#sla closed

[lucinha-sanguessuga]

❛ i thought you... i saw you get shot. ❜

Aproveitando-se do fim de tarde nublado e das ruas vazias após a aparição da irmã da Fada Madrinha, Lucy passeava pelas ruas de Tão Tão Distante com sacolas de compras nos braços, cheias de novidades para distrair a cabeça do passado a quem ainda se apegava tanto. Tac tac dos saltos sempre em passos rápidos e delicados acompanhavam o sorriso fácil que marcava sua reputação, cumprimentando distraidamente um fauno e, ao virar a esquina, topou contra um segundo corpo. As desculpas estavam na ponta da língua, mas como um choque térmico, seus músculos congelaram ao se deparar com @justa-mina.

O tempo congelou, e mesmo que tivesse continuado, Lucy não o notaria, olhos se enchendo de lágrimas e sacolas sendo largadas ao chão ao pular nos braços da melhor amiga, sentidos vampiricos registrando o cheiro costumeiro de Mina em sua memória mais uma vez. Há quantos anos desejou por aquele reencontro? Ou seria aquela outra pessoa, com a mesma face, brilho nos olhos e cheiro de casa que sua amada? Seu momento foi quebrado pela frase, tão chocada quanto a Westenra se encontrava. Lentamente, separou-se e a encarou, mãos descendo delicadamente pelos braços da outra mulher para segurar em suas palmas.

"Eu não posso acreditar que está viva, Mina! Eu-" Inspirou fundo, lábios tremendo para segurar a emoção. "Eu tenho tanto a te dizer."

[tewwor-aaa]

✧･ﾟ test muse starter call ( accepting ) | @mythvoiced ･ﾟ✧  

“When I said I needed more materials, I didn’t mean of the living kind— whoa, shit.” Enchanted spikes crash right where his feet had been. Move a second too late and THE CONTRACTOR would’ve had to kiss that leg good-fucking-bye. And if that wasn’t bad ( fast ) enough, there comes another guttural snarl before yet another fail is flung his way.

Damn flinds and their damn ugly mugs and damn pack numbers.

“Hey, come on— we runnin’ or not? We’ll have a better advantage if we get back to that shit-shack!” There’s not much he could do when out in the open. No enclosed structure? No fucking help. All he could do is be as useful as a damn slippery eel.

[papaya-twinks]

Heyy could u write smth with lando x reader where they're working out together and he's spotting her during her workout and pushing her to the limit keeps saying suggestive shit like "ik u have the stamina for more".

Thx smm hope ur doing good 🫶🏼

Warnings: smut, 18+, fingering, dirty talk, praise

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - there’s a point in the fic which mentions the weight being the same as the reader (I’ve put a *** the start of the paragraph it’s indicated in, please change the weight to your own weight or whatever you please x)

You’d met Lando in the gym a few weeks ago when he’d helped you with one of the machines, and now ended up going to the gym together. Your sessions mostly consisted of you not truly doing much, a few weights as you watched him and made him laugh instead. “Y/N,” he groaned as you sat on the bench, cracking another joke. 

Lando loved these gym sessions, he loved your company and looked forward to seeing you every time. “Sorry,” you giggled, sitting on the weights bench. “You don’t ever do anything,” he grumbled, “you just sit there and make me laugh, I’m gonna drop for weights one day,”. You plastered a mischevious grin across your face, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“What are you saying, you want me to do something?” you said jokingly, “Me, who’s never picked up a weight since I met you?”. He rolled his eyes at your joking words, walking over to you. “C’mon,” he said, taking your hand into his and pulling you up. “Let’s get you doing something, instead of getting me to break my toes,”. 

In the end, the bench press ended up looking the most appealing, it would’ve be too hard, and then some exercises  without the need of any weight or equipment. Lando helped you down onto the bench, sliding a few weights off the bar, and lifting it into your arms. “Good girl,” he said, your eyes widening at the nickname. 

It could’ve been taken innocently, as an accident, maybe, but the way he said it and the expression on Lando’s face very much contradicted such. You brushed it off as an accident or something, lifting the bar up with ease, your arms only shaking slightly with the weight. “Taking it so well,” Lando muttered, kneeling beside you as you tried not to meet his eyes, not wanting to show just how flustered you got from those words. 

You knew he was doing it on purpose. You could tell. “Few more f’me, then we can do some hip thrusts,” he said, his voice dropping lower than usual. You were gym buddies, sure, but there was no doubt about the slight tension ever since you met. He’d always been so good looking, especially after he’d finish a workout, all sweaty and shining, and the same for you. 

“You’ve got more stamina, keep going for me,” he said, hand on your hips to support you slightly. You lifted the weights, ignoring how your arms started shaking form the heaviness of the bar, his hand drawing small shapes onto your skin. “Done,” he said, lifting the bar back onto the rack. You could easily pass off your flustered red cheeks as due to the exercise, instead of Lando’s words.

You’d teased him equally as much during the past few times, and now you were getting a taste of your own medicine. “Some other exercises,” he walked up behind you, going to the small bench where you’d laid all your stuff. It was the late evening, now, meaning no one was in the gym, most people having dinner, resulting in an empty gym. 

“Push ups,” he said, thinking of exercises as he laid two mats out together, touching each other, very nearly overlapping due to how close they were. Lando got into the position as you followed, copying his stance. Your arms flexed slightly from the aching of the bench press as you leaned down, before going back. “20, then stop,” Lando said, his body moving way faster than yours. 

You finished a few seconds after Lando, sitting back up on your knees as you groaned. Lando chuckled his tongue, watching you rub your arms from the strain, a smirk on his face. “Aw, someone been slacking so much they find twenty push his hard?” Lando pulled a mock pout as you scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, shut it Norris,” you said, going back to the list of exercises he’d pulled up. “Oh look at that,” he showed you the list, “hip thrusts,”. You raised an eyebrow at his tone, but shrugged. “Sure, who’s going first?” you asked. “Mmm, you can,” he said, looking at the rack of weights. “How much?” he asked, weighing up the small weights. “20,” you said, resting your knees straight, as he placed the weight onto your lap. 

“Fuck,” you cursed, the weight pushing down on your hips as Lando knelt beside you, watching. “Do fifteen,” he said, watching you push your hips up. “You’re not going down enough,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he watched your hips go up and down. “Deeper, Y/N.”. Your breath caught in your throat at the words, but you finished the rest of the exercise. 

*** “Your turn,” you said, “which weight?”. He hummed, as if thinking, before pointedly saying “30kg,”. Wow, will you look at that? The 30kg appeared to be missing. Well, hidden very badly behind the rack. “You’re not slick, Norris,” you rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what he wanted. 

“Me? What would I try to hide?” a sly grin coated his face as you rolled your eyes, watching him get into position. Rolling your eyes, you swung your left leg over his thighs, sitting onto his lap and adjusting slightly. You heard him take a shape inhale of breath as you wriggled a bit, his arms resting on the box behind him, knees bent. 

“How many are you gonna do?” you asked, watching as he shuffled beneath you, trying to hide his little…asset. You noticed, definitely, but Lando was just as capable of teasing you as you were him, so you ignored the feeling of his cock against your thigh. “Like, I dunno,” he shrugged, “as much as it takes to get you dripping on me,”. Your cheeks heartened at his words, your hands jumping o cover your face. 

Lando Norris well and truly had no filter. 

You gasped as he moved his hips up into you, his body moving smoothly as he went back down, your body bouncing slightly. His eyes were trained on your chest and the way your tits bounced with each movement, feeling the heat in your core. “Wet, yet?” he asked, a grin on his face as he moved quicker. 

You gasped, the only response going gave as he moved you up and down, his hips ricocheting into your body. The vibrations from his chest as Lando moved added to the feelings, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Now?” he asked, this time, you responded with a vehement nod. “Good,” he said, looking over his shoulder, the gym empty behind him. 

“Perfect,” he grinned, lifting you off of his lap. You watched as he stood up from the floor, sitting onto the work bench, pulling his shorts down as you watched. You were wearing a gym skirt with shorts underneath, the dampness slightly seeping through as you rubbed your thighs together. You couldn’t help the filthy thoughts as be slowly removed his shorts, your eyes widening at the size, his cock springing hard against his abdomen. 

“C’mere,” he said, voice deep as he beckoned you to him, taking your hand and moving it to his cock. “Feels good,” he muttered, letting you pump his cock slowly, his other hand pushing you to your knees. Your hand didn’t stop the movements as you sank to your knees, eyes never leaving his as you let him place his hand on the back of your hand. 

You inhaled sharply as he moved your hand off of his length, taking his cock into his own hand. “Lando,” you gasped as he tapped his dick onto the side of your cheek, prompting you to open your mouth. Your lips parted, letting him slide softly into your mouth, your warm tongue welcoming him well.

“Fuck,” Lando hissed, holding your head still as he rocked his hips into your mouth slightly, not enough to hurt you, but to give you some sort of restriction, your gags choked round his length. You were hyper aware of his hand running through your hair as your salvia coated his length. He pulled you off of him, going back to the hip thrust box. 

You sat back onto his lap as he pulled your shorts down, pumping his fingers softly inside of your core. “Oh fuck Lando,” you gasped, eyes rolling as he moved in and out of you, his index and middle finger moving apart from each other inside of you, stretching you out almost. 

“Oh shit,” you muttered, clinging to his biceps as he moved his finger, pressing his cock to your clit in the process. He pulled out, quickly replacing his fingers with his dick, letting you sink down. He held you up above him slightly, his hands on your hips as he moved his hips upwards into you. 

Wow, a workout and sex? Crazy. You moaned as Lando slammed upwards into you, his hands holding onto your waist firmly to keep you from bouncing or moving away, the knot in your stomach building up. “So pretty,” he gasped as you clenched round him, your eyes squeezed shut, “such a pretty thing,”. Your moans turned to whines at his words, your hands clinging to his shoulders. 

“Wanna cum for me, yeah?” he asked, eyes trained on you. You nodded vehemently, squeezing his biceps as he pounded into you, his face unforgiving and merciless. “You’re so pretty,” he said, words slurring as his thrusts became sloppier and sloppier. “Such a gorgeous girl,” he gasped, “been wanting to fuck you for so long,”. His words were like a double turn on, your high building up with each word, as they got dirtier, filthier. 

“Saw you once and wanted to bend you over so good,” he said, “with your little teasing too,”. You moaned again, your high reaching it’s bursting pointing as you gasped, your orgasm washing over you, Lando’s thrusts getting sloppy as his own high washed over him, his head thrown back. 

Instinctively, you pressed your lips to his neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin, the access he’d given you helping to push him over the edge, his cum spilling inside of you, the thick warm liquid pooling between your legs. “Gonna tell my trainer I did some hip thrusts, he’ll buy it,” Lando muttered, still teasing after all that. 

“Tell him it was team building,” you giggled as he pulled out of you, grabbing his towel and cleaning up your thighs. “What we building here?” he snorted, lifting you slightly to clean your body up. “I dunno,” you shrugged, holding onto his shoulders. 

[muwapsturniolo]

✯CYBER SEX 2✯

THEE MUWAPGUCCI COLLAB

IN WHICH… Matt and Chris Sturniolo are just two inexperienced losers.

Trust me when I meet him, I'm fucking him on sight

Warnings: NSFW CONTENT AHEAD! NO ACTUAL SMUT BUT MENTION OF PORNOGRAPHIC MATERIAL AND BODY PARTS.

MPT 1, GPT1, GPT2

"Next...Next...Nex-Oh he's cute!" Y/n gives Mika a dirty look. The two girls were currently in Y/n's apartment, going through the submissions for the contest. The contest ended two days ago and the girl had gotten around 1k submissions. She had already gone through 10 submissions alone, now she has her friend with her and they are trying to go through the rest together.

Mika didn't want to go through the submissions with her, but with the promise of free food and one hundred dollars, Mika caved.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you know he's ugly." She points to her laptop which has a picture of a guy. "Come on he's not that bad! Ok let's look at his entry form!" Mika snatches the laptop and starts reading things out. everything about him seems normal until they get to his sexual interests.

"Ok, so it looks like he enjoys bondage, roleplay, sla- WHAT THE FUCK!" Y/n looks at Mika with crossed arms and a raised brow.

"He's into weird shit isn't he?"

"What the hell is a slave kink?! Like does he want you to call him Massa and tell you to take his conservative dick?!" Y/n falls out in laughter at Mika's disturbing words. "Yeah immediate no! I'm deleting this submission, fuck that!" Mika does just as she said, and deletes the entry, closing the laptop right after.

"That's enough for today, let's go get something to eat." Y/n groans and shakes her head, "Mika come on! I have to get this done!"

"And we will! But you promised me food and after that slave shit, I need some food. Let's go to Randy's and get a burger or something!"

The two girls leave the apartment, making their way to Randy's. The diner wasn't that far from her apartment, with it being a college town and all it was easy to travel on foot.

They make it to the diner pretty quick and walk to their usual seat. As they are walking, Y/n gets a phone call from her mom. “Hold on, I have to take this.” She walks back towards the door, completely missing Mika accidentally bumping into someone, "oh shit my-Matt?" Matt smiles awkwardly seeing the girl from the library.

"H-Hey Mika, how are you?" He adjusts his glasses and his backpack, putting more of his weight on his right foot rather than his left. "I'm good! Hey, did you ever send that girl the picture? you never updated me and everyone else on it." He laughs shyly, rubbing his neck.

"I uh yeah I did…I actually sent a video." Mika claps excitedly.

“That’s great! What did she say?! Are you guys going out now!? Did you have sex!?” A few people give them weird looks making Matt’s cheeks burn a bright red. He gives the guests of the diner an apologetic smile before turning back to Mika, “I-umm. Y-yeah she liked it… and no we haven’t gone out yet but s-she did like it.”

He does his best to make his lie believable. It’s not like he could tell the girl that he submitted a video of him drunk and jerking off to a cam girl. She would probably call him a weird loser…or maybe even an incel.

“Well, at least she liked it! Hopefully, you get a girl soon!” She playfully nudges him making him laugh.

“Sorry, it was my mom asking me how school is going.” Y/n walks up attempting to put her phone back in her purse. Matt’s eyes widen seeing the girl approaching them. He feels his body run cold and he quickly looks down, “S-sorry Mika I-I have t-to go!” He rushes past the two, bumping shoulders with Y/n as he darts out of the diner.

"Well, he was weird." Y/n mumbles, eyeing the boy through the windows. She watches as he climbs into a sleek black car. Mika gently hits her arm, "Shut up! He's not weird he's just really shy. He's actually a really nice guy. He's supposed to go out with me and the girls soon." Mika explains as they sit down.

They order their food and it’s soon brought to them.

"What were you talking about with Matt anyway?" Mika finishes chewing before answering the question.

"Sasha had asked him randomly if he ever took a dick pick after Jordan sent her one-Wait Jordan sent her a dick pic? Even after he cheated on her?-Yeah and it was a shitty one too! Made up for nothing! Anyway, Matt said he never took one but he had the opportunity to send one to a girl. So we decided to help him, teach him the best way to take the best picture."

Y/n scrunches her face up, "Wait, you had to help him take a picture of his junk? Is he like a virgin or something?'' Mika shrugs and dips her fry into her shake.

"I'm pretty sure, I mean don't get me wrong, he's cute, but he's super shy and awkward. I'm surprised he even wanted to send a dick pic considering he seemed really interested in his studies." Y/n hums and plays around with her food, her mind stuck on the boy with glasses.

Y/n huffs for what seems like the thousandth time. She's been home for about two hours now since going out with Mika. Her time was spent still going through all the submissions. She found a few people she would choose so she wrote their names down before continuing.

"Why did I do this to myself?" She mutters as she fixes the blue light glasses on her face. She feels her mouth getting dry, so she exits her room to grab a glass of water. When she walks back, she sees her cat walking along the keyboard of her laptop.

“You’re so annoying,” she grumbles walking to her bed. She sets her cup down on her nightstand before moving the brown cat. She goes to close her laptop, wanting to deal with the entries tomorrow, but stops in her tracks seeing a familiar face on her screen.

“There’s no way.” She thinks to herself.

She snatches the laptop and stares at the entry infront of her.

There’s no way that’s him…Right?

She sits down on her bed, analyzing the picture. It looks just like the boy from the diner, glasses and all. Granted she wasn’t able to get a good look at him due to him rushing past her with his head down but she had to admit,

He was attractive.

He had a bit of a beard, not a burly one but one that enhanced his jawline. He had brown hair that looked as if he ran his fingers through it multiple times. His face was adorned by a pair of oval brown glasses, complimenting his facial features well. His eyes were a dull blue, looking as if he was tired when taking the picture.

If Mika’s claims are true with him being into his studies, it was most likely he was studying when taking the picture.

She opens up his application and begins to read his answers.

She finds herself smiling when she reads about his hobbies, finding it interesting that he’s majoring in film. She begins to wonder what his favorite movies are. She reads that he loves Lego sets and looks over to the unopened boxes of Legos on her desk.

Wanting to know more about him, she continues.

“Triplet? Jesus Christ his mom had her hands full.” Her curiosity is peaked and she grabs her phone and opens up Instagram.

She searches for his name and clicks on the first profile. Sure enough, it’s his account.

He only has 100 followers, most of them being family and the few people he met in school. She scrolls through his pictures and comes to the conclusion that he has a simple life.

Lots of pictures of him and his brothers, some of him and his parents, and some with a dog.

She throws her phone down and goes back to his form.

She gets to his sexual interests and to her surprise, she finds that he doesn’t have any, stating that he doesn’t know of his interests but is open to almost anything.

Most guys his age would know their kinks and what they prefer in bed by now.

“Maybe he only has had vanilla sex.” She looks at her cat, waiting for the animal to answer.

When the cat doesn’t answer, she looks back at the screen.

There’s no way he’s a virgin…Right? He watches her streams, he couldn’t be a virgin.

She wants to text Mika and tell her about Matt's entry, but she doesn’t want to put Matt’s business out there, especially if he’s as shy and closed off as Mika makes him out to be.

She reads the rest of his entry before getting to the first video.

She adjusts the way she’s sitting and takes a sip of water before pressing play.

“Take five,” she giggles hearing the annoyance in his voice.

She watches the video and is surprised to hear his words. Most of the entry videos have been people saying that the reason they should win is because they have money, or they will give her the best dick of her life. They were cocky and Y/n found that unattractive.

She didn’t grow up with a lot of money, so people flaunting it and spending it like crazy rubbed her in all the wrong ways.

Matt on the other end was a bit more soft spoken and actually treating her like she was human, admitting that none of the other contenders should be able to take her out due to her being too good for them. He also didn't flaunt his money, granted he was a college student so he was probably broke anyway but,

It was a change of pace that she loved.

She knew what she was getting into when becoming a cam girl, being treated like she was an object rather than a human. His words made her feel,

Good.

The video ends and her heart races when she scrolls down. She was expecting to see a picture of his dick, not a video that’s 10 minutes long.

The thumbnail is of Matt in bed, getting ready to pull his pants down.

She hesitates as she presses play.

The video starts with shuffling being heard before Matt’s body clumsily falls onto the bed.

She notices the only sources of light are purple LED's and a sunlamp casting a warm glow onto the bed.

She finds herself attracted to the setting, it was almost cinematic. The way the lights cast a spotlight on him, an aura of orange, yellow, and purple covering his body.

She watches his tattooed arm pull his laptop closer, noticing an old stream of hers being pulled up. He hooks his fingers into his sweats, before releasing his hard and aching cock.

Y/n’s mouth waters.

He seemed to be about a good 7 inches, having a mushroom top. It wasn’t that girthy, but she knew that it would feel mind-blowing, especially with the thick vein running up the side.

He presses play on the video and begins to jerk himself off, spitting on his own cock.

She feels that familiar ache in between her legs.

His moans and whimpers sound like music to Y/n.

“Fuck Y/n.” She clenches her legs hearing him moan her name, loving the way it rolls off his tongue, piercing her ears and making her slick worse.

She quickly pauses the video and grabs her cat, setting the animal outside of her room and closing the door. She rushes back over to her bed and grabs the vibrator from her nightstand, quickly stripping herself of her clothes.

Usually, she would do a bit of foreplay, but she couldn’t wait. She could feel the slick between her folds, the mound between her legs aching and pleading to be touched.

She lays back on the bed and presses play on the video, immediately pushing her vibrator in between her wet folds.

Her eyes roll back at the relief, letting out a deep sigh.

She looks back at her laptop and sees Matt’s head is thrown back, his hand working hard to chase his impending orgasm.

“F-fuck Matt!” She moans hearing him moan her name once again.

“P-please let me cum m-mommy, I’ll be a good boy!” His submissive pleas do something to Y/n, unlocking a part of her that she didn’t even know was there.

She never found herself interested in guys calling her mommy, thinking they had some type of mommy issues and wanting her to baby them. But for some reason, she loved hearing Matt call her mommy and beg.

She could tell that he was close by the way he sped up his hand and the way his chest moved up and down quickly. She’s close as well, the urge to “pee” only getting stronger as the vibrations go on.

“Fuck fuck fu-“ she watches as his head hangs low biting his lip, his stomach clenching as white ribbons spurt out, some landing on his chest and face.

She yelps and arches her back as she makes a mess on her sheets. She swipes the vibrator back and forth, prolonging the orgasm as her body shakes.

She closes her eyes and swallows harshly as she tries to catch her breath, turning the vibrator off and throwing it to the side.

She opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling her mind fuzzy and filled with images of her and Matt and what a night together would look like.

After a few moments she sits up and grabs her laptop, drafting and email.

Y/e/h@gmail.com: hello Matt, I wanted to email you personally instead of through Chaturbate! This email is letting you know that you are the winner of the competition 💕 If you would no longer like to participate and would like me to choose another winner, please respond to the email stating so. Otherwise, respond to this email with the days you are free, and where you would like to meet for our date.

Can’t wait to see you again, maybe this time you won’t be as shy and you will actually look at me 💕

Xoxo, Y/n

She sends the email and smiles to herself, standing up and throwing on her robe.

She opens the door and sees her cat looking at her, “sorry miss lady, momma had to handle business. Let’s get dinner started.”

She walks into the kitchen and begins cooking dinner, her mind still on Matt.

PT 2 BABYYYYYYY!!!! IM SO SORRY THAT IT'S SHORT BUT I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE TO WRITE😭 MAKE SURE YOU READ MY POOKIE @guccifrog POSTS AND GET CAUGHT UP CUZ NEXT WEEK IS THE LAST PART OF THE COLLAB!!!

XOXO PEACHES🍑

TAGLIST 🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3 @j3tblackt3ars @ilovestarz @lustfulslxt @soimightlikeoldmen69 @tastesousweet @slut4sebastiansallow @whicked-hazlatwhore @stasiesturn @loljackwasfat @nicksmainbitch @ninacutebee16 @mayhem-72 @sturniolosmind @breeloveschris @mattslolita @mattsivy @guccifrog @hysteria-things @mrssturnioloo @teenagetrash00 @koris_009 @patscorner @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @nickuniversity @luverboychris @thenickgirl @riasturns @imwetforyourmom @junnniiieee07 @realuvrrr @milasturniolo @fwskullz @hearts4tatemcrae @mattandchrismakemewett @chrissystur @canthelpit0 @strnilo @demistyles @junovrsmp4 @heartsforchrisandmatt @maryx2xx @vecnasnose0 @freshsturns @xxsturnxx @pettydollie @crimsoncorpse @sturnssmuts @sturniolovoid

[peachesofteal]

Leave

Part two the Sassy Series but can be read as a standalone.

Simon Riley/female reader 3.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Angst, PTSD, canon typical violence, bombs, blood and injury. Smut, oral sex - fem receiving, praise kink, creampie. Unplanned pregnancy. Everyone is bad at feelings. He's like a bomb. Note: This was never posted to Tumblr, so in honor of the series and to complete the masterlist I decided to clean it up a bit and bring it over here.

The truck is a silent tomb.

Rigid, hard lines of muscle hold themselves still without quiver, eyes darting from the road to the floor, hands to feet. No one speaks. Soap’s fingers tap restlessly on his leg, and occasionally, he peeks around before refocusing his vision on something in the distance, something you’re not even sure exists.

The only one really looking at anyone, is Ghost. He’s staring daggers at you in the rearview mirror, fire blazing in his irises, heat so intense it forces your head down towards your knees. Even Gaz looks away from you now, occasionally nudging his thigh against your own, but keeping his gaze fixed out the window.

You’re fucked.

Simon explodes as soon as you’re all unloaded inside the gates. He detonates like a bomb, raw fury rippling through the air, impact radius large enough that it sends nearly everyone else scurrying. “Sass.” Your call sign is rough on his lips. He motions for you to step away, forcing you out from where you’re lurking close to Soap, rage, and something else, something secret, simmering beneath the surface, something you barely glean a glimpse of when he towers over you.

“Ghost. Listen-“ you hiss, fingers flying to push his hulking body away, anger boiling in your blood. He scoffs, like you’re so easily dismissed. Like you’re a child.

“You’re losin’ it Sass. I don’t know, and I don’t care how you used to operate, but we don’t pull shit like that in the 141.”

“Fuck you, Sim-“

“Don’t use my name right now.” The paint around his eyes is cracked, revealing small swaths of skin, the crinkle of crow’s feet. “You had no idea what you were doing out there!” He yells, and you snap backwards instinctively. “You were operating blind, like a fuckin’ idiot. Cap, and everyone else, seems to think you’re a world class operator but today all I saw was stupidity. Are you stupid, Sass?” His raised voice has captured Soap’s attention, who drifts closer and closer to where the two of stand. “I asked you a question.” Ghost snaps, and you want to melt into the ground.

“No.” you whisper. It’s too much. This is too much. 

“Then why would you do something like that?” He snarls, and you shy away. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve seen him ruthless, cold blooded, laser focused on target. You’ve watched him shove a pistol in another man’s eye socket and pull the trigger, torture someone, and in the same breath, turn around and save a child from a burning building.

But you’ve never seen this. Gunpowder and rage. Metal and carnage.

You’re about to ask him what the hell his problem is when Soap steps between you both, hand out towards Ghost like he’s trying to gentle a scared animal.

“Take it easy, LT.” You use the distraction to make your escape before he can see the tears that are trying slip down your face.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. 

“D’ye wan’ talk about it?” Soap sits with a thud next you, soft blue eyes shining in the setting sun.

“I think you got the gist.”

“LT can be kind of intense, but don’t take it personally.”

Don’t take it personally. 

Don’t take it personally that last week he was shoving his cock down your throat, telling you how good you were. 

Don’t take it personally that last week, when you woke up sweating and shaking, he pressed his face to yours with a whisper. “Just a nightmare Sass, I’ve got you.”

Don’t take it personally, that five, six months ago in Belize, he was screaming in a field medic’s face, promising to hurt them if you died. 

Don’t take it personally. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He shrugs, slapping you on the back playfully.

“Get some sleep, lass.” Across the gap between two tents, Price and Ghost stand with their arms crossed, murmured words drifting on the wind.

Price glances at you. His mouth moves. Ghost nods, and then leaves.

Great. 

A day passes, then another.

Then a week, then two.

Ghost- Simon, vanishes from your life. Evacuates whenever he sees you coming. At first, you tried to run him down, tried to corner him, get him to talk to you, but he’s too smart, applying his tactical prowess to his new mission: avoiding you at all costs.

One day, you catch sight of his retreating back around a corner and sprint after him, calling his name, not his call sign.

He ignores you.

He’s not Simon anymore, at least not to you. He’s Ghost.

You give up. You have enough sense to know when you’re not wanted.

“Sassafrass!” Johnny gleefully calls out as you duck into the ten for the briefing. Ghost tenses like he’s just stepped on a landmine, but you roll your eyes. Dickhead. You position yourself as far away from him as possible, just to the right of Soap, out of view.

He doesn’t even look at you anymore, anyway. Not like it matters. 

“It’s an easy extraction, get in, grab the target, get out. Don’t over complicate it.” You nod your understanding, and Price gives you a smile. “Sassy, you and Soap will tackle the southeast side of the building from the back door. Gaz and Ghost will come through north. We’ll meet in the middle.” Again, you nod, and Soap grins at you like a goofy faced teenager. “Alright. Let’s load up.” You shimmy your backpack high above your hips and roll your shoulders, partially listening to your partner’s excited, halfcocked thesis on entry tactics.

It's the behavior that catches your attention. The guy looks nervous, skin gleaming with the sickly sheen of anxious sweat, tense and poised, like he’s waiting for something.

You’ve seen it before. Too many times.

“Soap.” You whisper. Your tone is dead serious, and he turns with a question in his eye.

“What’s got ye spooked?” Your gaze flicks over to the guy you’ve flagged. You shake your head, just as your target is swinging his backpack around and unzipping the top pouch.

You try to warn Soap.

You press your comm and try to tell the 141.

You manage to do neither before the world explodes.

Your eyes open to pandemonium. People are screaming. Kids are crying. You can hardly see, debris and smoke from the explosion making your eyes water and practically blotting out the sun.

There’s blood on your face.

Everyone is scattered. The screaming echoes around you, mirroring the screaming in your mind.

Where are you? 

Your comm’s been knocked loose. Your gun is gone.

Your body is not your own. It’s acting on instinct. Fight. Flight. Push. Pull.

It shoves everything down. Everything your brain can’t compartmentalize right now gets locked away in a dark place. You can feel it all, later.

Right now, you have to survive.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Soap yells over the noise, snapping you out of autopilot. He’s somewhere behind you, sense of relief making you dizzy when you turn and see him crouched next to a large chunk of concrete. Thank fuck.

“Johnny? Shit.”

“Yeah. Shite. What was that?”

“A bomb.” You say, dryly. He gives you a dirt look.

“We’ve gotta split, lass.” The ground has a unique dirt pattern to it. The grains are all a different size, different shades of reds, greys, brown. Where are you? They work together, forming a chaotic design, one blanket of earth, dust and dirt swirling together and- where are you, where are you, where- “Sassy!” Soap’s face careens into your point of view. It looks distorted. You jerk backwards, the quick movement making your head spin. “You okay?”

“Where are we?” The words stick to the roof of your mouth. He gives you an odd look.

“Hey, Sassy. You alright?”

“I’m good. Yeah. All good.” A pause. A deep breath. A denial. “You got comms?”

“Negative.”

“Great.”

Johnny is bleeding. You didn’t notice right away, but the crimson stain spreads under his shirt near his hip, and your panic returns, ice slowly spreading through your veins, threatening to freeze you where you stand.

“You’re hurt.” You pat his shoulder, and he nods.

“We’ve got to find the others. Or the truck.”

You can’t find the god damn truck. You have no comms. No guns, only your combat knife and two grenades between the two of you, and Soap is actively bleeding.

It looks bad.

It feels even worse.

“Maybe we should just sit tight.” He grunts, and you startle.

“Yeah. Yeah, Johnny. Let’s just sit here, in the middle of active territory, with no comms, no guns, in the middle of the street. When you’re fucking bleeding out from your gut.” You snap. Confusion flickers across his face. You never snap at him. Gaz? Maybe. Ghost, yeah. Even Price sometimes. But never Johnny. “Sorry. Sorry, Soap. My head is still spinning from the blast.”

“It’s alright, lass.” His voice is calm, smooth. You can feel him watching you from the corner of your eye before he straightens, head turning the other direction. “There’s a hostel, a few clicks down the road. Want to give it a go? They probably have a phone.” You look at him, and then down the length of your own body, tallying and subtracting, plus or minus the odds.

Fuck it. 

It’s not very far, but it feels like a full days’ walk. Your head is still buzzing, proximity to the blast too close, too much, too familiar. It’s scrambled your brain, and you find yourself trying to focus on the back of Soap’s head, breathing through your nose. One foot in front of the other.

Somewhere, a block or two away, a car backfires.

Your muscles flex, and you flatten against the side of the building. Soap is talking to you, but you’re immobile, and you can’t hear him. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Something kickstarts in the back of your brain and your feet move. You give him a nod.

The woman behind the desk is terrified of you. Her eyes go round when you approach, gesturing to the phone, and she hands it over immediately, nervously looking between you and Soap, who’s slumped over in a plastic chair, bleeding.

You dial the number you know by heart without pause.

Soap is leaning against you when the truck roars around the corner, dust fogging the air beneath its wheels. He’s doing alright, your rudimentary medical skills coming in clutch when you decided to pack his wound as you waited, and the woman at the desk kindly gave you some towels for pressure. You flag them down, Price white knuckled behind the wheel, familiar skull mask in the seat next to him.

Your heart sinks.

He’s going to kill you.

When he jumps from the passenger seat, he looks anything but angry. His eyes are frantic behind the mask, wide and darting from you to Soap, pulling him from your side into his as you get closer.

“Johnny.” He says gruffly, and Soap cracks a smile.

“S’all good, Sassafrass patched me up.” He groans, and Ghost loads him into the backseat, sliding in beside him as you take the spot up front.

You’re numb. Price is asking you questions, and you’re answering as best you can, surprised when he seems satisfied after the play the play. He even says you’ve done well, the praise from your captain warming a little spot in your cold body. You nod robotically, shallow smile on your face, and check on Soap in the rear-view mirror, relieved that he’s got good color in his cheeks, still breathing.

You catch Ghost’s eyes in the reflection. They burn into you from behind the mask, pulling you apart to see inside. He doesn’t blink, and you turn away, uneasy.

You stumble away from everyone after you give Johnny a pat on the head. He’s still smiling, and squeezes your hand affectionately, medical team carting him away to receive actual care.

He’s fine. We got here in time. 

You’re staring at the blood in the sink when someone tries the door handle. After it doesn’t budge, a heavy fist thumps against the thin plywood.

“Someone’s in here.” You croak. The fist bangs again, and you sigh, swinging it open to tell whoever it is to go away.

Except, it’s Ghost standing on the other side.

“Fuck off.” The bewildered words come easily, and his eyes narrow. He shoulders through the door, slamming it shut, large hands gripping onto your shoulders and then tugging you into chest, heavy arms pressing you so tight into him that you’re having trouble breathing.

Your heart flips over.

He holds you, in silence, for a moment that feels like a decade. The balaclava scuffs along the top of your head, and he steps back, still clutching you by the arms, looking you up and down.

“Where are you hurt?” He shifts, thumb stroking a tender spot above your temple where you have a scratch, pulling the wet cloth in your grip free and dabbing it to the side of your head gently. 

“N-no. I’m not. Just Soap. I’m fine.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.” You stare like he’s grown two heads.

“Ghost.” You’re cautious, unsure. Confused. You don’t know what’s happening, why he’s standing in the bathroom, caressing your face, helping you clean up. He holds the cloth under the tap, bringing it back up to your cheek. “Ghost.” You try again. Nothing. Finally, you try; “Simon.”

His hand stops moving. He’s as still as marble in the bathroom, lungs frozen in his chest.

He’s looking into your eyes with a long, dizzying gaze that has your own stunned wide, unable to blink, unable to look away.

Until he lunges for you.

He snatches you by the waist, dragging you out the bathroom and hoisting you over his shoulder. You yelp. “Simon, what the fu-“

“Hush.” He swats your ass like you’re a petulant child, beelining for your tent.

Sometime in the night, when the base is somewhat quiet and the lamp light has dimmed, he folds you in half on the threadbare mattress, pressing your legs back towards your ear, eyes trained on where your cunt flutters for him, clenching around nothing as you wriggle and try to press your thighs together for friction.

“None of that. Be good.” He admonishes.

“Simon. Please.” You’re not too proud to beg in this moment, that’s what nearly dying will do to you. You need him.

He sinks to his knees, still framed between your legs, and rolls the bottom of the balaclava to his nose.

It’s the first time you’ve ever really seen the skin on his face in such a large amount. No paint. No skull. No black cloth. Just his jaw, broad and sharp. His lips, full and wet, flash of tongue darting out from behind his teeth, mouth hot against your pussy, thumbs spreading you open to have his fill.

“There she is.” He murmurs, lips on your clit like a lover’s kiss. His tongue seeks your swollen nub under its hood, and it’s so much, warmth of your body, his face, all of it melting into your skin. Your heel pushes against the mattress as you rock your hips up into his mouth and he chuckles, a hand pressing down on your lower belly. “You taste good, Sass.” You clench, twitching, getting close, orgasm barreling through your nerves, body moving in tandem with each swipe of his tongue, muscles seizing-

He pulls away, hand wiping his face and rocking backwards on his knees.

“What the fuck?” You screech, propping yourself up on your elbows. He’s loosening his belt, and you can’t resist reaching, wrapping your fingers around the throbbing length of his cock. He snatches your hand away, holding you by your wrist and bending you back down, laying his weight on top of you and pushing inside your cunt with a single thrust. It’s been months, yet your body yields to him immediately, aching burn fizzling out as your walls flutter and you whine.

“My girl.” He moans, fucking into you like a man starved. “My good girl.” You stutter out a response, some jumbled nonsense that sounds like his name, sounds like Simon. “My sweet girl, takin’ my cock like you were made for it.” He rears back, pulling your leg to his shoulder, foot dangling next to his ear.

“Fuck, Simon. Don’t- don’t stop please-“ His thumb continues in a circle on your clit, pleasure shooting through your muscles.

“Are you going to come?” you nod furiously, eyes clenched shut. “Look at me.” He bears down on you, gripping your face, and you find his usual guarded gaze nowhere, nothing between the two of you, just two raw currents slamming against one another they’re sparking. You can’t look away.

He thumbs your clits hard, giving you more as he thrusts, rising crescendo forcing insane noises from your mouth, sounds you don’t even recognize, gasping as your orgasm rolls over you like you’ve been hit by a truck. You tighten around him like a vice, and he swears, burying himself deep, walls pulsing around him, pulling his orgasm into you with ease.

You both slips into uneasy sleep, his body wrapped around yours so tight it almost hurts. Your dreams are broken, shattered fragments of bombs from past and present; voices screaming, friends pleading. You scream, pain and fear scratching under your skull, an attack, and bombardment you didn’t see coming. He holds you, soothes you, kisses you, still tense, coiled, ready to spring if need be.

“I got you, Sass. I’m here.” His voice is soft in the dark, fingers smoothing the sweat dampened skin of your face. “I’ve got you.”

Two days later, he rips the rug right out from under your feet.

“What the FUCK is this?” you brandish the stack of papers in your hands at Simon, who sits calmly in the corner of the tent. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge your shrieking, your voice reaching frantic pitches of incredulity.

“Can’t have you here.” He says simply, like that’s all the explanation that’s needed. You’re vibrating, rattling with fury, with fear.

“You reported an intimate relationship with Price, to get rid of me?” His eyes narrow behind the mask, but he doesn’t deny you. “Oh my fucking god, Simon.” You laugh, and it’s sour, spoiled. Rotten, like the sickness that’s turning your stomach. This has to be a joke.

“I can’t have you here.” He repeats himself like a broken record, before he’s on his feet and heading for the exit.

“Simon!” You hiss at his retreat, but it’s far too late. It’s too late for all of this. He’s already gone.

He doesn’t come to say goodbye. Johnny shuffles out to the airfield to give you a hug, Gaz and Price with him. Betrayal burns the back of your eyelids as you shake hands with your captain, and he gives you a knowing look. A sad look.

When the helicopter banks over the tents, you see the black spot of someone standing outside, face turned up to the sky, and you stare at the white and black skull until it disappears from view completely.

You’re restless.

Your house is a skeleton, the walls of the rooms empty, silence so loud you swear you can feel it reverberating in the floors. You were technically on leave, but available for transfer, even though you hadn’t put in for anything, and hadn’t put any feelers out for private sector either. There was something glitching in your brain. Something serious after that last explosion. The whispers of self-doubt echo in your mind. You were off after that bomb, there’s no denying it.

You’ve tried to cleanse yourself of it. Of him. Of everything. You stand under the spray of the shower and scrub your skin until it hurts, letting the bathroom become so thick with steam it’s hard to see. It’s the only thing that relaxes you. It’s the only place that feels quiet.

It’s three weeks later when you start to get sick. At first, you think it’s a bug and expect it to pass. You have a hard time keeping anything down, your stomach sending food and water right back up your throat, forcing you to sip electrolytes throughout the day to keep from crashing.

When four days of the same turn into five, and then six, and then a week, you start to get nervous. You start to do the math.

That’s how you end up in the drugstore, staring at the selection of pregnancy tests. Just to rule it out. You tell yourself. There is no way you’re pregnant. You were good with your pills. You rarely ever missed one. Better safe than sorry.

The test glares at you, fully aware of much an affront it is.

“This can’t be happening.” You whisper to yourself in the mirror. “This isn’t right.” Fear ricochets up your spine.

Fuck. Simon. 

[mercurycft]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 - 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆

series masterlist - here!

OLD FRIENDS REUNITED IN LONDON

HALLIE KING REUNITES WITH MELBOURNE CITY TEAMMATE, STEPH CATLEY, AFTER FOUR YEARS APART IN THE FOOTBALL WORLD

•°. *࿐

LONDON, ENGLAND

HALLIE.

at the start of the session, after everyone had dispersed from the circle; jonas made it clear that i didn't need to push myself for todays training, told me to take it easy and try to just get into the arsenal rhythm. to be honest, i wish i had listened to him - because now, im laid flat on the grass. the sun bombarding me, heat pricking at every square inch of my skin.

i felt like a rookie all over again, as if i was watching my idols for the first time. i saw them sprint, so i sprinted. if i saw a ball coming to me, i made damn sure i was going to be on the end of it. i tried my hardest, and put my all into everything i did on that pitch. as well as in the gym. now, however, i was regretting it.

steph came and flopped next to me on the grass, laughing at my disheveled state as i inhaled my drink. "i told you it got hot here!"

"yeah but aussies have a warped view of hot, steph! i actually think i'm melting!" we laughed in agreement, steph tapping my forehead condescendingly before i shoved her off. we sat in a comfortable silence, listening to the heaving of our chests.

after a few minutes, we were joined in our spot. katie and caitlin sitting to the right of me, beth and viv next to steph and jen ahead of me.

"how did you find it, pops?" caitlin asked, hand on her foot as she stretched out on the grass.

"it was good, it felt nice to be pushed for a change," i smiled up into the nothingness of the big blue above me, arms outstretched beside me.

"you did great," steph said from beside me, cheesing with her eyes closed.

"you really did, glad to see you slotting right in." jen added, patting me on the ankle.

"big moments coming with this one, i can feel it!" beth smiled to me, raising her eyebrows.

"thank you all, i really appreciate it, feeling the love," i added, lifting my hands to fan myself- partially from the head, partially to fight away the blush that had crept onto my already red face.

"oh you are so welcome, pops," steph teased, poking me in the side of my thigh until i swatted her hand away.

"does anyone actually ever call ye' your name?" katie asked after a minute or so of our shoving and pushing, making me and steph laugh. i sat up to face her and the others.

"only my grandparents," i started, smiling fondly. "steph only ever called me hals, which then turned into hallipops, which then turned into pops, and now sometimes i only get p," i laughed, poking steph in the ribs every time i listed a new nickname. "but i like it, it's never really been an issue," i continued, lifting my hand to shield my squinting eyes as the afternoon sun semi-blinded me.

we carried on our conversations, exchanging humour and jokes until jonas requested the attention of the group once more. almost everyone had retreated outside after the gym session, gagging for fresh air and the occasional summer breeze.

"well done today ladies, see you all tomorrow afternoon!"

back in the changing rooms, everyone had migrated into groups, changed into their 'normal people' clothes and began chatting among themselves. most of the team is still present, some still packing away their things. steph sits beside me, shoving her boots into her bag and chatting away.

"do you think they'd like that?"

"hals, they would love that! i swear, just say it and worst case scenario it's just me and you, okay?" i nod in acknowledgment of her words, taking a moment to look around before i speak up.

"everyone? hi, hello, yeah really gorgeous aussie girl trying to get your attention," i joke, waving my hand and ignoring steph's eyes almost rolling out of her head. the girls around us turn to face me, laughing and shaking their heads. "first, i wanna say thank you for all being so welcoming-"

"bumlick," steph grunts, then slaps a sickly smile on her face when the room laughs. she's met with my middle finger.

"-and nice! secondly, i have a lovely new garden which needs breaking in. i'd love to have you all round this afternoon, or evening, if you'd like to! i'd love to get to know you all over barbecue food.. and maybe a few drinks," my new teammates littering the room cheer, and laugh as katie whistles through her fingers at the announcement of drinks.

"i'd love to,"

"count me in!"

"ill be there,"

"we'll come!"

"great! ill see you all later, ill have steph text you guys my address and any details! make sure to let anyone not here know they are also invited!"

•°.

three hours later and im home, stressed. steph lays on my bed unfazed by the chaos unfolding around her. my clothes litter the bedroom floor, jeans and dresses scattered across the bed as i try and dig through my wardrobe to find something to wear.

"pops, i don't know why you're stressing!"

"i'm stressing because i need to make a good first impression!" i huff like a child, throwing myself onto the floor.

"you've already made a good first impression! you've already met them for god's sake!"

"that's not the same and you know it!" i whined, "i made the house look nice, i can't look like a slob!"

"you don't!" i nodded with a frown towards her. "right, put on those denim shorts," she pointed, "with that big top," pointed again "with that belt, put on some socks, put your hair down, wear the sunglasses you got in malta- done! you don't need to fuss all the time!"

i groaned knowing she was right, yanking each of the pieces she had pointed out off of the floor and stomped into the bathroom. i took a breath to compose of myself, and pulled each of the articles on clothing onto my body.

i emerged from the body with an exaggerated expression, fanning my hands about and posing for steph. i don't know why i was so stressed, i wasn't going to the ritz - i'm only going downstairs.

i pulled a pair of socks on as we chatted, and slipped the sunglasses onto my face. announcing to an overly hot steph, who now laid sprawled out on my bed on top of all my crap, that i was ready. we made our way downstairs, steph connecting her phone to my speaker as we started taking things outside ahead of people's arrival.

my house isn't big, but it's enough for me right now. tucked away into a small residential area, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. the garden is my favourite, probably the main reason i chose the place. it's the perfect size, with a slabbed path and sections of fake grass on either side. there's a little sheltered area over the decking by the back door, which makes a perfect home for my plants and a little bench.

on the grass is some deck chairs, some wooden, some plastic, some probably as old as me. i set them out in no real pattern, placing cushions on some of the seats and the rest on the grass- i try to circle around the coffee table we've taken outside, which is covered in coasters, crisps and some sweeties.

the barbecue is in the corner, which isn't actually mine, its actually gary's from next door - who was nice enough to let me borrow it for the evening.

after a bit of altering, i smile at my cosy creation and make my way back inside to steph; who seems to have helped herself to the cider in my fridge.

"didn't get me one then," i roll my eyes, making my way to grab one for myself. i pour it into a glass with some ice as the doorbell rings, i take a calming breath.

"it's open!" i pause "unless you're a murderer!"

"not a murderer, just scottish," jen humours me as she shuts the door behind her. "sick house mate, literally unreal," she compliments as she walks into the kitchen area where me a steph are currently residing, listening to the gentle hums of music through the downstairs.

"glad you came!" i smile and give her a hug, "anything for the fridge?" i ask, pulling away and noticing the bottle in her hand.

"house warming gift," she smiles, jutting the bottle towards me as she leans to give steph a small side-hug and kiss on the cheek.

"you really shouldn't have! thank you," i blow her a kiss and open the fridge again, it opens with a clang from all the bottles stuffed inside. "can i interest you in a drink? cider? beer? wine? other?"

she thinks for a minute, "what beers you got?"

"corona?"

"sorted then." i grab one for her, opening it and handing it to her - which she accepts gracefully and pulls up to her lips.

"lets go outside! i don't want to miss the sun,"

we take our drinks and conversations outside, i sit on a beanbag and jen sprawls on a pillow on the floor. steph on the other hand, sits on a chair, back straight and legs crossed. we chat about our afternoon's apart, laughing occasionally.

over the next hour or so, the rest of the girls arrive. frida and stina first, who i greet with a hug and offer them anything that they fancy from the fridge or ice box. beth and viv are next, who walk in with another box of chocolates and some flowers for me - i think them both profusely and scold them for the unnecessary gifts. alessia, lotte, manu and vic follow them in, thanking me for the invite. teyah, katie and caitlin arrive together too, adding another bottle to my fridge for me to enjoy in my own company. kim and chloe join us after twenty minutes, giving me a hug and taking their positions in the garden.

the sun is beaming down and we're all basking in it, spread around the garden listening to music and enjoying our drinks. we all talk together, some breaking off into their own conversations- others still discussing recent events and sharing humorous stories.

another hour seems to tick by, time completely lost in me in their company. the doorbell sounds throughout the house and i furrow my eyebrows, taking note of almost everyone already in the garden. still, after hesitating, i shout.

"come in, its open!" through the back door, hoping it can be heard over the house. i shrug and turn back to my conversation, listening to kim talk about her time in the last world cup.

"i could hear the music half way down the bloody street," a voice emerges through the back door, bottle in hand and sunnies on her head.

"here she is then!" jen shouts, laughing along with the other girls.

steph perks up from her place on the floor and raises to her feet, rushing to hug the woman in my doorway. "leah, come meet hals!"

i turn my head at the drop of her name, pushing my up and onto my head - pulling my hair away from my face. i study the figure in front of me.

her hair, her clothes, the way her eyes squint in the sunlight as she looks around the garden and says her hello's. the way she chews her gum, smiling tightly at her friends.

eventually she makes her way to me, and i stand up - smiling kindly at her. i swear my heart felt like it was going to break a rib, my lungs seemingly unable to draw a full breath in her presence.

"so you're the mythical hallipops," she teases, smile pulling up beneath her eyes as she opens one of her arms to embrace me.

"that would be me," i laugh, giving steph a middle finger behind leah's back as i accept her embrace. she smells sweet, like fresh vanilla. she pulls away after a moment and hands me another bottle with a smile.

"as an apology for missing your first training, and a welcome to arsenal."

i smile at the gesture. "thank you, ill pop it in the fridge. grab whatever you fancy, make yourself comfy!" i speak as i walk away, hiding myself away in the comfort of my kitchen.

i place the bottle in what tiny bit of room i have left in the fridge and shut it, resting my forehead on the cold of the exterior - hoping it will calm the heat spreading along my skin.

"jesus christ, get yourself together woman!" i hear in a whisper shout behind me. steph. i whip around to face her, raising a finger to my lips to shush her.

"shut up!"

"been here one day and already got the hots for your vice cap, jesus!" she teases.

"i will hit you!"

"you love me,"

"i do, but piss off!" we whisper argue for a minute or two, like teenagers scared to get caught by our parents all over again.

"im going back outside now," i say with a sarcastic smile, flipping her off as i walk out the door.

this isn't a big deal, so i shouldn't make it one. right?

— RG x

[heartfullofleeches]

angel darling whos a bit disconnected from modern terms walking up to c.c and saying "yas girl slay. so cunty girlypop" with not contexr because they saw it online and thought it was a normal compliment

Yan Incubus + Angel Darling blurb

-

The human world is such a fun and interesting place.

Everywhere you look, you learn something new. Things have changed so much since the last time you interacted with the mortal realm, but with the help of the kind demon you met during your travels you've had an easier time at processing everything at a beginner's pace. Your superiors always warned you to steer clear of his kind, but he hardly seemed like a threat. Not only had he given you bed and board, but as an added gift for staying away from humans as he instructed the demon had given you a cellular device to use while he was away.

There was a lengthy list of restrictions on the device, his number was the only one you could call under these boundaries, but that hardly put a damper on your fascination with it. You haven't seen one of these since they were just buttons and dials attached to a cord on the wall. It's amazing how much human technology has advanced in such a short time. Regardless of setbacks you're learning new facts about the modern world left and right, and you owe it all to your new companion.

You felt as if you owed him for his kindness, despite him insisting your company was payment enough. If that truly was the case, what better way to thank him than with gentle adulation using words you've picked up during late night binges scouring the internet. He always teases you for your "grandma speech" when you've complimented him in the past, despite the flush of his cheeks reaching his ears everytime. You wonder what his reaction will be when you call him by terms more fitting to the times.

C.C poses in front of his mirror - balancing on his toes as he bends to get a better look at the curve of his skirt over his rear. "So what do you think, babe? Am I cute enough for your first night out on the town?"

It's about the sixth time he's changed his skirt alone, but you think he's looked lovely in all of them. Nevertheless- it's your time to shine. Clearing your throat, you straighten your back as your eyes meet his from the mirror.

"Slay, Queen - you are serving so much cunt, girlypop."

C.C blinks - expression drain from his face. "What?"

"I said - Sla-"

"No, I heard what you said. Where did you pick up that kind of language?"

"Aside from you, online, I suppose."

C.C rounds the side of the bed, extending his hand with a few dramatic gestures forward. "Gimme your phone."

"Huh?"

He huffs and leans in close. "Now, Y/n."

"Have I don't something to upset you?"

Eyes flashing red, C.C grips your shoulders - hissing through his teeth as he speaks. "You aren't supposed to say things like that. You're supposed to call me beautiful or "a grace among man" or any of that other cute dorky shit you normal call me."

"Oh.... my apologies. I didn't mean to offend."

C.C sighs, throwing his arms around you in a tight hug. "No.. it's alright, I just really like what you use now. It's cheesy, but it's you and you are the most adorable your God ever had a hand in creating." He kisses your cheek, lips curled into that mischievous grin he's known for as they draw up to your ear. "But - I'll gladly be your Queen any day so I don't mind if we keep that one.... I'm still blocking the sites you picked the rest of those words off of."

[muffinsin]

Hey! Long time no see. Spring classes have finished for me and now I can relax again. How have you been? Anything exciting for the summer?

It’s been awhile since I’ve requested anything since I was busy with classes. Plus, I couldn’t come up with anything to request. I was wondering if you could give headcanons on Daniela with a protective and chivalrous lover? It’s sort of similar to an older request of mine for a romantic s/o that pampers Daniela. However, this time I was specifically thinking of an s/o who guards and tries to protect Daniela, despite her being a vampiric bio weapon that can protect herself. For example, when there’s a threat the s/o steps in front of Daniela to shield her. I just think that dynamic would be so cute!

Awh, that’s an adorable request!! And hell yeah to some more Daniela love!🙌 great job on the classes, hon! I’ve been great, working on planning summer vacations and so on

Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

The first time you show your protective side to her is rather instinctive, when you stay the night in her room for the first time

You’re awoken by a noise, the quiet creaking of her door being opened, and immediately lift your head

When you notice a figure approach the bed with your sleeping girlfriend, you don’t think twice and immediately hover over her, pulling the sickle from underneath her pillow and gripping it tightly

Luckily, Daniela awakens from the movement and is quick enough to pull you back when the figure, Cassandra, attempts to return your defensiveness in kind with a swing of her sickle

“Cassie! Stop that!”, she pleads, her face flushed and her voice breathy as she realises what happened

She feels butterflies blowflies in her stomach, being cradled close to you with your arms still tightly around her, protectively even

Never has she experienced such a thing

Of course, protectiveness is a familiar concept to her. Especially Daniela, the baby of the family, as she is often referred to, is used to her family looking out for her

Yet, there is a difference between Bela, Cassandra or Mother protecting her, compared to when you do it

When her sister leaves at last, you are given plenty kisses and cuddles until both of you sleep soundly again

The next time your protectiveness over her is proven, is around a man

Sneering, you watch as he struts through the castle gardens with too much confidence for his own good

Being the village’s merchant and selling slightly different things than the duke, he has reason to feel somewhat safe even on castle grounds as he does his business

What you hate, though, is the filthy smile on his face as he encounters Daniela

His large hand at the small of her back, touching a tad bit harder and more greedy than he has any right to as he introduces himself

You scowl at him when he bows down in what you’re sure is meant to be charming

When he takes a step towards her- to her surprise- you automatically take one between the two of them

Daniela eyes you from behind you, your crossed arms, your frown, the coldness in your usually so loving eyes

And she loves it very moment of it

She can’t help but giggle when you tell the man to shove off, and eye him from behind as he takes the hint and leaves rather abruptly

As a reward, she makes sure to cup your face and cover it in kisses

Later on, she rewards you further for your bravery, in the bedroom

Lastly, there have been times where you quite literally put your life on the line for hers, some which Daniela will never forget

Such as during a raid, when foolish men-things from the village stormed the castle, yelling of stolen freedom and taken women

Originally, you were instructed to wait in Daniela’s room until the situation is handled

However, a single glance at the little frost gathered at the window has you neglect this soft spoken command

Yes, she is plenty capable of taking care of herself

She carries the title of the fastest and trickiest of the sisters, of the entire family, even

She slashes her prey fast, unexpected, when they are helpless at her feet. She does not need to rely on strength or strategy

Alas, you’re unwilling to take any amount of risk, no matter how small

And as such, you find her just after she took apart another intruder, her face bloodied, her eyes wide, her sickle held tightly

You smile like a lovesick fool as you cup her cheeks and press a kiss to her nose, thankfully not quite as bloody as the rest of her face

For a moment, she sighs happily, and a moment of peace is created

You two stand for a few seconds, completely calm and soothed by one another

When another intruder makes himself known with the scraping of a bloodied spear across the castle’s floors, both of you turn instantly

Then, instinct takes over

Daniela gasps when she is pushed, no, shoved behind you, her petite frame poking out behind your body

The man throws insult after insult at both of you. You don’t allow Daniela to move from behind you, your body a shield for the woman you love

When the spear shoots in your direction, however, it is her flies you feel all around you, her strength that suddenly throws you aside and her insects that ensure you fall as gentle as you can, given the situation

Then, horrified, you watch the spear pierce her skin

For a mere moment, you believe this is it

Then, it keeps going, effortlessly searing through her, her body relaxed, her posture playful, even, as the weapon exits her again

Instead, it rams into the bookshelf behind her

“My turn”

Another thing she is quite unused to by a lover, yet enjoys immensely, is being coddled

You seem to enjoy to coddle her, plenty, and she can’t get enough of it

You care little that you spoil the already spoiled woman even more, getting her used to drawn baths and presents, kisses and cuddles whenever she demands them, your undivided attention whenever she asks for it

It’s not like you don’t receive the same in return, after all

Often, Daniela wakes up to little mindful surprises here and there

She swoons whenever she comes to and awakens to the smell of fresh, red roses in the vase on her bedside table

Immediately, her heart aches happily at the sight

You ensure she has fresh ones every week, and that even in winter, when she almost craves the beauty and comfort of flowers, some will be standing on her bedside table

Some other times, she finds a new stuffed animal waiting in bed for her, often accompanied by a small poem or note written by you

Again, this never fails to make her swoon

Unbeknownst to you, she keeps every single note of yours, hidden away safely in a drawer of her desk, only occasionally taken out when she reads through them again some days

She especially loves your romantic surprises, though

Such as when you find her in the library and spontaneously “kidnap” her to a date

She giggles especially much and enthusiastically when you take her by the hand or- should you be able to- pick her up and carry her there yourself

Daniela loves the times you take her outside, whether for a picnic in the gardens or a sunny spot in the forest, or the secluded area at the castle rooftops

Often, she pretends to be slightly cold, no matter the temperature

You always catch on and wrap your jacket and arms around you, and not once miss the satisfied smile on her painted lips

[ladamedusoif]

Tempered in the Fire - Part Three

See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.

Cross-posted to AO3. Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications for updates.

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI (chapter; series)

Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; references to violence; references to infertility; references to spousal abandonment; strong language; period-typical misogyny; references to and non-explicit descriptions of past experiences of psychological abuse, sexual assault and non-consensual sex, and of domestic violence; abusive and derogatory language; smut; PiV sex; fingering; technical infidelity; angst.

Use of the Irish language with translations as needed.

Important A/N: In one section of this chapter, Reader recalls exactly how badly treated she was by her husband before he left. This means brief discussion of psychological, physical, and sexual abuse. I have tried to handle these issues as sensitively as possible and without gratuitous detail or description. (I am writing as a survivor of emotional abuse, and I want to express my gratitude for the vital advice and support of other incredible survivors, including of other forms of abuse experienced by Reader in this story).

Further A/N at the end of this chapter.

Taglist: @grogusmum, @insomniamamma, @yourcoolauntie, @tessa-quayle, @julesonrecord, @agentjackdaniels, @iamskyereads, @trulybetty, @pedrostories, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @katareyoudrilling, @perennialdoll247, @joeldjarin, @sunnywithachanceofjavi, @tieronecrush, @javierisms, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @rhoorl, @red-red-rogue, @survivingandenduring, @khindahra, @love-the-abyss, @fictionismyreality, @imaswellkid, @gracie7209, @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse, @novemberrain221, @schnarfer

(FYI taglists haven't really been working for me of late so please do follow my writing blog if you want to stay up to date!)

Réaltín snickers as you tie her up hastily outside your little cottage, adrenaline coursing through your body. It doesn’t take long to throw a few things in your leather saddle bags: some clothes, your sewing kit and a supply of fabric, the money tucked under your mattress. It’s not much, but it might be enough to get you out of here before he comes looking.

You wrap your best shawl around your shoulders and go outside to check on your little milk cow, safe in her stall. She blinks her big brown eyes at you, kind and trusting, and you rub her muzzle affectionately.

Cáit, your nearest neighbour, peers through the window when she hears Réaltín trotting up the lane. She’s waiting at the door before you’ve pulled up, sensing all is not well. You spill out your excuses. 

“It’s family matters. All happened very suddenly. I can’t say more, but I’ll be back as soon as I can - will you look in on my cow, make sure she’s fed? You can have whatever milk she’ll give you, of course.”

Cáit nods, though she seems a little sceptical. “You’re sure you’re alright, a stór [sweetheart/treasure]?” 

You bring the shawl around your head and mount Réaltín again. “I am. Thanks, Cáit. I’ll see you soon.”

It’s only when you’re halfway to your parents’ smallholding that you realise you can’t stay there, either. In your panic and haste you hadn’t thought it through. If Searlas wanted to find you, it would be the first place he came looking. 

Dusk closes in, and slate grey clouds gather overhead. The heavens open and your tears start to fall as you bring Réaltín to a halt on a quiet lane.

Gró stirs his little bowl of vegetable and barley stew, lifting out pieces of carrot on his wooden spoon before dropping them back in the bowl and giggling at the satisfying plop they make. 

His father shakes his head. “Ná bí ag súgradh le do bhéile.” [Don’t play with your meal.]

The little boy is the first to spot the horse arriving out of the darkness, pointing to the window. Din looks out cautiously, dark eyes surveying the small area outside the cottage illuminated by the candlelight coming from within. 

Nothing.

The knock on the door is hesitant, and Din silently gestures to his son to stay put as he answers. 

She’s soaked to the skin, red woollen shawl weighed down with rain, eyes reddened and fear written all over her face. 

It is all Din can do to stop himself reaching out and pulling her close to him, to comfort and reassure her, to make sure she is alright. Instead, he simply stands back and beckons her inside.

She babbles her explanation: the errant husband returned, in the army, her worry that he would seek her out. 

“I’m so sorry, Din, I… I just didn’t know where else to go.”

She’s shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s the cold rain or her panic that’s doing it. 

Before Din can speak, Gró has materialised at her side, and reaches up for her hand. His big eyes look up at her with the kind of affection Din has only ever seen the boy show to him, and at times to Peigí. 

She looks from Gró to his father and back again. And then she breaks down.

“There isn’t much left, I’m afraid. But you’re welcome to it.”

Din looks from the cooking pot to you, sitting in a chair by the hearth with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as your shawl and outer bodice dry out. 

“If you’re sure?”

He nods and ladles the stew into a bowl. You accept it gratefully, realising that it had been many hours since you last ate. It is a simple meal and all the better for it, the steaming broth warming your bones and the vegetables and barley filling your empty stomach. 

Din sits in the other chair and scoops Gró up into his lap. The little boy smiles in your direction as you eat, and you notice he’s wearing the little shirt you made for him. You summon up the words, speaking hesitantly.

“An mhaith leat do léine, Gró?” [Do you like your shirt, Gró?]

His enormous eyes light up and he nods enthusiastically, turning round to look up at his father and laughing delightedly at hearing you speak his language. Din ruffles his son’s fair hair and smiles at you.

“Thank you for mine, too. You didn’t have to. I’ll make sure you’re properly paid.”

You nod towards the bowl of stew. “This is payment enough. Once my things are dry I’ll get going. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you out. I panicked, and -“

Gró sighs and nestles in against Din’s broad chest, trying to keep his eyes open but losing the battle against sleep. Din stands, carefully shifting the little boy in his arms and gesturing with a tilt of his head towards the loft. 

“Stay.” 

“I’ve already outstayed my welcome, Din, I don’t know what I was -“

“Stay.” He repeats the word, half-order, half-plea, as he stands at the foot of the makeshift wooden ladder leading up into the loft. 

You nod, watching as the blacksmith expertly ascends with his son in his strong arms, a lantern in one hand. Din is wearing a sort of woollen jumper over his old shirt, and you can’t help but notice the stretch of the knitted fabric across his broad back and shoulders, the way it draws the eye to the muscles of his chest. 

An unexpected wave of pleasure ripples through you. You shake your head, as if trying to rid your body of the feeling.

While Din tucks Gró in, quietly humming to him, you rinse the bowls from dinner and tidy up the main room of the cottage. There’s what looks like a settle bed against one wall, and what you presume is Din’s bed against the other, near the back window: a basic frame, simple bedclothes, a trunk at the foot of the bed. 

“So you’ll stay?”

You turn to face Din, speaking in hushed tones as he descends the ladder. “I will stay for tonight.”

He looks at you, dark eyes hooded and serious. “You should stay as long as you need to. You are afraid of him, and I presume with good reason.”

“He might not even come looking for me. He’s gone so long, after all. But -“ You pause as the traumatic memories of the past swirl in your mind. “But him reappearing like this, and in uniform… He is not a good man.”

Din tilts his head and looks at you. You are grateful that he doesn’t pry further. “I can keep you safe here. He’ll never know.”

Before you can protest, he’s crossing the room and pulling out the rectangular, boxy bed frame from underneath the settle and rummaging in a small cupboard for blankets and pillows. “You can sleep here, if you’d like. Or in my bed, over there. Either way, I’ll sleep in the back store, or the forge.”

“Absolutely not. That back little room is too cold, too small. And the forge is no fit place for someone to sleep.” You help him arrange the bedding for the settle bed. “I grew up sharing a one-roomed cottage with my entire family, Din. This is no hardship at all, nothing irregular, as long as you don’t mind.”

He shakes his head and retrieves a half-burned candle from the mantle above the hearth, lighting it from the small lantern before handing you the lamp. Din leaves you to get ready for bed, taking the candle and going to change in the back store so that you have privacy. He calls out to you, checking that he can come back into the main room. 

“Come ahead, Din.” 

Tucked into the settle bed, you can barely make out his silhouette as he comes into the room. His solitary candle illuminates his strong profile as he gets into his own, wooden-framed bed across the room.

“Are you comfortable? Warm enough?” His voice, soft and low, carries in the quiet.

“I am. Thank you for this. I am so grateful.”

“Sleep well.” 

Lights extinguished, you can hear Din shift in his bed and his breathing enter a slower, steady rhythm as sleep descends. 

You lie awake in the dark, thoughts racing. So Searlas had fought for something - for his king’s shilling, no doubt, and they were only too desperate for men to fight in the wars against France. Searlas had spat bile and vitriol in ‘98 about the United Irishmen and the Defenders, the groups that had led the rebellion, blaming dangerous French ideas of liberty, equality and fraternity for poisoning people’s minds. 

It made sense, now, that he’d have abandoned you to take up arms against those ideas. But you knew Searlas too well for it to be a moral crusade, or a stand taken on principle. Most likely, he’d spent the intervening five years doing as little as possible for as much reward, and probably whoring his way around Europe.

You try to push him out of your mind as you seek sleep, your brain seeking comforting thoughts and images until it settles on the recent memory of a pair of sparkling brown eyes, looking at you in the firelight. 

Searlas’s hand is rough around your arm, and you know you’ll have a bruise there tomorrow. He drags you away from the fair and along the back road from the village, muttering abuse as you jog along trying to keep up with him. 

“I saw you talking to him. The way you looked at him, the way you whored yourself around him. Filthy slut that you are.”

“Searlas, he’s my second cousin, I haven’t seen him in years…he’s family, I was talking to family!”

He pulls you harder to him before knocking you, deliberately, into the thorny hedgerow that runs along the dirt road. 

“Watch yourself. You should be more careful of your footing. Stupid bitch.” He hauls you up and pushes you roughly along the road. 

“When we get home, I’ll show you what happens when you act like a common whore in front of the whole place.”

“Searlas, please, please don’t, not again…”

“You’re a fat, useless, barren slut.” He spits the word at you. “And you’ll take your punishment from your husband.”

You have learned since the first time he “punished” you this way that crying out, or crying at all, only prolongs the agony. So you try to will your mind out of your body as your husband pulls your legs apart and pins down your arms, spitting insults as he forces himself on you.

You are not really here. You are in the back field, in springtime, with wildflowers in bloom. You are looking at the slate-grey sea, wind whipping at your face and hair. You are not really here, not really at the mercy of this cruel and violent man.

Sometimes, you try to focus on the words of the songs of liberty you know, the poems that sing of a dream of freedom.

You are not really here. You are free. 

You wake with a start and for an instant you can’t remember where you are. A sickening panic thrums through your body and the sides of the settle bed feel like they’re closing in on you.

You sit up and turn your head only to be greeted by a pair of big dark eyes, staring intently at you over the edge of the bed. Gró smiles widely and begins chattering away, unaware that your addled brain is unable to keep up.

Din’s broad figure emerges from the back room, carrying a pot that he places on the metal crane over the fire, to warm its contents. He tuts when he realises that Gró is by your bed.

“Ná bac léi,” he says, somewhat sternly. “Tá sí an-tuirseach.” [Don’t disturb her, she’s very tired.]

Gró turns and reveals your head and shoulders, visible over the edge of the settle bed. 

“You’re awake. I’m sorry, I hope he didn’t wake you. He’s young, he is curious.” 

You shake your head and reach for your shawl, wrapping it about you. “Not at all. I… I woke by myself.”

Din beckons to his son and leads him by the hand in the direction of the door that opens onto the forge. “We’ll leave you for a bit. There’s some warm water in that pot over the hearth, if you want to wash. And a basin and rags, on the table.”

“Thank you, Din. I’ll be glad to make some breakfast once I’m dressed.”

He inclines his head towards you and carries the little boy into the forge. 

While Din works and Gró helps out around the forge, you busy yourself with cleaning, mending, and preparing meals for your hosts, by way of a thank you for their kindness. The cottage is well-kept and tidy - an indicator of Din’s meticulous nature, you muse - and doesn’t require more than a little dusting and sweeping to get it ship-shape again once you’ve pushed the settle bed back under the seat. 

The midday meal is simple - floury potatoes, piled high in a bowl, and served with butter, milk, and a little salt for Din. Gró eyes up the fresh pot of jam you had brought in your saddle bags, but his father’s wagging finger dissuades him as he eats his own little bowl of potatoes. Sitting at the wooden table, sharing the meal with them and listening to the chatter between father and son, you feel that familiar pang of loss, of yearning for what might have been. 

You distract yourself by thinking about the evening meal. 

“I can stay and make something for the supper, later,” you announce, as Din lifts his head and meets your gaze with those penetrating dark eyes. “And then I’ll leave you. I can’t abuse your hospitality any more than I already have.”

The blacksmith shakes his head as he peels another potato and dips it in the golden-white liquid in his bowl. “At least wait until you know it’s safe to return.”

You know, deep down, that it’s still too soon to know. But you also know that the smith and his son are already just about able to feed two people, let alone three.

Din turns to his son and ruffles his hair as Gró closes his eyes in delight. He whispers to him and the little boy grins before hopping off his chair and racing out to the back field, whooping and laughing to himself.

His father stands up and begins to help you clear away the empty dishes. 

“You - you were unsettled in your sleep, last night.”

You keep wiping down the table. “Was I?”

You can feel Din looking at you. “You were. And this morning. You sounded upset.”

“Probably just a bad dream.”

Din sighs and hesitates before asking the obvious question. “Was it about him?”

“It was.”

Tension crackles in the turf-scented air of the cottage. For an instant you think about telling him everything: every fist, every bruise, every torn garment, every time your husband used and violated you in spite of your protests. 

The image of Din wrapping you up in his strong, protective embrace floats into your mind, unbidden.

He breathes deeply. “He hurt you.”

“He did.” You finally look at the blacksmith, whose soft, compassionate expression comes as a surprise. “I felt more of his fist than his lips, I suppose you might say. But that was better than -”

You inhale sharply, summoning as much courage as you can bear. It is difficult to know how Din will react. But there’s something in your gut that tells you he can be trusted, unquestioningly.

“It was better than the alternative. When he…forced himself. On…on me.”

You stare down at the floor and feel heat rising in your cheeks. You have never told another soul about this, and are unsure why you’ve unexpectedly chosen this stoic man to be the first to know.

The silence hangs heavy between you, broken only by the sounds of your breathing and the crackle of the hearth. 

When he eventually speaks, Din chooses his words carefully. “You have to stay out of reach of a man like that. If you could even call him a man.” 

He picks up his leather apron and the grey fabric he uses to cover his nose and mouth while he works, and opens the door into the forge, pausing for a moment as he looks back at you.

“Stay. Please. Until you know you’re safe from harm.”

You wake before him the next morning, stealing out of the settle bed to dress in the back room, before quietly putting on water to boil for breakfast and freshening up. There is still some milk in its heavy, lidded container and you pour it into an earthenware jug before setting it on the table.

You hear a stirring from the other side of the room as Din lifts his head from the pillow and yawns, somewhat startled at the sight of you. You bite back a giggle at his skew-whiff bed head, the wavy brown strands sticking up this way and that as his eyes adjust to the light.

He smiles and shakes his head when he realises you’ve prepared breakfast.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was awake, and I wanted to. I have to find some way to return your hospitality, after all.” 

Din discreetly reaches for the pair of breeches folded neatly near the end of the bed, and you instinctively turn away as he slips them on before getting out of bed and climbing the ladder to the room above, where Gró is already happily babbling away to himself. 

The blacksmith and his son head to the forge after eating, after you refused their offers of help with clearing up after the meal. As you wash the dishes in a stoneware basin, using some of the leftover hot water, you find yourself slipping, once again, into a fantasy of this being your life: this happy, safe domesticity, away from harm and mistreatment. 

The memory of the soft smile that had appeared on Din’s face that morning, when he saw you preparing their meal, enters your mind. You close your eyes, a rush of warmth and something like desire coursing through you.

“No.”

His eyes, now, warm and kind and so inviting as they looked at you. The glimpse of tanned skin under his nightshirt.

“No. It cannot be. No.”

You open your eyes and delve deeper into the tepid water, scrubbing the plates and mugs clean and resolving to leave today - just as soon as you could be certain no danger awaited you at home.

At mid-morning, the sudden sound of a woman’s voice inside the cottage is almost enough to make you drop the bundle of clothes you’re carrying inside from the washing line.

She’s small, with an unruly mop of wild auburn curls, and a demeanour that indicates her wiles and toughness.

Peigí. It seems strange to see her here, away from her yard full of half-mended carts and spares.

She doesn’t spot you at first, too busy hauling in a milk can and a couple of baskets filled with random packages wrapped in brown paper. Food, you guessed.

“Only me, lads! Came by with milk and a few bits and pieces I have going spare after calling into the village, I know a growing little chap who’ll eat them right up, so he will. D’you know they changed the coterie of redcoat bastards at the barracks, Din? And one of them’s a local lad, fecked off and left his wife there a few years ago and now he’s back and he’s going mad looking for her and -"

The woman finally looks up and sees you standing near the hearth. 

“Oh. Oh, lord bless us and save us!”

“Hello, Peigí. I’m sorry, did I give you a fright?”

She rounds the table to get a closer look at you. “God almighty, girleen, it is you!” She pauses and takes a step back, concern written on her expressive face. “Did… did you know about, er, him? Reappearing, that is?”

You nod. “That’s why I’m here. And by the sounds of it, that was the right thing to do.”

She turns her head quickly towards the door that leads to the forge, as if half-considering whether to summon Din to find out what, exactly, the wife of the prodigal soldier is doing lying low in his house. 

“You’re not… ye aren’t… you and himself, are you…” 

It’s pretty clear what Peigí is thinking, and you can’t exactly blame her. An anxious wave crashes through you, as you realise that your choice of hideout may well lead the community at large to suspect impropriety - on your part, of course. 

“No. And if anyone else suggests that, kindly correct them on my behalf.” You put the bundle of clothes on the table and fold your arms. “I had nowhere else to go that he wouldn’t suspect. I came here in a panic. Din and Gró took me in and fed me.” 

Peigí lifts the baskets onto the table, a sympathetic expression on her face. “Well, your instincts were right. Your husband - not that he should really claim the title, given how long he’s been gone - has been out to your smallholding looking for you, and to your parents’ place, and he’s been asking around for you.” 

She takes a few of the packages out and arranges them into little piles. “Look, I don’t know your business but I’m guessing you have a good reason not to want to see him again, for being so frightened that you’d flee your own home. So you can trust me, I won’t say a word.” The earnestness of her expression and the kindness in her eyes tells you that she means it. 

“Thank you, Peigí. I’d intended to go home later today, I can’t outstay my welcome, but…”

“But I’d give it another little while,” she finishes. “Until he decides you’re not worth the bother.”

The door from the forge opens and Din’s broad silhouette appears, face still covered with the grey cloth. “Peigí?”

“The one and same, Din. Brought you and that lovely little lad some bits and pieces. Now, where’s my darling boy?”

On cue, Gró tears in from the forge, little bare feet racing across the flagstone floor to greet Peigí with a tight hug as she sweeps him up into her arms. He immediately starts chattering away to her, pointing from his shirt to you excitedly. 

“Well, aren’t you a lucky little chap, having new friends to make you clothes and everything!” She swivels around to face Din, his son playing with Peigí’s curls. “You don’t need to explain why she’s here, the poor girl. And she should stay put, in my opinion. Provided that’s alright with her hosts, of course.”

“What have you heard?” Din’s voice is cautious.

“Only that he’s been sniffing around the place and asking questions. Nobody knows she’s out here, though.” She ruffles Gró’s mop of fair hair. “You know me, Din, I know everyone and I hear everything. And I’ll be out here quick as anything, the minute I know it’s alright for her to go home. That alright with you, girleen?”

“If it’s alright with Din.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “It’s fine with us. We will keep you safe.”

Peigí looks from you to Din and back again, eyes narrowed and one eyebrow arched, before setting Gró back down on the ground. 

“Right so, I’ll be off. See you next week, Din - if not before.”

You keep telling yourself that you’ll soon be able to go home. But, with every day that passes over the course of the next week without a visit from Peigí, a new, more uncomfortable feeling grows inside you.

I don’t want to leave here.

You settle into a comforting, reassuring routine: a little housekeeping and cooking, mending and sewing, playing with Gró, occasionally helping Din with checking the list of items left for repair. Gró alerts you if anyone comes down the lane to the forge, giving you time to scramble up the ladder to the attic and hide. It’s not that you expect Searlas himself - more that you fear he’ll find out if anyone from the locality spots you in the cottage. 

You notice Din smiling more, these last few days. Sometimes, you catch him looking at you, eyes kind and warm. And he, in turn, has caught you looking at him.

By night, you sit by the fire together for a little while: you with your mending or knitting, talking, sometimes - and more you than him - but sometimes simply being in a companionable silence that doesn’t demand interruption. 

This evening, he descends the ladder from Gró’s sleeping attic, candlestick in hand, and sets the light back on the mantel. The flickering flame throws shadows here and there, the brighter light of the fire illuminating Din’s profile against the whitewashed walls.

He joins you, sitting in one of the sugán chairs in front of the fire. He silently watches you, taking in your nimble fingers as you darn a pair of socks by firelight.

“You have a nice voice,” you say quietly, not even looking up from your work.

“I…” He seems a little taken aback. “Are you making fun of me?”

You look up, surprised and a little hurt that he’d think that of you. “Of course not! I heard you singing to the little lad and it was nice. It’s a compliment, Din.”

He looks sullenly into the fire. You reach over to pat his arm, to offer a little more reassurance and kindness, but he pulls away suddenly as if your fingertips were aflame. You jerk back your hand just as quickly. Had you broken some sort of rule?

“I’m sorry, Din, I didn’t mean to - I meant no harm.” You cast your eyes down again towards the stockings.

“It’s only that I’m not used to it.”

You look up quizzically. “Not used to compliments?”

He meets your eyes and huffs a laugh. “Well, that’s true too. But I mean I am not used to being touched. At least, not by anyone other than my boy.” He looks away again. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Let’s call it evens, then, will we?” You yawn softly and let the darning rest in your lap. “I think it might be time for bed.” 

You go through the evening routine established with quiet ease over the past few days: packing away your darning while Din smothers the fire and pulls out the box-like bed frame of the settle bed for you, setting out the few meagre cups and plates for breakfast on the sturdy wooden table while he retrieves pillow and blankets for your bed. 

“There might just be enough jam for Gró to have for breakfast,” you tell him, peering into the bottom of the last jar you’d given them. Din stands beside you at the table and smiles. 

“He makes light work of it, I’m afraid.”

You shrug and place the jar on the table, resting your hands lightly on the edge. “I’m glad. It’s nice to make a child so happy in this world.”

For a moment, there’s no sound except the occasional crackle of the candles and the rain beating its steady rhythm against the walls and windows of the little cottage.

Din rests his own broad, calloused hands on the table. With trembling fingers, he places his right hand gently on the back of your left. 

He doesn’t look directly at you, instead stealing the odd glance as he tries to gauge your reaction. You turn your hand over so that your palm is touching his, letting your fingers intertwine with his long, thick digits as you softly squeeze his hand and turn to look at him.

His hands are still shaking a little, but his impossibly dark eyes are warm and wanting as they look intently into yours. 

He moves a step closer. He brings the back of your hand to his lips. You exhale a little, a breath tinged with pleasure and surprise, and your fingers seek out the rough stubble on his jaw. He lets go of your hand, gently, and traces his fingertips across your cheek with surprising delicateness.

His kiss is a little awkward, at first, as if he’s afraid you might disappear entirely as soon as your lips meet. When you lean in and reciprocate, though, he responds in kind: strong arms pulling you close as he kisses you hungrily, moaning into your mouth as you wrap your arms around him.

And then it’s over. 

He breaks away, breathing shaky, body almost trembling, face turned away from you. 

“No. We can’t. You’re… you’re married, it’s not the way to - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laid a finger on you.”

You walk quickly to the settle bed, keeping your back turned to Din. “I’ll go in the morning. I’ve exploited your kindness for far too long as it is.” 

His own bed creaks a little as Din sits on it and sighs. “You won’t be safe. I can protect you, here.”

“I’m a married woman, Din, remember?” You fling a pillow down onto the straw-filled mattress in frustration. “So I shouldn’t need you to protect me. And I’d obviously only be a temptation. A harlot.”

You pick up your nightshirt and shawl and cross to the door that leads to the tiny back room, so that you can change for bed. You keep your face turned away and your eyes trained on the flagstone floor. That way, at least, he won’t see your tears.

“The thing is, Din,” you say quietly, as you pause in front of the simple wooden door, “over the last few days - in all the time I’ve known you, indeed - you’ve been more husband to me than he ever was, in the ways that really mattered.” 

“Mo chuisle.” [My darling]

His voice, soft but pleading, cuts through the stillness like a prayer. When you turn to face him, he’s standing by the side of his bed, big dark eyes threatening tears of his own, beautiful hands twisting and rubbing nervously together. You’ve never seen him like this. 

“Say it again.” You move towards him, shawl wrapped around your upper body.

“Mo chuisle.” He takes your hand and you instinctively move closer, leaning in to feel the warmth of his broad chest. Slowly, cautiously, Din’s strong arms reach around your body to hold you to him. 

You stay like that for a few moments, listening to his heart beating, learning the notes of his scent: fire and metal. His large hand caresses the back of your head, his lips find your cheek with soft, lingering kisses.

“Let me keep you safe, mo chuisle. Here, with us.” 

You look into his dark eyes, mapping the laughter lines around them and the contours of his nose, his mouth, his strong jaw. 

When you first met Din, you weren’t sure if he was a handsome man or a striking one. You were wrong on both counts. 

He was a beautiful one.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds, before your lips meet his again. Slow caresses give way to more urgent, hungry kisses, your hands holding Din’s face as he holds you tight, feeling the softness and contours of your body under the layers of wool and cotton in your garments. 

You stay like that for a little while, lips and tongues blissfully moving together and hands roaming over each other’s body, exploring these strange and enticing new territories. 

Din trembles under your gentle touches, the feeling of someone else’s tender caresses almost overwhelming after so long alone. For the first time in your life, you know what it is to be held and cherished with care as he holds you, seeks out your softness and your warmth, presses his lips experimentally to the fragile skin of your neck and décolletage, and sighs with pleasure. 

His mouth moves gradually lower, and you loosen the neck of your blouse and undo your light wool bodice to grant him greater access. Those long, thick fingers, marked and calloused by his trade, trace the line of your breasts under your short linen stays.  

“Oh.” He exhales the word, closing his eyes as his fingertips press lightly into the soft flesh. 

“Din…”

Din’s dark eyes flick open and meet yours, his sadness palpable. “I’m sorry, mo chuisle, I’ll stop.”

You murmur a silent prayer that he won’t think less of you for what you say next.

“Din…don’t stop. I - I want to. I want you. I want you to have me. Please.”

He flushes and looks away, still holding you close. 

You speak softly but firmly. “I know that’s very forward of me, Din, but…” You run your fingers idly through his hair and he leans into your touch. “Why did you turn away?”

“Because I’ll be a disappointment to you.” His eyes meet yours again, dark and sad. 

“It has been a…long time.” He looks embarrassed, colour flushing his cheeks. “I…I’ve lain with, well…once or twice…but I…It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t -”

“If you don’t want to, you know that’s perfectly fine.”

“I want to. I want you.” He pulls you tight to him once more, and brings his hand to your breasts, gently kneading the flesh and slipping a fingertip here and there under your light stays as he sucks your neck and pulls your bodice open all the more. 

“I won’t hurt you, my darling,” he murmurs.

“Oh, Din, I know. You never could. Let me undress for you, a stór, hmmm?” 

Din looks on as you discard your bodice and your skirts, followed by your woollen stockings. You undo your short stays, leaving you as naked as you’ve ever been in front of another human being for a very long time: just your pale, light shift, undone over the décolletage and stopping just at mid-calf, the outline of your body entirely evident in the simple, thin undergarment. 

His dark eyes appraise you, mouth slightly open. The width and curve of your hips. The thickness of your thighs. The little protruding pooch of your belly. The line of your shoulders. The gorgeous weight of your heavy bosom.

“Oh, mo Dhia.” [My god]

Din hastily takes off his knitted pullover and undoes his breeches and stockings, and soon he, like you, is standing barefoot on the flagstone floor, dressed in just the creamy-coloured linen of his undershirt. He closes the short distance between you, caresses your cheek with one hand and reaches for the other, holding it gently. 

“Please take me to bed, Din.”

It’s strange, at first, to nestle beside him in his bed, to smile at each other and giggle quietly as you map each other’s bodies with roving fingers, curious lips, and wandering eyes. 

You are no virgin. But this has some of the sweetness and curiosity of a first time, or at least how you had once hoped a first time would be. On your wedding night, Searlas took your virginity and shattered your romantic delusions, adding insult to injury by checking the sheets to see if you’d bled.

It’s different tonight, here in the blacksmith’s bed. You are both a little awkward, a bit hesitant from your years alone, the time spent seeking a kind of release in your own hands, the years that passed without as much as a loving touch from someone else. 

The feel of another now, at last, sets you trembling. Din’s breath hitches when you caress him through the thin linen of his undershirt, and when you reach under his shirt and wrap your fingers around his cock he moans so loudly that you have to put a hand over his mouth, for fear of waking the little boy soundly asleep on the floor above.

You stroke him for a little while, hand still gently pressed over his lips to stem the flow of grunts and moans that threaten to spill out. 

“I’ll stay quiet if I’m kissing you, mo chuisle,” he whispers against your hand.

You smile and move your palm away, and Din swiftly finds your mouth again as his hands grope your breasts. It’s exquisite torment - the sheer pleasure of his strong, broad hands being on you, his soft, warm mouth meeting yours, while the ache between your legs grows more and more insistent. 

You take his hand and gently guide it under your chemise and between your folds. Din’s eyes widen. 

“Ever touched a woman here?”

He shakes his head. 

“Would you like me to teach you?”

A slow, entranced nod of agreement. 

You bring his long, thick pointer and middle fingers to the sensitive little nub you’ve learned to massage when you needed release in your years alone, guiding Din’s motions as you teach him what you like. What you need. 

He’s a quick learner, enraptured by the little whines his fingers start to pull out of you and the way your hips buck in response to the careful touch of his hand. He reaches for your breasts with his free hand, fondling them with endearingly clumsy enthusiasm while he continues to finger you. 

“You’re wet,” he grunts into the side of your neck, fingers now tracing around your entrance as he explores you for the first time. 

“For you,” you whisper, close to coming. “Because I want you to have me.”

Din’s kiss tips you over the edge and you whine against his broad chest as pleasure courses through your body. He looks astonished. 

“Good?”

“So good, Din,” and you return his kiss, still stroking his cock. “You learn fast, a stór.” 

His eyes are dark with desire and want as he plays with the hem of your chemise, hitching it up over your thighs. 

“Can I have you, mo chuisle?” His voice is hushed, reverent, almost; his face open and genuine as he gazes into your eyes. 

You nod and sit up, casting off your shift before helping him out of his shirt. Your fingers trace over the marks and scars on his body, lips pressing lightly to them, to the strong, beautiful muscles of his arms and torso, to the side of his neck. 

With his pointer finger, Din draws soft lines and circles down your breasts and around your nipples, before gently bringing his warm, plush lips to each one in turn. Strong arms wrap around you and ease you down onto your back as his mouth continues to explore your body. He strokes his cock and moans softly as your hips buck up towards him, marvelling at the way you are responding to his touch. 

He is a beautiful sight, nestled between your legs: broad body above yours, hands and lips exploring you, eyes blown completely dark with desire, and hard cock pressing against your core. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down for a long, deep kiss.

There is no moment of doubt in your mind, no worry about how this lovemaking is “wrong”, by virtue of the legal status that still binds you to a man who never held up his end of the bargain, nor had any intention of doing so. 

Nothing in your life, you realise as you reach down to help guide Din inside you, has ever felt so right.

He takes you slowly, gently, biting his lip as he sinks into you and bottoms out with a groan he desperately tries to suppress as he adjusts to the feel of your wet, warm pussy. 

He opens his eyes and caresses your cheek, smiling softly. “Mo cailín álainn. [My lovely girl.] Is this - do you like this?”

The feeling of his heavy cock pressing, filling, stretching you so beautifully is a revelation, a far cry from the pain and abuse that characterised your previous experiences. Suddenly, you understand why other young couples you’d known had been so desperate to go to bed together.  

“It’s just perfect, a stór. And for you, is this - does it feel good for you?” 

Din breathes your name and closes his eyes for a moment. “So very, very good, mo chuisle.” With a gentle kiss, he begins to move his hips as you whine softly at the gorgeous sensation. He moves slowly, at first, his sheer pleasure as he drags his cock in and out of you written all over his face and in every pant and whispered gasp of your name that issues from his soft lips. 

Your knees hitch instinctively, your body acting on your innate need to take him even deeper inside of you. Din’s broad, calloused right hand finds its way to your hip, making you cry out as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, while his left eagerly gropes and massages your tits. 

“That’s it, darling,” you purr into his ear, urging him on as he starts to fuck you harder and faster. “Yes - yes, Din, there - that’s…oh, god…” His eyes widen as he watches your head rolling back in ecstasy. He buries his face against the velvet skin of your neck, kissing and licking and nipping you until you’re stifling your moans against his dark, wavy locks. 

“My good, good girl,” he whispers, moving his lips to your tits and muffling his grunts and groans against your body as his rhythm starts to stutter and falter. He’s close. “Where, love?”

“Inside me,” you hiss, “finish inside me.”

He comes hard, moaning into his pillow as he spills his release deep within you. You trail your fingers through Din’s damp, mussed-up hair and kiss the side of his head, over and over, until he pulls out and flops back beside you. 

You turn to face him, chuckling softly at how wrecked he looks. “You’re very good at that, you know. Not bad for a man who thought he was going to disappoint me.” 

Din grins, wraps an arm around you, and pulls you in for a long, slow kiss.

Dawn reaches its gentle rays into the little cottage and finds two lovers still tangled together, naked beneath the blankets. 

Din wakes you with kisses: to your lips, your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. You nuzzle against him, still basking in the warm glow created the night before.

There’s a certain sadness in his kind eyes. Regret? 

“What is it, Din?”

He looks at you, reluctant. “I just wish you were mine, mo chuisle.”

In that instant the warm glow is gone, replaced by stark cold. He’s right. You’re not really his. You can’t be. 

But, says a little voice inside you, you are. What else are you, if not his?

You kiss his cheek and reach for his hand. “I am yours, Din. Don’t you remember what I said last night? I’m yours - and you are mine - in all the ways that truly matter.”

Further A/N: With thanks to @agentjackdaniels for her astute observation a long time back about the similarity between mo chuisle and mesh'la!

A settle bed was a common piece of furniture in eighteenth and nineteenth-century Ireland. Essentially, it was a kind of high-backed bench with a deep base that could be pulled out to act as a spare bed. A sugán chair is a traditional Irish form of domestic chair with a woven straw seat and wooden frame.

[heavyhitterheaux]

First babies fighting with jack.

"Ax, come on and get your shoes on so we can go see Grandma and Grandpa so daddy can go to his meeting."

"No. I want to go with mommy."

Jack immediately sighed because he already knew that Axel was going to put up a fight since he's been extra attached to you as of lately.

"Mommy is not here. She had a few things to do so you'll see her when she picks you up."

"So, she just left us with you?" Autumn said while turning up her nose and crossing her arms.

"You three were sleeping when she left, Autumn. Lose the attitude and get your shoes on."

"I can't go because mommy didn't do my hair."

Jack simply looked at his youngest and her hair was indeed done because he had done it last night.

"Autumn Danielle…. I did your hair last night before you went to sleep and it looks fine."

"But I want bows!" She exclaimed while looking at Axel fiddling with one of his shoes.

"You…. Last night you didn't want them!"

"But I want them now!"

Just then Ivy came downstairs ready to go with her little pink backpack and all smiles.

"Can we see Grandma now!? You two are slow."

"I want mommy."

"Daddy won't put bows in my hair."

Ivy gave both of them a blank stare before rolling her eyes.

"You two are such babies."

"Ivy, we're all babies. We're four." Axel said and Jack stifled a laugh.

"No, you two are like baby babies. Daddy has something to do and I wanna see Grandma and Grandpa and you two are keeping me from my cookies she made me."

"Don't make me call your mother." Jack then said and the three of them immediately shook their heads no.

"On second thought, my hair is cute without the bows." Autumn quietly said while sliding on her backpack and grabbing one of her dolls.

"Daddy, can you help me tie my shoe?"

"Of course Ax, sit up here."

When Jack was finished, he looked at all three of them as they made their way to the door.

"DADDY, I CALL SHOTGUN!" Ax said once they were all outside in front of Jack’s Jeep trying to reach the handle to the passenger side door.

"AX! You are sitting in the backseat like everyone else. And no crawling out of your car seat this time!"

"You looked lonely in the front by yourself and Autumn was throwing popcorn at me."

"Nuh uh! You asked me to so you could catch it in your mouth!"

"Daddy, aren't you happy you have at least one child that is a perfect angel?" Ivy asked as he snapped her in her car seat and Axel and Autumn made a face at her.

"Ivy, you put makeup on daddy's face while he was sleeping last week." Axel said and she looked at him in disbelief.

"Sni…."

"Ivy, call him a snitch and you will not get a single cookie."

All she did was cross her arms and held up her fist towards him when Jack closed the door so he didn't see her.

"DADDY! IVY SAID SHE WAS GOING TO BEAT ME UP!"

"I DID NOT!"

"Well you did ball up your fist at him. So same thing." Autumn added while shrugging.

"You three better be on your best behavior starting now." Jack said while rubbing his temples as he started the car. But what they didn't know was that Jack had called you on facetime and heard the entire exchange between the three of them.

"Now babies…." You said and they immediately got quiet.

"Uh oh." Autumn said as her eyes went wide.

"Are you three giving daddy a hard time?"

"No mommy!" You heard only Ivy and Autumn say.

"Mommy, can you come get me? My sisters are bothering me."

"Momma's boy." Ivy whispered and Axel stuck his tongue out at her.

"What the? IVY! I heard you!" You said with Jack quickly saying the same thing.

"Ivy! Where did you even hear that!?"

"Grandma called you that, daddy."

"I…" Jack started to say, but you busted out laughing.

"BABY! NOT FUNNY!"

"Yes it is because it's true! Anyway, all three of you be on your best behavior and I better only hear that you were for your grandparents when I come and get you later."

"So, mommy is that a no?" Axel asked again.

"No, Ax. Later. I promise."

"Mommy, daddy forgot to feed us!"

"Feed us what, Autumn? Daddy can't cook."

"OKAY! ENOUGH WITH THE DADDY SLANDER! And I did feed you!" Jack said as he was pulling up to his parents house.

"Daddy, you would be in big trouble if mommy wasn't your wife."

"I couldn't agree more, Ax." You said while laughing.

You said bye to the triplets and Jack as he told you that they were finally there and suddenly got a text from him.

Baby Daddy- Expect to get punished for that later

You- Can't wait 🤭😏

Baby Daddy- I guarantee you won't be laughing once I get through with you

You- Once you drop them off, call me back on facetime so I can get a preview 👀

Baby Daddy- Give me ten minutes

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Slade Wilson aka Deathstroke sits in his prison cell reading Shawshank Redemption.

Slade: Huh, he dug a hole in the wall? Amateur.

He chuckles. His phone rings a second later. He answers it without checking the caller ID.

Slade: Go for Deathstroke.

Rose Wilson: Death- Sla- Dad- Nope. Father, yeah that works. Father, I need to request you to do something for me.

Slade, while reading: I'm listening.

Rose: The Joker is in Arkham with you. Beat him to a bloody pulp, he probably won't die, but you know don't hold back. I'll bring you muffins when I visit you.

Slade, closes his book and stands up out of bed.

Slade: I'd do that regardless. Regardless! You're not joking about that doesn't die crap. I will beat his ass to bloody pulp either way. Guard where's my brass knuckles?

Rose sighs happily.

Rose: Thank you.

Slade: No problem... Which child are you?

Rose, remembering who her father is: Rose. It's Rose.

Slade remains silent.

Rose: I cut my eye out for you.

Slade: Oh! The one who proved her loyalty to me. I got you... Daughter? Yeah Rose is my daughter. Bring me blueberry muffins when you drop by on visitors day.

Rose: You don't want to hear a reason for why I'm -

Slade prepares his brass knuckles.

Slade, hatred for the Joker in his tone: Rose, regardless!

Rose: Cool thanks. Loyal to ya.

Slade: I know you are.

With that Slade ends the call and leaves his open cell.

Slade: Hey, jester man, get over here!

Meanwhile

Rose ends the call satisfied.

Rose: I am such a good person. Thank God he hasn't realized I hate his guts.

Jason: You done, I'm getting cold in here.

Rose smiles, drops her rob and walks in Jason's room, closing the door behind her.

[writingzen]

Let’s Play ♡‧ ⁺彡

✧ pairing- soobin x 6TH!member x yeonjun.

✧ summary- soobin punishment was just supposed to be a quick hand kiss.

✧ warnings- txt 6th member, sexual tensuon, teasing, jealousy, making a very small punishment bigger, etc

✧ A/N- got this idea when I saw the boyz kiss punishment with Juyeon in that one video yk? But yea, enjoy :)

You takes his hand into yours gently, fingers rubbing softly over his as you pull his hand close to your lips. Though it was supposed to just be a normal hand kiss quick and done, you drag it out. Starting at his fingers, trailing your lips leisurely along each knuckle, a light “muah” sound following every lazy peck before lingering over the top of his hand.

A high blush flushes his cheeks, a warm care spreading across his rose pink face as he forces his gaze away from yours, glancing at everything and anything in his view but you. His shyness only added to your fuel, making him look more adorable than ever, more easy to tease and mess with.

You call out his name softly causing a tingle to run down his spine, your breath fanning against his knuckles, “soobin” his eyes flutters before he finds the courage to turn his head to you, his gaze focused on the ground, too embarrassed to actually look you in the eyes.

“Mhm” he responds in a whisper

The corner of your lips rising into a smirk, “look at me” you says softly, voice dipped in honey as it drifts towards his ears. Your words makes him shiver, enjoying them more than he thought he would, making him feel so so special.

His gaze finally locks with yours for what seemed like forever to him but not enough for you before repeating his same nervous actions once again, eyes bouncing from different objects around the room. You can’t help the way your smile widens at his adorable reactions, lips still lingering over his hand “soobin~” you repeats his name, taking it apart slowly like your learning it for the first time, like you can’t think of a better word. This time his eyes drown into yours, your intoxicating gaze piercing through his body as he waits for your next move. His gaze focusing on you and only you as you finally press your lips against the top of his hand, laying a soft yet seductive kiss on him before taking your time to pull away. You look up at him through lidded eyes as you flash him a lazy smile, making him melt like icecream at such an innocent sight.

His ears paint with a deep red as he finally looks away. He can’t help the nagging thoughts in the back of his head, feeling stupid for being so enthralled with just a small kiss yet in a mix of emotions, he hoped for it to never end, feeling like you gifted him a present too precious. For a second he forgets it’s not only you two in the room thinking such naughty thoughts, he forgets it’s supposed to be a punishment because of a game he lost. Though in either case, he would never think of it as such.

As you turn away from him, ending your turn of the punishment, a smile still plasters on your face as you look over at the person you were really putting the show on for. With a tense jaw and twitching muscles yeonjun’s gaze locks with yours, eyes cutting through your accomplishments. In an instance your heart speeds and your being becomes liquid, you swear your legs could melt any second, dropping you to your knees in surrender but you act as if he has no effect on you at all. Ignoring all the signs and still on your feet, you send him a wink, adding more pressure to his anger, before turning to the cameras, knowing he can do absolutely nothing while the camera is still rolling, filming what’s supposed to be just another to do episode. At the end this was just supposed to be a punishment for soobin because of his loss, yet deep down, he knows you did it for him.

Yeonjun takes no time settling his thoughts before taking his place behind you, pushing beomgyu out the way in a quick movement with no grace nor hesitation, causing a whine to leave the boys lips as he lightly slaps his shoulder though he doesn’t force him to move from his place, yeonjun wouldn’t care less if he did.

He lets out a chuckle, paying no attention to the tension in the air, his hand caresses his jaw, calming himself down. “My turn”

He takes soobin’s hand gently yet he could still feel the rough touch yeonjun didn’t forget to add before his eyes meets yours once again, sending you a thousand messages with just one look, a smirk playing on his lips as he continues the supposed punishment for soobin, with every intention to end the punishment with you and only you.

“Let’s play”

[hiddenwritingsintheworld]

My Alpha Ch. 2

 Donations | Share your Thoughts & Feelings | My Alpha Series (coming soon) | Chapter 1

As the week passed, you’d began texting Declan without your father being any wiser. He’d been out of town for a few days on business, but when he returned, you were in for a brute of trouble. “Y/N!” he yelled from the dining room as you came home from work one evening. “Hey dad!” you smiled softly, “I didn’t realize you were home yet, how was your trip?” you asked, coming over and giving him a peck on the cheek. “What in the hell was that new Alpha doing here the other day?” he growled. You blinked and reached over to the desk against the wall where your father had always kept all his important papers and such. “He wanted to drop off his phone number for you, and wanted to offer that if you needed anything to reach out to him.” you said quietly as you handed him the card. “Did you invite him in?” he glared, snatching the card from your hands. “No, of course not. I was here alone, I…I know not to do that…” you whispered looking down. 

Your father sighed and leaned back in his chair, “I think you’ll find that he’s trouble, I don't want you alone with him do you understand me?” you looked at him and nodded. “Yes sir, I understand.” you spoke in a quiet voice, afraid that if you spoke any louder, he would back hand you. “Get upstairs and undress, I’ll be there in a moment.” he said looking back at the card. 

You stood there for a second, chewing on your lip. “Do you have to do an inspection? I hav-,” the hand that struck your cheek was quick, the force knocked you back a bit. “I said. Get upstairs, and undress. I didn’t ask you to fucking speak!” he roared. “YOU DO WHAT YOUR ALPHA TELLS YOU TO DO!” Your lip quivered as you looked away, your whole body shaking. You felt his breathing, hot with the stench of whiskey embedded in it, running down your neck as he stood closer to you, his lips close to your ear, “What do you say when your Alpha gives you an order?” he growled. “Y-Y-Yes Alpha,” you whimpered, trying not to cry. “Now, be a good little Omega and do as your alpha tells you. Get upstairs, strip down and wait.” he growled. You nodded as you swallowed thickly, trying to keep your tears from running down your cheeks. “Yes Alpha.” you whispered and turned rushing upstairs. 

You had mere minutes before he would be there, so you quickly sent Declan a text. ‘FYI, I have to delete our texts constantly, so, if you text, and I read it but don’t respond, it’s because I deleted it before I had the chance to text back. Do not reply to this, I will text you later tonight.’

You sent the message, noticing it had been read, and quickly deleted the conversation before laying your phone on the counter. You stripped down from your work uniform, tossing the dirty clothes into the hamper in the bathroom and stood in just your bra and panties. You turned on the shower, and took your place, standing with your back to the door, watching the steam from the hot water begin to rise in the small bathroom. 

The door opened behind you, and hit the wall as it swung. You didn’t move a muscle, knowing that if you did, it could be so much worse. “Underwear and Bra need to come off as well.” he spoke with venom etched in his voice. He’d never made you remove your bra and panties before. You turned your head to glance over your shoulder at him, your brows furrowed with confusion. “But I-,” “Did I ask you to speak?” he interrupted you. “Do you need a refresher in how this all works? You're the omega, when your alpha speaks, gives you a command, asks you a question…you don’t question him. You DO AS YOUR FUCKING TOLD!” he grabbed you by the arms, and threw you out into the hallway. 

As you fell against the banister, you cried out in pain. Before you were able to get up, he straddled your waist, and grabbed the front of your bra ripping it from your body as you struggled against him. “Hold still you little bitch,” he growled, reaching for your panties as you slapped at him, “Get off me! Please stop!” you cried. He got a hand on them, and twisted, the material ripping on your left hip, but not the right. “Hold still!” he yelled as you cried and struggled. 

The doorbell ringing stopped him in his tracks, you were able to crawl away as he stood up and looked down at you. “I find one mark on you from another, I’ll break every bone in that little body of yours.” he glared with a snarl before he straightened his clothes and walked downstairs to the front door. When he opened it, he froze for a split second. 

Declan stood there, he had a good 5-7 inches on the older alpha, and was doubled his size. “Good Evening,” Declan smiled and nodded his head. “Mr. Harp, what are you doing here?” Your father called out, a little louder than normal, which meant he wanted you to hear who was at the door. You heard your father open the door wider and allowed Declan inside. “Well, I wanted to stop by because I tried to catch you a few days ago and you weren’t home. I’d left word with your daughter but I never heard from you.” He said as he entered the house. Arthur, your father, nodded and walked toward the living room, which was opposite of the stairway and banister in the upper hallway. 

“Girl is more brain dead than a vegetable, what can I do for you Declan?” Arthur put his hands in his pockets and stood tall, watching as Declan nodded and smiled some, “Well I went down to the lumber yard and had filled out an application, but since I don’t know very many people here, I was wondering if you could help me find a job and if it’s alright, possibly use you as a reference?” he asked as the older man had to hold in a laugh. “Tell you what, Declan, why don’t you come work for me? I own the construction company on the southend of town and while it’s hard work, it’s also honest work. Why don't you have a seat, I’ll go in the kitchen and grab us a couple beers,'' Arthur told him as he walked off to the kitchen. 

Declan glanced around, looking for any sign of you, he could smell the distraught and fear that coated your scent. Glancing to see the kitchen door closed, Declan stepped out of the living room and into the foyer to see you leaning against the banister, an arm covering your chest as tears silently fell down your face. Your eyes were closed, lips quivering, as you shook slightly.

You caught the smell of the forest, a woodsy pine, like fresh dew in the early morning, mixed with oak. A splash of rain intertwined with dawn, and warm cinnamon mixed with pinecones that littered the forest ground. Your eyes opened to see Declan staring up at you, eyes wide and his nostrils flared. You held your arms to yourself as you bit your lip, “I was never here. You saw nothing.” you mouthed to him before moving back into the bathroom, pressing yourself against the tub behind the door you buried your head down in your arms as your heart raced. 

Declan stood there, his widened eyes became narrow as he turned his attention back to the kitchen door, he could hear Arthur shuffling around. “Hey Arthur, I gotta get going. Why don’t I come by for that beer some other time?” Declan called out, glancing back up toward the spot you were sitting last. “Oh alright, well, if you need anything, give me a holler Declan.” Arthur said coming out of the kitchen. 

Declan was standing by the front door, acting as if nothing had been seen or heard and nodded. “Absolutely Arthur, thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Just text me the time to show up and I'll be there.” he shook his hand and walked out the door as Arthur chuckled. “You got it,bye now.” he closed the front door and turned glaring back toward the stairs. He moved swiftly through the house, taking the stairs two at a time to  find you curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor shaking like a leaf. “Take a shower, I’ll start on dinner.” he grabbed the door and pulled it shut, sighing to himself. Sometimes he forgot you didn’t know; and Arthur wasn’t about to let anything jeopardize what he had worked so hard to get in the first place. 

You came downstairs about 20 minutes later, dressed in a pair of flannel pajama pants, a long sleeved shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks. Arthur smiled at you, sliding a drink to you at the island and looked at you. “You understand why I do the things I do right?” he asked as you sat down and sipped your cup of tea. “I guess…” you mumbled, staring down at the counter. Arthur sighed, “I don’t trust other alphas around you, you’re my little girl, I’d die if something happened to you. I love you too much, I’ve worked too hard to protect you,” he pulled you into his arms, sniffing your hair as he kissed your head. 

You sighed and hugged his waist, wishing more than anything it would stop. You looked at him after a few minutes. “Hey dad, are you going to let Declan come work for you?” you asked as he smiled. “Of course, he’s a pack member, packs take care of each other. Now you go sit and I’ll finish up dinner.” he kissed your forehead before releasing you.

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[manias-wordcount]

Bruises (Miruko, Midnight)

Kinktober 2022 Day Twenty-Eight: Spanking, Choking

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

To you, it’s not just a job. At least, not anymore.

 You see them every day. They’re in the ads that play on your TV. The news stories that show up in the paper. The interviews you hear over the radio. The video clips you watch on your phone. And they walk alongside you in the streets. Sometimes in costume. Sometimes not. Sometimes returning from a fight all safe and sound. Sometimes battered and beaten. Covered in bruises. But still alive. Still kicking. Despite all the dangers. Despite all the odds.

 But that doesn’t change who they are. That doesn’t change the fact that they’re a Pro Hero. That they save people. That they save lives every single day. Performing a service that many are too afraid and too weak to do. And it's thoughts like these that make you think about how they have to live. 

 Maybe concealing their identity. Maybe never stepping out into the public. Avoiding this. Doing that. Things out of their control. Things that they have to so carefully control. All because of their job. All because of their lifestyle. The lifestyle that comes when you’re a Pro hero.

 But that’s not you. It’s just not. You’re not a Pro hero. You’re nowhere close to being a Pro hero. You’re a hired whore. You do parties and private rooms and one-on-ones for cash. You keep identities secret, and you keep cocks warm. You spend most of your day naked with someone’s dick buried in between your thighs or your mouth sucking on someone’s clit. Sometimes the other way around. Sometimes in a different order. Sometimes not. 

 But you don’t have a job children aspire to have. You don’t have a job people send thank-you messages to through the TV. The bruises that you earn from work are the type you cover and hide with layers and layers of makeup and clothes. They’re nothing like ones earned from a battlefield. They are not something you can so easily wear with pride. Because you don’t save lives that they do. You don’t save the people like they do. But even then you’d like to think…

 “You look so pretty like this, don't you bunny?”

 You’d like to think that in your own special way, you save them. 

 “Yes…yes, I do,” You find yourself murmuring in between soft gasps of air as you answer Miruko’s question. The corner of said hero’s lips twitches upwards as her smile widens at your response. Your reward for your compliance is decided for you, and it’s decided quickly. It’s her hand adjusting its grip ever so slightly around your throat before starting to squeeze just a bit harder. And harder. And harder. “I…Miruko-”

 You almost choke on her name, but you know it’s what she wants. It’s exactly what she wants as she grins down at you with a powerful look in her eyes. Your eyes flicker to her arm for a moment, sneaking a glance at your captor. Her gaze follows your eyes easily, and you know that from the way she subtly flexed her arms, letting her muscles strain and tense under your watchful eyes. It’s a show of power. A show of strength. A show of stability.

 And a distraction from the hands of another coming down and laying a harsh slap to your ass.

 You squeal at the impact, your head immediately trying to turn back to see the assailant. But your neck is still caught within Miruko’s firm grip. There’s nowhere for you to run as the Rabbit Hero's intense stare lays into you. And absolutely nowhere for you to hide as the woman she came here with comes up to your backside and places her hands on your bare flesh. 

 “Hey, pretty girl,” Midnight’s voice purrs directly in your ear. You can’t help but let out a soft noise of surprise- though the sound quickly melts into a pleasured moan as you feel her lips kiss the side of your jaw. Once. Twice. Three times as the R-rated Hero takes her sweet time pressing her into your back and kneading your ass with her hands. Drawing patterns into your skin. Squeezing it. Playing with it. Slapping it. And making it known that you weren’t just supposed to be servicing one client right now. “You didn’t forget about me, did you?”

 You were supposed to be servicing two.

 “N-no…” You stutter out in a harsh breath, almost yelping at the way Midnight’s left-hand makes contact with your raw ass cheek. She tuts her tongue at you- a sure sign that she doesn’t believe your little white lie as she reels back her right hand and hits that cheek now. This time you do- you do let out that whine you were holding in all this time, and the two women drink it in strides Miruko is quick to cut off the sound by adding more pressure and strength to the fist she has around your throat. “I- fuck…um…”

 Behind you, Midnight continues her onslaught on your ass. Spreading your cheeks with perfectly manicured fingers before letting it all go and watching your backside jiggle and bounce with minimal effort. In between your desperate pants, the R-rated Hero asks for your color. And as you respond back with a whispered “green,” she hums approvingly, before pressing her lips against your shoulder- giving you the sweetest kiss as she goes back to focusing on your body. And as the Rabbit Hero flexes her fingers alongside your throat, she asks you if you’re enjoying yourself. If you missed them as much they missed you. And when you find yourself nodding along in her grip, the look in her eyes gets softer. Like as if that was what she needed from you more than anything at this moment. Not the sex. Not your body. But for someone to indulge her. For someone to indulge both of them. As if they were humans- not just heroes.

 And at this point in your career, it’s something you know you shouldn’t be so horribly turned on by. Something that shouldn’t be making you make this big of a mess in your panties. Something that shouldn’t have you about to beg to feel more of.  But you can’t help it. You just can’t. Like the two women in the room with you- you have wants. You have needs. 

 But that’s the thing. To you, it’s not just a job anymore. It’s a lifestyle. 

 At least, that’s what you tell yourself to justify all that you say and do.

 Still, you know what you do is important in its own way. It’s a job you don’t tell people. It’s a job you don’t brag about. But you show up every day and you do it. And at the end of the day, your bruises may not show up in the same places. They may not show up in the same ways. But you know what you do is important. You know you’re saving people. You know that you’re saving them - in your own little way. 

 And sometimes you’ll come out safe and sound. Sometimes you’ll come out battered and beaten. Covered in those bruises. Sometimes on your neck. Sometimes on your ass. And sometimes, littered all around your body in spots you never think of. In spots you never see. But those are the fights you win. The fights that you came out alive. The fights that keep them still kicking.

 Despite all the dangers. Despite all the odds.

[thecreaturecodex]

Div, Apaush

Image © @chimeride

[Sponsored by @crazytrain48, based on the "sun demon" from Arduin. Why these are sun demons is somewhat obscure to me; their scales and boluses suggest they should be iron demons, right? The art does an excellent job making it more sunny, with the solar disk head, which I love. I leaned into it by giving them the name of one of the Zoroastrian daevas of drought, and some of their spell-like abilities.]

Div, Apaush CR 9 NE Outsider (extraplanar) This creature is a vaguely avian humanoid, with a beaked head ringed by a structure halfway between a sunburst and an owl’s facial disc. It has fan-like wings, metal talons on its hands and feet and a long whip-like tail. Its body and wings are covered with overlapping metal scales that screech horribly as the creature moves.

The apaush are sometimes known as “sun divs” or “sun fiends”, as they are devotees of drought. They are native to the hottest, driest parts of Abaddon. An apaush on the Material Plane makes sure to use its weather controlling abilities to keep things sunny and hot, and the droughts they provoke lead to widespread starvation and thirst. The head of an apaush resembles a solar disk and some apaush work with clerics of evil sun gods and archfiends. An apaush constantly emits a rasping, screeching noise from the metal scales on its body and wings. Like all divs, the apaush have a psychological weakness; in their case, apaush hate silence. They make noise almost compulsively in quiet places, and in the area of a silence spell are edgy and uncomfortable.

Apaush are incredibly fast fliers, and prefer to attack from the sky. They make hit and run attacks while airborne, spitting boluses of molten iron that entangle and scorch enemies, casting destructive spells, or merely tearing into foes with their claws. An apaush’s metal scales provide it with supernaturally powerful protection against ranged attacks, and the screeching of its metal body is so loud as to be painfully distracting up close.  If forced to land, they usually cast defensive spells like fire shield and wall of fire, to punish melee combatants as much as possible.

An apaush is tall for a Medium creature, being taller than seven feet tall on average. Their whip-like tails are often that length again, but too weak to be used in combat.

Apaush               CR 9 XP 6,400 NE Medium outsider (div, evil, extraplanar) Init +6; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +15, see in darkness Aura screeching (30 ft., Will DC 19)

Defense AC 23, touch 12, flat-footed 21 (+2 Dex, +11 natural) hp 114 (12d10+48) Fort +10, Ref +10, Will +8 DR 10/good and melee; Immune fire, petrifaction, poison, sonic; Resist acid 10, electricity 10; SR 20 Defensive Abilities fiery body,healing petrifaction

Offense Speed 30 ft., fly 120 ft. (average) Melee 2 claws +15 (1d10+3 plus 1d6 fire), bite +15 (1d6+3 plus 1d6 fire), 2 wings +13 (1d6+1 plus 1d6 fire) Ranged molten bolus +14 touch (3d10 fire) Spell-like Abilities CL 12th, concentration +15 At will—detect good, dimension door, heat metal (DC 15) 3/day—cup of dust (DC 16), empowered searing light, stinking cloud (DC 16) 1/day—control weather (cannot cause precipitation), fire snake (DC 18), wall of fire

Statistics Str 16, Dex 15, Con 18, Int 13, Wis 10, Cha 17 Base Atk +12; CMB +16; CMD 28 Feats Empower SLA (searing light),Flyby Attack, Great Fortitude, Improved Initiative, Multiattack, Power Attack Skills Bluff +18,Fly +17, Intimidate +18, Knowledge (geography, planes) +16, Perception +15, Stealth +9; Racial Modifiers -8 Stealth Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Ignan, Infernal, telepathy 100 ft.

Ecology Environment any land and underground (Abaddon) Organization solitary or flock (2-6) Treasure incidental

Special Abilities Fiery Body (Ex) An apaush is so hot that it deals 1d6 points of fire damage to any creature touching it or striking it with a melee touch attack, natural weapon or unarmed strike. It deals an extra 1d6 points of fire damage with all of its natural weapons. Healing Petrifaction (Ex) Any attempt to petrify an apaush heals it of 1d10 points of damage, plus 1 per HD of the creature for supernatural petrifaction effects, or caster level of the effect for spells and spell-like abilities. Molten Bolus (Su) As a standard action, an apaush can vomit up a blob of molten metal. Treat this as a ranged touch attack made with a thrown weapon with a range increment of 15 feet. A creature struck is entangled for three rounds, takes 3d10 points of fire damage, then takes 2d10 points of fire damage the next round and 1d10 fire damage on the third round. The blob can be scraped off by dealing 10 points of damage to it with a slashing weapon, or cooled down with a chill metal or quench effect (but the entangling still lasts the full duration). An apaush can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. Screeching Aura (Su) Whenever an apaush moves more than 5 feet in a round, it produces an awful noise. All creatures within 30 feet of the apaush must succeed a DC 19 Will save or take a -4 penalty to attack rolls for 1 round from distraction. This is a sonic mind-influencing effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. Wings (Su) The wings of an apaush are lined with razor sharp scales and deal slashing and bludgeoning damage on a successful hit.

[kaladinsspear]

Spoilers for Fourth Wing!!

Little rant because I….disagree with some of the choices Violet is making…..

So Violet is still pissed at Zaden for keeping secrets, but I’m so frustrated with her! Seriously! He was going to tell her, and he had every right not to. That wasn’t just his secret, that was all the marked cadets secret and it wouldn’t just be his neck at risk if it gets out.

We know that Dane has been reading Violets memories now, but would Violet actually have believed that without proof? Would she have been willing to learn to shield perfectly before she was told what was happening? Would she have diligently kept her shields up around Dane without absolute proof of his betrayal? Would Dane not have found it suspicious if suddenly he couldn’t read Violets memories anymore?

Also, yes Violet and Zaden love each other, but they have known each other for a year. And over half that year was spent with Violet hating Zaden. I’m sorry Violet, but trust like that is built slowly, methodically, over years and through conversations. Zaden has every reason to be closed off, and he was opening up to her. She shouldn’t be demanding that he bear not only his soul, but the entire rebellion after, like, 3 months of secret dating. They haven’t even built a solid foundation for their personal relationship yet. Trust like that is earned Violet, earned through time, conversation, and commitment. You have not had enough time with him to get there yet.

Also, trust goes both ways. Part of trusting Zaden is trusting that his intentions are honorable even if he doesn’t tell you everything. Violet needs to read Mistborn and SLA because Elend and Adolin have it right. You don’t have to know everything to trust your partner.