#MY JOB IS TO TEND TO IT AND MAKE YOU SEE MY VISION | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flippinpancakes64 · 5 months ago

Note

Hello! I love your stuff and I wanted to request their response to:

Reader: Let me take care of you.

Them: It's rotten work...

Reader: Not to me...not if it's you.

Keep writing! You're amazing! (And I need something to read while I stay up)

Taking care of the Cullens

Ok ngl this ask has me giggling and kicking my feet

Jasper let me take care of you 😡😭❤️

Uhm and remember in my request rules thing where I said I don’t do narratives… i might be a big fat liar cause that’s what I did here… don’t come for me

And thank you so much for the kind words! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

We all know he has a bit of a complex when it comes to his worth and his humanity

He tends to get in his own head a lot

Especially when it comes to you and your relationship

He doesn’t really get jealous in the normal sense

He just sort of gets sad when he sees you with other people

It’s one day after school and Edward seems to be avoiding you. You’re sitting at the table with Emmett, Alice, Esme, and Jasper playing a card game.

Only Edward is nowhere to be found.

The game finishes, Alice winning and Emmett immediately going into ranting mode about how it’s rigged. You excuse yourself to go check on him.

You find him upstairs in the piano room, plunking away on the keys mindlessly. If he wasn’t a vampire and you didn’t know better, you would say he didn’t even notice you enter the room.

You stood behind him for a while, watching as his fingers danced over the ivory keys.

“It sounds beautiful” you say.

He doesn’t respond.

“Edward, what’s the matter? You’ve hardly spoken to me all day.”

“Do you ever wish I was human?”

The question catches you off guard.

“To wish for you to be human would be to change you, and I happen to love you just the way you are.”

He huffs, his fingers halting.

“But don’t you wish I was warm? Don’t you wish I could eat the foods you like, actually sleep next to you at night, grow old with you?”

You sit down next to him at the stool and take his hands in your own.

“What were you like when you were human?”

The change of subject seems to catch him off guard, his face twists slightly as he thinks. He pauses for a beat before answering.

“I was a bit of a troublemaker. My mom always said I was giving her grey hairs way too early. I didn’t do any of my schoolwork, I just wanted to go and be free.”

“Hm, sounds like the you that could sleep, eat, and grow old was a bit of a wild card. Not really my type. You know I prefer the sophisticated, musical type.”

He laughs at that, hanging his head down to press a kiss to your joined hands.

“So what you’re saying is you like the version of me without a soul better,” he says bitterly. You frown at that.

“No, I’m saying I like the you that I have now. I love you, Edward. I would never trade you for anyone else in the world whether they have a pulse or not.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“You know this is how it will always be, right? I’ll always be here, trying some new way to push you away from me. To make you realize that you deserve better.”

“And I’ll always be here to take care of you and make sure you know that my mind will never change.”

“Taking care of me for the rest of your life… talk about the worst job you could get.”

“Only it won’t be a job. Not for me. Not when it’s for you.”

He looks at you then, finally. His big, black eyes staring into yours.

You’ve wished it before, but in this moment you wish you were the one who could read his mind instead of the other way around.

“You’re so stupid,” he smiles, and leans in for a kiss.

Maybe one day he’ll fully believe you.

Alice:

Alice has a tendency to shut down whenever there’s too much going on

Too many people are on the cusp of making decisions that could change their lives

It seems that every person she meets on the street has a vision attached

She can’t take it anymore

You find her curled up in a ball in her room, the TV playing a program you don’t think she’s watching.

Around her are scattered sketchbook pages, each one hastily ripped from the pad and thrown to the floor.

On these pages are drawings of buildings, people, animals, and tragedies. You catch the face of a woman who’s screaming as a bullet heads straight for her face. In another is an open room with a small grenade in the center.

No wonder she’s been so upset.

None of the pages show joy, every single one a warning of a disaster that’s just waiting to happen.

In front of her, there’s a stack of drawings that she’s flipping through. On one of them you catch what looks like your face, only it’s contorted in a scream. In another you see Jasper, but you can’t make out what’s around him.

“Alice,” you call out, and her head whips up. Maybe she hadn’t heard you like you thought she did. “What’s wrong?”

She looks at you like a deer in headlights for a moment, before her eyes glance back down to the papers in front of her.

“There’s nothing wrong. Not yet, at least.”

Her tone is grave. You can hear the desperation for an answer, or at least a break.

You sigh, and move to sit next to her. You reach to take the stack of papers from her, meeting no resistance. If she wanted to keep them from you, she could. But she knew now that fighting you was always going to be useless.

“Alice, I know you can’t control the fact that you see these visions. But you can control how much you obsess over them. This isn’t healthy.”

“I don’t need to be healthy. I can’t die or get sick.”

You sigh again. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. You can’t keep withering away in here obsessing over what might happen.”

“But-“

“No buts.” You say, throwing the stack of papers to the side. “How long ago did you have these visions?”

She thinks for a moment.

“Yesterday, I think.”

“Alright. Have they happened yet?”

“Well, no…”

“From what you saw, are they still a possibility now?”

“…they are… a very low possibility…”

You could see her reluctantly piecing together your words, clearly not wanting to admit her mistake out loud.

“Look, Alice, you know that I’m always touched by you looking out for me, but in moments like this I need to look out for you too.”

She looks into your eyes, then hangs her head again.

“But that’s not how it’s supposed to be. My gift, I should be the one taking care of you-“

“No. There is no ‘supposed to’ anything. Humans aren’t ‘supposed to’ be with vampires and yet here we are. So please just come with me and watch a movie or cuddle or something?”

She looks at you again, then. Staring into your eyes, then glancing around her room, at all of the papers, then back to you. She smiles slightly and floats up to her feet.

“Fine. But I’m picking the movie.”

Jasper:

This is a man who needs some serious love and reassurance

He’s always on edge around you, even if he plays it off like he isn’t

He’s just always so scared of hurting you or doing something wrong

And a lot of the time that manifests as him isolating himself to try and get you to leave him

It was gonna be one of those nights again.

A night that you would spend alone in the bed you were supposed to be sharing with the love of your life, Jasper.

But no. On a night like this, he’s out in the woods, far, far away. Stewing in his feelings and brooding.

You don’t even remember anything happening this time. Sometimes something can set him off; a jab from someone at school, a hug he gave you that ended up being WAY too tight, anything really. Anything that reminds him of how he’s not supposed to be with you.

But right about now, you’re sick of it.

The Cullens have taken to being quieter at night since you��ve started sleeping over a lot more, but you know they’re all here- all except for the one you want.

So it being 2 am won’t bother any of the other residents of the house. You roll out of bed and march your way over to the door, throwing it open (politely) and stomping down the steps.

Emmett is the first one you see, and you decide he’ll be perfect for the job anyway.

“What’s got you going, firecracker?” He asks.

“I need you to go find Jasper and bring him to me. Now. I need to talk to him,” you couldn’t help the anger and frustration that seeped into your voice. Lack of sleep will do that to you.

Emmett stood up straight and gave a stupid salute, “One loner coming right up, boss.”

And with that he was out of the door, and you trudged back upstairs to wait for your boyfriend.

You were laying in the bed, still trying desperately to go to sleep when you heard a light knock on the door. Your eyes flicked open to see Jasper standing in the doorway, looking completely out of place and uncomfortable.

All of your anger left instantly, all you saw was the sweet man who was far too worried for his own good.

You sighed and scooted over, patting the spot next to you.

“Come here, Jasper.”

A look of what could only be described as fear flashed across his face before he shook his head and muttered a small, “i can’t.”

You sighed again and stood up, making your way over to him. When you reached him, you stretched your arms out to take his face in your hands, his eyes wouldn’t meet yours.

“Look, Jas, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I have a pretty damn good idea. You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, looking into your eyes, something about the black made him look more human, more scared. “Vampires are already dangerous, but I’m the worst of the worst. You’ve found yourself a faulty cannon amongst rifles, darling.”

You frowned at his analogy, squeezing his perfect face in your hands.

“You are NOT faulty, you hear me? You are perfect. Perfect for me, at least.”

“The perfect man for you wouldn’t be tearing himself up inside trying not to kill you.”

“And a lesser man would have already done it.” He was shocked at that, stunned into silence. He hung his head slightly, not meeting your eyes once more.

“And what if I do hurt you one day? Would you ever forgive me? Could I ever forgive myself?”

“I don’t think you will. But if you do, Carlisle will put me back together and I’ll jump right back into your arms.”

His eyes bore into your soul as he stared at you like you were crazy.

“Why the hell would you do that? Come running right back to me?”

“To make sure you don’t hate yourself for too long. Now come on, I’m tired and I can’t sleep without my personal AC unit.”

He looked at you with disbelief. You knew he didn’t believe you, you don’t know if he ever will.

But that’s okay. You’ll keep him right here, and pull him back to you every time he runs away.

Eventually, he’ll understand that you love him.

Rosalie:

The topic of kids has always been a very touchy one for Rosalie

It’s all she’s ever wanted, and all that she still wants

Most days, the pain is not too much of an issue

But some days, it just gets to be too much

You and Rosalie were walking down the street, hand in hand as you strolled by the different shops and food stands.

The city was busy today, many young couples out and about, shopping, talking, kissing far too passionately to be in public, the usual.

“Rose, do you mind if we sit down for a bit? These shoes Alice chose for me look really nice, but they are so uncomfortable.”

She giggled, but nodded and led you both to a bench. You sat down with a heavy sigh, finally getting off of your feet after what felt like forever (even though it was only about an hour).

Across the way in the little park you’ve both found yourself in, a young couple is sitting on a bench.

The woman has long, flowing, blonde hair that frames her face in loose curls. She’s wearing a gorgeous floral-patterned dress, and on her left hand is quite possibly the biggest, gaudiest ring you have ever seen.

To her right, a man sits, one who bears a striking resemblance to you, regardless of gender.

And in the middle, a little baby. A perfect mix of the two, her hair and his eyes, her nose and his jawline, all swaddled in a cute little onesie.

You’re about to turn to Rosalie to point out the cute baby (she always loves to look and maybe go touch it if the parents allow her to) when you see that she’s already looking.

Her face is grave, like she’s looking at her own headstone. Her face is twisted in grief, and she looks on the verge of tears.

It takes you a second to connect the dots, but once you do, your heart clenches for her.

That woman looks like her, reminds Rosalie of herself. And the man looks like you. And that baby is what she wants, all she’s ever wanted. What she can’t have.

Babies are always hard for her, but this struck a deep chord.

“Rose… do you wanna go home?” You ask softly, not wanting to come off as pushy.

“…”

“Come on, let’s go,” you grab her arm to pull her up, she goes with you, but keeps her head craned back to the young couple the whole time.

Once you’re far away, she breaks down. You’ve never seen a vampire cry, and that’s probably because they can’t. But if they could, Rosalie would be sobbing.

You know it’s bad because she doesn’t even care that she falls to the floor in this dirty, nasty alleyway. Normal Rosalie would rather die 100 times over than get her clothes dirty, especially here.

You sit down next to her, letting her dry heave and gasp into your shoulder, her wails breaking your heart.

You’re helpless here. Cause what can you really do? You can’t give her a kid, she can’t give you one either. You can’t go back in time and stop her from being killed. And you can’t go back and steal that baby from that couple (even though you kind of really want to).

So you just hold her.

You run her hair, pat her back, kiss her head, and whisper into her ear. How much you love her, how she’s perfect, how it’s okay, how you don’t think less of her.

Once she’s calmed down and her breathing has slowed, she looks up at you.

“I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be seeing this side of me.”

“What? I want to be here for you, Rose. I know I can’t fix this for you, but at least I can-“

“Fix it? Darling, don’t worry about fixing me. I’m already completely broken, there’s nothing to fix.”

With that you just take a moment to look at her. Her face screams that she is broken. In her soul, at least. Her and Edward are a lot more similar than they like to think.

“Rosalie. You are not broken. There is nothing wrong with you.”

She scoffs at that. “I’m not human. I’d say that’s pretty wrong. Not to mention the fact that I can’t even look at a couple with a baby and not want to violently kill someone.”

“And that’s okay.”

She scoffs again.

“No, really, Rose. I mean it. I’m never ever going to think less of you for something like this. You went through something I can never even imagine and now you’re left to pick up the pieces. Just let me help you.”

She looks at you, her eyes staring into yours. The grief that she’s feeling is evident. But deep in her eyes, you see a touch of something else. Trust, maybe.

“You know, you’re gonna be picking up pieces for the rest of your life.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind. Not if it’s you.”

Emmett:

He likes to pretend to be all big and bad all of the time

But in reality, he's still a person

He just has a hard time remembering that sometimes

You don't know where he got all of that energy from.

I mean, realistically, you know that he can never get tired.

But really, even for a vampire this was unnatural.

Some nobody in school had challenged him to an arm wrestle. Of course, he can never resist. He grabbed the guy's hand and prepared to pummel him, only to flinch and have his hand thrown down against the wood of the desk.

The guy had one of those fake shock things in his hand, and as soon as Emmett clamped down it vibrated like crazy.

To say he was pissed would be an understatement.

And now he was taking all of that anger out on the trees around the Cullen house.

"That-" punch "fucking-" punch "ASSHOLE!" punch punch punch

It had been days. And you were honestly getting worried. He hadn't hunted in those days, much less came inside the house. You're surprised the park ranger hasn't come knocking yet.

You heard a hollowed cracking sound and looked to see Emmett standing triumphantly as a rather large oak tree fell to the ground, followed by a guttural roar from the man.

"Emmett," you called, barely above a whisper. But you know he heard you. "Come over here please."

He looks at you with a slightly guilty look, the anger from before fading away as he hangs his head and trudges over to you. He stops just a few feet in front of you, lamely kicking the rocks beneath his toes as he avoids your eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s that stupid fucking guy-“

“No,” you stop him, putting your hand up to silence him. “What’s actually wrong? Don’t tell me you’re seriously this pissed about losing an arm wrestling match with some nobody.”

He just stood there in silence for a second. You took this chance to stand up and grab his face in your hands, instantly he leaned in, perching his head on your palms.

“I just… need to be strong. That’s what I am, I need to be strong,” he whispered, his voice coming out shy and meek.

You just smiled at him sadly and rubbed his cheek.

“I can be strong too you know. So every once in a while you can let me take care of you instead.”

He laughed at that.

“You, strong? As if. I could fold you in half!”

You punched him lightly in the arm.

“You jerk! I’m trying to be sentimental!”

He laughed again and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to their previous spot cradling his face.

“Ok ok, serious sentimental time.”

You just laughed and kissed him.

Esme:

She has a bad habit of overreacting

Just a dash of anxiety

So when something-anything happens to you, she freaks out

This is bad.

Like really, really bad.

You were supposed to be driving to go see Esme at the Cullen house, but of course your piece-of-shit car decided that now would be a perfect time to break down.

Too far away from home to walk back, too far away from the Cullens to walk there, and the nearest anything was also too far.

Not to mention the snow covering the ground didn’t really entice you to get out of your still-warm car.

So you tried calling someone to come get you.

Only, of course there’s no service out here because why would there be.

Just your luck.

You weigh your options, and decide that walking is just gonna have to do.

You didn’t pack a winter coat because you didn’t think you’d be outside for this long, but you had a blanket stored in your backseat and it was better than nothing.

So off you trekked through the freezing cold winter storm to the Cullen house.

Inside, Esme was (in)patiently waiting.

Your favorite meal was waiting for you, already plated and getting colder by the second on the dining room table.

You said you were on your way 30 minutes ago. It takes about 30 minutes to get from your house to their house.

So where were you?

Her ears perked at the sound of a slowly beating heart coming from down the driveway.

It didn’t sound like one of the foxes or deer that roam around this time of year. No, it sounded a bit bigger, a bit more human.

She was out the door in a flash. Before anyone had the chance to ask what she was doing she was by your side.

“Oh my god, honey, why are you out here?!”

“An angel…” and then you collapsed.

Cue Esme absolutely freaking the fuck out.

She has you in front of a lit fireplace, a heating blanket rested over your shoulders and a warm towel on your head.

She’s pacing back and forth in front of you. She wants to hold you so bad, to kiss you, cuddle you, protect you. But she can’t. She’ll just make the shivers wracking your body even worse.

“Es…” you croak, your eyes blinking open finally.

“Oh my god! Are you okay? How are you feeling? Why were you out there? Where’s your car? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Shhhh,” you whisper, bringing your finger up to shush her. “Just come here.”

You open up your blanket in an invitation to her.

“Are you out of your mind? I can’t cuddle with you right now, I’ll freeze you!”

“Please, you deserve to be taken care of too.”

She crumbles at that, you can see the resolve leaving her face. And then she figures that you won’t get too cold with the heated blanket and everything.

She cuddles up next to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and ducking her head into your neck.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been there. And least of all I shouldn’t be such a mess right now.”

“It’s okay to be a mess, I’ll always be here to hold you.”

Carlisle:

No one really talks about the stress of being a pretend father for a bunch of eternal teenagers

Really, it’s a blessing that he doesn’t need sleep and isn’t affected by long hours

But despite that, he still gets so worn out

Today had been a long day for Carlisle.

It was student-teacher conference day. And while that’s not usually an issue since he always tells the kids to behave, Emmett decided it was necessary to punch a kid last week.

To be honest, Carlisle didn’t really care if the kid was a bully or not, all he viewed it as was something more drawing attention to them.

On top of that, the cattiness between Edward and Rosalie seemed to be especially bad today.

They were at each other’s throats for the better part of the day, and nothing would get them to separate.

At work, at least a dozen new patients showed up. A factory that was close by had a gas leak, very minor. None of the people were harmed at all, but many still insisted on going to the clinic.

Carlisle’s not one to discourage people from getting checked out, but he is one to tell people to go home when they’re fine, which everyone was.

But these people kept insisting something was wrong. A boy with a broken arm had to wait for three hours for a room to open up because the factory workers refused to leave.

By the time he got home, he was exhausted, you could tell. His eyes were heavy, as were his footsteps. His hair was disheveled, he had clearly been running his fingers through it all day from the stress.

He looked like a mess. But even then, he greeted you with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

He always takes such good care of you, whether you’re sick or not, he’s always there with whatever you want.

Now it’s your turn.

“Carlisle, are you busy?” You ask, peeking into his home office. Even after the super long day, he’s a man of habit.

“Not particularly,” he turns to look at you, setting his pen down, “why?”

“Follow me.”

You lead him to the bathroom, where a nice, warm back is drawn. Complete with lilac scented bath oil and two candles lit on the sink.

“The bath looks beautiful, darling. I’m sure the lavender will be great for your skin.”

“Oh, it’s not for me,” you quip. All he does is raise an eyebrow. “It’s for you. I know you’ve had a long day, so go relax and meet me in the bedroom when you’re done.”

You don’t give him a chance to argue before you leave, shutting the door tightly behind you.

He emerges about 30 minutes later, still toweling his hair off.

“Ok now come on over here,” you pat the bed next to you, motioning him to sit there. Again, all he does is quirk and eyebrow but he obliges.

You take the remote to the TV in yours and Carlisle’s room, turning on his favorite movie. A classic one from the silent film era.

“But this… I haven’t seen this movie in years… how did you get it?”

“That’s the beauty of streaming platforms.”

You both sit in silence for a while, Carlisle seemingly happy to just watch his favorite movie after so long. Eventually, he turns to look at you with an inquisitive expression.

“So, what’s all this for?”

“What, am I not allowed to take care of you from time to time?”

He laughs slightly at that.

“A human taking care of a vampire, how twisted.”

You grab his face between your hands at that, drawing him close and looking deep into his yellow eyes.

“It’s not if I want to do it, and I would move the Earth for you.”

“Hopeless romantic,” and with that he kisses you.

Vampire! Bella:

She tends to… shut down

We all know how she was when she couldn’t be with Edward

That translates over

It really wasn’t supposed to be that big of a deal.

Your Spanish class was going to be taking a two week trip to Spain.

Only, Bella wasn’t in Spanish. This time around, she chose to take French. Which was all fine and good, until it meant that she couldn’t go with you.

Cue two weeks of endless calls and texts.

On the phone with you , she sounds fine. But from your calls with Alice, she’s not doing too hot.

She hasn’t been hunting since you’ve been gone, she’s completely stopped going to class, and she also hasn’t talked to anyone in the house.

It’s the last night of your trip, you’re in your hotel room, the girl you’re sharing with is sound asleep in the other bed, but you know one girl who’s never asleep.

You call Bella’s number, and she answers instantly, like she’s been waiting all day for you to call. In all honesty, she probably has.

“Hey, what are you up to?” You can hear the attempt to be nonchalant in her voice, but her eagerness gives her away.

“Oh nothing, I just got off the phone with Alice… wanna tell me why you didn’t leave our room today? Or yesterday? Or the day before?”

You can hear her pause on the line, like she’s trying to come up with a convincing lie, but eventually she sighs.

“I just… I’ve just been missing you a lot, is all. I want you here next to me, I feel incomplete without you.”

Yowch. Right through the heart.

You decide then to help in some way, you don’t know how immediately, but you have to do something.

So you start to hum.

Whenever you have a bad day, Bella hums the song her mom used to sing to her. You always ask her to, and even though she says she isn’t a great singer, she indulges you anyway.

Sometimes it’s the only thing that can stop you from a panic attack or calm you enough to go back to sleep after a nightmare.

You hear her gasp slightly before y he sound of sheets rustling, presumably her laying her head down.

You go through the whole song twice over, Bella never telling you to stop or joining you.

After your voice fades out and the line stays dead for a moment, you swear you can hear Bella overthinking.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I’m an apex predator. I shouldn’t be so upset whenever you leave for a little bit.”

You laugh lightly at that, and you can hear her scoff across the line.

“I don’t mind. Especially when it’s you. Bella, I love you and I would do anything for you.”

“Even if I’m a beautiful monster who was designed to kill you?”

“Even if you did kill me, I would hope that my blood nourishes you for months on end.”

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madaqueue · 10 days ago

Text

FOOL'S GOLD SINKS ALL THE SAME

aventurine never fails to cause a scene, in public or in private.

pairing: aventurine x gn!reader

themes/content: reader has a history of sexual trauma (it is not described in graphic detail but it is very clearly alluded to. it is not romanticized or sexualized). smut. mentions of aventurine's past, oral + fingering + penetration (reader receiving), lots of ocean metaphors bc i'm normal abt it. 18+ MDNI (wk: 4.7k)

a/n: letting this blond man ruin my life

��Bet on me.”

The words barely land in your ears as Aventurine snakes his way around the table. You can’t respond, can’t even look at him, without inviting catastrophe, and he knows: he makes it a challenge, of course, reflecting the glimmering lights almost more brightly than the gaudy disco ball twirling away overhead. In the corner of your vision, the black flash of armed guards weighs in your mind, and instead of straining your eyes to catch his, you let your attention fall aimlessly ahead.

Then, you do precisely as you were told: nothing (technically, the IPC’s orders were to “Observe and gather intel” which you know means “Don’t let Aventurine cause a scene.” Perhaps that’s why they’ve sent you on so many jobs together - they need him chained, and you’re an inexpensive stand-in leash. Being a collar doesn’t take much skill, after all).

The game continues, cards and chips moving hands, and Aventurine loses after a stupid play he’d never make, and pouts.

“What a shame,” he says to himself, resting his chin on a glove you know is more expensive than the ruby velvet lining the table. “Dye like this is hard to find,” he once told you. “It’s almost impossible to get anything this dark. Only fools pay for red, but that’s why gamblers love it: it’s cheap and flashy.”

When the next round begins, he taps his fingers along the table, a tell he’d never let slip, one subtle enough not to miss. With barely-controlled eyes darting from player to player, he feigns nervousness and shuffles his chips to the center.

“Guess I’m all in,” he chuckles, letting his smirk waver for half a second.

The fools around you think he’s bluffing; they think they’ve got him. People tend to let their guard down when they think they’ve won, when they can’t see that the finish line has been moved. More chips rattle onto the table - they’d be idiots to not get in on pulling one over on the well-loathed IPC.

Again, you hear ‘bet on me,’ and for some stupid reason, you follow, clearing the space in front of you with a hesitant push of your own wealth (well, the IPC’s, of course) into the ever-growing pile.

On the neighboring stool, a man leans over, letting his scruff tickle the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sweetheart. Let that man lose his money, and when I win it back, I’ll spoil you.” He smells like cheap whiskey and cigarettes and you want to claw his throat out.

Across the table, one of the other gamblers lets out a shrill complaint of, “No coaching during the plays!” and the man beside you innocently raises his arms, not before winking at you, and you wonder if you were to kill him on this table how much the velvet would cost to replace.

Instead, you bat your eyelashes and lay your cards down. “Oh well, maybe I’ll win the next one,” you giggle, sending your chips toppling onto the others with one final shove.

The next moves happen rather quickly: Aventurine reveals his hand, people shout, the money is claimed from the table, and somebody grabs your arm. It’s only when cool cloth softly rubs your skin that you recognize the man dragging you towards the exit and let your muscles be pulled behind.

“Told you,” Aventurine whispers, his breath lighter than feathers.

He cashes out silently and guides you towards the elevators, this time with one palm placed on your lower back rather than wrapped around your wrist. Less possessive, you think - less likely to cause a scene.

The moment the elevator doors close, you turn to him.

“What the hell was that?”

“What?” He cocks his head to the side and lets that impish grin spread across his face, the one that’s nearly landed him with knuckles on his jaw in an attempt to wipe it off.

“You know that wasn’t what we were sent here to do.” You cross your arms, and he basks in the heat of your body, his wrists now fully snaked around your waist.

“Details, details,” he murmurs with a wave of his hand. “We got the information we needed. It’s not a crime to have a little fun afterwards.”

“It is a crime to disobey orders-”

Just as your annoyance begins to bubble over, the elevator chimes and opens directly into his suite. To break free from his grasp, your feet step forward and graciously carry you inside.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, light bouncing off the white marble that lines every surface.

Of course Aventurine gets a penthouse for these missions. The IPC certainly has to keep up appearances, and with a man like him, anything else might as well fully blow his cover.

He lets you enter on your own, at least, as he waltzes behind you, with the saccharine smell of pride blooming from his skin.

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” he hums, and you want to smack that smug smile off his face.

Before you can, he tosses a cloth sack your way, the coins inside clanking with a sound you nearly don’t recognize.

“For you,” he says easily, leaning against the ever-opulent stone counter.

Something in the sound makes your head feel heavy, under pressure like you’re drowning. It’s familiar in a way you hate, in a way that you remember from the mattresses of shitty hotel rooms and men who smell like cigarettes and the way your tears look under the fluorescent lights of an unfamiliar bathroom.

You know what money like this means for them. And worse, you know what it means for you.

It’s just work, you told yourself the first time someone propositioned you to their room. A way to clear the debt, to push you a little closer to an ever-moving goal. It’s just a body, just a hole, just a few minutes. But it’s different when it’s Aventurine’s body, standing three feet away from yours, when the velvet smells like him and is still warm from his palm.

You don’t open it, you don’t want to. You can feel the metal sitting in your stomach, all too heavy. The act isn’t new, you suppose, but you never thought Aventurine would-

It doesn’t matter.

Now you see the point of his plan - involving you in it was sick, but the IPC must keep up appearances. It’s only fitting for them, you suppose.

So, you slowly make your way across the kitchen, sliding the pouch into your coat pocket. You don’t look at him, you can’t, not anymore. Standing mere inches before him, you lower yourself to your knees - they love the ceremony of it, they always do - and rest your hands along his waist. Practiced fingers begin unworking his belt - normally, at this point, you’d turn your gaze to the man above you, but you can’t.

It’s just work. It’s just work. It’s just work.

But something about this, something about it being him, makes your stomach turn, makes you want to vomit up the metal taste that sits in the back of your throat.

Too busy in your mind, you don’t notice the way Aventurine tenses, nor the panic in his hands as he wraps them around your wrists.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words come out fast, blended into a single breath.

“I’m – I’m doing what you paid me for.”

Finally, you look at him, and see the sheer horror raging behind his eyes. The smooth mask of a practiced liar doesn’t chip easily, but if you listen close enough, you could hear its pieces falling to the cold tiles beneath your knees.

“No. No.” Pulling you from the ground, he doesn’t let go of your shoulders as you rise. “That’s – that’s not what I’m paying you for.”

“Oh.”

Desperately he searches for something in your face, some hint of the rage that burns beneath his skin, but he finds nothing, just glossed-over eyes and a practiced smile. It’s just work, after all - he of all people should know best.

For a moment, he nearly lets his questions get the better of him - What sick fuck is paying you? Is this a part of your contract? Who do I have to kill for making you think you’re nothing more than a body to be used like this? - but easily, he slips the silk mask back on (he wouldn’t want to frighten you with anger; he wouldn’t forgive himself).

“That money is for you. Just you.” Gloved hands smooth the wrinkles along your collar. “It’s the first installment for the debt you owe - in three months, you’ll be rid of the IPC,” (and me, he nearly says), “forever.”

“Aventurine,” you rasp - you aren’t sure why the words get stuck in your throat, now, after all this time. You aren’t sure why they taste so hot - maybe it’s the burning that lingers in your knees. “You can’t.”

“I can. And I did.” The flash of his smile nearly blinds you again. “You can thank me later, but for now, let’s celebrate-”

“No.”

Your eyes sting, and that pit in your chest is back, heavier, threatening to swallow you whole. It aches and makes your head spin and you want to spit it out, let it claw its way from your insides and take your blood and bones and viscera with it.

“The debt was mine to pay off.”

“Well, no offense, but you were doing a pretty terrible job of it,” he laughs, hesitantly. In all his calculated planning, in the hours and days and weeks and months he spent dreaming of this moment, he had a vision of how you’d react, how you’d smile and sigh and wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek and how he’d get to hold you, pick you up like you weighed less than air, free from the chains that kept you down, beneath him.

“It doesn’t matter. It was mine.”

Boiling tears stream down your cheeks, leaving trails of steam in their wake, and you want to collapse into yourself, you want to let the pressure build up until you explode and take out this entire building, this entire planet for all you care.

“You can’t – you can’t just buy people, Aventurine,” you choke, the words landing in the room like smoke.

For the first time, his smile falters. “I wasn’t-”

The coin purse finds its way back into your hand, and then to the ground below his feet. He doesn’t reach out to grab you as you turn away.

You’re grateful that the bar is rather empty, aside from a lone stranger on one end with his head down and an empty bottle beside him, and a couple trying to consume one another in the corner. Most other patrons seem too engrossed in the thrill of throwing their lives away, you suppose; that’s the nature of a casino, the price of feeding its hunger. Empty chairs have become quite a comfort over the years, separating you from those who would grab too tightly, or beg for a kiss, just a kiss, or slide a pile of coins your way and wait for you by the elevators.

And yet, when he approaches from behind you, you don’t flinch (you’d know his steps anywhere, you think - they’re too evenly timed to belong to anyone else).

“Is this seat taken?” he grins, but makes no move to sit until you gesture him forward with a wave of your glass.

The two of you let the silence settle, even though Aventurine feels he may choke on it, even though he wants to speak and speak and speak until you forgive him and tell him it’s alright and tell him he’s not evil, he didn’t hurt you, he didn’t mean to. Instead, he silently orders two drinks and lets you sip yours slowly.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I know you were trying to do something good.”

There are words sitting on the tip of his tongue begging to be let free, but he swallows and lets them burn his throat.

“I didn’t plan to work for the IPC this long. I didn’t plan for any of this, really.” You chuckle, a dry sound, and wash it down with the liquid in your cup. “But my debt just kept growing, and they kept saying they needed me - ‘just one more job,’ - but it’s never really just one more, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” and he lets himself laugh.

The casino’s sounds settle atop you, those of victory and highs and pride left to sit out for too long, until it starts to rot.

“The IPC bought my debt,” he says to the empty bottles behind the bar. “It was a long time ago, longer than you’ve been here, I’m sure. It was selfish of me to try and do the same to you.” (Nobody should be owned like that, he almost says. The mark on his neck aches and itches and pricks at his skin like hot iron. He ignores it.)

His empty glass sits on the table, its wet ring bleeding into the wood. A wiser man would have used a coaster, or perhaps, a poorer man, one who couldn’t afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.

“The money is still yours, of course. You don’t have to take it, but I have no use for it.” My debt is too grand to be counted and held in velvet, he thinks.

When your gaze meets his, his pupils dilate - one of the few tells he can’t control.

“Well then,” you hum, the ice clinking against the glass as it swirls in your hold, “I suppose I should use my new-found wealth.” Setting your cup upon the table, the condensation makes it slide towards his, and you grin, an unpracticed one, unpolished. Your cheeks pull back unevenly and you let the cracks in your lips show. “Can I buy you a drink?”

He laughs and you wonder if this is the same sound that plays from the slot machines lining the walls, if this is the bell that rings for victory, the one that makes people willing to throw their savings away for the chance to hear it just one more time.

“Well, I’d be a fool to say no.”

He’s lighter now that your forgiveness has settled on him, kissing his cheeks like a butterfly’s wings, in a way that tickles and doesn’t make him brush it off, a way that reminds him of spring and flowers, of his home and of you.

“Do you remember that job we worked on Belobog?”

“The one where I had to pretend to be married to you?” you laugh, nearly falling off the back of the barstool before Aventurine’s hand catches you in the dip of your back.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he whines, letting his lips turn upwards.

“I just never took you for someone so…comfortable in public.” There’s a glimmer of something sparkling behind your eyes, more than just the neon lights flashing overhead.

Leaning forward, he’s so close you can nearly smell him, wood and liquor, smoke and velvet. Rich in all the ways he ought to be, in all the ways he pretends he is.

“I was just selling our cover,” he purrs, and a part of you wonders if this is dangerous, to be letting him in like this, to tilt your head until the heat radiating from his skin gets trapped in the space between you.

“Yeah? I didn’t know you had orders to pull me onto your lap and kiss my neck every second we were around someone else. It was a bit much, don’t you think?”

“A little overkill never hurt anyone,” his eyes narrow and he wants to open his mouth and swallow you. “Besides, you certainly didn’t seem to mind.”

Your face grows warm, but you don’t back down, don’t turn away, not when you hold the winning hand. “I guess I just took you for someone more private, Aventurine.”

“Oh, you have no idea how I am in private.”

“No?” your glass lands heavily along the bar, and he straightens his back as you stand. “Then why don’t you come back to my room and show me?”

And he’s on his feet in the time it takes to blink.

Your room is smaller than his, of course; the two of you nearly fill the hallway, swelling until every inch of it is consumed by your bodies, leaving imprints of your flesh along the walls. It’s not opulent, it's not marble or pillars or gold, but it’s yours, and now, his.

He ushers you inside first, and the moment the door closes, you press into him.

You don’t speak, and neither does he; you don’t have to, not anymore. When your hands trail up his sides, the breath in his throat catches, a beginner’s tell, one he should have outgrown by now, one he knows better than to let slip. The lilting chuckle he lets out, too, tells you all too much.

When your lips meet his, it’s soft at first, all feathers and butterflies. Hesitant and nervous, but yearning.

In a moment, he lets the silk mask slip.

Then, he’s starving. Hands reach around you and grab and beg and hold, trying to tear off pieces of you so he’ll never have to leave this behind. Your teeth sink into his lower lip and he groans into your mouth and you’re grateful for the wood door as you lean every ounce of your weight against him.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you,” he sighs, and his breath melds with yours until you’re exhaling one another, until the only thing you can feel and hear and taste is him.

“I do.” Blown pupils meet yours, decorated with stars and constellations. “You’re easier to read than you think, Aventurine.”

“You just know me too well,” he smiles, and his lips are back on yours, hungry and gnawing.

With needy hands you drag him from the entryway and towards the bed, the only real piece of furniture inside, luckily.

There’s a practiced ease as you fall to your knees once again, and a gentleness to his hands as he lifts you where you stand.

“Allow me,” he hums.

Softly, he kneels before you, and he can’t bring himself to look away from the warmth radiating from your face. He’s a flower planted beneath you, watered with your smile and grown by your fingertips; you can step on him, if you’d like, or leave him here until his petals kiss your ankles and pluck him so he may stay in your heart.

He undoes your belt and he tugs your waistband down, too impatient to let gravity do the work. Your shirt’s buttons prove a similarly fluid task, despite the way your hands shake as you rush to undo his. Jewelry and accessories drop to the floor before they’re kicked away, lost to the depths of cloth and fur. Finally, he removes his gloves, tugging off each finger with polished teeth.

“Lay down for me, would you?” he asks in that sweet, silky voice, the one that tastes like wood and liquor, that you want to pour down your throat and swallow with heaving gulps.

The bedding is cotton and scratchy and you don’t even mind, not when he leans over you and you feel his skin on yours, soft and bare. It’s the first time he touches you, truly touches you, with his hands, no expensive velvet or obligation or orders in the way, just his flesh and desire.

You know how much his time is worth, the mental tally of credits summing in your mind with each passing second, and yet, his fingers trail patiently downward, resting at your ribs, your hips, your thighs; his lips follow, marking a path along your body, a map he can return to when he inevitably gets lost and must be found.

Settling between your legs, he inhales and fills his lungs with you, with the salt and sage that blooms from your pulse points. Expensive, but not gaudy - the IPC certainly knows how to maintain an appearance.

His tongue is quick and deft, and he nearly misses the way you tense. When he searches your face, he finds furrowed eyebrows and a frown that a more foolish man would pass off as pleasure.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. How do you respond to a question you’ve never been asked, one you’d never prepared for? “I think so, yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The sound makes you flinch. “No, just…”

What more is there? It’s just work, you’d say; Use me, he’d say.

“Here.” Intertwining his fingers with yours, he lets his palm sink into the crater of your own. “Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.”

You nod and smile, crooked and sweet, and he sends one back in return. Slowly, the haven of your thighs welcomes him once again.

He’s softer, now, as he savors you, the way your skin lands on his tongue, the way your hips shift into the mattress. When he presses a finger to your entrance, you gasp and nearly grip his hand, but he pauses, he lets you breathe and relax your knees and stomach. When he pushes further in, a moan falls from your lips and he thinks he’d bet his life savings, go in debt a thousand times over just to hear it again. He knows his luck is true when he adds a second finger and he’s graced with it once more.

“Aventurine,” you breathe, your muscles tensing as the heat in your core builds. You worry what your body will do when it finally overtakes you, when the flames kiss your skin half as kindly as him, so you dig your palms into his hair instead. It’s soft, impossibly so, as you knot it around your knuckles; he groans when your nails scratch along his scalp.

He lets you pull him in, swallowing every sound and touch you’ll grant him with an eager throat. You cry his name when you come undone, and he wonders what fate he owes a debt to for the chance to taste you, hear you, feel you like this.

When he finally leans away, the depths of his pupils have drowned the vibrant cyan and violet that normally kiss their shore, and his chest heaves like a man just saved from the sea. He’s damp like one, too, sweat-slicked hair clinging to his neck.

Light catches on his shoulders and he glows, rising above you as though gravity wouldn’t dare touch him. He kisses you again, and he passes along the ocean and salt and stone, a secret message a fool would miss, but one you can read: I crave you.

There’s no nervousness left as you guide his tip to your entrance, no fear or duty or chains, just his hips and devotion.

“Are you sure?”

Your palm interlinks with his once more, and you grin. “Of course.” The soft, warm skin of his neck finds its way between your teeth, letting it rest behind your canines, and he chuckles eagerly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know,” he sighs into you.

“What a wonderful way to die.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him forward. Cool air blesses your spine as your back arches from the bed, more gentle than feathers or a butterfly’s wings, and you welcome him with ease.

He shudders when he bottoms out, cold in spite of the heat emanating from your skin, trapped in the single layer of atoms between your bodies.

A moment passes, then two. And you realize, in the still seconds, that he’s waiting, restraining. A hand held out, an invitation.

Tentatively, your hips circle his, and a golden whine flows from his lips. It drips from the corners and you lap at the fountain of his wealth.

He lets you guide him, then, lets you move and lead and make a show of what you want, what you like. There’s a rhythm he settles into, an angle, a single spot that makes you claw at his back and drink the air from his lungs. And he, an ever-grateful actor, is more than happy to perform.

There’s a control to it, though. A mask.

“Let go,” you whisper into his open mouth.

He chews the words but barely swallows. “What do you mean?”

Your eyelashes flutter open to find him staring down, blinded by the spotlight of your presence; he blinks to clear the flashing. “You’re holding back; let go.”

It’s a miracle you’ve never noticed until this moment, until you’re this close to him, but his grin is a bit uneven, too, the right side of his smile curving ever-so-slightly higher than the left. You wonder how hard he’s had to work to hide it; you wonder what it would take to see it again.

“If you insist.”

His lips crash into yours and you wonder if this is what drowning feels like, to have something in your lungs and your stomach and on your skin and dragging you into it; you wonder if the sea has ever felt this greedy.

Each swell of his pelvis is another wave, crests with no rhythm, an unpredictable high and low. Boats have been lost to less; perhaps they would have been saved if only they’d had his hands waiting to catch them. His, meanwhile, dig into your waist, holding you just under the surface.

Moans blend into each other, and he hits so deep inside you that a cough to dispel the water lodged inside would surely have his name in it, not that you’d ever want to; you want him in every part of you, seeping into the cracks and living there, forever. You inhale and inhale and inhale, until you can’t tell the difference between him and air, until he’s the thing keeping you alive.

The bed shakes, its cheap wood headboard bouncing against the chipping paint of your shitty hotel room, leaving behind damage that you’ll surely have to pay. But how lucky you are to be with a man who can afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.

“I-” he starts, but you already know what he’s about to say (he’s not that hard to read, after all - not when his entire body begins to shake, when his whines strain higher, when he lets his smile fall crooked).

“Don’t stop,” is all you have to say; not that he could, with the way your legs wrap around him; not that he would, with the way you bloom and writhe and swell beneath him.

When he comes undone, it’s accompanied by the most beautiful sound, the most beautiful flush of his cheeks and arch of his back.

And yet, all he hears is you as you hold him, as you follow him under and kiss him through the brine, as you clench around his length and let him twitch and shake and tremble.

It takes a moment for him to still inside you (the sea is never quiet right after a storm). When he does, his eyes search for yours immediately. When they don’t find a smile, he begins to panic - Did he hurt you? Are you scared? Will you hate him? - but in an instant, they crinkle at the corners.

“Well,” you say, breathless.

“Well?” he mirrors, trying to hide the water that still rests in his chest.

“I have to be honest with you,” you hum pensively, letting the practiced control slip back into your voice, letting him worry for half a moment before you continue, “I can now say with confidence, you are exactly the same in private.”

His face stalls for a moment, and then he laughs, and you’ve found a new currency, one you’d happily be indebted in for the rest of your life. “So I take it you’d want to do this again sometime? In spite of the overkill?”

Your grin widens at the corners, uneven and shining. “I’d be a fool not to.”

#posts abt blond man . runs away #i don’t even know if this makes sense but … i love him so much #q writes #oneshot #aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine hsr #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr smut #aventurine smut

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kyumisyumi · 6 months ago

Note

HI!!! Love your work!!

Is it possible for you to write a fic where the monster is just too big for the reader but the monster is in rut or some sort of overbearing horniness so they coax the reader open to be able to take all of them

So sorry this took forever, life was life-ing. Job hunting and the works. Happy I could finally finish my first request here.

Warning: nsfw tags: heat, double penetration, fisting-ish, we're all just animals at the end of the day

Ship: Naga x Reader (F)

Word count: 800+ words

⊱⊶Taking requests⊷⊰

You were so good for him. Always so good; wet and soft and absolutely divine. He never mind that you couldn't take both of his cocks, just having one in you was enough to drive him damn near feral. His mind threatening to slip into an animalistic haze begging him to fuck you until every last drop of energy -and cum- in him was gone. Now, however, things were different. The season's arrival brought with it the an aphrodisiac than burned inside his veins. The overwhelming need to breed you - and breed you proper- was pushing him beyond reason. Beyond thought even. His ears filled with the ringing of need and the only thing that could pierce it was the sweet sounds of your moans.

"Please." You didn't even know what you were begging for. For him to stop? For him to start? He'd been fucking you with his fingers for what felt like eons. His long, firm digits sliding in you effortlessly as their tips pressed against the spongy little spot that seemed to disconnect your brain. Your thighs and the plush sheets beneath were absolutely drenched in slick leaking out of your swollen cunt. You didn't even know how you got here; one moment you were tending to the houseplants that sat by the living room window, the next moment you were being pulled into a tight reptilian coil. One blink later; your clothes were gone and a long, forked tongue was tasting you.

You cursed as his fingers pulled wider and wider, finally letting in the fifth digit. Your back arched as he slowly pushed forward with his whole arm. You could feel your insides mold to the shape of his muscles. Did you just come? Your senses were absolutely fried from overstimulation. But the pulsing of your walls eventually caught up to you, bringing with it the jolts of pleasure that wracked your whole body. Pretty little tears began to spill from your eyes again as you searched for him through blurry vision. So weak and overwhelmed that you needed the visage of him for comfort. Your brain didn't care that he was the one causing it.

His eyes almost glowed as he peered down at you, the once thin slits of his pupils expanded, almost fully concealing the color. He looked mad. The pearly whites of his eyes tinted red along the edges. Bloodshot. He was lost. He looked as if he hadn't blinked in years, as if even the milliseconds it would take to close his lids were too long to not look at you.

"Are you ready for me, Love?" He spoke for the first time in ages. Voice raspy, dry, as though all moisture had been sucked from him. "Of course you are." He answered, with zero input from you, not that you could even muster words at this point. "So fucking perfect." He pulled his hand out of you. His eyes finally left you to look at the glistening moisture that covered it then at your thoroughly abused hole. His forked tongue absentmindedly licked your taste off his fingers. He began muttering to himself. Your concern for his sanity grew. You could barely hear his words; praises and coos for you. Thanking the Gods for bringing you to him. Making you for him.

When he raised himself on his tail you could see the leaking tips of his engorged members. Both of them pressing against his abdomen, twitching as though they were ready to spill seed at any moment. He positioned himself between your trembling thighs, one hand squeezing both cocks together. You'd yet to realize his intentions before you felt the dual tips slip into you. You opened your mouth to say something. What? Again, you weren't sure. But when he slowly began to push himself further and further inside you your vocal chords released a ferine moan. You could feel your walls stretch to hold him, like a fulfilling pressure rather than the straining pain you'd expected. That scared you so much you never tried prior. He lowered himself over you, elbows bent on either side of your limp form. His eyes refocused, studying every minute movement of your face.

There was no patience in him, all of it spent. He'd bottomed out in you before you'd even realised it. His hips smashing against your pelvis with a loud groan. His chest pressed into yours with every breath. He'd give you a moment and only a moment before the thrusting began. You'd felt full before but it couldn't compare to what you feel now. The raw connection of having him inside you; not his fingers, not his tongue, not his hand but his manhood sheathed within you where it belonged. Nothing felt more right, it was both intoxicating and sobering. Pleasure would always be pleasure but this was something more.

You were reduced to cries and mewls as you both devolved into animals.

#kyumiwrites #monster smut #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster lover #monster fucker #monster x human #naga #teratophillia #exophelia #naga x human #naga x reader

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thestrangepoet · 3 months ago

Text

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 1/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.)

This is chapter one of…I don’t know. I may continue if enough people are enjoying it. Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

Oh God, Martin thought to himself as fur began to emerge from under his skin, covering newly reshaped limbs and hiding sharp claws from sight, Jon’s going to be so mad at me!

Oh no, Martin panicked as blunt teeth gave way to pointed canines, this is so unprofessional of me!

Only then did Martin allow the terrible question to enter his mind – what was he becoming?

He should have known better than to pick up an unfamiliar book lying around in the archives of the Magnus Institute, the academic home of research into the paranormal and esoteric. At the very least, if he was going to pick it up, he should have done so only to tidy it away. Why he had felt compelled to open the tome and sneak a peek inside, he couldn’t say.

As the world around him lurched into a new angle, Martin could only think about the presentation his boss had delivered a few weeks prior.

Obviously, you shouldn’t be dealing directly with any artefacts of note, Jon had said dryly, tapping the large screen behind him that showed countless examples of seemingly mundane objects. We have a department for that for a reason. However, it’s not unusual for one or two to slip through the cracks; particularly books, given the extensive nature of our library. If you should check out a book as part of your research and you see the name ‘Leitner’ involved in any capacity, do not read the book. Put it down immediately. Martin, that goes double for you – if you even think the word ‘Leitner’ near a book, I want you to turn around immediately and walk back to your desk – do you understand?

Had he seen the name ‘Leitner’ in this book? There had been a torn bookplate in the front, and maybe the remaining letters had been ‘ner’...

Did it matter? He was paying for his stupidity now, Martin thought. All fur and claws and fangs, and oh, what hideous monster would emerge from what had once been Martin Blackwood?

Martin lay down, his fluffy belly flat against the floor, and pushed his newly shaped paws over his eyes. Oh, it didn’t bear thinking about! Jon would burst in at any moment, see some horrible creature, not realise it was Martin, and—

“Martin?”

As if on cue, the door to the shared office of the archival assistants opened, and in walked Jonathan Sims. “Martin, have you taken your lunch break? Tim and Sasha have already gone, and Elias has been getting very prickly about me making sure you all…oh. Martin?”

Martin had scampered under the table in hope of avoiding his boss’ gaze. Treated now to a blurry view of the man’s green socks and scuffed brogues, he watched as Jon entered the office. “Oh. Good. He’s gone already,” Jon said to himself with the air of a job well done. He turned to leave, and Martin had almost let out a sigh of relief when the man’s feet stopped.

No, no! Martin thought, Go! You can’t see me like this! I bet I’m the ugliest monster, all fangs and talons and hair all over the place!

A scarred hand appeared in Martin’s imperfect vision, scooping up the fallen book that was to blame for Martin’s plight. A new fear sprang up in Martin’s mind then – what if Jon read the book too?

He had to do it. He had to save him! Even if it meant Jon would see Martin’s disgusting new form, he had to keep Jon safe!

He lunged with a power that Martin hadn’t ever known before. A screeching roar – or a miaow, really – pierced the air, and Martin all but bodyslammed Jon’s hands, knocking the book firmly from his grip. It span across the room and slid under the bookshelf out of sight.

Now he’d done it. Now Jon would see Martin in all his revolting glory – witness what that awful Leitner book had turned him into. If he didn’t recognise Martin, as surely he wouldn’t, he’d no doubt call security, and then what would happen? Would Martin be taken down? Locked away in the tunnels for examination and research? Worse, what if Jon did recognise him? He’d know that Martin had messed up in a spectacular fashion, and he’d be so disappointed in him. Would he be the one to tell Martin nothing could be done, that the effects of a Leitner were irreversible and that they’d have to–

“Good Lord! Oh…oh, now, where did you come from, little one?”

Jon’s voice took on a bizarrely soft tone that Martin had never heard before. He couldn’t respond, however, as thin hands had latched gently around his torso and lifted him from the ground, a startled purr rumbling from Martin’s chest.

All of a sudden, Jon’s face filled Martin’s entire view. And for once, no scowl darkened his features. In fact, Jon almost looked…delighted?

Martin blinked.

“Mrrow?”

Not once in over a year of working for Jonathan Sims had Martin managed to coax a smile from the other man. All his best attempts, his best teas, his ridiculous amount of overtime to finish his reports to a standard Jon would accept, all his own smiles and attempts to cheer the man up, not one of these gargantuan efforts had been rewarded with a smile.

And now, with one confused miaow, Martin had unlocked a smile from Jon.

“How did you get in here? Did you get lost? Did Martin leave the door open again? Oh, I bet he did. I bet he did!” Jon repeated, descending into a cooing baby voice that would have had Martin howling with laughter if he could still laugh. Jon shifted the perplexed Martin to sit over his shoulder more comfortably, the book all but forgotten. “But you’re such a handsome boy! And no collar? Poor little man, have you been wandering around looking for some food and shelter? We’ll get you sorted, don’t you worry, little champion.”

What…the hell…is happening? Martin wondered, even as a big, goofy smile curled his lips.

Jon was carrying him. Out of the office. Stroking his back. Calling him a little champion and handsome.

“How about a saucer of warm milk, hmm? Does that sound good? Would that set you right, hmm?”

It was only then that Martin’s mind dragged itself out of the dazed, happy fog to piece together what Jon was saying. Why he was saying it.

Martin had not been transformed into some vicious beast from the eldritch corners of reality.

As they passed by Jon’s office, Martin caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass pane of the door.

A large cat with white and orange fur blinked back at him from over Jon’s shoulder.

──── •✧• ────

Martin was, of course, the talk of the town after everyone returned from their lunch break. Funny, then, that not one person actually mentioned Martin.

“So you’re gonna take him to the vets, right, boss?” Tim asked, rolling another roll of Sellotape towards Martin, apparently expecting him to play with it. Martin, on principle, refused, turning his nose up and huffing.

Tim, come on! You’re back, Sasha’s back, who isn’t back yet? Ask where Martin is! he thought.

“He seems healthy enough to me,” Jon replied, not looking up from the paperwork he was pouring over. “Why?”

“To get his microchip checked? Get him back to his owners?”

That made Jon look up, a flash of shock and upset clear in his widened eyes and slightly parted lips. “His ow— No, no, he hasn’t even got a collar on. No owners.”

“Right, but by law, cats have to be microchipped. Maybe his collar fell off or something?” A hint of amusement danced in Tim’s questions; Martin could tell that Tim was toying with Jon. Jon, however, hadn’t picked up on that.

“M-maybe,” he replied stiffly. “Right, yes, fine. Vets after work. But he can stay here for now. Till the end of the shift.”

Martin wandered over to Jon, sitting himself down by the leg of his chair and craning his neck up, tail swishing behind him.

Right, now that’s sorted, onto the next obvious issue in the office, Jon, he thought. Which is…the obvious and mysterious disappearance of—

“Martin’s late back off his lunch,” Jon noted, checking the office clock with a critical glance. “Could you check the archival assistants’ office please, Tim? Maybe drop him a text. Probably got himself distracted by some…particularly interesting bollards or something…”

Sure, there’d been an insult mixed in there, but Jon had noticed! He’d noticed Martin’s disappearance, and that meant Martin had to repay his kindness!

Fuelled with delight, the cat sprang up onto Jon’s lap, earning him a surprised chuckle. “Ah! Well, hello! Y-yes, you can sit there while I work, Champion. That’s fine.”

Tim snorted as he headed out of Jon’s office, arching an eyebrow at the pair of them. “Champion? Are you kidding me? He’s a classic Fluffy or Ginger or Marshmallow or something.”

“Nonsense. He’s brimming with regal strength. A Champion if I ever saw one,” Jon retorted with a sniff, deeming the argument not worth his attention beyond that and turning back to his work. “Let me know if Martin gets back to you. And if he shows up, send him in here.”

The newly named Champion stretched out lazily on Jon’s lap, settling down for a cheeky nap on company time.

Already here, Jon.

──── •✧• ────

#cat!martin #tma cats #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #jmart

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coco-loco-nut · 9 months ago

Text

Book Club - Part 5

Pairing: Lance Stroll x Reader, Grid x Reader

Summary: the wedding, not too much grid involvement (sorry!!!)

masterlist

________

You didn't expect planning a wedding to be this hard. You and Lance agreed on something more low-key, but that doesn't really happen when you are both famous in your own right and you are marrying the son of a billionaire, so you settled on a fancy but small wedding. Lawrence funded the whole wedding, wanting the day to go off without a hitch, besides you and Lance getting hitched obviously. Lance took care of planning the Honeymoon, leaving you and Lawrence to plan the wedding.

"Y/n, go take a break. You are stressing out over nothing my dear. Let me handle it, your wedding shouldn't be stressful," Lawrence rests his hand on your shoulder and you nod, taking a deep breath. Your soon-to-be father-in-law has done a great job so far at bringing your vision to life, so you trusted him to argue with the beach venue in Greece. You walked away and went to the mini library of the Switzerland home.

Your bridal party/mini vacation to a small beach town in Corsica, planned by none other than George Russell and Chloe Stroll, was fabulous. The weekend flew by so quick, and Daniel made it his personal mission to get you drunk off your ass 24/7. The whole book club, besides Fernando made up your bridal party, in addition to George, Logan, and Chloe.

“Y/n, you look beautiful,” Chloe and Claire help the stylists put finishing touches on you. The greek sun has tanned you perfectly the past couple days, and given you a beautiful glow. There is a knock on the door and Chloe is quick to open it. Your bridal party walks in, dressed in their tan suits.

“My daughter, you look stunning,” Kimi hugs you, he is giving you away on your request.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Your bridal party consists of Chloe (your maid of honor), the book club (minus Fernando who is with his teammate), George, and Logan. Logan’s groomsmen is also filled with drivers as well as Chloe’s husband Scotty who is serving as his Best Man.

“Alright, time for one last meeting before testing,” Checo says, one of your wedding photographers making sure to catch the moment on camera. An hour filled with laughter passes quickly and soon enough, Lawrence is guiding you to your first look with Lance. It was one thing that you and Lance were certain of, wanting the private moment for yourselves.

Lance is standing on the balcony staring at the ocean, waiting for you. You spot a photographer standing in a corner of the large space, trying to remain invisible as you slip onto the balcony.

“Come here often?” your voice shakes slightly as the breath leaves you. He looks utterly handsome in his suit and perfectly styled hair.

“I- you look- wow,” he says, taking in every inch of you. Both of you look at each other, tears pricking in your eyes.

“I can, and will, say the same thing about you,” you grin, stepping towards him. He carefully pulls you into him, kissing you.

“I can’t wait to make you my wife,” he rests his forehead on yours.

“Half an hour,” you could hear the sounds of your guests filling in.

“Then they will be able to see the most beautiful woman in the world,” Lance smiles, your heart racing.

“It will be a shame that they won’t be looking at you. How will they know that I am the luckiest girl in the world,” you return his smile.

“No, I am the luckiest guy. I get to marry a multitalented woman. You are an incredible racer, the most beautiful woman on earth, the kindest soul, and yet you choose me,” he continues his flattery.

“I am a good racer, not incredible,” you laugh. You aren’t like Max, Charles, Lando or Carlos, you don’t fight for podiums as often, but you do tend to hang around P4 or P5. You aren’t a world championship winning driver, it’s why Red Bull signed you to replace Checo in the upcoming season following his retirement. They need a solid second driver, and they know that Max will teach you more and push you.

“Nonsense, my baby is going to be driving for Red Bull, they chose you for a reason,” Lance reassures you.

“Y/n, Lance, one more minute,” Chloe interrupts.

“I’ll see you out there,” you squeeze his hands, a motion he returns. After a quick kiss, you follow him off the balcony. Your stylists do some quick touch ups before your party is escorted outside, you watch as the procession starts, Lance leading the pairs down the aisle. The grid takes the coupling in stride, holding arms with each other and making everyone giggle at them, including you.

“Are you ready, Kirppu?” Kimi asks, tears in his eyes.

“Remember, I’m training you for whenever those three get married,” you glance at your adoptive siblings.

“I know, they adore their older sister. Let’s not make Lance wait any longer,” Kimi sighs as you squeeze his arm. You and Kimi walk gracefully down the aisle, a wide smile on your face, and Kimi’s usually stoic face full of emotion. When the officiant, aka Sebastian Vettel, asks who is giving you away, he proudly identifies himself as your father, and when he sits down beside Minttu he is crying like a baby. The ceremony flies by, but you and Lance soak in every detail. Your vows to each other are short and sweet, not needing to say a lot to profess your love to each other.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Sebastian says, Lance wastes no time in wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into a kiss. The guys on both sides of you go nuts, Kimi cries again, and you pull apart with a grin. Lance picks you up and carries you down the aisle.

The reception takes place on the beach, you changed into a shorter, flowier, white dress for dancing and sand purposes, Lance’s suit jacket is off and the top few shirt buttons are undone. You and Lance entered first for the sole purpose of wanting to see how the ‘couples’ entered. Each driver pairing made the both of you laugh your butts off, very glad that there is video evidence of it.

You both refused to let Netflix film and other celebrity news outlets photograph any parts of the wedding, they weren’t invited and if they wanted media from it, they can pay the both of you a hefty sum. The security provisions for keeping away paparazzi meant that everyone was able to truly enjoy themselves.

“Family photo!” Minttu says, pulling you and Lance over as the reception starts. The first picture is just Robin, Rianna, and you carefully holding Grace, then Lance gets added in, then Kimi and Minttu join, then Lance leaves the picture so it is only you 6.

“My icecubes,” Kimi smiles at the pictures adoringly.

“One day we are going to drive for Ferrari together, just like Iskä,” Robin looks up at you and you smile, knowing that you will be far to old to do that when he is in F1.

“Heck yeah, little bro,” you hug him. Maybe you will get to be his race engineer, congratulating him when he wins his first championship.

“You two will be champions of the world together,” Lance winks at you and Robin.

“You look like a princess and a prince,” Rianna says, you pick her up and hug her. Kimi is silently combusting while watching his kids be cute together.

“That makes you a princess too, since you are my little sister,” you tickle her and she squirms out of your arms into Lance’s.

“I’ll protect you, don’t worry,” he angles her away from you as she laughs.

“Hey!” you laugh as well.

“Ok kids, let your older sister and brother greet their other guests,” Minttu says, Lances heart swells hearing himself included. You both make your laps around the tables, greeting the guests before dinner is served. The speeches are wonderful, and before you know it, you are dancing with Kimi for your Father-Daughter dance.

“Are you ok, Dad? You are crying more than I think you ever have,” you smile softly, as he uses a had to wipe his eyes.

“I just never expected to grow so close to you when I offered to mentor you, and now you are for all intents and purposes my daughter, and I’m so proud of how much you’ve accomplished this past year. If I had it my way, your last name would be Räikkönen, not Stroll now,” Kimi sniffles.

“About that. My new legal name is Y/n Räikkönen-Stroll. I talked to the family about it and they agreed, I was going to wait to surprise you,” you reveal, his smile quickly growing.

“I’m so happy to call you my daughter,” he hugs you as the song ends.

“No more happy as I am to call you my dad,” you squeeze him tight. As the night ends, you and Lance are whisked away to catch the private jet to wherever Lance planned the Honeymoon.

instagram

y/username now and forever Y/n Räikkönen-Stroll ily @/lancestroll

lancestroll can’t wait to spend forever with you ❤️

fernandoalonso félicitations , beautiful wedding!

kimiraikkonen Congratulations, Kirppu, so glad to have a new addition to the family.

y/username thanks dad!

sebastianvettel Congrats to the happy couple! Always a good wedding when Kimi cries!

logansargeant poor Nico, his grid wife has a grid husband now

nicohulkenberg No one can separate us, our love is eternal

y/username who said I can’t have both! 🥰

lancestroll @y/username …me, your husband???

redbullracing our favorite grid couple! p.s. let us know what name your are racing under - Admin

y/username Y/n Räikkönen, two Strolls on the grid would be too chaotic. love you admin 🫶

comments on this post are limited

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 grid x reader #checo perez #f1 grid #george russell #daniel ricciardo #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll #book club #kimi raikkonen #kimi räikkönen #kimi being emotional #logan sargeant #nico hulkenberg #fernando alonso

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dammn-dean · 1 year ago

Note

Hii could you do a ghost x reader who is just gave birth having their day old child and soap John gaz came over to ghost house to see the baby once the reader left the room to go breastfeed their baby in their room price telling ghost how far he had come in life

Here you go! Thank you for the request, and I hope it’s okay. I made it a bit more (just a week) rather than a day old before they came over. That’s just because if someone came to my house the day I got home after giving birth, I would kill them 😅

Too Good

Pairing: Simon Riley x Female Reader

Words: 2400+

Warnings: Nothing really!

Also, this is the same universe as Unexpected! You don't have to read them first, but if you want to here is Part 1 and Part 2.

Beautiful art/rendering from @ave661

"Love, they are here!” Simon’s voice bellowed through the flat to reach your ears.

You let out a small, “Okay,” just loud enough for him to hear it. Your eyes staring back at you in the mirror, checking your appearance.

Today was the day you were finally going to meet Simon’s team. You had overheard a conversation he had on the phone a week back, when you finally were home from the hospital. Simon was good at being sneaky (it was in the job description) but you still overheard him.

“Aye, I need a bit more time,” he murmured into the phone.

After a brief pause, “What do you mean ‘Just because’ isn’t an excuse?” He huffed.

You were paused in the hallway, sleeping baby in your arms just praying she would stay asleep so you could listen in to the conversation a moment longer.

“Gaz saw me take off from base? Bloody hell.” You could almost hear him gripping between his eyes in irritation.

“Yes, I promise everything is alright yeah? Just had a bit of something to do.” He explained vaguely as ever.

There was a long pause on his end, like the person on the other side of the phone was lecturing him. He will give an occasional small ‘Yes’, ‘I know’ or ‘Yes sir’, which had you wondering who he was talking to.

“Fuck me, Cap. You make it impossible to not tell you everything. Listen, I’ll call you later today and tell you everything okay?” Simon barely paused long enough for a response before he hung up.

With a long sigh, he stood from his spot on the couch. He had noticed you were gone an awfully long time and began down the hallway to check on you.

Too focused on slowly rocking your sleeping daughter in your arms and trying to be quiet to listen to his call you hadn’t even realized Simon was heading your way until it was too late.

You almost jumped out of our skin when he appeared like an apparition into your vision.

“Jesus Si!” You quietly yelled, more of a whisper to make sure you didn’t wake the baby.

You watched as his lips curled into a smirk. “And just what are you doing sweetheart?” He leaned his shoulder into the wall as casual as ever.

“Oh uh- well I was you know, well I was-“ your brain couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough.

“Didn’t take you for an eavesdropper sweet girl,” he said with a grin.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” you replied defensively.

“Right,” he laughed. “Hear anything good?”

“Not… really,” you murmured, clearly caught.

“That was my Captain,” he explained. “Checking in on things after the way I left base.”

You simply nodded, not quite sure what to say.

“I thought I had left unseen, but apparently Gaz saw me leave ‘in a panic’ as he put it,” he rolled his eyes. “So he wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Makes sense.” You bit the inside of your lip to stop from adding on to the sentence.

But Simon always reads you like a book. He squinted at you before questioning “What is it?”

Your eyebrows almost shot to your hairline at that. You cleared your throat and slowly walked around him to head towards the living room. The baby’s bassinet was in there and it would make it easier to have this conversation if she wasn’t in your arms. You gently placed her down with a kiss on her head, Simon followed right behind you and mirrored you with a tender kiss in the exact spot you had kissed her precious little head.

You sighed softly before sitting on the couch. Simon sat beside you, shifting himself to face you a little more before you started talking.

“I suppose I wondered… why didn’t you just tell him the truth?” You questioned softly.

“Just what do you mean sweetheart?”

“Well I mean… why didn’t you just tell him you left because I called you and that we have a baby.” You asked with a small tilt of your head.

“Oh.” Simon responded with a hand on the back of his neck. He took a moment or two before his eyes met you again. “Love, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way and I hope you will let me explain.” He pleaded.

Even though that made you terrified, you just focused on your breathing and nodded.

“Well I haven’t told the team about you yet,” he explained softly.

Your face betrayed you and it fell immediately, eyes unable to meet him. Not even a second passed before his hands were on your tugging your chin back up to look at him.

“It isn’t like that my love,” Simon went on. “You are just… everything to me. I come here to you and I don’t think about work. You deserve the world and somehow I thought keeping you and them separated would be best.”

Hazel eyes held yours for a long time, nothing but true and raw emotion in them to convey he was telling the truth.

“I understand,” you replied quietly.

“Also, we haven’t really talked about if you wanted me to tell the team so I didn’t want to overstep…” Simon professed.

As silly as it sounds out loud, he never wanted to force you to be a part of that part of his life, a part of the Ghost’s life. He has endured things you never deserved to even hear of, his sweet girl didn’t need to be exposed to it all if he had any say in the matter.

“I don’t mind if you tell people about me,” you said, almost embarrassed. You could feel the tips of your ears warming at the confession.

“Yeah pretty?” He smiled as he gently touched your cheek with his fingers? “You want me to tell my team about you?”

“Well I don’t-you don’t have to.” You mumbled out quickly.

“You think I wouldn’t want to tell them about you?” Simon asked honestly. His fingers gently pushed your hair behind your ear.

“I- I don’t know. Does everyone else talk about their partners?” You questioned honestly.

“Price is the only one with a partner, Gaz and Johnny brag about their flings occasionally.” Simon broke into a big grin. “They won’t know what to do when I tell them about you.”

“Oh,” you bit the inside of your lip again. “So you want to tell them about me?”

“Of course love… I’ve almost let it slip out a few times as is,” Simon leaned in to brush a kiss along your cheek. “And I can’t wait to tell them about Emma too. If you are okay with that?” He pulled back to read your face.

“I’m okay with it if you are, Si,” you reassured him.

“I’m okay with it… but I will warn you once I tell them they won’t want to wait long before seeing you and the little miss,” he smiled as he leaned his head to meet yours.

You paused for a moment, taking him in. Feeling safe and happier than you can remember feeling in a long time. “I’m okay with that.”

So there you stood, in your mirror. Checking your appearance for the 5th or 6th time for the night. Even though you were a new mom, dealing with a changed body you wanted to make a good impression.

Emma had been in her bassinet sleeping, awaiting the arrival of Simon’s friends (or work mates as he put it). Your body was still healing, so you had thrown on a soft but matching lounge set and felt nice to not be wearing a spit-up stained shirt and sweats for once.

Simon opened the front door to see Price, Gaz and Johnny. All looking varied shades of giddy. Johnny was all but bouncing on his toes. Gaz held a kind smile that was a little bit too big to be classified as a ‘normal’ grin. Price stood behind the other two, stoic and holding a pretty bouquet of flowers.

“Flowers are for the Missus,” Price began with a smile.

“And this is for the little miss,” Gaz exclaimed. Pulling a gift bag that was hidden behind his back.

Simon couldn’t help the small chuckle that fell from him.

“Well come in then, yeah?” He asked with an arm out inviting his team into your flat.

One by one the men made their way inside, all smacking Simon’s shoulder with pride before coming face to face with you in the living room. Simon took a few steps in your direction, before placing a gentle hand on your lower back to guide you deeper into the room.

“Price, Johnny, Gaz,” Simon began pointing as he said their name. “This is Y/N, sweetheart… this is my team.” Simon wouldn’t admit that he was nervous, but you could hear the waver in his voice that wasn’t usually there.

“Heya there Mrs Ghost,” Johnny spoke up first, hand out shaking yours gently. “You dinnae tell us she was such a bonnie lass aye, LT.” His Scottish accent was thick, but the compliment followed by the wink he gave you had your ears burning.

“Don’t you start with her MacTavish,” Simon warned jokingly, but pulled you into him a little more.

“I’m Gaz,” Gaz spoke up with a charming smile and a small handshake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” you replied as your eyes fell to the small gift bag in his hand. He held the gift out, and Simon grabbed it. “We got the little Miss a gift, hope that’s alright.” Gaz gave you a huge grin showing almost all of his teeth. Even if you weren’t okay with the gift, how could anyone say no to him?

The last man, with the mutton chops was the only one left and you knew who he was because Simon spoke about him the most to you, Captain Price.

The Captain held out a beautiful bouquet of flowers to you, which you took immediately and smelled. “Nice to meet you,” he began. “Hard to believe someone has held Ghost’s heart and he is just now telling us about you.” He held a polite smile, but his voice had an edge to it.

Simon’s hand that was free raised to the back of his neck nervously. You let your eyes drift to his for a moment, silently checking in. Simon gave your waist a small and reassuring squeeze, signally that he’s good.

“Thank you all for the gifts… and it’s so nice to meet all of you. It’s great to be able to put faces to the names from Si’s stories.”

“Si, eh?” Johnny’s lips turn up in a grin at the nickname.

“Johnny,” Price spoke up at that, warning him to behave.

“Well who wants to meet Emma?” You spoke up, ready to move past the formalities.

Simon nodded, and led you over to where she was still sleeping soundly in the bassinet. Once your eyes fall on her sleeping form you can’t help but smile. As gently as Simon could he picked her up with a kiss on her head, and laid her in your arms so that everyone could see her. The men gently circle in around you, none of them wanting to be the last to lay their eyes on her.

“Wow,” Gaz whispered out.

“Beautiful bairn LT,” Johnny complimented. His hand reaching out for Simon’s shoulder again to congratulate.

“This is Emma,” you introduce her to the team.

She was tiny, sleeping while swaddled in her blanket. Price felt pride swell up in his chest, same as he would as if this was his biological grandchild. Simon stood at your side, watching you show off your daughter. Hand never leaving your lower back, as his other gently brushes her little cheek with the back of two fingers.

Simon looked to Price and their eyes met, “Congratulations you two, what a wonderful baby girl.”

Emma decided now was the time to start whimpering, in warning before she started to cry out. You immediately started shushing her gently and bouncing her softly, to soothe her.

“I think it’s time for someone to eat,” you explain to the group. “We will be back.”

Simon whispers into your ear, just a small word of encouragement before you head to the nursery to feed your daughter.

They all watch you leave, no one speaking up until the door closes behind you.

“Well if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Gaz gushed immediately.

“Aye, LT you are pulling way outcha league,” Johnny bellows out a laugh at that.

“Shut it, Johnny.” Simon rolls his eyes before heading to the kitchen. “Want a drink?” They all give different versions of a yes, then Price speaks up that he will join Simon in the kitchen. Gaz and Johnny then take a seat on the couch, starting up conversation immediately.

Simon heads straight to the cabinet snagging 4 tumblers out, before reaching to the bourbon on the counter.

“Thanks for inviting us Simon,” Price started. “Your girls are lovely.”

Simon couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips. Despite how uncomfortable he was with all of this, from inviting his team into your flat, being a new father, hell he hasn’t even asked you if he can move in with you full time yet, he felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

“Thanks Price.” He slid his glass across the island to Price, and he accepted the glass with a tilt of his head.

“You have come a long way, Simon.” Price expressed honestly. “In more ways than I can ever express.” He leaned his elbows on the island, looking into the glass of amber liquid. “Seeing you happy like this isn’t something I ever expected.” Price pulled his eyes from the glass to meet Simon’s.

“Hell, I for sure never expected it,” Simon joked.

“I mean it,” Price held a serious tone. “You deserve this.”

Simon nodded, not sure he did deserve this, but no sense in saying it outloud.

“Aye, LT you mind if we put the match on?” Gaz asked from the entry of the kitchen, hand gesturing back to the TV in the living room.

“Sure,” he answered with a shake of his head.

Without another word, Simon grabbed a second tumbler for one of the guys as Price grabbed the remaining one.

“Who would believe we are going to watch the football match in Ghost’s flat?” Johnny jokes from the couch, grabbing the glass Simon handed him.

With a roll of his eyes, “Don’t get used to it.” Although, a smile was on his lips and his tone wasn’t as serious as usual. Maybe having them over isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Since this could be read as part 3 of Unexpected I went ahead and tagged you all again! Hope that is okay 😊

Tags: @daemondoll @mileyraes @axoleos @arminarlertssword @wawuwe @cxltblood @mrflyingbanana03 @itsmytimetoodream @arminarlertssword @mrssabinecallas @babygirl-riley @gplol @yuly

Thank you for reading! If you have an idea or request for a fic, feel free to send 🖤

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #reader insert #simon riley #call of duty #thank you

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apricitae-world · 1 month ago

Text

STAY WITH ME

M!Zayne and F!Reader. "Fluffy Treatment" inspired.

THIS POST CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT: making out, boob sucking, slight foot fetish, oral (F! receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

All characters are consenting adults. Proceed carefully and do not attempt to recreate these situations in real life.

Would you like to support me or ask for a prompt? Try tipping me on Ko-Fi:

Comments and reblogs are appreciated. Do not repost.

The day had took a - terrible - unexpected turn. A Wanderer appeared in a No Hunt Zone and the lack of personnel because of the seasonal flu had made it terribly difficult. All units that would otherwise be in their day off had to report for duty.

Zayne was also struggling with work. There was only a simple(r) surgery scheduled for the day, but Akso Hospital was brimming with citizens of all ages trying to get something akin to coughing syrup and fever meds.

You arrive home after sundown, tend to minor wounds and cook a very lazy dinner for two. The board of Kitty Cards you had promised to play on that day lay discarded in the living room table. The soft sound of yawning Evol kittens was your only company in the apartment.

A little over an hour later you hear the shifting sound of keys. The door opened and your doctor seemed worse for wear. Slight eyebags formed under his eyes, oily bangs dangled in his forehead and there were slight stains in his white coat.

"Hello, love. How was work today?" He gives a sad smile. Not a talking day, then. Zayne leaves his briefcase in your shared bedroom and comes back in a more comfortable attire. He heats up the food in silence, finishes his nightly routine and slams right to bed.

"I'm sorry we coudn't play Kitty Cards today. I haven't forgotten." He mumbles when you join him under the covers. "I also had a rough day at work. These things happen." He comes closer for a snuggle. "We can always do it tomorrow."

"I love you." Is the last thing you hear before drifting to sleep.

You wake with the first rays of sunshine. Your boyfriend, always the morning person, has already gotten up. It was time for his morning job, altough you could hear a sizzling sound coming from the kitchen.

"What is the special occasion?" You inquire as Zayne is terribly focused in putting a perfect pancake in your plate. There is a cup of tea across the table for him, and a generous mug of coffee on your side. Whipped cream, syrup and strawberries are scattered across the table as you decorate your breakfast. "Thank you for cooking dinner last night. I'm not sure, just wanted to make something this morning."

His face is positively glowing. That night's sleep must have made wonders for him. The eyebags are way less proeminent, he totally took a shower since his hair is silky smooth and the beautiful cat ears move to the morning sun.

Wait, what?

You stop your fork midway. Zayne, your lovely surgeon, is sporting cat ears as he walks across the table. When he turns around to flip the last pancake, you see a tail from the same shade of the ears move as if it was real.

"MY LOVE??" You ask, exasperated. With all precision in the world, another pancake is put before you. "Yes, darling?" How could you possibly tell him and not look like a lunatic?

"You have cat ears. And a tail." Zayne just quirks his eyebrows and sits down. "Is that so?" A mountain of whipped cream - one his dentist would complain about, no doubt - blocks your vision. "Why do I have cat features, my love?"

That was surely a mystery. You stand in silence while he devours his pancakes, completely oblivious to the movements of his own body. After your meal was finished in (un)comfortable silence, all the dishes were put in the sink and Zayne was looking for alone time to finish some reports.

"Oh God you were being serious?!" You hear a shout coming from his study table. This is the first time Zayne touches his new appendages since they appeared, looking bewildered. "I imagined this was another one of your pranks. How could this happen?" Initial shock gave way to interest. You come closer.

You run your hands to were his head meets the base of his ears. It was like any other part of his body. After that, you check his tail and find the meeting point. His back is turned to you, but you feel his body heat and mild shifting.

"Everything okay in there, babe?" He doesn't respond. You look at his face and there is a perceptible flush all over his cheeks and human ears. "Can you feel this?"

"I-I think it's better if I go back to work." And steps away. "I'm sure it's nothing dangerous and I will be back to normal soon, love. No reason to worry." With no further comments, he turns around and leaves the room.

Everytime you tried talking to him about it, he would blush profusely and diffuse your comments. He even called the hospital to say he was feeling terribly ill and coudn't come to work that day. His health was pristine, even with the feline feaures.

"I know there is something bothering you, Zayne." He looks at you like a child being scolded. After you began using pet names in the relationship, real names were signal to trouble. "Why don't you want to talk about it? Does it hurt?"

"No!" He shakes his head. "It's just... a lot is happening... and I don't know how to deal with it." "So you would rather bear it all alone with your reports? I am right here if you need me and you know you should ask for help with things that are bothering you."

His eyes soften and you can swear you see his breathing become more stable. Even then, he doesn't come closer to you. You leave the room and the confused doctor behind.

Around then minutes later, the door opens and a tall figure approaches you. Zayne firmly sits you on the couch and lays on top of you like a weighted blanket. "Can we cuddle?" You shift to a more comfortable position and begin petting his ears. The creeping blush returns and you hear his purr.

"Keep going." He request, and you move to pet his back. His breathing becomes labored and you notice him arching his back to meet your touch. When you touch his tail, he moans quietly.

You stop in shock. Your beloved doctor had trouble to voice his needs, so this was a nice change of pace. You decide to use both your hands to elicit more reactions from him. Not long after, you feel him grinding against your thigh.

"Do you want to take off your pants, my love?" He looks up at you. His eyes are glossy and his face is terribly red. "I want to take off your pants." He concludes.

You both shift in the couch to put your plans in motion. It was quite difficult when Zayne was hugging you so tightly, but it would make do. With a little bit of effort, both of you were undressed.

He slides down and puts his nose right above your clit. Kitten licks and small bites were distributed all around the area before he decided to dive in. Zayne moved up and down, alternating between your slick and the bundle of nerves above.

Moisture dripped down onto the couch, but you coudn't find it in you to care. Your boyfriend speeds up, and you know you won't last long under his ministrations. "Ah, ah, we're m-making a mess." You manage to say.

"Good." You feel his hot breath. "I want you to make a mess. Please make a mess on me." He goes back to work with renewed vigor. Waves of pleasure pool in your stomach and you know you're close.

"Z-Zayne, I'm gonna cum." That seemed like more of an incentive to him than anything else. You feel his tongue draw patterns on your flesh before setting on an onslaught of your bud. Using the little of what was left of your brain, you can distinguish a "Z" and then an "A". He was writing his name on your clit.

Your orgasm hits suddently. He helps you ride it, groaning in satisfaction as you grind your pussy against his face. After a few waves, the feeling diminished and gives way to overstimulation. "A break, please." Your voice is hoarse but Zayne doesn't look any better, his cat ears twitching and face full of your release.

Pearly-white beads of precum slide down his cock and the tip is red and swollen. You both look at it at the same time and then make eye contact. "Let me help you." You say.

He pretty much pounced at you, protecting your head from hitting the couch as he forcefully pushed you down. His lips are into yours in a second, and the gasps he makes are music to your ears. "Is this why you have been avoiding me this morning?" It takes a while for him to reply. "I want to be close to you. I want to love you and protect you every waking moment and hope to dream of you at night."

He uses a finger to prepare you for the stretch. You use your own hand to smear precum against his slick. He hisses. "But ever since this morning I... It's not enough." He adds a second one and begins a scissoring motion. You moan at the feeling. "I want to bite and lick and - I even thought about bringing you a dead bird this morning."

Zayne looks away in something dangerously close to shame. His tail is a black blur behind him. "I didn't want you to see me so needy. You also have things to do and I shoudn't be like this." He positions himself at your entrance.

"We don't know what happened to you yet." Your train of thought threatens to be interrupted once his tip begins teasing you. "It's okay to be needy sometimes, and it does make sense you would be feeling more catlike today." You wink and he gives a soft laugh. Such a lovely sound.

The stretch is not so bad as the first time. You both make sure the experience is less painful as possible. "Wh-what about the other things?" Your mind returns to his earlier comments. The licks and the love bittes he is holding himself not to do.

You bite his shoulder and he screams. You can feel is dick twitch inside your walls. He almost cums from the feeling. "I bite you and you bite me. Deal?" That sounds good for him, since in the next moment he is lowering his head and sucking your boobs.

There are bites scattered from your neck to the inside of your thigs, his hips moving the entire time. Your second orgasm is alredy approaching, and the way Zayne teases your breasts is clearly not helping.

He snuggles closer to you, almost as if he is trying to merge both your bodies together. He whimpers with the new angle. "I'm close. Wanna come inside." You enthusiastically agree. Always the safe sex preacher, it feels good to do it without a condom for once.

"Oh you feel so good please wanna feel you cum too." He starts blabbering and moves to play with your clit. You begin meeting his thrust halfway, and soon both of you are moaning each other's names. Your "Za-Zayne"s is everything he needs to release everything inside.

That feeling combined with him deftly playing with your bud makes you reach your peak too. "Thank you thank you I love you" Is what you can distinguish from his chants. A kiss is all you can give to tell him you love him too.

After the aftershocks of the orgasm have passed, the stickiness of the sofa and the sweat clinging to your body were starting to make you uncomfortable. "Wanna take a shower?" He was still nugding you. "I don't want to let you go."

"What if we take a shower and then cuddle in bed? We can deal with the destruction of the couch later." He stretches lazily, ears moving all the way down and then returning back up, his tail making similar movements. He nods and both of you dissapear behind the bathroom door.

Grayson was ready to check out, and Yvone's shift would end in about an hour. The movement of the hospital was finally starting to die down. "It's such a shame Dr. Zayne caught the flu." She commented.

"Truly. I can't imagine how he must be feeling, alone at home and sick." They both give an understanding look at each other and return to their tasks.

Maybe things aren't so bad as they seem.

#love and deepspace #zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne smut #love and deepspace smut

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love-is-patient · 2 years ago

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I have religious trauma.

I was raised in a household where my dad wanted to be God, and so characterized Him in a way that left me constantly paranoid.

God was a judge, God was a debt collector, God was a hammer waiting to strike.

My mother was likewise delusional to a point. She used religion as a manner of control, manipulating my egotistical dad and our chaotic little world so she could feel better about herself.

I was abused in the church. I’ve been so many churches since childhood I can’t count them.

I was told I was possessed because I was a child with adhd and couldn’t sit still in a pew. I was told that if I didn’t see visions or speak in tongues, I wasn’t saved. I was told that I must be thinking about God at all times or I wasn’t good enough. That I was lukewarm, unlovable, unworthy.

I was too afraid to take communion. I cried and turned away from the altar multiple times because I was a too dirty to touch the offering.

I was told so many awful things that I grew up with a persistent religious paranoia on top of my already anxiety inducing life.

So… why am I still a Christian, after all of that?

Stockholm syndrome, right?

It would be easy to write it off as that, but I did turn away from religion. In the back of my mind. I stayed cautious in case God was still watching.

It wasn’t until I got rid of the destructive influences in my life that things changed.

My perception of God changed when I left the awful people using His name in vain- or for personal gain.

When I grew up, learned to be discerning about the character of people.

Many people live under the assumption that I did- that God is a tyrant who is waiting for you to mess up so he can smash you and send you to hell. Paradoxically, that almost makes Satan sound preferable.

But that’s not who God is, and he doesn’t want people to go to hell.

Even if you haven’t had good parents, you’ve seen what they’re like. They get excited to share experiences with their children. The first taste of lemon, the first puddles to splash in. First words, first laughs, first steps.

God wanted that for us.

Satan got jealous after his rebellion in heaven. He saw God had something good and wanted it for himself again - even if it was just to spite God.

He offered humanity a choice and we took it.

We can debate why it happened until we’re blue in the face, but what matters most are God’s decisions afterwards.

Everything that has happened since the fall has been God trying to bring his wayward children back without force.

Just like when you see that friend of yours making the same bad decisions day after day, and you know their quality of life would improve if they just stopped. It’s heartbreaking, frustrating. You can give them all the advice in the world but they’ll just keep on doing the thing and complain to you about every headache afterwards.

Now you know a little what God feels like.

Only God is a little more patient than we tend to be.

God doesn’t ask much from us, not as much as people, which is weird to think about.

God doesn’t measure your worth by how good you are at your job, how badly you do in school. He doesn’t equate your value to how rich or poor you are, he doesn’t judge you the same way people do.

The first thing he asks of you is to love him and love each other.

He loves us so much that he opened heaven again if we ask for it.

He came down as flesh and blood in Jesus and took all the punishments we should’ve had. In Jesus death and resurrection, we have a way home.

All he wants for us to do is acknowledge that.

He doesn’t hate you if you can’t pay tithe. He doesn’t talk behind your back if you make a mistake. He doesn’t demean, debase, abuse.

Why am I still a Christian?

Because God was there for me when people weren’t.

God didn’t abuse me as a kid, people did, and used God as a shield.

God didn’t lie to me, call me names, break my things - my parents did.

God didn’t order me to do unbelievable things in order to reach him - my pastors and teachers did.

God didn’t tell me I’m unworthy - people did.

Even if you don’t believe in God, if you’re angry at him, feeling hurt and betrayed.

Maybe take a closer look and see if it’s really the people around you making you miserable, instead of an untouchable, invisible hammer.

#religious trauma #church #Christian #faith

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mithosis · 10 days ago

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"Do you know what lies on the path before you? I do."

Meet Stig, my little blind norn seer with his flock of bird friends :) A Herald with a twist. Eventually a Wayfinder, separate from the Commander!

Sooooo I've already had this character for a while, (both in gw2 and out). I have a sylvari version of him — and he will still be existing and thriving as a separate character! However, I wanted to bring the original version of him to life as well. He always had Nordic themes, so making this version of him a norn was an obvious choice

Anyway, there is lore and a funny sketch under the cut for those who'd want to look at them!! (a huge chunk of text again, yeah, I'm sorry. It's featuring @lady-quen's Numen, though!! *wink wink*)

Maybe the weakest, skinniest little norn with nothing much behind his name, Stig was somewhat of an outcast from the moment he was born. Blind since birth, he was "blessed" by an elusive Cuckoo Spirit to help him on his life's journey, yet unable to shapeshift into their form or communicate with them, no matter how hard he tried. He was considered unworthy of norns' boastful lifestyle by some, and pitied for his misfortunes by others, although nobody could ever compare to how he looked upon himself for the happenstance of his birth. Was he "defective" in some way, not worth the effort to lift him up and let him live a life, try to reach for something more?

Still staying loyal to Cuckoo even without their support, Stig turned to Raven after being noticed by him for the cleverness with which the little norn tried to overcome the burdens of his own existence — there, at a young age, was discovered his gift of foresight, an explanation to all the weird sensory visions he would receive; some of them even looked as if he could actually see. Different kinds, both cryptic and mundane. Finally, something he could do and help others with, right? It was probably nice for a time, until enough commotions or unfortunate events were caused, maybe even blamed on him for doing his job wrong, causing Stig to be ever more cautious with sharing what he had gleaned.

Two ravens he rescued were his main company, aside from occasionally the kid of the famous Eir Stegalkin and his little brother with a strange affinity for ice magic. One day, however, the scenery changed into a strange landscape, an echo of the real world, as Stig stumbled through a wayward portal into the Mists. He had to survive there for a time all alone, not even his feathery friends to accompany him, communing with Spirits — then anyone, who'd listen — and desperately trying to get back home. A subtle whisper in his head grew louder the more time he spent essentially meditating, a voice of a person, until it formed and presented itself as none other than Asgeir Dragonrender. With his, rather frustrated at first, help, the little norn managed to get back to the world of the living, though not before getting injured on the way home — a weird, potent surge of lightning struck him. He awoke back home already tended to.

Other norn don't believe him at first when he claims Asgeir was the one to help and guide him — it takes a bit of convincing, talking with the legendary hero's echo and showing Stig's newfound strengths. He can channel the power of the Mists through their connection now, something only havrouns of the Spirits of the Wild can typically do. This earns him the respect of his peers — after all, he is aided by Dragonrender himself. People around him wonder: this must mean he could be the one to crack the Tooth, the Norn of Prophecy, right? Someone Stig never even dared to believe he could be.

However, it was never meant to be. After all the extra training and tireless nights of adapting the chosen combat style to his needs, the one to challange the Tooth wasn't him — instead, it was the hot-headed son of Eir, his friend Braham, who's been adventuring with the famous Pact Commander away from Hoelbrak. One arrow was fired — and as the icy exterior of the trophy crumbled, so did Stig's hopes of proving himself worthy to these people. He became an outcast again. At least his birds and Asgeir were still with him. It didn't matter that Braham supposedly failed his mission to kill the Ice Dragon afterwards: the damage was already done.

Then everything started to go downhill once Kralkatorrik was slain. Unexplainable mysteries, strange fog, disappearances. His friend becoming more and more distant and physically cold until one day he was gone as well. One of the only people who showed Stig what kindness looked like, aside from his mother. It was distressing, scary, none of his visions showing him the way — so he had to find his own, once again. This was the decision that led him to join the Commander and Braham in their venture to the Far Shiverpeaks, and discover the true nature of the little elementalist he called a friend — a scion and champion of Jormag, Numen, who's been the mysterious Cuckoo "Spirit" this whole time.

The team has to confront this dragon on the surface of a cold, frozen Lake Doric — and Asgeir recognizes it. Every norn knows the story of the legendary slayer of Frostfang — Dragonrender killed Jormag's greatest champion in one blow with the help of the Spirits. It was a clear victory, the thing falling off a cliff from the sheer force of the blow, mortally wounded. So how could the very same creature stand before him once again?

The question was answered when the dragon showed the large scar on their neck; they didn't quite remember the fight, but the old wound spoke for itself. A surprise for everyone involved — the greatest kill of Asgeir turned out to be a failure. Remains of the beast were confused with those of Claws of Jormag. And maybe a fact worst of all for the echo of a fallen hero — the frigid monster he was sure he had slain turned out to be one of the very Spirits that helped guide his people to the new home.

(Cue the funny sketch I promised)

Even after that, the team managed to save Numen and end the terror of both Dragons of Fire and Ice.

Eventually, Stig would become Numen's Champion, wanting to be there for them like the dragon was for him. Maybe he had finally found a place he was meant to be in, beside this creature of ice — lonely, yet so full of love for the world. Asgeir wasn't too amused, but what is one more voice in Stig's head, right?

This would mean he'd continue to help the Commander further down the line, and maybe even meet the elusive wizards in their glittering towers — who might have a hand in him meeting Asgeir in the first place.

Woah, if you got to this part, thank you for reading!! I love you <3

#i did it again i wrote a bunch of text #hopefully it's fine #*shatters like an icicle*#sitting on the artparty stuff still just had to get this guy out of my head asap #gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 norn #norn #gw2 wayfinder #gw2 art #he gets a separate tag #stig the seer #also mentioned #numen #gw2 asgeir dragonrender #mith draws #oc loredump

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frostybearpaws · 9 days ago

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currently losing my mind,

I’ve been catching up with all the Star Wars stuff that’s come out over the past couple of years and also rewatching some older stuff,

and you know what you have two hyperfixations you will inevitably mix the two ideas together because why the hell not? It’s fun and it makes my brain juice flow instead of stagnating into pools of gross black oil

and I know I’ve also made some posts about this particular cross over in the past, but I have no idea where they are right now and I’m not going to go digging for them

Star Wars x Arcane

First up:

Sevika: I’ve got two ideas and I’m not sure which one I like more.

the first one Sevika is a mandalorian woman who is currently working as a bounty hunter to make ends meet. She’s ruthless but follows her own honor code when it comes to taking jobs. She was formerly a member of death watch but split and went her own path and their ideologies concentrated. She never removes her helmet and tends to get emotionally aggressive when someone tries to pry into her life before being a bounty hunter. (This is a coping mechanism bc she does not like to think about what happened).

the second one is Sevika is a clone like Emerie Karr from Bad Batch, so not only is she struggling with the horrors of war and the complicated emotions that come with being genetically identical to several million people, treated like an object, and devoid of right, she’s also suffering from the accelerated growth rate that causes her to age twice as fast. At the current point of her life she is traveling the universe doing odd jobs and trying to keep a low profile so she doesn’t get taken up by the empire. After all to the imperial’s she is still their property and they will do with her as they see fit. (Not if she has anything to say about it)

next up:

Silco & Vander: start as a packaged deal, they are both ex-inquisitors who fled and went into hiding. It wasn’t so much for noble reasons as it was they began to fear where their paths were going to lead them. They started a new life together and things were going well until their started to have differing opinions on what they needed to be doing which lead to Vander’s betrayal.

Silco: a Nautolan with a blueish gray skin tone. As his eyes are black the scares part of his face lead to the eye clouding over and impairing his vision. In the current day she travels around with Sevika completing jobs with her. They have a very very complicated relationship. (Bonus: they fought over him taking Jinx in the same way a couple would fight over someone impulsively taking home a stray animal)

Vander: a Shistavanen which if you don’t know look like fricken werewolves, he would end up looking something like this:

side note: yes Silco and Vander were in love and that was part of the reason for them leaving. Now imagine a squid fucking a werewolf

I’ve decided to make Powder/Jinx a Twi’Lek which means that Vi is also a Twi’Lek. They are respectively blue and pink. Jinx has some white dappling along her lekku. Vi doesn’t have any such thing but she does maintain her arcane tattoo along her back.

one thing about Twi’Leks is that they are highly sexualized and often enslaved. Jinx and Vi went about fighting against this stereotype in two completely different ways. Vi fights against it, actually building up muscle and training herself to fight.

Jinx on the other hand leans into the sexualized aspect but uses it as a lure to draw people in. She effectly masks how dangerous she actually is.

Jinx is force sensitive while Vi is not. After their falling out Silco finds her and takes her on, eventually taking her on as an apprentice.

#arcane #arcane x star wars #sevika #silco #jinx #vi #vander #arcane sevika #sevika arcane #arcane silco #silco arcane #jinx arcane #arcane jinx #vi arcane #arcane vi #vander arcane #arcane vander

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blaydie · 5 months ago

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Gender neutral reader x Blade

Synopsis: An accident at the accommodation resulted in a late-night stroll to the store. Tensions were high as things grew heated between you and Blade. After resolving your issues, you were met with yet another challenge just before entering the store. He was sure no one would recognise him while he was dressed undercover.

Word count: 1.3k

Contains: Slice of life, subtle displays of affection, Blade in casual attire, gender neutral reader, fluff.

Duty calls. Except, it wasn’t duty at all. It was an evening stroll to the store to stock up on food supplies after a kitchen incident. Burnt food. A completely wrecked pan too. You were guilty as charged for destroying the pan, but he was the one who forgot it was on the stove in the first place.

By your side was Blade, his appearance concealed from head to toe: a black beanie, sunglasses, surgical mask, and a matching black outfit to go. If you weren’t handed money before heading out of the door, you would question whether you were sourcing these items ethically with his mysterious appearance or if you were robbing the building.

It was tense. His strides were far too long for you to keep up, trailing behind greatly while he effortlessly walked ahead. Though he claimed he wasn’t upset, it was clear he was throwing some form of tantrum. The two of you had been screaming at one another in the kitchen, managing to alert the rest of the Stellaron Hunters who were present.

“Can you slow down?” You call out, though he doesn’t pause. He turns his head to address you.

“Perhaps you should train more.”

“You’re ridiculous. If you learned how to properly tend to a stove we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Who in the right mind puts a hot pan directly into cold water?”

“I was panicking.” You mumble, not expecting him to hear it over the strong gusts of wind.

“You were panicking? I was the one who had to put the fire out while you stood there, doing nothing, yelling down my ear.”

With a displeased grunt, he slows his pace down and waits for you to reach his side. There would be no point in forming an active rivalry with someone he is forced to work with and live alongside. If life wasn’t already some form of misery, dealing with that would be the deciding factor testing whatever remains of his patience.

Blade doesn’t hate you. He’s mostly indifferent to the people around him. There are times when he appears more distant than others, but he’s mostly pleasant company on rare occasions.

“Would you like to walk around the pier before we head back?”

“Why?” Blade stares down at you, a lock from his bangs escaping the beanie as his head tilts.

“You like it there, don’t you?”

“Sometimes. We’ll see what time it is when we’re done.”

“You look so different like this.” Stringing the conversation along, you attempt to distract him from the previous heated scene.

“What?”

“Casual. It’s strangely off-putting.”

“Do you think I sleep in a suit?” Blade scoffed. He wasn’t offended, simply baffled by how idiotic you make yourself sound on occasion.

“I wouldn’t put it far past you.”

“Do you say the same thing to the others?”

His question was met with silence. Amused by your unspoken answer, he snickers.

“I see how it is.” He added, returning his vision to the road ahead.

“It’s nothing personal. When I first met you, I got the impression that you were overly formal, even in your downtime.”

“That means I was doing my job right.”

“I suppose. You’re not as bad as I thought you were.” While it’s true you struggled to bond with him at first, you feel yourself becoming more comfortable by his side as days go by.

“You’re bearable.”

“I’ll take your compliment as a sign our argument is officially concluding.” Leaning over, you press your head against him before he nudges you away, a humorous huff of air exerting from his nose.

Now in the main streets of the city, the amount of civilians and the volume of surrounding areas drastically increases. Crowds were bustling around street food stalls and vendors were flagging over customers from afar, children innocently playing in the fountains which sprayed out from the floor while their parents watched on nearby benches.

Despite it being overwhelming, you found an odd sense of peace while being in this area. Blade kept his head low and made sure you remained close to his side. Losing you amongst the crowds would only prolong the outing for much longer than necessary.

As you drew closer to the store you usually go to, you felt an odd amount of eyes on you. Getting glances in public was something you had grown accustomed to, but this was far more than a handful. Blade didn’t seem to notice, continuing his saunter to get things over with.

Just before you reach the storefront, the squeals of young girls echo out from behind. Footsteps rapidly charged, their words becoming registered as they inched closer.

“Is it really him?! Are you sure?!” One of them exclaims, clearly eager to grab a glance.

“It is! It looks just like him!”

“Get your camera out!”

Storming in front of you and blocking your path is a group of youthful girls, the smiles on their faces wide as they gaze in awe at Blade who stands puzzled in front of them.

“Ah, I can’t believe it! I loved you in the new drama! May I please have your autograph?”

“You did so well! When is your next movie going to be out? We saw the film set on social media!” Another says, gawking as though he was the first man she had ever laid eyes on.

“My next movie?” Blade furrows his brows, glancing back at you with a frantic sense of horror in his eyes.

“How to Steal a Heart! The romcom!”

“Please sign my notebook! Can you write my name and a note too?”

“Give him a moment. He’s still growing used to fan interaction.” You interject the girls who were waddling closer, stretching your arm as a makeshift barrier.

“Okay, thank you, manager! You’re so lucky. I would love to have your job!”

“I have a pen if you need one!”

While they continue to gush, you pull Blade aside, his cheeks bearing a pink tinge from embarrassment. Initially, you had thought your cover had been blown. It had, but not in the way either of you were expecting.

“Are you alright?”

“Who do they think I am?” Judging by the tone, you can tell he was overwhelmed. It was sudden—you feel the pressure too.

“There’s a movie out now in cinemas with the debut of a new actor. He had quite a large social media presence which landed him the role.”

“I’d rather the guards have caught us.”

“Are you going to sign their books?”

“I’m not the person they think I am!”

“If you don’t, it’ll cause more of a scene. They’ll start to question who you are. We don’t need any more attention on us.”

“Nothing I have done could amount to me deserving this. Why does this never happen to anyone else?”

“Enough of the self-pity. This is what his signature looks like; do your best to replicate it.”

Analysing the unique features of this man’s handwriting, Blade grunts and turns back to the girls who were eagerly waiting for him. Reaching forward, he takes the pen and begins scribbling on the notebooks handed, quickly getting them out of the way. Just when he thought he was done, the girl who asked for a photo tugged him by the arm and raised her phone.

“Can we do the heart pose with our hands? I do one half and you do the other!”

“…” Blade stares at you, the nod of your head giving him the answer he needs. “Fine.”

It was a sight to see. With a few more flashes of the camera, he was finally free, the girls scurrying away when they were content with what they had forged from him. In one swift movement, he snatched you by the forearm and dragged you inside.

Speeding through the aisles, Blade gathered everything necessary and dumped it in the basket while you checked out at self-service. When all items are bagged, you make your way outside and are instantly directed on a different route. The area became quiet; you and Blade seemed to be alone on this narrow path. After a few more minutes of following the desolate road, the sparkling lights of the pier finally come into view.

“So, when can I get your autograph?” You tease, shooting him a glance as he takes his sunglasses off.

In a sudden motion, he takes your wrist and grips it firmly in his gloved hand. Using the tip of his index finger, he traces the letters of his name onto your palm, invisibly engraving himself on your skin.

“I don’t believe I need any more fans this evening. We have to head back soon.” Even though he carried the same monotone voice, it seemed softer than usual. This was his time to relax after enduring an excessive amount of unnecessary stress this evening. Having you by his side wasn’t so bad after all. What would he have done without you?

#💌 — Writing pieces #hsr blade #blade x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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marvelwitchergilmore · 9 months ago

Text

Punch At First Sight

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader -> You and Lockwood have met a few times before, however after a punch to the face for the third time, Lockwood, which a push from Lucy, decides to make things different.

Disclaimer: Multiple uses of the f-word. Mentions of accidental violence, ghosts, Kipps being a dick, a slap across the face. Fluff, angst, hints of jealousy, and Lucy giving Lockwood a needed talking to. Not Proof Read.

It was meant to be an easy case.

A couple of type ones haunting an abandoned building just outside of London. The local ghost hunters had all created that big of a myth they had scared themselves away. And the cost of a Fittes agent was too high of a price for the type of ghosts they had. So, Lockwood and Co were the business chosen.

Only, it would have been nice to know if one of the previous agents had reached out to an old friend to take care of the job as well.

But, no.

Instead, whilst listening out for the ghosts, Lockwood stepped around a corner and when getting ready to attack what he thought was a ghost, he was met with a punch to the face and then a voice calling out; “Oh my god, you’re human.”

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

Then, through watered eyes, he saw the outline of the person who had punched him and it seemed she had clear enough vision in the dark to recognise him.

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

“Holy crap. I am so sorry. Are you okay? Wait. Why are you even here?”

“The same as you, I’m guessing. Unless you tend to sneak into abandoned buildings at two in the morning.”

“Sophie didn’t even tell me they hired someone else. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lockwood managed to stand up straight this time just as Lucy and George came running round the corner.

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

George looked from Lockwood to you. “Y/n?”

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“She was hired.” Lockwood explained just before Lucy spotted him.

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” Lockwood said, with a slight smile as he looked at you.

Then came a scream.

“Considering we’re all here and considering no-one else was hired to do this job-” George began.

“That wasn’t a human.” Lucy finished.

“And since we’re here with minimal weapons.”

One of the ghosts, a woman, came floating through a wall and turned to look at them.

“Run?” you offered.

“Run.” Lucy replied.

Making a break for it, you all tried to outrun the ghost before another one of her friends joined her, pushing all four of you down a different corridor.

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

By the time the sun was beginning to rise over the city, you all made it back to Portland Row where a fresh bruise had made its way to decorate Lockwood’s face.

“You have a hell of a punch.” Lockwood said before prodding his own bruise in his reflection of the pan on the stove.

You chuckled, pulling a bag of peas from the freezer before closing it and walking over. “Quit moaning. It could have been worse. Here.”

Standing, Lockwood seemed to have grown even taller than you. Taller than when you’d both last met.

Looking at you, you watched as his eyes closed at the cold contact of the bag as you pressed it to his face.

“Hold it there for a while. It should help with the swelling.”

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.”

You narrowed your gaze a little and clicked your tongue. “You’ve already used that line.”

“Have I?” Lockwood seemed to think for a moment before, “Oh, yeah. Suppose I have. But it is true.”

“Hey, the first time was an accident. I thought you were trying to-”

“The first time is an accident, three times is a pattern.”

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.” you said before, “Maybe? Can never be too careful when hunting alone.”

Lockwood’s demeanour changed for a moment. “Alone? You’re hunting alone again?”

“Relax. I’m safe enough.”

You moved backwards and began to tidy the kitchen a little to give yourself something to do whilst Lockwood leaned back against the kitchen counter, lowering the frozen bag from his face so he could watch you more closely.

“Are you?”

“Yes, Lockwood. I’m fine. Honestly, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

You held his gaze for a moment, a million thoughts running through your head until it landed on He’s just a friend…

From there, you shifted yourself from the kitchen table and placed the empty glasses in your hand in the sink beside him.

“Move here.”

“What?”

Lockwood stood tall once more and turned to face you properly. “Move in here. Lucy got a deal when she bought her bed, so she’s got a second one spare. We can set it up on the other side of the loft. I don’t like the thought of you hunting alone.”

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

“What happens if something happens to you? Look, I can put you on the payroll so it won’t be a favour. You’ll be working with us. And you’ll have a team behind you. You’ll also be safe. Please.”

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

Looking up at him, you saw the desperation in his eyes.

It wasn’t often he opened himself up or let himself show any kind of vulnerability but when he did…

“Okay. Fine. But you can’t hover over me.”

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.”

“Why did George kick you out of the Archive room in the last case we were in together?”

Lockwood thought back and when he didn’t answer, you answered for him.

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

“But before anything is written, the others have to agree. Lucy, too.”

“She will. I know so. It’ll be nice for her to not be outnumbered.”

You moved in three days later.

Lucy had prepared the spare bed for you and even decorated the walls behind your bed with a couple of pictures she found in some old boxes that had yourself, George and Lockwood in them.

“I didn’t know what you’d want to do, but I thought I would do something to help at least.”

“I love it.” you smiled, dropping one of the boxes onto your bed. “Thank you.”

Over the following week, yourself and Lucy got to know one another, sharing stories late into the night when researching cases and in desperate need of a break.

Lucy came to learn what Lockwood meant by the punch when you all met not being the first time. You came to find out what brought Lucy to London. And you both came to discover that, with the right planning, you could both scare Lockwood and George.

Only, one night, George and Lucy decided to tag team which also gave them a chance to talk about you and Lockwood.

“Do they know? They have to know.”

“Don’t bother.” George sighed. “Three years and nothing has changed.”

“They’ve been like that for three years?”

George just nodded.

“Seriously?”

“You know I walked into the kitchen yesterday and they were slow dancing in the kitchen and…it was like nothing happened.”

“Yeah…”

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked.

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

“Maybe,” Lucy nodded. “But that was then. Now you’ve got me. Tag-team. What do you say?”

“Well, considering it would take an earthquake to wake them both up from whatever coma they’ve convinced themselves that they’re in…sure. Why not? But how.”

“I haven’t got that far into the plan yet.”

But it didn’t take too long.

After six months of living with each other, the plan practically made itself. The chemistry between yourself and Lockwood was palpable and even more so when you were outside together.

Like when you and Lockwood were in the library with George and Lucy where Lockwood was standing behind you, reading the section of paper you were pointing to, his arms caging you in from where you sat, when a group of Fittes Agents waltzed over.

“You might want to give your girlfriend a little breathing room, Tony. After all, PDA can be off putting especially in such a public place.”

Standing, and not denying it, Lockwood practically burned Kipps a hole in the ground for him to fall through.

“Relax, Tony. Just having a little fun. So, are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Kipps couldn’t help but widen his smile. “You’re not. Well then, Tony.”

However, you were up like a shot standing beside Lockwood. “But I would be very careful in your next choice of words. He might not be my boyfriend but he is my friend.”

Closer up, Kipps seemed to recognise you. Or at least, that’s what his face told you.

“You know, for all the people in the world, I wouldn't have considered one of the best rogue agents being best buddies with our very own Anthony Lockwood.”

“And why not?”

“Although, rogue is very fitting for Tony. After all, it was breaking the rules that got him into trouble in the first place. Sweetheart, if I were you, I’d walk away whilst you still can.”

The only thing anyone could remember was hearing the contact of your palm across Kipps’ cheek and the red mark left in its place.

“Fuck you.”

It took a moment to get over the shock before Kipps and his team walked away and you relaxed a little before grabbing your jacket and telling the others you’d be back.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine, Lockwood. I’ll be back in five.”

It was in those five minutes that one of Kipps’ team found you by the vending machine.

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

“Why? You didn’t say it. And I’m guessing you’re assigned to be with him.”

“Still, I could have said something to stop him and I didn’t.”

“Something tells me even if you did, he still would have said it anyway.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

Meanwhile, across the room and up a level, Lucy spotted you talking to Victor. Even laughing every once in a while. And when Lockwood joined her, she saw the pain in his eyes before a brick wall came up.

“We should be getting ready. George found something. I’ll be back in a minute.”

For the rest of the day, Lockwood seemed closed up. Especially towards you.

“What is your problem?” you eventually asked him.

“Nothing.”

“Lockwood, I heard you snap at Lucy earlier.”

“She made a mistake.”

“Exactly,” you cut him off. “A mistake. And she’s never made one before.”

“One that could have put one of us in serious danger-”

“We were outside the perimeter.” You could have laughed, until Lockwood asked you a question you weren't expecting.

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

“Kipps? You did see me slap him, didn’t you-”

“Not Kipps. Vinny. Or Vincent or…whatever his name is.”

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded.

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know if you’re fraternising with the enemy.”

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did.

“You know what, fuck you, Lockwood. What I do with my time outside of work is no concern to you. You know what, do this yourself. I’ll go and help George.”

A few minutes later, Lucy walked inside the room to a very grumpy Lockwood.

“What the hell did you do? Fraternising? This isn’t Bridgerton, Lockwood.”

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

Sighing, Lucy did as she was told, but not before telling Lockwood a couple things he desperately needed to hear.

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

Picking up some of the iron chains and laying them down, Lucy explained. “It might not be Victor, but one day it will be someone. And it probably won’t be long before they come along and whisk her away from your grumpy arse because you’re too stubborn to tell her the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That you like her. Love her, even. If my gut feeling is right. And it usually is.”

“Lucy-”

“Look, you can go on being an arsehole because you’re scared. Or you can talk to her. All I’m saying is do something about it before somebody else does. Both me and George have seen the way you look at her. It’s more than you want to admit, Lockwood. But one day you’re going to have to, or else you are going to lose her and all you’ll have is a bruised eye and a broken nose once every couple of years, if that.”

Lucy didn’t say anything else after that but Lockwood did apologise for snapping at her earlier which she forgave him for after calling him a frustrating bastard. From then, she watched as you all completed the job together and that look that she often saw in Lockwood’s eyes, returned when he looked at you.

Yet, by the time you had all gotten home, he still hadn't apologised to you. So, with a hard nudge from Lucy, Lockwood finally made his way to find you.

“Do something before somebody else does, and that includes apologising. And she’s in the Library. Goodnight.”

Lockwood stood outside of the Library door for a while, trying his best to find the right words so he wouldn’t end up with a broken nose, despite how much he probably deserved one.

You had lit the fire to try and cancel out the cold that had seeped in through a forgotten open window, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought it was midnight, not 6 in the morning.

“Hey.”

Looking behind you, you tried your best not to roll your eyes at Lockwood as he walked inside.

“I’m just looking over some old cases. Just so you know that I’m not fraternising with the enemy by reading a book.”

“I shouldn’t have said it like that.” Lockwood began. “I shouldn’t have said it at all. I just…I guess I panicked.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

“Really, really sorry. For the fraternising comment and the bullshit excuse.”

You took a minute and it was the longest minute of his life.

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know, that’s why I forgave you. But a cup of tea wouldn’t hurt.”

Lockwood smiled. “Okay. One tea coming up.”

Only, as he walked away, you answered his question.

“And I’m not…fraternising with the enemy. Victor and I were just talking. I think you’d like him. I think he might hate Kipps just as much as you do. And, no.” you shook your head. “I don’t like him. Just so you know…”

Lockwood nodded and for a moment, turned to walk away until Lucy’s words echoed again in his head.

“Do something about it, before somebody else does.”

So he did.

Sighing under his breath, he took the jump, turned around and reached for you.

Taking your head in his hands, he cupped your jaw before bringing your lips to his. At first, it shocked you and for a split second, he thought he was about to get his nose broken for good this time.

Until you kissed back.

You felt yourself stumble a little but Lockwood caught you, holding you close to him before his forehead came to touch yours, your eyes still closed.

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

You shook your head, “Don’t apologise.”

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

“So you’re not going to break my nose.”

“Not this time,” you laughed a little.

“Okay…then I’m gonna jump. I like you. Well, I more than like you. Like way, way more. And I…I want to do something about it before someone else does.”

“Like Victor?”

“Yeah,” Lockwood laughed a little. “Like Victor.”

“Then…good. I’m glad you finally jumped.”

“You are.”

You nodded. “I mean, you have terrible timing but yeah, I’m glad you jumped.”

“Good.”

“Good. Now, are you gonna kiss me again or am I gonna have to-”

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice.

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fe!reader #quill kipps #lucy carlyle #george karim #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #netflix #lockwood and co fanfic #lockwood fanfic #fluff #angst #swearing #pining #hints of she fell first but he fell harder #falling in love #kissing #ghosts #renew lockwood and co

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astrumark · 2 years ago

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── GIVE ME THAT LITTLE BIT OF SATISFACTION ★.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x female reader.

SUMMARY: aemond needs your assistance after a battle, in more ways than one.

WARNINGS: blood, curse words, smut with plot, use of coconut oil as lube, hand-job, p in v, tits sucking, multiple orgasms, creampie, a hint of sub aemond? oops? :3

WC: 5.3K

NOTES: obviously this is my take on what happened after rook's rest. the show's approach next year will definitely be different. but it's fun working with the book's events and its lack of minor details (you can fill it in however you wish!).

Your eyes flutter open with a jump, a firm hand gripping your shoulder. You didn't remember when you had fallen asleep, or what hour it was, but certainly wasn't the time for your shift yet. It takes a few seconds for your cloudy vision to focus on where you were, now noticing the older servant in front of you, and you look at her dazedly.

"The prince has just arrived, and requests your presence," Annabel explains.

Aemond. Immediate relief washes over you as your face softens. "Very well."

You leave the servants' quarters as fast as you can after fixing your appearance, and as you walk through the halls, you notice the castle is way too agitated. Tension and seriousness ripple in the air, and you start to feel uneasy as well, mind fumbling with numberless possibilities.

It's one of the gold cloaks that finally speaks a little louder, talking fervently about the victory of the greens at the battle of Rook's Rest. It had been quite a few days since their army had marched, and news was often shared about their progression. Usually, you tend to avoid it, since most of it makes you feel sick in your stomach.

Besides the armored man, there is no more commemoration or sense of victory. Not on this side of the castle, at least. Lords were probably planning on throwing banquets, but people like you are too aware of the damages of the war, and how at the end of the day the smallfolk suffer the most. Countless common people would die in the name of greedy royalty that know no limits to their ambition, families ruined beyond repair, a ravaging hunger was plaguing the poorest, and the coffers would soon be emptied, money being spent on battles other than improving the realm and making life easier. It's obvious how no good could ever come regardless of the result of the war.

You find Annabel again, shouting order after order, the middle-aged woman was the one in charge of the servants for a good while now and was a reliable source of information.

"What happened?" You approach her.

"A lot happened, child." Her tone is somber.

"Did someone die?" What a foolish question. Not just someone, but hundreds.

"The queen who never was and her dragon."

You grimace, reminiscing about the princess back when she was visiting the Red Keep. Although such casualties are expected during the war, it is still difficult to grasp that the imposing woman is dead. It's fearful how one's life could be ripped from them so suddenly. A paralyzing concern floods you. Aemond being back does not mean he is unharmed.

"Has the prince been hurt?" Your voice falters, your heart pounding with fear.

Annabel's gaze flickers to your face, and you could see her disapproval, almost making you wish to recoil. But she would never say a thing about your unusual closeness with the prince, being unlike her to intrude in personal affairs. You are aware she doesn't like Aemond or any of the royals, but then again very few did. You have grown to understand it was not only because of his eye, or lack thereof, but because he simply did not inspire sympathy. Aemond is stoic, defensive, and difficult to relate to. You were only one of the very few lucky enough to know better.

"The prince is fine," Annabel says and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "However, it is said the king is in critical condition, it is not known if he will recover, and his dragon is unable to fly, one of his wings was damaged during the fight."

You gasp, in your slumber you have forgotten about the man, not being concerned about him in the slightest. Anyhow, you feel your mind almost melting as you process the shocking news and the aftermath of it. If the king were to perish, that means Aemond would be regent until his nephew is of ideal age. Seven. "Poor Sunfyre."

Annabel tries to scold you, but the amusement behind her blue eyes is hard to conceal. "You are pitying the dragon, not the king?"

"Well, people have the free will of choice, and are aware of the consequences their actions might have… a dragon can only obey their rider's command, isn't it right?"

"We cannot say. These magical creatures are beyond our comprehension."

You ponder. "That is true."

After the quick conversation, you make your way to one of the huge kitchens, assuming the prince would probably fancy a bath. Warming up buckets of water, you carry them to Maegor's Holdfast with the help of three other servants.

A strong smell of blood and smoke fills your nose as you enter his quarters, and your eyes widen. The expensive rug is stained and marked by large boots, and even more astounding is the prince's appearance.

Aemond is lounging on a chair close to his study table. His face and hair are covered by blood, ash, and dirt, and splatters of dried blood stains his black and gold armor. His braids are loose, and you can even notice some twigs tangled in his silver strands. However, the prince's hands are the most distressing, gloves discarded at some point and almost fully covered by the red liquid. With a frown, you deduce it must be from his brother's injury. He looks haunting, almighty, and ruthless. There's a scowl on his face, though his eyes seem perturbed.

You notice how the servants' hands seem to tremble slightly as they pour the water into the bathtub in the next room, their eyes never daring to look up while adding some essential oils and chamomile herbs to the water as well, however, you cannot share their fear. All you wish to do is reach out and comfort him. Leaving one of the buckets outside the bathroom, you can see from the corner of your eyes the one-eyed man dismissing the other servants with a wave of a hand, and they seem eager to oblige. You kneel in front of him.

"I am glad you are well," You squeeze his knees. "And tremendously sorry for your brother."

Aemond does not respond, and his gaze is piercing as he stares at you as if memorizing each detail of your face. You don't look away either, a comfortable but powerful silence pairing between the two of you. His fingers slowly graze your cheek, and you do not mind the blood, eyes closing with the delicate caress.

"Help me undress, will you?"

You nod, aware he was never one to talk in deep about his emotions and thoughts, to allow himself to be vulnerable. Nonetheless, you've been noticing this quietness getting worse ever since Storm's End, and although concerned, you would not push him. Especially because you weren't even aware of the extent of your relationship. That he has a certain tenderness for you is clear, but the amount of liberties you could take with the royal is not as much.

Carefully undoing his heavy armor, the pieces fall to the ground with a whump, and the clothes underneath are a lot easier to deal with. His defined body slowly comes into view, a few goosebumps arising on his bare skin with the sudden lack of materials. Aemond's nakedness is of no surprise to you, though you could never help but admire him. Grabbing a cloth you wet it in the bucket nearby and start to clean his face first, hoping to get rid of the thicker layers of dirt before starting the bath.

Your touch is light, afraid to harshly rub any scratches, big or small. "Are you hurt in any way?"

Aemond shakes his head. "None of the blood is mine," He says. "It's from the princess and my brother, and their dragons. I believe some from Lord Staunton and his garrison as well."

You shudder with discomfort and drift your attention to cleaning his hands, the cloth immediately being painted red, you discard it for another as you move to the other hand. You've always enjoyed tending to him.

His hair comes next, and you take off his eyepatch. Undoing the braids is quick, long accustomed to it, though his strands are now sticking and smelling terribly, like a pan that spent too much time on fire, simply nose scrunching and suffocating. Aemond moves his head side to side with a growl after you are done, the bones of his neck cracking.

The prince sighs pleasantly as he enters the tub, and you grab a bowl to wet his hair. The silver strands get soaped quickly as you massage his scalp with both hands, his good eye close, and the sapphire twinkles.

After washing it, you fetch another soap bar, one that the merchant guaranteed you was special, something about adding more oils while making it. There was no harm in trying, and you were surprised by how such a thing made his hair healthier, not as dry which means fewer cuts, and more tamed and lustrous. His strands instantly become more emollient as you run the soap along the length.

Aemond seems completely unbothered as you get to scrub his body, the fine hairs covering his arms and legs so light it's barely visible. It's, in fact, a moment of relaxation and customariness, a routine for both of you. But the water is already dirty and gray by now, and you cannot help but recall it's not only ashes and dirt but also the mixed blood of people and beasts alike. Some perished.

You do not notice the silver-haired staring at you until he speaks. "You do not seem very pleased."

You raise your eyebrows. "Is there something to be pleased about?"

"Is there not?" He squints his eye. "We have just won a battle."

"Congratulations."

"Your sincerity is appreciated." His voice is dripping with sarcasm. "You know you can speak freely with me." He studies your face.

You bite your lips, focusing on the task at hand and adding more soap to the scrubber. The prince would never understand your point, so you would rather avoid a useless discussion. Especially today.

Unfortunately, he doesn't give up, cocking his head. "What is restraining you from doing so? Are you disgusted? Would you prefer me to not have killed all those cunty traitors?" His voice is low, dangerous. "Would you prefer to have that whore sitting on the throne? Is that the reason for your unpleasantness? Do you believe she's more suitable than my brother? Than me?"

You look at him sternly, the scrubber falling to the water with a splash. His face is now a lot closer to yours, but he does not intimidate you, never did, and probably never will. But he hits a nerve, and your mouth moves even before you could notice you were speaking.

"I would prefer your family to resolve the succession issue in another way other than submitting the kingdom to a devastating war with horrendous consequences, for all of you certainly, as proved by your nephew's death and older brother's injury now, but mostly, innocent people that have nothing to do with your schemes." Your voice holds a cold rage. "That is my opinion if it's of any importance to you, but I highly doubt it."

Aemond scoffs, shaking his head and averting his eye for a minute. His finger rests on top of his mouth, and there's still blood underneath his nails. He inhales to control his annoyance. He looks like he's going to say something, but then changes his mind, closing his lips and opting for another choice of words.

"You would not understand it, as a commoner." He looks at you up and down, not with the usual desire, but with a hint of superiority now, clear in how the corner of his lips twitches upward dismissively.

You are quick to respond. "Nor would you, as a prince."

Deafening silence. You have a good point, the drastic difference in your backgrounds would never let you completely understand one another's views and priorities. Aemond sighs.

"You are lucky I am fond of you." A truce.

You chuckle. "And I do not dislike you entirely."

The prince smiles, tight-lipped, but it is lovely, showing off his beautiful dimples. The rest of the bath goes calmly as you resume the chore. You wrap his hair in a cotton towel, and his body in a linen one. You leave the prince to dry himself while you make your way to the bedchamber, gathering loose mud green trousers and some shea butter.

The one-eyed stands in his full glory as you spread the product all over his lean body. Back, arms, chest, and stomach, then his legs. When you get up from your kneeling position, his hand wraps around your neck swiftly, bringing your body forward and kissing you.

You return it immediately, deep and eager. However, it's also contemplative and cozy, almost lazy as you taste one another. Your hand rests on his forearm, the softness and warmth of his lips never failing to get you weak on the knees, and he smells great now, fresh. Your eyes seem unable to open as you get lost in the small kisses and teases.

"Do not resent me, beauty." He says as you part.

You smile against his mouth, you thought it was precious when he got like this, clingy in his way. It was only on these rare occasions that he let his pride and loftiness aside, and would do everything to prevent you from being upset with him. Seeking your comfort in such an intense manner it was flattering.

A verbal answer doesn't leave your lips, you just kiss him again, and it's enough. "Get dressed and sit down." You motion to the dressing table, throwing the trousers at him.

You comb his hair delicately, adding some sunflower oil to his scalp before braiding his damp hair, he prefers it this way, claiming it was the only way it wouldn't get tangled up in the morning. You start from his very root, sectioning small amounts of silver hair and crossing them over in between your fingers, slowly but surely creating a beautiful and tight pattern. It's not a fast process, but you delight in it and you suspect so does the man in front of you, almost purring as you work. Tying the end of it, you rub his shoulders affectionately, his skin always warm beneath your palms.

"I am sore," Aemond complains. "A massage would be great."

You grin, pecking his cheek from behind. "As you wish, my Prince."

He is truly very tense, and you cannot fathom how distressing all that he witnessed is. You suppose it was a life-changing experience, in the worst way possible. It was clear how his eye hardened considerably in a short time. You would have surely run to the hills in his place, but he doesn't. He breathes and keeps his composure, hiding away all his fright, pretending to be indifferent, that he accepts his duty and the price of it gladly. But nobody would, less they lacked emotions.

Aemond lays down on his stomach, folding his arms above his head. Grabbing a bottle of coconut oil from the table, you take off your shoes and raise your dress to your knees before crawling on the bed to sit on top of his butt.

His body jolts as you drip a generous amount of oil on his large back, his muscles flexing. His body is so magnificent you could easily imagine a greater force meticulously creating each detail of it. Aemond moans the moment your hands start to caress his lower back. Your first touches are gentle, tracing circles up and down with your fingertips, mapping where you can feel some knots. Your hands move from his sides, to his shoulders, and up to the back of his neck, pinching it slightly.

"Fuck," Aemond grunts, voice muffled by the mattress. "This feels nice."

You add more pressure, stroking his back up and down, and after a few minutes back to tracing firm circles, this time with the heel of your hand. The prince is unable to contain noises of pleasure. Laying one of your hands on top of the other, you start the process of pushing his spine, once again beginning down and going up. A few cracks are heard.

Then, you add gentle pressure with your thumbs on his knots, his grunts are now a little bit more uncomfortable, but it's necessary. After you are done, you softly knead his back up and down, and then start switching between circling and stroking.

Aemond's moans along with the feel of his skin start to alight a desire in you, your lower stomach tingling in a known and annoying manner, womanhood pulsating with each new sound. It doesn't help how your filthy encounters had been becoming less frequent, the prince growing too busy with the war, and often you would feel bothered and insatiable.

It's unconscious the way you start rubbing on him, trying to relieve the ache you feel, and you do not realize what you are doing until he grips your thigh, halting your tentative movements at once.

"Stop teasing." He warns.

You stammer, a bit embarrassed. "I'm not, I–"

Suddenly you are pinned down by the prince, your positions switched as you utter your confusion by the suddenness. You should've been used to his strength and fast reflexes by now. "Do you deem your behavior acceptable?"

You swallow, trying not to smile, and feign innocence. "I have no clue what you are talking about."

"Oh, yes? You are unaware you were rubbing yourself on me like a bitch in heat?"

"I would never do that, my Prince."

"You would never…?" He chuckles, feeling amused.

"During my work? No." You shake your head in denial.

"So, if I touch your cunt right now, you would not be wet?" He cocks his head.

You bite your lips. "Not at all."

"Forgive me for not believing your words, but I shall need proof." Aemond's hand sneaks under your dress, fingers moving slowly from your shin to your thigh, his eye never leaving yours, daring.

You giggle when his finger parts your folds, rubbing the dampness between your legs. You buck your hips, in need of more friction.

"Liar." Aemond disregards with a click of his tongue, his pupil blown out as he circles your bud.

"Aemond." You gasp, eyes closing.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Yes, I've been taking care of you so well..." You try to negotiate.

"But I deserve so much more attention, don't you agree?" He kisses and licks your collarbone, finger never faltering, teasing.

"More?" Your breath is labored, and your voice is weak. His hand leaves your heat.

"I have killed a whole other dragon. It is not frequently one can say it. Yes, I believe I am due special treatment." He faces you again.

"I see," You grin. "You want me to do all the work?" Your lips brush his. "Such an idle prince." You provoke.

"Watch your mouth," He warns, pecking you. "I am merely tired. It's been eventful."

"Conveniently for you, I am feeling generous today." Your hands trail his bare waist.

"You are?" He smirks, nose touching yours.

"Uh-huh, and very happy you are unscathed."

"Show me, then," Aemond kisses your jaw. "Just how grateful you are."

The kiss you share is lecherous, wet, and rushed. Aemond does not fight you as you flip your bodies over and climb onto his lap, an evident bulge in the thin trousers that contours all of his cock tantalizingly. Even the clothed friction makes you both shudder, and you gather all of your strength to not start instantly grinding on his shaft.

You pull his trousers down, and his manhood springs free. Big, thick, veiny. Dripping coconut oil on your hands, you rub them together. Aemond wets his lips in anticipation.

Your hand slides through his length with no difficulty with the help of the oil, and the smell of it is delicious. You start jerking him off, and the prince hums in satisfaction.

Aemond wasn't the most vocal in bed, you realized it soon into your affair, but with time you had discovered the exceptions, the things that would make him forget all about his inhibitions and scream in pleasure.

After stroking him for a while, you cup one of your hands, very slowly circling his tip with the palm of your oily hand, fingertips dragging up and down his length while you do so. Aemond breathes sharply, his stomach twitching.

"Seven hells, love." He mutters with a tight hold on the sheets due to his sensitivity. You smile.

You focus on your fingertips, running them up and down his shaft lightly. Aemond adored the delicacy of the movement, the gentle yet torturous pressure, promising and unforgiving, kind and cruel. Then you circle his head again, again, and again. Careful to not hurt him. Aemond grunts, his eyebrows pinching together and face completely flushed as he bites his lips harshly, trying to hold back his moans, but you know it won't last long.

"Stop, it 's too much." He whines, but the delighted sound that escapes his mouth tells you to do anything but, his body trembling.

"Aw," You coo mockingly. "We know you can take it, my Prince."

You add more oil to your hands, holding his length and rotating your wrist as your palm rubs over his tip and shaft over and over. He completely let go as he closes his eye, his grunts being replaced by enchanting high-pitched and broken moans. It's quite pathetic the sight of him, the mighty and fearsome prince so supple on your hands, forehead glistening with sweat and breath erratic. Anyone outside could hear him.

"My love, please." He begs in the middle of whimpers, all of his body hair stirred up.

"Please what, my dear?" You ask innocently.

Aemond squirms. "I need to come," He gasps. "Please, please, please."

"Since you asked so nicely…"

You change the movement, keeping it only on his sensitive head, your other hand squeezing his balls. His voice gets louder, face twisted in pleasure as a tear falls down his gorgeous face, violet iris shining bright. You can feel your cunt soaked and throbbing achingly with the view.

He comes in a silent scream, hips bucking as hot loads of his spend fall into your hand and his shaft. You spread some of it around his length, still jerking him off as you help him ride out of his peak, the prince's body spasming.

"That's it," You praise him. "Good boy."

Aemond's breath is heavy as you find his lips, and he struggles to follow your pace, but he tries anyway, messy and urging. "Now you are going to be even nicer and let me use your cock, won't you?" You whisper.

His eye is lidded as he stares at you and nods, and you cannot resist the urge to press two sticky fingers to his curved lips, Aemond opens his mouth with no resistance, licking your hand clean. He's so compliant, somehow still lost in the void between the extraordinary bliss and the present moment.

"Anything for you." He mutters.

You grin. "That is what I like to hear."

Even if not necessarily frequent, happening mostly when he was worn-out or glum, it was rather obvious how letting someone of your position have control over him in bed, one of the very few situations in which you could be so blunt and disrespectful to a high-born, aroused the prince more than he would ever admit, a time in which he could forget about his obligations and just be good to you.

It doesn't take long into your kissing until you can feel him growing hard again, hands eagerly grabbing the hem of your dark red dress and pulling it up around your waist.

"Stupid dress." He complains in between lustful kisses, struggling to get rid of the clothing.

You laugh and help him take it off, throwing your apron and the dress somewhere around his quarters. Aemond instantly latches onto your right breast once you are fully naked, tongue hot and wet twirling around your nipple, and making you shiver and mewl as he sucks it into his mouth as if he is starved, your hand pulling at his braided hair.

Too impatient and greedy, you push him back on the mattress, positioning his member on your wet and tight entrance before lowering yourself down on it. You both moan at the stretch. It is spellbinding the way he watches you on top of him, making you feel like the most desired person in existence, his hands on your hips tightly.

You feel so full and excited you could almost see stars, the position has always been one of your favorites, his cock being able to reach just the right spots in this way.

"Seven, you feel perfect inside me." You gasp, grinding back and forward, your lungs clenching with the sudden and powerful wave of pleasure, so strong it is maddening.

Aemond growls, his body jolting with the motion. "You are a fucking witch, woman."

"For knowing exactly how to deal with you? I might as well be." You grin viciously, your hands resting on his chest.

Your eyes close as you rock your hips slowly and sensually, strained moans already leaving your mouth, and your bud brushing over his pubic bone makes you tremble. It's doubtless the best sensation you have ever felt, his cock dragging against your walls marvelously.

"Fuck, you fit me so well," You say out of breath, fastening your grinding. "Always so good for me, aren't you?"

You lean over slightly, pressing yourself more to him as you begin to bounce on his cock restlessly, the sinful noises echoing in the chamber only increasing your pleasure.

Aemond whimpers, both by the change of the movement and your words. "Always good for you, my love." He repeats, choking out.

Aemond's hands come to grip your ass desperately, certainly to leave bruises later, but now it's nothing but motivating for you.

He suddenly sits you both up, mouth finding one of your breasts again, saliva coating it as he plays with your nipple with tongue and teeth with no care. The sensitivity makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Delightful yet torturous whimpers on your lips as you continue to ride him mercilessly.

Sweat covers almost all of your body, and you feel as if you were burning from the inside out, the prince not looking any different, his cheeks and nose terribly reddened. You don't even care about the slight throbbing of your legs getting tired, or for the man you were fucking anymore, simply focused on the building of that rapture that feels so close yet so far. Your hold on his shoulders is firm beyond pleasant, but you assume his mind is elsewhere, and not in how your nails are breaking his pale skin.

You needed this badly and you knew you wouldn't last long. The knot inside you tightens hazardously, and you furrow your eyebrows, your bouncing getting even more frenetic. However, as good as it feels, you are growing overwhelmed as you ache for a release that's taking too long to come, somewhat stuck in a sadic joy. You whine out of glee and anticipation, too fucking eager.

"Don't stop, love," Aemond says with a groan, letting go of your breast with a pop to give attention to the other, his sucking sloppy as you pull at his hair harshly. You moan.

Not even in a thousand years you would dare to. When the long-awaited white-hot pleasure slams your body, you feel like ascending to the seven heavens itself. It's astoundingly overpowering at first and then diminishes in ripples as your heart drums painfully inside your chest, cunt fluttering around his member.

Your breath is heavy as you slow down, shivering and a little weary. Aemond moans while watching you come on his cock, and fortunately, he seems disposed to help you as he lays down again, bringing your body flush against his. He seems very roused as he impales you with his cock from beneath, growling into your ears while his hands squeeze your ass possessively.

You whine due to overstimulation, his thrusts are relentless, and the squelching sounds more prominent with how much you soaked his cock not too long ago. You are unsure if you want him to finish already or just keep using your cunt as he wishes regardless of your comfort, and the sheer thought of it inflames you.

It's surprising how fast it comes back, that burning and expectation in your lower stomach, apparently even stronger now. All that was not him and his cock in your womanhood is long forgotten. Blood rushes hot in your veins, high-pitched mewls and low grunts blending.

"By the Seven, Aemond." You hide your face in the crook of his neck, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

"Can you give me another one?" Aemond pounds into you harder, the smell of the shea butter and coconut oil from earlier consuming you. "I want to give you another one, beauty. I want to make you feel exceptionally good, yes?"

You try to respond to him but you just babble, teeth biting into the conjecture of his neck and shoulder, painting it red and purple, too dumbfounded to think or to measure your strength. But it seems your bites only incite the silver-haired more, his shoves faster and his groans broken.

One of his hands circles your waist securely to lock you in place, no falter in his thrusts. The wave of elation that suddenly crashes down over you is potent, numbing all your senses for a few seconds, but you are certain you must be screaming as you squirm. Your legs shake tremendously and your eyelids feel heavier.

Your second peak and the clenching of your cunt send Aemond over the edge. He bucks his hips, stilling inside you as he comes with a prolonged and deep grunt, head tilted back and lips parted. You didn't know what good action guaranteed you the privilege to see such a beautiful thing. Getting off him as he tries to regain his breath, a good amount of his warm seed drips in between your thighs, walls spinning as you feel quite faint.

Your back hits the fluffy mattress, your heart pounding in your ears and black dots cover your vision, which is slightly blurry. Shutting your eyes, you could not say how much time has passed as you recompose yourself and wait for your skin to cool down, but when you do, you are shocked to see the prince already soundly asleep next to you, mouth hung open as exhaustion had finally caught up to him after the latest events and your passionate indulgence.

Chuckling, you roll to your side as you watch him, his expression for once serene and breath even. You trace your finger gently across his straight eyebrow while appreciating the details of his face. The concern comes back to torment you as you wonder what the future has reserved for him, but you try to brush it off. You could only pray for his safety.

You recall the first time you saw him sleeping, it was quite unnerving, only the sapphire shining brightly while his good eye rested, but now the gemstone staring back at you was not only usual but comforting, a unique and enchanting charm in your opinion.

After getting up, you grab a cloth to clean the two of you, and although with a drowsy complaint from him, you manage to tuck the one-eyed in warm sheets. You put on your servant robes again and organize the mess you could deal with at the moment, gathering his armor as quietly as you can to be cleaned later. Pecking his pinkish lips slowly, you exit his quarters, feeling completely satisfied.

TAGS: @godrakin @m1ndbrand ♡⋆˙

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