So, after playing Dream Daddy and do all routes and get all achievements except for the minigolf one [f*** you, yes, you, stupid minigolf minigame], and those two no one seems to be able to get, I drew my two fave characters ever.
He hadn’t slept so peacefully in months – he hadn’t slept more than five hours alone in months. He’d been travelling to new countries and time zones nearly every week, promotions and touring occupying his time every free moment he had. He didn’t have time each night – like he had wanted and requested – to FaceTime his family, talking to his daughter before she fell asleep and talking about his wife’s day, ignoring all other commitments to be in touch with one commitment he promised to always be on time for. He didn’t like not having his girls on tour – every moment he was home, he would be with his wife and daughter, and going between having all his time available to a tea party with his baby, or a bath with his wife, to not seeing or having any time at all – broke his heart.
He couldn’t wait to come home.
He nearly jumped out of his plane’s window as soon as he saw his wife and daughter standing beside an airport security guard, his hands directing his plane to where he would be stopped, eventually allowing him to exit and find his family. He didn’t need to search – he’d spotted Ophelia’s favourite teddy bear he had bought her (a bear he’d gifted before his very first tour, which she wouldn’t be attending, right away) waving towards him, her smile bright and her feet bouncing off the tarmac as she tugs at your shirt, pointing and waving excitedly, nearly bounding out of your hold as she noticed the plane’s staircase descend to the ground.
“Daddy!” she exclaimed, leaping into his embrace, his grin popping a dimple in his cheek as he wraps his arms around her, kissing her cheeks sweetly as she wraps her legs around his waist, her hands around his shoulders, clinging onto his torso, a shy wave and smile towards Paddy making him chuckle quietly. “Daddy, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too, Sunshine,” he smiles, his cheeks blushing pink as you step towards him, pushing your lips against his softly, a hum of contentment pausing your kiss, his mouth pressing a kiss on your forehead as he embraces you, whispering quietly, “Missed you so much.”
“I missed you, too, Superstar. How was everything? How was Sydney?” you spill, your words mending together as all of your thoughts pour into your sentence, his laughter spurring butterflies in your belly, your eyes rolling teasingly as he bumps his hip against yours.
“Slow down, slow down. ‘m right here,” he chuckles, breaking apart to thank his pilot and security guards, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as Ophelia shimmies out of his hold, settling on the ground, before grabbing his suitcase, grinning as she grabs his hand, her hand gripping his handle as she drags his bag behind her. “Takin’ ‘me suitcase fo’ me?”
“Mhm,” she hums confidently, her tiny legs bouncing as she follows closely beside him, his hand attached to yours as your fingers lace together. He didn’t notice until she’d whispered, “Daddy, people are waiting outside fo’ you, again.”
“’s alright, baby. C’mon, can you give Mummy ‘me bag? ‘m goin’ to pick you up and you can hide in ‘me jumper, okay?” he breathes, carefully placing his suitcase in your hand momentarily, lifting her onto his hip and tucking her face into his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his hand gripping yours as you tugged his suitcase behind you, sunglasses perched on your nose and your chin touching your chest as Basil leads you outside, a swarm of paparazzi and screaming girls crowding your exit, his heart tightening as he felt his daughter’s grip on him squeeze in fear, his lips touching her temple as he holds her close, assuring his hold on her. “Hi. Let ‘me family t’rough, please. I jus’ wan’a get home.”
“Happy to be home, then?”
“Very,” he mutters, gently nudging you before him, his arms clutching his daughter as she hums her favourite song, distracting her, her fingertips clutched around his sweater for protection. “’s okay, baby – we’re almost to Mummy’s car.”
“Daddy, I don’t like when t’ose people come around,” she mumbles, her cheek leaning against his shoulder, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he safely places her in her car seat. He slow walks around, shoving his suitcase in their boot, smiling lightly as he notices you buckled and waiting in your passenger seat. “Why can’t we jus’ be alone – jus’ you, me, and Mummy?”
“Baby,” he sighs, his heart breaking as her bottom lips wobbles, her hands clutching her teddy bear as her feet gently rock against her seat, “do you know how I have to travel and sing?”
“When I go to different countries and cities, magazines have people t’at follow and take pictures of me, because t’ey want to make stories -,” he starts, buckling his belt, carefully turning on his engine and beginning to drive.
“Stories t’at Mummy and I don’t read, right? Because t’ey tell lies about us?”
“Right, baby. So, t’ey want to make stories, and, in order to write t’eir stories t’ey have to try and find different t’ings about us to write about – which is why t’ey follow us and ask questions,” he mumbles sadly, his hand carefully reaching behind and squeezing her hand, his fingers lacing through yours as he turns around, his eyes focused on the road and his all-too-familiar route home. “But, when we go home, only you, me, and Mummy are t’ere. ‘s jus’ our home. No one else. Just us.”
“Miss you when you’re gone, Daddy,” she mumbles, her fingertips toying with her teddy bear’s arms, bouncing him lightly, clapping excitedly as she noticed her home popping into view.
“Miss you more, Sunshine. Can’t wait until you’re out of school and can travel alongst wit’ me,” he grins, parking your car carefully, sliding out of his driver’s seat and opening Ophelia’s door, laughing as she bounces into his arms, hugging him as he grabs his suitcase out of their car. “Can I walk in, silly goose?”
“No, Daddy. Wan’a stay wit’ you.”
“Okay, okay,” he smiles, gently setting her on her feet, holding her hand in his tightly, locking their car as he leads their path into their home, candles lit and scented around their foyer, a smile perched on your lips as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly as Ophelia drags his suitcase into your lounge. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” you grin, kissing his lips softly, your eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, his lips touching your neck as he squeezes your waist, his grip lifting you slightly, your giggle swelling his heart with love, a sigh breathing through his mouth as he sets you on your feet. “’m happy you’ll be spending your birthday with us, baby. We can’t be singing ‘Happy Birthday’ through FaceTime – just isn’t right.”
“’m twenty-eight tomorrow. Holy shi-.”
“Daddy! Don’t say t’at word – ‘s a naughty word,” Ophelia gasps, her gentle voice drawing his attention, a chuckle slipping through his lips as he leans down, a grin on his lips as he opens his arms, her tiny figure bumbling into his embrace, giggling as his fingertips tickle her sides. “Daddy, stop ticklin’ me!”
“Say ‘Daddy, I love you more t’an Mummy’ and I’ll let you go,” he smirks, lifting her upside down, his hands gripping her waist as she hangs over his shoulder, her hands lightly tapping his back in protest.
“Daddy, I love you more t’an Mummy,” she breathes, her giggle beginning to hurt her chest, her cheeks bright pink with her smile. “Le’ me go!”
“Okay,” he grins, setting her on her feet, his palms gripping her cheeks and pressing a kiss to her cheek as she scrunches her nose. “Knew you loved me more.”
“I love Mummy more, now, because she doesn’t hang me upside down!”
“Mhm, that’s right, Lia – you tell him,” you giggle, smiling brightly as she wraps her hand around yours, hugging your waist as you near your kitchen, an aroma of your premade dinner filling your nose, a hum of Niall’s approval making you turn your attention. “Smell good?”
“Baby, you made my favourite,” he smiles, his cheeks blushing pink, butterflies swarming in his belly as he kisses your temple, chuckling as you nudge his hip towards your dining table, his form settling in his chair, huffing lightly as your daughters bounces onto his lap, leaning her cheek on his chest comfortably as she snuggles into his warm embrace. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now, c’mon. Let’s eat.”
“Daddy,” Ophelia sighs, her fingertips toying with her nightdress as she sits between his legs, his hand gently brushing through her damp hair, her favourite film playing on her television, her nightlight turned on, ready to be used as he tucks her into bed, “do you like being on tour?”
“Touring is a lot of fun, darlin’,” he whispers, his heart breaking as he notices her distressed features, worry and confusion lacing her expression, her face slowly turning over her shoulder as she listens carefully, “but, not’ing is as fun as when I’m wit’ you and Mummy.”
“Mummy and you are ‘me favourite people in t’e entire world. Everyone knows about you – you’re ‘me little girl. Miss you lots and lots, when I’m gone. I can’t wait until you and Mummy come wit’ me and travel and we can show you our favourite places to see,” he smiles, gently kissing her forehead, his fingertips lightly lifting her onto her cotton sheets, a chuckle slipping off his lips as she wiggles beneath her comforter, much like how you settle into bed each night, her arms clutching her teddy bear as he tucks her in, sitting beside her as she lays against her pillow.
“Where are y’a gon’a show me?”
“’m goin’ to show you Paris,” he begins, his words barely above a whisper, as if he would be telling a secret no one else could know besides his baby girl, her smile swelling her heart with love as he speaks. “We’re goin’ to visit where Mummy and I had our honeymoon, where we got married. We’ll visit Grandma and Grandad in Dublin.”
“I miss Dublin, Daddy. ‘s my favourite place in t’e whole entire world,” she lisps, her eyelashes beginning to slowly beat against her cheeks as she drifts in and out of consciousness.
“’s mine, too,” he smiles, nudging his nose against hers softly, his lips touching hers and he whispers his goodnight. “Go to sleep, Sunshine. I’ll see you in t’e mornin’. I love you.”
“Love you, Daddy. See you in t’e mornin’. ‘m happy you’re wit’ us, again.”
“’m happy, too, baby. ‘m happy, too.”
“Happy Birthday, Cuddles,” you whisper sleepily, your heart swelling with love as he turns his head, his smile bright and wide, his blue orbs hidden by his eyelashes, his lips touching your forehead softly. “I love you, you old man.”
“’m twenty-eight – ‘s not t’at old,” he grumbles, squeezing your naked hip, your panties hanging loosely on your waist, his dirty tee shirt rolling beneath your breasts as you cuddle into his chest, his boxers sitting low on his hips, his legs intertwined with yours as he snuggles close to you. “Still have ‘me sex appeal to y’a, if t’at says anyt’ing, ‘m sayin’ I still got it.”
“Oh my god,” you smirk, rolling your eyes teasingly, untangling your legs, swinging your thigh around his waist, straddling his hips, your palms placed flatly against his chest, a giggle slipping off your lips as his hands reach underneath his shirt, a smirk lifted on his lips as he props his knees up, your face leaning against his, his lips touching yours softly. “Still got it.”
“I love you,” he smiles, slowly lowering his legs, your figure settling on his thighs smoothly, his fingertips slipping through yours softly, his eyes gazing into yours lovingly as he speaks. “What are we doing, today?”
“Hmm,” you hum, giggling as he slips his hands away, poking your sides playfully as he smiles. “We have your birthday party, you numb nut. What else would we be doing?”
“Well,” he smirks, his thumb tracing your jaw as he whispers, “I had quite a few ideas in mind.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” you smile, grabbing his wrist, kissing his palm softly, lacing your fingers with his, your cheeks blushing pink as your murmur your secret. “Ophelia is goin’ home with Harry and Jenna, tonight.”
“Mhm,” you grin, giggling quietly as he tosses you off his lap, his knees straddling your hips, his palms pressed flat against your pillow as his lips ghost across yours. “Didn’t think I’d end your birthday without a surprise or two, did you – especially since I haven’t seen you in nearly a month.”
“God, I really do love you.”
“Phew, what a relief – thought you were havin’ an affair or somethin’ on tour,” you tease, rolling your eyes once more, a smile lifting on your lips as he pushes his lips against yours, a moan echoing against his lips as he dips his hips against yours, his shaft slowly hardening against your thigh, your eyelashes pressing against your cheeks as you breathe heavily.
“T’ought I was havin’ an affair, hm?” he whispers, his lips touching your ear, gently biting your earlobe as his lips drag across your neck, gently biting your collarbone as he travels alongst your jaw. “Can prove to you I wasn’t – you’re t’e only one I ever t’ink about, baby, especially when I have to get me’self off after a show because I don’t have you wit’ me, t’at’s t’e worst part about touring.”
“Can’t do t’is,” you puff, biting your lips painfully, your pelvis aching to push against his, his dip of his hips drawing a moan off your tongue. “She’s going to wake up, any minute. She’s been waiting fo’ you to come home.”
“’m sure you’ve been waiting, too, huh? Gettin’ yourself off before bed, once she’s fallen asleep, yeah? ‘m right, aren’t I?”
“Shut up,” you mumble, pressing your fingertips into his hips, nudging him backwards, picking up his chin with your fingertips, your lips nearly touching his as you mutter, “if you don’t move, right now, I will quite literally knee you in your balls and not give you anything tonight. ‘m not in a mood to be interrupted when we’re nearly done, like last time. If I’m having you, I want all of you, not just a tease.”
“Ooh, baby. Didn’t know you could be so demanding,” he hums, sitting back on his heels, grabbing your hands softly, lifting your body off your mattress, kissing your lips, mumbling quietly against your plump flesh. “Can’t wait fo’ later – goin’ to make up fo’ lost time, and make you feel so good.”
“Niall,” you smirk, kissing his lips lightly, cupping his cheeks in your palms, your cheeks bright pink and flustered, “you better.”
“Happy Birthday, Daddy!” Ophelia grins, nudging your bedroom door open with her hip, her tiny figure bouncing on your mattress, a present gripped in her hands carefully. “Have a present fo’ you.”
“Thank you, baby. ‘m goin’ to wee really quick and I’ll be right back to open your gift, yeah?” he smiles, ignoring your quiet giggle and smirk, gratefully leaning into her soft kiss on his cheek, his cheeks beginning to ache as he slips off your bed, fumbling into your bathroom, shutting your door behind him silently.
“Mummy, I hope Daddy likes ‘me present,” she confesses quietly, her fingertip pulled between her teeth as she nibbles her cuticle, pouting slightly as you softly pull her hand away from her mouth.
“Oh, baby,” you sigh, lifting her figure onto your lap, her bum settled on your thighs, her palms holding onto her gift as you squeeze her in a tight hug. “Daddy is going to love your present, I promise.”
“’m going to love your gift, Sunshine,” he grins, padding across your carpet, settling himself on his part of your mattress, shuffling your comforter on his legs, patting his thighs, grunting quietly as Ophelia pops onto his legs, her present clutched in her hands, a smile perked on her lips as he kisses her temple. “Can I ‘ave it?”
“Daddy, I made you a picture in art class,” she whispers nervously, her fingertips picking stray strands of cotton off your comforter, her gaze avoiding his as he peels open her carefully wrapped paper, which he knew you’d taped together, his grin bubbling excitement in his daughter’s heart, “and you’ll be able to have a picture of you, Mummy, and me, whenever we’re not with you.”
“Ophelia,” he whispers, tears welling in his eyes as he admires her carefully drawn picture, her coloured characters of herself, him, and you, each hand connected and holding each other, your home and flowers surrounding your figures, his hair coloured a new brown shade, his chuckle drawing her attention, her bright blue eyes staring into his blue orbs, “I love your picture, baby.”
“Mhm, I really love it. I’m going to keep your picture with me wherever I go – I promise,” he smiles, kissing her forehead sweetly, grinning as she puckers her lips, kissing his lightly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, Daddy. Can’t wait for your birt’day party – Jax and Henny are goin’ to be t’ere, too!”
“Jax, huh?” he smirks, rubbing his fingertips alongst her spine, gently humming, his palm patting her bum as she touches her cheek against his collarbone. “Do y’a fancy him?”
“Boys are yucky, Daddy. He’s my friend.”
“Jus’ making sure,” he chuckles, kissing her temple softly, her hair flowing alongst her shoulders, brushing against his bare chest, her giggle bubbling his heart with love as she brushes her hair behind her ear. “’s your hair fallin’ on me? Guess ‘m goin’ to have to cut it.”
“Why not? Don’t you wan’a have hair jus’ like me?” he shrugs, pretending to furrow his eyebrows in confusion, purposefully ignoring your hidden giggle, your palm covering your mouth as you admire their interaction.
“Daddy, I love you, but I like ‘me hair. ‘s long and pretty – like Mummy’s!”
“What?” she whispers, perking her ears with careful attention, her blue orbs gazing into his as she awaits his confession.
“I love Mummy’s hair. ‘s one of my favourite parts of ‘er.”
“What else do you love about Mummy?” she wonders curiously, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she listens carefully, his heart swelling as she stares wonderfully at you, in pure admiration of your beauty, much as he does once you’ve fallen asleep and he’s lying awake wondering how he’d fallen so lucky with his life.
“I love a lot about Mummy,” he starts, cupping her cheeks in his palms, his lips touching her forehead as he mutters, as if their entire world had frozen time and only you, your husband, and your daughter existed. “I love her smile, which you have. I love her eyes, I love her dimples. I love her heart, because she is so sweet and she loves you and she loves me, even when I’m a silly boy.”
“Daddy, you act silly sometimes, too?”
“Mhm, sometimes. I love how much Mummy loves my best mates and -.”
“Like Uncle Harry?” she interrupts, her cheeks blushing pink as he pokes her nose playfully.
“Jus’ like Uncle Harry. Mummy and Uncle Harry have been friends since your age, y’know?”
“Since four? Mummy must’ve been so little.”
“Hm, guess t’at means you’re little, too. Still my baby girl, always,” he smiles, kissing her face with butterfly kisses, her giggles spurring his loving touches, her laughter echoing off your bedroom walls as you join, her cheeks being covered with kisses as she sits comfortably in her father’s lap.
“Mummy, Daddy, stop kissin’ me!”
“Oh my goodness, are we bothering you, lovely?” you smirk, kissing her lips softly, lifting her off Niall’s lap, laying her against your mattress, your fingertips beginning to tickle her tummy, her giggles and smile drawing a grin on your lips, Niall’s aching cheeks swelling your heart with love and admiration for him – not only as your husband but as a father. “We are so sorry.”
“Mummy,” she grumbles, hiding her tiny face in her palms, a smirk on your lips as Niall’s callused hands gently grip her wrists, pulling her hands away, his lips touching hers as he touches her nose, his fingertips poking her hips, his palm hitting her bum as she wiggles onto her feet, lightly bouncing on your bed as she smiles. “Haha! Got up b’fore you could get me, again!”
“’m sure Uncle Harry ‘s goin’ to get you and Hensley, later, t’ough. How would you like to have a sleepover wit’ Hensley, t’night?” he smirks, winking sneakily as you smack his arm, his smile spurring butterflies in your belly as you blush, your daughter oblivious to his naughty remark.
“Okay!” she cheers excitedly, her figure sitting on your sheets her lips pout, her fingers twiddling her lap as she thinks carefully. “Daddy, are you goin’ to pick me up in t’e mornin?”
“If you’d like me to,” he smiles, kissing her temple sweetly, his tone becoming softened as he notices her soft frown. “’s only t’night, poppet. Gon’a have fun wit’ your best friend – jus’ like when your uncles come over t’night – we’re goin’ to have so much fun.”
“Will you sing, t’night? Will you and Uncle Harry and Uncle Louis and Uncle Liam sing? Like you did fo’ my birt’day?”
“Maybe,” he smiles, scrunching his nose together as she leans in, pressing her nose against his as she whispers, her staring drawing a smile on his lips he couldn’t mask. “Hey, start getting dressed and ready. We can get a birt’day breakfast before Grandad and Grandma come over. Mimi is comin’, too.”
“She is? Oh my goodness, Daddy, ‘m so excited! ‘m seein’ ‘me best friends, havin’ birt’day cake, and we can sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you with you, t’is year. ‘s so much fun!”
“Birt’days are always fun wit’ you, baby girl. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy.”
“Niall, mate, you’re twenty-nine! How do you feel?” Louis smirks, grunting lightly as Ophelia shoves into his legs, her arms wrapped around his waist as she embraces him tightly. “Hi, little one. What’re you doin’?”
“Jax and I are playin’ tag and you and Daddy are our safe spots.”
“Haha, okay,” he chuckles, kissing her hair softly, patting her back as she begins to quietly bound around your kitchen, her giggles mending with Jax’s as he chases her, their laughter echoing off your freshly painted walls as guests begin to enter your home. “How do you feel? Old?”
“Been feelin’ old since nineteen when I had to get my fuckin’ surgery,” he chuckles, kissing your cheek softly, his hand patting your thigh as you sit comfortably on his hip, your figure leaning against his chest, his fingertips drumming against your hips as he listens to their conversation. “But, ot’erwise, not so old. Feelin’ pretty damn great actually. ‘m home wit’ ‘me wife and daughter, ‘me friends, doesn’t get any better t’an t’is.”
“Daddy, Daddy!” Ophelia squeals, bouncing onto his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck, her ankles crossing over your lap as she settles on his bare thigh, your bum set on his leg, giggling quietly as she pokes her tongue out at Jaxson. “Jax was goin’ to get me, but I got away jus’ in time. ‘s because ‘m really fast.”
“Oh, really?” he smirks, kissing her temple softly, his cheeks blushing pink as you kiss his cheek, brushing your fingertips through his hair.
“Still want birthday cake?” you smile, lifting Ophelia onto your hip, bouncing her excitedly as you pad into your kitchen, giggling as she bumbles around your marble island, picking up her father’s candles, setting the package in your palm as you carefully place each on around his cake. “Start singin’ first, Lia. Daddy ‘s goin’ to be so surprised to hear you singing.”
She could sing. Really sing. Proper set of lungs.
Niall noticed her talent one day in their car, on their drive to the airport, your flight returning from Hawaii with Eleanor on your holiday delayed, his fingertips drumming against his steering wheel as he hums alongst to Flicker, a request of his daughter’s as her favourite of Daddy’s records, her tiny high-pitched tone beginning to belt out lyrics he didn’t realise she’d memorised.
“Waiting here for someone, only yesterday we were on the run, you smile back at me, and your face lit up the sun,” she sings softly, her voice matching his pitch, his jaw gaping as he stares into his mirror, admiring her as she hums, her eyes closed as she murmurs every lyric she knows.
“Singin’ jus’ like me, huh?”
“Daddy, I wan’a sing like you.”
“Do you?” he smiles, his chest swelling as he notices her blushed cheeks, her pure smile and innocent eyes bubbling love in his heart, pride tracing through his brains as he realises, she’s his daughter – he helped make her. “One day I’ll have Mummy bring you on stage wit’ me.”
“I’d really like t’at, Daddy,” she smiles, clapping excitedly as she notices you nearly bounding towards your car, opening her car door, pressing kisses alongst her cheeks as she giggles, your cheeks blushed red as you notice his grin in love and admiration. “I love you.”
He hadn’t realised his daughter and wife had gathered their guests into their lounge, smiles on lips and hands held together as she begins to sing, her tiny voice singing with fear, his arms opening, lifting her onto his lap as he kisses her cheeks, a surrounding sound of singing ‘Happy Birthday’ making his cheeks blush pink, his grin burning his cheeks as you hold his cake, a smile perked on his lips as you whisper quietly.
“Happy Birthday, baby.”
“Happy Birthday, Daddy.”
“Gon’a help me blow out ‘me candles?” he whispers, kissing her ear softly, her giggle perking a smile on his lips, his heart pounding in his chest as all of his closest friends and family gather around, recording and capturing pictures of such a candid moment. “Ready? One, two, three.”
Ophelia smiled brightly, hugging him tightly as she claps, a surrounding sound blended with cheers and whistles around him, her baby blue eyes gazing into his as she snuggles into his chest, graciously thanking you as you place a tiny slice of cake in her hands, her laughter drawing a smile on your face as Niall swipes her icing on her nose. “Hey!”
“Have to give Daddy some icing on his nose, now, Lia,” Louis encourages, winking with a smirk on his lips, laughing loudly as she rubs icing on his cheeks, slipping off his lap and hiding behind your legs, her tiny arms wrapped around your waist, her cheek pressed against your bum as she stays behind you. “Great job, munchkin.”
“I-,” Niall begins, chuckling loudly as slowly his guests disperse throughout his home, laughter and chatting echoing off your walls, Louis’ hand smacking his thigh as he laughs. “If our children weren’t around, I’d have a few choice words fo’ you.”
“Ye’, ye’, I’m sure,” he smiles, hugging him, patting his back as you and Eleanor admire their interaction fondly. “Happy birthday, mate.”
“T’ank you. T’ank you fo’ coming. Haven’t seen my buddy in a whilst, haven’t we Jax?”
“Uncle Niall, ‘m gettin’ real good at footie, too! Daddy’s been teachin’ me.”
“T’ink you’re better t’an me?”
“I don’ know,” he sighs, his finger tapping his lip as he thinks, a chuckle sliding off his lips as he nods. “Maybe.”
“One day soon, Daddy and I will make a day where you can come over and play with Lia, and we’ll play football, too, yeah?”
“Okay! Can’t wait!”
“Daddy,” Ophelia wonders, her tone dropped and laced with nervousness, his arms opening as she reaches into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, smiling against his chest as he lifts her onto his hip, “will I play football with you and Uncle Louis and Jax, too?”
“Of course, darlin’ – you can play anyt’ing you want to. Horan’s can do anyt’ing, yeah?”
“Ye’,” she hums excitedly, lifting her head and meeting his gaze, “we can do anyt’ing.”
His fingertips pinched his lip, his figure leaning against your bedroom doorframe, his ankles crossed as he admires your bustling figure. He couldn’t hide his smile, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his cheeks blushed pink as he pays careful attention to you – how slowly you would lift a tiny article of clothing off the carpet, how suggestively you bent over your bedframe, ruffing your comforter to be slept in, how your hair laid alongst your spine, your silk pyjamas becoming translucent underneath your bedroom light. He’d been waiting nearly a month to be alone with you, to touch you, to make love to you, and he could feel his jeans tightening with only a peek at your perfect figure.
“’m goin’ to burst in ‘me jeans if you don’t stop t’at.”
“Baby,” he hums, stepping towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his hands cupping your bum as he presses kissing alongst your jaw, slowly mapping your neck as he whispers against your skin, “you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Mhm, maybe,” you smirk, pinching his chin with your fingertips, your fingertip tracing his lips as his eyes gaze into yours. “Do you want me?”
“Want you so bad.”
“Go on,” you whisper, kissing his ear, dragging your fingertip down his chest as you cup his hip, nudging him towards your bed, his heart pounding in his chest as he sits on your mattress, his figure settled in between your pillows, his hands cupping his head as he lays back. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“Why not? ‘m havin’ a great birt’day, ‘me gorgeous wife is wit’ me, ‘m havin’ a really great day, baby.”
“How much better would your night be if I gave you everything and anything, you wanted?”
He didn’t know how he hadn’t busted his jeans’ zipper, his cock was aching in his boxers and he could feel his tip throbbing against his thighs, ready to be pleased and milked of a long-awaited orgasm he’d been yearning for. His feet pressed into your sheets as you straddle his thighs, your hips settling on his as he moans, your lips pushing against his as his hands grip your hips, a gasp of breath cutting your kiss as he lifts you off his thighs, your figure hovering over yours as his lips attach to your neck, his breath heavy against your heated skin, his fingertips ripping your clothing off your body, his panting drawing your fingertips along his taut skin, his scattered clothing parading across your carpet, his naked pelvis dipping against yours.
“Baby, jus’ want you,” you breathe, gently guiding his cock in your heat, his forehead dipping against your shoulder as he moans, his hips thrusting against yours, a smirk lifting on his lips as you swear, praising his name as he pushes against your softest spot, his grunts and pants hotly hitting your collarbone, your core squeezing his shaft, drawing his orgasm near yours. “’m so close – oh, fuck.”
“’s okay, baby,” he whispers, his pelvis tightening as you wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him impossibly close, hugging him tightly as you orgasm, his climax pulsing into your core as he thrusts, his lips touching your cheek as he lightly pulls himself out, his figure laying against your chest, his mouth pressing against your collarbone, your fingertips brushing through his hair as his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “I love you.”
“I love you. Happy Birthday, baby.”
“Hi, baby,” Niall grins, wrapping his arms around Ophelia tightly as she bounces into his hold, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs tucked around his waist as she clings onto his torso. “Did you have fun?”
“Mhm!” she grins, her cheek laying against his collarbone as he squeezes her, a giggle slipping off her lips as he tickles her, his lips kissing her cheek lovingly, his smile bright as she tucks her face into his neck. “Do you t’ink we can spend today toget’er - like, have cuddles and treats in t’e lounge wit’ Mummy?”
His heart burst in his chest with love, his lips touching her temple as he hums, whispering as he rocks her, waiting on his best friend to chat with him for a moment before he would leave, thanking him with gratitude for his night alone with you. “’m sure we can – wouldn’t want to spend my day wit’ anyone else but you and Mummy.”
“Hey!” Harry grins, walking across his wooden floorboards with her duffle bag in hand, a stuffed teddy bear tucked underneath his arm as he steps towards him, handing over her bag to her father before holding her bear, “Did you forget something?”
“Thank you! Thank you, Uncle Harry!”
“Of course, love,” he smiles, handing her teddy bear in her palms lightly, a smirk on his face as he notices his best friend’s scruffed hair and blushing cheeks. “Did you have a good night?”
“Piss off,” he blushes, patting her bum softly, her breathing softening as she falls asleep on his chest. “We did, yes.”
“Y/N deserved it, you deserved it. ‘m happy fo’ you,” he nods, cupping his shoulder, his lips pursed in a line as he utters his sentence. “Do we have another Horan possibly on the way?”
“No, no,” he chuckles, shaking his head, his mind tracing every thought about how hectic having a baby would be in that moment. “Not yet. We’re waiting a few months – until everything slows down. I don’t want to miss appointments and all t’at.”
“Okay,” he hums, a smirk on his lips, a huff of breath slipping through his teeth as his daughter leaps behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug, smiling and waving at her uncle as she giggles and bumbles into her bedroom. “Jus’ know, Jen and I are ready to be godparents when anot’er baby comes along.”
“Y/N and I know,” he smirks, nodding slightly, turning on his heel as he steps towards his front door. “’m goin’ to get her home, I’ll text you, later on.”
He steps outside slowly, cupping his hand around his baby’s head, walking towards his car and gently placing her in her seat, buckling her tight, stepping into his driver’s seat and starting his engine, his heat being turned towards his daughter, fearing her becoming sick as he finally settles home. He grinning, his attention gazing towards her, admiring her soft and delicate features as she sleeps soundly, ignoring honking and traffic as she travels home, where she would be safely tucked in her father’s hold, snuggled and warm as she carefully pays attention to her favourite films, singing alongst as a musical number begins, persuading him to sing with her, drawing smiles on their lips in a mimicked smile.
“Good morning, baby.”
“I missed you,” she confesses, her tiny voice quieted and hushed, his heart dropping as he notices her nervous features and furrowed eyebrows.
“I missed you more, baby,” he sighs, leaning his hand behind him, cupping her knee lightly as he drives, his smile drawing on his lips as he notices your home, lights turned on and curtains opened, revealing your figure bustling through your kitchen, cooking and cleaning as he pulls into your driveway. “But, hey, I’m home and I’m going to be home fo’ a whilst – but, t’en you and Mummy get to come wit’ me, and we’ll be toget’er, yeah?”
I was bored on my way to uni, so I decided
to mull over some fake banter between Asala (the elf-blooded teenage daughter
of one of my Qunari Inquisitors, Taashath Adaar) and the companions, should she
tag along on missions.
Asala: So you’re like the Qunari-Qunari, are you? All right and proper?
Bull: [chuckles] Oh, I am seldom proper, kid. But yes, I follow the Qun.
Asala: You know, my Da’s not that different from you.
Bull: [grunts disapprovingly]
Asala: No, but you see: you’d think he’d be able to do anything he wants
without you Bennies watching over him? Well, nah! With a face and horns like
those, you can only be a merc, and nothing else! It’s like a role - only
instead of the Qun, it’s assigned to you by humans, and you can never escape!
You can’t be an artist, or a baker, or a tailor… Did you know that my Da is
actually great at making lace? He…
Asala: Fine, fine… Shutting up.
[thoughtfully to himself] Bennies…
Cassandra: When I was your age, I had already spent many years training as a
Asala: Is that why you are so uptight? Jealous that I get to have fun and
Cassandra: [disgusted noise] My point is that you could at least try learning
to be more disciplined. Your father worries about you; it… it distracts him
from his duties.
Asala: Yeah, well, so do you, but you don’t see me prattling to you about
Varric (if in party): Hah! Good retort, Braids!
Cassandra: I… I don’t know what you mean… How could I possibly…
Asala: Go discipline your cheekbones, Lady Seeker. They are too
Vivienne: If I were you, my dear, I’d spend less time around that Sera
Sera (if in party): She’s not a baby, yeah? She can pick whatever
friends she likes, with no help from bossy bitches like you!
Vivienne: All those… unseemly pranks, races around the keep in the middle
of the night - and you are picking up some of her mannerisms, too! That is
quite unbecoming for the Inquisitor’s daughter.
Asala: But I swear I saw you smile when I did that thing to Cullen!
Vivienne: It was… mildly amusing, yes - but that is not my point, darling.
(If Sera is in party) Asala and Sera together: No breeches!
Asala: Hey, can I poke you for a moment?
Solas: Not in the literal sense, I hope?
(if in party): Aww look, Master Egghead is still
upset about the tadpoles in his mug!
Asala: No… I just thought you might look at this for me. It’s, um, a
bracelet - but I can’t put it on cuz my wrists are too big, so I wear it on a
chain like an amulet of sorts. It belonged to my mother.
Solas: It has… Elvhen writing on it.
Asala: Sure it does! My mother was an elf!
Sera (if in party): Eww, I knew you were part elfy, but I never figured
you’d be hold-on-to-weird-junk sorta elfy!
Solas: And I suppose you want me to translate it for you? Very well. I
shall examine it when we are in a quieter place.
Sera (if she was in party during the previous banter): Hey, ‘bout last
time. I… I sorta take it back and all. You are all right, even with the elfy
Taashath: You make it sound like she should be ashamed of her mother!
Sera: Whoah, don’t go all red-eyed on me!
Asala: Da, she didn’t mean anything by it.
Sera: Sure I did! I meant s'all good!
Taashath: Hmph. All the same, think before you talk next time.
Vivienne (if in party): Sometimes you are impossibly demanding, my dear.
Solas: That inscription on your mother’s bracelet - it is a prayer to
Mythal. I translated the whole text and sent my notes up to your quarters.
Asala: Oh, thanks Egg… I mean Solas. After all these years, we’ll
finally know what it means! Even my mother herself could only make out a couple
of words. Right, Da?
Taashath: Yes. Most of the folks in Liliel’s alienage could barely read
common, let alone the language of the ancient elves.
Solas: That is… Most unfortunate.
Sera (if in party): Ya know what’s unfortunate? Going this long without
food! I think I’ll go shoot a ram or somethin’.
Asala: You know, Blackwall, the way you go on, I could make a sport of
dangling off a cliff to see who runs faster to catch me, you or Da.
Taashath: Don’t even think about it!
Blackwall: Your safety is not a joking matter!
Ugh, why do you never loosen up around me? Is it
something about my face? My voice? Me being taller than you?
Blackwall: You are the Inquisitor’s child. My first duty is to protect you.
Asala: This child is seven-bloody-teen years old, thank you very much.
I thought your father said you had only turned
Asala: I’ll get back on that when you’re less boring.
Hey Bull, are there singers under the Qun? Or
Bull: That what you wanna be, kid?
Asala: Yeah, kinda… But have you ever seen a Vashoth singer anywhere?
Bull: Can’t say I have. Unless you count drunken singing in taverns.
Asala: Do you think the Qunari Tama… things would have picked the right
role for me? The role that matches what I wanna do with my life?
Taashath: Don’t put any ideas into her head, Bull!
Bull: Wasn’t going to, boss. Like I said, the Qun is not for everyone.
That teenage rebellion thing your kid likes doing - probably wouldn’t end well.
Varric: These poems you write, Braids - they are pretty good.
Asala: Wow, really?
Varric: You actually make the words rhyme without making the whole thing
seem like one of those grating kiddy songs.
Asala: Hah, I don’t suppose there are too many kiddy songs about
gravestones and doomed lovers and such.
Taashath: About that… I could never get why you have to make all your stuff
Varric: She’s a teenager, Floofy. Writing dark poetry is part of her job
description. But unlike some teenagers, she is actually good at it.
Cassandra: I… I happened to be passing by when Varric was looking at your
last poem, and accidentally glanced over his shoulder.
Asala: Oh? So now you’re gonna tell me that poetry’s undisciplined too?
Cassandra: No, I just… Why did that woman’s husband have to die?
Asala: So she’d mourn him and break the reader’s heart?
Varric (if in party): Don’t bother, Braids. The Seeker only accepts
Cassandra: That is… the most ludicrous reasoning I ever heard! Besides, she
had plenty of opportunity to come to his aid in that battle! If she had flanked
the enemies that he had engaged…
Asala: She isn’t based on you, you know. Because that would mean her
hubby’s based on Da, and I can’t kill off my own father!
Cassandra: [disgusted noise]
Dorian: I hear you made quite a scene at the execution site.
Asala: Hah, I sure did! Shame you weren’t there to see it!
Dorian: I deemed drinking myself witless to be a far more pleasant pastime
than watching your father cut off my former mentor’s head.
Taashath: Dorian, we’ve been over this.
Dorian: With you, yes. But not with the girl. She deserves a personal thank
you for standing up to a certain valiant leader.
Asala: I am great at that. Years of practice.
(Some time later)
Dorian: I wonder… What exactly did you say to change his mind?
Asala: Well, Da ranted on and on about how your hooded friend turned me
into a dead chunk of red lyrium in the bad future, and how hurt and angry he
was. And I said, 'So now you know how he is feeling!’. And then Da made this
droopy face he is making now and…
Taashath: Will you two please change the subject?
Dorian: Very well. Pray tell me, young Asala, what are your sentiments
Cole: Flowing, rhythmic patterns, cryptic but beautiful, how does he do
it? You… You really like the way I talk?
Asala: Of course I do! It’s like you’re brimming over with poetry all the
Cole: I just try to sort through things I hear. It’s hard sometimes, when
people are so solid and are hurting too loudly. I… may not make a lot of
Asala: Hey, I don’t make a lot of sense either! We can start a club!
Blackwall: And then he said: but at least the turkey still has its tail!
Asala: Hah, finally! I knew you were not completely hopeless! What a great
Blackwall: It’s from my old army days.
Asala: Huh, I thought army humour would be dirtier.
It is. I had to censor it somewhat so your father
wouldn’t kill me.
(Some time later)
Asala: What about Grey Warden humour? Is it dirty too?
Blackwall: Well… The thing is, by the time I joined the Wardens, I had lost
some of my boyish penchant for amusing tales.
Asala: Too bad… Well, army humour it is, then! Do I get to hear the
uncensored version when I turn eighteen?
(After the cutscene where Dorian tells
Taashath that Felix died)
Dorian: It was you, wasn’t it?
Asala: Salt sprinkles on Josie’s chocolate? Yeah, it was me. But I only
added a little!
Dorian: No, I mean that poem on Alexius’ desk. The one about the man who
planted a tree and then, when it withered, remembered how he had sat in its shade?
He told me about it this morning.
Asala: I have no idea what you’re talking about! Trees! Shade! I’d never
write such sappy nonsense!
Dorian: You brought the man who almost destroyed the world to the verge of
tears. That is quite an accomplishment, young lady - and I say that as an
incredibly accomplished person myself.
Asala: So… You and Da - did you do the bnb thing or what?
Cassandra: Bnb? What manner of teenage jargon is this?
Asala: Oh, you know… Birds and bees.
Cassandra: Birds and… Oh! Oh, I see!
Taashath: Asala, leave the Lady Seeker alone!
Asala: Still Lady Seeker, huh? So I guess you didn’t do it… What’s
stopping you? I mean, you have the hots for each other - it’s sooo obvious!
Taashath: Asala, stop this - or so help me, when we return to Skyhold, you’re
Woke up from a nightmare again. Demons, calling,
clawing, constricting; Uldred’s eyes, bottomlessly black, suddenly not two but
a dozen; Meredith bathed in crimson. And then - soft, soothing, shimmering,
rainbows dancing over his bed. It had been so long since he started the morning
with a smile.
Taashath: What are you talking about, Cole?
Asala: We put shards of coloured glass into the holes in Cullen’s ceiling.
Now they both protect him from the rain and give off pretty light!
Taashath: Wait, have you been climbing the roof?
Cole: She didn’t fall. She didn’t die. Today is another day when she
Asala: Yeah… Thanks for this cheery thought, Cole.
Cole: It wasn’t me. It was your father.
Dorian: The books I ordered from Tevinter have finally arrived.
Asala: Does this mean you’ll give me a lesson tonight?
Dorian: Of course. You already have those Orlesian volumes, don’t you?
Southern historians are biased against Tevinter; our historians are biased
against the rest of the world… It will be educational to pit them against one
Asala: And fun!
Taashath: Wait, did my daughter just call learning fun?
Dorian: Why the tone of surprise? What did you try to teach her?
Taashath: How to run a merc company.
Dorian: Well, there you have it!
Asala: Um, Cassandra… If you hesitate about Da because of me - please
Cassandra: Because of you?
Asala: Yeah, like… If you worry that I’ll hate you for stealing him and
replacing my mother and all.
Cassandra: Nothing could be further from my mind! Even if my relationship with
the Inquisitor wasn’t strictly professional!
Asala: Well, in case it ever stops being 'strictly professional’ - I don’t
even remember my mother. Da raised me alone. And I actually think it’d be good
for him to have someone in his life. Take care of the stupid old fella and all.
Taashath: I heard that!
(After Taashath saves the Chargers)
Asala: Hey, Bull… Don’t look so glum! Remember that time you said the
Qun isn’t for everyone? Maybe it wasn’t for you too. It just took you this long
to figure out.
Bull: Hmph. And what do you suppose is for me then?
Asala: Maryden put some of my poems to music. She’ll be singing them
tonight at the tavern. Krem will come, and the other Chargers. I think if you
come too, you’ll understand what is for you.
Huh, I think you spend too much time round Cole.
That cryptic shit is beginning to rub off.
Taashath: Bull, what did I tell you?
Bull: Oh, right, boss - don’t swear in front of the kid! Fuck, I’m sorry!
Asala: You know, it’s kinda funny.
Blackwall: What is?
Asala: I heard stories about the Grey Wardens plenty of times when I was a
kid, with the Blight having recently ended and all. And when I met you, you
were just like I imagined the Grey Wardens should be.
Blackwall: And now… I have disappointed you.
Asala: What? No! The Grey Wardens are gonna disappoint me from now on, if
they don’t pull off all this amazing noble-warrior-atoning-for-his-past stuff!
Blackwall: You… You don’t know the whole story, do you?
Asala: I know enough to believe that you deserve sticking around with our Inquisition.
And you can always tell me the uncensored version when I am eighteen, right?
Cassandra: Are you feeling better now? Have you asked Vivienne for a potion?
(If Vivienne is in party) Vivienne: She has indeed, my dear. But
such things are generally not discussed in public.
(Otherwise) Asala: Sure! But do we… do we have to discuss my darkspawn week
in front of everyone?
Cassandra: I just wanted to make sure you were all right.
Asala: Aww, thanks, mom.
Cassandra: You do not have to call me ’m'am’.
Asala: I wasn’t.
(After Last Resort of Good Men)
Asala: Damn, Dorian.
Dorian: Was that expletive a sign of admiration for my good looks?
Asala: I mean… My Da yells at me sometimes, and tries to punish me when
I mess up… And this makes me think that he is the meanest person in the
world… But it’s nothing like what you went through, is it?
Dorian: Oh, there were plenty of temper tantrums on my part too.
Asala: And for good reason! Me, I’m just a selfish teenager who wants
attention - but you… You are amazing and you deserve better!
Dorian: You are not exactly worthless yourself, young lady.
(After Bring Me the Heart of Snow White)
Vivienne: Bastien’s family shall be holding a musical salon as a tribute to
both himself and his wife. I would very much like it if you attended, my dear.
Asala: Whaa- ? Really?
Vivienne: If your father gives you permission, of course. You have such a
wonderful singing voice; it is wasted in the courtyards and bath houses of
Asala: But… Won’t they be scared of me being… me? Unless you give me a
mask to wear, I suppose.
Vivienne: It will be a half-face mask only; otherwise how would you sing?
Vivienne: Being who you are ought to be a source of strength, not weakness.
Always remember that, darling.