#they’re doing such a good job being a tiny fish

[pteryx-pets]

A Child

[darling-renyuu]

can this be a real thing? can it?

fic summary: living with kuni has been quite the experience. he still carries the attitude he developed as the balladeer, ordering you to do various stuff he can’t exactly do by himself. (in between therapy sessions with nahida, his schoolwork, and his part-time job as a barista, you’re often the one left at home with your “work-from-home” job.)

so you surprise him by finishing everything before he asks for it.

“[Name], can’t you throw out the trash? I’m leaving in a minute.”

“[Name], the dishes. My shift starts in an hour.”

“[Name].”

These are just some of the many statements you got used to at the start of your… cohabitation. Needless to say, Kuni has been stacked with things to do. Leaving some of the work to you.

“Ugh, they’re wasting my time. How hard is it to send your parts on time?” He clutches his temples, groaning. You set down a steaming cup of tea and a snack on his desk. Kissing his hair, you whisper.

“Take a break, Kuni. Starving yourself won’t make them move any faster.”

He turns to you slowly. Kuni scans your face, raising an eyebrow. “What’s gotten into you?”

You smile.

“Nothing,” you say, kissing his cheek next, “I love you.”

You feel his cheek warm slightly under your lips. Chuckling, you step away. Kuni stares at you as you exit his study, frowning with a flushed face. He shrugs it off as you being weird again.

He’s had a long damn day. Most of the customers ordered outrageous drinks again, and his head hurt thinking about how sweet the drinks would be. Add the cherry on top, their loud voices disturbing the cafe he works in. Once out of sight, he had rolled his eyes.

You all will get diabetes, idiots.

He approaches your apartment door, fishing his bag pocket for his keys. Kuni stares emptily into the door as he unlocks it. Ugh. I left the dishes unwashed before leaving. Guess I’ll have to-

His eyes widen at the empty sink, the plates placed neatly on the rack. The cups are all washed as well, turned upside down. He hangs his coat on a hanger, a warmth growing in his chest.

Rolling up his sleeves, he calls out. “[Name]? What do you want for dinner?”

Nahida walks with him, out of her apartment. “I think there’s been a very good improvement in your mental state, Kuni. I believe in you, and I know your partner does too.”

Kuni blushes hard, ready to refute when Nahida raises a brow. He snaps his mouth shut and grumbles. Nahida gasps, remembering something.

”Oh, I can’t drive tou back home today. Kaveh borrowed my car, so how do you plan on getting home?” She asks, her brows furrowed in concern.

He waved it off. “I’ll just get a taxi-”

A beep sounded behind them, and once Nahida caught sight of the vehicle, she smiled and waved. Kuni turned around, meeting the familiar sight of his love’s car.

You rolled down the window, grinning. “Hey, Nahida. How was Kuni today?”

Kuni stared at you, while Nahida’s smile grew softer. “He’s doing well! I think you’re helping him a whole lot, [Name].”

You smile sheepishly. “Aw, well. I’m doing my best.”

Kuni turns to Nahida, breaking out of his shocked stupor.

“I guess I’ll go home now. See you on Friday?” At that, Nahida nods.

“Yes. Stay safe, the both of you.”

He nodded, and got in your car. You waved goodbye to Nahida, before driving off to your house.

Somehow, you can feel Kuni boring a hole into your head with his eyes. You glance at him. “What’s up, love?”

“…Why are you doing this?” He asks, cautious. Your heart clenches, and you reach out to caress his hand.

“I was free today, and I figured you’d be tired. Is it okay that I picked you up, Kuni?” You asked, fully looking at him once you got to a stop light.

Kuni just stared at you, but then he gives a tiny smile. “…Thanks.”

You can’t help but lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

“…I love you too.” Kuni whispers, not quite ready to look you in the eyes today.

At home, you both end up cuddling, telling each other about your day.

”Did you know, Kuni? My coworker accidentally sent a meme to our official company page. It was hilarious, seeing the boss send confused messages about the pic.” You laughed.

Kuni snorts, pulling your head closer to his chest. He pauses, and grabs your face in his hands. “But tell me, what’s the real reason behind all this?”

“What is… this?” You ask, curious.

He bites his lip. “Making me tea, doing the dishes, driving me home, hell. The house is spotless. Why?”

Your smile turns shy. “Well, I saw how tired you were getting. Between your work, your schoolwork, and your much needed sessions with Nahida, I know how busy you are. I don’t want you to feel obliged to do everything yourself. I’m your partner, baby. I want to make it easier for you, even in the little things.”

Kuni’s eyes widen as you speak, his gaze getting softer. He sighs.

”I’ll admit. This… this whole thing is new to me. So I was freaked out. I really thought, at first, that you were just doing all that because you needed something. But… knowing your intentions now,” he says, caressing your cheek. “I-Thank you.”

You turn your head and kiss his palm. “No worries, honey. I’ll be sure to make you feel loved and cared for, just as much as you make me feel the same.”

Kuni allows himself a soft smile, holding you closer.

“Stop being sappy.”

“Make me, darling.”

“Just…Stop giving me a new petname every second, [Name]!”

“Oh, I’ve got a lot more in store, sweetheart.”

Kuni pinches your cheek, and you let out a string of “ah, ow, ow, baby! ‘M sorry!”

He snorts, kissing your sore cheek. “Just go to sleep now.”

“Yes sir.” You smile, turning your head to meet his lips.

written by @/darling-renyuu. please do not repost.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Video Games Part 11

Alien: So what is this one about? Human: Vampires in the wild west. Alien: Sounds interesting. Human: You’d think so, but when the main characters are as animated as the undead monsters they fight it’s pretty hard to take them seriously. Alien: From your own admission they are fighting vampire cowboys…..how serious were you expecting it to be? Human: ……. Touché. ---------------------

Alien: What is “The Quarry”? Human: Murder porn and sadness. Alien: ……………… ------------------------

Alien: “Boltgun”? Human: A man too angry to die because of what a sassy bitch he is. Alien: How does being sassy make you avoid death? Human: Because even death is afraid of being mocked so hard. ---------------------

Alien: Why would anyone want to play an aquatic predator? Human: You ever just look at someone and wonder what they’d taste like? Alien: I believe that is called cannibalism. Human: Not unless you’re a giant fish. ---------------------

Alien: Why does the tiny creature have a machine gun? Human: To stop you from eating it. Alien: Most effective. ---------------------

Alien: I heard this one is a popular game. Human: Eh, I guess. Alien: What do you mean “eh”? Alien: There have been five of them made. Human: It’s mostly made for people that like to watch a slow mo shot of a bullet going through a man’s balls over and over. Alien: What sadistic beings are you?!? Human: You should let me tell you about Meat Boy sometime for more context. ---------------------

Alien: This one looks cute. Alien: It’s about a brother in sister in your primitive era. Human: And a shit load of rats. Alien: What? Human: Yeah, you can make the rats devour a man whole as he screams and begs for his life. Alien: I…..but…..just….why? ----------------------

Alien: Why on florps name would someone want to play a game about manual labor? Alien: is not the point of your entertainment games to seek enjoyment? Human: Some people feel pleasure from a job well done. Alien: That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Human: Didn’t your people worship a rock a couple centuries back because when the light hit it the thing sparkled? Alien: ………touché. -------------------------

Alien: I wish to escape this bunker. Human: You just need to find some dynamite and a plunger to trigger it. Alien: Sounds easy enough. Human: And avoid the ancient giant rat god stalking the halls of the bunker. Alien: What is with your people and rats?!!?!?!? ----------------------

Alien: What is this “Crackdown 3” about? Human: A cops fantasy about how they view themselves. Alien: How so? Human: They see themselves fighting crime when more often they help prop up a totalitarian regime. Alien: Did not the second one have monsters in it? Human: That’s how they see poor people. Alien: Holy gargle…..that’s messed up. --------------------

Alien: What is this one? Human: Designing overly elaborate death machines to murder guys in metal suits with swords. Alien: Is that not what we did to your people during the third age of your species? Human: Come again? ------------------

Alien: Is this game about zombies? Human: More a social experiment. Alien: How so? Human: It has no set rules or goal in a zombie apocalypse, but more often you find people choosing the worst things to do to each other for shits and giggles. Alien: It can’t be all that bad. Human: I watched a group of high level players capture a new player, strip them of their gear, and force them to drink bleach under pain of death for a meme. Alien: ……………….. ----------------------

Human: How’s the new game goin- Alien: *Grabs human friend and sprays them with foam Alien: Good…you’re not one of them. Human: spits out foam One of what? Alien: A shape shifter! Alien: They were everywhere on the station and that made me wonder if those bastards are here in the home as well! Human: Wouldn’t say they’re all bastards. Table: Yeah, some of us are actually nice fellows. *Alien and Human both scream*

[intervalart]

Hey, it‘s that same anon again! *is gripped by you* oh wow okay haha 😅 do you…do you also wanna talk about Mad’s headcanons? I have ONE about him, that he’s from San Francisco (and i guess also that he’s Spanish 😅) you can talk about these guys as much as you want. They’re in my head too 😁

SORRY ANON, I HAVE BEEN FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE IRL, YOU DON’T EVEN WANNA KNOW HOW DUMB ITS BEEN.

But here I am! It’s now! So here’s some Mad Dog Headcanons!

I also hc that he’s from San Francisco actually! But I Go a bout it slightly different. xD For one thing, I hc that he’s at least half Chinese (possibly half so that he’s at least Passing so he doesn’t get slurs heaved upon him immediately upon entering a room), so he knows Some Cantonese™, but his family wanted him to speak English whenever possible, so he's kinda rusty on it. (He probably knows some Spanish too, but isn’t as fluent as Sundown)

But let’s start from the top;

(Some stupid pictures of the stupid dummy to break up the cut)

His mom used to be… well, a prostitute. If you called her that to his face he’d probably kill you though. (She wasn’t the nicest or gentlest lady since she’d had a hard life, but she still instilled “respect women” into him since she’d seen all kinds of shit in her old job.) Because of this, Mad Dog never knew his dad, lived with his mom, aunt, and probably an uncle (a large family overall), and had to live down jeers from other kids about his mom being a “woman of the night”.

He was driven to prove himself though, cuz he couldn't stand to inherit the fish shop or be around his stifling family, he wanted to do more with his life and make it his own. So he basically worked his ass off to be anything but blue collar. Refined, educated, wealthy, etc. (if anything to distance himself from his past as much as possible)

Eventually, he got himself a gig in the theater, sometimes acting on stage with his troupe members, other times working backstage with all the fly system. (Which is why he’s both a total fruit cake [theater kid], and why he’s good at traps and technical stuff when helping set the traps). He was basically living out his dreams… until the theater was foreclosed and shut down. (I want to write a comic about this someday, but drawing backgrounds gives me agita)

He hit the booze, coping from the perceived failure of his career, but he was too proud to go back to his family’s fish shop (cuz remember, he's the most stubborn guy ever, and I don’t think his relationship with the family is Great™), so in an act of desperation (despite protests from his theater pals), he picked himself up by the bootstraps and started bounty hunting to pay the bills.

He was crafty with it, so it worked in his favor for a while… But there’s a distinct point in time where he hasn't had to kill a man yet, and a tiny part of him wonders if he can. Like… he’s acted it out on stage, and he’s stood up for himself multiple times in fights, but he’s never been directly responsible for killing anyone. (yet)

This goes out the window pretty quick though, cuz quickly proves he can kill a man when it's in self defense. (his trip to the bounty board in Texas was not uneventful, and his dandy-ass is painting a target on himself with how he dresses lmaoooo)

After that, he quickly builds his reputation and, it kinda goes from there lol. So now time for bullet points.

Mad Dog wants you to think he got his name because of his stubborn personality and unwillingness to let go of his target (It is, partly), but he actually got his name because in one of his first bar fights in Texas, he absolutely 100% bit a guy. (He doesn’t talk about that part as much.)

He’s is a pretty good cook! Since the family had a fish shop, he learned how to cook them, but he expanded on his own culinary vocabulary himself.

However, he’s not very good at sewing. His mom or his aunt would usually fix his clothes for him, the theater had a seamstress/costumer, and he always paid for tailors to make his suits for him. He just never had a reason to learn.

Also, his taste in food can make him a bit of a food snob. He always insists that he do the cooking, cuz he is… Not impressed by Sundown’s cooking.

He is also a good dancer, but instead of from dodging bullets like Sundown regularly does, it’s for fun and fancy purposes (see also Texas Jitterbug).

I have actually previously discussed this, but I actually think that Mad Dog miiiiiight not be the most accurate shooter on his own, so he relies on the longer barrel of the Buntline Special to improve his accuracy. (Even though trying to use it for quickdraw is really REALLY stupid, but that’s another post).

Tying into stupid things…. ugh. -holding my head-. He’s clever. He’s crafty. He’s tactical. He can come up with some of the smartest and ingenuitive things you’ve ever seen. And he is the stupidest motherfucker on the planet. Bro ABSOLUTELY has high INT and low WIS. He wears a BLACK SUIT IN THE DESERT FOR FUCK’S SAKE. AND EYELINER. IN THE DESERT.

Anyways, that’s all I’ve got for now, and again, this is not tying into AU iterations, where things will be slightly different (especially in BBFF and Roleswap… And Duende AU, but that requires knowing OC lore)

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk, now I’m gonna go throw MD in the wood chipper, bye.

[hazelkjt]

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

Since I got so many asks for this prompt I’m just gonna put answers for all my characters, answers below the read more!

(Thank you also to @lilbittymonster and @fairygodpiggy for sending in an ask!!)

—————

OC Ask List!

- Hazel has quite a few hobbies, but the one that helps her calm down or unwind the most is settling down with a new book to read. She’s loved reading ever since she was little, her mother reading stories to her almost every night for years. A good portion of the floor in her Ishgard apartment is covered with her collection of novels and history books.

- Claire is someone who tries to say she doesn’t have hobbies, mostly to try and get people off her back and not get too friendly with her. In reality she does have a few, such as collecting precious gemstones. She doesn’t use them for jewelry or anything, just to have a nice rock collection. She lost her original collection when she ran away from home, her late friend Denrick providing the beginnings of it from his job.

- Derrinall lost touch with a lot of his old life before coming to live in Ishgard, but he’s been making the most of it. Currently he’s been occupying his free time with learning wood sculpture carving. He’s not that great at it currently but that’s why he’s so invested in it. Having something that he can work hard to become better at helps pass the time more than something he already is good at, like his harp playing.

- Fish has a junk pile in his quarters on The Enduring Deeds. None of the parts are rusted or unusable, but the pieces of scrap metal and bits of broken magitek are seen by others as not worth finding a new use for. Fish takes them and, when he has free time, tinkers around making little nothings with them. Tiny flying drones or a little remote control carriage, small toys essentially. When they make landfall he sets up a small stall to sell these magitek toys for cheap to kids.

- E’venna loves to play Triple Triad. She can’t read the names of the cards but she does recognize the numbers on them, which is all she needs really. All of her cards are ones she found either thrown away by others or bought for very little Gil off other players who didn’t want the cards for their own decks. They aren’t the best cards but they’re enough to let E’venna and her siblings play a few games, each with their own unique decks.

- Perseverance has all but claimed Hazel’s portable Orchestrion player for herself at this point. She loves listening to music, being caught on multiple occasions singing or humming along to whatever the current track is. Percy’s been asking Hazel to get her one for herself so she doesn’t need to keep borrowing her mother’s, to which she was told “maybe for your Nameday.”

[majimasleftasscheek]

I was wondering if you had any nsfw headcanons re: tigerfish? mostly asking cause i was thinking about the idea of nishiki doing his little hair-slick-back thing whenever he’s feeling Spicy (more dominant, regardless of position) so if/when he does that when they’re making out or whatever saejima knows what’s coming hehe

hope this isn’t too uncomfy to ask or anything! thanks for making me a fan of this tiny little ship lmao <3

not uncomfy at all! I'm always happy to talk about nsfw 😏

*as usual, even tho I talk about em as cis dudes, yall are welcome to imagine them however 😌

so prolly an uncommon take but Saejima's always sorta sat on the ace spectrum for me personally like he's into people but not in a way that's like something he'd go out and seek nor really need to be happy. not into being touchy feely with people he's just met and needs a bit of emotional bonding to let that happen *insert some joke about him making everyone he meets his kyoudai lol*. so when it comes to Nishiki, he feels a lot more comfy being openly intimate since they've gotten plenty of time to know each other in jail. Nishiki on the other hand, gives me casual guy™ vibes so he's into slapping the salmon whenever however but not in a wildin' type of way. he's into trying new things but also enjoys comfortable patterns that don't necessarily have to change anything up.

so when they're first shooting the shit about getting their freak on, I can see Nishiki being kinda surprised at first by Saejima's preferences but totally gets it too. he's used to Kiryu being a loner type who isn't exactly going out of his way for the ultimate boner experience. where they differ tho is Saejima is experienced while Kiryu just sorta bumbles through it. Saejima on the other hand, sees Nishiki who was a prominent crime boss and conventionally very pretty so he's thinking oh yeah Nishiki's prolly some kind of sex pest but is pleasantly surprised when Nishiki's more than considerate and patient.

now, Nishiki's been with people of all sorts so he knows his shit while Saejima is more like yeah I know my stuff but I ain't into it enough to really know if I'm performing up to the standards for my partner. he has a good bit of anxiety about that sorta thing and Nishiki didn't really believe him at first cuz like, just look at him. Saejima doesn't look like he'd have anxieties about anything so that's a hurdle they'd have to cross. Nishiki ends up being the lead in most cases, if anything to show the types of things he likes and to give Saejima confidence that he's doing a good job.

when Nishiki leads, he's either topping or power bottoming which defo pumps up the fish ego. but when tiger tops, it's more of a service top thing - he wants to see Nishiki pass the FUCK out lol. he wants to see toes CURL, he wants that ex patriarch to BEG for more. it makes him happy, knowing he can bring Nishiki down a peg for all the pride he's got in him. for Nishiki, it's a nice balance of leaving the work to Saejima while still being in control, even more so when he's going evil mode and gets a mad kick out of having such an imposing man at his beck and call hohohehe.

Saejima's very much not horny ever so Nishiki's gotta be the one to get him in the mood which is perfectly fine for the two of em. it's part of their foreplay, lots of talking and touching and even if it doesn't pan out to anything, they still enjoy just being around each other.

when Nishiki tops he's real sweet about it, very handsy and slick, doing everything you'd expect out of a well choreographed movie tbh. it's a very ideal time and Saejima just sorta gets lost in it, unused to being treated well and gentle. he's definitely prone to being a bit more emotional during these times and not afraid to show it which shocked Nishiki for a time until he got used to it and has come to really enjoy bringing such feelings out of him.

EVIL MODE so there's occasions where Nishiki's into the rougher stuff *insert whatever your heart desires here* and it's a lil bit embarrassing for him cuz there's been occasions with past partners where it's not exactly been the most enjoyable experience for either party, due to inexperience or going too far, etc. he's a lil too eager and too aggressive for his own good, especially back then cuz he had some aha issues to work out and ended up unintentionally taking it out on others.

so insert Saejima who proposes hey let's try out whatever the hell that maybe other people couldn't handle and Nishiki's hesitant, thinking, oh nah you already have anxieties and I can't do that to you but it's in the back of his mind like I want to tho. a big component of nsfw tigerfish to me is that they have a theme of taking time to get to things with a certain gentleness unlike my kazumaji hcs where they have a very intense, impulsiveness to them. so it takes a hot minute for Nishiki to open up this more aggressive side of him that for a long time he's suppressed cuz he felt that there's no place for it even tho it's very much a part of him.

so when Nishiki does eventually start to tip toe into his more perverse kinks, Saejima gives him comfort in that nothing really shocks him about what he wants and he's more than ready to handle it physically. with Nishiki leading, it's a good time for the two of em; Saejima can be of service while Nishiki can feel freer to explore this part of himself without judgment or so much worry.

after all that, aftercare! very important. it's usually Saejima who takes care of Nishiki, wrapping him up and massaging out the jitters. sometimes, one or both of them can experience some mixed emotions from a variety of things, performance worries, trauma, etc so they spend a lotta time just talking to each other. there's a lot of reassurances but also just a lot of wanting someone to listen.

random shit

Saejima loves some good head and body worship. he knows he's got a fine bod so complimenting him is the good shit 👌

Nishiki's all about smooches whether they be deep ones or just lil pecks here and there. ever since post y1, he's been one for enjoying simpler affections, especially when he knows his partner means it.

Saejima's a handsy drunk with people he's close to, but it's all cuddles and kissing and then passing the fuck out.

as a material girl in a material world, Nishiki gets off to gift giving lol. definitely has a praise kink but you gotta be a bit careful. be too dick sucky and he starts to feel like you're just patronizing him.

both of em are into overstimulation for different reasons: Saejima likes the intenseness and Nishiki likes inflicting it (receiving it ain't so bad either). Nishiki doesn't exactly have Saejima's stamina so they got a lotta toys just for the occasion 👀 there's been many a time where Saejima gets into it more than Nishiki can handle and he's then down for the count.

Nishiki tends to keep his prosthetic arm on and doesn't particularly like bringing attention to his disfigurement in general so when he's being intimate, he wants to be treated as if his body is like anyone else's. in that way, he's not into body worship at all, as he sort of warps it into pity he doesn't want.

Nishiki's possessive - not to the same extent Majima is @ Kiryu but it's there in the sense of like, look at this guy, he's mine.

bonus monster AU stuff 👀

as a literal tiger man, Saejima's got a lot of cat characteristics including loving pets and pats. Nishiki's learned very quickly which spots are best to get Saejima riled up and fiesty ;)

that being said, he's got a spikey dick lol. the spines aren't harmful, they more or less lock his partner to him which can end up being inconvenient if they're in a hurry.

big claws = lots of big scratches all up Nishiki's back. Saejima gets nervous he's hurting him but Nishiki think it's pretty hot to be marked up.

[snaillamp]

Angry Kitten and Mumma Cat

Leader was standing at attention, their team being spoken too by Big Boss. He was rambling on about what a good job they had all done last mission and what not, his usual spiel. Leader’s head was pounding as they swayed slightly, bumping into Youngest’s shoulder, causing them to look over at them.

“Leader?” They whispered, frowning in concern. “You good?” Leader’s eyes fluttered as their head began pounding even more than it already had been, “Shh, pay attention” They murmured back. They stood straighter, their head protesting as they forced their eyes to focus on the words coming from Big Boss’ mouth.

Their head was pounding more now, they could hear their heart beating in their ears as a tiny moan escaped them, the blood draining from their face as their eyes rolled back, and they crumpled to the ground. The last thing they remembered was someone gasping and hands trying to grab them as they fell, before the green carpet rushed up to meet their face with a thud.

~~

Everyone in the room stared at Leader, collapsed on the floor. Big Boss opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unsure of what to do. Breaking formation, Medic and Right-hand rushed over to Leader, rolling them over and checking them out. “Damn, they have a fever, they’re burning up.” Medic mumbled as they checked for a pulse. It was racing.

“We need to get them to a doctor, now!” Medic ordered, their voice firm and controlled. Within minutes, paramedics had rushed in, scooping up Leader and carting them away to hospital. Everyone stood in awkward silence, before Big Boss nodded and dismissed them, mumbling something about a good job and getting back to work. The team members all looked at each other, they knew they weren’t going back to any work until they knew Leader was okay. Cramming themselves into a car, they drove to the hospital and were soon by Leader’s side, waiting for them to wake up.

~~

When Leader opened their eyes, they could see a light shining directly in them. “Ah, and you’ve finally awoken. How are you Leader?” A chipper voice asked them as they tried to remember what happened. All they could manage was a weak whine. “It’s alright, don’t speak if you can’t. Now, Leader, I’m Doctor Cass, and I want you to know you’re in hospital. You collapsed at work, okay?” Leader nodded, barely taking in anything Dr Cass said. Their head was still pounding.

“You’ve come down with a pretty bad case of the flu, but I’ll just observe you for a bit and then let you go home. There isn’t much we can do for you here, I’m afraid. Your friends will look after you.” Leader nodded, the movement making their head hurt as they shut their eyes again, trying to sleep. They lay like that for a while but they couldn’t do it, their head hurt too much.

“Hey Leader…” A quiet voice spoke up, making them open their eyes. “How you feeling?” Right-hand asked, leaning close so Leader could hear them. All Leader could manage was a groan in reply. It was all starting to come together for them, their team had all caught a light case of the flu a few weeks ago, after a mission.

Leader hadn’t been affected by it, so they had spent their time looking after everyone as they battled the light fever. It seemed like all that work had finally caught up with them. “I’ll let you rest, Leader. I’ll tell everyone you’re doing okay.” Right-hand patted their shoulder before leaving them to rest.

~~

A couple days later, Leader was feeling better. They still felt like death, but felt well enough that Dr Cass let them go home. They felt cold and shivery as they checked out of the hospital, held up between two teammates and then bundled into the car. When they got home, they were practically carried to their bed, tucked in and left alone to rest.

That was fine for the first couple of days, Leader lay there, delirious as their team took it in turns looking after them, but when they finally came back to themself, all they wanted to do was get back to work. They were almost a week behind in paperwork and they felt even sicker thinking about the late nights they’d need to do to catch up. Lying there, they felt fine, so they sat up.

Big mistake.

They moaned, falling back hard against their bed. Their head was pounding as they rested arm on their forehead, moaning in pain. Medic rushed in, looking worried as they went to Leader’s side. “You okay?” They asked checking Leader over in a rush. “Just… I wanna… get up ’n… work…” Leader moaned, trying to sit again. The world spun around as they lifted their head. “Stay there Leader. You need rest.”

Leader sighed, “But I have so much to do…” Medic rolled their eyes. “You and your damn work. It’s not going anywhere.” They sighed, looking around. “If I bring you your laptop, will you promise to stay in bed?” Leader nodded, feeling their head ache as they did.

“And early to bed tonight.”

“Wait, that wasn’t part of the deal!” Leader argued, only for Medic to smirk. “I know what you’re like, but I’m afraid it’s my rules or no laptop.” Leader frowned, agreeing with a grumble.

~~

The next few days they perked up a little more, able to sit up without feeling like they were going to faint and their sinuses clearing up a little. They still felt like road kill, but at least they were on the mend. Sighing, they heard their team laughing as they came back from the gym, presumably from training. “I wanna train…” They stared at the report they had been typing. Paperwork was always so dry, but this report was torture to try and write, especially with their mind the way it was right now.

Groaning, they pushed the laptop aside and stood, swaying a little, before shuffling toward the door. They... they just had to get out of this damn bedroom. They felt so isolated in there.

Leader stumbled down the hallway, making it half way before they looked up at the feet that had appeared in front of them. Medic pointed at the direction Leader had come, "Bed." they ordered firmly.

"I have the flu, I’m not dying.” Leader mumbled, turning and shuffling to back to their room. Crawling into bed and lying there until they passed out again, their body was heavy as the depression started to weigh on their chest.

~~

The next day they were able to think clearly again. The worst of the fever seemed to be over and they were almost back on their feet, so they decided to slip into their office when their team was out to get some stuff done.

After a couple hours of sitting at their desk, they began to feel the chills return and the headache start again. Groaning, they lay back, rubbing their eyes and trying to breathe through their blocked nose.

“I thought I’d find you here.” An accusatory tone came from their doorway. Medic was leaning on the door frame, looking smug. “You should be in bed Leader. You’ll only slow your recovery by working right now.” Leader shot them a look, but that only seemed to encourage Medic, who waltzed into the room and slung their arm under Leader’s own. “Come on, up we go.” They grunted, pulling Leader to their feet. “Home time, champ.”

Leader tried to pull away. “No, I’m fine. Just gimme a minute. I was about to take a break anyway.” They pulled out of Medic’s grip, only to stagger and fall against their desk. “Right.” Medic answered, definitely convinced. “And how long was this… “break” going to last?”

Leader sighed as Medic picked them up. “You’re coming home and resting. I won’t hear another peep about it from you.” Leader glared at them, but let them take them home. It was nice just to be in the presence of another person right now.

Leader lay in bed that afternoon, sniffing and spluttering. Their recovery had taken a nose dive due to their ‘escapade’ as Medic had called it, and now were under strict orders to stay in bed until they were 100% better. Leader rolled their eyes, half expecting Medic to try and spoon feed them chicken soup next. They didn’t even like soup! So instead, they stared at their laptop, watching a shitty rom-com, which was neither particularly romantic or funny. They looked up at the sound of their door creaking.

“Hey…” Right-hand murmured. “You awake?” Leader groaned, looking at the silhouette of Right-hand’s huge frame in the doorway.

Leader was short, even by short people standards, but they made up for it with strength, skill and personality. Right-hand on the other hand, was a huge, cuddly bear. Leader wouldn’t be surprised if Right-hand could actually beat a bear in a fight, they’d be pretty evenly matched, but for a huge, loud, scary looking person, they were softer than butter.

Coming over to Leader, they sat by the bed. “Whatcha watching?” They asked looking at the laptop screen. “Some movie… I haven’t really been watching to be honest…” Leader mumbled, turning to look at Right-hand, who scoffed. “I see. Hey, so you want dinner?” Leader shook their head, they couldn't stomach the thought of food. “Okay, call if you need anything.” Leader nodded, watching Right-hand leave.

At that moment, all they wanted was for them to stay.

The next morning they pushed themself out of bed, staggering into the main room, everyone was gone. Sighing in relief, Leader grabbed some shoes. They could sneak into work and get more done, they were feeling a bit better again, and if they could spend a few hours in their office, they could finally catch up and relax, like Medic wanted.

Big, strong arms wrap around their torso. “And where do you think you’re going?” Right-hand asked, scooping them up and cradling them. “Put me down!” Leader struggled weakly in Right-hand’s grasp. “Nope. Not until you tell me where you’re planning on going.” Leader glared at Right-hand as they began to carry them back to their room.

“No. I don’t have to explain myself to you! Right-hand put me down! I am your superior, I order you to let me fucking go!” They clawed and pushed at Right-hand’s chest as hard as they could, which wasn’t hard at all, before they gave up, letting their arm dangle limply by their side. Right-hand cradled them close as they hung floppy in their arms, rapidly losing energy.

“Medic told me where you went yesterday. I figured I’d stick around in case you tried to pull that shit again, Leader. And look who was right.” Leader huffed, crossing their arms, before trying to wiggle free. “You’re gloating.”

Right-hand smirked, “Yeah. And? You’re the idiot trying to sneak out.” Leader gave up trying to wiggle out of Right-hand’s grip as they got back into the room. They found themself leaning against Right-hand’s chest, listening to their heart. Right-hand sat on the bed, noticing Leader clinging to them. “You okay?” Leader was silent, pressing their body harder into Right-hand’s. “I don’t know…” They whispered, listening to the heart beat quicken a little. “Leader, what’s wrong?” Right-hand sat them on their lap and held them tight, feeling Leader’s fever wracked body start to shake.

“I just hate feeling like this…” Leader whispered through shuddering breaths, “So weak and… and…” A sob wracked their body. Being held like this felt so nice... They could stay like that forever.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t cry, Leader. It’s okay. You just need to chill out and get better. You’ll be fine in a couple days.” Leader shook their head.

“No…”

Right-hand sighed, lifting Leader up and tucking them into bed. “I’ll go get you something to eat, you need strength if you’re gonna heal up.” Leader whined, grabbing at their hand. “Can you stay? I don’t want to be alone…” Their whispering voice wavered.

It all came crashing into Right-hand like a bus. “Oh, oh Leader… I had no idea you felt like that…” Leader pulled the blankets up higher, trying to stop their rising sobs. “I-I’m just sick of being so… so useless. I want to work, I want to be with you guys… I feel so isolated... so forgotten…”

Right-hand sat beside Leader, brushing some of their hair off their face. “I had no idea… Leader… I’m so sorry. Come on, I’ll set you up on the couch, you can hang with us tonight.” Leader looked up at them, shaking their head with teary eyes. “I just need someone right now. Here.” Right-hand nodded, climbing onto the bed and laying beside Leader, hugging them close.

They listened as Leader’s ragged, warm breaths began to slow, their body relaxing as they fell asleep. They knew Leader needed it. Leaving quickly, they set up a blanket nest on the couch outside, before carrying Leader 's limp form from the bed. Tucking them in, Leader coughed a little, stirring and making a sleepy sound before settling into their new sleeping spot.

One by one, the team came home after a long day of work and training, finding Right-hand sitting by Leader, watching them sleep. They would all frown, before nodding and going about their afternoons, quietly so they didn't disturb Leader.

~~

Leader woke to the smell of dinner cooking, the first thing they smelled in days. They suddenly realised how hungry they were.

Sitting up, bleary eyed, they looked around confused at the room they had woken up in. “This isn’t where I fell asleep…” They mumbled, rubbing their eyes. “Leader, you woke up! How you feeling?” Medic walked over, checking Leader’s forehead with the back of their hand. “Temp’s gone down. I think you’re finally on the mend.” They grinned as Right-hand came over with a plate. Perched on it was a small serving of lasagna. “Do you think you can manage this?” They asked as Leader eyed the food greedily, before they nodded, smiling.

With a little help, they made it to the table with the others, managing to eat half of their serving before losing their appetite. “Good start, Leader. Keep at it and you’ll be better in no time.” Medic patted Leader’s back as they gathered the plates up. “Wait…” Leader asked, reaching for Medic's arm to stop them. “Can you save it for later? I might have more in a while.” Medic gleamed. “It’ll go straight in the fridge, Leader!”

Leader frowned, “Why are you all acting so weird and... happy?” Their voice was rough and congested as they coughed, a large glop of goo coming loose in their sinuses and dripping down their throat. Leader swallowed it, wincing. “Right-hand said you missed us… We all felt a little bad about leaving you alone for days so we thought we’d hang out.” Youngest piped up, beaming. “Wanna watch a movie later?” Leader wiped their nose before looking up, “Sure…”

When everyone was finished, they all crowded onto the sofa, Leader sandwiched between Right-hand and Medic, wrapped in blankets as they watched Jaws.

Half way through, Right-hand felt something hot rest on their shoulder. Leader had fallen asleep against it, cheek smooshed into their shoulder, their warm breath dancing across it. “They seem to have been hit pretty hard by this flu…” Medic gestured with their eyes at Right-hand who looked up at them and nodded.

“They spent days looking after all of us at once, I don’t think they slept… Must have made them worse when they finally got it. You know what they’re like, they won’t say anything is wrong even if they’re bleeding out in front of you. I guess it finally just caught up to them.”

Medic nodded in agreeance, “We should probably move them to their room.” they murmured.

Right-hand picked up Leader, bundled in blankets, and took them to their room. They noticed Leader's face looked better, more peaceful and rested as they coughed lighty in their sleep. They mumbled something as Right-hand tucked them in, rolling over and smiling in their sleep.

"Get well soon, Leader." Right-hand whispered.

✨TAGLIST✨

@fj-is-a-dumbass

[rainmustfallts4]

Project Pisces ◇ Wu G1, Part 4

⊶⊰Information⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Chronological (all)⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Chronological (Wu)⊱⊷

─────────────⊶⊰⊱⊷─────────────

The Wu children are unbelievably spoiled. They’re used to wanting things and getting them immediately. So when Jolene decided she wanted a tiny goat and a tiny sheep on a whim… well, Jolene always gets her way.

‘Her brother is going to kill her. Oh my Grim, am I going to witness a murder?!’

They are very cute omg so tiny!

Runt came over to bark at them, ordering them to leave the property before the eldest Wu found them. They ignored him, sleeping soundly as if Runt did not exist.

Yeah you better hug her now because you’re gonna be pissed when you find out, Todd…

Look at him goooooo. He’s getting so much air!

Oh my Grim, he’s a stealth goat 🤣 he managed to jump by while Todd was in the pool and he never saw them! Also, apparently mini goats/sheeps cannot climb stairs??

Oh… I guess they weren’t as stealthy as I thought.

“You bought goats?!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Then why are there goats in our yard?!”

“There’s not.”

“I just saw them, Jolene!”

“You need your eyes checked, bro. There is only ONE goat. The other is a sheep, idiot.”

“Are you kidding me right now? You can’t just do whatever you want, brat.”

“Watch me!”

“Take them back now!”

“I refuse! You’re not my dad, you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do!”

I think Jolene is still processing the loss of their parents. Or maybe she just doesn’t like being looked after by her brother. Either way, she’s taking out most of her frustrations on him. Granted, he’s not the best father figure in the world, but at least he’s trying.

Before the accident, he planned on moving to San Myshuno for a year before moving to Sulani and marrying a cute local. He put those plans on hold to raise his siblings!

“Hey, baby, whatcha up to?”

“I am preparing a meal, sir.” She didn’t like the pet names he used, but she liked her job more than she disliked this. The pay was great!

“Oh, cool. Don’t forget to remove the bones from the fish for Jolene. She hates them. Oh and the bread should have garlic added to it because it’s Darnell’s favorite. Wait, why are you doing that? You’re doing it wrong. I can show you if -“

“That won’t be necessary sir,” she cut him off sharply, trying to keep her annoyance in check. “I have a degree in the culinary arts. I assure you, I know what I’m doing!”

“Aw, don’t be like that! I was just trying to help. Cooking together is a great way to get closer, you know.” He winked at her, completely missing the way she gritted her teeth.

“Of course, sir.”

After harassing the butler, as one does, Todd headed back to Sulani to buy some equipment he would need for work. After doing so, he got in some swimming to pass the time.

Wait… why does he swim like that lol He literally forms a triangle with his body before propelling himself forward… who swims like this?? Is this a rich thing

Oh… oh my… that doesn’t seem good…

oh well, what’s life without a little risk?

[photo1030]

Hello, lovely!

I’m here with a request, but first I gotta profess my love for your story again (perhaps you lust for what you cannot have). Oh, it has stuck to my mind like glue ever since I first read it. The story is so good and your writing skills are excellent! I’m in great need of those fantastic writing skills of yours please. 🥰

Could you give me some good ol’ sweet fluff with F!Reader watching Arthur Morgan play/snuggle with a cat. Maybe you can add in there that he didn’t want any pets in the beginning, but immediately fell in love with the cute little guy/girl. I can picture Arthur writing in his journal with the cat laying in his lap. OMG. Imagine him drawing the cat in his journal?? 😭

Thank you in advance and please take all the time you may want or need 💚.

Thank you so much for this "ask"! This is my first request ever, so I hope I did it justice. I didn't do a "x female reader" but Arthur and Jack with this kitten. Hope that is OK? Still Arthur being adorable, so can't go wrong, right? But if you'd prefer the f!reader prompt, I can tweak it. This is the clearest image that came to my mind, so I went with it.

*I had my good friend @rivetingrosie4 beta-read this for me, so I kinda feel like its co-authored, too.

Tag: @misspearly1

ARTHUR'S SHADOW

Summary: Arthur finds an unlikely companion.

*This image is not mine. This comes from greyswan618 on fanpop.

By the time Arthur drags his latest bounty score into the sheriff's office, it's late in the day. And this one, although not necessarily hard to catch, took him a while to track down. This job was good money, but it has left Arthur exhausted. The sun is already hanging low in the sky outside of town and preparing to descend behind the mountains for the day. Since the bounty paid well, Arthur decides to treat himself with a stay at the hotel before returning home. After securing his room, he pays the hotel owner to keep his horse stabled overnight as well. May as well treat his horse too.

After walking back outside, Arthur takes Buck by the reins and leads him around to the back of the hotel to where the stable is. When he finds the stable empty, Arthur leads him to one of the larger stalls, since Buck is a rather large horse. He gets him bedded down for the night, taking off his saddle and brushing him down.

With Buck cleaned up, Arthur walks over to the rain barrel just outside the main door of the stable to fill the water trough in the stall. As he stands at the barrel, a sudden rustling catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. Turning to his left, he notices two pairs of shining eyes staring back at him from under the workbench that lines the wall. Curious, Arthur tilts his head to get a better look. He slowly puts down the bucket that is in his hands.

When he crouches down closer to the barn floor, he sees two tiny kittens hiding there. Even with the encroaching darkness of the evening, with the help of the glow of the lamplight, he can tell they’re still very young. Their fur is just growing out of that baby-fuzz stage, the gray color of rain clouds, and they're awfully skinny. Arthur looks around to see if he can see any signs of the momma anywhere, but there's nothing nearby. Either she is out hunting for food for her babies, or she's abandoned them here.

The fatigue in Arthur’s body is no longer his focus, now that he’s found these little ones.

“Well, look at you,” he chuckles quietly. He reaches into his satchel at his side and pulls out a piece of dried fish that he has tucked away. "Bet you're hungry," he says, his voice rumbly, but soft to keep from frightening them.

He holds out the piece of meat, but the two kittens do not move and only stare back at him with scared, vacant eyes.

"Alright, then," he says with a smile and tosses the meat over to them, so they don’t have to leave the security of their hiding place.

The kittens both spring backwards, tripping over each other clumsily, as the projectile hurtles towards them and lands just in front of their tiny faces. But it only takes a second before curiosity and hunger gets the better of them. Once they get a whiff of the aroma of the meat, the kittens pounce on it and begin to devour the morsel.

Satisfied, Arthur stands up, wiping his hands together. He goes back to getting Buck watered and fed for the night, humming peacefully to himself as he does. Every now and then, he glances over his shoulder to watch the kittens, who are feasting on the fish.

With his task with Buck now complete, Arthur heads back to the barn door to return to his room for the night, his boots scraping across the dirt as he moves. The kittens pause momentarily in their feast to cautiously watch him, their little heads bobbing up and down, before returning their attention to the food.

The next morning, Arthur is early to rise from his hotel room and heads out to the stable. But as he approaches the big stable door, he slows his pace as he is met with a gruesome sight. In the tall grasses just outside the door, he finds the body of one of the baby kittens. Judging by the way the carcass is torn open, it looks like a raccoon or hawk got to it.

"Ah, damn…" sighs Arthur as a slight pang of disappointment hits him. They were cute little things, and it’s a real shame that something happened to them. But such is the way of things, he supposes. He then looks around for the second one. Having some small hope that the other kitten may still be alive, Arthur makes a clicking sound with his tongue, trying to coax it out of hiding. After a few moments, he sees a flash of gray fur under a beam in the stable. He bends down and pats his hand on the ground, and the second kitten slowly creeps out towards him.

"Looks like you're an orphan, now," Arthur says to the kitten, slightly tilting his head to the side and assessing the situation. "Ain't we a pair, then?" he chuckles softly.

Arthur slowly reaches over and picks up the kitten by the scruff, the little one giving a soft and pathetic "meow" as it's hoisted up. He holds the kitten up before his face to get a better look. It seems alright, no fleas or other parasites that are noticeable. It appears to be a male cat, too. Arthur places him in the palm of his other hand. The kitten is so tiny to begin with, and with Arthur's large hands, the babe sits perfectly within his palm. He twists his wrist back and forth, pivoting his hand, so he can continue looking over the kitten, trying to decide what to do with it now. The kitten simply stares back at Arthur with tiny smokey blue-gray eyes, blinking innocently, an occasional "meow" squeaking out of its petite mouth.

Arthur sighs with resignation. "Alright, little one. Better come back with me. You won't make it out here on your own, that's for sure."

Arthur pauses another moment, looking at the kitten in his hand, second-guessing whether he's making the right decision to take this cat with him. He's never particularly cared for cats. They always seem so temperamental and judgmental. He gets enough of that bullshit from people. Dogs. Arthur is a dog-person, with Copper being his pride and joy and best friend as a kid growing up with Hosea and Dutch. And, of course, there's always been his horses as his constant companions.

Sighing again with a shrug, he adds, "Well, maybe you can keep Jack company."

Arthur carefully sets the kitten back down and gives him another piece of fish out of his satchel to keep the kitten occupied while he gets Buck saddled and ready to head out and start for home. It's another day's ride, so Arthur is anxious to get going. By the time the kitten has gobbled up the food Arthur gave him, Arthur is ready to go and gently scoops up the kitten again and mounts his horse to begin the journey home.

As they ride out of town, Arthur protectively holds the kitten in his arm, close to his chest. The kitten doesn't move or fuss, but simply lifts its tiny face, turning about to look around at what's around him. After a while of riding, though, Arthur's arm begins to tire, and the kitten's fur up against him is making him start to sweat a bit. He needs to decide what to do with this cat so they can comfortably ride home. He considers putting him in his satchel, but quickly decides against it, worried the kitten would either suffocate inside the leather bag, or, get into all of the contents of the bag itself.

Noting how calm the kitten has been so far, Arthur simply decides to set the kitten down in front of him in the saddle. He's small enough to sit there between Arthur's thick thighs, and his burly forearms keep the kitten contained in the space pretty well. The kitten instantly sinks its claws into the leather of the saddle, bracing itself in a slight panic at being released from Arthur's protective grasp. But although the horse beneath them is walking at a brisk pace, his gait is smooth, so Arthur doesn't worry too much about the kitten getting jostled about.

And soon enough, the kitten finds its bravery and relaxes to release its claws from the soft material and sits up a bit. Arthur doesn't say anything, or hinder the kitten in any way, but watches the little one, amused at its quest for discovery. It doesn't take long for the kitten to gain more confidence, and he eventually climbs up to stand, putting his front paws up on the saddle horn. Like a tiny lion sentinel, the kitten observes the new world around himself.

After a long day's ride, Arthur decides to stop and make a small camp and settle in for the night. Once he finds a quiet, out-of-the-way spot, he halts Buck. Arthur wearily climbs down from his saddle, kitten in-hand, and sets the baby down on the ground to wander about in the cool grass while he sets up his temporary camp.

"Stick close. Don't be goin' and wanderin' off and gettin' into trouble," he warns the kitten with a pointed finger, as if scolding a child.

The furry face simply stares back at him, offering Arthur a quick "meow" in response.

Arthur goes about setting himself up for the evening, getting a small fire going first. Next, he pulls a can of food out of his saddlebag and proceeds to open it. He casually watches the kitten out of the corner of his eye, constantly keeping watch over him as he works. He sets the can next to the fire to heat up while he continues with his task at hand.

Arthur gets his bedroll set out and sets Buck's saddle atop it to use as a pillow to sleep against later. And all the while Arthur works, the gray kitten putters about his feet, following him around continuously as he moves. With every item that Arthur sets down, the kitten eagerly saunters over to sniff and investigate it. He constantly follows and lingers about Arthur's footsteps, poking at everything in innocent interest, to the point that Arthur has to watch his step so the kitten doesn't come under one of his massive footfalls and gets stepped on.

With camp finally set up, Arthur returns his attention to the can that has been warming by the fire as tonight's dinner. He grabs the can, pulls a fork from his bag, and settles down on his bedroll, leaning back against his saddle to get comfortable. Arthur lifts his eyes from the food in his hand to see the kitten slowly approach him. Now that the man has finally stopped moving long enough, the kitten can get up close to him again. The aroma of the food intrigues the little one and he lifts his tiny head, hungrily sniffing the air.

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur spears a few of the beans with the time-worn tines of the fork and extends his arm out to the kitten. "Ya like beans?" he asks the ball of fur.

The kitten cautiously sniffs the food, but turns its nose up at it, backing away.

"Come on now, you eat what's offered or you don't eat at all," he scolds the kitten. "At least that's what my momma used to say." Arthur waves the fork out in front of the kitten again to try to coax it to eat. "Come on…gotta at least try it."

The kitten comes back to him, sniffing again and reluctantly extends its neck out and licks the morsel with its tiny pink sandpaper tongue. After a few licks, the kitten decides it's edible and grabs the piece off of the end of the utensil.

"Atta, boy," Arthur says approvingly. He smirks to himself, realizing how ridiculous he sounds having a conversation with a cat. But then again, he talks to Buck all of the time, so he supposes that this really isn't all that different.

After Arthur and the kitten finish the can of beans, Arthur lays back against the saddle again to relax, his heavy frame melting into the bedroll beneath him, and lights a cigarette. He lets out a long, tired sigh as his eyes land on the kitten once more. As Arthur shuffles his foot a bit to get comfortable, the kitten takes great interest in the movement of his boot and decides to test his bravery.

His little butt rises in the air, tiny tail like an arrow straight up and at attention. The kitten crawls along the ground on his belly, attempting to be stealth-like. Arthur sees this and with a grin, he slowly waves his foot a bit again in temptation. And when he does, the kitten pounces on his boot, attacking it playfully and bites on the leather of the sole. The gruff outlaw lets out a soft laugh of amusement through his nose and begins to slowly wave his foot back and forth at the ankle, causing the kitten, who has wrapped himself around the boot, to sway back and forth above the ground. After a few more gnawing bites, the kitten plops down to the ground, confident in its own victory.

Fully invested in this as his entertainment for the evening, Arthur reaches over to his gambler's hat that is set off to the side, leans forward and drops it overtop of the kitten, trapping it underneath. There is no further movement, but Arthur can hear its little meows from under it. Smirking with his cigarette dangling from his chapped lips, he carefully picks up just the brim of the hat and tilts his head to peer under it.

He sees the kitten's little nose and a thin little paw swipe out at him, causing Arthur to chuckle.

"Fighter, ain't ya?" When Arthur lifts the hat up a bit more, the kitten quickly hops out from under it, grabs ahold of Arthur's forearm, and starts grappling with it, biting and digging its needle-like claws into Arthur's shirt and leather gloves.

Amused, Arthur rests his arm on the ground, carefully pinning the playful kitten underneath. He playfully growls at the kitten and uses his hand to roll the ball of fur over and over again, wrestling and playing with him.

When the kitten finally wears out, Arthur pauses to give him a break. The kitten stands up and gives itself a full-body shake, causing little pieces of grass and dirt to fly through the air. He's a scrappy little thing. Arthur will give him credit for that, at least. Arthur slowly pulls his black leather gloves off of his hands and reaches over to tuck them into his saddlebag, as he is truly getting settled in for the evening now.

The kitten sits on the bedroll next to his thigh, innocently watching Arthur as he moves. Arthur rolls back to lie flat and glances at the kitten for a moment before he extends his large fingertip out to rub along the top of the kitten's head, right between its ears. The kitten's eyes slowly close as it gives into the heavenly feeling, and it eagerly pushes its head up into Arthur's hand. Arthur can hear the kitten purring happily, the soft sound almost hypnotic.

"Ya like that, do ya?" Arthur's low voice rumbles in the quiet night. It's funny how such a small gesture can be so impactful on another living soul. The campfire crackles and pops softly next to them, being the only background noise to be heard in the night; its heat radiating and keeping the two of them cozy and warm.

Arthur eventually ceases petting the kitten and returns his hands to his lap. At the abrupt end to its massage, the kitten looks at Arthur again expectantly, and springs up to stand atop Arthur's chest. Inquisitive as ever, it crouches a bit and crawls towards Arthur's face, its head bobbing up and down, as cats are want to do when stalking their object of interest.

Just as the kitten gets close to Arthur's face, Arthur purses his lips together and blows a short burst of air into its face, causing it to jump back in surprise. It then suddenly leaps forward again in challenge and starts to chew on Arthur's beard. This causes Arthur to bark out a laugh a bit in spite of himself. To see such an innocent creature, so full of energy, warms his bitter old heart. He brings his hands up to start to pet the kitten again, running his large hands along its diminutive and skeletal body. After just a brief moment, the kitten seems placated with this as an "apology" and switches from biting at the man's beard to the occasional lick to his nose instead. And even though it is meant to comfort the kitten, Arthur has to admit that stroking the soft fur is oddly calming to himself as well.

"Alright, then, that's enough of that," Arthur grunts out as he picks up the kitten with one hand and sets him off to the side of him again and reaches over to grab his journal. Arthur rolls himself to sit up with an exaggerated groan, and sets the precious book onto his folded legs, opening the pages to the next blank ivory-colored page. He hasn't even set his pencil to the paper yet, when the curious kitten jumps up to perch itself on his knee.

The small face peers down to inspect the latest object of focus. Before Arthur can even stop him, the kitten hops down onto the book itself and starts walking around in circles on the pages, sniffing and inspecting it, chewing the corner just briefly, before plopping down to lay himself right across the smooth, open surface. The kitten innocently looks up at Arthur, wanting his undivided attention yet again.

"No, now, come on, fuzz-butt, get outta here now," he gruffly chides, but with only a slight annoyance in his voice as he playfully sweeps the kitten to the side with his forearm. The kitten meows in protest, lifting its paw to swat at Arthur's hand. "Hey, don't sass me, now. We're done playin' for the night."

And by this time, exhaustion has finally caught up to both Arthur and the little gray kitten, so Arthur only takes a few minutes to capture some brief thoughts in the journal before turning in for the night. He notes the job he completed, the money brought in for it, and then jots a few lines about this kitten that he'd found. He even takes a moment to quickly sketch the little one onto the paper, the strokes of the graphite tip skipping fluidly across the paper. Every time Arthur looks over at the furry ball for a perspective to assist in his drawing, the tiny face peers back at him, watching the pencil move in Arthur's hand, but obediently staying put.

When he's done, Arthur carefully closes his journal and tucks it back into its rightful place in his satchel. Taking a deep breath and stretching his tired arms over his head for a brief moment, Arthur then takes his hat and scoops the kitten into it in an effort to keep him safe and warm overnight while they sleep. He's hoping the little adventurer stays put and doesn't wander off in the night.

"There, now," peering down at the babe. "You stay there tonight, and then we'll get you home to Jack tomorrow." Arthur rubs his fingertips along the kitten's head again, gently scratching its scalp with his jagged fingernails, and then sets the hat right next to him, protectively along his side, before lying back and closing his eyes for the night.

The next morning, as the warm sunlight breaks over the horizon, consciousness slowly grabs ahold of the outlaw. He can feel the chill of the morning dew clinging to his clothing. With his eyes still sealed shut, reluctant to release the bliss of sleep just yet, Arthur stretches his body, hearing the familiar popping sound of his joints. He's getting too old to be sleeping on the cold, hard ground anymore.

Suddenly, he is aware of a slight weight on his abdomen. He peels open his eyes and sees the kitten curled up into a tight ball on his stomach, fast asleep, with its nose buried into the fur of its tail. It obviously crawled out of the make-shift bed of Arthur's hat and climbed up on top of the man at some point in the night. Whether it was seeking protection or warmth, Arthur's own body heat and the slow rise and fall of his chest kept the tiny animal comforted while it slept. The corners of Arthur's lips involuntarily pull up and a whispered "aww" escapes before he can even stop it.

--------------------------

When he gets back to camp, Arthur dismounts his horse and walks through the collection of tents and tables with the kitten tucked in his hand. He heads straight over to Dutch's tent to drop off the bounty payment. Dutch is sitting outside his tent, reading a book with a cigar clenched between his teeth, and as he gets closer, Arthur eventually sets the kitten down on the ground to walk so that his hands are free to dig into his satchel for the bounty money. The kitten continues to follow him as he heads over to the cash box and ledger in Dutch's tent. Dutch lifts his head as he notices Arthur's approach, but quickly tilts his head in confusion as he glances down at the little bundle of gray fur at Arthur's feet.

"What you got there, Arthur?" asks Dutch, pointing at the new arrival.

"Hmm? Oh. Found him. Thought he'd be a good playmate for Jack," says Arthur dismissively, focusing more on his scribbling into the job ledger.

"Well, ain't you the soft-hearted one?" Dutch muses with a slightly mocking grin before he leans over to get a good look at the kitten, reaching his ringed-fingers out to briefly pet him.

"Oh my goodness, look at that little face!" squeals Mary-Beth suddenly when she catches sight of the kitten while walking past the men. In a moment, she rushes over. She bends down and scoops up the kitten into her slender hands and snuggles him into her face. "Tilly! Come quick! Look what Arthur brought home!" she hollers over to her friend who is doing some stitching at one of the tables.

Tilly is quick to her feet and rushes over to join them, eager to see what the excitement is all about. Soon enough, a small group has started to gather around Dutch's tent to see the baby kitten.

"Awww, isn't he just the cutest!" exclaims Tilly, running her fingers over the kitten's fur. "Arthur, are we gonna keep him?" she asks him excitedly.

"Don't matter to me, but I thought Jack might like 'em," replies Arthur, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands back and watches them fawn all over the kitten.

"Jack, come here and see the kitten!" Tilly calls to Jack and Abigail and waves them over.

Jack runs over to them at the invitation, excited to see what they have for him. The second his eyes land on the tiny bundle of fur, Jack gasps with excitement and wonder, his pudgy little hands waving slightly in anticipation as he runs. Mary-Beth sets the kitten down in the grass again as Jack approaches so that the boy can play with him. And thankfully, rather than being timid and frightened by the commotion, the kitten is all too excited to play as well, absolutely loving the attention. Jack gets down on his knees and immediately starts to pet the kitten, talking and cooing to it.

"Momma! He's so soft!" he giggles.

"He sure is," agrees Abigail as she too kneels down next to Jack and reaches over to run her fingers along the tiny feline. "Be careful, though, Jack," she gently tells him. "Be gentle with him so he doesn't bite or scratch you."

"I will, Momma, I promise!" the little boy squeaks in excitement.

Standing back a few feet from the girls and Jack, Dutch and Arthur watch the happy sight.

"Good work, son," says Dutch quietly, patting Arthur on the shoulder and giving him an approving grin.

Arthur casts his eyes over at Dutch with a nod of acceptance in return. And upon seeing that his new traveling companion is in good hands now, Arthur turns and decides to head over to the fire to sit and relax his tired self.

Suddenly, despite the attention he's getting, the kitten notices Arthur moving again and instantly becomes alarmed, his little head poking up to attention. At the sight of the burly outlaw leaving him, the kitten darts away from Jack and the girls, squeezing his way between their legs, and quickly catches up to Arthur's boot-heels. Surprised, Arthur halts and looks down at the kitten.

"Now what are you doin'?" he asks the kitten. "Go on, go play with Jack," as he lowers his hand down to sweep the cat towards Jack again. He stands upright and moves on, walking over to grab a beer bottle from one of the crates. He ungracefully plunks himself down next to John on one of the logs by the fire where other gang members currently reside.

Of course, the kitten is right back behind Arthur with every step. And, of course, Jack is right behind the kitten, giggling excitedly, trying to keep up. The sight of the three of them walking about is really quite sweet; like a duck and her two ducklings tailing behind. Abigail's fingers hover gracefully over her mouth as she smiles, watching them. Arthur has always been good to both her and Jack, and Abigail is quite grateful for it. And right now, her son is just over-the-moon about his new present from his grumpy uncle. She casually walks over to the fire to join everyone, and stands behind her boy.

Sean is already sitting by the fire with Karen in his lap and notices the commotion. "Aww, would ya look at Arthur Morgan, there! The most wanted man in da tri-county area, carrin' on wit a little pussy cat," jokes Sean, "I thought you were supposed ta be da mean one 'round here, Arthur!"

"Shut it, Sean," huffs Arthur, as he reaches down and absentmindedly pats the kitten along its side when it takes a seat on the ground at his feet. "I brought him home for Jack."

"That was mighty nice of you, Arthur. Thank you," praises Abigail as she beams brightly at her son. Jack is currently crouched on the ground right next to the kitten and talking to it as if they are already the best of friends.

Arthur says nothing in response, but simply nods to her as a "you're welcome" while taking a big gulp from his beer bottle.

"Well, Jack, what are you gonna name him?" asks Hosea, his face pulling into a huge smile at the sound of the boy's laughter.

The kitten begins to playfully explore again, taking a real liking to Jack, as it climbs all over him. Its nose sniffs all about the boy's face, the softness of the fur dragging delightfully across his rosy cheeks with a ticklish effect.

"What about 'Milo'?" suggests Mary-beth, who has come to take her place by the fire as well, choosing a spot on the ground close to Jack so that she too can play with the kitten.

"Nah, he don't look like a 'Milo'" says Jack, his eyes still glued to the little cat.

"How 'bout 'Oliver'?" Abigail offers.

But Jack only scrunches his little face up even more in displeasure as he continues to think of the perfect name for his new companion.

"I suppose 'Fluffy' is out of the question, then?" jokes John as he too reaches over to wiggle his fingers in front of the kitten in an effort to join his son and play.

"No!" laughs Jack. "That's not right, either!"

The boy sits quietly, his eyebrows knit in deep thought, as if this is the most important decision he has to make in his young life. And he is quick to notice that the kitten springs into motion every time Arthur moves a muscle. When Arthur stands up to get a log for the fire, the kitten hops up and follows him. When Arthur sits, the kitten is right at his heels again.

"I'm gonna name him 'Shadow'," says Jack definitively, reaching over to pet his kitten, which is still perched at the large man's feet.

"Oh, that's a good one, Jack," his mother encourages. "'Cause he's gray?"

"No! Because he's Uncle Arthur's shadow!" says Jack emphatically at the obvious conclusion.

This observation causes Arthur to pause for a moment. His chest tightens just a bit, flattered by Jack's choice. He looks down at the kitten sitting by his boot, its little face and beautiful eyes peering back at him.

Arthur reaches down and rubs his rough and calloused fingers over Shadow's head, curling the pads of his fingertips around his velvety ears. He grins, but just ever so slightly, a softness settling there that rarely shows. "Huh…'Shadow'…I rather like that."

[hausofmamadas]

Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

The way I cackled so much at this bc just likefksjla angel’s disbelief that someone would lock their doors like that being a surprising thing to him is just absolutely the type of beautiful-tropical-fish behavior we pay to see heresksk

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion.

SKJFSKJKJNOOOOOO BUT YOU DON’T EVEN UNDERSTANDFKSJDFLKJ THE WAY I WENT FROM 0 TO 1000 BC I WAS EXPECTING THIS TOGET IMMEDIATELY DARK AND HE WAS GONNA ACCIDENTALLY FRIENDLY FIRE AND FATALLY SHOOT READER SKKSKS THAT’S THE TORTURE I THOUGHT YOU DECIDED TO SUBJECT HIM TO

Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be.

The seams of cardboard tape????????okay????????we’re getting fuckin descriptive and literary asf here straight away, i see you

Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

OHHHH BUT YOU KNOW I LOVEEELKFSJDLSJD THIS when an action is used as almost like an adjective to describe a line of dialogue, like it really does such a good job of evoking exactly what the dialogue is supposed to sound like also lowkey I do that all the time and I’m 99.99999999999% sure I stole it from you ngl

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

DONTSAYMYNAMELIKETHATLIKEIFUCKINMATTERTOYOU IMEANNNASLDKFJSDJTHEWAYYYI CAN FULLY JUST HEAR IN MY MINDS EYE bc it is so fucking angel, it is crystal clear, it could be ripped from an actual script that’s how angel-fucking-reyes this is

It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you.

When there were more than a few area codes between you … i can even explain why???? I’m obsessed with this. It's just the coolest, most inspired way to say far away that I would never think of myself. Like cue me with my tiny glasses? ✓On✓. Tiny, detective pad? ✓Out✓. Scribbling notes furiously until my wrist hurts so bad I have to start screaming “my hand, my hand is CRAMPING MRS PUFF MAKE IT STOPPPPPP " ??

✓✓✓you betcha yes✓✓✓. 

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.” 

Nosdflksjl bc I was about to rant about hwo there’s no way that’s true, unless he’s saying it to EZ or someone in the club which Reader is evidently notttttttt but then I don’t even have to bc Reader does for meskdjfls

It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you … And it’s been me fucking letting you.

When i tell you half the time it took to write this screamblog was devoted just to me going back and forth about which sentence to choose from this until i realized i couldn’t decide and just yolo-pasted the whole thing insteaddfjslksdkfjskdj and the reason for the struggle is bc this is such a fantastic rant that I wish someone had actually said on the show. Bc it just speaks to so many things, it speaks to angel's childishness, his himbo tendencies, his inability to view relationships beyond the physical and emotional caretaking he gets from his partner no matter how temporary that partner is .. BUT!!!!!! OKAY !!!!! BUT!!!!!!the most gutting part is, “it’s me fucking letting you,” bc my, it is A Rood Awakening when you get however many years into a relationship, tally teh ways in which you feel you may be taken for granted, and realize not only have you not been supported the same way you support your partner, but you’ve perpetuated the dynamic to the point taht you’ve lost yourself until you wake up one day feeling totally, existentially disassociated like, “i am an actual stranger, wow.” And like, it’s not wild to assume that I’m projecting here, but likeslfkja; let’s just say you captured the feeling well and it’s almost worse than being mad at the other person bc it’s like, “why tf have I been accepting this, how have i wasted so much time?” without realizing, it might've never occurred to you to leave bc you prob knew on some level that this would be the outcome: just angel wahwah-boo-hoo-ing on your front porch 

He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else

OMGOMKASJDFKS THIS DETAIL isquealed at bc it’s so unexpectedly romantic, him inviting Reader to go nuts when they’re homicidally angry to fling around scrap metal. It’s such a unique little… god idk even wtf to call it, relationship ritual? Whatever it is, it’s a true stroke of genius. Side note: breaking something when you’re really mad is one of the most cathartic thingsever. Back in my early 20s, I was in this gnarly on-and-off relationship for a year and a half where homeboy would do some infuriatingly trifling shit about every 3 mos. And I had a friend at the time who remodeled old computer towers, and every once in a while would find one that was too fargone. So when The Boy would pull his fucked-ass emotional shenanigans, we’d take the computer towers to a scrapyard like 5mins from my house, and pound that shit to smithereenssdkfjl with a baseball bat. 10/10 do recommend

He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

Once again on another fucking LEVELLLLLLLL with the descriptiveness here, like I know exactly what this looks like, okay. It’s that kind of like Tall-Man Bear Hug, where youre the little brother in A Christmas Story, walking in the snow, complaining bc his winter clothes are too thick and he can’t put his arms down. Only in this case, instead of winter clothes, it’s like Tall-Man Biceps™️ that make it so you can't put your arms down. And combined with the fact that he’s also lifting you off the ground bc again, Tall Man Tings you prob look like a starfish that got railroaded by a coral reef, which I realize sounds like a euphemism for some strange kink no one’s ever heard ofskdfjskskjf like so:

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

OOFTHISCLAPBACK which yes, i recognize isn’t really a clapback, it’s just honest, like that is absolutely what EZ told Gaby way back in the day i know i’m not the only one with the gif receipts to prove it but you bet your bottom dollar that shit bit like a clapback. If I felt it like i got metaphorically punched in the dick, you know Angel felt like he actually got punched in the dick. 

Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

THE GUY WHO HAD PROMISED TO KEEP GABY SAFE ONCEMOREFORTHEPPLINTHEBACK CUZEZREYESISBEYONDTRASH IMTALKINGRAWSEWAGEATTHISPOINT 

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably.

Ughhhhsildfj;alksjd;fskdfkskdfjksksksks this is such an incredible way of phrasing this and I can so see him liek it’s giving very, “no, eye’m not crying, YOU’RE CRYING. *wipes nose with sleeve of flannel*”

He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

GODDILOVETHIS BC IT’S SO ANGEL, AND HOW DO I KNOW THAT?????????????BC IT MAKES ME WANT TO GRAB HIM BY THE EAR AND DRAG HIM TO THE TIMEOUT CORNER, IT MAKES ME WANT TO GRAB HIS SHOULDERS AND SHAKE HIM SO HARD, IT KNOCKS A FEW EXTRA BRAINCELLS LOOSE BC HE’S BEING SO CHILDISH. The only thing that's missing is a full “*sticks tongue out* oh noo, no, you’re not breaking up with me, eye already broke up with YOU, so HA!!!!!!!!!! IN YOUR FACE.” The way he’s managed to turn this back around on Reader is very much the The Reyes Bros' brand. And as much as I was screaming, “DO IT!” into my phone when Reader said come with me, it also hit me like, in order to have the maturity/common sense/understanding to leave, he would’ve had the maturity/common sense/understanding of why Reader made the decision in the first place and that's not what he comes to this conversation with, okay, like he did not come correct skfjsk so ofc he flips the script bc it's way easier than admitting Reader might be right about his (in)ability to keep them safe. Like acceptance of his limitations is equivalent to confirmation of The One Thing he’s always feared which is not being good enough even tho accepting your limitations and doing what you can to improve and/or mediate them is actually the thing that makes you a more capable person but itsfineitsfineitsfine wtf do I know

Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

Mannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, now I’m just sitting here like GODDAMMMIT ANGEL, GET YOUR FUCKEN SHIT TOGETHERSKSKJDKSJ but also if you can’t get your shit together, atleast kill your brother bc he’s legit a rabid dog at this point and should prob be euthanized but sssssshghhhhhh

Never Been Us

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, mentions of character death

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: the way i've been so blocked up and unable to finish fics and somehow i finished 2 in the last 2 days. no idea where it came from but I'm not questioning it. i started and finished this tonight. throwing it out there before i can second-guess myself lmao

When Angel rolled into your driveway and saw your front door open, the first thing that went through him was panic. You’d never been the type that was stupid or reckless enough to leave your front door open. And with the way that things had been going in Santo Padre, what with the club and the cartels and Border Patrol moving in, you were less likely than ever to leave yourself so vulnerable. Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

Putting the stand down on his bike, he left his helmet hanging off the handlebar and started making his way towards your front door. He’d pulled his gun from his kutte before he even had one foot on your front step. He kept his breath trapped in the back of his throat as he clutched his gun tight. He kept it pointed down towards the ground for now, but he was ready for that to change.

He stepped through the threshold, one boot hitting the paper-thin throw rug just inside your door. It hardly muffled the sound. Before he could bring the other half of his body into your house, though, you popped up, quickly coming around the corner.

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion. All of the emotions that just shot through you were evident as ever as you said, “What the fuck, Angel?”

His eyebrows were still practically in his hairline as he tucked his gun back away again. “The fuck you got your door open for? Had me thinkin’ someone fuckin’ broke—” He cut his own sentence off as he really took in the sight of you, the box in your hands that was hastily labeled BEDROOM. “What…?”

The confusion on his face made you unable to keep meeting his eyes. Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be.  Even though you weren’t looking directly at him, you heard the way he was shifting in the doorway, looking back at your pickup truck. You knew he’d see the other boxes you’d already stacked in the bed of it. You weren’t quite done loading up yet, but you were getting there.

He waited for you to look at him again before asking, “What’s going on?”

There was only one answer to his question, and it was an obvious one. But you knew that if the shoe was on the other foot you’d be doing the same thing—you’d need to hear him say it. Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

His frown deepened, confusion transforming into hurt that almost had you rethinking your decision to get the hell out of Santo Padre. “L-leaving? You can’t…you can’t just leave.”

“Angel—”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “nah you don’t get to do that. You can’t just leave. You didn’t even—were you even gonna tell me?”

The lump in the back of your throat felt like it was on the brink of choking you. “Yeah.”

“Before you crossed fuckin’ county lines?”

Tears stung your eyes. “Angel, please.”

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

“You do—”

“You’re leaving me. You can’t stand there with your shit all boxed up,” he gestured to you and the bed of your truck, “and try to tell me I fuckin’ matter to you.”

There was no getting out of this argument now. It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you. You didn’t want it to be like this—not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. And you knew that if you had to look into those sad, puppy-dog eyes and tell him that you were leaving, and if you had to tell him why, you just might hang it all up and not leave at all. You couldn’t afford that.

There was no avoiding the argument but you didn’t want to do it while standing there holding a box that had books and trinkets from your bookshelf packed inside it.  You slipped past him without a word and walked down to your truck. Angel didn’t follow, hanging back and watching as you set the box on the tailgate and gave it a strong push to send it sliding and landing right alongside the others.

When you walked back past him and into your house, that was when he decided to follow you. He shut the door behind the two of you, following you through your now essentially empty home. It was strange for him to walk through your living room and not see all of your picture frames and plants, the art prints that had covered your walls. You stopped in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and facing him. You watched him look around, take in the fridge that was no longer covered in magnets and photographs and takeout menus. No more dishes in the sink or drainboard, no more succulents on the windowsill. Seeing it all empty made him remember that you were just renting this place anyway, that you could pack up and leave whenever you wanted. And now you were. Then the hurt and anger swelled up in his chest again.

“Why?” he asked.

You let out a hollow laugh, raking your fingernails along your scalp before letting your arms fall back to your sides again. “You’re really asking me that? This…this town is fucked, Angel. You know that. I know you’ve been waist-deep in your shit with the club but…but that’s the exact type of shit I’m talking about.”

“This town’s always been fucked, querida,” he tried to argue, tried to pepper in a pet name like it would change anything. “What’s so different now?”

The answer to that question made bile creep up your throat. You didn’t think that you could say it to him. Not the real answer, the raw unedited cut of it. “Everything,” you answered, a shake to your voice that was never there when you talked to him.

“C’mon,” he said, tone softer than it had been this entire time as he stepped in towards you. “Don’t leave me like this. Don’t do this to me.”

“This isn’t just about you.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He put his hands on your hips, pulling himself closer to you. His voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “After all the shit we—”

“We?” you cut him off, not yelling but your tone cutting nonetheless. “We? You’re choosing now to start throwing that word around?”

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.”

You laughed, a cruel sound as tears prickled along your waterline again. “Oh, has it? It’s always been us?”

“Yeah, what’re you—”

“It’s never been us, Angel. Never. It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you.” You pushed him away, a half-hearted shove. “And it’s been me fucking letting you.”

“I—”

“And I would’ve been fine still doing that. You know that? Fucking sad, but I would’ve done it. Would’ve just kept right on pretending that it was enough, or that it was going to change. But then—” you stopped short, still not able to spit the words out. “I just can’t do it anymore, Angel.”

Despite Angel’s lack of ability to really commit, to really let himself be with you in the way that you really wanted, he’d always done his best with what little he had for you. Over the years he’d been your shoulder to cry on, his flannels becoming tissues for you. He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else—even gave you the gloves and safety glasses to do it the right way. He’d kept the other side of your bed warm when you were both feeling lonely, making the lines defining what you two were really start to blur.

He’d been there with you through all of that and yet he hadn’t ever seen the emotion saturating your expression now. He’d never seen you so afraid. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, fists clenched as tightly as you could manage. Your leg bounced no matter how much you tried to will it to stop. He’d never seen you like this. How had it gotten so bad?

He stepped in close to you again. Placing his hands on the outsides of your arms, he gave you a light, reassuring squeeze. “What’s got you so scared?”

You shook your head, staring down at the floor because you couldn’t make yourself look at him. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t be comfortable here. I’m not…I’m not safe here.”

He brought one hand up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traced gently along your cheek in a way that made your bottom lip tremble. “I’ll always keep you safe, querida. You know that.”

He sounded so earnest but you knew too much now to be able to believe it. You’d tried. God, you had tried so hard to buy into that the last few weeks but you just couldn’t fool yourself. “I don’t.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Tears finally made their way to your cheeks, racing along the lines of Angel’s hand as it remained holding your face. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t even want to think about it, but it’s all that was playing through your mind. Truthfully, it was the thing that had been playing through your mind every day since it had happened.

You could still hear it so vividly, the sound of him pounding on the door to your house. It hadn’t been his bike engine that woke you up, it was his aggressively frantic knocking on your front door. Looking back you were surprised that he hadn’t slammed it clean off its hinges. You were also surprised that you hadn’t tripped and fallen half a dozen times on your way to the front door from your bedroom because your eyes weren’t fully open and you weren’t anywhere close to fully awake.

“Alright, alright!” you half-shouted from your side of the door. You dumbly fiddled with the locks until they came undone.

Angel practically threw himself through the door. He was haphazardly grabbing for you, leaving for you to try and untangle yourself from his long limbs just to be able to close and lock the door again. You’d hardly heard the click of the lock and he was pulling you tight to him. He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

“Talk to me,” you said, managing to free one of your arms so that you could do your best to return his embrace.

He mumbled something into your shoulder, words that you couldn’t make out. He finally pulled back away from you, far enough so that you could see his face, the smears of blood that disappeared into the coarse hairs of his beard.

“It’s all my fault,” the words fell from his lips, raspy and choked as he repeated the sentence over and over again. “It’s all my fault. I, it’s all my fuckin’ fault.”

“What’s your fault, Angel?”

The sound of you saying his name got him to look at you, tears in his eyes and worry creasing his brow deeper than you thought was possible. His stare was so sad, so intense it had you pinned to the spot. Even when he pulled away from you, you felt like you couldn’t step in close to him again, feet glued to the floor. That was when you saw it, though, all the blood standing his palms and fingers.

You swallowed hard, what little exhaustion had still been clinging to you completely froze away. “Angel, talk to me. What happened?”

He looked down at his hands and then back at you. he knew what you were seeing, could only imagine what you were thinking. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. I tried to save her but I couldn’t…”

You finally forced yourself to move. You collapsed the distance he’d put between you. “Who?”

“Gaby,” he forced out, shaking his head in disbelief as he did.

Fear shot down your spine. “What?”

“It’s all my fault,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have—I tried to—fuck,” his voice cracked and he gave up on trying to say anything else.

You had wanted more answers in the moment, but back then you hadn’t been able to ask for them. Instead you cleaned him up. You threw his clothes in the wash. You let him slip underneath the covers next to you and keep you wrapped up so tightly for what little was left of the night that you couldn’t even fall back to sleep. The next morning he was still there, eyes hollow as he made a pot of coffee in your kitchen. That morning he was standing almost exactly where he was standing right in front of you now.

Forcing yourself to stay in the present, you finally said, “You know what happened.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Everyone’s fuckin’ dying, Angel. I, I don’t wanna be next.”

“Hey, come on now. You know I’d never let that shit happen to you.”

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

Angel flinched at that, immediately deflating. You had never brought it up again after that night. Neither did he. Weeks went by and the two of you seemingly went back to normal, like that entire night had never happened. But it did happen. Gaby was dead—that part you knew. What you didn’t know, what Angel hadn’t told you, was that EZ was the one who had killed her. Angel blamed himself, especially after EZ had told him what his final conversation with Gaby had been, why he had decided it was the only thing to do. Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

His voice was a whisper as he spoke, like he didn’t even fully believe himself. “This ain’t like that, though.”

“But it is,” you said, voice shaking. “Or it will be. That’s what this town, this world,” you rested your hand on the flash stitched into his kutte as you said it, “does. I can’t keep feeling like I’m on borrowed time.”

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably. “So you’re just gonna leave, then? Run away?”

You knew he wanted an argument. Being angry was so fucking easy. You didn’t want to give into it. “If it keeps me alive, then yes. I lo—” you stopped and switched course, “I care about you, Angel. But I’m not looking to die for anyone. I’m not…I’m not made for this.”

He was holding your face with both hands now, palms that just a few weeks before had been coated with blood. “Don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Come with me.” It was your final offer, one you hadn’t planned on extending until the words were tumbling out.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Come with me.” You rested your hands on top of his. “Get out and away from all this shit. We’ll start over.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

You threaded your fingers with his. “It is. Pack up your shit and throw it in my truck. And we’ll leave. That simple.”

He pulled his hands away from yours, stepping back from you again. Shaking his head, he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes—erasing any hint of tears and emotion that had been there until then. “I’m not running just ‘cause you are.”

“Maybe you should. Or maybe,” you shrugged helplessly, “maybe it was never about me—not for you, anyway.”

That gave him pause. He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

“Angel—”

He took another step back, getting himself closer and closer to your front door one stride at a time. “Go ahead, then. Get the fuck out—away from this town, away from me. Fuckin’…fuckin’ go.”

He turned on his heel and kept walking. It took a few seconds to will your feet to move, to go after him. Even with his long strides you were able to catch up before he reached the door.

“Angel.” You stepped in front of him. “Stop.”

You saw the mist in his eyes. Still, he tried to keep his voice sharp. “You’re leaving. No point in me staying here to watch you pack up the rest of your shit.”

You opened your mouth to try and say something else, try to conjure up something that would get him to change his mind. He didn’t let you. Pushing past you, he ripped open your door and stormed out of the house. Maybe it was just as well—it wasn’t as though you were going to come up with a magical string of words to get him to leave with you. Still, the impact of his shoulder slamming against yours hurt far more on an emotional level than it did on a physical one.

Turning, you went out onto the step. Your lip began to quiver as you watched him throw his leg over his bike and get ready to peel off. The sound of the engine seemed deafening, and you wonder how it hadn’t woken you on that night weeks ago. Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

Angel Reyes Taglist (If you want to be added to any of my taglits, please let me know!): @withmyteeth @garbinge @darqchilddaydreamz @narcolini @justreblogginfics

@winchestershiresauce @rosieposie0624 @kelpies-shed @beardburnsupersoldiers @proceduralpassion

@artemiseamoon @fanfic-n-tabulous @justazzi @danzer8705 @camelia35

@cositapreciosa @choochoo284 @crowfootwrites

[and-so-he-rambled]

Current Martinez headcannons

(I’ll keep updating these as I remember/ think of them)

- He’s good with kids, freaky good. He was a softness to his voice and three younger siblings, and now has a ton of nieces and nephews.

- He can cook! He mostly cooks the dishes his mama taught him, but he tried to learn others. They never turn out like his traditional cooking however and he can only really cook about six dishes properly. They’re amazing dishes, but he struggles learning new recipes.

- He loves animals. Much like with kids he sees them as eternally innocent and to be protected. He pets every animal he can and carries treats. He will punch an animal abuser. He’s been bitten many times by strays and his local walk in knows him by name.

- He definitely volunteered after the flood to help rebuild. The physical stuff was easy, but fishing the dead out was something that still keeps him up at night. He’d seen the dead many times, killed a man during a shootout and shot plenty more, but the flood deaths were a special horror, especially the ones it took a week to find. (He feels a slight guilt for not mentioning the tucker earlier, since he had known it immediately even if he didn’t know the significance.)

- He stayed in temp housing because he let his extended family stay in his apartment. His cousin had too many kids to deal with the stress of shelters, so he decides to deal with them until his cousin can go back home.

- Martinez was a wild child growing up. He was largely unmanaged and always wanted to be heard, which meant causing trouble. It was little things, but he was escalating slowly before he eventually realized the path he was on. His brother was a career criminal and currently serving, he didn’t want to end up like that.

- He had a cop in his life that he respected, and he works every day to emulate that man in his job. Officer Bradshaw, an older cop who cared about the community and had an awesome mustache.

- He didn’t have a father growing up, just a stepdad who he didn’t quite connect with. (His oldest two brothers shared a dad, he and his older sister and younger brother shared a dad, and then the youngest two were that man’s kids.)

- He is genuinely a ray of sunshine, but he also is a very empathetic man. People being hurt makes him hurt, and he hates criminals whose only purpose is to cause pain. He can’t understand that mindset in the slightest, who anyone could just cause misery and enjoy it.

- My man’s would try and throw hands with supervillains regularly.

- Batman is sick of it but it’s always to try and save a life and he knows Martinez is going to keep doing it. He gives him a transmitter and makes him promise to press it before trying to fight another villains. He does, most of the time.

- Martinez can and will verbally castrate. He has the tongue and rage of an angry Latino grandmother and the sass of a teenager. It’s gotten him shot once, Gordon is so tired of this shit.

- The station loves him? He’s a good man and they know it, and he brings in food sometimes. He’s a ray of sunshine and while they regularly tease him and yank his chain, anyone who hurts Martinez will not have a fun time at the station. Martinez is completely unaware of this favoritism.

- His name is Daniel Antonio Montoya Martinez.

- His father was Italian, so he’s half Latino half Italian, but his father sucked and he doesn’t embrace that side of his culture.

- He’s one of those figures that everyone in the community has a story about. “He helped me plant my garden.” “He walked my dog while I was sick.” “He baked cookies for my charity fundraiser.” It baffles Bruce.

- He’s far from perfect. He can be an asshole but he has a big heart, he loves his city. He’d be completely willing to throw down with Batman if it meant protecting the city, even though he’s a tiny bit relived he won’t have to.

- I feel like he has piercings. Daniel had a club phase, and still loves the atmosphere though he mostly is too busy now. I say a belly button piercing, twin surface hip piercings, and maybe a nipple piercing. He wears a retainer for the stomach and hasn’t had the nipple piercing since his late teens. He considers it a fond memory and Bruce chokes on his coffee when he first hears about it.

- He has a sleeve, mostly to cover up the dumb ass tattoos he got as a teen.

- Daniel is a lonely man, so he focuses on the people around him.

- He had an older sister named Katie, she died when he was fifteen. She had been stabbed in a mugging gone wrong and died of sepsis in the hospital a week later. She was sixteen. It broke his family and their faith in Gotham.

- Each year all the siblings pool money to donate in her name to the hospital she died in, specifically their maternity ward. She loved babies, always wanted a ton of them. Mama says she watches over them all now. The hospital established the Katie Martinez fund after the third donation, gave Katie a plaque.

- He understands why his family hates the city, but he can’t leave. He knows there’s more Katie’s out there, more scared kids who need an authority figure to care for them.

- After telling Bruce this story there’s an anonymous donation to the Katie Martinez fund. Daniel is embarrassed but thankful, it’s a sweet gesture and he definitely doesn’t cry shut up.

- Bruce donated to all the charities Daniel gushes to him about. He is involved in a surprising amount. Daniel knows and is careful to choose lesser known charities to talk about that need the funding.

- He knows Selena. She volunteers at the shelter he helps out at. He thinks there something shifty about her and they argue about cats vs dogs funding constantly. (He thinks that the canine program needs more funding because they are bigger animals who have more needs, Selena thinks the feline program needs more because they are higher maintenance and tend to stay longer)

- He loves hearing Bruce’s stories and Bruce is always very interested in his. He shows him each tattoo, what they cover up and why he got them, tells stories of clubs and the hubris of youth.

- Bruce’s stories are more violent and sad, and instead of tattoos he had scars, so many more than Daniel. He maps them all out and learned their stories, pays special attention to the ones in dangerous places because they were so close and it hurts to think too much. He knows there will be more for both of them, they both know, and every day they return to each other in one piece is a good day.

——

@waynebat @wixiany @1n-bl0om I blame you three fuckers for this hyperfixation. I already have three fic drafts and I only watched the movie two days ago.

[kingsansa]

Yesss Jon pov let me soak up some wifeguy vibes

Jon’s never necessarily had real parents before, but he imagines that if he did, listening to them fight would be a lot like listening to Jeyne and Robb fight.

They’re really going at it. Outside, thank god. And all of her sisters are not do discreetly listening in the kitchen, where all the windows happen to be facing the backyard. Arya and Gendry are arguing over who caught the best fish. Rickon is mysteriously missing, and so are the mini bottles of liquor on the coffee table. Bran is passed out on the carpet, hat covering his face. All of the other girls are asleep.

Not his.

She’s wearing her pajamas, but she’s wide awake. She slouches into the living room from the kitchen with a plate and a bottle of water, her jerky little steps a side effect of her drinking or her wearing heels for a majority of the night. She falls into the couch more than she sits on it; right next to him. Her bare thigh brushes against his jeans, and so do her tiny shorts. Dove gray. These ones are his favorite.

She smiles at him almost shyly, and he really, really wants her to hold his hand again.

“Do you want pizza?” She holds up the plate a little. There’s enough there for both of them. Even drunk, she thinks about his possible needs.

He’s very certain she’s at least extremely tipsy, now. She’d done a good job at fooling him earlier, but that probably wasn’t her intention. She’s probably the most well coordinated drunk person that he’s ever met, which fits, to be fair.

What isn’t she good at?

“No,” He says, then adds, “thank you.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

She presses her hand against his stomach, as if she’s trying to anticipate whether he’s telling the truth or not. He would laugh, but then she starts rubbing it in circles, and he likes that more than he expects to.

“Three hours ago.” He swallows as he drags her hand up a little, because it’s slipping just below his navel—a dangerous, dangerous area. “I had fish.”

Sansa giggles at that, and she holds her water bottle in front of her mouth, as if she doesn’t want him to see it.

He wants to pull it away so that he can, but he doesn’t. Asks, “What?”

“Nothing.” She answers, the very picture of innocence. She unscrews the cap of her water bottle and sips.

She drinks for awhile, until the bottle is half gone, and his eyes narrow.

“Is that all the water you’ve had tonight?”

Sansa hiccups slightly, and for a moment, she looks sheepish. Then she caps her water bottle and pivots so that she can fall into him, head into his lap, plate of pizza on her stomach.

“If I say yes, are you gonna be mad at me?”

He sighs, irritable. “Sansa—”

A slender hand covers his mouth.

“No, Pumpkin.” She says. “That’s what you’re supposed to say.”

He cant be mad at her.

He couldn’t be mad at her earlier, when she was wearing that black outfit and he can’t be mad at her now. Her makeup is off and her face is completely bare and a little shiny and her hair is still curly and she looks so sweet that it makes his breath catch. That he wants to take her in his arms and hold her close forever.

But it doesn’t stop him from being irritated, because if that’s the only water she’s had all night, he doesn’t even know what she’s had to eat besides this pizza.

“Sit up and eat, or you’re gonna choke.” He says instead.

Sansa pouts a little at that, but she does as she’s told. Except she stays in his lap, which is more than fine with him. She picks up a slice of pizza and holds it to his mouth. Frowns when he doesn’t open.

“You like pizza.” She says.

“I like your pizza.” He corrects.

She beams at that, snuggling deep into his chest with a sigh as she eats.

Jon thinks she’ll probably get sauce on his shirt, but he doesn’t really care.

[enderwoah]

AYUP, ORIGINSMP HEADCANONS ‘ERE BECAUSE I LOVE THEM!:

Ranboo

any seven-footers in chat??

literally is cared for by everyone

wilbur warning him that it’s raining up on the surface when he’s in a cave? phil telling him not to mlg water bucket?? the entire server collectively decided “this. this we must protect.”

mans makes the little vwoopy noises when he’s excited

he messes with the particles a lot, waving his hand through them and making them swirl

determined to make his and niki’s forbidden friendship work

has sworn that one day he’ll figure out how to visit niki’s house

oh yeah phil low-key adopted him

it just be like that sometimes

Jack

mans is LOuD, ANGRY, AND ON! FIRE!!

yes his hair WILL explode into flames like disney!hades when he gets super mad no i dont take critisism

he doesn’t actually get cold when he gets sad as one would expect

he just gets hotter and hotter as emotions grow

only time you’d ever find him cold is if he just didn’t care anymore.

but he’d be a broken, broken man before that happend!

often hides under trees with ranboo when it rains

(if anyone on the smp ever needs wood, they go to one of those two. they have literally every kind. in excess.)

similarly, they make fun of wilbur and niki (lightheartedly and jokingly, of course) being in the water when it’s daytime

which is fair because they make fun of those two in the rain

Niki

glub glub mfer

sis is somehow useless with a bow and arrow but will absolutely murk you if you give her a trident

basically kins ariel

has a collection of above sea-level stuff wilbur has given her

uses them to decorate

determined to visit jack someday

GETS A TAIL IN WATER NO I DON’T TAKE CRITISISM

has fins and gills

the whole shebang

and just for funsies -- is an angler fish hybrid

has the cool light thing coming from her hair and her teeth are super sharp

watch out!! she’s always armed and always dangerous!!!

Tommy

oh he is so salty about the tiny wings

CONSTANTLY bugs phil about how to make his wings bigger

“you cant mate that’s just how you were born”

“I’LL FIND A WAY, MARK MY WORDS.”

(he won’t find a way)

phil’s son

obviously

glides instead of flies and is really good at it

could probably beat an elytra course better than phil tbh

can actually hold his breath underwater for a helluva long time

mans has to sleep super high up and the atmosphere is suuuper thin so he’s used to not having a ton of oxygen

visits niki and “pollutes” her pond a lot

(he always cleans up afterwards and brings her cool stuff)

EDIT: I FORGOT TO ADD

HE SQUAWKS!!!

IF YOU SCARE HIM HE WILL GO BIRD MODE

I WAS GONNA SAY “DONT TEST HIM” BUT ACTUALLY DO IT’S VERY FUNNY

and he gets super embarrassed abt it afterwards

Tubbo

hard man

has funky fresh purple scale things that he can grow in combat to cover more of him

can manifest items out of thin air

just

no inventory pull up, they just appear

offers himself as a punching bag to people a lot to blow off steam

it doesn’t hurt

ever

it hurts their knuckles more than him

even playfully punching him is a pain, good lord

Wilbur

ghostbur is very happy to be alive again! :)

wilbur has been dead, dead for quite a bit now

he genuinely is just a phantom

the phantoms that come at night are just people that have been dead for over 500 years

thankfully, wil only died a few months ago, so he still has some time left!

slightly forgetful

not the smartest boy in the bunch

didn’t think to build his house underground when he is literally burned by sunlight

still loves his father and his brother(s) dearly!

niki and him bond underwater a lot during the day

(he’s a ghost, he doesn’t need oxygen!!)

they are literally best friends man

wilbur goes on expeditions purely to get niki things she’s never seen before since she’s water-bound most of the time

t,,,the,,,m,,

Phil

somehow has the most playfully malicious intent when he’s literally more than half the server’s father figure

LITERALLY 4/7

(ranboo, tommy, tubbo, wilbur)

PHIL.

plays pranks on ranboo with the pumpkin heads all the time

much to ranboo’s chagrin

but would literally fight a world for his kids

adopted or not

his wings make his hugs g r e at

he bonds with tubbo and ranboo over this inexplicable feeling of longing

(hint hint: they’re all connected to the end!!)

homesickness for a place they’ve never been...

anyways he also stops everyone from doing stupid stuff

“no ranboo, you can’t mlg water bucket”

“no tommy, yes i know you can jump off of giant towers, no, it’s not a good idea”

“NO tubbo, you CAN’T try and fight an entire raid armourless”

“no, wilbur, stop trying to see if walking in the sun around while wet will stop you from catching on fire, you’ll still melt.”

“i swear to god niki, don’t see how long you can hold your breath outside of the water”

‘NO JACK, STANDING IN THE RAIN DOES NOT MAKE YOU STRONGER”

it’s a 25/8 job, being the collective server’s dad.

[kafka-ish]

the drunken words you spoke last night (1) | b.d.

one thing leads to another and before she knows it, y/n's longtime crush becomes a casual fuck.

word count: 2,893

warnings/included: nsfw (explicit smut -- male x female, pretty vanilla), fem!reader, angst(?), also a lot of this is written in italics cuz of flashbacks

a/n: sorry it's been so long since i've written anything!!

-

It was never supposed to end up like this. Just one quick fuck was all it was supposed to be; which lead to another one, then another one, then another one…

y/n watches as Bill scurries around the room, searching for his shirt. She’s noiseless and he doesn’t know she’s awake yet. He does a good job at being quiet, making sure not to disturb what he thinks is a sleeping y/n. The grey baseball tee he wore to her place last night turned out to be underneath her bed—how it got there was a different story. The silence is broken when Bill opens the door and is met with a large creaking sound.

Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look—

He regrets it immediately when he sees y/n, her back against her bedframe. She’s wide-eyed from watching him with such intent.

“Hu-hey.” Bill swallows the saliva gathering in the back of his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t nuh-know—”

“It’s fine.” y/n says her words with such ease and for a moment Bill’s jealous. He wants to know a life without speech therapy, a life without the nickname Stuttering Bill. And most of all, he wants to know a life without loving someone who won’t love you back.

“So, you’re not staying?” y/n does her best to conceal the insecurity in her voice but it’s hard. She doesn’t want to come off as needy or clingy, but she wants a response she already knows the answer to.

“I duh-didn’t want t-to wake you.” Bill shrugs as he says this. Half of it was true—he really didn’t want to wake y/n but seeing as she was already up his excuse fell flat.

“Right.” It takes everything for y/n to not roll her eyes as she replies through gritted teeth.

“So…” Bill’s left foot is digging into the carpet and his fingers find themselves intertwined together.

“So.” y/n herself is picking at loose strings from her worn-out comforter. Her eyes avert from their previous lock on his figure and she doesn’t know what to do with the lump in the back of her throat. She’s annoyed—no—furious.

It was never supposed to end up like this.

“Hey,” Bill answered the door in low-rise sweats and shirtless. “What’s u—”

He’s cut off and taken aback with a messy kiss. It’s bold, breathtaking, and smelled like vodka—nothing he’d ever expect from y/n. Once the shock had passed, he felt his eyes flutter shut and he became lax under her touch.

“I need you,” y/n mumbled helplessly in between kisses. Her fingers which had previously been confidently intertwined around his neck were now reaching for the ends of her shirt.

“W-Wait—what?” Bill’s still hazy from the blunt he smoked earlier and everything’s going so fast.

“You heard me.” Uh, not really. She pressed another kiss to his already swollen lips and the feeling of his skin on hers feels a hundred times better than what she imagined it to be. “Fuck.” Her hips press up to his, but Bill can’t revel in the delicious spark their jeans create every time her hips meet his.

The Denbrough’s front door is still open.

“y/n,” Bill spoke. He tried to say it firmly, but it came out as more of a breath than an assertion.

“Hmm?” The noises coming from her are downright pornographic, which only made Bill wonder what the rest of the night will be like.

“I have to shut the door,” he whispered. His breath tickled her neck and y/n felt her face grow hotter—if that was even possible. Reluctantly, y/n relieved Bill of her possessive grip so he could shut the door. But, immediately, he noticed he’s cold—freezing, even. But how can Bill be cold in the middle of July—Maine’s hottest month?

y/n’s quick to reassume her previous position—arms swung around his tanned neck, hips bucked up desperately to meet his.

“Wuh-we should take this somewhere more comfortable. Sh-shouldn’t we?” Bill only stuttered when he’s nervous now. It’s cute.

She pressed a quick kiss onto his jawline. If there weren’t remnants of her lipstick on his skin, he’d assume he was dreaming. “Okay,” she hummed into the spot her lips had just previously grazed over. Bill shivers.

He led the two of them up the stairs and into his room. The trip is slow. Bill’s careful to make sure y/n didn’t trip or snag her top on the railing. What a gentleman.

“Bill,” she whined.

That night, Bill decided his favorite sound was her voice calling his name. He’s always loved the sound of y/n’s voice and the way his name rolled off her tongue (“Bill, watch!” “Bill are you coming?”). But this was different. Tonight was different.

“Bill, I need you.” He turned to y/n who wore a pout as she followed Bill closely into his room. It’s pitch black but Bill doesn’t need to turn on a light to know his way around.

The back of y/n’s calves hit his bed with a light thump followed by another whimper.

“Shh,” Bill cooed into her hair…

y/n awoke that morning with her too-tight tank top and faded denim shorts replaced with one of Bill’s graphic tees that drape over her figure like a dress. She finds half of her eyeliner and lipstick-stained on Bill’s grey pillowcase and there’s an empty space next to her where Bill once lay.

“Fuck,” y/n whispered to herself. She can’t remember the events that happened last night, and the pounding in her head doesn’t make it any better. But the way the sheets around her creased and wrinkled, and the way her collarbone peaked out of Bill’s Led Zeppelin tee made her skin crawl and her stomach turn.

“Hey.”

Bill’s scratchy morning voice startled y/n. His perfect tall and slender figure slanted against the doorframe and y/n had to compose herself under his sheets the way she’s done all her life.

“Hi,” she swallowed thickly. Her breathing started to pick up along with her pulse and when did it get so hot in here?

“Do you want breakfast?” Bill made a motion towards the kitchen downstairs. “My parents aren’t home still. I guh-guess they’re still out.” Bill’s parents were always “out”.

y/n only nodded.

“Look, about last night—”

“Whatever happened last night, I can—”

“Did you mean it?” Bill cut her off, not even listening to the word vomit spilling from y/n’s splotchy lips.

“Mean what?” y/n’s ungroomed eyebrows furrowed together inquisitively because what the fuck? What on earth happened last night that could have left Bill Denbrough wondering for answers in the morning?

“Wuh-when you said that stuff about needing me.” From the flushed cheeks and timid words, y/n could tell Bill felt awkward saying to her what he’d just said.

Mortification took the form of y/n y/l/n that morning. The tiny hairs on her neck started to rise and goosebumps shot a trail down her forearms.

Bill crept forward after he didn’t receive a response. His face was only a few inches away from y/n’s. The swoosh of his I-just-woke-up hair framed his hairline like an auburn halo. To make matters worse, the morning sun shone directly on his skin, giving him a god-like glow.

“Did you?” His minty breath hit her face. Colgate.

Instead of watching his swimmingly blue eyes—swimming for answers, an indication, anything—she watched his lips. She admired how rosy they were even in the morning. She admired the curl of his cupid’s bow. She admired how soft they looked and felt as she bit the bullet and shoved herself forward to kiss him.

This kiss is different from last night. It’s daring, yet nervous; sweet, but awkward. It’s not the same as her desperate kisses from when she was wasted. This kiss is slow, thoughtful—

Bill pulled away. His breaths grew heavy, and his eyesight got hazy. The only thing he could think to do was go in for another kiss. So, he did. He’s quick to capture her bottom lip with his and cup her jawline in the palm of his hand.

Bill’s impatient now. His parents were gone, and he had a beautiful girl in his bed. What else was a teenage boy to do? In a flash of flesh, Bill’s shirt was gone.

“Do-do you want this?” He asked before he made the effort to remove any other articles of clothing and possibly embarrass himself further. Of course, Bill would be perfectly fine with getting off in the other room with just his bruised ego and bare chest to keep him company.

But y/n was fast to reply “yes” and press yet another kiss on Bill’s swollen lips. Their flesh pinned against each other’s elicited a feeling inside the two that both y/n and Bill had never felt before.

“You smell good,” Bill murmured against her shoulder. The words slipped out of his mouth like a hockey puck on ice. “I bet you taste even better.”

y/n grew flustered at the sudden statement. It wasn’t like Bill to confess something like that—at least not to her. Before another moan, like the ones from last night, could claw its way out of her throat, y/n caught Bill sliding the elastic of his grey sweats down his long legs.

He’s in his boxers. y/n could only catch glimpses of streaks of greens and yellows but didn’t get a chance to look at them for long as her attention was redirected to taking off her—Bill’s—shirt.

Although he knew it wasn’t gentlemanly, Bill could only stare at y/n’s bra-clad chest. It’s just black, simple, classic. But it hugged y/n’s figure effortlessly and contorted her shape perfectly.

“Bill?” y/n wondered aloud. His silence worried her, but she has nothing to worry about—she’s got Bill hooked like a fish.

Her meek words snapped Bill out of his trance, which allowed him to press another kiss onto her lips before he trailed down to her neck. Each graze of his lips turned her into a moaning mess. Bill wished he could say he was surprised, but he wasn’t, not from when he remembered the events from last night so vividly.

His lips lingered a little longer on a certain spot just above her collarbone that made y/n’s lips part so erotic-like, Bill thought he might cum at the sight.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to release just mere seconds in of making out with his dream girl—even if it pained him.

He released his lips from her skin, leaving a bruise. Bill chuckled to himself. At least, if he can’t have her, he can pretend he does for these few moments until she leaves for home and covers his mark with her trusty concealer.

Their lips clashed again. It was hard and rough—y/n’s more dominant than she let on and before either of them realized, she was on top: legs straddled Bill’s torso, nimble fingers gripped at his skin where a shirt used to be, and her lips viscously stained his red with what was left of her lipstick from last night.

Bill’s the one to moan this time. The sound was throaty and gruff, which sent shocks straight to y/n’s core. She bucked up, causing Bill to moan again and the cycle repeats.

“Fuck, y/n, I need you.” y/n liked this side of Bill: the bolder, dominant side; the speak-your-mind side. But most of all, y/n liked Bill.

She giggled at his words. She loved the way his voice cracked with desperation and the way his fingers began to clutch her skin tighter—like she was his.

The delicate sound of y/n’s voice only made Bill want her more. The tent in his boxers grew impossibly harder—a contradicting feeling of pain and desire at the same time.

“Please.” It wasn’t long until Bill’s groans turned into pleads. The rough palms of his hands coast across her bare skin, causing goosebumps to form and hair to raise. “Please.” The fast movements of y/n’s clothed clit on his plaid-covered dick matched the fast beats of y/n’s pounding heart.

Ba-dumb. Ba-dumb. Ba-dumb.

“Plu-“

“Tell me what you want,” Bill’s voice easily sliced through y/n’s pathetic whines, “using your words,” he instructed clearly.

“I wah—” Another whine. “I want you.”

At that, the rough pad of Bill’s thumb started to massage the sharp edge of y/n’s jaw. “I need you to be more specific, baby.”

Baby? Bill’s never called her that before. Actually, Bill’s never had a girl as beautiful as y/n on top of his lap before but here he was, the tent in his boxers being barely relieved by the girl by his dreams.

“I—” The sensation of the fabric against skin felt too much to bear but she wanted more. “I want your—your cock in me. Please.” She said this through lazy lips and heavy lids.

“F-f-fuck.” Bill groaned at the vulgarity of her words. Never in his life would he expect y/n to utter something as filthy as that. But never in his life would Bill Denbrough ever expect to be offered the chance to fuck her. “Okay, baby, hold on.” His calloused palm slowly slipped its way down from the slope of her jaw to her neck where fingerprints were left and then down to the clasp of her bra.

The damn thing. As hard as his hand grasped and as hard as his fingers twisted, the clip wouldn’t budge.

“Need some help?” y/n giggled, as she noticed Bill’s pained expression. Effortlessly, she unhooked the cursed contraption. It was as effortless as how the piece of fabric once made her look so perfect. But perfection didn’t change once the garment left her skin. Bill then realized that it wasn’t the strawberry-stained lips or the dramatic smokey eye or the tempting clothing that made y/n perfect. y/n was already perfect on her own; everything else was just a prop.

Bill’s once furrowed brows softened when y/n began to take the lead. His bare back pressed further into the mattress in the same motion y/n’s chest leaned into his.

Her crotch just barely brushed his and Bill couldn’t take the ‘almost there’ feeling anymore. “I hate these,” he bit. His hand swooped down to peel off the lacy string of fabric in one harsh motion.

“This is a little unfair, isn’t it?” y/n posed. Her eyebrow raised a little the way it always did when she asked a question. Her hands were cold when they made a trail down his chest and to his boxers. “Now we’re even,” she giggled when she finally released him from his confinements.

In an instant, Bill’s erection had slapped his stomach and y/n found herself near salivating at the sight. Her thumb just barely brushed the tip, letting out a hiss from Bill.

“Baby—”

“Shh…” Before Bill could get another word out through choked moans and deep breaths, y/n led his cock to her heat. Immediately, she let out a whine at the stretch of Bill which he chuckled at. “Bill..”

“Yes?” Bill couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that he was making her feel this way. He was the one whose name she was moaning. He was the one she was fucking.

“Bill…harder…” Her moans were like a record Bill would never get tired of hearing. His right hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear before his fingers gripped her scalp while his left hand moved just below her butt, allowing him to thrust deeper.

Moans turned into whines and whines turned into screams as Bill set the pace faster and harder. Each thrust hit deeper each time, hitting a spot no boy had ever found before. “Bill, I’m—” But y/n’s words were cut off when Bill’s lips captured hers in a kiss. His hand still found itself tangled in her morning hair. His other hand still tightly gripped on her ass which would surely leave a bruise. His hips bucked up once more, leaving y/n in a moaning mess, unable to hold herself above him anymore. With shaky arms, y/n allowed herself to collapse on Bill’s chest. Their breaths mixed and their pants synced.

Tenaciously, Bill pressed a kiss upon y/n’s sweat-slicked forehead. The feeling of his lips was gentle and tickled as they dragged down to her cheekbone.

It was never supposed to end up like this, y/n could only think to herself now as she watched Bill walk out of her room and presumably out the front door. Of course, he’d be back the next night. Ever since their first drunken encounter with each other, casual sex had become second nature to y/n and Bill—like learning how to tie your shoes or riding your bike. But it was at this moment when y/n realized how she wanted more.

Hickies and torn shirts would never be enough to satisfy the aching need for something deeper; the feeling that made her stomach drop every time she caught Bill looking at her; the feeling that made her throat dry up every time she tried to speak to him outside of moans and cries; the feeling that made her heart skip a beat at the thought of him; the feeling of want—and only want—for Bill Denbrough.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Love Me Tender•

Summary: After waiting, watching, and wanting, Tamaki finally has a way to get to you. He's willing to do use some questionable methods, make deals with shifty friends, whatever it takes. He'll have you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Tamaki Amajiki x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, coercion, sabotage, manipulation, hard dom Tamaki, slight brat reader, mostly sub reader, unprotected sex, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle play (oral, vaginal, anal, gagging), bondage (with tentacles), mild dumbification, degradation, spit play, cum play, wittle bit of bloodplay, creampie, marking, possession kink, collaring. Kinda-sorta dub-con (not really imo but warning just in case)

Word Count: 11,576

A/N: Jesus fucking christ I did it.

Part One: Porcelain Obsession

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

   Tamaki awoke painfully this morning, body aching and covered in dried sweat. It wasn't a feeling to be proud of, but it was a feeling he cherished. 

   Your stolen underwear is clutched in his hand still, like a lifeline. It still smells just a little bit like you… but not enough. He couldn't feel you or taste you or hold you. He had to figure something out, quickly. He had to find a way to make you his. 

   Luckily, Tamaki knows exactly how to make that happen…

***                                         

  You hang up your apron with a deep sigh, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Thank god it's only a half day, you finally have an afternoon off, a day to spend by yourself. 

   You bid your coworkers farewell and head out of the shop. You wander home, earbuds in as you try to drown out the noise of the city. Once you're home, you notice a small box on your doorstep. 

   It's a pretty little gold box with purple ribbon, a tiny note is attached to the top. The scribbled writing reads,

   "I thought this would look pretty on you, I'm sorry about the weird exit last night. I'd like to take you to get some coffee to make up for it, if you'll let me." - Tamaki

   Your heart flutters a bit at the note, you had deduced you were nothing more than a charity case. Him walking you home was just what he felt was fair in exchange for the use of your phone, he didn't really… like you? Did he? 

   His exit was just a little bit strange, he seemed almost panicked. You wanted to ask if everything was ok, but figure it best to stay out of a hero's business. Who knows what door you'd be opening if you started to ask too many questions.

   Beneath his note is a phone number, obviously his. You can't call him right away, it might seem desperate, but you can open the box. 

   When the lid comes off, you gasp quietly at what's hidden inside. On a delicate silver chain sits one lovely little pearl. You stand there, amazed and confused. Wondering why on earth somebody like Suneater would leave such a precious little gift for you. 

***

   You called the number left on the note about an hour after receiving it. As soon as Tamaki picks up the phone your heart leaps into your throat. 

   "I didn't think y-you'd call." He laughs afterwards, but you can hear traces of genuine anxiety underneath. 

   "Well, what kind of an asshole would I be if I didn't call back the hero that saved me from a lonely walk home?" Your face crinkles up at your horrid attempt at flirting. 

   He doesn't seem to mind, though. He gives you a sweet laugh, putting some of your nerves at ease. 

   "So, uh- coffee?" He wonders. 

   "I'd love to, I just got off work, but I imagine you're busy doing hero stuff. We can-"

   "No I'm not busy." He says quickly, his urgency makes you smile. He's almost boyish in his approach, and it's very charming. 

   Somehow, between the two of you suffering your way through the conversation, you set a time for coffee.

***

    Tamaki makes a quick stop before meeting you, visiting a horrid friend of his in an alleyway a hero should never be unless he's kicking someone's ass. 

   His "friend" turns out to be a little more than your average criminal. He's a wicked looking man, with a mess of black hair and an abundance of scarring littering his body. 

   They call him Dabi. 

   "So what's the plan here? Am I just scarin' the poor girl or do I get to have some real fun?" His smile is devilish, and his eyes are telling. 

   It makes Tamaki's skin crawl, he stares daggers at the man leaning against the brick of the alleyway. 

   "If you touch her, I will gut you like a fucking fish." Tamaki says, he's full of rage, but he says it so calmly, so matter of fact. 

   "You can try." Dabi laughs, "You forget how easy it is to cook seafood." 

   Tamaki stands there for a brief second, watching the villain, weighing his options. 

   "I'm not here for banter, can you do the job or not?" His words are clipped, strangely articulate compared to his usual stutter. 

   "Yeah whatever, I got nothin' planned for tonight, and I do love making little girls scream." He tilts his head back against the wall as Tamaki turns to stalk away. 

   "Hey, Suneater." Dabi calls out with a lazy voice. 

   Tamaki freezes and keeps his back to Dabi. He turns his head to the side and waits for him to speak. 

   "Send her my way when you're done with her." If Tamaki had less of the public eye on him, he would have slit Dabi's throat then and there. 

   Instead, he swallows his rage as he tosses a hefty wad of cash over his shoulder. 

   "Don't be late." 

***

   "You always just drink it black? Not even a little bit of sugar?' You ask, astounded by Tamaki's ability to drink the bitter liquid without any sweetener.

   "Sugar is kind of useless for me, I try to eat things that'll help me with m-my quirk." He explains, his deep eyes wander while he talks, like he's watching for something. 

   That must come with being a hero. 

   "Does coffee help your quirk?" You ask, a smile playing at your lips when you see him frown at his drink. 

   "No, but it helps me focus."

   You nod playfully before taking a sip, the cafe he's brought you to is incredibly charming. It's not an overly hip establishment, it's just a sweet little hidden gem. Tucked away into a forgotten street, it gives the impression that it's a well kept secret between two best friends. 

   "Do you feel like people ask too much of you?" You question. It slips out so quickly, running away from you after launching out of your lips. 

   Your hatred for small talk gets the best of you and you jump the gun, as always. You want to hide, but not before you apologise a thousand times for being too straightforward. 

   Tamaki looks at you thoughtfully, his eyes show that he's shocked, but not offended.

   "Sometimes. It can feel like people expect me t-to be the…" He pauses for a moment, mentally grasping for the right word. 

   "It feels like people expect Heroes to be this ultimate, universal band-aid. In a lot of ways, we are, but we're still h-human… I-I'm still human…" His voice slows down by the end of his sentence, like he's realized he might be over sharing. 

   But, you asked him, you wanted to know. You actually care about him? Every bone in his body is screaming at him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and run away. He feels some carnal desire to just keep you. Hide you from every selfish asshole that would take advantage of the starstruck look in your beautiful eyes. 

   He can't, though… not yet. 

   "S-sorry…" He whispers. 

   And then, you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. He feels the contact all the up his arm, into his chest, into his heart. 

   So you do want him too. 

   "Please don't be sorry, I liked listening to you talk." You say quietly. 

   You did love it, you loved it because you've felt so unheard, so unseen. Being able to provide somebody else with a pair of listening ears serves as a kind of relief for those feelings. 

   "Can you tell me more?" You test, hand squeezing his own a little more. 

   He looks almost elated, thrilled to be seen, excited to be heard. Most of all, he's itching to finally have you. 

***

   The date was nothing short of wonderful, filled with cute little fumblings of words, hands brushing but never holding, and sharing bits and pieces of yourselves with each other. 

   You flop onto your bed, reminiscent of a teenager who's just had their first kiss. You didn't kiss him goodnight, you chickened out of that. But you did press your lips against his cheek for a brief moment, which seemed to have quite the effect on him. 

      His breath hitched, his fists balled at his sides, acting like he'd never been touched so tenderly. It made you wonder, is the Hero as lonely as you are? 

   You glance over at your night stand, seeing the pretty little necklace sitting in its box. You're washed with guilt as you realize you forgot to wear it to coffee, knowing he must have wanted you to. You take it out of the box carefully before pulling it around your neck and hooking it into place. It fits like a choker, snug against your skin, but it feels good to have it so close.

   You're ripped from your musing when you hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. 

   Inside your house. 

   Your blood chills, hair stands up on the back of your neck and you rise from your bed slowly. You try to talk yourself down, kill the first nerves that consume your chest. It was probably a poorly balanced vase… except, you don't own any vases. It could have been a picture? Nope, not a picture, it was just glass… like a window breaking. 

   There's a gun in your office, but you're in the bedroom. You scan the room for something, anything that could be used for defense. Of course, nothing but a damn notebook. 

   The police, you should call the police. Your heart clenches when you hear the threatening sound of heavy footsteps falling down your hallway. 

   They're heading straight for your bedroom. 

   You lunge at the door, hand landing on the doorknob just as it begins to turn. Desperately, uselessly, you try to lock it. It's too late, though, it's already opening by the time your thumb lands on the lock. 

   You can hear your blood rushing when the door swings towards you, a large black boot planted on the other side to force it open. 

   "Sorry 'bout the window, sweetheart. I tried the front door, but it was locked." The intruder chuckles as he invades your bedroom. 

   You stumble back as you take in his sewn together form, a mess of black leather and scars. Wild, electric blue eyes devour your trembling form as you press yourself back into the wall. 

   "Oh, hon, you're shakin' like you're in danger. I ain't gonna hurt you, I'm gonna do the opposite." He stalks towards you, somehow moving in slow motion but with incredible speed all at the same time. 

   Your phone sits on your night stand, only feet away but all too unreachable. You're caged in by his arms as he towers over you, filling your nose with some horrid, smokey smell. 

   "P-please, you can have anything, j-just don't-" 

   Your words halt when a long, pale finger traces over your collar bone. 

   "Don't what? 'J-just don't' what?" He mocks you, eyes lit with a sadistic amusement. 

   Your heart rattles in your chest as tears prick your eyes, you can't fight him, he's huge. You don't have your gun. You don't have your phone. You're fucked. 

   "Cryin' already? What's the matter, doll?-" The hand traces your collar bone moves up to wrap around your throat, "Not a fan of villains?" 

   Your hands paw at his wrist, you will yourself to sputter something out, any kind of objection to whatever he has planned. You try to whimper out a 'stop', but when your mouth finally forms the word, the voice isn't yours, but it's familiar.

   It's low, clipped and dangerous as it barks out the warning. 

   Suneater. 

   Suddenly, as if he's being yanked to the heavens by the Gods, your assailant is torn away from you. A large, red tentacle captures him by the waist and throws him across the room. You collapse to the ground instantly, curling around your legs as you hear the muffled sounds of a violent fight. 

   You hide in your own little world, trembling and clenching yourself. You take one peak from between your arms, just to see Tamaki place the intruder in a chokehold before barking some profane threat at him. 

   The villain is smiling the whole time, he even winks at you. 

   "If I ever see you near her again, you won't walk away with your life." Tamaki snarls as the stranger breaks away from his hold.  

   "She's not worth the trouble." He laughs, raising one hand before sending brilliant blue flames blasting towards Tamaki. 

   You scream involuntarily, reaching out for the Hero as he jumps away from the flames. Once they're gone, the villain is gone as well. Like some cheap magician disappearing off stage. The room is almost entirely untouched by the burst of fire, at most, the tip of your comforter is singed. 

   The second the fire is gone, Tamaki is walking towards you urgently, pulling you to your feet so he can cradle your face. 

   "Are you ok? Did he touch you? What happened?" His inky eyes search your face frantically. 

   You don't answer, you just stutter, clinging to his hands until you can finally squeak out, "I'm ok." 

   His shoulders drop as he sighs, hands loosening their grip. His eyes flicker down to the necklace, his gaze softens when he sees how pretty it looks on you. 

   "Y-you… Do you like it?" He asks timidly, glancing up at you. 

    You breathe for a moment, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in attention. 

   "I love it." You say quietly, still trembling. 

   He just saved you, really saved you from a real villain who was planning God knows what, and he's worried about your necklace? 

   "It's so pr-pretty on you…" He reaches down to touch it, leaving one hand on your cheek. 

   You take the moment to breathe, remind yourself that you're safe, that you're with a hero now. You observe Tamaki's almost casual appearance, a dry fit shirt and simple tactical pants. It almost helps you relax, seeing him like so… at ease? 

   His fingers play with the pearl, deep eyes transfixed. Something nearly uncontrollable swells within his chest. It burns and aches and eats at him. You're so close, you're so warm, so soft. He could have you, he could just take you. 

   "Tamaki?" You prod gently, your own chest stirs, and something pulls you towards him.

   His eyes snap up to yours, and something shifts in the air. It feels sticky, heavy, too hard to breathe. His gorgeous form towers over you, pressing you back up against the wall as his eyes devour your trembling body. 

   "Thank you f-for saving me." You whisper.

   He nods earnestly, his breathing is shaking, his hands feel like they're holding back. 

   "Anything. Anything for you." 

   That line, that makes you ache.

   How long have you felt so lukewarm, so overlooked and forgotten? Too long, far too long. Now, with Tamaki looking down at you like you're priceless, you feel fiery, you feel seen and remembered. 

   Your hands grasp at his wrists, your eyes flick down to his parted lips. You're not sure what you want to happen next, but you want him as close as you can get him.

   "If you let me start, I will not stop." His voice drops and it makes your breath catch. 

   He feels it too, then. 

   Is it the high of what you've just gone through? Is it just your body trauma bonding with the man that just saved you? Or do you really, really want him so bad it hurts? 

   His tone is warning and his eyes are frantic. 

   "Please." Is the only thing that falls from your quivering lips. 

   Consequences be damned, motives especially be damned. You need him, and he needs you. That's enough explanation for tonight. 

   He consumes you much like the villains flames, his lips are on yours almost too fast, his hands are greedy as they hold your face to his. 

   While you feel similar to a lovesick girl getting kissed for the first time, Tamaki feels like a prisoner finally set free. He feels like a lion that was held in a cage and taunted with a piece of meat. He feels like the door has finally been opened, and he can finally sink his teeth in. 

   "I wanna feel you." He brings his mouth away from yours with much reluctance, leaving his forehead pressed against yours. 

   You flounder for a moment, with your mouth feeling dry and your limbs feeling heavy. 

   "Where?" You choke out, searching his face for any tell. 

   "God, everywhere." It's a broken request, said like a secret. 

   "Take it. Whatever you want." Your boldness surprises you both. 

   You're hooked on the exhilaration, you're craving more, you want to feel something. Even after just a walk home and a coffee date, you want to feel it with Tamaki. 

   "Don't give me that…" He shivers as he presses his body against yours, making it very evident how much of an affect you're having on him. 

   "I'll ruin you." He whimpers when you grind back against him, your hands tug at his shirt and you look up at him with wide eyes. 

   "Who said I don't want that?" 

   You both stand there frozen, waiting for the other to move, to prove that this isn't a dream. 

   "Fuck." 

   His hands descend from cradling your face so they can wrap around your neck with the most gentle grip. 

   He watches you intently, feels your breath quicken, cherishing the way you bite your lip when his fingers tighten slightly. 

   Internally, Tamaki is fighting the most challenging battle he's ever had to face. He's had to take on a wide variety of formidable enemies, but right now, nothing seems more formidable than having to hold himself back when he finally has you in his arms. 

   He wants to take and take and take, for as long as you'll let him… maybe even longer. 

   She's mine now.

   Something shifts in his gaze just then, making him look almost primal. It makes your chest feel frozen, makes it difficult to breathe or focus. 

   His hands shift around your neck, they feel almost… slippery? Their texture is different, their movement is more fluid. Then, you feel it, the distinct sensation of a suction cup latching against your skin. 

   Tentacles. He's made each of his fingers a tentacle.

   Your eyes stay locked on his, both of you in a heated trance as you watch how the other responds. 

   One slick tendril crawls up to latch onto your chin, he turns your head upwards and to the side with a thoughtful look. It's almost like he's sizing you up, appraising you. 

   After a thick moment of silence, he finally speaks. 

   "I'm going to make you cry." It's a depraved promise, beautifully whispered with no shame. 

   You stand there, held by him, captured by him. You're helplessly entranced, all rational thought is long gone as you reel over the implications of his statement. All you can know for sure, is you want more. 

    Despite every red flag, regardless of any common sense, you want more. 

   "I dare you." You say back to him, the desperation to feel anything other than mundane spurs you onward.

   He receives the words like it's a smack to the face, some shock evident in his eyes. He didn't take you for a brat, but he can certainly roll with it. 

   "You're gonna make this fun for me, aren't you?" He questions, his tentacles grip you tighter now, reminding you who has the high ground. 

   Mine. 

   The air shifts, something heavier takes over the mood, it settles in your ribs and wraps around your heart. 

   He guides you away from the wall, shepherding you around until your back is towards your bed. He starts walking you backwards until your knees buckle once they hit the mattress. 

   You sit there, gazing up at him, held still by his quirk, transfixed by the power he exudes as he towers over you. 

   "Has anyone ever had you before?" He asks, finally returning his hand to normal so he can cradle your cheek. 

   The question has your stomach burning with nerves. 

   No, nobody ever has. 

   You shake your head, looking down, cheeks burning as you try to hide your embarrassment. 

   His reaction shocks you immensely, his whole body shutters and he drops to his knees. His hands settle on your waist as he moves between your legs. 

   "Th-this is… all mine then?" He asks, he rubs his thumbs over the bottoms of your ribs affectionately. 

   His eyes are wide and reverent as he waits for your answer, looking like you're some anointed goddess. His eyes skate over every feature he can, and he cherishes each one. 

   Your confession nearly knocks the wind out of him, especially with how sweet you look, all blushing and embarrassed. It makes his need to rip you apart even stronger. 

   "Please...let me give you everything…" His hands tighten on you and you feel them shaking.

   You study him for a second, at a complete loss for words, he seems so… devoted. It pulls on your heart, clouds your mind and lights your body up. How could you possibly say no to him? How on earth could you turn someone away when they’re looking at you like you’re placed on an altar ready to be worshiped. 

   Carefully, like you’re trying not to frighten a beast, you reach out and touch his face. He moves into your touch like a lonely cat, desperate for affection and recognition. 

   “Please…” You breathe. 

   And that’s all it takes. 

   His breath leaves his lungs in a harsh rush as he moves forward like a leopard, lean and precise as he forces you onto your back. 

   Your blood rushes so quickly you swear you can hear it, your mouth goes dry as he stares you down. He’s suddenly less reverent, now he’s ravenous. A dangerous, carnivorous look dances in his dark eyes. His judgement is clouded just like yours, only it fuels him, while your state is much more terrified. Any spunk you had in you is thrown out the window as he leers over you.

   You shrink into the mattress as he hovers above you on all fours, heavy eyelids and parted lips giving him a nearly drugged look. 

   “When you say everything-” He whispers, moving so he can settle on his knees between your open legs, “Do you mean this too?” He drops his hips as he questions you, pressing something very hard into your thigh, something very intimidating. 

   He watches your eyes go wide, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you gasp after he rolls his hips. His arms cage you, a strong hand placed on either side of your head, the position makes you feel so pathetic, so helpless, but it gives you an incredible rush. 

   “Don’t look so scared, it won’t hurt.” He dips down to press his hot, open mouth against your neck, tongue lapping at your pulse. A dark chuckle leaves his chest, “Not much, at least.” 

   Then he’s definitely less reverent, he’s no longer worshipful, he’s a wicked, unleashed best. His hands are selfish as they remove your clothes, his mouth is voracious against your skin. He has you panting and twitching in seconds, musing at you when your reactions are particularly strong. 

   It’s when he snakes down your body, wetting your skin with his tongue, settling between your breasts so he can suck harshly at the heated skin, that you finally feel something break within you. You arch into his touch, fisting your hands in his raven hair, whimpering so beautifully for him as he works you up. 

   He knows what he’s doing, he’s skilled, well equipped for pulling you apart. He’s already descended into some debauched state of being, and he’s pulling you down with him. 

   “Nobody’s ever tasted this sweet little cunt before, have they?” He asks against your skin, latching his mouth back to the spot he’s focused on marking, but looking up at you with inquiring eyes. 

   You try to swallow, shake your head, do something, but all you can do is lay there naked and gasping.

   He laughs again, a wicked thing that leaves his chest like a wisp of wind. He slides a hand up your body, he flicks over your nipple with his thumb on the way up, pulling another whimper out of you. 

   His hand latches onto your jaw, then he shakes your head for you, doing what he knows you can’t. 

   “Oh baby…” He sighs, “You saved it for me?” He teases, hips grinding against you, the cloth of his pants creates a strange kind of friction against your clit, not unpleasant, but not pleasurable. Where the hell did the sweet, stuttering hero go? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks deviant… almost villainous.

   “Tama- please.” You shiver, not sure what you’re asking for, but certain that you need more. 

   “Good girl, talk to me.” His hand slinks down your throat before he rises to his knees. 

   Your eyes lock on the tightness of his pants, trying not to panic at the sheer size of the imprint he’s making on them. 

   His shirt is pulled over his head, messing his hair in the most handsome way, and the breath is ripped from your lungs. 

   He’s stunning, broad and strong looking. He’s all porcelain skin over well trained muscle. Built perfectly for the work he does. Built perfectly for ripping apart poor little girls like you. 

   “I liked the look you got when I had my tentacles on you.” He sighs, letting a hand fall to your bare stomach so he can trace lazy circles against you. 

   “Did you like that? Do you want me to use my tentacles to play with you?” He questions. 

   His voice is low, it’s rich and warm and dripping with seduction. Nothing like the tentative, wobbly tone he usually has. It rips the ground out from underneath you, leaves you panting and blinking like a brain dead fool as you gawk up at his prowling form. 

   “Just a yes or no, if you can manage it.” He smiles sweetly up at you, splaying his hand across your quaking abdomen. 

   You breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself, trying to catch up with what he’s said. 

   “Y-yes.” You whisper, barely audible, hardly heard over your labored breathing. 

   His other hand mirrors the one he has on you, sliding around to hold you by the waist, a gentle cage meant to establish dominance. 

   “Yes… what?” He prompts, pressing his thumbs down. 

   You falter then, your tongue feels heavy, your mind slows and you’re suddenly void of all vocabulary. Were you really really about to let one of the most well known pros wreck your body with his quirk? Were you actually laid out for him like this? You know so little of him, your only information gathered from small talk, but something about that had you buzzing. 

   You could be whoever you want to be, you don’t have to be the floundering virgin. You don’t have to be so damn shell shocked. 

   “Yes, D-daddy.” You test, hoping to God or whoever is listening that you got the right name. 

   By the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his grip tightens, the way his body tenses, you sure as hell did. 

   “That’s it.” He sighs, “-and what about you?” He wonders, his hold going gentle again. 

   You? What about you? 

   Tamaki watches you carefully, barely containing the raging storm inside him, barely holding back the carnal urge to turn every limb to a pretty purple tentacle and stuff you until you’re crying for mercy. 

   Not yet, don’t fuck this up. 

   “Princess? Darling?” He asks, lowering himself back down to kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his thick lashes. 

   “Whatever you want.” You answer. Your sweet, sacred submission makes him close his eyes and breathe in. 

   Hold it. Not. Yet.

   “You’re like an angel.” He breathes, making you shiver under the weight of the high praise. 

   He notices your reaction immediately, smiling to himself. 

   “So that’s it.” He presses a long kiss just under your belly button, bringing attention to how naked you are, and how naked he is not. 

   Your thighs squeeze together and your arms come up to cover your chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to keep it all out of view. 

   His hands are on your wrist and his body is crouched over yours again before you can blink. He pins your hands beside your head, looking down at you with some wild, unbridled kind of look in his eyes. 

   “You do not get to hide from me.” His shoulders flex as he pushes your wrists down into the mattress, earning a whine from you as the pressure starts to ache. 

   “You’re mine. That means I get all of you.” He bites the words off, but keeps his voice quiet. 

   You should be scared, crying even, but the only thing you feel is exhilaration, the ache between your legs and the fluttering of your heart as he overpowers you with just the look in his eyes and a few harsh words. 

   “Do you understand me?” He eases up on your wrists slightly, looking more stern, less unhinged. 

   “I-I do, I’m sorry.” You whimper out. 

   He considers you for a brief second, eyes growing softer as he watches the way your pretty lip trembles. 

   “It’s ok.” He releases your wrists and speaks gently, “You’re ok.” 

   The reassurances makes you dizzy, especially in contrast with how rough he just was. 

   "Hold still for me, angel." Then he’s back to mouthing at your skin.

   His teeth meet your collarbone and your hands reach for his messy hair. 

   “There?” He asks against you, a smile in his voice as he lets his teeth gather your skin again. The spot he finds makes you dizzy, you feel the heat spread across your cheeks and the tips of your ears. 

   Tamaki is still stuck in his own chains, fighting against them as he focuses on the way you twitch for him, the way your body rolls when he bites harder. 

   So she likes it.

   Your body heats up, it's all so overwhelming. It's so different from anything you've ever felt, and you can't believe it's with him. 

    Then his kisses get more sloppy, his teeth are sharper against you. He leaves you shining with his spit, painted in blooming purple and red bruises as he begins his journey down your body. 

   "Da-addy." You sniffle when he bites into the underside of your breast. 

   It doesn't feel loving, it doesn't feel passionate, it just feels rough. 

   "Hush." He mumbles against you, "If you can't take this I might as well stop now." He looks up at you, challenging you. 

   "I can t-take it, I can." You breathe, nodding, looking at him with begging eyes, "Please, don't stop." 

   He honest to god growls against you. You couldn't possibly know what you do to him, how sweet your willingness sounds, how beautiful you look laid out for him. He knows he should take his time, and he resents that fact. He almost resents you for being so sweet and needy. With all the things he wants to do to you, he almost, almost, wishes you had at least some experience. This makes you his completely, though, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything. 

   His hot mouth moves lower and lower until he's tonguing at your hip bone, pulling the skin into his mouth so he can work his teeth against it. He will mark you wherever he can, as long as you'll let him. 

   Your hips roll up against him, making him smirk at how needy you're acting. 

   "Ask for it." He whispers, hungry hands slide up the outsides of your thighs, "Ask for what you want." 

   His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, sending the breath from your lungs as he glares up at you. He lets his wet tongue loll out to give a teasing flick against the crux of your thigh. 

   You take a deep breath in and cling to the sheets for dear life, "Please, use your mouth on me." 

   He smiles so sweetly then, looking mildly amused. 

   "Here?" He goes back to that same spot, sucking and teasing, looking all too pleased with himself. 

   "Be specific, angel, tell me where you need me." 

   Tamaki knows for a fact that he didn't have to spend his time making you ask for things, he knows what you want, he knows how to give them to you. He could take whatever he needs, probably without much a fight from you, but what fun would that be? He would miss the pretty blush creeping across your skin, and the sweet little tears in your big eyes. No, he wouldn't be missing this, not for the world. 

    "I wanna feel your tongue, please, use your mouth on m-my cunt." You shiver, timid and uncertain about your phrasing. 

   It seems to do the trick though, because Tamaki's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. 

   He answers with a low moan before grabbing you by the insides of your thighs so he can spread you open. Once the air of the room hits you, you're made painfully aware of just how soaked you are. 

   It makes Tamaki look like a wild man, all blown out pupils blushing cheeks. 

   Almost in slow motion, he presses his tongue into the spot right above your clit, making you whine and buck against his mouth. 

   "Needy little thing." He says, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze, "But I suppose I have teased enough." 

   Then he's on you, and the second his tongue meets your weak spot you know you're ruined. You know that not one person will ever hold a candle to Tamaki Amajiki. 

   He pulls away for only a second, just to whisper praises up to you, "Your cunt tastes like everything I've ever needed." 

   You huff at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do, heart soaring because of his confession.

   Then he dives back in, and he gets sloppy with it, setting a pace that feels so good it aches. The heat spreads through every limb, and settles somewhere deep in your chest. Everything tingles and burns, and breathing seems nearly impossible. 

   Internally, Tamaki is raging. He’s so close to losing it, he feels himself slipping, your taste spreads across his tongue is the culmination of months of watching and waiting and wanting. He wants to drown in you, he wants to rip you to shreds. No more watching you through windows, no more fucking his fist while he wishes with everything he has that it was your precious little pussy. He has you now, spread open and vulnerable. He knows he could shove your face into the pillows and let loose on you, stuff every hole with an invasive tentacle, the thought makes him even more feral, it makes him work even harder as he eats you. 

   Every roll of his tongue against your clit makes you throb and buck, which makes him growl and push you down against the mattress. He's loud and messy, slurping and moaning, letting it drip down his chin and his throat, never once letting up. 

   Your head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes drilled shut. You know damn well if you saw him, you wouldn't last another second. He builds you up until your thighs are trembling and you're a whiny little mess. 

   Perfect. 

   Suddenly, the texture of his tongue changes drastically. It's much more slippery, and much thicker. Your head shoots up, and you nearly sob at what you see. Tamaki, with his eyes wild and his jaw dropped, is letting a wicked looking tentacle hang from his mouth. 

   His quirk. 

   He smirks up at you as the tip of it writhes against your clit, flicking and circling as he watches the tears start to fall from your face. You can't possibly keep up, you didn't know anything could ever feel this good. 

   You watch the suction cups ripple as he moves the muscle against you, then he does the unthinkable. He latches one of them onto your clit. Your eyes cross and you bring a fist to your mouth so you can bite on it and muffle your screams. 

   He hates that. 

   With another rumbling growl, he lets his hands turn to tentacles as well. You watch helplessly as he snakes them up your arms, ripping your hand away from your mouth so he can pin both limbs to the bed. The tentacles are strong, surprisingly warm, and so damn slippery. 

   It's hard to tell if you're close to the edge, it's felt that way the whole time, everything feels so hot and tight and good. 

   He smiles as you cry out and thrash against the bed, full of admiration for the usefulness of his own quirk.

   “Too much! D-daddy, it’s too much.” You sniffle out as you feel a stinging feeling in your cunt, it’s not necessarily an unpleasant sting, but it’s too much.

   He ignores your objection, choosing to simply suck harder at your overstimulated sweet spot. He revels in your pitifully low threshold, planning to do so much worse to your poor, inexperienced body. 

   The ache in your cunt continues to push the tears from your eyes, and eventually, drool from your mouth. The suction cup works dutifully against your clit, making you feel so overwhelmed you don't know if you can cum. 

   Then you feel the prodding at your entrance. 

   Then you really scream. 

   Holding that one little suction cup to your clit, he snakes the tip of his tentacle into your dribbling hole. He furrows his dark brows and moans against you when he feels how tight you are, desperate to feel the velvety walls around his cock.

   "Holy fucking shit." You gasp. 

   He watches the dramatic rise and fall of your quaking chest, your baffled eyes trying to keep track of everything happening to your body, and he swears he falls even more in love. 

   You're so willing, so compliant, so at his mercy. 

   He crooks the tip of the tentacle towards himself just a bit, and it's like you've been struck by lightning. You cum hard, harder than you ever have. You're a mess of twitching limbs, shivering as your cunt clenches so hard your feel it in your fucking chest. You sob into the air, broken and tearful as he works you through it. 

   You feel the hold on your arms tighten as your body arches away from the mattress. As you feel every inch of you ignite, you know that you're ruined for everyone else. 

   As soon as you lower yourself so you're flat to the mattress, the tentacles around your arms slip away and turn back into his hands. 

   The one between your legs still plays with you a little bit, prodding at your clit, lapping up your mess. Tamaki laughs as you jump and twitch, whimpering and gasping as he milks your body for every after shock you can give him. 

   You watch him pull the tentacle back into his mouth, flicking it over his lips to gather your release before disappearing into his mouth. You watch his eyes flutter shut, you watch him shiver and you hear the sweetest little moan in the back of his throat. 

   “You’re pretty when you cry.” He mumbles, looking up at you with the most tender look in his eyes. It’s a harsh contrast with all the cum dripping down his chin. 

   “You move a lot, too. It’s fun.” He states, almost like some kind of twisted review, “I don’t mind holding you down like that.” 

   The drop in the tone of his voice makes a chill creep up your spine. 

   “In fact…” He lifts himself up so he can start to crawl up your body, “I really, really enjoyed it.”

   You gasp for words, wind stolen from your lungs as he presses his messy mouth against your sternum. 

   “Something tells me you did too.” He whispers. 

   Your voice is finally found, somewhere deep in your chest, hidden and nearly forgotten, “What makes you say that?” You ask timidly. 

   He pulls his head up to look down at you with a confident smirk, “The mess you made.” 

   To prove his point, he swipes two fingers through your folds, gathering your creamy release before holding it up to the light. He looks so damn proud, like he’s showing off. 

   “Messy girl.” He smiles, as you watch him bring his coated fingers to his lips, sucking the sin off with a greedy pop from his lips. 

   “Oh, how selfish of me.” He sighs before grabbing you by the chin, “I should share.” 

   He pulls your mouth open then slowly leans over you so he can push the mess back through his lips. You oblige like a robot, stunned by the debauchery, letting him guide you through this act. He lets it fall from his lips slowly, creating a long string from his mouth to yours. The second it hits your tongue, something clicks for you. Something dark and smokey settles in your gut, something all consuming and blinding. It rids you of boundaries and reservations, it fills you with nothing but the man in front of you. 

   He watches you with a pointed gaze, shutting your jaw for you so you can swallow what he gave you. 

   “What do you say?” He asks. 

   You feel the burn in your chest, the embers in your skin, “More, please.” 

   “Fucking hell," The words tumble out as a breath mostly, "You want more?" He questions, grabbing you by the wrist so he can place your palm just above the waist of his pants. 

   You nod up at him, vision blurred by the heat of his skin against your palm. 

   "Then take it." He leans down to say it, biting off the words. 

   A challenge. 

   You can't possibly disappoint him, you can't possibly leave him wanting. Take it? How are you supposed to take it? 

   In a wild moment of confidence, mostly your body moving without the permission of your mind, you wrap your legs around his lean hips so you can flip him onto his back. 

   Your eyes lock the second you feel him pressing against you, hard and thick, and terribly intimidating in length. 

   He watches you for a moment, then hastily grabs you by the back of the neck so he can pull you down for another kiss. It's hot and needy, full of wicked want and unabashed selfishness. It tickles your ribs, creeps up your neck, and secures itself greedily around all of your common sense. 

   Tamaki had no intentions of letting you take anything, it's a game to him. He'll let you have your moment, let you feel like you have the reigns, but he'll take it right back. His has you under control, he vows that he always will.

   Your chest flutters with a clawing, aching feeling. 

   More more more. 

   "Fuck me." It's a prayer, whimpered against his delicate lips, "Please, fuck me." You dig your hands into his hair, cherishing the sweet noises they leave him as you beg. 

   Under control.

   "Tell me you need it." He sighs, answering your prayer by sending his hands down to work urgently at his belt. 

   "Tell me you need me." 

   You bring your face back from his just enough to look into his dark eyes, and you see tears welling in them. 

   He needs to feel needed.

   "Please, I need it, I need you, Suneater." 

   Everything freezes for a brief second, the air thickens and his eyes darken as you wait with a held breath for his next move. 

   Then, everything is flying around you. You feel the bite of fingertips against your waist, your stomach hits the mattress, possibly the sound of his pants being taken off. Your senses are dulled by the raging swirl of emotions beating inside you as your hips are lifted up, and a hand shoves your face into the pillow. 

   "Who's your hero?" His voice is rough, his hand gathers your hair and cranks your head to the side, "Who is your fucking hero?" He's barking the words out now, harsh and demanding. 

   And holy hell does it get you going. 

   "You are! You're my hero, Suneater." You cry out, craning your neck to look at him. 

   You expected furrowed brows, a straight mouth and furious eyes. What you're met with is nothing of the sort. A soft pink blush across his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears, tears wetting his cheek, and a quivering lip. 

   With your eyes on him, he makes a show of sliding his hand down his front so he can grab at his length. He lets it fall against your ass, heavy and painfully hard. 

   "Don't forget that." He says simply, sliding his thick head down through your slicked lips. 

   The contact makes you both shudder deep in your souls. 

   "Daddy, please." Your voice is pitiful as you fist the sheets and press back against him. 

   "So slutty." He muses, releasing your hair so he can run his nails down your back, "Poor thing, never been fucked, needs it so bad, doesn't she?" 

   You nod fervently and fuss as he presses his head against your tight hole. You tense and shiver, not at all prepared for what's to come. 

   "I need it, I need you, please please please." You have one thought now, no reservations, you need him. 

   "I'm gonna ruin this little cunt." He says, a warning tone in his voice. 

   The hand that was tracing your spine suddenly feels very cold and wet. 

   His damn quirk. 

   He takes his time, letting the thick tentacle slither around your waist. It wraps around you twice, teasing you with the pops of the suction cups, leaving pretty purple circles all over your abdomen. 

   He lifts you easily, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest. 

   "Ruin it, please, it's yours, I'm yours." You sniffle, looking down at your trapped position. 

   With a low, menacing growl, he sinks his teeth into your neck, and his cock into your heat. 

   Tamaki holds his breath, willing himself not to fill you up right this second. You're too damn tight, so warm and velvety. You're so perfect, and so completely his. 

   You sob into the air, hands reaching out to hold the headboard as you feel like you're being ripped apart. 

   "Oh don't scream, Angel, people might think something's wrong." His voice is shaking now, and the hold on your waist tightens. 

   You focus on relaxing, letting your walls lose their tension, but it's all fruitless. He's too big, he fills you too well, and all you can do is take it. 

   "Here, let me give that mouth something to do." 

   His other hand comes around to hold your throat, turning each finger into a tentacle again. It leaves you reeling and gasping as he presses further into you, wrapping what would be his middle finger around your throat. He wraps it around twice, like he did with your waist. The appendage comes up to rest its tip on your bottom lip. 

   The sensation makes you dizzy, especially when it finally snakes into your panting mouth. It doesn't really taste like anything, it just feels wet and slick, the texture of the suction cups is the strangest thing about it. He rocks his hips so gently, squeezing you tighter everywhere he's holding you. 

   You don't feel like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel like a moth caught in a spider's web. All tangled up, not willing to fight to escape, not even wanting to. 

   "You're so damn tight." He stutters out, pressing his hips flush against your own. 

   You cry out and gag against the tentacle stuffing your mouth, digging your nails into the headboard as he chuckles behind you. 

   "You're such a pretty little mess for me. Your cunt's already dripping." 

   You don't doubt it, it has to be with how badly your core aches around him as he stretches you. 

   Your thighs start to tremble as you wait for him to move, sniffling as the tears fall from your eyes and the drool spills from your lips. 

   A pretty little mess indeed. 

   Slowly, he drags his hips back with a hiss before pushing back in. He takes his time with it, building an agonizing pace that offers you no release. There's only the pressure, only your clit screaming for attention, only the maddening tease of his head against your sweet spot with every torturous push in. 

   "Fuck angel, I gotta break this pussy in, don't I?" His words pull another pitiful moan from you, nodding and whining is all you're capable of. 

   His picks up speed just enough to make you tense even more, still painful, still mind numbing. 

   "You look so fucking pretty on the end of my cock." 

   His words pour over you like hot wax, heating you up, making you drip. The heat seeps deep into your skin, making you squirm and clench. 

   He speeds his thrusting up slightly, then more, and more, and more, until you’re shrieking and choking against the tentacle stuffing your mouth. Your hands fly up to claw at it, wanting to tell him how it feels, wanting to thank him for the way he’s fucking you. 

   It’s still painful, each thrust splits you open with a sting, but it’s so damn good. The sharp stretching is absolutely spectacular, and it sends your brain into somewhere dark and smokey, it leaves you with a wide open feeling in your chest. It leaves you wanting more. 

   “What’s the matter, sweet thing?” He taunts, “Tell me about it, then, how’s Daddy make you feel?” He turns each tentacle back into a finger slowly, pulling out of your mouth, leaving you a gasping mess. 

   Through spit and tears, you praise him, words spewing out between moans as your body jolts from each punishing snap of his hips. 

   “So fucking good! You make me feel so good!” You cry, clinging to his forearm as he brings you closer to his chest. 

   The tentacle around your waist starts to slither down your stomach, “This isn’t even half of what I’m capable of doing to you,” The tip of it gives the hood of your clit a teasing flick, “-and you’re already such a slut for me.” His chuckle is dark and full as the tip of his skilled tentacle zeros in on your sweet spot, rubbing and wriggling against it until you’re screaming. 

   “Say it. Say you’re my little slut.” His words are a harsh demand against your ear, leaving no room for disobedience. 

   “I- f-fuck- I can’t! I ca-an’t!” You sob, not able to catch your breath between thrusts. 

   Tamaki eats that right up, swelling with pride as he fucks you speechless, delirious with the fact that he finally has your cunt gripping his cock. 

   Before he can bark another order at you, you finally pull the words out of your closing throat, "I'm your slut," You gasp as drool rolls down your chin, "I'm your little slut." 

   He throws his head back and throws everything he has into every thrust, his moans are obscene, high pitched and broken as he feels how hard you squeeze him when he speeds up the tip of his tentacle against your clit. 

   "Give it to me, I feel that greedy cunt tryin' to milk me, give me that fuckin cum." He huffs against your ear. Your entire body seizes up, shaking violently as ribbons of pleasure shoot through you. You pulse around Tamaki almost violently, earning some very rough sounding moans from him as he works you through it. 

   Your orgasm lasts for what feels like an eternity, you shiver with every throb of your walls. It possesses that same almost painful pleasure, and it's everything you've ever wanted. At some point, the tentacle around your waist turns to a hand, still absentmindedly rubbing you as you come down. 

   He lets your torso fall forward, leaving you bent over and exposed for him. His hands smooth over your ass, and you realize he's still so fucking hard. 

   "Can you take more, angel?"

   You nod against the tear soaked pillow you've pressed your face into, not sure that you even can, but willing to try. 

   "Good," He bends down to press kisses into your spine as he pulls out, "'Cause you're going to." 

   He pulls out, almost full of regret, wanting to live the rest of his life buried inside you.

   Now he can have some fun, mind cleared slightly by finally feeling you come undone around him. He's still hazy, still slightly frenzied, but less ravenous, less of a starved man waiting for his meal, more of a well fed man waiting for desert. 

   His hands hold your waist gently so he can guide you onto your back. You oblige, more than willing to let him have his way. 

   You finally get a good look at him, and you're astounded by just how pretty his dick looks. All pale and pink, swollen and shiny, it makes you dizzy with admiration. 

   "You're terribly beautiful." He whispers, cradling your waist so he can worship your stomach with soft kisses, "I don't believe you're even real." 

   Sweetness oozes through your tingling limbs, pouring over you like warm honey. His tender mouth brings you back down, soothes you into a state of catharsis. Your body settles, but your heart picks back up when his lips are on your hips. 

   Your eyes meet his, and you share the sentiment that he just might not be real. He pears up at you through a mess of indigo hair, eyes full of what you can only describe as devotion. 

   He explores your body with his hands, dipping his thumbs into every crook he can, palming handfuls of your plush thighs. He seems to have a soft spot for your hips though, pulling at your love handles, letting his breath speed up each time until he's panting against you. 

   With every pull of his hands, you bend for him, push into him, work with him. You both find a rhythm, falling into an easy dance of grabbing and needing. 

   "I want to keep you." He breathes, placing a hand on either side of your waist so he can lift himself over you, "I want to have you." 

   He gathers your legs while he speaks, hooking his hands under your knees so he can fold you up. 

   "You have me." You whisper, reaching out to lay your fingers on the sides of his ribs. 

   You watch his skin twitch under your touch, you watch his eyebrows sag into an almost heartbroken look. 

   He looks down between your bodies, quivering when he sees his heavy cock resting against your stomach. He feels so incredibly proud of you in that moment, for taking him so well, and asking for more. 

   She's mine. She said I have her. 

   The concept brings another wave of primal desire crashing down on his self control. 

   His fingers dig into your skin, biting at the flesh, spreading you open for him as he puts his weight on your legs. 

   You clench in anticipation, teased by the pressure of his hot length resting against you. 

   "I can take it." You say quietly, sliding your hands up his lean body so you can lace them into his inky hair. 

   He melts into your touch, stunned by your gorgeous submission. 

   "Fuck, angel." His words are shattered as they fall from his lips. 

   You reach down between your bodies and wrap your hand around his weeping tip. He trembles and hiccups as you push him down so he's lined up with where you need him. 

   "Please, I want all of it." m. 

   “Careful.” He pants, looking down at you with a warning in his eyes. 

   It doesn’t create hesitation in you though, only curiosity. 

   “We’re being careful now?” You tease, sliding him up and down your slit. 

   “You little devil.” He hisses, grabbing your wrist harshly, “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” 

   You freeze and blink up at him, once again shocked by his quick change in temperament. 

   “You wanna act like a tease now?” He questions, bringing your hand up so he can press it into the mattress with his. 

   “Did you find yourself a cute little attitude?” His voice drips with venom, it bites at your insides and melts your skin. 

   “That’s ok, angel.” He lets your hand go so he can press on the backs of your thighs again, successfully folding you completely in half, “I’ll fuck it out of you.” 

   Before you can breathe, blink, or respond, he’s splitting you open with a brutal pace. He laughs deep in his chest when you cry out, he mocks you when your hands fly to his abs in an attempt to slow his assault. A wicked smile spreads across his pretty face when tears stain your flushed cheeks once again. 

   “Cryin’ again so soon? Is it too much, baby? You need Daddy to slow down?” He’s testing you, only thrusting harder as he taunts you for your sobbing and moaning. 

   “No!” You gasp between tears, “Don’t stop, please, fuck me like that.” 

   “That’s my girl.” 

   His thrusts are ruthless, sharp, unforgiving. He rocks your body and the bed with each plunge in, headboard crashing against the wall. Each drive into you is enchanting, it teaches you something new, opens new doors, shows you a new, brilliant world of depravity. The way the pleasure shoots all the way up your spine with every drag of his cock, it’s something you want to feel until you die, you’d even be happy if this is the way you die. 

   You watch him disappear inside of you over and over, pulling out just as quick, covered in slick and sin. Tamaki is in his own feral world, watching your lovely face crumble and pout as he fills you. His hands are angry against the back of your thighs, nails digging in hard enough to bring little pearls of scarlet to the surface. 

   When you start to whine from the sting, he flashes you a lazy smile before stuffing his fingers into your mouth. He presses the blood covered fingertips into your tongue just enough to make drool spill from the sides of your mouth. 

   “Hush, you’ll learn to love it.”

   His smile turns wolfish when he watches your eyes roll back. It’s all so black-hearted, it’s everything you’ve kept yourself from, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

   You both throb and cry then, your bodies smack as they meet, obscene and wet as you chase your undoing. Tamaki knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he curses himself for it. He doesn’t want to stop, especially when you wince so sweetly when his thrusts are a little too deep. He wants to watch you suck his fingers forever, crying against his palm as he turns you into his perfect little slut. 

   “You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you, angel? You owe me that, I saved your life after all.” He slides his fingers from your mouth, dragging your spit down your chin before grabbing you by the throat, “Answer if you can, I know it must be hard to speak when you’re getting fucked this good.” 

   His words drown you in lust, your hands claw at his back, painting angry red lines down the pretty porcelain canvas, “Take it! Fuck- Take it, Suneater, take it all.” 

   It’s not a demand, it’s a plea, it’s a craving formed deep within your freshly corrupted heart. 

   Your begging pulls desperate, whiny sounds from him. With his eyes screwed shut he lets the hand on your thigh manifest the tentacles in place of his fingers. He throws all of his energy into that, trying to stall the twitching of his dick as your hot insides massage him with their relentless pulsing.   

   “Are you sure about that?” He tests, letting the tentacles snake around your thigh before slithering down to where your bodies meet. 

   Immediately, one starts flicking at your clit, making your back go rigid as he grins down at his good work. 

   You wail his name, nails biting at his skin even more but he pays no mind. He has a mission, he’s going to take all of it. 

   He focuses on making his tentacles grow, two long enough to reach up your body and tug at your nipples, and one other snaking down through the mess you’re making to prod at your asshole. Your eyes widen with shock as your body ignites, it’s too much, it’s all too much. Every sensation is heightened, every poke and flick and thrust sends shards of pleasure flying through you, piercing you from every direction. 

   You let yourself cry completely then, throwing your head against Tamaki’s collar bone before sobbing into his chest. You know you’re cumming, you can feel it somewhere amongst all the other stimulation, but it’s nearly drowned out, and Tamaki is still fucking you just as hard as he was when this all started. 

   “More, you have more for me, I fucking know it.” He huffs as he finally pushes into your ass with the tentacle. 

   The ones on your nipples latch on with their suction cups as he fills you more and more. 

   “Give it to me, angel, give it all to your hero.” 

   That’s the final push, the last thing you need to send you into the most frenzied orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your vision goes white as your body convulses, ripped apart by the flames of euphoria that turn everything you’ve ever known to ash. Somewhere in the distance you hear Tamaki praising you, telling you how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, how good you are for him. 

   It’s lost in the fray, though, all blurring together as you shake violently around him. The only thing that brings you back slightly, is the break in his voice when he sobs, “I’m gonna stuff that little cunt with my cum, I’m gonna make you mine.”

   Your hand is at the back of his neck instantly, pulling him down for a messy, aimless kiss. His moans spill into your mouth as his hips falter, turning to slow, stuttering thrusts as he starts to pump his release deep into you. 

   “I’m yours - I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.” You chant it against his lips as his tears fall to your cheeks, mixing with your own as you both shatter for each other.

   Coming back down isn't easy at all. It's slow and needy, your hands still pulling at whatever skin they can grab, hips rolling against each other, trying with everything you both have to prolong that rapturous feeling. 

   Frantically, painfully, he pulls himself out of you. He slides his hot mouth down your body, nipping and sucking as he descends to your messy cunt. He spreads your legs wide so he can bury his face between them. He teases your clit briefly, but moves quickly to press his open mouth against your hole.

   Your skin boils as you watch the nasty show. His eyes cross sinfully and flutter shut as he tongue at your well used pussy. When he pulls back, his chin is covered in some wretched mixture of your combined releases. He moves back up your body like an animal stalking its prey.

   He grabs your jaw and you open so willingly. His mouth is on yours instantly, pushing the warm liquid onto your tongue with his own. It’s a spunky, intense flavor, almost overwhelming as he spreads it around your mouth. It creates a dark, blurry feeling in your chest, though. It makes you feel alive, it makes you want more.

   He pulls back slowly, a thick string of saliva and sin connecting your lips as he pants down at you. 

   “You’re such a good little girl.” 

   His lips are everywhere, pressing against your cheekbones, your nose, your forehead. His hands return to normal so he can cradle your face. You both lay there, still joined, catching your breath. 

   "Angel?" 

   The tenderness in his voice pulls you back down to earth, and when you open your eyes, you find yourself lost in his. It’s a harsh but marvelous contrast with the sharp edges of his previous behavior.

   "Does anything h-hurt?" He asks timidly. 

   The stutter is back, the anxious look in his eyes, the restlessness in his hands. 

   You reach out to hold his face like he's holding yours, "Tamaki, no, nothing hurts. You made me feel so good." 

   You don't ever want to be a source of hesitation for him again. You want to make it better. He's brilliant, he's brave, he saved your damn life. He doesn't need to be so scared around you. 

   "You're my hero, Suneater." You pull him down for a soft, intimate kiss. 

   He breathes out against you, more of his tears wet your cheeks but you don't mind. 

   He's allowed to feel this, he earned this. 

   When the kiss breaks he searches your face, waiting for you to laugh at him, to push him off, to change your mind. 

   You don't, though. 

   You stay there with him, loving him and full of him. 

   "And you're mine." 

   You both settle there, kissing skin that hasn't been kissed before, finding ways to make each other fall even more. 

   Tamaki tells himself he did the right thing. You don't ever have to know why Dabi chose your house to break into. You don't ever need to be told that he spent endless nights watching you from the window, because he has you know. 

   It would be wrong of him to tell you, you wouldn't understand it. It would break your heart and ruin everything. Then, it would get messy. You might try to run away, and that would mean he'd have to keep you in different ways. 

   He shakes the thoughts from his head. He can keep you like this, laid out and blushing for him, so soft and beautiful. 

   You belong to him now, and that's all that there is. 

   "Can I take care of you?” He asks softly, playing with the necklace he gave you as he gives you a shy glance. 

   “You just did.” You let yourself laugh a little as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

   “No, not like that.” He smiles softly, dipping down to kiss your neck so softly you almost can’t feel it, “Like this.” 

   He presses his lips against a mark you didn’t know he made, lingering for a moment as his eyes flutter shut. 

   “These say that you’re mine.” His thumb traces over one of the circular bruises on your ribs, “They say you have someone protecting you.”

   The prospect makes your heart soar. He’s right, belonging to him means you’ll always be safe, you’ll always have somebody willing to fight for you, maybe even somebody willing to stay with you. 

   “This says that you belong to me.” He loops a finger around the delicate pearl on your necklace, pulling gently, not enough to make you go anywhere, but enough to make you feel the metal tug against the back of your neck. 

   ‘You do belong to me, don’t you.” He asks, a wild, fearful look in his eyes. 

   You do, you just told him so, you just cried to him and vowed that you were his just moments ago. 

   “I do, I belong to you, I swear.” You reassure him, pulling a deep sigh from his chest. 

   You don’t understand the way he aches for you, the way he’s addicted to you. He was already hooked, from just glances and flighty touches. Now, having felt your soft skin, the tuck of your waist, having seen you cry and heard you call his name, he’s willing to admit his obsession. 

   He does take care of you, he does it beautifully. He carries you to the bathroom where he sets you on the edge of the tub. He fills it with warm, soapy water before picking you up bridal style so he can settle into the water with you in his lap. 

   Neither of you bother to turn a light on, content with the glow of the moon shining through the skylight. Tamaki paints your shoulders with soft kisses as he rubs soothing circles into your back. He takes his sweet time, wiping away the sweat and the tears, mindful of the tender spots on the back of your thighs. 

   “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He sighs, “An angel, nothing less.” 

   You melt into him, lost in his praise, blinded by his devotion as well as your own. 

   Tamaki is just as lost, if not more, only becoming more possessive with every gentle touch, with every whispered adoration. 

   This is how it’s meant to be, and you don’t ever need to know how it all fell into place. He did the right thing, after all. This isn’t a problem, he’s in love. He’s in love and now he has you. 

   He intends on keeping it that way.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Tom Felton - Baby on the Brain

A/N - First request! I hope this is what you wanted, I really like this idea. I don’t know Tom, nor do I claim to, and the other characters are fictional figments. To celebrate 100 followers, I'm uploading this early. Thank you!

Warnings - overloads of fluff, mentions of baby sick, mild language, slight angst, hints to a breeding kink whoops, lightly implied smut.

Summary - Visiting Tom’s brother and his new baby should be a walk in the park, really, but some unwitting truths come to ahead that you can’t refute. You’ve always wanted a family, but does Tom? (Request for Tom Felton: you guys meet his brother's new baby and then decide to have your own.)

Tom’s bruised knuckles rap thrice against the oak wood of his brother's front door, squeezing your smaller, trembling hand in his, running his fingers over the band of the ring in pride of place. Taking a deep breath in sync with yours, he turns his twinkling blue eyes towards you, lending you a twitch of a reassuring smile.

“Why are you so nervous? It’s only my brother,” he says, his voice gruff following the cigarette he smoked in the car.

“It’s the baby I wanna see,” you breathe, “less nervous, more jittery.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone for tea this morning instead of a double shot coffee.”

You nudge his ribs with your elbow, and then his overly sensitive hip bone with yours, coaxing a gentle chuckle from his lips, “Maybe I wouldn’t have needed it if you hadn’t kept me up so late.”

The devilish, shit-eating grin creeping onto his lips tells you that he feels no remorse, but then again, you’d take tiredness and a night like that over anything. His fingers twine tighter around yours as footsteps begin to shuffle behind the door, followed by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech, absolutely unholy.

“See he’s having fun with the kid, then?” you begin to whisper, but your words trail off as Tom’s very exhausted looking brother appears in the doorway, feeding bottle in hand, burping rag over his shoulder, deep purple bags beneath his eyes.

“Alright mate?” Tom greets, stepping one loafer-clad foot over the threshold, offering his brother a man hug.

“Tired, yeah. How you doing, man?” he responds warmly, patting Tom’s back.

“I’m good, I’m good, Jon.” Tom says, though you can feel him almost imperceptibly tense beside you.

Turning ever so slightly, all eyes are cast on you. Naturally, you offer Tom’s brother your warmest smile, teeth and all, sympathy welling both in your eyes and your heart. Kids must be tough if he looks like this with a three-week old.

“And who’s this?” Jonathan asks, sweetly, inquisitive more than anything, though he does look at you a bit peculiarly, scrutinising you, perhaps your outfit, the mom jeans you paired with a cropped cardigan perhaps not his style.

“This is my fiancée, Y/N.” Tom says, his words holding an inflection or pride perhaps, but whatever it is, it sends a pang of excitement shooting down your spine, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips, one you have to bite back, “I’m sorry I haven’t bought her over before, but you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, course. Nice to meet you.”

“And you! Where’s the baby?”

Tom chuckles softly, and he curls his arm around your body, hip to hip. “She loves kids.”

Jonathan stands aside, a welcoming hand to beckon you into his home, the laminate floors covered in baby commodities, pastel blankets strewn everywhere, but other than, surprisingly clean considering Tom mentioned his brother was a hoarder and was always the most untidy of the bunch all throughout their youth. Considering how bad Tom is and how often you’re stuck cleaning away his dirty dishes and putting his laundry on, you were expecting far worse, but maybe Tom was the worst of them all along.

He tickles between your ribs as you wander through the halls, greeted in the back room by a tiny blonde headed baby, cradled in two arms of a just as exhausted looking lady donning a kind smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she stares down at her temporarily placated child. Tufts of blonde hair pair with enamoured hazel eyes to compliment the soft yellow of their clothes and the rosiness of their chubby cheeks. The hair, the nose, the tiny dimples; this baby looks just like Tom - and all his brothers - did when they were little dots themselves. The same little treasures. You, however, were an unattractive baby compared to this ball of sunshine.

“This is Ainsley.” Tom’s sister in law says lazily, her words falling off as she gapes in adoration at the gurgling blob of joy in her embrace. “And I’m Zara.”

“I’m Y/N.” you smile widely.

Should he not know better, Tom would quite possibly think you’re going to either collapse of hyperventilate, judging by the flush of your cheeks, your elevated pulse, heart beating out of your chest, the tiny, delightful, desperate whimpering noises from the back of your throat, elicited from a single glance into the babies eyes.

Said baby begins to make some indistinguishable noises and flails its arms around faintly, feebly, in your general direction. You’d be lying if your heart didn’t do a somersault in your chest.

“M- may I hold Ainsley?” you stammer out, extending your covered arms in a similar cradle to that of Ainsley’s mother.

“God, you’d be doing me a right favour,” she retorts, her accent broad, Geordie.

She shuffles softly down the pale green sofa, so perfectly complimenting the oak floors, to make a room for you that you take gratefully, and position yourself astutely against the back of the sofa. Before retrieving the baby, though, Tom grasps for a muslin cloth and affectionately drapes it over you, affectionate in the manner that he does it with such care, grazing his thumbs over your collarbones as he goes, ever so gently, barely even a touch, but enough to let you know he’s there. He holds your gaze for a moment, his lips twitching into a smile. This alone sends butterflies to your stomach and sets a sheen of fog about your head, taking you even more by surprise when the baby is laid in your arms, writhing and smiling and blinking so sweetly.

“Hiya darling,” you coo, “aren’t you just the most precious thing.”

“Gender neutral name and clothing...” Tom interjects, sidling up on the arm of the sofa beside you, “may I ask their sex and the pronouns you’re using?”

“Male, but we’re trying to be as gender neutral as possible so they can grow up not feeling pressured.”

You can’t wipe the beam from your face, or prevent the small ‘awwh!’ from escaping under your breath, curling the cloth slightly around the child, “That’s a wonderful attitude. Tommy, would you fetch my bag from the car, please?”

In a second, he’s bouncing up, his hand thrust deep in his chinos to fish for the car key. “You asked me to grab it before we got out as well, sorry sweetheart. Back in a minute.” With a nod to his brother, he’s racing out the door, his footsteps thundering through the house. Your attention, however, remains glued to the baby.

“Would you like me to set them down for tummy time afterwards, or is he going back to sleep?” You ponder aloud, eyes glued to the wry tufts of hair so soft and silky between your fingers.

“If he falls asleep in your arms, that’s fab. We’re just livin’ minute by minute.”

You release a small laugh, “Fair enough.”

Jon sits beside you tentatively, between yourself and his wife, his arm wrapping around her as she leans her body weight against him, her hair--held in a bun before, now just kind of flopping into her eyeline--tickling her shoulder and causing him to wince a little.

“How do you know so much about babies?”

The sigh you don’t mean to release is wistful at best, plain pining at worst--and probably most obvious. “I’ve always wanted them, kids, but Tommy’s the first guy I’ve settled down with, but despite being engaged, we’re still taking things slowly.”-- You shrug, as best as you can with the baby in hold, and cock your head to the side to peer down better at every tiny freckle on Ainsley’s skin.--“I love him to bits, but he wants to wait, and I’m still young, a good chunk younger than he is.”

“If it helps,” he starts, “I’ve never seen Tom as in love with someone as he is you. He’s besotted. You say the word, he’ll do it.”

“I know. I just don’t want to make him do anything unless he’s 100% sure.”

“And that’s what makes you his perfect girl.”

Your heart swells. There’s a beat, a pause of silence, filled only with the zapping of the car outside, no more than a couple of seconds before Jon’s wife speaks again.

“Enough of that. Show us the ring!”

If they’re all this excitable at something as simple as your engagement ring, perhaps you’ll fit in with his family better than you anticipated. ** Certainly, if their amiable gasps are anything to go by as you display your hand to them, your ring finger held out, supporting Ainsley’s head in the crook of your elbow as they gawk at the diamond glistening in the sunlight streaming in from their floor-to-ceiling patio doors. You have to admit it’s a pretty damn beautiful ring, the one you always dreamed of. An oval cut 0.5ct diamond held in place by a delicate split-shank 18ct gold band. It glows ethereally in whatever light there is, but most spectacularly in Tom’s eyes.

“It’s the most gorgeous ring,” she gushes, “apart from mine.”

A smile creeps its way in. You’re not entirely sure what the hell you’ve done right in your life to deserve this incredible, expensive ring, or even Tom for that reason. This is the life you’ve always dreamed of, the one that Tom’s brother has, and if you’re even half as happy as they are after being married for 5 years then you’ll consider your life to be a great success. You always wanted the quiet family life in the suburbs, with a lovely house and a nice garden and a couple of kids, working a part time job that pays well and allows you time for your children and your husband… then you fell in love with him. Loving Tom, though, that’s the true gift in your life, and you’d take him over that life any day. He’s the best, truly.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, since Tom comes puffing into the room, his heavy footsteps coming to a halt in the doorway as he hands over your abnormally large handbag.

“Here,” he gasps, but turns his gaze upon your hand, witnessing their marvelling at the rock he put there, “it is a pretty boss ring, isn’t it? Worth every penny.”

He bends down to ghost a kiss over your lips, his slightly long dark-blonde hair tickling your cheeks, smiling warmly down at you before deciding to sidle up next to you in the small gap between you and the arm of the sofa. However, half way down, his hip bones are digging in, and he winces up like he’s just been shocked. You know how sensitive his hip bones are, a fat you use against him incredibly often for all the best reasons, but today, he’s been so good, and you shan’t make him sit uncomfortably.

Keeping your hold on Ainsley--who’s almost asleep already, quieter than he was before with only faint gurgles escaping, their eyes droopy--steady, you begin to stand, and shuffle yourself up a bit, allowing Tom to take your previous seat, before placing yourself back down with as little ‘umph’ as you can manage, hooking your thigh over tom’s in the process. He knows what to do, it’s always been your calling card at home or at a party: as soon as you sling your leg over his, he pulls you into his lap eerie time, and today is no different. Well, perhaps it is, as he furrows his dark eyebrows inquisitively, gazing adoringly at you and the child in your arms, waiting for your nod okay before he hitches his arms around your waist and tugs you, as gently as he possibly can with his delicate grip, into his lap, giving you both ample space.

“Babe,” you whisper, “can you fetch the gift out of my bag?”

He’s instantly ferreting around until he finds the presents you neatly wrapped in polka dot paper, and hands them to Jonathan. Eagerly, they're unwrapped, and it seems that your many arguments over what to get Tom’s niece or nephew were worth it, considering the fact their eyes begin to brim with tears.

A soft grey elephant plush, holding a yellow heart, embellished with ‘Ainsley Felton, love Uncle Tom’, and a Peter Rabbit china crockery set for when they’re older.

“Thank you,” Zara exclaims, the way only a mother can, in gracious relief, “they’re adorable, so perfect.”

And before you know it, both you and Tom are being embraced wholeheartedly, as though you’re already their family. It’s been a life since anyone besides Tom hugged you, but this, this is nice.

“Well, lunch?”

Said lunch is a tumultuous affair, with a delivery pizza being ordered from the local dominoes, but with Ainsley so comfortable and calm in your arms, it was an elected decision not to move him, and instead, Tom fed you your pizza. It isn’t the first time, his love language seems to be feeding you things, but normally it's strawberries or chocolate truffles. Never before have you covered an entire medium pizza being fed to you while trying to avoid dropping any toppings or tomato sauce onto a peaceful baby, but that is just an indicator for the rest of the afternoon, Tom’s hands or eyes never once leaving you.

Completely accidentally, Jonathan and his wife drift off to sleep. You smile sadly at the sight, unable to blame them, they must be knackered, the problem simply lies in the fact that Ainsley begins to stir just as they drift off.

“See if there’s any milk in the fridge, please, I think they’re using formula.” you hiss to Tom, standing up cautiously.

Aghast, he grapples for words, “I-I’m sorry, what?!”

“Forget it,” you sigh, “take the baby and change him, please.”

“Change him?!” Again, that same tone of staggered surprise. “I don’t know how!”

“You have four nieces and nephews already, yes you do. He’s going to start screaming in a minute and wake your very tired, very groggy brother. Change the baby.”

When your eyes begin to thin, nostrils flaring, eyebrows raising, he knows not to mess with you, so he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing up and down, and scoops a crying Ainsley from your arms. As he treads upstairs, you find your way back into the kitchen, and find on the counter the bottles done with their sterilisation. This is okay, this is great, you know how to do this, and years of babysitting taught you exactly how to do this. It’s almost like that scene from Outnumbered, assembling the bottle with your eyes closed, muscle memory taking over from your brain. When your eyes flutter open, you almost let out a little squeal at your achievement. If only you could learn this all over again, have this life with a little child of your own, with Tom being as good a dad as he’s acting right now. When you handed him the baby, though, you couldn’t help but notice the fear that flashed over his face, paling him a shade, his pupils dilating to erase the blue. You wish he wasn’t so scared…

A few minutes later, with the kettle boiled and the formula made, you appear in the front room where Tom is swaddling Ainsley, holding the bean against his beating heart, making only the very slightest movements to entertain them.

“Give him a bit of tummy time while the milk cools, do you want to feed him?” you offer, stepping over the threshold .

“N-no,” he exhales slowly, “I think you’d best do that. Can I just put them down?”

“I’ll grab the mat from the corner”--you spied it as you walked in, a colourful crinkle mat rolled up and tucked away from view against the cream walls, behind the flat-screen on its grand stand--“and then yeah.”

Even as he puts Ainsley down, stomach first, onto the playmat, he looks petrified. Taking a seat on the floor to watch over them, you tug on Tom’s tan trouser leg. Indecisiveness gnaws at him, tugging him away from you, but he concedes to your widened puppy eyes, and tumbles onto the shag pile rug next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like its second nature.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, course. You?”

“Yeah.”

You let your head fall to his arm, a blissful smile creeping its way onto your lips when Ainsley looks you dead in the eye, hazel orbs twinkling, full of hope.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he hums, “I love you too.”

“Then why are you being so… prickly with me today?”

He shifts away from you the most miniscule amount, “I’m not.”

“We’ve been together for years, Tom. I know when you’re bloody lying.” you lower your voice for the final words, “now tell me why you’re being such a pouty puss.”

You mimic his frown, knowing full well that he hates it when you do so. He hates seeing you sad, even if it's just pretend, so makes a swooping move to kiss the frown away.

“Would you leave me if I said I didn’t want kids?” his voice breaks on the final word, little more than a whisper, but his next move is so animated that it almost startles you with the bottle in hand. “I mean, you know I want them. I love kids, I want us to have a family, but…”

“Nothing would ever make me leave you, Tom. You couldn’t do anything that’d cause me to fall out of love with you.”

The pain in your statement sends a shock through you, singing your heart, poisoning your mind, sending a sour bile running up your throat. No matter how many daggers shoot at your heart, it remains to be true. You’d do anything for him. If, tomorrow, he turned around and said he wanted the two of you to stay together but never marry and never have children, you wouldn’t back down without a fight, but you’d accept it. Despite all your lifelong hopes, nothing trumps Tom.

“I’m gonna feed Ainsley now.”

Picking the baby up from the rug, you put a bib around his neck, and throw another cloth around you, taking a seat in the corner chair to feed him.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” he says, and walks out, shoulders slumped.

You watch him wistfully as he leaves the room, and even when he returns--refusing to look at you--your gaze is still trained on his every move, slumping into the shag pile rug to watch the TV on a low volume. You can feel his eyes on you, that burning pair of eyes that follow you everywhere, your every movement, his ears honed, trained to your every shift and whisper. The second you turn upon him though, he’s looking away.

“I’ll put Ainsley down now,” you announce after burping him, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it home before dark.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye as you sashay past him, Ainsley’s cries muffled by a dummy, but the second he hears your footsteps heading back downstairs, his own begin to thunder, pounding against the stairs to meet you halfway.

“Wait,” he whispers, “come on, sit down, talk to me. I love you.”

A sigh heaves your chest, “I love you too. Talk about what?”

“You’re being arsey with me.”

“Because you said you don’t want kids!”

“Well I didn’t mean it, I’m just”--he pinches the bridge of his nose, and ushers you up on the stairs, your calves hitting the carpet--“there’s a lot to think about. We just met the kid, and I saw how your face lit up when you held him.”

“You know I want kids, Tom.”

“I know, but can we not talk about kids for a second? I want to talk about you. You’re my fiancée, I want to make you my wife. I’m just scared.”

“What of? You have nothing to be scared of. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“That’s why I’m scared!” he exasperates, flailing his arms about, “I don’t want you to senselessly follow me and love me if I can’t give you what you want. I’m scared of fucking this up, fucking you up. I’m scared of this going wrong, with children or marriage or saying something wrong, because I can’t lose you.”

“Tom,” you murmur.

Your hand flies up to cup his jaw, grazing your thumb over the stubble growing there, the faintest shadow.

“I love you. I- I need you. Y/N, sweetheart, please. I just wanna stay how we are, just stay this way for a bit, slow down because the world is moving too fast, and I’m gonna fall, but I can’t drag you down with me.” he croaks, cradling your neck with trembling, callused hands. “Can we stay how we are? Just us? Just you and me?”

“Babe you aren’t gonna lose me. Everything else off the table, we’ve got this, we’ve got us. We can stop the world and get off if that's what you want. Nothing is immediate, everything can wait.” you promise, your eyes boring into his.

All at once, his lips come crashing down onto yours, swallowing any inhibitions with his lavishing tongue, his hot breath slanting and fanning over your lips, leaving innocent adoration in their wake. Until a piercing scream resounds.

“Except maybe that.”

You duck from his grip skilfully, and slip into Ainsley’s room, two fingers reaching out to tickle their stomach, causing the scream to hiccup in their throat momentarily. Then, as if wondering what to do next, he just stares up at you imploringly, questioningly.

“Come on Ainsley, I just set you down to sleep. Be good and let mummy and daddy sleep too, okay?” you coo, tucking his blanket back up to his neck, slipping his cuddly toy closer, “go back to sleep.”

This child is already one with an attitude, you can tell that by the vehemence with which he yells out. You don’t even have to think twice before you’re stooping into the cot, swathing him in blankets, and lifting him to your bosom, where his screams fall to mere gurgles.

“Do you think he’s sleeping in the bed with them?” you ask Tom, keeping your voice at a steady whisper even with the slight bounces you’re offering the baby, “because I think that causes parental problems above all else because they’re being kicked in the back all night. Still, decreases the risk of SIDS. Why do they have a cot up if they are? He can’t sleep without contact…”

You don’t even realise you’re thinking aloud until Tom presses his thumbs into your shoulders, buckling your whole body. It’s the instant tension reliever, truly, and your shoulders do seem tighter today, perhaps from all the baby wrangling.

“Lets just sit, shall we?”

You do, taking up refuge in the front room once again, with an extra blanket of his, as well as a supply of cuddly toys, rattles, and dummies. Tom watches you with fascination for the rest of the afternoon, everything you do drawing his full attention; enticing, entrapping. His heart swells at the sight of you bouncing Ainsley around to make him laugh, cooing and giggling with him to coax a smile back after a wail that you hushed down, holding him so closely as he sleeps. He’s finally seeing it, after all these years, you, in your true home habitat, caring for a child, so kindly, so motherly, so naturally. Everything you do instantly seems to set the infant at ease. He knows it should be him, Ainsley is his nephew, but… you’re just better.

In fact, before he even realises it, he’s craving what he doesn’t have. Not that he can’t have it -- you’ve been together for a long time, you’ve discussed a future with children more times than he can count, and of course he wants it. Tom, he’s always wanted to be a dad, to read his kids books and sing them lullabies and show them what daddy did for work… but it's always been a pipe dream. Your wishes of a family have never come to fruition, and all because of his selfish fears.

The world can’t stop turning just because he’s getting cold feet and wants to climb off for a minute to catch his breath. That’s not how life works. If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the balls, because the opportunity will be gone before you know it. And with Tom? He won’t lose you because he won’t take a chance to make you happy and give you what you want. If anything, seeing the crestfallen look that settles between your brows when you actually have to give Ainsley back to their parents just further instils and confirms the idea in his head. There’s his future, in his mind's eye, as clear as day. This is what he needs to do, but better still, this is what he wants.

The drive back to your home is spent in relative silence, and a pensive one at that. You know like instinct that Tom is replaying your final conversation with Jonathan and his wife the same way you are. After all, the simple words did put a dampener on your reconciliation. Your hand is on the gearstick the whole way, though, your fingers entwined with his, the simple contact enough for you. You were right at lunch: all day it's been his hands or his eyes on you: you like it when it's both simultaneously, the way it was when you said your goodbyes.

Tom’s hands settled on your hips, his chin atop your head, and you just fell into his enveloping warmth, smiling lazily at the couple you rescued for the afternoon.

“Thanks so much, we owe you one.” Jonathan said, giving Tom another one of those manly hugs as you stand in the dusk-darkened wooden porch.

“Really,” Zara chimed in, her feet shuffling on the tiled floor as she held her husband's hand, “you’re welcome to have him any time. That is, of course, if you don’t have a little one of your own by the time you’ve recovered from that blighter.”

You forced a dry chuckle at her words, an awkward sound, but you seemed to recover well enough, “Well Ainsley’s been a pleasure, and I’m glad we could give you some respite. Take care.”

“And you. Drive safe.”

“We will,” Tom said, offering them a smile, flashing his keys, keeping his grip on you resolute, “thanks for having us.”

Their words still loom over you like a dark cloud. It was a throwaway comment, one they’d have thought nothing of, and most people, and even you on a good day, but you’d had that… spat earlier on that changed everything. Dredging it up would just put an even further dampener on your mood, though, and with a drive home in the semi-darkness already hanging over you like a massive impending storm cloud of fear, that’s definitely not ideal.

“Nice baby, Ainsley,” Tom mentions, turning his indicator on to pull off the dual carriageway.

“Yeah, and he’s cute.”

“Nice eyes.”

And a couple more comments like those are the only conversation you share as the journey goes by, but soon enough, you’re on the home stretch, and your street rolls into view. With your head comfortably rolled back against the headrest, your eyes shut from a tiring day of exertion and childminding , you don’t notice Tom stepping out the car and unravelling his grip from you. Only does it become apparent when he opens your door and unclips your seat belt, kissing your lips tenderly, the chapped skin arising you from whatever zoned out, thoughtful state you were in before.

“Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” he murmurs, taking your hands in his as he helps you out the car, His chivalry never fails to astound you--he even carries your bag.

“Thanks darlin’.”

You follow him inside, kicking off your shoes routinely, shrugging off your coat to hang on the peg with your name etched above it. What happens next, though, is what shocks you the most: this isn’t part of your normal ‘returning home’ routine, not if you’ve had a day as tiring as this one. You’re neither complaining nor disappointed, though. How can you be when Tom’s lips latch onto your pulse point and he has you writhing in seconds, only his arm around the small of your back there to support you.

In one fell swoop, he has you spun around and pinned to the wall, his figure with lust-blown eyes hovering above you, every line in his face so loving, even the subtle part of his lips. They only do that when he’s so desperate to kiss you he can barely breathe, when he’s so eager to confess his love again and again that all other words are inconsequential. This is your Tom.

“Let’s try for a baby.” he says, completely resolutely, no trace of hesitation anywhere in his perfectly, delectably gruff tone. “I want one, I want us, and I don’t wanna wait to build a family with you.”

You can feel tears begin to form in the corners of your shock-widened eyes. This… this is- What changed his mind? Just hours ago, he was hell bent against the idea, but now? His cheeks are glowing at the mere prospect. Courtesy and patience be damned, that is if you can get the words out with how choked up you are…

“Really? Y-you mean it?”

His faint smile widens into a full blown grin, one that confirms everything for you. This is it, this is the Tom you agreed to marry, the happy Tom, the smiley Tom, the one who can barely contain his excitement even as he nods, a stray lock of dark blonde hair falling into his eyes as he does so.

Reasonably, you can’t be expected to hold back, and when his hair gets long enough that it falls into his eyeline? That’s your main weakness, so who can blame you when you catapult yourself up onto him, your legs joining around his wait, your arms settling around his neck. He holds you right back, catches you like he was already waiting, and pins you against the wall again. Perhaps the serotonin is too much as you both grin into a searing kiss, the every press of his lips against yours holding more passion than you can fathom a cohesive thought about. He’s… incredible.

And besides, with this enthusiasm, his kiss alone leaving you gasping and clutching onto his hair for some kind of grounding, perhaps it’ll be the first time lucky…