pulled back. One sharp thrust of his hips and he was sinking back into you, stretching you out all over again with a delicious kind of friction that made your jaw drop.

He repeated his actions, again and again, and you were sure you'd be getting noise complaints now, because you couldn't control yourself. His hands were everywhere, pulling your hair and rubbing soothingly over your body, every inch of skin being touched, and you were seeing stars. His voice was echoing in your ears, praises and groans, mumbles about how good you felt, like he wasn't making you see heaven with every thrust.

You could barely breathe, the building fire, the coil getting tighter and tighter, and when you finally snapped, it was with a few brief brushes of his fingers over your swollen clit. Your heart was beating so fast you couldn't barely feel it, but it felt like time stopped, groans and begs and the kind of grunts that only prolonged your own orgasm as Thomas came, pumps of searing warmth, until you were collapsing back into the bed together.

He rolled over, freeing himself from you to stare at the ceiling, and you copied him, panting for breath, and feeling like you were on fire. "Holy shit, that was incredible."

"I can't believe we waited so long for that, I don't know how I lived without it." He mumbled, head turning to face you on the pillow, and his body soon followed. Two fingers on one side of your jaw and his thumb on the other, he pulled you closer, leaving a passionate kiss on your lips. "You sure we have to go to the party? We should just stay here all night, and do that. In fact, we should quit our jobs, Just stay right here, fucking."

"How would we make money to eat?" You teased, and a cheeky look passed over his face.

"I don't know about you, but I've got everything I need to eat right here."

"Oh, you're so bad." You mumbled, pushing his face away from you when he let out a loud laugh, and you tried to scoot towards the edge of the bed. "What happened to waiting 'til after the party before fucking me until I couldn't walk, huh?"

Your legs were wobbly as you stood, wandering back towards the bathroom, and he propped a hand under his head, smirking as he watched you go. "Oh, you ain't had nothin' yet, angel. Just you wait 'til we get back."

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 15

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 15

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3310

Summary: The reader and Sam take an irrevocable step forward.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w  b u r n, this section is emotional smut

           The drive home felt electric and giddy and nauseatingly tense, like driving back from prom with a little foil packet burning a hole in your pocket. It had been delicious agony working through the rest of the shift on stolen hand grazes and smirks across the length of the bar, suspense winding in your throat, especially wearing Sam’s shirt, the incredible scent of him floating around you in a halo every time you moved. Now that it was so close you didn’t know what to do with it. At the very least, Sam didn’t seem to either as you noticed him swallowing far more often than he needed to and cranking the stereo. He drove fast, almost like—no, don’t think that, not right now—and you watched for deer on the sides of the road partly to keep from getting into an accident and partly for something to distract even a fraction of your mind from the way Sam’s lips had felt on yours when he had finally let go, how they must feel everywhere else.

           When he pulled into the driveway, you both sat still in the front seat for a beat of silence.

           “I’m—uh, I’m going to take a shower,” Sam said, looking toward your side of the car but not quite meeting your eyes.

           “Yeah, okay, good idea,” you answered. You were still sticky with the broken-keg-beer from hours ago and a shower sounded divine, but you knew saying something about getting cleaned up too wouldn’t land right in the charge of this moment. The two of you awkwardly walked inside, a movement you’d done so many times that suddenly felt so unfamiliar it was a little spooky. Sam ducked into the shower without another word and you didn’t know what to do in your own house.

           Digging through your clothes, you finally found a matching bra and panty set you hadn’t worn in…you stopped yourself from thinking about exactly how long. It was black and lacy but in a sort of sensible way; probably wouldn’t have been fancy for a person who didn’t usually buy her undergarments with durability and lack of movement while running and fighting in mind, but it was what you had and it certainly seemed like a more appropriate thing to wear than one of the old t-shirts of Dean’s you normally changed into after work. You bit your lip and beat back a moment of frustrated nerves, imagining the extremely awkward put-on seduction of walking through the cabin in just the set, and grabbed a black tank top and yoga pants out too, bundling all the garments together.

           Sam walked into the bedroom with a towel slung sinfully low on his hips, and the sight made your breath catch in your throat. The tension required to hold the terry in place flexed one pec as a few droplets of water shook loose from his hair and slid down it.

           You grabbed the bundle of clothes in your hand and gestured behind him. “My turn.”

           Sam nodded, side stepping to let you out of the doorway.

           It was a longer shower than you’d taken in a long time, going over your legs obsessively with the dullish disposable razor you’d been using and washing your hair twice to make sure to get any residual beer out of it. Finally you knew you couldn’t keep stalling and got out, running a palm of lotion over your body and putting on the black set, yoga pants, and tank top. You turned your head over to flip your hair a few times, hoping for a little more volume and a little less wet rat, and wished that you’d had some kind of perfume or something, had held onto anything from back when you thought things like that had a point, when you cared about being enticing. How glamorous, all this old cotton and dripping hair for what felt like a monumental turning point. No time to think about that now. You threw your towel up on the rack and headed back to the bedroom.

           Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his ankles, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, bare feet tapping on the floor. Something about knowing that he had gotten re-dressed and not even in the old sweats he normally slept in, had thought about it for at least a moment, made you feel better. His head snapped up when you walked in. “H-hey,” he breathed.

           “Hey.” You noticed he’d straightened the already made up bed and taken the pictures of Dean off the wall, neatly stacked on the dresser in the corner of the room.

           When Sam saw your eyes linger on the spot they had been, he opened his mouth. A small shake of your head stopped him from saying anything and you sat beside him. “So.”

           Sam chuckled. “So.”

           “I feel like we just got shut in a closet to play 7 minutes in heaven.”

           “I know I said I’m ready but we don’t have to—”

           “No, that’s not what I mean. Sorry, I just—I haven’t felt this nervous in a long time.”

           “Me neither.”

           You flopped back on the bed, feeling your wet hair fan out a touch around you and looking up at the ceiling. The mattress shifted under Sam’s weight when he laid back next to you, and after a beat you turned to your side, propping up your head on one palm and feeling the oppressive sparks of the moment burn into your skin, heat your cheeks. “There are so many times I could’ve said this, Sam, but you saved my life. I don’t kn—there’s just no way I would’ve made it by myself.”

           He dipped his head toward you, the low light casting a severe shadow off of his jaw and highlighting the contrast between the concentric rings of green-blue-honey in his eyes. “I could say the same to you.” You waited a second, dragging your eyes down the high slope of his cheekbone and counting the tiny dots of stubble where its gradient began on his cheek.

           Slowly, you tipped yourself over him, looping one leg over his waist and placing a hand above each of his shoulders on the mattress. Feeling the heat of his body between your thighs made you feel a bit lightheaded and the way Sam was looking up at you didn’t help, eyes bright and hopeful and a touch awestruck like a true believer listening to a sermon. Big hands floated to your hips, light as anything but each fingertip was rooting you together, connecting you as irrevocably as welded iron. You poured forward into him, stopping a few inches from his face. “I’m—” you started.

           “I love you,” Sam stammered, looking almost surprised when it tumbled out of his mouth, but you caught it between you and breathed it back into him, catching his lips and holding back the groan you wanted to release at their softness, somehow even better than the memory you’d been amplifying in your head all night. You kissed him like a prayer, like saying thank you over and over again for the things he knew you wanted to acknowledge and for all the things he didn’t, every single dried teardrop and gummy worm a pass of your lips against his. One hand moved to your lower back, pressing you together while the other spun through the wet hair at the nape of your neck, thumb cradling the sensitive skin behind your ear and brushing softly back from it, a tiny affection you might not have noticed if everything about this moment wasn’t so amplified.

           When you nipped gently at his lower lip, Sam made a sound close to a whimper deep in his throat before slipping his tongue against yours and drinking you in. He shifted his hips underneath you and used the hands on your back to guide you easily to the mattress, taking care not to place you on top of your hair. You wound your fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt and pulled him closer to you until you were pressed against the full firm stretch of his torso. As you passed your fingers under the hem, Sam leaned back for a second to tug behind his collar and toss the shirt to the ground in one fluid motion, coming back to lay a trail of kisses down the hinge of your jaw and neck, light suction on the exact spot it sloped into collarbone. It was your turn to get out of your tank top; the moment of widened pupils at the reveal dissolved the nerves you’d had about the lace and gave you the confidence to hook your legs around Sam’s hips and drag him as tightly to you as his jeans would allow.

           He slipped tentative fingertips into the waistband of the yoga pants and you parted to let him shimmy them off of your legs, surprised when a tear almost welled in your eyes at the kiss he pressed into the side of your calf—an impulsive reflex betraying Sam’s affection. You sat up, tried to unbutton the worn cotton of his jeans, and realized your hands were shaking. He took your face delicately in his hands and kissed you, soft as anything, and it was Sam, person you knew best in this world, who’d saved your life over and over and over again; if you couldn’t trust him, then who could you trust? The moment was enough to settle you, button coming undone smoothly. He eased off the bed without breaking contact with your lips to shake them off, tipping you onto the mattress delicately when his legs were bare. Arching your back to unhook your bra, you shucked it off carelessly into the depth of the room. Sam raked his eyes over your body and you tried not to shy away from it. “I—uh—are we going to be okay?” he whispered low into the space between you.

           “I think so,” you answered, and it was as much affirmation as you could give, because truthfully you didn’t know. It felt right but your instincts had been wrong before. You wished more than anything that you could’ve kept the sexually charged impulsivity in the bar’s cooler earlier that night, when you were moving on instinct and need and didn’t have time to analyze.

           But Sam was so beautiful, so present and real, almost too warm under your touch, and you reminded yourself that he was the only real thing in your life. He brushed a stray piece of still-damp hair back from your face before bending to his knees on the side of the bed. You got up to your elbows and watched passively as he took the rest of your lace off, leaving you completely exposed save for the cover of his kiss on your inner thigh. Swallowing hard, you felt your lips part as you watched the long muscles of his back pull taut when he moved you to the edge of the bed. The hot breath between your legs was enough to make you see stars around Sam’s head like a halo and then he swirled his tongue around your clit softly, almost too softly, just enough to make you feel hungry with desire. A whine passed your lips and you barely even registered it, so focused on watching the precise even muscles in Sam’s jaw flex and ripple against his cheek, matching them to the mazes he was drawing into you. Wrapping an arm around your thigh to hold you in place, Sam flicked his gaze up for confirmation as he snaked an arm under you, sucking two fingers with his eyes locked on yours before gliding them inside you.

           You gasped creakily as he hook-pressed, the strength of his hands feeling familiar if the feeling wasn’t, tugging out sweet sin rooted deep in your gut. It wound you into a tight coil ready to crack with tensile strength, cables of a centuries old suspension bridge rattling through every muscle in your body. With your back arching into the mattress, Sam lapped and swirled and spoke tongues into you, sturdy latch on your thigh until it was absolutely too much, sent you snapping into a thousand sparking live wires around him as you tried to steady yourself with handfuls of duvet. When you had enough of your wits back about you, you slipped your hands through the drying silk of Sam’s hair and guided him back up, kissing the taste of yourself off of his lips, his chin. Sam laid against you unfurling his body like a scroll, the heavy length of his cock grazing your thigh through his boxers. You gently push-pulled his shoulders to flip him onto on his back, a dazed smile on his face when you licked a stripe down his chest and lightly ran your teeth over a nipple. His chest heaved once when you brushed against his cock and then his breathing went shallow. With your mouth centimeters from his skin, you met his eyes. “Is this still okay?”

           “Y-yeah, yes—yeah,” he said, way too fast to pretend at any semblance of nonchalance, more than fast enough to send you grinning as you tugged the elastic down his hips slowly and caught the weight of him in your palm, hot and crystallized beneath a shimmering drop of precum that you lapped reflexively, drawing a sharp inhale from Sam. Now it was your turn to swirl, rolling the head around your tongue sloppily before taking the first few inches of him into your mouth and sucking against a spinning hand until you built a rhythm. His head rolled back into the bed and he closed his eyes, letting them fly open only when you eased the full length of his cock into your throat slowly, willing your muscles to relax around him and relishing the fuzzy blown-out look in his eyes. You let the withdrawal drag, slipping frictionlessly over his now dripping cock as spit flowed through the gaps between your fingers. Sucking along the underside before taking him down again, you could feel the muscles in his abdomen starting to tense and pulled off, kissing a hip bone before straddling Sam and guiding him inside you carefully.

           To his constant credit—as though there was anything you wouldn’t give him credit for—Sam held perfectly still as you stretched around him. It had been so long, and he probably would’ve been a challenge even if it hadn’t been years since these muscles had been flexed. The knowledge that it would calm down pushed you through the almost-tearing feeling you had, finally resting an inch or two above being flush together and taking a few deep breaths.

           “Are you okay?” Sam asked, cheeks pink and eyebrows showing his concern even as the tendons in his neck flexed with restraint.

           “Yeah, I just—out of practice,” you answered with a sheepish smirk. He traced down the sides of your thighs with velvet fingertips like a metronome until your body relaxed around him and you began to slide and grind against Sam in earnest.

           He half-raised himself to meet your lips, curving you down so he could kiss you as you moved together. For the second time that night, he took you in his arms and turned you onto the bed, deftly switching your positions without disconnecting from you. His hand still cradled your head protectively while he touched his forehead to yours. Twin exhales mixing in the slowly humidifying air between you, there were so many things you wanted to say but none of the words you could think of felt like enough to encompass the comfort-love-grief-thanks-apology. All you could do was kiss him.

           The two of you fit together exactly and you cupped the back of Sam’s neck as he rocked into you. Weight supported on one hand, he swept a thumb along your cheekbone before leaning down, touching his lips to your forehead, and taking a deep breath of your hair. Such a clear punctuation on his tenderness swelled up hard in your throat and you had to gulp hard to settle it, concentrating instead on the heat pooling in your core through Sam’s deliberate movements. The crescendo reached a fever pitch when he slid a hand to the small of your back and tilted your hips justrightjustlikethat, pressure drilling right into that perfect spot and after a few seconds it was all you could do to throw your head back into the mattress and crack in half.

           Sam sucked at your jugular while you fell to pieces and in other circumstances you might’ve been worried about walking around like a teenager with a hickey, but all you could think of was him around you, inside you, on you, and you wanted as much as you could get. Tugging at his hair and latching your legs around his hips in frantic reflex shoved him over the edge, muscles in his back rippling under your other hand and sweat glistening over the expanse of his neck as it rolled back. He eased off of you, laid down beside you, and wrapped you up in his arms.

           A few hot tears dropped to the bedspread and almost surprised you but didn’t seem to phase Sam, who just tightened his embrace so your cheek rested on the slope of his chest. Time stopped as you lay there, having disappeared between the fissures of reality and straight into Sam. You resisted the impulse to think too much. It was enough to be there, feel the mist of sweat and freshly washed hair cooling into the ether, the comforting heat of Sam’s body where he draped over you. After your muscles resolidified you turned up and kissed him once, more to check in than anything else.

           “So…what now?” you asked, voice sounding muffled and weird after the long silence.

           Sam smiled looking fatigued and content and nervous all at the same time. “Well, we haven’t been struck down yet. Are you tired?”

           It was likely close to 4 or 5 in the morning but sleeping felt like a trap—with all the information you’d gathered about the dreams, it seemed like if you didn’t have one about Dean tonight then you’d both severely misjudged what was happening, which then put the legitimacy or ‘blessing’ of this new relationship with Sam in jeopardy. But it wasn’t like you could stay up forever. And maybe everything would be fine, maybe you could still have your cake and eat it too by staying with Dean at night and carrying on during the days with Sam, holding his hand and starting to see beauty again through its reflection on his face.

           You brushed your teeth in the bathroom mirror together after throwing on the first t-shirt you found, trying not to put too much stock into it when it ended up being Dean’s Poison one with the tear on the left shoulder. It felt right, natural still to be sharing even this little space with Sam, and that had to mean something. He didn’t even look twice at the shirt but was only wearing boxers, having foregone the flannel pants and/or t shirt he normally wore to bed. You weren’t complaining.

           Cuddling up next to Sam didn’t feel odd as it probably should have so long ago. The only differences were the interlacing of his fingers into yours as he covered your lower ribcage with his hand and the way he tucked his chin into your neck as he folded around you. “I—Sam?” you whispered.

           “Mm?”

           “I’m—uh, just. Thank you.”

           Sam didn’t react for a beat, considering or waiting for you to continue you didn’t know. He simply pressed his lips to your stretched-out collar and melted so that his body sunk into yours. It didn’t take you as long as you might’ve thought to fall asleep.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 16

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass @vxnderlindes @deanwinchesterswitch @akshi8278 @itsjensenanddean @flannellover67 @weepingwillowphoenix @tj-drinks-tea @whatareyousearchingfordean @winchest09 @winchestergirl2 @samwisethegr8 @nobxdy @nurse-sarahrn @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @deanwanddamons @stressedoutkitten @winchestershiresauce @tatted-trina6 @percico-heronstairs @downanddirtydean @queenoftheunderdark @lyarr24 @waywardwifey @wonder-cole @sergeantsea @peachyafshawn @tjfinnigan @calaofnoldor @that-one-gay-girl @daringvixon @fairlyspnfanfic @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @samfreakingwinchester​ @lovelyrocker​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @theveridianmoon​ @underc0vercryptid​ @kpwatsonn​

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!