#but this one was too long already and so it will remain as is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megalony · 1 day ago

Text

No One Helped

It's been too long, but finally here is another Bobby Nash imagine, I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05

Bobby Nash Masterlist

Summary: While (Y/n) is helping out at another station, she gets injured. But rather than helping her, this team decide to tease her about her relationship with her Captain, who she has to call for help.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a deep breath, (Y/n) rapped her knuckles on the door and opened it just enough to peek her head inside. She didn't want to barge in if Bobby was on the phone or in the middle of paperwork, the last thing (Y/n) wanted to do was distract him.

But the grin that lit up his face when he saw her made the nerves in her stomach simmer down and when he waved his hand towards her, she took the invitation. She headed inside and shut the door behind her, walking into the office with her eyes trained on her partner.

Bobby was sat at his desk, one elbow propped up on the desk and the other holding the work phone to his ear. He didn't seem to invested in the call and the way he rolled his eyes and pulled the phone away from his ear made (Y/n)'s smile change into a smirk. He was on the phone to someone in head office, by the looks of things.

With a nod of his head, Bobby muttered a brief "Understood. Thank you," and hung up the phone as quickly as possible without coming across as unpolite.

The moment the phone was out of his hand, Bobby groaned and tilted back in his deak chair, leaning his head back until he was practically staring up at the ceiling.

He ran a hand up and down his face, trying to muster some strength and willpower but seeing (Y/n) walk into his office was already brightening his mood and keeping a smile on his face. His eyes followed her as she trailed towards him and perched down on the edge of his desk. Her feet pressed into the base of his chair to steady herself and her hands gripped the edge of the desk so she didn't tilt too far forwards or back.

"Hi,"

"Hi sweetheart." Bobby grinned and sat forward in his chair enough so that he could fold his arms over (Y/n)'s thighs and lean into her. He rose a brow and tilted his head to one side as he looked up at her. "What can I do for you?"

There was no need to be formal when it was only the two of them in the office. Granted, everyone on the team knew (Y/n) was Bobby's girlfriend and no one made a fuss or said anything, but they still had to remain professional. Bobby was Captain, he couldn't go around with his hands on (Y/n)'s waist or an arm always looped around her shoulders or kissing her whenever he felt like it.

The odd touch here and there was fine, but that was it if they were out front in the station around the team. And if they were out on a call, interactions between them were limited and Bobby always had to think and caution himself not to let petnames roll off the tongue in front of people.

Leaning forward, (Y/n) traced her hand along Bobby's shoulder until she was cupping the side of his face and her thumb could trace over his high cheekbone.

"Missed you, and I thought I could help with the audits."

(Y/n) traced her thumb across Bobby's lower lip when his smile morphed into a smirk and a small laugh tumbled past his lips. But he leaned into her touch and twisted his head enough to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

His hands squeezed her thighs and he pushed up so he was a bit closer to her level rather than leaning down towards her legs.

"Oh really?"

(Y/n) hummed, but she could barely find her voice when Bobby reached up to hold her chin and he gently pulled her down in his direction until he could steal a kiss. They had been on shift for almost three hours already and he had barely been able to touch her in that time. It was too long when (Y/n) was always so close by.

(Y/n) couldn't help the way she smiled against Bobby's lips and she let go of the desk in favour of looping both arms loosely around Bobby's neck.

She enjoyed helping Bobby with the audits, sometimes there was just too much paperwork for one person. So they ended up sharing the work, Bobby would sign and account for everything and check the numbers, and (Y/n) would file them away correctly or label them or get them ready to be sent over to head office.

It was something to do when they didn't have a call and all their cleaning rotas were finished and up to date. And (Y/n) enjoyed tidying and filing everything away correctly.

When their lips parted, Bobby brushed his thumb along her chin, getting lost in those eyes for a few moments until (Y/n) murmured "Can I?" against his lips. For a second he was stumped on what she was referring to but when her hand moved to the stack of papers on his desk and she began to tap against them, Bobby groaned quietly.

"Usually I'd say yes, but I need to ask a favour, sweetheart."

That sounded promising.

(Y/n) nudged her foot against Bobby's leg and inclined her head to the side, intrigue pooling in her eyes. She began brushing her thumb up and down the back of Bobby's neck which had him visibly shivering. And when he scooted the chair closer to her, (Y/n) obliged and parted her legs so he could move between them.

His hands curled around her hips as she stayed sitting on the edge of the desk, but the way Bobby tilted his head back to look up at her made (Y/n) curious. There was something in his eyes that wasn't usual and his smile was beginning to fade. Whatever favour he was going to ask for, (Y/n) had an unsettling feeling that she wasn't going to like it.

"What favour?" Her tone was sceptical and her arms tightened around his neck a little while she continued to trace her fingers along his neck and scratch at the short hairs at the base of his head.

"I've just had head office on the phone. The 189 are down a couple of people and I've been asked to lend a few of my team to them for the next few days."

Oh dear.

"Since Eddie's about to head home, I can't send him today, and I can't send Hen or Chim because I need medics here. Can you go there for me today, and possibly tomorrow? I can send Buck with you tomorrow and he can do the shift the day after that and then it's all covered."

A jolt ran through (Y/n)'s heart and she felt her smile dampening, even as she tried to stay composed.

She didn't want to go to a different team.

One shift was far too long to be working with a completely different team, especially just for one day. (Y/n) would have to get to know them and get into their way of working just for two days, they probably wouldn't let her help and she would be sat on the sidelines.

But how could she say no?

It wouldn't be fair for (Y/n) to decline and either send Buck or someone else from the team. And if she would be going with Buck again tomorrow, at least she would have one person she knew who she gelled with and could work as a team with. They could boost each other through the shift and at least she wouldn't be alone. It would just be today that (Y/n) would have to transfer and feel like the odd one out in a new unit.

"Okay."

It wouldn't seem right to ask Bobby to consider sending someone else. If anyone on the team found out or asked why she wasn't going, what would they say? She couldn't get preferrential treatment from Bobby, they had agreed upon that from the moment they got into a relationship together.

"Thank you sweetheart." Bobby rolled his lips into a thin line when (Y/n) leaned down and rested her temple against his.

He could see the anxiety written across her face and he could practically feel it rushing through her. Going to a new team with people she didn't know was going to flare up her anxiety, but at least it was only until tonight since she was on a double shift. And tomorrow Buck would be with her so her anxiety would be a lot calmer then.

Bobby nudged his nose against hers, tilting her head back so he could kiss her. He pushed up from his chair so he was leaning over her rather than sitting below her and his hands tightened on her hips while he took her lower lip between his teeth.

He felt one of her legs locking behind his knee in an effort to bring him closer and cage him in, as if he would of thought about stepping away from her. And the feeling of her fingers weaving into the short hair at the back of his head made him groan against her lips.

But the moment was interrupted by the bell ringing out in the hall.

Their noses brushed when their lips parted and Bobby leaned his temple down into hers, panting against her lips as he internally cursed dispatch's timing.

"You may as well come with us in the truck, I can drop you off along the way." It would save time if (Y/n) tagged along on this call and on route they could stop near the 189 and drop her off. It saved (Y/n) needing to find transport to get down there.

She and Bobby had started their shifts at the same time, something which happened most days and so Bobby always drove them to work.

"I'll pick you up tonight when we finish." Bobby could easily swing by the other station and pick (Y/n) up tonight when they both finished. It seemed the most sensible solution.

(Y/n) nodded and forced a smile onto her face before she pushed up and snagged one final kiss from Bobby. If she wasn't going to see him until tonight, she was going to make the most of it.

She just hoped she managed to get through this shift with a strange team.

***

(Y/n) didn't like this team.

Not only was she the only woman on this shift, but being the outsider made her a target for them. The team didn't try and push her to one side or tell her to hang back, if anything they pushed her forwards to try and make her do the most of their work.

That would have been fine if the team didn't give (Y/n) such a hard time about her relationship.

She knew this Captain Harper had said something. The 118 all knew she was Bobby's girlfriend, they had to, and it didn't bother any of them. They didn't make jokes or doubt Bobby and accuse him of favouritism, they could all see he played things fair and without prejudice, as always.

Bobby had to tell the Chief about their relationship and (Y/n) guessed that some of the other Captains knew because of being in head office and having news travel around. But no one on the other teams knew, the 118 kept their news and lives private and secluded to their station.

Captain Harper had told his team that (Y/n) was dating the Captain back in her own station.

Snide remarks never bothered her until today because every time they said something to her, it cut deep.

"Careful Cap, she's got a thing for men in charge, you could be next."

"Yeah, don't discipline her. That might be a turn on."

"Isn't Nash a bit old for you? Or is that how you like your men?"

All their remarks were swirling around in (Y/n)'s head like a spiteful record that wouldn't be quiet. The only bright side (Y/n) had was that she would be able to go home in a handful of hours. She could go and be with Bobby, and then she would only have to suffer these people for one more shift.

And who knew, maybe tomorrow because Buck would be with her, they might not say anything. For all Buck's sweet mannerisms and the docile side to him, he could be intimidating when he wanted to be. These guys might not want to mess with him and therefore they might play nice tomorrow when she and Buck came to help out.

So far, the whole team had made it clear she wasn't one of them.

It was as if they were just letting her be here with them, letting her enjoy the experience of working with them. She was a child allowed to play amongst the big kids, but they didn't really want her here.

Focusing back on the task at hand, (Y/n) looked behind her to the lady she was escorting down the ladder. They were evacuating people from a building fire, all part of the job and at least being busy meant the team didn't have time to make anymore snide remarks to or about (Y/n).

"This way, you're doing great." (Y/n) smiled behind her at the woman she was guiding down the ladder.

She could feel the woman's head pressing into her shoulder and both hands were clutching (Y/n)'s arm through her jacket. She was afraid of heights and the way she clung to (Y/n) was almost cutting off her circulation.

Reaching behind her, (Y/n) gave the woman's arm a squeeze before she reached her free hand in front of her to keep hold of the woman's little boy. She couldn't have either of them tripping down the ladder and hurting themselves in front of a team that didn't like or appreciate (Y/n). They might try and report her.

"There we go, Thompson will get you down to the ground safely."

The much taller man, Thompson, gave a curt nod and picked up the little boy while he beckoned the mother over to him.

She seemed reluctant to let (Y/n) go but finally obliged so (Y/n) could unbuckle herself from the safety rope connected to the ladder.

"Alright (Y/n), Eddison let's go. Move."

(Y/n) looked across at Eddison who was working on reeling the ladder back down so they could sort out. All they had to do now was make sure the fire was completely out and ensure everyone was on their way to the hospital. The Captain had already talked to the building manager and started to sort things out.

(Y/n) wasn't sure what happened.

She didn't know whether something had broken, if something had pulled out of Eddison's hands or if he simply lost his footing or his sense of balance. But whatever happened caused him to stumble back towards (Y/n).

"Shit!" He stumbled again, crashing down on his backside with one hand clinging to the ladder to stop himself falling off the top of the truck and the other hand slamming into the floor to steady himself.

His weight and force barrelled into (Y/n)'s legs and swept them from beneath her faster than she could react. Her arms flailed out at her sides and a scream burst past her lips when she slipped over the side of the truck. It felt like flying. It felt like (Y/n)'s stomach was rising up towards her head and her body was whistling through the wind. The feeling was extraordinary.

Until she hit the floor.

She landed on her side with a bang, but it was the way her head slammed into the floor that made (Y/n) feel like she had died on impact.

Her helmet flew off her head the moment she toppled from the truck. It was no longer attached to her head to stop her from splitting her head open during accidents just like this. She could see stars twinkling before her eyes in the middle of the day. She could feel her head spinning in wide circles like she was on the waltzers at a theme park.

Her heartbeat pulsed through her head that felt like a split coconut and a sob burst past her lips when her head throbbed and every part of her body started to tremble and jolt.

"(Y/n)… oh Christ, alright let's get you up."

(Y/n) wasn't sure who it was that leered over her. All she knew was that she was in too much pain and shock to want to get up. And when a hand grabbed her wrist and roughly yanked her up to her feet, (Y/n) all but screamed.

She wobbled back and forth, stumbling back three paces until the man in front of her held her by the shoulders with such a tight grip it felt like he was going to squeeze her like a balloon until she popped. He kept hold of her until she was no longer swaying on her feet and her body was finally being held up by her legs that had turned to jelly.

Why did he drag her up? Couldn't he see that the air had been knocked out of her? Why didn't he just let her recover for a few seconds first? Couldn't he have checked her over before he got her up, what if she had broken her leg or her ankle?

Tears burned down (Y/n)'s face like acid rain and she sniffed, drawing in a deep breath as her head clouded over.

She moved her right hand to try and delicately cradle her temple, but even her fingertips grazing over her side made her vision blackout and sent her knees buckling. Her head felt awful. She had a concussion, she just knew it. (Y/n) couldn't feel any blood soaking into her hair or trickling down her skin, but that didn't mean she didn't have a bad concussion.

Her head bounced off a concrete road and her helmet fell off before she hit the ground. There had been nothing to save her from the fall or protect her in any way.

"You okay (Y/n)?"

It was Eddison. He climbed down from the truck and moved to stand in front of her with a very perplexed, concerned look in his eyes. At least one person on this fucked up team cared that she had been hurt.

"My- ooh, my head." She gasped, trying again to cradle her head but all it did was make her eyes water and had her swaying back and forth on her feet. She slumped herself back against the truck to stay upright when it felt like her knees were going to cave in beneath her.

"Captain, (Y/n)'s got an injury." Eddison was the only one out of the team who didn't seem annoyed or phased by (Y/n) being on with them today. He was the only one who made an effort to talk to her and right now, he was the only one with sorrow in his eyes and concern etched onto his face.

Thompson, who had dragged her to her feet- something (Y/n) knew none of the trained medics on her own team would have done- just huffed and looked her up and down like she was causing a big fuss over nothing.

She had fallen. She was concussed in the very least, she could have any number of problems leading from this and she could barely keep her eyes open for a start. She wasn't going to be able to carry on and if she was concussed then dragging her to her feet and trying to move her wasn't what they should have done.

Did no one in this team care if someone got hurt? Did they all have super healing powers like Wolverine? Could they continue with broken bones like it was a sprain? Well (Y/n) wasn't like that. She was human, she was in agony and she felt like she could pass out or die right here. She needed to be checked out.

She needed her team. She wanted Bobby; he would of checked her over himself and made sure she was okay and taken to hospital. He would have worried about her.

Panic burst to life in (Y/n)'s chest when Captain Harper stood a few feet in front of her and Eddison.

He looked them both up and down, scrutinising and assessing them while he glared through narrowed eyes. His gaze made (Y/n) feel like a child or a weakling who had done something wrong. She knew if she were back on her own team, they would have been more understanding and forgiving and concerned. And not just because her partner happened to be her Captain. Bobby was fair, he didn't favouritise and he cared greatly when anyone on his team was injured.

"You're clearly up and moving, you'll be fine. Everyone back in the truck, let's go."

Shrugging his shoulders, Eddison lowered his head and gave (Y/n) a sorrowful look before he turned and heaved into the truck, groaning as he went. He clearly dealt with this treatment a lot and he knew better than to argue.

Was that it? She didn't get checked out or assessed or even get the chance to talk to a medic? She was just glared into like the Captain had X-ray vision and deemed fit and capable to work. To Hell with the tears pouring down her face. Who cared that she could barely move or see? What did it matter that she was in mass agony and couldn't stand up straight?

"C- can't I see a medic?" Ragged breaths escaped her lips as she tilted her head back into the truck and looked across at Captain Harper who she felt very uneasy with.

But the way he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes made (Y/n) shiver and she knew undoubtedly that she wasn't going to get any help or compassion from anyone on this team.

"Maybe sleeping with the Captain back in your own team gets you a free pass anytime you screw up, but that won't work here. Wipe away those crocodile tears and all of you, get in the truck. Now."

Tremors coursed through (Y/n)'s chest and she bit down on her lip to stop the tears from falling. Why did showing she was in pain mean she was weak or useless or any different? What good would it do to be stoic and pretend she could handle anything when she couldn't? Hiding pain would only prolongue her suffering and make her injuries worse if she didn't get them seen to. She could be a liability to the team if she tried to keep going and ended up collapsing on shift.

But there was nothing (Y/n) could do. This wasn't her team, they had all made that very clear. No one was going to help her if the Captain thought she was being pretentious. And they all clearly thought she was with Bobby to gain preferential treatment. It didn't cross their minds that she might actually love her partner.

Her hand moved to cradle her head and she let her body stoop forward like her head weighed more than a bowling ball. Her body leaned to the left and she used the door to propel herself up into the truck while her head pounded and throbbed like she was constantly being whacked.

She slumped down into the seat next to the window, making herself as small as possible. She shrank away from the others as they all climbed in and started talking about what they would be eating later on for tea at the station.

(Y/n) wasn't going to be with them for that.

She wasn't staying on this team any longer.

She was leaving. If she had been feeling better, she would have put up a fight. She would have argued with Harper in front of his team, no matter what everyone else thought or said. She would have stood her ground and told him what a self-centred, egotistical idiot he was and she would have walked back to the 118 from here.

But in her current state, (Y/n) knew it would be better for her to get a ride back to their station and then she could grab her things and leave. She wasn't sure whether she was going to make her way back to the 118 or if she was going home. Either way, she wasn't staying with these maniacs any longer.

Her arms cocooned around her waist and she dropped her head against the window. The cold glass felt soothing to her throbbing temple and she closed her eyes when the passing scenery started to make her feel sick.

They thought she was weak. They thought she was being a hypochondriac or making this up. These people believed she was used to wrapping Bobby around her finger and getting him to do something if she got a cut or a bruise. They thought she was weak and she was complaining about a few little bruises. She was one of them. (Y/n) was a firefighter, she had been in a few accidents over the years, she had dealt with broken bones and burns and concussions. And each of them had hurt and blinded her with pain.

As soon as the truck pulled up in the station, (Y/n) flung the door open and flung herself down. Her arms bound tighter to her chest, her body coiled over and leaned forward and she pushed herself to walk down the station and head towards the locker room.

It was empty. (Y/n) couldn't have been more thankful that no one was in there and that no one else followed her into the room.

She headed over to the single locker on the far right. The spare one with no tape across the top and no name scribbled across. It took a lot of effort to shrug off her jacket and she coughed through her next breath when her head started to pound and her knees wavered.

Her temple flopped against the locker door and she sobbed rather loudly as she weakly tried to rummage through her back to find her phone.

She didn't bother to feel embarrassed as she leaned on the locker door for support. (Y/n) feared if she sat down or slid down to the floor, she would never get back up again. She had to stay upright and keep herself mobile so she didn't lose momentum and energy.

She hooked her bag on her shoulder and dialled Bobby's number before she lost the courage. There was no way she was staying here and there was no way (Y/n) could tell this team- especially Captain Harper, that she was leaving without them making a fuss or trying to reprimand her or force her to stay.

All (Y/n) would do was tell Bobby she was leaving. He could inform whoever necessary, he could say whatever he liked, he could tell them (Y/n) had caused a scene for all she cared. She just needed Bobby to tell Harper and whoever in management and she would make her own way home from here without being seen.

"Hey sweetheart, how are things going over there? Everything okay?" The edge of concern in Bobby's voice was overwhelming to (Y/n). He knew they couldn't always answer one another when they were on shift, but (Y/n) wasn't calling him from home. She was on shift, Bobby knew she would only be calling if she was panicked or needed calming down or some advice.

He answered. (Y/n) could of fainted with relief when she heard his voice. They were all at work, it wasn't always easy to answer phone calls when they were on shift. At least something was going right today.

The sound of his voice made a tidal wave of tears flush down (Y/n)'s face. She leaned forward and moved her free hand to cradle her temple as she swallowed down a cry. The last thing she wanted to do was cry down the phone to Bobby, but she couldn't seem to help it. She needed his help. She wanted his love and comfort, but she couldn't ask for that right now.

"I'm going home." She sniffed and tried not to sob through her words and hold herself together, but (Y/n) knew the sound of her voice gave away she was crying. And she could hear the deep breaths Bobby let out when he realised something was terribly wrong.

"You're going home? Why, baby what's wrong?"

"I can't do this, I- fuck, something happened. I'm going home, tell Harper. Please."

The trembling in her voice made Bobby bolt up from his desk and his free hand moved to rub and grip his jaw. What had happened while she had been away from him? What was wrong? Was she suddenly hurt or in pain? Had someone at that station done something out of line?

"Sweetheart you're starting to scare me, what's happened?" He couldn't do anything to help her unless she told him what was going on and what had happened while she had been at that station.

"Tell him I'm sick, Bobby p-please do something. I'm n… not speaking to any of them, I'm going out the back."

"Baby-"

Bobby could feel himself shaking when the line went dead. That didn't bode well at all.

(Y/n) said something had happened and she was going home, but she wanted Bobby to tell the Captain. She was sneaking out, that told Bobby his girlfriend was frightened or something- or someone, and that made his blood run cold and sent him reeling.

He would call Harper. He would call him right now and spin him a line that an emergency had happened here at the 118 and he had to call (Y/n) back over. He would make it work.

But then he was going straight home. He was going to find his girlfriend and find out what had happened today.

***

Panic was the only thing Bobby could feel and understand since (Y/n)'s phone call.

He knew he had panicked Hen when he told her she was temporarily in charge for the rest of the shift because he had something he had to deal with. And the phone call he'd had with Captain Harper had been brief but fuelled. Bobby told him there had been an emergency on his end and he had to call (Y/n) back.

Bobby didn't appreciate how Harper blatantly asked if (Y/n) had done something wrong for Bobby to recall her like that. He seemed to be under the impression that she was a bad worker or somehow untrustworthy and that rattled Bobby up the wrong way. It also assured him that something bad had happened to his girlfriend over at that station.

He hated how his hands started to shake when he tried to unlock the front door, but Bobby felt even more unstable when he turned the handle and realised the door wasn't even locked. At least that meant (Y/n) was home.

She had done as she told him she would, she had left and come home which meant at least she was somewhere safe and somewhere that Bobby could easily find her and try to help her with whatever was wrong.

"(Y/n)? Baby, are you okay?" He gave the door a swift kick shut once he was inside and he dumped his keys on the side table as he jogged through the hall. He wasn't too sure whereabouts (Y/n) would be. She could be upstairs, if she felt sick she could be in the bathroom or maybe she had gone to bed, although Bobby doubted that very much.

He tried his luck heading into the living room and he could of cried when he headed in and found her on the sofa.

She didn't look good.

(Y/n) was laid on the sofa on her right side, she had her knees pulled up tight to her stomach and her arms bound around her chest like she was trying to compact herself into a tiny shape. Her face was burrowed down into one of the cushions, but her body was subtly shaking and Bobby felt shivers scratching down his back when he realised she was crying.

His own body shook as he carefully knelt down on the carpet in between the sofa and the glass coffee table behind him. He gently folded his left arm over the edge of the sofa and reached his right hand out to begin gliding his fingertips up and down her arm.

"Sweetheart, can you please tell me what's happened today. Harper said you had a problem with the team but I don't believe that for a minute. Talk to me."

There was no way Bobby would believe anything that other Captain had told him. He didn't believe it when Harper said he was glad (Y/n) was going back because she had 'caused friction' within the team in the short time she had spent with them. And he hated how that Captain had portrayed (Y/n) and made her seem like a nuisance or a troublemaker.

Especially when he knew that Bobby was her partner.

Bobby had to know what happened today so he could do something about it and understand how to help her. Because right now, there wasn't a lot that he could do for her if he didn't know what was going on.

His fingertips glided up her arm, traced along her neck and moved to brush along her cheek and jaw. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip that was damp and wobbling, threatening to let a cry burst past her lips.

The way (Y/n) bleakly opened her eyes to look up at him made Bobby wince, but there was a certain, distant look in her eyes that worried him even more. It seemed to take her a few seconds to actually get her gaze to focus and settle on him and when (Y/n) reached out and clutched his wrist, her grip was ferocious and made Bobby tremble along with her.

"Talk to me," He murmured again and leaned over to press his lips to her temple that he noticed was flushed with sweat.

(Y/n) nuzzled her cheek into Bobby's touch and turned her head a little so she was no longer burrowed down into the cushion. She looked over at him with tired eyes that were welling up with tears. She wanted to sit up. (Y/n) wanted to slump forward off the sofa and land in Bobby's arms. She wanted to burrow down into him and have him wrap himself around her like a comforting blanket. But she couldn't gain enough strength to move.

"It was bad, they kept- they made jibes, that I was c-coming onto Harper," She couldn't find the will to look at Bobby as she spoke. And (Y/n) cringed when she heard Bobby mutter 'because of me' under his breath.

"Did something happen to you?"

He dreaded to ask. There were a million possibilities of what could have happened, and none of them were good. Bobby could feel his heart suffering palpitations at the mere thought that one of that team had tried coming onto (Y/n) and had subsequently hurt her in the process.

He prayed that wasn't the case. If it was, Bobby wasn't so sure he would be able to remain calm if he had to go to that station and make a complaint or go and talk to the chief. Bobby might start throwing fists for the first time since moving to LA if that were the case.

"I was evacuating people down the ladder, w-when one of the team slipped. He crashed into me, a-and I… I fell off the truck."

It had been an accident. (Y/n) didn't want Bobby thinking or believing that someone had purposely pushed her or tried to harm her. The most they had done before the incident was make rude comments and imply she might come onto any one- or any number- of them because she was 'sleeping with her Captain'. They made it sound as if she were trying to further her career by sleeping with Bobby. They didn't understand that (Y/n) had been in a relationship with him before she transferred to the 118.

But no one helped her. No one checked her over or took her to hospital or even cared that she had been in agony, that she was still in agony. They expected her to carry on working as if nothing was wrong, as if she were Wonder Woman and could recover from anything within a split second.

"You fell, like off the roof of the truck? What, onto the floor?" When (Y/n) hummed, a splutter of 'Oh God' passed Bobby's lips and he suddenly hit red alert.

He pushed up on his knees so he was leaning over her and he wormed one hand beneath her neck and held her arm with the other. He was as careful as he could be when he eased (Y/n) up so she was sitting up rather than lying down. He had to assess her. Bobby had to see if she had any injuries and find out how badly she was hurt.

"Did you hurt yourself? Who assessed you?"

A floodwave of tears poured down (Y/n)'s face and she started hiccupping through her cries which caused panic to flood Bobby's face. His hands moved to cup her face and he leaned forward so his lower abdomen was pressed into the edge of the sofa.

"Baby-"

"N-no one helped me." Each word came with a bubbling cry and (Y/n) moved her trembling hands to clamp down on Bobby's wrists. She leaned her temple against his but the movement caused her to whimper as searing hot flames licked at her temple and ignited throughout her head.

She wanted to go to sleep. She just wanted the pain to stop and to rewind time back to this morning, before all this mess occurred.

"I hit my head on the road, b-but Thompson dragged me up. They wouldn't l-let me be assessed. Harper s… said no free passes. Bobby, my head hurts so much. Make it stop, please."

(Y/n) desperately moved one of Bobby's hands from her cheek to make him cradle the back of her head where the pain made her feel like her head was blowing up like a balloon. It was getting worse. She needed it to stop, she wanted the pain to go away. Bobby had to do something to help her, she was desperate.

"Have you taken any meds?" Bobby tried his best to smooth down the rough edge to his voice, but he couldn't quite manage it.

How could they treat her like this?

How could that poor excuse for a team not look after (Y/n) when she had gone to help them? They were supposed to look out for each other and take care of one another as well as look after the public. If (Y/n) had been hurt she had every right to be assessed and go home on sick leave if she was hurt badly enough.

It wasn't the case that she wanted a free pass when she was clearly distressed and sobbing her heart out from the agony.

"A-after I was sick…" (Y/n) nudged her nose against Bobby's cheek and shakily pointed to the table where the packed of naproxen and sulphadine were opened.

She had taken both after she came home and threw up, but they weren't doing her much good. Her head was still throbbing like a drum, it still felt like she was going to explode and she couldn't keep her eyes open and it had been too hard to sit up. All she could do was flop onto her side like a fish and sob.

"You've been sick?"

Bobby turned to check what meds she had taken but when he looked back at her, a frown pulled on his stern features. His dark eyes narrowed and he carefully turned (Y/n)'s head to the right so he could look at her left ear.

Her ear was bleeding.

"Up, up come on baby." The stern tone was back in his rather demanding voice and the urgency behind his words flared up adrenaline and panic in (Y/n)'s stomach.

"Why?"

Her eyes couldn't keep focus on Bobby when he held her arms and loosely draped them around the back of his neck. But (Y/n) groaned when Bobby held her hips and stood her up in front of him. Her knees were buckling already, she didn't have the strength to keep herself up like this. She wanted to lie back down, her body couldn't cope with this.

(Y/n) dropped her forehead onto Bobby's shoulder, whimpering at how it made her temple throb and sent jolts through her trembling system.

The feeling of Bobby's hands cupping the back of her thighs sent shockwaves coursing through (Y/n) and she held her breath when his fingertips dug into her skin and he hoisted her up. Bobby wasted no time in looping (Y/n)'s legs over his hips so she was sat low on his torso with her chest merged up against his.

"You've got a bad concussion baby, I need to take you to the emergency room."

One arm stayed looped beneath (Y/n)'s thighs and his other hand pressed into the centre of her back to keep her steady and safe against him.

She had thrown up. Her head was still causing her agony. She couldn't keep focus or even stand up. And now she had blood dribbling from her ear. (Y/n) was suffering from a very severe concussion and Bobby had to get her down to the emergency room to get her checked over. She would need an MRI and a CT scan and some stronger pain meds.

She should have been checked over the moment she fell, not well over two hours later when she was starting to deteriorate.

He carefully moved one hand to check his phone and wallet were in his back pocket before he swiped his keys from the side table and swung open the front door. It had been a long time since Bobby had to make an emergency trip down to the hospital like this.

"Bobby…" (Y/n) twisted her head so her cheek slumped against Bobby's shoulder and her lips merged with his neck. Each breath she took fanned against his skin as he hurriedly locked the door and headed towards the car.

"It's okay sweetheart, we're gonna get you some help."

As soon as Bobby had (Y/n) down at the hospital and she had been checked out, he would be making a dozen phone calls.

And Chief Simpson was at the top of his list.

#imagine #911 imagine #bobby nash x reader #bobby nash imagine #bobby x reader #bobby nash #evan buckley #hen wilson

163 notes · View notes

hannahbarberra162 · 2 days ago

Text

Emperor's Prize, Part 5

18+ MDNI | on Ao3

All the other chapters

TW: dubcon. Also remember Shanks isn’t a reliable narrator

Shanks POV

Shanks was a little sad your heat was finally abating after five days. Your demands for his touch and comfort were coming in increasingly longer intervals and you expressed a desire for food and drink. On one hand, he was glad it was ending. You looked worse for the wear, run down, and exhausted. Hongo had been right that the heat would be challenging for you physically. Heat had caused your appetite for food to be completely gone and in conjunction with the intense physical activity you’d lost weight off your already malnourished frame. You had dark circles under your eyes and had scratched at your healing neck wound until Shanks had Commanded you to stop touching it. You’d be able to recover after the heat was fully over but it was dragging out over the course of long hours.

On the other hand, he had enjoyed your heat - maybe a little too much. Through sheer force of will Shanks hadn’t descended into rut and was able to keep his immense power contained. He’d fucked you in every conceivable position that kept you under him and even had allowed you on top once. But the real reason he’d enjoyed it so much was because he’d Commanded you to love him. A Command he repeated quite a few times, most of the time if he actually stopped and thought about it. Shanks was addicted to the way you’d look up at him through your lashes, pulling him in for tender kisses with your tongue meeting his own. How you’d moan his name, not his designation when he made you come on his cock or tongue. How you’d smile at him when he came in you, urging him to cuddle with you afterward, to hold you closer for just a few minutes longer. You’d laugh when he told you sweet nothings into your ear, happily giggling as his stubble tickled your cheek. When he Commanded you to love him, your body language changed - you were carefree, sweeter, and more romantic.

It was like a glimpse into a world he’d heard about but never experienced before. Shanks had fucked thousands of times before he met you, it wasn’t anything new for him. He’d even made love a few times when he found a stable someone to enjoy it with. But every new beginning came with a prescribed end. No matter how sweet the love or how rough the tumble, Shanks would be leaving in the morning, the Red Force would be sailing away, and his newest lover would remain where they were. He didn’t have the time to let himself get attached or to let anyone really enter his life beyond his crew since he was always leaving, the future uncertain. There was no question about the inevitable outcome, fucking only granted him a few hours of respite from the loneliness that threatened to consume him whole.

Shanks had long felt like there was something in his heart that was missing or somehow walled off from everyone else. Like there was a piece of glass wedged in, separating his true emotions from those he held dear. He hadn’t always felt that way - as a child, his life was filled with love. He had Roger, Rayleigh, Buggy, tand he whole crew always with him to provide support and guidance. But Roger died, Rayleigh abandoned him, Buggy left, and the whole crew blew away like dust after Loguetown. Shanks had no one and nothing, only the memories of the world’s most hated pirate and the loss of his family. He’d eventually found Beckman while at the bottom of a bottle and had built himself a crew and a name for himself. But the feeling of aloneness, of never wholly belonging to anyone or anything had become a permanent scar on his heart. He’d tried to find a connection through Luffy but he ultimately had to abandon the kid all the same.

But you - you were different. You weren’t able to leave him, not now or ever. He had kept his word, he hadn’t marked you this heat. It had been incredibly challenging, every fiber in him wanting to bite down on your soft flesh to warn off any Alpha who would dare look your way. Shanks had persevered, you could walk away at any point and he would have no physical claim over you. Except you had nowhere to go. You couldn’t reintegrate back into society with so many people knowing your designation and your Beta cover thoroughly blown. You couldn’t go to the Marines, they’d turn you into the Celestial Dragons who would make a slave of you. You couldn’t join another pirate crew, no one was powerful enough to challenge Shanks for you and win. No, you were his and his alone. He could keep you and you’d always be with him, no matter what.

He looked down at you as you slept tucked into his side facing him, your hair a mess after so many days without bathing. You looked like a fallen angel, innocent but ruined under his hand, his marks littering your skin like a series of tattoos. He’d been purring for you for the last few hours, keeping you relaxed and sleeping until one of the final rounds of heat. Hongo said that once the heat ended you would want to clean up but Shanks hoped you kept at least a little of the copious amounts of cum on your skin. There wasn’t an area on you that he hadn’t bitten or marked or rubbed his cum into or kissed; he’d consumed you whole. He trailed his fingers down your side, making you jerk in your sleep. Really, he should let you rest. But his cock had other ideas and well, Shanks was always one to listen. He thought by the end of five days of heat he’d be sated but every movement you made had his cock throbbing like it was the first time.

“Love, do you need me? You were moaning in your sleep,” Shanks said quietly in your ear while pushing your hair off your face. Your eyelids twitched but you didn’t open them. Shanks rolled you gently onto your back as you mewled a small protest.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’ll care of you,” Shanks rumbled through his purr. It wasn’t exactly fair to keep purring while he attended to you but he knew you’d want what he was going to give you. Shanks parted your legs, your tired thighs falling to either side. He kissed a bite mark he’d left on your inner thigh, pleased it was still there after four days. Seeing the healing bite from Kid in the crease of your leg made him scowl at the other Alpha’s mark - he’d have to work on that one later. Settling himself on his stomach between your thighs, he set one calf over his shoulder followed by the other. Your glistening core was bared to him and still weeping with the cum he gushed into you mere hours before. Shanks gave you one long lick up your slit, making your thighs tighten around his ears. Your muscles were shaking from exhaustion but one more round wasn’t going to hurt you.

“Alpha?” you said groggily, rolling your head on the pillow with your eyes still closed. You brought your hands down to run your fingers through his hair, as if in question that it was truly Shanks.

“Shh, just let it happen, I’ll help,” he assured you while remaining in his position. You whined but didn’t protest further as Shanks sucked gently on your clit. He knew it had gotten a lot of his attention but the swollen bud was calling to him. Shanks was gentle this time, lapping at you with care and ease as he wound your desire tighter. The taste of his cum mixed with your slick was like ambrosia for his taste buds - he needed to have more. Fucking his tongue into you, he tried to gather as much of the fluid as he could. You’d still produce slick after your heat fully ended but it was a touch sweeter during your heat. Your hole started to throb again, pulsing around his eager tongue.

“ Aah aah…Alpha - I -” you said, your voice straining under the onslaught of pleasure he was giving you.

“ Call me Shanks ,” he Commanded you, pulling his tongue out of your hole to speak before continuing to tongue your swollen clit.

“ Sh-Shanks - I -I’m g-gonna -” you stammered, your thighs clamped tight around his head. Ah, you really were coming out of heat. Previously you didn’t have control over yourself, coming when he made you either on his cock, fingers, or tongue. A few times he’d made you ask him or beg for it but he found it wasn’t as fulfilling for him. Sure, he liked making you whine and squirm but Shanks found he liked it even more when you came naturally, when the amount of pleasure he gave you was so overwhelming and intense that you had no choice but to come.

Shanks pulled back to halt your progress toward your climax. Resting his chin on your pelvis, he smiled at you - and you growled back. He kissed your outer thigh but let you feel his canine teeth press against your soft flesh in warning to remember your place around him.

“Al- Shanks, please?” you asked, now deferent to him. He smiled at your submission, it was always a fine treat to enjoy. You tried to use his designation but were unable to under his Command. Shanks idly wondered how long the Command would last - would it extend beyond your heat? He hoped it did.

“Of course, all you need to do is ask,” Shanks replied before giving the silky skin of your lower stomach a kiss. He wondered if you had gotten pregnant from this cycle, though he doubted it. Hongo said the first few heats weren’t generally productive and you weren’t in optimal health to begin with. The idea of your stomach swelling with his child had him kissing your stomach again. He hunkered back down between your legs, applying pressure to your clit in the way he knew you liked after so many times together. You moaned in pleasure, Shanks sliding two of his fingers into your hole to find that spot that made you gush.

“N-not - ah I can’t - it’s too much hah hah -” you protested, now using your hands to try and push him away. He clicked his tongue at you - you were not to tell him what to do, he was the Alpha and you the Omega. Ignoring your cries, he curled his fingers and continued to pump them in your aching pussy, rubbing against the slightly rougher spot on your walls. He wished he had his other hand to push down on your stomach to intensify the sensation but you were shaking even without it. Sucking a little harder on your clit, he felt the moment of your release as your cunt tried pulling his fingers in even further. Slick gushed from you and he slurped up as much as he could while continuing to move his tongue against your clit. He was grinding against the bed while watching you fall under the spell of his bliss, he’d satisfy himself in a little bit. He showed you no mercy as you yelled out his name like a war cry. Finally, your pleasure wound down, your chest heaving and your eyes tightly shut.

“There it is, that’s my good Omega, such a good girl for me,” Shanks cooed at you as he removed his fingers from your body and pushed them into your mouth. You sucked them obediently, as he’d trained you to do during heat, only stopping when he took them out. Crawling back up to you, Shanks pulled you towards him again, letting you curl up into his body heat. Pulling the blankets back over the both of you, Shanks resumed purring. After a few minutes, he felt your body go limp as your breathing evened out. Yes, he’d be sad to see your heat go.

There was always next time to look forward to.

Your POV

You felt like you were waking from a long, vivid dream as you regained your sense of self after your heat. It felt like memories were almost in your grasp, disappearing like vapor when you tried to hold onto them too hard. You could recollect only bits and pieces - you remembered kissing Shanks deeply, your arms wound around his neck as he fucked you slowly. You remembered crying out for him to help you, your body burning with need only to be reassured by his touch immediately branding your skin. You remembered him pulling orgasm after orgasm from you easily and how he had you crumbling under his slightest touch. You remembered his calloused hand running gently down your back to rest on your hip as he fucked you from behind. You thought you remembered telling him that you loved him, though that memory was hazier than the rest.

What you did know was that Shanks had kept his word and hadn’t marked you during the heat. You truly hadn’t expected him to keep his promise, fully expecting that you would come to with a Claiming Bite on the non-infected side of your neck. Your neck still hurt from Kid’s bite with the incision now an angry red and covered in scratch marks. Hongo would want to see it, you thought, but you wanted to shower off the gunk covering your skin. Looking yourself over, you grimaced as you saw the marks from Shanks’s attention during your heat. He had gone to get you food and water after saying you needed to keep resting in the bed. And truthfully, you agreed with him.

You were tired, a bone aching kind of tired you hadn’t felt since you were on the run from Marine patrols, sleeping only when you’d found somewhere safe to hide. You couldn’t leave the bed if you wanted to, opting instead to let Shanks take care of you. Shanks? You thought to yourself. When had he become Shanks and not the Emperor to you? Probably after a few dozen rounds of sex, you decided. He didn’t seem to mind being called by his first name, that’s what the crew did. He still called you “Love” or “Omega,” but you weren’t going to correct him.

Looking out the window in the cabin, you saw it was morning as soft light fell across your face. Shanks told you that you’d been in heat for five days, quite a considerable length for a first-timer. Curling back up in your now destroyed but perfectly smelling nest, you thought about asking him to visit the island after your next nap.

About a day later, you were finally able to get out of Shanks’s bed. Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you stretched your arms upwards and felt a lingering ache in your back and limbs. You were sticky with residual fluids, sweat, and slick and wanted to shower. Shanks watched you stand up, following you with his eyes as you headed toward the bathroom. You heard the bed creak and felt his body heat behind you as you reached to turn on the shower in his en suite. He leaned down and kissed your shoulder with the action making you jump with the unexpected affection. You weren’t sure how to act around Shanks now that your heat was over - not that you ever did to begin with. Obviously, you’d been intimate with him many times but that wasn’t you. You hesitated now, your returned senses leaving you unable to act as freely as you did under the influence of heat.

“Relax, it’s ok. I’m gonna come in with you,” Shanks said into your skin, peppering your shoulder with small kisses. You nodded as you remained facing the shower, you had been looking forward to alone time but weren’t all that surprised to find him joining. Shanks considered you for a moment then gathered towels and placed them on the counter for when you’d need them.

“Nothing’s changed. You’re still safe, you’re still here with me,” Shanks said, leaning against the sink. You looked at him, knowing he’d want to hear and see your understanding.

“Thank you, Shanks,” you said, looking into his eyes. “Thank you for keeping me safe d-during heat and um, helping me, and ah, not g-giving me the bite,” you said, dropping your eyes in the middle of your sentence. He wasn’t your mate, you couldn’t maintain eye contact with someone so much stronger than you on the designation scale. Shanks gave you a small smile instead of the broad flashy one he usually did.

“You’re welcome, Love. Now, let’s get in before the hot water runs out,” he said while ushering you into the shower. He followed immediately behind you, allowing you the majority of the hot water while he stood behind you, pressing against your backside in the small space. He grabbed a clean washcloth and lathered it up.

“Arms up,” he said, holding the wet cloth. You blinked - he was going to wash you again? You turned to face him but your eyes only made it up to his muscled chest.

“I c-can do it, I’m not that tired,” you sputtered in a failed attempt to exert some autonomy. Shanks had seen and touched every inch of you but that was during your heat. Now you were lucid and a little less afraid - he didn’t need to take care of you as much as he had before.

You thought about protesting but instead raised your arms. It wasn’t that big of a deal and you wanted to save your battles for when they mattered. He began rubbing you down quickly with the mild soap. You didn’t think he did as thorough of a job as when you were in the bath but you could always clean yourself again later. As you ran your fingertips over your hair, you thought about his promise to let you cut your hair short. Detangling the rat’s nest would be a much faster process if you cut off about 8 inches.

“Um, Sh-shanks? Were you - um, can I still get the um, haircut? That you mentioned?” you asked with a trembling voice while watching him run the washcloth over your stomach. He hummed but didn’t answer directly, continuing to soap you down. He was efficient, not lingering on your breasts or cunt like you expected.

“We can check for a hairdresser but I don’t think there’s one on this island. And trust me, you don’t want Beckman cutting your hair. You’ll end up with something like Hongo’s. You can get one at the next island,” he said with a hint of mirth.

“Alright, that - that makes sense,” you said and looked away while doubt crept in at his flippant answer. In your mind, you couldn’t think of any island that didn’t have at least one barber. You watched the suds fall down the drain as he finished washing your torso. He crouched down to wash your legs in the single person shower, which was made even more challenging by his broad shoulders. You were crowded into the back corner, the water still pounding your skin as Shanks ran his fingers up your calf. You could see his cock bobbing even as he crouched down, already erect and leaking at the tip. Of course, you’d seen it before but not in such vivid detail that you could remember.

“Put your foot up on my thigh, I want to check your injury,” he said calmly while still rubbing down your lower limbs. Leaning your back against the shower stall, you lifted your foot as he asked. Shanks was a tall man, so you had to hike your leg rather high to accomplish what he’d asked you. It was a little lewd exposing yourself to him so plainly, but you were glad he was taking a look at your cut. You had worried it would get too much friction during your heat and get infected like the one on your neck. Shanks finished scrubbing you and put the washcloth over his shoulder, using his hand to move your thigh to where he could see your wound. He prodded at it lightly, looking it over closely. Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh and stood back up. You jumped from the contact but he was already standing up by the time you processed what happened.

“Your turn,” he said with a smile before handing you the washcloth off his shoulder.

Shanks POV

Shanks watched patiently as you took the washcloth from him with shaky fingers and wide eyes. It was like he was handing you a loaded gun with how nervous you were. Your smaller fingers took the offered item as you turned to cover it in more soap. Shanks almost felt bad for making you feel so skittish but you needed to work through your fear of Alphas. Now that your heat was over, Shanks wanted to have to work to get you back to how you were, to feel you on his skin again. No matter how much coaxing it took, Shanks always got what he wanted.

You tentatively began washing his chest and gained some confidence when he began to purr softly for you. You were absorbed in the task and taking it seriously, using your lesser strength to scrub his skin. Shanks hadn’t tried to wash you very thoroughly with a part of him hopeful some of the scent and fluids would remain on your skin. If not, he could always replace them. Shanks was enjoying watching you take care of him, even if he had foisted it upon you. Now finished with his stomach and chest you passed the washcloth over his stump, washing it with care. He didn’t think you noticed but your tongue was peeking out of your mouth in an enticing way as you concentrated. You washed his back and legs, his full arm and hand, which he used to cup your face when you’d finished.

“Doing so well, thank you little Omega,” he said, kissing you on the forehead. You flushed adorably at the bit of praise and he couldn’t resist giving you a small smile. After all that he’d done with you, you still were embarrassed by praise and simple affection. He wondered if he was the first person to offer you any in your sad life before him. You certainly hadn’t had any with Kid, but maybe you’d been as lonely as he was when you were living incognito. You wouldn’t have been able to have intimate relationships or let anyone in too close for fear of your secret being discovered. Plus you were weak, unable to defend yourself, so it made sense you would have hidden yourself away from others. It had all worked out in a cosmic way, he was as perfect for you as you were for him. You were wringing out the washcloth from soap while Shanks mulled over this new thought. Oh no, you weren’t getting away that easy, he thought to himself .

“Wash all of me, Omega,” he demanded without a Command behind it. You were obedient enough that you’d do what he said without force even outside of your heat. Your face flamed again and you steadfastly avoided his eyes. He’d have to break you of that habit, he thought, he enjoyed seeing your expressive face when he talked to you. It might come in time, he supposed. After all, you hadn’t spent much time with him outside of the heat; you barely knew what he was like. He could tell you he wouldn’t hurt you and that he wanted the best for you, but you’d have to see it for yourself by his actions. So he allowed you to look at his feet while shuffling your own.

Shanks took hold of your hand that was closed into a tight fist and gently pried your fingers open. He grabbed the bar of soap from its holder and put it in your hand.

“Easy Love, nothing you haven’t done before,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head. You finally started moving, lathering up the rag and replacing the soap in its spot. There wasn’t much room in the small space but you brought yourself closer to him before raising your hand to his hard cock. You wrapped your slimmer fingers around his shaft with the rag in between, trying to quickly soap him off. Shanks covered your hand with his own larger one, keeping your hand wrapped around where he wanted it most. He pumped your hand up and down over his cock, letting the rag drop to the floor as the movements continued. It was heavenly to be stroked in your soft hand so unlike his own. You made timid movements like you weren’t sure exactly what to do.

“A little harder, aah , there aah - good girl,” Shanks bit out as you increased the pressure on his cock.

“Don’t stop,” he ordered as he removed his hand from atop yours. He cupped your chin in his hand and leaned down to kiss you as you continued stroking his cock. You allowed him to dominate the kiss, to do what he wanted to you without protest. It was pleasant but not the same as when you were in heat. During heat you reciprocated in delight, making it less of a kiss and more of a dance between lovers. Now you were accepting but not participating and Shanks didn’t like it.

“ Kiss me back,” Shanks Commanded you, wanting to relive what he’d had previously. You gave him a worried look but were unable to refuse as your body took over. He knew you’d eventually see that he loved you and that your fates had been written in the stars, he just had to lead you a little bit further. You hooked your free hand around his waist, bringing him even closer so there was no room between you. Your fist kept pumping as you began kissing him with passion, tongue thrusting against his own. Shanks moaned as you gently bit his lower lip before tilting your head to allow him to deepen the kiss.

“I’m close, Love,” Shanks said, pulling away for a moment to lean his forehead on your shoulder.

“You want to be my good Omega, nh ? Then don’t make a mess,” Shanks bit out as he rode the edge of pleasure. He picked up his head and put his hand on your shoulder, pushing down gently. Understanding his silent cue, you got to your knees and put his cock head in your mouth while continuing to pump his aching cock.

“That’s hah that’s my girl - hah - a little more - ahh -” he mumbled as you sucked his tender tip then pushed forward so his shaft hit the back of your throat. He’d throat fucked you during heat but he refrained from putting his hand on your head out of consideration. Training that fear out of you meant being gentle when you weren’t in heat. Shanks could barely hold back as your tight, hot throat grasped him almost as well as your cunt.

“G’na come in - nngnh fuck fuck fuck swallow it all, that’s it, to the last drop,” Shanks stammered through his orgasm and you did your best listen, your throat bobbing as you swallowed as much as you could. He watched as the overflow from his massive load started dripping out the sides of your mouth. His finger swept across the edges of your lips when he cleaned up your face as you swallowed his cum.

“Open,” he said, his eyes half lidded and hazy with spent desire. He pushed his finger into your warm mouth, allowing you to finish cleaning him off. Removing his fingers from your mouth, he pulled you to standing and turned off the shower.

“Let’s dry off and see if breakfast’s ready, yeah?” Shanks said while handing you a towel. Unfortunately, drying you off wasn’t something he could do efficiently before you got cold. You nodded as Shanks leaned down to kiss you on the mouth once more. You hesitated but ultimately kissed him back with a touch of affection. Yes, he missed the heat version of you who loved him back more easily.

Maybe he’d ask Hongo if there was a way to speed up the intervals in between your heats.

Taglist: @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle @whore-of-many-hot-men @one-piecelover @anemonyee @joana7654-blog @mfreedomstuff @littlelovebug98 @hannya-writes @babi-lamb @sanjisleggy @princessuta061108 @twismare @iamrgo @littlelovebug98 @anonymousmuffinbear

#tw yandere #shanks x reader #op shanks #red haired shanks #yandere shanks #emperor's prize au #op x y/n #x reader #omega!reader #omegaverse #alpha shanks #extremely dubious consent #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon #I've been telling you he's a bad boy #like yeah he's not horrible #but he's selfish #and self centered #oh well :)

108 notes · View notes

luxerians · 1 day ago

Text

The Last Mask (08)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 08 - Distance

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 09

PREV : Chapter 07

The dormitory buzzed with the sounds of light chatter and footsteps as players moved about, their voices mingling in an uneasy hum. You lay on your bed, pulling the blanket over yourself, eyes closed in a futile attempt to block it all out. Sleep was your goal, to escape the heavy thoughts weighing on your mind, even if just until tomorrow.

The faint voice of a guard announcing that dinner would soon be distributed echoed in the background, breaking through your quiet cocoon. Then, the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears. You didn’t bother to open your eyes.

“[Your name], are you okay?” Dae-ho’s familiar voice called gently.

You kept your eyes shut. “I’m okay.”

Dae-ho sighed as well, the sound carrying his frustration. “I’m disappointed too. Jung-bae voting for O? I didn’t see that coming. I felt like screaming, ‘Sir, what are you thinking?’ at him. He agreed with us to vote for going back home just moments before the vote.”

“It can’t be helped,” another voice chimed in. You recognized it immediately as Young-il. It seemed Dae-ho wasn’t the only one who had come to check on you. Keeping your eyes closed, you listened as Young-il added, “People tend to change their minds once they’re standing at the voting counter.”

“Yeah, in a way, I kind of understood him. Because I felt that way too by the counter,” Dae-ho agreed.

A softer voice joined the conversation.

“Big sis, are you okay?” Jun-hee asked.

You finally opened your eyes, taking in the sight of Dae-ho and Jun-hee standing on the right side of your bed while Young-il lingered quietly on the left.

Turning your gaze to Jun-hee, you offered her a faint but reassuring smile. “I’m okay.”

“And we have a pregnant lady too,” Dae-ho continued, picking up where he left off. “She shouldn’t be here any longer.”

He leaned against the pillar of your bunk bed, sighing heavily. “I understood him but… what was Jung-bae thinking?”

The weight on your bed shifted slightly. You glanced down to see Young-il sitting on your bed at the far corner near your feet. His calm demeanor radiated reassurance as he addressed Dae-ho. “There’s no use thinking about it now. The votes are done. Let’s focus on staying together and winning the game again tomorrow.”

The three of them glanced in the same direction, momentarily distracted. You were about to close your eyes again when Dae-ho straightened up, his usual energy returning as he turned to you.

“Everyone is lining up to get dinner. Come on,” he said.

You shifted onto your side, pulling the blanket closer. “You guys go on ahead. I’m too tired right now.”

Dae-ho frowned, his tone firm. “You can’t sleep on an empty stomach. You need to eat. We did the hexathlon for who knows how long and didn’t even get breakfast. You must be starving, so come on.”

“But I’m so tired,” you admitted, your voice muffled against the pillow. “I just want to rest before the next game.”

“Don’t be like that,” he urged. “You’ll end up weak and all skinny tomorrow.”

A brief silence fell before you quipped, “I’m trying to go on a diet anyway, so it’s fine.”

Dae-ho scoffed, waving off your excuse. “Haih, you look beautiful already. Now get up-”

“It’s okay,” Young-il’s calm voice interrupted unexpectedly. “You two go on ahead. The queues are getting long. I’ll persuade her.”

The sound of retreating footsteps followed as Dae-ho and Jun-hee headed off toward the dinner queues. The dormitory buzzed with chatter and movement, but your focus remained on the quiet presence sitting at the edge of your bed.

“You really should eat,” he said after a moment, his tone gentle. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

You sighed, not turning to face him. “I’m just so done to even think about food. I wanted to go home really bad but we were outvoted.”

There was a pause before the bed shifted as Young-il stood up. His footsteps faded into the background, and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the strange ache in your chest – a pang of something like abandonment. By him.

You immediately shook off the thought. It wasn’t his fault. You were the one adamant about not eating, and he had respected your decision. You had no right to feel upset, and you certainly couldn’t blame him for the fact that you had a crush on him.

Maybe he just saw you as a friend. Someone to look out for, like Jun-hee. Nothing more. It was your own fault for letting your feelings get in the way, for reading into his kind gestures as something more than they were.

You tried to tune out the chatter and bustle of the dormitory, sinking into the quiet within your mind. For a fleeting moment, you felt yourself drifting close to sleep.

Then his voice broke through the haze. “[Your name].”

Your eyes fluttered open, the sting of fatigue making them ache. You turned your head and saw Young-il standing by your bed. In his hands, he held the evening’s dinner: a round bun and a small carton of milk.

You frowned, confusion overtaking your grogginess. You had thought he left for good after respecting your persistence.

Resting your cheek against the pillow, you mumbled, “I don’t want to eat your dinner. Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s not mine,” he said, his tone even. “It’s yours.”

Your gaze shifted to the food in his hands. He held two sets of the dinner: two buns and two cartons of milk. Surprise overtook you as you sat up slowly, your blanket slipping down. “You got two?”

“I took another set on your behalf,” he admitted, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Your eyes widened. “We can do that?”

His smile grew, and there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t.”

You blinked, completely perplexed. “Then how did you get two?”

He extended the dinner toward you again, waiting patiently.

“I know what to say to the guards. My line of work taught me how,” he said simply, leaving the specifics a mystery.

You stared at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant admiration, before reaching out to take the meal he had gone out of his way to bring you.

“Now, come,” Young-il said, gesturing toward the corner where you always hung out with Gi-hun and the others. “Let’s sit with the others.”

You glanced down at the bun and carton of milk in your hands before nodding. As you got up from the bed, you spoke to him, “But is this really all we’re getting for dinner? I thought it’d be as much as yesterday’s lunch.”

Walking side by side toward the corner, Young-il replied, “It’s a way to weaken the players and increase eliminations.”

You turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you saying the longer we stay here, the less food we’ll get?”

Young-il met your gaze, his expression thoughtful. “It looks that way. Yesterday, we had a bountiful lunch. Tonight, it’s just a bun. The pattern isn’t hard to see.”

You sighed in frustration, the weight of his words settling in. “That makes it even more important to leave this place as soon as possible.”

Reaching the corner, you were greeted enthusiastically by Dae-ho. “You two, come sit down!”

Gi-hun had sat at his usual spot at the far end, and you settled down beside him. Young-il took the place on your other side. Dae-ho and Jun-hee were already seated on the lower steps in front of you both, their postures relaxed.

You glanced around and noticed that your group was missing one member – Jung-bae. A small distance away, you spotted him tucked between the bunk beds as though he was deliberately hiding.

You assumed he felt guilty for voting O, isolating himself from the group out of shame.

You and Young-il began eating your buns in silence. Everyone in your group was eating, except for Gi-hun. His posture – legs wide, arms resting heavily on his knees – spoke volumes about his disappointment over the recent voting results.

A loud sigh from Dae-ho broke the quiet. He stared at Jung-bae’s back for a moment, chewing on his bun, before calling out to him with the familiar hyungnim honorific. “Jung-bae!”

Meanwhile, you sighed at the meager dinner, placing your left elbow on your knee and resting your forehead against your palm. Your right hand held the bun, and you murmured, “Just this bun alone won’t be enough.”

Dae-ho suddenly stood and strode over to Jung-bae. “Hey, just come back here.”

“No, no, I’m good here,” Jung-bae replied, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, come on,” Dae-ho said, grasping his arm firmly. He pulled Jung-bae to his feet and dragged him back to the group. “You should’ve gone farther away, then. It bugs me seeing you sitting there all pathetic.”

Jung-bae froze when they reached the group. His eyes darted between the three most visibly stressed members of the group – Gi-hun with his somber stance, you with your hand still resting on your face, and Young-il sitting with his legs spread, elbows on his knees, chewing silently. None of you looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jung-bae said, fidgeting nervously with his milk carton. “Jun-hee, [Your name], Young-il, I’m sorry. Gi-hun, I’m sorry.”

When no one responded, he continued. “I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and kid. If I play one more game, I think I’ll be able to settle my debt. So-”

“Jung-bae,” Young-il interrupted, his tone calm. “You of all people shouldn’t have done it. It’s not twice as righteous.”

Young-il’s comment was a pointed reference to the meaning of Jung-bae’s name. You removed your hand from your face, took a bite of the bun, and stayed quiet.

Young-il sighed, glancing briefly at the others before adding, “But, looking at the results, even if you had voted against, we would still have been outvoted.”

“Right?” Jung-bae said quickly, leaning toward Young-il with a glimmer of relief. “It’s not entirely my fault.”

Dae-ho placed a hand on Jung-bae’s shoulder, his tone lighter now. “Alright, to be honest, I understand why you did it. The money isn’t enough for me either, so when I went up to vote, I did think about playing one more game.”

Jung-bae’s face lit up with sudden relief, and before anyone could react, he lunged forward and hugged Dae-ho head-on. Startled, Dae-ho awkwardly tried to push him away.

“You did?” Jung-bae exclaimed.

“I said I get it,” Dae-ho replied, finally managing to pry himself free.

Jung-bae turned to Young-il, sighing deeply.

“Thank you for understanding,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. He settled on the lower staircase next to Young-il and continued, “But I voted in favor partly because I feel confident. We did so well as a team, didn’t we? If we stick together one more time, I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

He turned toward Jun-hee, his voice brimming with confidence. “Jun-hee, I’ll make sure we survive the next game-”

“The next game?”

All of you froze and looked at Gi-hun. His tone was dark. “In the next game, we might have to kill each other.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. You stared at him, horrified. Could it really come to that? Could there be games where you’d have to compete against your friends? The thought made your stomach churn. You’d barely eaten, and now even the bun in your hand felt like a weight.

Young-il’s calm voice broke the silence. “Gi-hun, that’s a bit much. There’s nothing we can do now, so let’s try to stay positive.”

Despite his attempt to ease the tension, Jung-bae had gone pale as well. He swallowed nervously, his hands fidgeting with his milk carton.

Young-il continued, his voice steady, “We should eat, pull ourselves together, and try our best again.”

But Gi-hun’s words lingered, casting a shadow over the group. Everyone, including you, sat in heavy silence, lost in their thoughts. The idea of being pitted against your teammates felt unbearable. Your appetite vanished completely, and the bun in your hand now seemed like an impossible task to finish.

Could Gi-hun have experienced such a game in his previous run? Had he been forced to turn on a friend here? The questions swirled in your mind, filling you with dread.

Then you felt it – a hand gently resting on your knee. Startled, you looked down and saw Young-il’s hand. When you glanced up at him, his expression was warm and reassuring. He gave you a small nod toward your unfinished bun and said softly, “Eat it whole. Let’s do our best again tomorrow.”

Young-il withdrew his hand from your knee and held out his milk carton to Jun-hee. “Here, Jun-hee. You can have mine too. Hang in there until the next game.”

Jun-hee hesitated. “No, it’s okay.”

“Take it,” Young-il insisted gently. “I don’t drink plain milk.”

After a moment, Jun-hee finally accepted the milk, though her reluctance was still evident. You couldn’t help but smile warmly at the gesture. The way Young-il looked after Jun-hee was heartwarming. He must’ve been a good husband, you thought.

“Thank you,” Jun-hee said softly.

Jung-bae suddenly held out his bun to her. “Have my bread too. I don’t deserve to eat.”

Dae-ho immediately pointed at Jung-bae’s milk. “I’ll take your milk then.”

Jung-bae shot him a pointed stare, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and annoyance.

You had just exited the women’s restrooms and stepped back into the dormitory when you saw them. Lingering near the door that connected the restroom to the dormitory stood Lee Min-jae and his two friends.

Min-jae noticed you immediately and waved. You hesitated for a moment before offering a small, uncertain wave in return. Hoping to avoid further interaction, you continued toward the corner where the rest of your group was seated.

However, your heart sank when Min-jae and his friends moved deliberately to block your path. The dormitory was vast, filled with hundreds of players, so you didn’t feel afraid. Still, you silently hoped they wouldn’t press you again.

Min-jae greeted you with a bright smile. “Hey there. I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh,” you replied, feigning innocence. “Hi, Min-jae.”

He stepped slightly closer, his tone friendly. “So, are you free to hang out with us now? We’ve got a spot over there.”

He paused, gesturing vaguely toward a corner of the dormitory where his group had set up.

You hesitated, searching for a way out without offending him. “I… uh, I need to get back to my group first. They’re waiting for me.”

Min-jae’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a hint of frustration in his eyes. “It’ll just be for a little while. You can catch up with them later. Come on, I just want to get to know you better in a private spot.”

“I… I don’t know. I really should-”

Min-jae’s tone grew firmer, though he kept up his friendly demeanor. “Don’t be like that. Just for a bit. It’s just us hanging out. No harm, right?”

Min-jae’s friends were watching you intently, though their expressions remained neutral. You forced a polite smile, knowing that one wrong word or tone could create a vengeful enemy in this precarious game.

You said carefully. “Maybe later. I just need to check on my group first.”

But Min-jae’s grin didn’t waver. If anything, it grew more hardened and insistent as he stepped closer to you. “Please? Just a quick chat with us. You’ve been hanging out with those uncles all day. Switch it up for a bit.”

Before you could respond, one of his friends – the tall man with number 277 – joined in. “Yeah, come on. We’re not asking for much. Just a little time to get to know you better.”

“Exactly,” chimed in the other friend, player 304. “It’s not like we’re asking you to stay forever. Just stop by. We’ve got a good spot over there.”

Their persistence made your chest tighten. You forced another smile, trying to remain composed. “I appreciate the offer, but really, I need to get back. Maybe another time.”

“Why not now?” Min-jae pressed, his tone still friendly.

As you searched for another polite excuse, a cold, steady voice cut through the conversation.

“She said no.”

You turned quickly, your eyes landing on Young-il. He was striding toward you. His gaze was fixed on Min-jae, sharp and unyielding. Although his expression seemed calm, a quiet intensity simmered beneath the surface. The restrained fury in his eyes made you speechless. It’s like he was ready to act the moment it became necessary.

Min-jae’s smile faltered slightly, though he tried to recover. “Oh, hey. We just want to have a chat with her. It's okay, right?”

Young-il moved deliberately, stepping between you and Min-jae with an air of quiet authority. His back faced you, shielding you from them. Though his expression remained calm, there was a palpable edge to his presence that made the air feel heavier.

“You’re pressuring her,” he said evenly, his voice carrying a subtle warning. “That’s not how conversations work.”

Silence settled over the group like a heavy weight. Min-jae’s friends exchanged uncertain glances, their earlier confidence clearly shaken.

You couldn’t help but stare at Young-il’s broad shoulders, struck by the way he carried himself. He didn’t need to raise his voice or show aggression; the calm intensity in his posture spoke volumes.

Min-jae hesitated, his expression flickering between defiance and calculation, before forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. With a mock gesture of surrender, he raised his hands and said, “Alright, alright. I get it. I apologize. I didn’t realize I was being forceful.”

His attempt to glance past Young-il toward you betrayed his unease, though. He called your name softly, adding, “Sorry about that.”

Young-il held his gaze, the silence stretching as he stared at Min-jae with deliberate calm. Then, with a slight turn of his head, his expression softened as he looked at you. He gestured subtly, his voice steady. “Let’s go.”

You followed Young-il as he led the way back to the corner where your group had gathered. His stride was steady, and though he didn’t say anything, his presence alone made you feel a little more at ease. You glanced back briefly to check if Min-jae and his friends were following, but they were nowhere in sight, already lost in the dormitory’s usual buzz of activity.

Just as the two of you were about to reach your group, Young-il gently grasped your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

You nodded quickly. “Yes. Thank you.”

His gaze lingered on you, his tone shifting slightly as he asked, “How does he know your name?”

There was an edge to his words, though it didn’t feel like it was directed at you.

“He asked during the voting earlier,” you explained simply. “We were in the crowd, and he came over and introduced himself.”

Young-il’s eyes studied yours, moving from your left eye to your right, then briefly to your lips. You froze under the intensity of his gaze, unsure of what to make of it. After a few seconds that felt much longer, his focus shifted back to your left eye.

He finally lowered his gaze and said firmly, “If those boys bother you again, tell me.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. His gesture sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt that familiar flutter in your chest, the butterflies in your stomach. He is really worried about you.

But even as you stood there, you couldn’t forget the fact that he was married. As close as you two had become, he’d never once mentioned it to you.

You averted your gaze, creating a small but deliberate space between you and Young-il.

“Thanks, but don’t worry. I can take care of myself,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. The pause lingered, and though you didn’t look his way, you could feel his confusion, as if he was trying to make sense of your sudden distance. Without waiting for a reply, you joined the group, sliding into the spot next to Jun-hee. Behind you, Young-il remained standing, silent and likely still perplexed.

As the group fell into casual conversation, you focused on Jun-hee, Jung-bae and Dae-ho, purposefully keeping your interactions away from Young-il. Whenever he made a comment directed at you or tried to reassure you about something, you responded with a polite smile but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, you turned your attention to someone else, engaging them in light talk to avoid any further connection.

This is for the best. For you, for him, and for his wife.

“Lights out in ten minutes,” the announcer informed, the voice echoing through the dormitory. “Please prepare for bedtime.”

Your group was in the middle of executing Gi-hun’s plan. The idea was to claim four beds in one spot to create a secure sleeping area underneath the beds and on the floor between them. Everyone had agreed to the plan, though not without a few questions.

The men were handling the heavier tasks, carrying and arranging the mattresses and securing the area, while you and Jun-hee carried pillows and blankets, standing off to the side as they worked.

“Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there,” Jung-bae said, his tone doubtful.

Gi-hun explained, “Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us.”

Dae-ho, crouching beside Jun-hee, looked over with wide eyes. “What? Who?”

Meanwhile, Young-il approached you and gestured for the pillows and blankets in your arms. You handed them to him one by one, watching as he placed them on the mattresses.

“The prize money still goes up if we kill each other,” Gi-hun continued. “It’s part of the game they designed.”

Young-il, now standing after arranging a mattress on the floor under one of the beds, spoke up, “Gi-hun, I think you’re overreacting. Even if that were true, people wouldn’t do that.”

Gi-hun’s gaze sharpened as he stared at Young-il. “In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here.”

He stepped closer to Young-il, his tone firm. “You have no idea how people can change in this place.”

You stared at them, noticing the tension in Gi-hun’s face and posture. Young-il paused before nodding apologetically. “Alright. I guess I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m sorry.”

Gi-hun gave Young-il one last look before turning back to address the group. “We need to take turns keeping watch after lights-out. I’ll take the first watch. The rest of you should decide the order.”

You exchanged glances with the others. Dae-ho was the first to speak up. “Other than that, we have to figure out who’s sleeping where.”

Jung-bae pointed to the floor between the beds. “Jun-hee should sleep here, near the wall, surrounded by beds. It’ll be safer.”

“Then I’ll take the spot under the bed beside her,” Dae-ho said, glancing at Jun-hee for confirmation. “If that’s okay with you.”

Jun-hee nodded. “I’m okay with that.”

“I’ll take the spot under the bed on the other side of Jun-hee,” Jung-bae added. “It’s best to have two ex-Marines covering your sides.”

Jun-hee smiled in response.

Young-il turned to you, his voice soft. “Which spot do you want to take?”

You paused, glancing at the arrangement before pointing to the space directly under Jun-hee. “I’ll take the middle floor.”

That left the beds on either side of you empty until Young-il spoke up. “I’ll sleep under the bed on your left. That means Gi-hun will take the one on your right.”

“Now we just have to decide the order for keeping watch,” Dae-ho said, looking around the group.

“I’ll take the second watch, after Gi-hun,” Jung-bae said quickly.

Dae-ho raised his hand. “Third watch here.”

You spoke up just as Young-il reached to grab the leftover pillows and blanket from your arms. “Can I keep watch too?”

All eyes turned to you, surprise clear on their faces.

“How about the last watch?” you added. “I can wake up early.”

Dae-ho was the first to respond. “Ladies don’t have to. You and Jun-hee should take a full rest.”

“Yeah, no need for you to worry about keeping watch,” Jung-bae chimed in. “We’ve got this.”

You hesitated, feeling their protective tone press against your resolve.

“But it’s fine if I take the last watch,” you said, lowering your gaze briefly. “I want to freshen up before the next game anyway.”

Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged glances, clearly about to argue, when Young-il’s calm voice cut through. “Okay, you take the last watch.”

Everyone turned to him in confusion, while you blinked at him in surprise. Young-il glanced at the others briefly before settling his gaze on you.

“I’ll take the fourth watch, after Dae-ho,” he said evenly. “Then it’s your turn. But I’ll keep watch with you. It’s not safe for you to do it alone.”

The group nodded in agreement and that was the end of discussion. You, however, stayed quiet, your thoughts swirling. Young-il’s calm decision left you unsettled. The idea of him accompanying you brought a flutter of nerves you couldn’t quite suppress. You’d been trying to create some distance, to remind yourself of his marriage. Yet here he was, volunteering to accompany you.

It left you torn. A part of you appreciated his thoughtfulness. But another part of you couldn’t shake the complicated feelings his actions stirred, leaving you wondering how you’d handle the quiet hours of your shared watch.

A few minutes passed as the six of you settled into your designated spots. The announcer’s voice broke through the murmurs in the dormitory to announce bedtime. Moments later, the lights switched off, leaving the soft golden glow of the half-filled piggy bank overhead to dimly illuminate the vast room.

Dae-ho and Jung-bae were already lying under the beds, while Jun-hee rested on the mattress positioned on the open floor between them.

“This sucks,” Jung-bae muttered from his spot. “Feels like I’m hiding under my old desk at school.”

Dae-ho chuckled softly. “Pretend it’s a fun sleepover. We’re just missing the snacks and ghost stories.”

As their quiet exchange continued, you glanced over and noticed Gi-hun was sitting at the front, keeping watch.

Then, you felt a presence close beside you. Turning your head, you saw Young-il crouched beside you on your mattress on the open floor. He paused, glancing at you apologetically as he moved to sit down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, referring to him intruding your space.

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

Young-il shifted onto the edge of your mattress before sliding onto his own spot under the bed beside you. You watched as he settled in before you finally lay down and pulled the blanket over yourself.

The space felt smaller now, the awareness of his presence lingering. You never thought you’d be this close to him, sharing such confined quarters. But as the thought crossed your mind, you pushed it away quickly. He’s married. You shouldn’t let yourself think about him like this.

You closed your eyes, wishing for sleep to come quickly and pull you away from your restless thoughts.

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones!

NEXT : Chapter 09

PREV : Chapter 07

Story Masterlist

I would love to know what you think so feel free to comment as long as you could!

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho fanfic #in ho #the front man #player 001 #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2

133 notes · View notes

your-nanas-house · 2 days ago

Note

Cillian murphy x fem!reader

The reader's aunt is going to a honeymoon with her husband for two weeks, so she leaves her 10 months old baby with her niece and her boyfriend cillian

And cillian is INLOVE with that baby, and he keeps saying he wishes he could give you one until he tries to

Fluff and smut plss🥹

Sure thing!!! Sorry it took me so long 😭 very unique idea btw. 🙇🏼‍♀️

Baby fever

◇ Pairing: Cillian Murphy X girlfriend/fiancè!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut (Cillian cums too fast), mention of pregnancy and baby fever, babysitting, both off age, fluff

◇ Summary: You and Cillian babysit your baby cousin and your amazing boyfriend gets baby fever.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Shitty writing... sorry about that, I'm still trying to "get my mind back in the writing".

"I really wish for us to have one too" the so unexpected and sudden sentence left Cillian's lips a quiet evening.

You've been busy taking care of your cousin, since your so kind aunt left you to babysit him during her honeymoon. A baby, a 10 months and some weeks old baby, dropped in your care at your door with some begging and thanking.

It has been just some weeks since your not-paid job began, and ignoring the first days of struggling, you and your boyfriend, Cillian, took the new routine strangely well. Adapting well to the new schedules and cries and needs that a baby could have.

A few days and you both were smitten; that baby had you really wrapped around his little, chubby finger.... and he didn't even know it yet. Everything about babysitting made you wish for it to never end, even the random tantrums or the diaper moments.

You had been sitting on the sofa, your baby cousin asleep in his crib in the other room as you cuddled with Cillian. The TV off. You had been just enjoying your small moment of silence and intimacy when that sentence slipped from his lips:

"I really wish for us to have one too" your mind froze, slowly taking in every since word your boyfriend just said.

"I don't wanna rush things or put any pressure on you, love... but we've been together since years now and this weeks with your baby cousin made me realize how ready I am to take... any further steps in our relationship" he continued after a moment of silence, you could tell he was pondering about it carefully by the way his gaze remained focused on a spot and his eyebrows slightly raised

"Plus I might have what they call baby fever" he added in a weaker tone to lighten up the mood... and it worked. You didn't let him add anything else not wanting him to think you weren't on his same page

"I think so too... I mean we are about to get married and I just love you so much. Plus we don't know if it will work right away" you commented in a shy but earger voice, glancing at him as if it was your first time having sex... asking for it.

"Yeah?" Cillian asked after your answer, his light blue eyes finally looking at you with hope and love, making your heart skip a beat

"Yeah" you replied in a softer tone, taking his face in your hands to bring him in a needy kiss.

Soft noises of approval kept living your mouth as his soft lips trailed a path down your neck to your chest; his warm tongue draw shapes on your skin while his slender fingers in quick motions, finally, removed the layers of clothes.

"I love you" your eyes met as you caressed Cillian's pale and flushed skin up to his messy hair as soon as your kiss broke. Your breaths became one and your chests moved together, brushing against each other.

His cock was already painfully hard, resting against his stomach and leaking precum; it just needed a couple of strokes, and it got fully ready. His other hand worked your clit, his index finger explored your cunt, adding in no time another finger

"Yes, yes!" You whimpered out, your body shaking in pure pleasure.

The intimacy of the moment made it feel even more intense, forcing you to hold back moans, limiting them to heavy breaths and soft praises.

It felt so right and so good. You hoped it would never end.

Your mouth connected again, sharing the same passion; your hearts nearly beating in sync. You just needed one more thing.... his cock finally inside of you, stretching you out like only Cillian could do and bring you to feel— not exactly what you expected.

As your mind focused and dreamed about the imminent pleasure, it didn't register the warm feeling of his cum shooting in. It was just when his cock started to soften that you finally realized

"I'm so sorry, love. I was bit too excited—" Cillian voice interrupted the silence, his pale face flushed in embarrassment and bit of shame

".... I make it up to you" he added quickly while already trying to move down your body to finish you off with his tongue, but without succeeding since your legs had his hips caged in a iron grip

"Don't you dare move, Cilly. Stay inside... We can always try tomorrow and you can make it up then"

#cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fandom #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy smut

75 notes · View notes

rogueandflame · 17 hours ago

Text

The Diplomat

Hi friends,

Since I'm a Daemon girly through and through and horny as fuck, I imagined what it would be like to have terrible, angry sex with Daemon. None of the fics were hitting the spot, so I wrote one instead. There are two parts to this story, but the second part can be read as a standalone if you squint a little. Here is part one, enjoy!

✨My Masterlist✨

WC: 9.4k

Warnings: 18+, just fluff and a lil suggestiveness, no use of y/n, light descriptions of fem!reader, kind of a little jumping around (let me know if i put too many sword dividers in)

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The small council chamber was thick with unease. Though the warm spring breeze drifted through the high windows, stirring the black banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, it did little to lighten the atmosphere. The men gathered around the long oak table wore the weight of the discussion in their stiff shoulders and furrowed brows.

Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, spoke first, his voice measured but edged with authority. “The Blackwoods insist their knight acted in self-defense. He claims the Bracken lord drew steel first and would have struck him down had he not defended himself.”

Across the table, Lord Lyman Beesbury adjusted his spectacles, his aged face lined with worry. “Regardless of intent, a Bracken heir lies dead. His father demands retribution, and he’s mustered men to see it done. This feud risks spilling over into open conflict, my lords.”

“It has always been this way between the Brackens and Blackwoods,” chimed in Lord Tyland Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He leaned back in his chair with an air of indifference. “Their hatred for one another is practically tradition. Why should the crown involve itself in their petty quarrels?”

“Because they are sworn to the crown,” Otto replied sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Their lands and titles are held in service to the Iron Throne. If we do not intervene, their conflict will destabilize the Riverlands and undermine royal authority.”

Daemon scoffed loudly, drawing every gaze in the room. He lounged in his chair, though his posture was more calculated than relaxed. His dark eyes glittered with impatience. “Destabilize? Spare me your dramatics, Otto. This is nothing more than two dogs fighting over scraps. Let them tire themselves out.”

“And when those scraps include burnt villages and dead smallfolk?” Otto countered, his tone clipped. “You would have the crown turn a blind eye while the Riverlands descend into chaos?”

Daemon leaned forward then, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “I would have the crown remind them who they answer to. Send riders, summon their lords to kneel before the throne. If they refuse, then you send swords.”

Lord Beesbury sputtered, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted his quill. “Violence is hardly the answer, my prince. Surely, diplomacy—”

“Diplomacy has done nothing but embolden them,” Daemon snapped, cutting him off. “Every year, it’s the same. Bracken blames Blackwood, Blackwood blames Bracken. It’s a waste of the crown’s time and patience. They need to be reminded that their squabbles end where the Iron Throne begins.”

“You speak of violence as though it’s the only solution,” Tyland interjected smoothly. “The Riverlands are already tense. A heavy hand might unite them—against us.”

Viserys, who had remained silent until now, raised a hand, commanding the room’s attention. His weary expression spoke of a man burdened by the crown he wore. “Enough,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This matter is not so easily solved. Both houses have their grievances, and both claim to act in the right. I will need time to consider our response.”

Daemon’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he rose, his movements sharp with irritation. “While you consider, brother, they will act. And your indecision will be seen as weakness.”

Viserys’s gaze hardened. “Do not mistake thoughtfulness for weakness, Daemon.”

“Call it what you will,” Daemon muttered, turning on his heel and striding from the chamber, his dark cloak billowing behind him. The remaining lords exchanged wary glances but said nothing, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

Viserys sighed heavily, the sound of a man long accustomed to the burdens of the throne. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair as he watched the doors swing closed behind Daemon’s retreating figure. For a moment, the chamber was silent, save for the distant cries of gulls from Blackwater Bay and the faint murmur of activity in the Red Keep below.

“This council is concluded,” Viserys said at last, his voice quieter now, the fight drained from it. He rose from his chair, and the lords followed suit, their expressions a mix of relief and unease.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, stepping forward as the rest of the council prepared to file out. His tone was deferential, but the gleam in his eye betrayed his eagerness to press his point. “Might I suggest—”

“Not now, Otto,” Viserys interrupted, waving him off. “I’ve heard enough for today.”

The Hand of the King inclined his head, though the tightening of his lips spoke volumes about his displeasure. One by one, the council members departed, their whispered conversations trailing behind them like smoke.

Viserys lingered for a moment after the chamber was empty. The answers would come, but not today.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Daemon stormed through the halls of the Red Keep, his boots striking the stone floor with forceful purpose. Servants and courtiers scattered at the sight of him, their eyes darting to the crimson and black of his cloak, the Targaryen sigil embroidered in rich gold on his tunic.

The prince’s mind churned with frustration, the council’s deliberations replaying in his head like a wound he couldn’t stop picking at. Otto’s pompous tone, Tyland’s smug indifference, Viserys’s endless dithering—all of it grated against his pride.

By the time he reached the chambers he shared with you, the heat of his temper had reached its peak. He flung the doors open with enough force to make them shudder against the stone walls.

Inside, the room was a picture of calm. Sunlight filtered through the open windows, casting soft, golden light across the chamber. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet warmth of spring.

You sat near the hearth, cradling your young son in your arms. His small fingers grasped at a strand of your hair, his innocent laughter filling the room as you smiled down at him. The sight was a balm to any who might witness it—anyone but Daemon in his current state.

The nursemaid, standing a few paces away, froze at the sight of the prince’s thunderous expression. Her hands faltered mid-curtsy, and she looked to you for guidance, her face pale.

“Out,” Daemon barked, his voice sharp enough to cut. He didn’t bother looking at her as he strode into the room, his dark eyes locked on you.

The nursemaid hesitated for only a moment before gathering the child in her arms and retreating swiftly, her footsteps nearly silent against the rush of Daemon’s presence.

When the door closed behind her, Daemon’s pacing began, each step a sharp, deliberate motion that mirrored the storm in his mind. His hands flexed at his sides, as though longing to grip the hilt of Dark Sister and channel his anger into something tangible.

“This is what passes for leadership now,” he began, his voice low but vibrating with suppressed rage. “My brother, the king, sitting in that gods-damned chair, twiddling his thumbs while the Riverlands teeter on the edge of chaos!”

You set your book aside, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. You had seen Daemon in this mood before, his temper a force of nature that could not be stopped but only weathered. It was better to let him speak, to let the storm rage until it spent itself.

“I told them what needed to be done,” he continued, his pacing growing faster. “Ride out, demand their fealty, remind them who they serve. But no—Viserys would rather sit and think.” His lip curled as he spat the word, as though it were a curse.

Daemon’s pacing was relentless, his steps carving invisible lines into the chamber floor. His voice rose as he continued, his words dripping with scorn. “Otto’s solution? Send letters. As if words written on parchment will mend generations of blood feuds! And Tyland—he all but shrugged! ‘Let them fight it out,’ he said, as though it’s his lands that will burn when the fighting starts. Useless, the lot of them.”

He paused, finally turning to you, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and expectation. “And my brother,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. “The great Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms, paralyzed by his own fear of making the wrong choice. He’ll sit there until it’s too late, as he always does, and then expect me to clean up his mess.”

You met his gaze calmly, though you could feel the weight of his fury pressing against you like a tangible force. “Daemon,” you said gently, your tone an attempt to temper the flames threatening to consume him.

But he wasn’t ready to be calmed. “No,” he snapped, cutting you off before you could say more. “Don’t tell me to let it go. You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way they looked at me—like I was some brash fool for speaking sense. They undermine me at every turn, and Viserys allows it!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and for a moment, the room fell silent. The distant sounds of the Red Keep seemed impossibly far away, muted by the tension that filled the space between you.

You rose from your seat slowly, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you crossed the room to stand before him. He watched you, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger, his jaw tight.

“I’m not telling you to let it go,” you said softly, placing a hand on his chest. His tunic was warm beneath your palm, the steady thrum of his heartbeat betraying the tempest within. “I’m asking you to save it for when it matters most. You’ll have your chance to be heard again. But not if you burn yourself out now.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. His eyes searched yours, his expression still tight with frustration, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He placed a hand over yours, his fingers curling around it as if anchoring himself.

“They don’t listen,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled. “Not to me. Not unless I force them to.”

“Then make them listen,” you replied, your tone firm but kind. “But not like this. Not in anger.”

His lips twisted into a smirk, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “You think you know me so well,” he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing.

“I do,” you replied simply, holding his gaze.

Daemon sighed, the last of his anger bleeding away as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was strong, almost possessive, as if you were the only thing grounding him in that moment.

“You’re too clever for your own good,” he murmured into your hair.

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you replied, earning a low chuckle from him.

When he pulled back, his expression was lighter, though the frustration lingered in his eyes. “The feast,” you said gently, steering him toward a different focus. “Rhaenyra’s wedding is in a few days. You should be thinking about that, not letting the council get under your skin.”

Daemon snorted, but there was no heat behind it. “Unity,” he muttered, echoing words he had likely heard too many times already. “A grand spectacle to pretend the realm isn’t fracturing beneath us.”

You arched a brow. “Then let them believe otherwise. Isn’t that the game of thrones you so enjoy?”

He let out a short laugh, the sound both bitter and amused. “You’ve been spending too much time around me.”

You smiled, brushing a hand along his arm. “Perhaps.”

Daemon released a long breath, the tension in his shoulders finally softening as he stepped away, his gaze drifting toward the open window. The warm spring breeze ruffled his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked less like the fearsome rogue prince and more like the restless man you had come to know so intimately.

“The wedding feast,” he said, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “A spectacle of union for a realm that can’t even decide which house to favor in a petty feud.”

You stepped closer, your tone light yet pointed. “And yet it’s not the realm’s union we’re celebrating, is it? It’s Rhaenyra’s.”

Daemon turned back to you, his expression softening further at the mention of his niece. His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he tilted his head. “I’ll admit, the girl’s managed to surprise me. Agreeing to wed Laenor Velaryon of all people. I thought she’d have burnt the keep to ashes before conceding.”

You chuckled softly, reaching for his hand. “Perhaps she learned from someone that rebellion isn’t always about fire and blood. Sometimes, it’s about choosing when to bend, so you can strike harder later.”

He raised a brow at that, his smirk deepening. “If you’re insinuating that I’ve taught her anything resembling restraint, I fear you’ve misunderstood me, my lady.”

“Not restraint,” you countered, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Strategy. She’s clever, your niece. As clever as you are, and just as stubborn.”

Daemon’s gaze softened further, and he let out a quiet laugh. “She’ll need that stubbornness to endure what’s ahead. The Velaryons are not without their pride.”

“And neither are the Targaryens,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s fitting, really—a match to unite two ancient houses and bolster the realm’s strength. A necessary union, no matter how imperfect it may seem.”

He sighed, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A necessary union,” he echoed. “And yet, Viserys sees it as more than that. He thinks it’ll heal old wounds and inspire loyalty. As if a feast and a wedding can undo years of division.”

“Maybe it can’t,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But it can remind people of what’s worth fighting for—family, unity, the realm’s future. Even if it’s only for a night.”

Daemon looked at you then, his expression unreadable. But there was a warmth in his gaze, one that seemed to melt away the last of his earlier frustration. He pulled you closer, his hands settling on your waist.

“You have a way of making everything seem simpler,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Even when it’s not.”

“It’s a gift,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Now, will you let me dress you in something appropriate for the feast, or will I have to endure your complaints the entire evening?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Oh, you’ll endure them regardless. But yes, my dear, I’ll wear whatever ridiculous finery you deem fit. I wouldn’t want to shame you in front of the court.”

“Nonsense, perish the thought,” you said with a grin, resting your forehead against his.

For now, the storm had truly passed, and in its wake, a fragile peace remained. The feast loomed ahead, a symbol of hope for some and an illusion for others. But in this moment, there was only you and Daemon, and that was enough.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The grand hall of the Red Keep was resplendent, its vaulted ceilings adorned with streaming banners bearing the sigils of the realm’s great houses. Flickering torchlight and the warm glow of chandeliers lit the space, casting dancing shadows over the lavish feast laid upon long trestle tables. The scent of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Rhaenyra sat at the head table beside her new husband, Laenor Velaryon, her expression poised but faintly distant, as though she carried the weight of the realm’s gaze with practiced indifference. Her silver hair was woven with pearls, and her gown shimmered with dragonfire embroidery, every inch the picture of Targaryen majesty.

The lords and ladies of the realm had gathered in full force, a sea of vibrant colors and glittering jewels, their movements a choreographed dance of subtle rivalries and unspoken alliances. Among them sat the Brackens and Blackwoods, carefully separated and positioned at opposite ends of the hall. Their faces were schooled into neutrality, their hands busy with goblets of wine or trencher bread, but the tension between the two houses was palpable to those who knew where to look.

You were seated at Daemon’s side at a table reserved for the royal family, a position that afforded you a perfect view of the festivities—and the undercurrents of unease beneath them. Daemon was dressed impeccably in dark crimson and black, his usual defiance tempered into a sharp elegance that suited him well. His expression was unreadable as he sipped his wine, but you could see the way his gaze flickered over the room, cataloging every interaction, every veiled slight.

“They’ve managed not to kill each other—for now,” Daemon murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. His eyes flicked toward the Brackens and Blackwoods, a glint of amusement mingling with his sharp scrutiny.

“Give them time,” you replied dryly, reaching for your own goblet. “The wine hasn’t yet worked its magic.”

Daemon chuckled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer. “Or its mischief.”

You arched a brow at him, though you couldn’t help but smile. “You seem far too entertained by the prospect of chaos at your niece’s wedding.”

He shrugged, his gaze shifting back to the hall. “Chaos keeps the night interesting.”

Before you could respond, a herald’s voice rang out, calling for the first dance. All eyes turned to Rhaenyra and Laenor as they rose from their seats, their movements graceful as they stepped onto the polished floor. The music began, a lively tune that seemed to ripple through the hall like a spark catching fire.

The lords and ladies soon followed, filling the floor with a swirl of color and movement. Laughter and applause echoed as couples spun and twirled, their steps weaving together in intricate patterns.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against the table. “Are you going to make me dance, too?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You smirked, leaning closer to him. “I was going to let you off easy tonight. But if you insist…”

He groaned in mock exasperation, earning a soft laugh from you. For a moment, the tension of the evening faded, replaced by the warmth of shared humor.

But even as the festivities unfolded, you couldn’t shake the sense that the peace was fragile, a veneer that could crack at any moment. The Brackens and Blackwoods were not the only ones walking a fine line tonight, and in the shadow of the Iron Throne, every move felt like a gamble.

Daemon’s groan was followed by a mischievous grin, the kind that always made your chest tighten and your resolve weaken. “You’re insufferable,” he said, though there was no heat to his words as he extended a hand toward you.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered, placing your hand in his. His fingers wrapped around yours, firm yet careful, as he guided you from your seat.

The music shifted as you both stepped onto the dance floor, the melody lilting into a slower, more intimate tune. The crowd parted, eyes subtly following your movements as you took your place in the center of the floor with the rogue prince at your side. You could feel the weight of their attention, but you were no stranger to it.

Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other holding yours as he began to lead you in the dance. His steps were confident, fluid, each movement purposeful yet unhurried. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice low and for your ears alone.

“They always are,” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re hard to ignore.”

His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing against your hand. “And you,” he said, his tone softer now, “make it impossible.”

You rolled your eyes at his flattery but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. The dance brought you closer, his hand at your waist pulling you just shy of propriety, but enough to make your heart race.

The world around you seemed to fade, the music and laughter becoming a distant hum as you moved together. Daemon’s presence was magnetic, his intensity grounding yet exhilarating, as though the two of you existed in a world apart from the one where alliances were made and broken over cups of wine.

“You’re rather light on your feet for someone who pretends to loathe courtly things,” you teased, letting him spin you gently before drawing you back into his arms.

“Don’t mistake talent for affection,” he replied, though his smirk betrayed him. “I’d burn this entire hall if it meant avoiding another round of politics.”

“And yet, here you are,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Dancing at a wedding, pretending to tolerate the people you claim to despise.”

“For you,” he said simply, his voice low and sincere in a way that made your breath hitch. “Always for you.”

For a moment, the tension of the feast melted away, replaced by the warmth of his confession. But it was fleeting, a stolen moment in a night that promised anything but peace.

As the dance came to an end, Daemon held your gaze, his hand lingering at your waist. Applause filled the hall, but you barely heard it, your focus locked on the man before you.

“You’re going to set tongues wagging,” you said softly, stepping back as decorum demanded.

“Let them wag,” he replied, his smirk returning. “They’d do it anyway.”

The spell was broken as the music shifted again, and other couples moved to fill the floor. Daemon led you back to your seat, his hand brushing against yours one last time before he turned his attention back to the feast.

The hall was alive with revelry, yet beneath the surface, you could feel the fragile balance of the evening teetering. The Brackens and Blackwoods had kept to themselves so far, but there was no denying the sharp glances exchanged across the room, nor the tension lingering like a storm on the horizon.

Daemon, of course, noticed it too. He leaned toward you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “How long do you think it’ll take before someone breaks the peace?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Hopefully not before dessert.”

His laughter was soft but genuine, a rare moment of levity in a night that felt like a game played on the edge of a knife.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The revelry continued unabated, the music and laughter rising to fill the cavernous hall. Goblets were refilled, plates heaped with delicacies, and the scent of roasted quail and sweet pastries hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the vibrant atmosphere, an undercurrent of unease persisted—an unspoken tension that seemed to ripple just beneath the surface.

At opposite ends of the hall, the Brackens and Blackwoods remained in their carefully orchestrated positions. Their eyes rarely wandered toward one another, but when they did, it was with the kind of simmering disdain that no amount of protocol could conceal.

Daemon leaned lazily back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of your seat. His eyes roamed the hall, sharp and assessing despite the deceptively casual posture. He sipped his wine, his smirk growing as his gaze lingered on the Bracken table.

“They’re twitching like hounds on a short leash,” he muttered, the words meant only for you.

“You’re not helping,” you replied, though your own gaze flickered toward the Blackwoods, where a young lord’s hand gripped the stem of his goblet just a little too tightly.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a raised voice—a sharp, mocking laugh from the Bracken side of the hall. Heads turned as Ser Amos Bracken, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned back in his chair, his booming voice carrying over the din.

“Tell me, young Blackwood,” Amos said, his words dripping with condescension, “is it true your family still claims descent from the First Men? Seems a bold thing to boast when all it’s earned you is a table in the corner.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed, and for a moment, it seemed as though the insult might go unanswered. But then, a young Blackwood lord—tall, lean, and barely out of boyhood—rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger.

“And yet we’re here,” the Blackwood retorted, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Unlike your ancestors, who’d sooner kneel to any conqueror who offered them a scrap of power.”

The hall fell silent.

Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned closer to you, his voice a low murmur. “Here we go.”

You shot him a sharp look, but before you could reply, the tension in the hall snapped like a drawn bowstring.

Ser Amos Bracken surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a boy who hides behind his mother’s skirts!” he barked, his meaty hand slamming down on the table.

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve for a man whose house clings to its titles like barnacles to a sinking ship!” the Blackwood shot back, stepping forward.

The two were separated by the breadth of the hall, but the air between them was charged, their mutual hatred igniting like dry kindling.

From his place at the head table, Viserys rose, his voice booming over the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, his face flushed with the effort of asserting authority. “This is a wedding feast, not a battlefield!”

The hall quieted, though the tension lingered like smoke after a fire. The Bracken and Blackwood men glared at one another, their hands twitching near their sword hilts despite the king’s warning.

Beside you, Daemon watched with unveiled amusement, his smirk never faltering. “Viserys will tire of this soon enough,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And when he does, the real fun begins.”

You sighed, your hand reaching for your goblet. “It’s a wonder we ever manage to call ourselves united,” you muttered.

The feast continued, but the mood had shifted. The Brackens and Blackwoods returned to their seats, though their tempers simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest provocation to boil over.

And in the shadows of the great hall, as wine flowed and music played, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace would last.

The feast dragged on long after the first sparks of conflict had settled into the deep, tense silence of uneasy truce. The Brackens and Blackwoods remained seated at opposite ends of the hall, their eyes darting sideways, but never meeting. The music played, but it seemed faint, muted by the hum of strained politeness. The air was thick with the weight of unsaid words and the knowledge that the night was not done with its drama yet.

Daemon’s hand never left your side, though he barely spoke throughout the evening. His gaze, sharp and watchful, moved across the hall with the same intensity he had shown in the small council, as if he were cataloging every movement, every slight. Yet, when he turned to you, the ever-present amusement lingered in his eyes, softened by the flicker of warmth that only you could evoke.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Finally, the night wore on long enough that the revelers began to tire. The hall was slowly emptied of its guests, many of them still nursing their drinks, their conversations lowered to murmurs. It was only then that you and Daemon rose from the table, both of you feeling the weight of the evening—its many unspoken tensions—and the need to retreat from it all.

As you made your way through the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, your thoughts were heavy, your feet quickening to match the pace of Daemon’s long strides. The air had cooled slightly, but the heat of the feast still lingered in your chest, the pressing weight of what had transpired and what might yet come. You were both silent, the quiet of the corridors filled only with the faint sound of your footfalls.

Upon reaching your chambers, the door was barely shut before Daemon’s mouth found yours in a fierce kiss, a hungry press of lips that spoke more than words could. It was a fire that hadn’t been stoked since the tension of the council, since the weight of the evening’s events, and now, it erupted between you both, a spark turning into a blaze.

His hands were quick, unhurried but firm, as they sought the fastenings of your gown, the fabric brushing over your skin like a whisper. He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear, as he murmured words that had no need for meaning—just the undeniable presence of him, the demand of his touch. You responded in kind, your hands threading through his silver hair, pulling him even closer, your own lips demanding, pushing, surrendering.

The world beyond your chambers ceased to exist, only the feel of his body pressed against yours, the heat of your skin mingling in the dim light of the room. The frantic pace, the shared desperation—this was the only way to truly escape the suffocating expectations of the night, of the court, of the world that always surrounded you both.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as you moved together, your bodies in perfect sync, the world beyond the stone walls forgotten. And when it was over, when the storm had finally subsided, you lay together in the coolness of the sheets, breathing heavily, the weight of the night still lingering but now softened, shared between you.

For a moment, there was only quiet, the kind that spoke of an intimacy deeper than any words. But eventually, Daemon’s voice broke the silence, his tone low and thoughtful.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his fingers trailing lazily down your arm. “I expected you to have more to say about tonight.”

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow as you looked at him, his silver eyes darkened by the faint candlelight, the weight of the evening still present but subdued now. “What more is there to say?” you asked, your voice soft, though a trace of the earlier tension remained in it. “It’s all a game, isn’t it? A dance between houses, between power, between… everything we can’t control.”

Daemon’s lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. “Not everything is a game,” he said, his voice low, his hand coming to rest on your waist. “But sometimes it’s the only thing worth playing.”

You let out a small laugh, but it was tinged with weariness. “And we’re all just pawns.”

He turned toward you fully now, his eyes sharp but softer, the edges of his smirk fading into something more sincere. “Not pawns. We’re the ones pulling the strings, whether we admit it or not.”

You met his gaze, searching his face for any sign of doubt or calculation, but found none. For all his cynical remarks, for all his posturing, Daemon was a man who knew the weight of power—and the way it could be wielded.

And yet, there was a part of you that wondered if, beneath it all, he still feared being pulled into the same web of politics, of manipulation, of being a player rather than a kingmaker.

“I suppose we have no choice but to play,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, more resigned. “And if we can’t win, we make sure no one else does.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and dark, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “That’s the spirit. And if the night’s mischief didn’t satisfy you, you can always count on me to make things interesting tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers idly tracing patterns along his chest. “Let’s sleep first,” you said, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you. “We can fight the battles tomorrow.”

Daemon’s arms tightened around you as he kissed your hair softly. “Tomorrow, then. But for tonight, let’s leave the world outside.”

And as the flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, you closed your eyes, the weight of the night finally lifting, knowing that come the dawn, the battles would still await—but for now, you were content to simply rest beside him, the world outside a distant echo. ▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The next morning, the tension that had hung heavy over the wedding feast still clung to the air in the Red Keep. Even the rays of sunlight filtering through the high windows of the small council chamber seemed to carry an oppressive weight, as if the very castle itself was holding its breath. The room, normally filled with the dull murmur of routine affairs, now buzzed with the friction of yesterday’s simmering conflict.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, his usually placid expression marred by a faint crease between his brows. The day after Rhaenyra’s wedding feast, it seemed the wounds were still fresh, not just in the eyes of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but in the silent resentments of the council members who had grown all too accustomed to the tense dance of alliances.

Daemon sat with his usual relaxed posture, though there was no hiding the coldness that lingered in his eyes. He had never been one to mince words or tolerate the games of court, and today, it seemed, his patience was thinner than ever.

The council’s discussion was still focused on the aftermath of the previous evening’s altercation. Some spoke of ways to soothe the ruffled egos of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but it was clear no one quite knew how to do so without further escalating the situation.

Lord Mervyn, a portly noble with the tendency to speak before thinking, suggested, "Perhaps we should offer them gold—some measure of coin to settle their quarrels, a show of goodwill."

The Master of Coin, Lord Ormund, a sharp-eyed man with a wry sense of humor, laughed aloud, his voice cutting through the tension. “Gold?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “And where, pray tell, do you expect to find this coin? We are in a constant state of debt, Mervyn. Should we start selling off the castle to please the Brackens and Blackwoods?”

The room shifted uncomfortably, though Lord Mervyn, his cheeks growing redder by the second, remained silent, his suggestion now hanging in the air like a poorly timed joke.

Daemon rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps we should all just stop speaking entirely, seeing as it’s become a contest to see who can drone on the longest about the same petty squabbles.” His words were not aimed at anyone in particular, but they struck a chord in the room.

The rest of the council fell into a strained silence. Viserys sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as if to ward off the growing headache he surely felt. “Enough,” he commanded, his voice quiet but firm. “Let us take a break for now. I will consider all your suggestions and call upon you when I have come to a decision.”

The meeting, like so many before it, ended without resolution. There were no clear answers, no easy solutions to the brewing tensions in the realm. The room emptied slowly, each member of the council filing out, their faces etched with the same frustrations.

Daemon stood quickly, brushing past his fellow lords without a glance, his movements sharp and restless. He had never been one to tolerate idle chatter, least of all in a place that made him feel like a caged animal.

With a grunt, he headed for the exit, intent on blowing off steam in the training yard. It was there that he could find his peace, if only for a moment—away from the endless plotting and bickering of the council.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The council meeting had ended in a tense, uncertain silence. Daemon’s comments had left the room heavy with discomfort, and the usual murmurs among the lords had subsided into a quiet unease. The entire realm could feel the tension as it thickened in the Red Keep, especially with the lords now speaking in hushed tones about Daemon’s latest tantrum. His temper, unchecked and untamed, was becoming too much even for his own family to ignore.

You, however, were no stranger to Daemon’s anger, and as much as it threatened to boil over, you knew something had to be done. The matter was already critical—his pride had endangered everything, and the last thing you could afford was another of his impulsive decisions damaging the realm.

You had not attended the council meeting; there was no need. You knew that the key to solving this issue would lie not in words spoken around the council table, but in private action, taken swiftly and subtly.

When the last of the councilors had left the chamber, you’d already made your way to Viserys’s solar, your mind fixed on a plan. The moment you stepped into the room, you could sense the quiet weight of the king’s exhaustion. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the crown, and there was a weariness in his eyes that had grown familiar over the years.

He turned slowly as you entered, a faint glimmer of recognition in his gaze. “So, it’s done then,” Viserys remarked, his voice low and heavy with the same tension that clung to the walls. He knew. The moment Daemon’s rage had been unleashed, it had been clear that something would need to be done, but you had taken no part in the council’s discussion.

You closed the door softly behind you, moving closer to the king. “Daemon’s actions cannot go unchecked any longer, Your Grace. The Brackens and Blackwoods have made their demands clear, and the council is growing restless. This will escalate if we don’t step in quickly.”

Viserys’s lips tightened in a frown. “And you have a solution?” he asked, though the weariness in his voice suggested he was more than ready to hear one.

You nodded, settling yourself beside him at the table. “I do. I’ve already considered it carefully.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity but no doubt. “Speak plainly, then. What do you propose?”

You hesitated for a moment before diving into the details, your voice steady and measured. “The Brackens are proud. They demand recognition, something that will soothe their wounded egos and quell their desire for vengeance. We offer them a royal boon—a land claim that will satisfy their pride and keep them from seeking bloodshed.”

Viserys listened intently, his gaze not wavering. You knew that he understood the importance of keeping the peace, especially in the wake of Daemon’s volatile temper. “And the Blackwoods?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he sought clarification.

“The Blackwoods are more about justice. They’ll demand the life of the knight who wronged them, but we can’t allow that. Instead, I will offer them exile to the Night’s Watch. It’s a compromise—justice without bloodshed.”

Viserys nodded slowly, considering the weight of your words. “And how do we prevent Daemon from knowing about this?”

You smiled softly, though there was no humor in it. “That’s where you come in, Your Grace. This needs to be seen as your decision—your action. We will stage a public reconciliation ceremony, where both the Brackens and Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace before the Iron Throne. The realm will believe it was your command. Daemon will not suspect a thing.”

Viserys stared at you for a long moment, his expression shifting as he absorbed the intricacies of your plan. You could see the internal conflict on his face—he had always strived to maintain the appearance of unity between himself and his brother, but there was no denying the mounting pressure to act swiftly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“This will anger Daemon,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of a decision he knew he would have to make. “He will not take kindly to being excluded from such an important matter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I know. But we cannot afford to let his temper ruin everything. We need to act swiftly, before the situation spirals beyond our control. The realm depends on it.”

Viserys stood slowly, walking to the window and staring out over the city below. You could see the exhaustion and the weariness of ruling in his every movement. Finally, he turned back to you, his expression resolute.

“Very well,” he said, his voice carrying the heavy authority of a king. “I will handle it. But you must understand, this may not be the last time we face such a challenge with Daemon.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” you replied quietly, your voice resolute. “But for now, we act. This will prevent any further escalation, and it will protect the realm.”

Viserys gave a small nod, a faint trace of a smile appearing on his lips as he stepped forward, his resolve hardening. “Then we proceed as you’ve outlined. You’ve made it clear that Daemon cannot know, and I’ll ensure that the public sees this as my decision, not his. It will work.”

You bowed your head slightly. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is the only way forward.”

As Viserys turned back to his window, the weight of the crown settling back on his shoulders, you knew that the plan was in motion. The Riverlands would be pacified, the Brackens and Blackwoods would be brought to heel, and Daemon would never suspect that it was you who had orchestrated it all behind his back.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The quiet hum of the Red Keep was always present in the early morning hours—footsteps echoing down long hallways, servants bustling with preparations, the distant sound of metal clashing as the guards went through their drills. But in the stillness of your chambers, there was no sign of movement save for the careful glide of your quill as it moved across the parchment. The dim light of the hearth flickered, casting shadows across the room, and the quiet whisper of ink meeting paper was the only sound you allowed yourself to hear.

The plan had been set into motion after a whispered discussion in Viserys’s solar. He had agreed, reluctantly, that action needed to be taken—but he had trusted you to carry it out. You had laid out the details of the diplomatic approach, and while it was Viserys’s seal that would adorn the letters, the intricate work, the precise wording, and the careful manipulation were all your doing. The king, though burdened by his crown, knew you were the one with the strength to handle the delicate negotiations.

You’d already sent word to the Brackens, a carefully worded letter crafted with precision. To them, you’d extended an olive branch wrapped in gold. A recognition of a contested land claim, something that would soothe their pride without pushing them too far. You had given them a reason to let go of their anger, without allowing them to feel they’d lost face.

Now, it was time to turn your attention to the Blackwoods.

You dipped your quill in ink once more, the tip gliding across the parchment. This letter was more delicate—more intricate. The Blackwoods had a deep sense of honor, and while they were willing to settle, their thirst for justice could not be ignored. You’d offered them the exile of the offending knight to the Night’s Watch, a compromise that would keep his life intact while still serving a form of justice. It would appease their pride, for their enemy would face punishment, but without the bloodshed that would only fan the flames of rebellion.

Each stroke of the quill was deliberate, forming words that sounded gentle but carried the weight of authority. You wrote as Viserys would, sealing your words in the king’s name, though it was clear to both of you that it was your own hands guiding the outcome. Viserys’s approval had been given with the understanding that the matter would be handled quietly, behind closed doors. The lords wouldn’t question the king’s actions—they would simply follow his lead, as they always did.

The letters were ready, each addressed to their respective families. You carefully rolled them, ensuring no trace of ink stained the edges, before sealing them with the king’s seal. You paused for a moment, looking at the waxen emblem, the sign of Viserys’s rule. It was a symbol of power, but it also carried the weight of everything you were trying to protect.

Ravens were summoned, and you entrusted them with the sealed letters. They would carry your carefully crafted words far from the Red Keep, bearing messages that would shape the future of the realm. And while Viserys would ultimately take credit for the decision, it was you who had orchestrated it all.

With the letters dispatched, you turned your attention to the next step of the plan: ensuring that the public reconciliation ceremony would go smoothly. But for now, you allowed yourself a rare moment of quiet. The ravens were on their way, and there was no turning back.

The small council chamber fell silent as Viserys took his seat at the head of the table, his weary eyes scanning the gathered lords. The air was thick with tension, remnants of Daemon’s outburst still hanging in the room.

“Let us be clear,” Viserys began, his voice steady but firm. “The situation with the Brackens and the Blackwoods has been resolved. There will be no bloodshed, no more open hostilities.”

Daemon, who had been sitting quietly, his expression simmering with frustration, leaned forward slightly, his voice low but sharp. “And you believe you can simply end this, without consulting me?”

Viserys’s gaze met his brother’s, unwavering. “I did not consult you, because this matter required swift and delicate action. It needed to be handled quietly, with the authority of the crown, not driven by emotion or pride.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but Viserys continued, his voice cool. “I’ve sent a message to both houses. The Blackwoods will receive the justice they desire, but in a way that preserves peace. The Brackens, meanwhile, will be granted a significant boon—a recognition of their claim to disputed lands. A small price to pay to prevent further bloodshed.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “And what of my role in this, brother? What role do I play in this ‘delicate’ matter?”

Viserys looked at him, unflinching. “Your role, Daemon, is not to interfere. You are the Commander of the City Watch, but this was not a matter for the City Watch. It was a matter of diplomacy. Of keeping the peace.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle in the air. “The reconciliation ceremony will take place before the Iron Throne. Both the Brackens and the Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace, under my direct orders.”

Daemon opened his mouth to speak, but Viserys raised a hand, silencing him. “The matter is settled. There will be no further discussion. The lords of the realm will see this as a wise move—one that ensures peace in the Riverlands.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he glanced around the room. “Now, we move on. We have more important matters to discuss. The realm cannot wait.”

The silence in the room was palpable as Daemon, his temper barely contained, stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stormed out, leaving a tense stillness behind him.

Viserys turned to the remaining council members, his voice once again calm. “Let us proceed with the agenda.”

And with that, the council resumed, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

You weren’t expecting to find yourself outside the council chambers today, but the moment you heard raised voices echoing through the halls, you knew something was amiss. You didn’t need to hear the words to understand what was happening—Daemon and Viserys were locked in yet another heated argument.

As you neared the door, you paused, quietly listening to the tension that hung thick in the air between the two brothers. You knew this wasn’t a casual disagreement. No, this was deeper, more volatile than anything that had come before. Daemon’s temper was a fire that could not easily be quenched, and Viserys’s patience had long since reached its breaking point.

“—and you’re willing to let them do this without me?” Daemon’s voice rang out, full of disbelief and fury. “You sit there in your throne and make decisions that should be mine to make!”

Viserys’s voice followed, sharper, colder. “I am the king, Daemon! Not you. And you’re not in charge of the Riverlands. You’ve made it abundantly clear that your temper will only make matters worse, and I will not let you jeopardize everything we’ve worked for.”

You couldn’t help the tightness in your chest as you slowly opened the door. You knew that Viserys had been under pressure, but hearing the raw anger in both of their voices made your heart ache.

Daemon’s eyes snapped to you as you entered, his features momentarily softening when he saw you. But it didn’t last long. His frustration was too much to hide.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” he growled, his words aimed not at you but at the air around him. “He undermines me, as always.”

Viserys, still seated at the council table, gave a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s for the good of the realm, Daemon. Your actions, your temper... they’ve made it impossible to move forward.”

Daemon took a step toward him, eyes blazing. “And you think I haven’t sacrificed enough for this family? For you?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm gently, though the weight of the argument still hung between the brothers.

“Daemon,” you said softly, “let’s not do this now.” Your voice was calm, but firm, a gentle anchor amidst the storm. “You can talk about this later, after you've both had time to breathe.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his eyes still locked on his brother, but his posture softened ever so slightly as your touch worked its magic. He exhaled deeply, frustration still etched in every line of his face, but he made no further move toward his brother.

Viserys looked between the two of you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. There was a faint flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he stood, straightening his robes. “I’m done with this conversation for today,” he said coldly, and Daemon shot him one last, bitter glance before Viserys turned to leave.

As the door closed behind the king, the weight of the room seemed to lift, but Daemon’s anger still simmered beneath the surface. You could see it in his clenched fists, his furrowed brow, and the way his shoulders tensed with each breath.

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you gave him a moment to calm himself, knowing all too well that a conversation now would only lead to more frustration. Slowly, Daemon turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were softer, though still clouded with the storm of emotion he was struggling to contain.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the anger in it fading, replaced by a weariness that had settled deep within him. “It’s not for you to hear.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “I know you’re frustrated, Daemon. I don’t like seeing you like this.” You paused, your gaze steady. “But this fight... it’s not one you’re going to win. Not now.”

Daemon was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this,” he admitted, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

You held him a little tighter, feeling the weight of everything pressing on him. “I know. But we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His arms tightened around you as he buried his face in your hair. For a moment, the tension seemed to lift, and all that remained was the two of you, holding on to each other in the quiet aftermath.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

A week passed since the resolution of the Bracken and Blackwood dispute, and while Daemon’s anger had simmered down to a quiet brooding, the tension in the Red Keep was palpable. The lords had spoken their piece, the council had concluded their deliberations, and the kingdom, for now, appeared to be at rest. Yet you knew better than to believe in a calm that came too easily. The peace had been achieved—quietly, subtly—without Daemon’s direct knowledge.

It had been your plan, executed with careful precision. The letters sent under the king’s seal, the meetings with the Brackens and the Blackwoods, the subtle maneuvering to avoid bloodshed—all of it was your doing. Daemon remained unaware of your role in it, and you intended to keep it that way. His temper, as volatile as ever, had quieted somewhat since the ceremony in the throne room. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet between you both was fragile, and the whispers of the court only added to the unease.

The public reconciliation between the Brackens and the Blackwoods had been nothing short of a spectacle. The Iron Throne witnessed their sworn oaths of peace, pledging loyalty to the crown under Viserys’s direction. And while the ceremony had been regal and well-executed, the true work—the work done behind the scenes—remained a mystery to most.

But not to you. The weight of the success felt heavy, and you knew it would not stay secret for long. Even as you stood in the shadows of the throne room, observing the lords of the Riverlands make their pledges, you could hear the faint murmurs beginning to stir. First, it was a passing remark. A raised brow. Then, it grew louder, until it was impossible to ignore.

It was Daemon’s wife who had orchestrated it, they said. Not Viserys, not the king—Daemon’s wife. The rumors spread like wildfire. How had she managed to bring two feuding houses to the table? How had she secured the peace when all seemed lost? The whispers spoke not of Daemon’s involvement, but of your quiet influence. It was you who had orchestrated the peace—through your diplomacy, your steady resolve, and your deep understanding of the delicate balance that held the realm together.

At first, the whispers were faint, almost unnoticeable. But the longer the court simmered in its quiet post-celebration lull, the louder they became. A glance here, a sidelong comment there, as courtiers spoke behind their hands, careful not to draw too much attention. You overheard their theories—the reader of the letters, the one who had soothed the lords’ tempers, the one who had convinced the Brackens and the Blackwoods to lay down their swords.

Daemon had been busy in the training yard, his mind focused elsewhere, and so the whispers were a quiet storm that he hadn’t yet noticed. Yet, you knew it was only a matter of time before he pieced it together. For now, you kept to your silence. Your role in the peace had been deliberate. The credit, you were certain, would fall to Viserys. He was the king, after all, and it was his decision in the eyes of the realm. But it didn’t make the whispers any less insistent, nor did it quiet the growing suspicion in your heart that your husband might soon learn the truth.

You didn’t seek attention for your actions; your only goal had been the realm’s safety. But with each passing day, you could feel the weight of what you had done. Viserys had given you the freedom to act, trusting you to handle it, and you had. But now, as the court grew more talkative and the truth became less veiled, you couldn’t help but wonder: When would Daemon learn the full extent of your involvement? And what would his reaction be when he did?

The whispers only grew louder as the days wore on, echoing in the hallways and chambers, but for now, you remained tight-lipped. The peace had been secured. The rest, for the moment, didn’t matter.

56 notes · View notes

thatfrailsoul · 21 hours ago

Text

– The journey of a soul

new year tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

pictures from pinterest → one, two, three

Sometimes we crave that something… We feel the need to create, to speak, to make our steps in a certain way. With more intention, more meaning, more magic in it. Something that can give to all of this, to every single little detail and moment in our routines, more significance. And by doing so, give our own selves more motivation, strength, courage and energy to keep on going. Feeling that it is not at all useless. Feeling that there is something more in this life than just the material, at times repetitive or stagnant world. But even when we have so much desire for it… It is still not so easy to understand which is that one way to do things that can really help us see and feel again this world from the perspective of our soul, and not our consumed and tired thoughts. What we can do to connect, nourish and embrace ourselves. Through the expression of our soul.

This is our very first reading for this new year, requested by one of you to whom I’m so grateful for this idea and chance to tap for a moment in the more spiritual aspect of our life. No matter if you already have someone or something that you believe in, accepting their guidance in your life; if you always felt connected so deeply only to your own self; if you never felt this desire to look at life differently until this point… You are welcomed here, and there will be the right message for you. As no matter if we look at it from the spiritual and religious perspective, or more logical and psychological one, there is still something that can help you express, nourish and celebrate yourself more. Something that can help you find more peace within this year, transforming it into the strength to go through this life and the easy or challenging moments it sometimes gifts.

So slow down. Breathe. Allow yourself to let go for a moment of judgment, analysis or control. And just follow that one pile that attracts your gaze more. The one that is hiding the message from your soul.

P.s. A little question for you.♡

As I’m trying to improve the experience of the extended versions of our readings, it would be deeply helpful for me to know your opinion about their format! For example, when and if you’ll ever buy an extended version of a reading, what would be more comfortable for you to find in them? Just the additional message? Or it might be helpful to have the original one included too, so you have everything in one place in case you want to read again the whole reading, or check more than one pile?

{ Thank you so much for letting me know!♡ }

– Pile One,

the coffin: the king of wands and the temperance

This past year… There were so many things that you were forced to say goodbye to. People, connections, ideas and opportunities, journeys and goals… So many things didn't work, for one reason or another. So many of them needed a different approach, much more than you expected or could do. So many of them seemed to not want you at all, pushing you back no matter how many times you tried to make them work.

But even if it was frustrating and scary, you adapted to all the failures and changes. You tried to remain on the surface in any way you could, looking for something else, accepting whatever alternative seemed good enough for you. And even though you did your best, you managed to make things work either way, accepting them and being grateful even though they are not exactly like you wanted or imagined… It still remains a reality that is not quite yours. Just the one you surrendered to and embraced in the absence of other things that you truly wanted to live and achieve. And in the long run… It is tiring you. To need to keep up with a life that you don't feel truly fitting for yourself, your desires or goals. Because no matter how many positive aspects you can find in them, no matter how strong and capable you are, to make use of them and endure them... It still remains a heavy phase of life, the one that you are going through.

If we’d to ask ourselves what are the things in our life that we don't want or don't feel quite right… We would think almost immediately and only about the big ones. Work, home, studies, relationships that we can’t really control… But there is much more between these big and main goals or concerns that consume all of our focus. There are those little actions and decisions that we do each day, in our routine that we are not really even aware of anymore, allowing it to guide us blindly through one day and the one after that. And there are a lot of aspects of them that we let pass by, without looking at what they are made of. And how many things of those are really aligned with who we want to be or how we want to live this life.

It is normal that we can’t just stand up and change everything in our life, there are too many things that depend not only on us. But we don't need to change those in order to be able to feel safe and at peace, finally enjoying this life. We can and should do it in the little steps we take each day that we wake up.

So take a moment, sit down with yourself, grab a pen, a phone, your pc or whatever you feel more comfortable in using to organise your thoughts. And ask yourself, truly, who is that person that you feel to be in your mind and heart, in your inner world, and that each year you try so hard to bring into the real one. Look at them, describe them, so you can see yourself clearly. Not the version that was made by this reality, these circumstances that decided who and how you needed to be in order to survive and make it through. But the one that you are truly, without any if or but. Without any limit or consequence. Without any judgment or image to keep up with. See them, every detail about how they feel, towards others or just in their own skin. How they deal with obstacles or troubles. What helps them to unwind and relax. The things that they do and really feel satisfied after, proud of what they did no matter if it was a lot or little… And just keep them in mind. Make that version of you be your guide and idol, the one you look up to throughout this year. Each day of it. Because it is not just a dream or a delusion, your desire to be one day like that version that you have in your mind. It is actually your inner self that wants to be this way, and knows deep down that it is possible to feel so confident and safe. Because it's not that you are not like you want, and so is your life, while this is just a delusion that helps you sleep at night. It is still and always you, even if it is only in your dreams and goals for now. Both versions are you, just one needs some time and nourishment to grow up to be the other one.

Even if it might seem not so spiritual, to change your routine, to make room for the things that for so long you wanted to do but never had the time or space, or to just let yourself throw away the judgment and limits on what you do or how… It is still a spiritual, magical, practice. A practical way of taking care of yourself through the things that you can control, choose and decide. It is still a way of expressing and connecting to your own self. While simultaneously making little but significant changes in your life, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable not only within your mind or heart, but also in the things of the every day life.

And this, this can really make an incredible impact on the things that you can’t control too. Just because the wait will be more enjoyable, once you are staying in a place where not everything is frustrating and pressuring. Once you don't feel caught up between two things that give you only anxiety and unsatisfaction, but there is still something that is worth it, to go through these days one after another, while waiting for the big changes to begin.

This reality is hardly the one that you chose for yourself, but through little changes you can make it be more like what you want. So there is more of good and worthy, of safe and enjoyable, that keeps your attention better than the stagnant or bad ones, alleviating the pressure those have on your shoulders, on your heart and on your mind.

The spirituality is not only about practices, rituals, of following the guidance and “rules” of who and what you believe in… It is also and always taking care of yourself, in whatever way you need or can now. And in this year, in the one that once again you have so much hope for, the most needed and easiest for you way to nourish yourself is by making your current reality more safe and enjoyable for you, no matter if the other “big” things will change or stay the same. Because we can’t always control our journey, but we can change the way we go through it. And in your case, you can start doing it through the little things done for yourself, for that version of you that you want so much to manifest.

{ ♡ }

– Pile Two,

the cross: the lovers and the ten of swords

It is not the first time that this desire blooms within you. The one to be devoted to something close and true to your soul. To allow it to guide you, teach you. To allow it to protect you and take care of you as you go through these difficult days. It is not the first time you feel the pure and genuine desire to not feel so alone, so doomed, so lost. But to have someone or something to look after you, to light the right journey for you…

You already tried so many things. Opened up your mind and your heart to new ideas and beliefs. You held them close to your heart, let it in, right into your soul, and listened patiently, waiting for an answer, for a sign that this is something that is right and true for you, something that you can trust to guide you…

But although so many of them felt so exciting and interesting to learn about, there was always that one little detail that never fitted, never was quite right for you. Making it so difficult to stick with them, to truly dedicate your time and energy to them. To truly feel that faith that is needed in order to believe… The first moments of enthusiasm always faded. The new routines that seemed so easy to respect became more tedious and difficult to keep up with. The words that first resonated so strongly with your heart… Always sooner or later found their nemesis in your thoughts, in your fearful and anxious questions that never found answers that could satisfy them.

And you felt only more coldness around and within you. As this flame of connecting with your soul somehow, more significantly, in a more sacred way, didn't receive its nourishment. Becoming smaller with each day that you wanted to understand yourself and this world better, but were unable to crack the code…

But no matter how many things you tried, how much you learned about so many ways of creating through your soul or manifest your true self unapologetically into this world… It is still the very start for you. You are only at the beginning of this journey. As through your hard work you learned all the possible ways, methods, practices and ideas… But you never learned what, or who, is it that you want to connect to. You never took a moment to just look at your own self and what you hold within your body, mind and heart. There are many religions, many practices, many believes that could fit in your life, that could really help you. But it is difficult to find out which is the right one, when you don't really know the size you need, right?

Although it is admirable your openness and desire to learn and experiment… There is no need for you now to decide already who or what to follow. Because first you need to be able to listen to your own self, without any voice or interpretations of others in between. You need to focus on yourself, this year, on who you are, before trusting others and their truths. As they can so easily make you lose sight of who you are, when you don’t have what to hold to in the first place.

For now observe yourself. Your feelings, thoughts, perceptions and reactions when interacting with this world. Observe them also when you are all alone. When there is no one else apart your self… What do you feel, what do you desire or need, when facing all of it? Because you really do think that it is not needed, that there is noone that knows you best. But in this search for someone else that can translate the way your soul talks, someone who understands it… You didn’t notice how much you have changed. How much the motives and explanations of what you feel or think have changed, narrating a different story about who you are, and what your soul strives for now.

{ ♡ }

– Pile Three,

The child: the two of wands and the five of cups

So many plans, so many guidelines, so many routines… Always so many things to learn and to adapt to, so many limits needed for you so you wouldn't make mistakes… They really got you used to it. To have a clear vision of what you are going to do, or how, with all the needed steps to follow. They got you used so much to it, that you can’t help but do it regarding your own self, your own soul too. The way you express it, create with it… The things that you do to connect with it.

You can’t help but to rely on something or someone, just even the tiniest advice or guidance, before you do that one first step on the path that you are thinking to choose. But it doesn't really work with more intimate, less material things, doesn't it? It only kind of kills the enthusiasm and lightness in your heart by putting so many dos and don’ts into your mind.

There is nothing wrong in looking out for it… In looking around you, discovering different ideas and ways others do it. But it does become more heavy and strict when instead of being inspired and experimenting in your own way with it, you are trying to follow each someone's step, just to be sure to not be disrespectful, ignorant, or just weird.

Interests that help your mind to grow or hobbies that allow your heart to express itself and unwind… Routines that give you stability or practices that give you confidence… They all change so much, depending on who is doing them. For someone they are natural and easy. For others they are so difficult to stick with no matter how much one tries. And yet you still feel uneasy, you still believe that the reason you can’t find that one right thing, create that one safe space for yourself… Is you and the mistakes that, you are so sure of, you make.

And what if it is true anyway? What if you really do manage in doing only one thing and not the other? What if only one half of someone’s truth sits right with you? It is your life. Your soul. And it is obvious that it won’t be so easy to follow the example of someone else when trying to take care of it.

You tried so many things, explored so many different ideas and believes. And while you see yourself being able to welcome them in your life only partially as your incapability or inadequacy… You shouldn't ignore so confidently all those little things and details that still did resonate with you, even if each one of them comes from different cultures or practices. Your soul is the fusion of all your lives, your experiences, thoughts and feelings in each one of them. And the way it feels more safe to look at this world, and respect and nourish the one within you… Can indeed be a puzzle of all the different things that you learned or saw, but that fit so well together when you are that one connecting point.

Don’t busy yourself with finding, choosing and sticking to only one thing or way to take care of yourself, only one set of rules, only one school of thoughts. Because even though it might be the only one for someone, their whole life and armor, their story or personality, it doesn't necessarily need to be yours too. It can be strong, stable and beautiful enough even if it is made from different materials. A spirituality and magic that is all yours. The one that connects you to so many different parts of this world and to those that live or that used to, leaving to us their example and story to learn from.

Just go for your own way. Keep on remaining open, so enthusiastic and curious. Keep on learning and trying new and different ways, discovering how many things there truly are in this world that can be helpful and good for your body, mind or heart. Keep on enjoying them, or contrary, learning what are those things that are not quite aligned with you. And create as you go this beautiful and unique puzzle of wholeness and wellbeing, of a truth and guidance that is just yours, while still being connected to all.

{ ♡ }

59 notes · View notes

venomous-ragno · 1 day ago

Note

A soulmate AU fic with Ghost/Soap/GN!Reader where their first word is tattooed on you. Also "What kinda name is Ghost and Soap? Sounds like a Men's 11 in 1 body wash together" or something along the lines (Don't feel pressured to write this! If you don't like the premise you can just ignore this ❤❤❤)

Hello dear! I now how old this request is, and I'm sure you've either forgotten about it or given up on it.

I'm sorry it took me so long, but I had a day ofd today and checked up on this blog; your soulmate request simply sparked smth and I had to write it. Soulmate au's are one of my favourites!

Tbf, I haven't written in a long while, so I'm a bit insecure about this one despite spending all day on it. Hope y'all like this one still :)

It was ridiculous. It was surreal. It was a body wash advertisement, come to life. And somehow, despite everything, it felt perfectly, undeniably right.

Back then it had sounded like a magic trick, something that belonged in a fairy tale. You'd spent hours trying to figure out who Ghost was. Maybe that one weird kid from school? Or a character in a book you hadn’t gotten to yet? You had no idea.

There had been a point in time where you would've killed to know this "Ghost". A character made up of theories, hopes and your boundless imagination - all of it so alien you lay awake at night, caught between fiction and reality. Warmth spread from that name. Oh, how it'd keep your mind running as your fingers brushed over those letters. Careful, like a porcelain vase, too precious to even touch.

It'd have you giggle and sigh at the type of person behind these rough, uneven edges. How long would it take for them to show themself to you? Perhaps you were naive to believe it'd be soon.

The years passed, and the mystery of Ghost remained.

The second word, "Soap," arrived when you had already given up on ever finding this Ghost, nestled just above your ankle. This time, you were about to board a flight to Mexico, announcements blasting left and right, people hurrying all over the place. You noticed it almost immediately. It was a different font and unlike the first name, rather cartoonish. You stared at it, a weird mix of excitement and utter bafflement swirling in your gut. The flight attendant called out your flight number, but your thoughts drowned it out; Ghost and Soap? You thought, what kinda names are those? Sounds like a Men’s 11 in 1 body wash together!

Your friends had found it hilarious, of course. They’d joked about meeting Mr. Ghastly-Clean and Mr. Sudsy-Lad, and promised to buy you a "Ghost and Soap" bath bomb for your birthday. You’d laughed along, but a strange feeling had started to settle in you, a yearning that you couldn't quite explain. That book you'd brought along to your eleven hour long flight lay long forgotten at the bottom of your carry-on.

You were no mere teen anymore. Now you were a journalist and war photographer, intent on finding your oen truth. The chaotic energy of a battlefield somehow soothed the constant itch of the two names etched on your skin. You'd met lots of people, exchanged thousands of words, but none had felt like they belonged with Ghost and Soap. For all your eloquence, nothing could put those feelings into words. Again those voices of loved ones telling you to let go, to search harder, to do this and that. What did they knew though? What did they expect to happen, miracles?

One particularly hectic night, you were in need of one such miracle. Your ever so feverent pursuit of the truth brought quite a bit of danger along; nothing you couldn't handle, picked up a few tricks on your travels here and there. Yet this... Was much too big for any of this. There was no article to be written and no photo to be taken when sirens wailed like banshees and grey smoke drove tears into your eyes.

The city was a symphony once. A vibrant, chaotic melody of honking cars, chattering crowds, and the rhythmic clang of street vendors. Now, it was a dissonant cacophony of explosions, the sharp crack of gunfire, and the terrified cries of the few souls still daring to breathe. You? You found yourself swallowed whole by this chaos, a lone note desperately trying to find its escape in the maelstrom.

A child cried, another salve of shots silenced the sound.

Silence was eerie. Silence was deadly.

Mouth dry and nose covered, you fought against the fear that tried to take over; the adrenaline, the stomping beats of your own heart. Too heavy and too sudden was the attack. The soldier that was assigned as your bodyguard just yesterday... You'd swallowed hard when he made you promise to save yourself.

Every little sound had you stop and check corners. A wheezing breeze? Scratching along cement? Some stray cats meow nearly caused you a heart attack.

Just gotta keep moving forward, you reminded yourself, just gotta-

Breathless coughs, two. Some low murmurs. Swearing if you'd heard right. One of the guerilla fighters?

As if moving in slow motion you peaked aroung the corner. Eyes checking every centimeter of a half lit allyway-

Your eyes met his.

Heaven and hell would laugh at you for dying like this. Covered in dirt and blood, lost in a war zone of your own fault. If only you'd listened to your mother telling you to stop being so goddamn curious.

He flinched slightly, then coughed, his voice raspy but with a hint of a playful lilt. “Well, hello there.”

That doesn't sound like someone trying to kill you.

"I see you. Why don't ye come out? Am wounded anyway, won't be able to kill ye even if I wanted to."

Your brain protested. This could be a tactic. Lure you out of hiding and into the light, makes it easier to kill you.

But you moved still.

"Come on closer, will ye?"

Eyes stayed fixated on yours like a trance.

His jaw tightened when you finally knelt beside him. Only now did you notice the blood seeping through his black shirt, streaming down a toned biceps like small rivers.

"You don't look like a guerilla fighter."

He chuckled. "Ye don't look like one to me either. Can't hurt be careful though." The blade in his hand reflected the moonlight.

You froze, your eyes snapping to his. His lips quirked into a small smile, but it faded slightly as he noticed your expression.

"Everything okay?" He asked, his voice a low murmur.

"Soap. You're Soap. The Soap."

Soap's eyes widened... As if he recognised you.

The cold metal pressed to the back of your skull, a chilling whisper against the warmth of your skin. The soldier’s breath, ragged and harsh, fanned the hairs at your nape. You could feel the tremor in his hand, the desperate tension that vibrated through him, yet beneath it all, a resolve as solid as the steel he wielded.

"Step away from my partner."

The words, simple enough, landed with the force of a physical blow. They weren't a plea, or a desperate yell. They were a command, delivered with an authority that sent a shiver down your spine. You had never heard this voice before, but instantly, it felt so right. Like the missing piece you hadn't even known you were searching for.

The chaos of the savaged city faded into the background. All that existed was the look in their eyes, the names on your skin, and that strange, overwhelming feeling of finally coming home. Even if your soulmates smelled of sweat and gunpowder rather than roses and honey.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty headcanons #cod mw2 imagine #call of duty x reader #gender neutral reader #cod ghost #cod soap #cod mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #call of duty soap #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soulmate au #request

57 notes · View notes

moobloom-mention · 15 hours ago

Text

Every Action Has Its Equal Opposite Reaction

Summary: MK can't say he's ecstatic after being kicked into the ground during a sparring match with Macaque. It isn't too bad, though, as Macaque rewards him with noodles with the only caveat being MK finds them bowls to enjoy their takeout within.

But as he scrounges through Macaque's kitchen, the only two bowls he's able to find more resemble failed art projects than bowls. One more smooth and refined, the other far more clumsily made but with small engraved peaches and a fingerprint on its side.

Huh, that's kind of cute.

Content Warning(s): N/A

Word Count: Too many words 2963

Shout-out to @blametheeditor for helping me with the intro's fight scene. Goddamn do I struggle with fight scenes.

----------

“Ready?”

MK grins. “Always-!”

He nearly isn’t able to dodge a shadow staff that whizzes past him in time, not having realized they were starting now. Like, right now. He hadn’t even seen Macaque move and yet the shadow had already thrown the battle in his own favor.

MK finds himself pinwheeling his arms in an attempt to remain balanced after his dodge, a desperate grasp for his own staff proving to be what keeps him from stumbling to the dojo’s hardwood floors.

His teeth grit.

Y’know, he would’ve thought that Macaque wouldn’t want to risk killing him during a training exercise of all things. And yet, nothing quite says “I want you dead” like forcing him into a vulnerable position whilst preparing another attack before he’s recovered from the first.

...wait a minute.

What little had been left of his confidence drains when he realizes why it’s likely a bad thing to see a shadow stretching out toward his feet. A shadow whose grin definitely doesn’t mean good things for MK. Nah, not in this sparring match.

MK uses his staff to propel himself away from the looming shadow, twisting his body so he could roll safely back into a practiced defense stance.

Not that he would ever brag or anything, but he avoids the possible incoming concussion flawlessly. Might he even say his defensive stance is something Macaque would’ve applauded him for if they weren’t mid-fight.

MK barely catches the subtle shine of another shadow before Macaque erupts from it, his shadow staff raised over the head before being brought down. In the back of his mind MK can see that while the impact is devastating, it takes an awkward amount of time for the move to be completed. In the front of his mind, he can only imagine how the crevice left in the earth could’ve been his head if he hadn’t leaped away in time.

Which, putting good news first, he isn’t knocked out! Bad news, his desperate attempt to save his own life had left his back to Macaque, meaning he’d more-so stumbled onto the ground in a flurry of limbs than truly laughed in the face of death.

Far too aware he wouldn’t be able to stand before another attack, he rolls onto his back, yelping when a staff smashes onto the ground inches from his face.

Heavens above, is he trying to kill MK or not? He thought they were cool!

As Macaque lifts the staff above his head for another swing, MK forces his feet firmly into the ground, waiting until he’s about to be struck before pushing with all his might. The force pushes him over the incoming hit, a summoning of his staff giving him enough leverage to land more gracefully behind Macaque.

When the next blow is delivered, MK’s own staff is there to meet the swing. Finally, some actual progress in pushing this match in his favor.

Step, step, block. Step, step, block. The occasional near loss of balance whenever Macaque feints a left swing before making a right one. The loss of space between his opponent before he regains it when he makes his own feint of attack but only to withdraw himself slightly.

It isn’t long before MK finds himself oddly confused amidst the controlled tempo of parried strikes.

If MK could compare his own strategies of combat to a demon’s, Macaque could lay claim for his to be akin to a celestial warrior’s.

They'd always looked refined and practiced.

It’s why MK can’t help the nagging doubt that sits tight in his stomach when he notes the countless openings Macaque’s stance leaves. The monkey is pushing far too heavily into his strikes, making for slower recoveries despite the fast-paced match.

It isn’t sloppy, but it isn’t the familiar polish of experience.

A well-timed block forces Macaque’s staff into the floorboards of the dojo and MK lunges at the sudden opening.

The faintest trace of disappointment registers in Macaque's expression before it hardens into something akin to disapproval.

Oh fuck.

Macaque’s staff reappears just in time to clash violently with MK’s own, the shadowed weapon’s surface wavering slightly. Dread tears through his skin; that waver isn’t from the power of his strike.

That's the crumble of resolve and patience.

He took an opening that wasn't meant to be taken.

Despite the sudden change in tempo, Macaque’s redirection of power is far smoother than his previous strikes and the shadow’s triumph drains what little was left of MK’s confidence.

Macaque’s lips twist into an ugly sneer and its familiarity in context strikes something primal at MK’s nerves. He’s done something wrong.

His thoughts drown beneath the mantra that his stance is perfect. There isn’t anything for Macaque to hold over his head in terms of leverage, to use to turn this fight in his favor. His legs are shoulder width even while ariel and- and he’s using that one strike Macaque taught him months ago what could be wrong-?

A tail made of obsidian fur wraps itself around his tail.

“Wait-!”

It’s too late. MK knows this game well.

The tail yanks him forward. Straight into the boot that carves its home within MK’s sternum just as his lungs shriek.

The sheer power behind the kick sends MK crashing into a beam, the wooden structure’s groan loud enough to smother his desperate wheezes for air.

Between the spinning of his gaze his thoughts filter in. “Stay alert but regain your breath,” a prior lesson sings. “You can’t fight and gasp for air.”

The shadows hiss with laughter and MK has to strain to hear Macaque above the pound of his own heartbeat.

"...break something...the whole place will come down with it.”

The original goal to recover peacefully slips through his fingers, rage a new fuel to feed into his fire. He stands if only to angrily gesture toward the beam. “You threw me into it!”

“You shouldn’t have gotten cocky.”

His eyes roll. Of course.

“Don’t hold back, MK.”

“You’re way too confident, MK.”

Okay, guy.

He’ll just go fight another city-destroying demon with his “too confident” strikes.

As if able to read his thoughts, Macaque’s arms cross. Disapproval writes its own story between furrowed brows. “Don’t give me that face,” the shadow chastises. “You got bold and got it handed to you. Sloppiness won’t fly on the battlefield.”

MK drops back to the floor with a huff of defeat. “Fine.”

Macaque’s mouth curls around another word but MK can’t help the way his mind focuses on just how close the shadow’s crouched beside him.

Suspiciously close.

Like close enough that he could grab the other’s ankle if he really wanted to.

“This’ll be a good stopping point,” the monkey hums and MK’s demand for violence rises slightly. “I’m getting hungry anyway.”

Oh-ho, in that case-

“I can grab us some noodles,” he chirps, using the staff as a pole to lean on in his scramble to stand.

“Hold on, kid-”

MK barely registers the familiar purple hue of Macaque’s clone before he collides with it. His attempt to catch himself does little to fix his accidentally slight. The clone looks disgruntled though its bag labeled “Pigsy’s Noodles” sits safe within its grasp.

He smiles weakly. “Sorry?”

The clone- whose grin looks a little too mocking this time around -thrusts the bag into his arms. It gives a short salute before a plume of smoke swallows it whole, leaving MK and Macaque to their own devices once again.

“Ordered ahead of time; figured it’d be easier,” Macaque shrugs. “Now c’mere, I’ve been craving this all week.”

Don’t need to tell me twice-

The bag rustles as MK lunges to his mentor’s side, his hand already amidst an attempt to grab whatever Macaque had ordered for him.

A loud hum interrupts MK’s interest, the bag falling into a shadow vortex before it reappears within Macaque’s grasp.

If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said Macaque looked a little too happy with himself.

“We’re gonna need some bowls. No offense, kid, but eating out of take-out-boxes is for slobs.”

MK’s eyes bulge, offense blatant in the way his shoulders tense. His clenched fist waves, faux rage on his mind. “It’s not slobbish! ‘Sides, Monkey King does it all the time-”

“My point exactly.”

MK swoons to his left, clutching at his heart. He knows Macaque and Monkey King don’t have the best of history but if he doesn’t defend his mentor, nobody will.

“Monkey king’s not a slob,” he protests. “He’s just…convenient?”

“Kid, you don’t become a hoarder without being at least a bit of a slob.”

…ok, fair enough, fair enough. Macaque’s got him there.

Declaring this a loss, MK stands to fetch the requested bowls. He doesn’t go silently, feet dragging loudly against the ground with each step.

“Cheer up!” Macaque calls, amused. “Moping isn’t gonna get you out of conditioning.”

Nah, he huffs. It never does.

Surprisingly, the dojo’s kitchen isn’t far from the main training room. It’s all the way down a hallway- one eerily lacking in the door department -where the space widens if barely to make room for a dark kitchen space.

Flipping the light on, MK blinks once before the kitchen’s dim light flickers to life.

Sheesh, Monkey King might be a hoarder but his kitchen has never looked half as disorganized as Macaque’s. Whether that’s because Monkey King doesn’t use utensils in the first place doesn’t matter in the long run.

Monkey King 1: Macaque 0.

MK’s careful as he navigates the small kitchen, minding his elbows as he begins to shuffle through the cabinets in search of bowls. Even just a step backwards is enough to press his back against the other countertop, a fact that sparks a fond memory of his own.

The one- and only -time MK tried to find apartments to move into, Pigsy had insisted on accompanying him. It never mattered what apartment they went to; Pigsy always complained about the same thing:

“The kitchen is just too small, kid. How are ya’ supposed to cook anything in this thing?”

And so, MK had feigned ignorance over the true motive for Pigsy’s gripe and agreed that the kitchen space was a deal-breaker.

After only a day of searching he proclaimed that finding the right place was in fact “too hard” and he’d just have to stay in the noodle shop for a bit longer.

He blinks, forcing his knuckle between his teeth.

Focus, MK, focus. Bowls, bowls, bowls- we need bowls!

In all honesty, he thought finding bowls would’ve been waaaay easier than it’s proving to be. Each cabinet he opens either produces a bunch of items MK declares cannot be cooking related or a couple of miscellaneous plates too shallow for broth.

At this point in his desperation, MK’s convinced that Macaque doesn’t own a single cup either.

The only evidence that the monkey owns bowls in the first place is the handful in the kitchen’s sink, some still sporting old broth.

At least, those and whatever on this green Earth was in the gap between the cabinet’s top and the kitchen ceiling.

A closer inspection declares that the dishes seem like bowls, stacked on top of one another and looking like someone had hastily shoved them into the farthest corner.

Oh yeah, this’ll work.

MK nearly trips over himself climbing onto the countertops, eager to dig into whatever Macaque had ordered for him. Even on the counter the bowls are still too far back to reach.

C’mon MK, you’ve got this. A little tippy-toe action never hurt anyone.

An annoyed Macaque might, though.

Much to his own relief, the two bowls are snagged with little to no struggle. He tries to keep his jump from the counter light; only the Heavens know how mad Macaque would be if he ended up breaking a floorboard by landing heavily on it.

He peers curiously at his findings; now that he really looks at them, they aren’t really bowls at all.

They’re more like poorly made clay clam shells, the indent itself shallow and its “lip” frilled in a way that wouldn’t be the best at sipping from. An attempt at pottery, MK concludes, but yeesh if its creator didn’t struggle with whatever image they were going for.

One is definitely more refined than the other, surface smooth as he skims his finger over it. Its depth is just barely deeper than its counterpart too.

The more disheveled one has bumps and bruises along its surface including a fingerprint and what MK is 50% sure is a peach engraved along its side.

…it’s kinda cute, like its creator had tried to make up for its other imperfections.

Still, MK glances back toward the pile of dirty bowls. They’d definitely be more ideal; one thorough scrub and they’d be good as new.

That is, if Macaque has dish soap. Pigsy usually kept his on the counter but MK can’t see any even as he rummages through the cabinet below the sink.

“Clock’s tickin’, kid! The food’s getting cold and we’ve still got conditioning to run through.”

Ah, screw it. The misshapen bowls are good enough.

With a quick rinse-off and a onceover, MK gives his own nod of approval before he darts back through the hallway.

“Brainy kid to rescue,” he declares. “I found a couple of, uh, well-”

Calling the lumpy things “bowls” wouldn’t quite be right. But then again, they definitely aren’t narrow enough to be failed incense plates.

“-old bowls!”

MK’s head lifts triumphantly, prepared for the resounding “-good job, kid/bud” © that both Macaque and Monkey King had gotten into the habit of offering.

But silence only greets him, MK cracking an eye open to make sure Macaque hadn’t abandoned him.

The shadow is right where MK remembers, almost eerily still. The only notable difference is the sudden roundness of Macaque’s eyes and the subtle childish spark of something that lurks there. If Mk didn’t know any better, he would’ve called it fear.

“Macaque-?”

“Where did you get those.”

Gone is the witty banter that’d once infected the dojo, replaced with something far more sobering. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed the drop in tone alone chilled the room.

Tension lines Macaque’s shoulders, lips slightly curled just enough to show the tips of his fangs. MK’s never been bitten and he definitely isn’t finding out now.

He falters, limbs heavy as he gestures vaguely toward the kitchen. “Uh, they were- the cabinets?”

MK nearly jumps as a vortex forms just above his hand, the pieces of pottery disappearing into the shadows. The portal closes and MK flexes his hand just to make sure it hadn’t taken a piece of him with it.

In a blink the tension in Macaque’s stance evaporates, movements once again fluid as he rustles through the bag until two tubs of broth and noodles are set down. He even grins as he produces two pairs of chopsticks.

“You gonna stand there all day?”

Is that an option?

The nervous laugh MK coughs up only earns him a raised eyebrow, and he’s quick to take it as a signal of being in the clear. Despite the suddenly calm atmosphere he’s still slow in his approach, sitting a little further than normal from Macaque.

MK shuffles his personal tub of broth and box of noodles closer to himself. It smells like Heaven, but that might just be how close MK actually is to death judging by the sheer fury radiating off Macaque.

MK’s not sure why he waits to begin eating; he half expects another vortex to appear and produce two different bowls. Ones that don’t cause fear and anger to whomever stares at them.

But the shadows stay silent and content.

“Eat up,” Macaque grunts, already busy dipping his clump of noodles into the separated broth.

“But I thought you said-”

“Kid.”

MK’s eyes snap to his tub of broth. He knows a warning when he hears one. If it were Monkey King he might’ve pressed it further, but Macaque’s limits are still new.

Pushing it too far could cause a fight that MK definitely isn’t prepared for. He might be good, but he’s still not Macaque good.

Who knows, the monkey could trap him in between two shadow portals and leave him “falling” for Heavens knows how long. MK’s shoulders shudder at the thought and he quickly grabs his own chopsticks.

Macaque offers no further conversation as they eat, silence a companion in itself with how loud it feels.

At least, silence and guilt.

MK’s eyebrows furrow at the sheer amount of guilt that fills him each time he swallows a bite of noodles. He hadn’t accidentally gotten himself between a failed art-project, had he?

…he had kind of implied that the bowls were terribly made. It would be as if Pigsy snooped in MK’s sketchbook and declared his drawings to look nothing like Monkey King.

If not for the chopsticks in his hand, MK would’ve slapped himself.

Good going, MK.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he murmurs. “You did really good with them.”

There’s a beat of silence as Macaque’s expression morphs. His eyebrows pinch, confusion replacing the lurking fragments of irritation.

“That’s sweet, kiddo,” Macaque mutters in a tone that says it isn’t. “But they really aren’t mine.”

Huh. As far as he knows Macaque doesn’t have…friends. Er, at least anyone MK would categorize as a friend.

“Holding onto them for someone else?”

Macaque’s tail flicks and MK finds himself tensing, prepared for an explosion of anger.

But the other only sighs, the final pieces of anger melting from Macaque’s tone until it can be molded into something akin to fondness.

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

#lego monkie kid #lmk fic #shadowpeach #lmk macaque #lmk mk #angst #angst with a happy ending #I definitely didn't complain until Blame agreed to help with the fight scene #But man did it kick my ass

30 notes · View notes

taradactyls · 2 days ago

Text

Elizabeth Overestimates her Ability to Tie a Cravat

Prompt for @janeuary-month 2005 Day 8: Cravat

Over the period of their engagement, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy take many long walks. During an unseasonably warm late October day, Mr Darcy loosens his cravat and removes his jacket. Elizabeth finds this a very educational experience. But when it comes time to put them back on, she cannot for the life of her figure out how to knot the cravat properly after insisting she do the honours.

“My dearest, and loveliest, Elizabeth,” he gently began. “You have no idea how to knot a cravat, do you?”

3,421 Words, Rated G, Elizabeth Bennet / Fitzwilliam Darcy

Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Love, Sickeningly in Love, Canon Compliant, I cannot express how absolutely besotted with each other these two are, The tension is palpable but it goes no further than g-rated touches banter and a few chaste kissies, Sweet, One shot

Read a snippet below the cut, and the entire work on Ao3

Elizabeth Overestimates her Ability to Tie a Cravat

For all her family’s joy at her engagement to Mr Darcy, escaping them at every opportunity was one of Elizabeth’s highest priorities. Thankfully, there were plenty of lanes about in which she may lose her way accompanied by her dear Mr Darcy. They had managed to flee Longbourn today by proposing another long walk, and though initially possessing the companionship of Jane and Mr Bingley the couples had collectively decided, without a word being spoken, to travel different paths.

The harvest was in, the landscape awash in colour, and the sun unseasonably hot. Elizabeth was delighted, and yet she looked at her intended with concern. After studying him a few moments, she asked “What is that furrowed brow for, Mr Darcy?”

“I feel I ought to be sitting with your father in the library,” said he, “but it has been two days since I have been alone with you for any length of time and so I must be selfish.”

“The correct choice, in my completely unbiased opinion,” Elizabeth smiled, nudging his arm lightly with her own to punctuate her point. He responded by capturing her hand, and raising it to give the back of it a kiss.

He did not release it once it was lowered.

Mr Darcy was too deep in thought to notice her blush. “I do not want to appear lax in my duty towards him, nor fail to prove that I deserve the honour of your hand.”

“Oh, you must not trouble your mind about that! The latter is already accomplished, and for the former – well, as sweet as your sentiment is, I assure you my father shall be very pleased to have a day free from respectful sons-in-law. After spending all yesterday with you and Mr Bingley hunting, followed by dinner with the Lucases, there is nothing he wants more than silence and solitude in his library.”

“So long as you are certain he shall not find my avoidance of his company for a whole day selfish.”

“He shall view it as a kindness to himself – and everyone else for that matter.”

“I fail to see how anyone else factors into it?”

Leaning into him with a smile, Elizabeth archly replied “It saves them all from having to endure my forlorn sighs as I stare longingly at you from across the room.”

Mr Darcy gave a short laugh as he looked at her in surprise, the rare sound and the amusement in his face ample reward for Elizabeth’s efforts. Her smile turned softer as she admired him and his own gaze did not stray from her.

For a fleeting moment she wondered if he might finally kiss her, for he had remained entirely proper so far over the fortnight of their engagement.

“Well then,” he said instead, “I shall take that as his tacit approval to wander about the countryside with you for at least another two hours. Even if it does grow hotter every moment.”

“Poor Mr Darcy! Pity there are no lakes here-abouts for you to jump into to cool down.”

Elizabeth was jesting, but within another half an hour it became clear that perhaps such an action would not be fully unwise. She had foregone a sleeved dress that morning but the gentleman was not so fortunate in his coat. “I know I claimed your presence outdoors for the next few hours, but I am afraid, dearest Elizabeth, that I near my limit for exercise in the present circumstances,” he said, tugging at his cravat to allow some air to slip within.

“You are looking a bit flushed – shall we turn back?”

“Not until after I have recovered somewhat. The lack of trees on our return path for the next mile shall only worsen my state.”

Elizabeth frowned at Mr Darcy in consternation. “You are not feeling dizzy, nor any worse symptoms, I hope?”

“No, just uncomfortably hot,” he reassured her. “A break to sit down in the shade shall quite restore me.” Yet despite professing himself mostly fine, he did not at all fight Elizabeth’s insistence on putting her arm around his waist, and draped his own about her shoulders. It was perhaps unnecessary, as he did not lean any of his weight on her, but the feeling of Elizabeth against him made him almost forget the heat for a moment.

Though there may not have been a lake to jump into (the small pond in a cow paddock featuring said animals wading through it to cool down was far too dirty to even contemplate) there was a copse atop a low hill not far from the road. Elizabeth led Mr Darcy to it, pleased to see it was free from grazing animals and other people, and open enough that sitting there with her betrothed could cause no scandal even if they were a little hidden from the road once they found the most sheltered spot. He took a few steps from her, and in some desperation, untied his cravat and ripped it from his neck, seeking the relief of cooler air.

Continue reading here

#husband managed to get the boys down for a nap somehow????? so I drew that banner with my computer mouse lol #so please be lenient about the banner quality #janeuary #janeuary 2025 #pride and prejudice #jane austen #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #mr darcy #elizabeth x darcy #darcy x elizabeth #one shot #writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own

31 notes · View notes

moon-buggg · 20 hours ago

Note

1 for the micro story!

don't go

You were... probably not doing the best of jobs hiding how sore your ankle was. But, you had refused to be carried, so for the sake of your ego you hobbled on, a not insignificant portion of your weight leaning on Moon as you two slowly but surely make your way through the winding back halls of the haunted house.

Moon is utterly silent, though you can feel the heavy weight of his unyielding stare as he no doubt searches for any trace of pain on your face. You're doing your best not to let him see any, but... it isn't exactly easy. The trek to the break room for ice is made twice as long by the slow pace Moon sets. He refuses to go any faster, not even acknowledging you when you try and hurry him up.

It's probably for the best. As much as you don't want to admit it, the sprain feels pretty bad.

You just hope Moon isn't feeling too guilty.

It wasn't his fault. But good luck trying to convince him that.

You hadn't been in your usual spot for his scene, the one where he grabs you and drags you out of the room. You couldn't have been. Not with how he knocked into you instead of grabbing you. Neither of the two animatronics had ever been off point like this before. You do not blame him.

It was an accident. One you've already forgiven, as you'd assured him many times over by now.

When you finally make it to the break room, you wave Moon away from helping you sit down and instead ask him to grab some ice from the fridge. He doesn't have to move much, the room is small, barely enough go contain his massive form. His long limbs make quick work of grabbing the ice and a ziploc to put it in with stilted, understated movements. Nothing at all like the Moon you know.

He hands you the bag, still as silent as he has been since he whispered a barely audible apology, and turns to leave.

"Hey, wait!" You say, dropping the ice in the process of reaching out for him. Moon jolts, his head nearly hitting the ceiling as he turns around to stare at you. You continue, "don't- don't go."

He doesn't move. The quiet hum of the fridge the only sound in the room. Your ankle aches.

You refuse to whither under his blank, smiling stare. After far too long, he finally responds. "...why?" He sounds genuinely confused, like he cannot possibly fathom you actually wanting him in the room.

"Because you're-" you hesitate for just a moment, easily written off as a stutter, "because you're my friend, Moon. Why would I want you to leave?" For as much as 'friend' feels woefully inaccurate, it's what you say.

He looks away from you at that, his faceplate shifting down towards the ground as he considers your words. Just when you're about to say something, he sags down into a low crouch. Making himself smaller in a room not built for his height.

"I hurt you," he says, like that was all the convincing you would need to realize your mistake and change your mind. You ignore the dull throbbing ache. The ice starts to melt on the break room floor.

"Moon, did you mean to hurt me?" You ask bluntly and get a nearly franktic shake of the head in return. "Then it was an accident. I'm not mad, my ankle will heal. It's ok."

He doesn't seem to believe you, remaining hunched over on the opposite side of the room from you. You sigh, glancing down at the ice you dropped. "Would you mind picking that up for me?" You ask, sounding more tired than you mean to.

It takes a minute, but slowly, hesitantly, Moon creeps towards you. You watch with a small smile that grows when he gingerly hands you the bag. You let your hand linger on his claws as you take it, offering soft 'thank you' as you do. His long arm snakes back away from you, but he seems a little less tense as you finally get the ice on your ankle.

#asks #dca fandom #dca au #haunted house au #moon x reader #dca x reader #my writing

40 notes · View notes

ikkyfics · 15 hours ago

Note

Count Vronsky and reader's first time? Maybe night after the wedding? Please feel free to not write this if it makes you uncomfortable 🫶🏻

First Night

Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

Summary: Even now, with a ring on your finger, you still had difficulty assimilating what had happened. As if it had all been nothing more than a feverish delirium. You were a married woman now, and as such, you should fulfill your duties.

Warnings: smut

A/N: Hi, darling - to be honest, I was excited to write this, so I really hope you enjoy it <333

Masterlist

Even now, with a ring on your finger, you still had difficulty assimilating what had happened. As if it had all been nothing more than a feverish delirium. You were a married woman now, and as such, you should fulfill your duties.

After you arrived at the house that would now be your home, Alexei had allowed you to have a moment alone. To prepare yourself. A maid had prepared a bath of hot water for you, where you remained submerged for as long as you could, as if that would be enough to rid you of your fears. Your hair was brushed and your skin perfumed, your body wrapped in a thin nightgown. You had never worn anything like this, never had you revealed so much of your skin.

The night before, your mother had spoken to you. She had held your hand and told you that there was no reason to fear, that the Count would treat you well.

“I imagine he has already kissed you,” she said, a small smile curving her lips as you nodded, your eyes fixed on the embroidery on your bed.

Alexei had kissed you before, more than once. And you had committed each one to memory. The way his mouth had moved against yours, filled with a hunger you didn’t understand. Then, when you were flushed and your lips were numb, he would pull away, his fingers gently framing your cheek, looking satisfied.

“And you liked it, didn’t you? Then I’m sure the other caresses won’t bother you. He will certainly be gentle and attentive.”

But now you regretted not having asked more questions. Anxiety knotted in your stomach. What should you expect from this night?

The knock on the door was soft, but it made your heart leap in your chest. You sat up straight in the chair in front of the mirror, your trembling fingers smoothing the fabric of the thin nightgown that felt too heavy for your skin. For a moment, the thought of asking him to wait crossed your mind, but the truth was that waiting would only prolong the torment of your own anxiety.

“Come in,” you managed to say, though your voice was barely audible.

Alexei entered the room, his heart pounding at the sight of his bride. He drank in the vision of your, clad in the sheer nightgown that clung to your curves and accentuated your skin. Your hair fell in glossy waves over your shoulders, and your eyes, though anxious, sparkled with a hint of anticipation. He felt a surge of love and desire, but also a profound tenderness and protectiveness.

He approached your slowly, his steps measured and respectful. Stopping a few feet away, he gazed at your, his blue eyes filled with adoration and a touch of nervousness. He cleared his throat softly before speaking in a low, gentle voice.

“My dear wife, you look... sublime. More beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I want to make this night perfect for you, my love. A night you'll never forget.”

Alexei extended his hand towards your, his fingers outstretched in invitation. His heart raced as he awaited your response, hoping you would trust in him, in them, in the love they shared. “Please, allow me to join you. Let us begin our new life together, as husband and wife, in every way possible.”

His words, the intensity in his voice, made your face flush. With trembling fingers, You reached out to touch his hand, feeling the heat emanating from his skin.

“Alexei,” You began, looking up into his beautiful eyes. “I want you to join me, but…”

You hesitated, lowering your eyes. Alexei had kissed you before, but this time was different. You didn’t even know what was about to happen. The mysteries of the wedding night had never been revealed to you. What if I ruined everything? Nerves knotted your stomach.

Alexei sensed your hesitation and nervousness, seeing the uncertainty in your downcast eyes and the way your fingers trembled against his palm. His heart ached with the desire to comfort and reassure your, to chase away your fears. He gently squeezed your hand, his thumb caressing your knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

In a soft, gentle voice, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke. “Shhh, my darling,” he murmured. “There's no need to be nervous or afraid. I know this is new and overwhelming for you, but I promise, I will be gentle. I want our first time to be a beautiful, loving experience for you.”

Alexei brought his other hand up to tenderly cup your cheek, tilting your face towards him until their eyes met once more. “We'll discover this together, step by step,” he assured your softly. “I'm here to guide and cherish you. Trust in me, and trust in the love we share.”

His blue eyes shone with sincerity and devotion as he gazed at your, awaiting your response. Alexei's heart raced with anticipation, but more than that, it raced with a desperate need to love and protect his new bride, to make this night as wonderful and unforgettable as you deserved.

His words were reassuring, though there was still a hint of nervousness lurking in the background. “I trust you, Alexei.” He was your husband, the man your trusted with your life.

You moved closer to him, feeling his warmth envelop your body, all too aware of the thin gown covering your body. Your face felt hot, but the words found their way past your lips. “Will you teach me?”

Alexei's heart swelled with love and tenderness at your soft, trusting words. He pulled your closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing your gently against his chest. He could feel the heat radiating from your body through the thin fabric of your nightgown, and it ignited a gentle warmth within him.

He gazed into your eyes, his own blue orbs filled with adoration and a deep, abiding love. “Of course, my darling,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “It would be my greatest honor and pleasure to teach you, to guide you, to love you in every way possible.”

Alexei leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered. “Tonight, I want to explore every inch of your beautiful body, to map out the curves and contours that belong only to you. I want to learn what brings you pleasure, what makes your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.”

He pulled back slightly, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of your lower lip. “We'll take our time, my love. I'll make sure that every touch, every kiss, every moment is filled with love and devotion.”

Alexei's eyes searched yours, a silent question in their depths. “Will you let me love you? Will you trust me to be your guide?”

“Y-yes,” you said breathlessly, feeling your knees weaken at the intensity of his words. It was almost too much to bear. “Please,” you began again, your fingers wrapping around his shirt, as if pulling him closer. You needed his warmth. “I want you to teach me,” you pressed your face against his hand, closing your eyes as shame swallowed you. “I want to be yours, Alexei.”

He pulled your flush against him, his strong arms enveloping your trembling form, holding your close as if you were the most precious treasure in the world. He could feel the desperate way your fingers clutched at his shirt, and it only served to fuel his own longing to cherish and possess your completely.

With a soft, loving groan, Alexei captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His mouth moved over yours with a gentle intensity, pouring all of his love and desire into the embrace. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, asking for your permission to explore the warmth within.

As he kissed your, his hands began to roam over your body, mapping out the tantalizing curves that the thin nightgown did little to conceal. He caressed the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips, the soft, supple skin of your thighs. His touch was reverent and worshipful, a silent testament to his devotion and desire.

Breaking the kiss, Alexei trailed his lips down the column of your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, and it spurred him on, urging him to claim your, to make your his in every way possible.

You felt intoxicated by his kisses, and a strange heat was building in your belly. No, below your belly. You had never felt anything like it.

In a low, husky voice, he murmured against your skin, “You are mine. Now and forever. And I am yours, my love, my heart, my soul.”

Alexei's hands slid down to the hem of your nightgown, his fingers toying with the delicate fabric. He awaited your silent permission, your eager consent to take this next step into their new life together as husband and wife.

You looked down, feeling your heart skip a beat when you saw him with his fingers in the fragile laces of your nightgown. But you weren’t going to back down. You nodded slightly, giving him permission to undo each lace. “I want you to show me.”

When the nightgown was loose on your shoulder, it wasn’t long before the fabric slid down your body, pooling around your feet. You fought the urge to curl up, to hide. There was nothing between your body and Alexei’s gaze.

Alexei’s breath caught in his throat as the nightgown slid away, revealing the breathtaking beauty of your naked form. His eyes drank in every inch of your skin, from the elegant curve of your neck to the soft swell of your breasts, the curve of your waist and the gentle flare of your hips. You were a vision of perfection, a goddess made flesh, and he felt unworthy of your divine presence.

Slowly, reverently, Alexei's hands skimmed over your newly exposed skin, his touch gentle and worshipful. He cupped the soft weight of your breasts, marveling at their delicate shape and the way they fit perfectly in his palms. His thumbs brushed over the sensitive peaks, feeling them tighten and harden beneath his touch.

“You are so beautiful, my love,” Alexei said in a reverent tone, raising his eyes to meet yours. He took a step toward you, pushing you back until the backs of your knees met the vanity. He lifted your body, settling you there, quickly settling himself between your legs. His fingers traced invisible lines on the sensitive skin of your thighs.

A gasp of surprise escaped your lips as he lifted you up. The cool mirror against your back contrasted with the heat of his body. Your hands gripped his chest, feeling like your heart was about to beat out of your chest. And he was between your legs, his hips pressed against yours, sending shivers down your spine.

You pressed your face against his neck, whimpering at the discomfort between your legs. “Kiss me, please, I need your kisses,” you begged, the words vibrating against his skin.

He could feel the evidence of your arousal pressing urgently against him, and it only fueled his own rapidly growing desire. With a low, possessive growl, Alexei captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his passion and hunger into the embrace. His tongue delved deep, stroking and caressing every inch of your mouth, tangling with yours in a sensual dance.

One hand slid up your back, tangling in your silky hair, while the other gripped your hip, pulling your flush against him. He ground his hips against yours, letting your feel the hard, thick length of his arousal through the fabric of his trousers.

Alexei trailed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pausing to nip and suck at the sensitive skin. He could feel your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his lips.

He licked and kissed his way down to your collarbone, leaving wet kisses down to your chest, feeling your tremble beneath his touch. His mouth enveloped your breast, his tongue teasing the hard peak, hearing your moan in response.

His hand cupped your other breast, massaging it gently. He bit the tip, pulling it between his teeth until he heard your whimper. Only then did he allow himself to continue, leaving more kisses down your belly.

Alexei settled back on the vanity stool, lifting his face to admire how needy you looked, a complete mess. His fingers reached the inside of your thigh, drawing lazy half circles before moving up a little higher. He groaned at the feel of how wet your pussy was. "Is this where you need me, my love?"

You felt your entire body flush at the feel of his touch, the way his eyes seemed to devour you.

"Y-yes," you replied weakly, spreading your legs further apart without even realizing it. "I need... I need-" You couldn't continue, you couldn't put into words what you wanted. Unable to contain yourself, your hips rolled, seeking more of his touch, any sensation that would fill the void between your legs.

He watched your hips undulate, seeking his touch, craving his possession. The needy, desperate sound of your voice only served to inflame his own desire.

With a low, guttural groan, Alexei's fingers found your slick, heated center. He stroked along your folds, feeling the evidence of your arousal coating his digits. He circled your sensitive clit, teasing and tormenting your until your hips bucked and writhed against his touch.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Alexei leaned in, replacing his fingers with his mouth. He lapped at your essence, his tongue delving deep to taste your, to savor the sweet ambrosia of your desire. He suckled and flicked and teased, driving your closer to the edge of ecstasy with every stroke of his tongue.

He could feel the heat of your core, the way your body trembled and quivered with need. He knew you was close, and he was determined to push your over the precipice, to help your find the release you so desperately craved.

He looked up at your, his eyes intense as he spoke against your slick flesh. “Let go, my love. Give yourself to me, to this moment. I want to feel you come undone. Trust in me. Let me love you, all of you.”

With that, Alexei redoubled his efforts, his tongue and lips and fingers working in tandem to drive your to the heights of ecstasy. He could feel your body tensing, your muscles tightening, and he knew you was on the cusp of something extraordinary.

Your fingers wrapped around the soft curls of his hair, moaning as you felt yourself coming undone. "Alexei," you repeated his name over and over.

Your eyes fixed on his face between your legs, on the way his hands held you open. Exposed.

"Alexei, I'm... I'm going to... God."

Your eyes closed as you felt that strand snap. Eliciting a louder moan from your, leaving your euphoric, in ecstasy. Completely lost in pleasure.

Alexei felt you body stiffen and then shudder as your climax washed over your. The sound of his name falling from your lips like a prayer, like a plea, only heightened his own desire.

He could feel the heat of your essence flooding his mouth as he worked your through your orgasm, his tongue gentling as he helped your ride out the waves of pleasure.

As your body went limp, Alexei gentled his touch, placing soft kisses on your sensitive flesh as he slowly withdrew. He looked up at your through hooded eyes, taking in the sight of your lost in the throes of ecstasy, your face flushed and your hair disheveled, a look of pure bliss on your face.

With a low, possessive growl, Alexei surged up her body, capturing your lips in a kiss. He could taste himself on your, the musky essence of your arousal mingling with the sweetness of your own mouth. It only fueled his desire, his need to be inside your.

He wrapped your legs around his waist, lifting your up onto the vanity so they could walk across the room together. Gently, he laid your down on the bed, pausing to remove his own clothes. It bobbed against his belly, hard and thick and ready.

He was quick to climb on top of your body, growling as he felt his cock poke at your pussy. He needed to control himself, you was still a virgin. Alexei needed to be careful.

You moaned, too sensitive to any touch from him. Your arms wrapped around him, enjoying the feeling of his skin against yours. The way he wrapped you around him. It was like you were on cloud nine.

Hesitantly, you lowered your hand, your fingers wrapping around him, feeling the weight and the way he pulsed. And the way Alexei moaned encouraged you to continue your exploratory touch. In shock, you realized that you wanted him inside you.

Alexei shuddered as you small hand wrapped around his throbbing length, your gentle touch sending jolts of pleasure through his body. He groaned into their kiss, his hips flexing instinctively as he thrust into your hand, seeking more of that exquisite sensation. The feel of your slender fingers exploring his thick, pulsing cock only served to inflame his desire.

Breaking the kiss, Alexei looked down at your with lust-darkened eyes, his voice a low, husky rasp. “You feel what you do to me, my love?” he murmured, his hips rolling slowly, his hard length sliding through your soft palm. “You feel how much I need you, how desperate I am to be inside you?”

Alexei's hand covered yours, guiding it to stroke him with more purpose, more pressure. He groaned at the feel of your slender fingers tightening around him, at the way your thumb brushed over the sensitive head of his cock. His other hand slid up your side, cupping the soft weight of your breast, his fingers plucking at the hardened peak.

Alexei's eyes searched yours, a silent question in their depths. “Are you ready for me, my love?” he asked softly, his voice rough with desire. “Ready to feel me inside you, filling you, loving you?” He nudged his cock head against your slick entrance, feeling your heat, your softness.

You reacted to his words, feeling your body shiver in anticipation.

Your eyes didn’t leave his, whimpering at the feel of his cock pressed against your slick slit.

“Yes," you sighed, "yes, please, Alexei,” you begged, the words slipping from your lips.

With a low, possessive growl, he captured your lips in a kiss, pouring all of his love and desire into the embrace. At the same time, he slowly, gently pushed forward, feeling your slick, tight heat enveloping the sensitive head of his cock.

He broke the kiss to gaze into your eyes, his own blue orbs blazing with passion and tenderness. “You feel so good, my love,” he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. “So tight, so perfect.” He pushed a little deeper, gritting his teeth at the exquisite sensation of your body yielding to his.

Alexei's hand slid down to your hip, gripping it gently as he slowly, carefully began to ease himself into your. He could feel every inch of your silky walls clenching around him, drawing him in deeper, welcoming him home. It took every ounce of his control not to surge forward, to bury himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

He captured your lips again, swallowing your soft gasps and whimpers as he slowly, steadily pushed forward until he felt a barrier. Alexei paused, his heart hammering in his chest. “This might hurt for a moment, my darling,” he murmured against your lips. “But I promise, it will only be for a moment. And then, my love, it will only bring us closer, bind us tighter.”

With a final, gentle push, Alexei broke through your maidenhead. He stilled, letting your adjust to the new sensation, the new feeling of fullness. He peppered your face with soft kisses, murmuring words of love and devotion against your skin.

Tears welled up in your eyes. He was too big, it was like you were being ripped apart.

Alexei's heart ached at the sight of you tears, the way your hips instinctively tried to pull away from the unfamiliar, almost painful sensation of his thick length stretching your untouched walls.

He gazed into your eyes, his own filled with love and understanding. “Shhh, my darling,” he murmured softly, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “I know it hurts, and I'm so sorry. But it will pass, I promise you.” He kissed your softly, tenderly, his lips moving over yours with a gentleness that belied the passion burning within him.

You gritted your teeth, allowing him to soothe you with his gentle kisses and sweet words, your fingers curling under his biceps, letting out some of what you were feeling. It still hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable. “Can you…” You began, your voice small, searching his gaze.

At your hesitant question, Alexei's heart swelled with love and devotion. “Yes, my love,” he said softly, his voice low and intimate. “I can go slow, as slow as you need me to. We'll take this at your pace, and I'll make sure you feel nothing but pleasure.” He nuzzled your neck, pressing soft kisses to your racing pulse. “Just tell me what you need. I'm here for you, always.”

Alexei's hands slid down to cup your rear, gently kneading the soft flesh as he slowly, carefully began to move within your, his strokes shallow and deliberate.You felt your heart warm at his words, the way he prioritized you. It helped make the pain more bearable. And you trusted him, God, you really did trust him.

A moan of pain escaped your lips when he moved. And then you moaned for an entirely different reason.

You felt something tighten inside you, making you want more. Need more."A-Alexei, I-" You began, your voice cracking as he hit a part of you that made you shiver. You fell back into the pillow, whimpering, "M-more, I need... oh," you moaned again as he hit that same spot.

The way you arched into him, your back bowing off the bed, your nails digging into his biceps, spurred him on. He could feel the tight, velvet heat of your sheath clenching around him, drawing him in deeper with every thrust.

He groaned softly as you pleaded for more, her voice breaking on a moan that sent shivers down his spine. Determined to give your the pleasure you craved, Alexei began to thrust with more purpose, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm that had him hitting that sensitive spot inside your with each drive forward.

Alexei leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as he loved your with his body. His hand slid between their sweat-slicked bodies to find your pearl, his fingers circling and stroking the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his pistoning length. Knowing you was close, Alexei doubled his efforts, his voice a low, urgent rasp against your lips. “That's it, my love,” he encouraged your, his breath hot and ragged. “Let go. I want to feel you come undone around me, want to hear you scream my name as you find your pleasure.”

He could tell you was on the very precipice of a shattering climax, and he was determined to help your fly over that edge into pure, unadulterated bliss.

His fingers circled your sensitive pearl with more urgency, stroking and rubbing the swollen nub as he drove into your, his hips setting a relentless pace. Alexei could feel his own release swiftly approaching, but he was focused solely on you, on bringing your to a peak of ecstasy before he allowed himself to let go.

He captured your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste your, to feel yourr respond to his passion. His other hand slid up to cup your breast, his fingers plucking and rolling the hardened peak, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.Alexei broke the kiss to blazing into your eyes, his voice a low, commanding growl.

“Come for me,” he rasped, his voice rough with desire. “Give yourself to me, now and forever.”

With a final, powerful thrust, Alexei drove deep into your welcoming heat, his length pulsing and throbbing as he felt your walls clamp down around him like a vice. He threw his head back, a guttural groan of pure male satisfaction tearing from his throat as he found his own release, his seed spurting forth to mark your, to claim your as his own.

Your walls clamping down around him like a velvet vise as you found your own shattering climax. The sound of his name falling from your lips in a scream of pure ecstasy was the most erotic, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. It spurred him on, urging him to drive into your with a newfound urgency, to prolong your pleasure and push your to new heights.

He could feel your body going limp beneath him, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Alexei gentled his touch, his hands sliding over your sweat-slicked skin with a tenderness that belied the passion still burning within him. He pressed soft kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders, murmuring words of love and devotion against your skin.

Slowly, carefully, Alexei rolled to the side, taking you with him so you was draped over his chest. He tucked your head under his chin, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, possessive hold. His fingers stroked over your hair, through your sweat-dampened curls, as he let your catch your breath.

Alexei's heart swelled with a love so profound, so all-encompassing, that it took his breath away. Making love to you had been a revelation, a confirmation of the deep, abiding bond between them. He knew, without a doubt, that he would spend the rest of his life loving your, cherishing your, and protecting your.He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his voice a low, reverent murmur.

“That was incredible, my love,” he said softly, his heart full to bursting with emotion. “You were incredible. I love you so much. Today, tomorrow, and for all the days to come. You are mine, and I am yours, now and forever.” Alexei's arms tightened around your, holding your close as he savored the feel of your soft, warm body against his. In that moment, he knew he was the happiest, the most contented man alive.

53 notes · View notes

speaknow-sw · 21 hours ago

Text

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : pure fluff, alternative ending.

A/N : some people requested it so I typed this in like 20min just for you. Hope it’ll bring you more happiness💕💀. @rayaskoalaland , @anakinca Here’s for youuuuu.

꧁ Alternative Ending ꧂

The house stood on a quiet hill, surrounded by wildflowers swaying in the breeze. The sun bathed the valley in golden light, casting shadows of children playing outside. Laughter rang out—pure, unrestrained joy. The Skywalker home was filled with life, with love, and with the echoes of a family that had found peace.

Anakin Skywalker stood at the edge of the yard, his arms crossed over his chest, watching his children run about. His dark hair was flecked with silver now, but his eyes remained as sharp and warm as ever. He smiled softly as his daughters took turns chasing each other, wooden swords in hand.

"You're too slow, James !" the eldest, Eleanor, teased her younger brother. At ten years old, Eleanor was already a force to be reckoned with—fierce, bold, and with a mind as sharp as her father’s. Her wild curls bounced as she spun, holding her wooden sword with surprising grace.

James, just three, stomped his foot in frustration. "I’m not slow! I’m strong!" he declared, puffing out his chest in defiance.

Anakin chuckled, stepping forward to kneel before his son. "And you’ll be stronger still, my little warrior. But strength comes with patience. Watch your sisters, learn from them." He ruffled Alaric’s dark hair. "And then show them what you’ve got."

James grinned, brandishing his tiny sword with determination.

Nearby, you watched with a soft smile, a basket of freshly picked herbs on your hip. You had always known Anakin would be a wonderful father, but seeing him now—with your children surrounding him, his laughter mingling with theirs—it filled you with an indescribable warmth.

Anakin turned to you, his eyes softening. "Come join us, my rose," he said, holding out his hand.

You placed the basket down and walked toward him, letting him pull you into his arms. His embrace was still as comforting and strong as it had been all those years ago. "They’re growing up so fast," you murmured.

"They are," Anakin agreed. "But I’m not ready to let them go just yet."

"Then don’t," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Later that evening, the children gathered around the fire as Anakin carved a small wooden sword for James. Each child had their own custom sword or toy, all carved by their father’s hands.

"Tell us a story, Papa!" begged your second daughter, Roselyn, her green eyes wide with excitement.

Anakin smirked, setting down the carving. "What story would you like to hear?"

"The one about how you met Mama!"

The children gasped in delight as Anakin began to tell the tale—how he had fallen for the princess who painted in secret, how he had crossed borders and battled armies for her. He embellished parts, of course, to make it more thrilling for the little ones, but the heart of the story was true.

"And in the end," he finished, pulling you close, "I vowed to protect her with my life. And I have never broken that vow."

Your youngest daughter, Lyanna, climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Mama says you carved cribs for us when we were babies. Is that true?"

Anakin chuckled. "Of course. I carved a crib for each of you."

"And you sang to us?" asked your eldest, Eleanor.

Anakin nodded, his voice softening. "I sang to each of you, every night. And I’ll keep singing, for as long as you want to hear it."

One day, as you sat by the window, painting the wildflowers blooming outside, you heard the familiar sound of your children’s laughter. You looked out to see Anakin with all five of them, teaching Eleanor how to perfect her sword grip while Alaric clung to his leg, refusing to be left out.

"You’ll make a fine knight one day, James," Anakin told him. "But remember—strength is in the heart, not just the sword."

"And me?" Eleanor asked, grinning.

Anakin smiled proudly. "You’ll make a knight no king will dare cross. But more importantly, you’ll be kind. And that’s the strongest thing of all."

You stepped outside, watching as Anakin gathered all the children in his arms, spinning them around as they squealed with delight.

"Papa!" they cried. "Again!"

And Anakin laughed—a sound so full of life, it echoed through the hills, a melody of love, of peace, of everything he had fought so hard to protect.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the family sat together by the fire, wrapped in blankets, listening to Anakin’s stories once more. You rested your head on his shoulder, your heart full.

This was your legacy—a home filled with laughter, love, and life. Anakin’s vow had held true. He had never let anyone take you from him. And in the quiet moments, as your children drifted to sleep, he whispered promises of forever.

"I love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair.

"And I love you," you replied.

And in that moment, you both knew—there was no greater victory than that.

The court was bustling with activity. Nobles from across the land had gathered for the spring festival—a time of celebration and peace. Musicians played lively tunes, the scent of roses filled the great hall, and children ran freely through the corridors, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Anakin stood near the throne, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His gaze flickered from the crowd to his children, scattered across the room. His eldest daughters, Eleanor and Roselyn, were holding court with a group of noblewomen, their heads held high, their smiles radiant. Even at ten and nine years old, they commanded attention like queens.

"They grow more like you every day," you whispered, slipping your arm through his.

Anakin chuckled, shaking his head. "Gods help us all, then. They’ll take my rank before they’re twenty."

You laughed, squeezing his arm. "And you wouldn’t mind one bit."

His expression softened as he looked at you. "Not if it means they’re safe and happy."

Across the hall, your third daughter, Elara, was trying (and failing) to teach her five-year-old sister, Lyanna, how to curtsy. Lyanna, ever defiant, crossed her arms. "Papa never makes me curtsy!"

Anakin grinned. "She’s not wrong."

You shot him a playful glare. "You’re spoiling her."

"Of course I am," he said proudly. "It’s my duty."

The festival continued, and as dusk fell, the little family gathered in the gardens for a more intimate celebration. Eleanor, ever the responsible one, helped set up the table while Roselyn chased fireflies with Lyanna. Elara sat on the grass, weaving a crown of daisies for her little brother, Alaric, who giggled as he tried to sit still.

"Papa!" Lyanna called, running up to Anakin with a wildflower bouquet. "I picked these for you!"

Anakin knelt, accepting the flowers with a dramatic flourish. "For me? Why, I must be the luckiest man in the kingdom."

Lyanna beamed. "You are!"

He scooped her up, twirling her around as she squealed in delight. "And you, my little lioness, are the fiercest in the land."

Elara tugged on his sleeve. "Papa, can I ride with you tomorrow when you go to the village?"

Anakin knelt to her level. "You want to come with me?"

She nodded eagerly. "I want to see the world!"

Anakin smiled softly, brushing a stray curl from her face. "The world can be dangerous, my tiny rose."

"But you’ll protect me," she said confidently.

He sighed, kissing her forehead. "Always."

The next day, court was in session. Anakin sat at the head of the hall, his children by his side. Eleanor sat straight-backed beside him, her eyes sharp and observant. Roselyn twirled a strand of her hair, bored with the proceedings, while Elara whispered stories to Lyanna to keep her entertained. Alaric sat on Anakin’s lap, his small hands gripping his father’s sword hilt.

"Papa," James whispered, "why do we have to be here?"

"Because one day, you’ll need to know how to lead," Anakin said gently.

"But I don’t want to be a general," James pouted.

Anakin chuckled. "Good. That means you’ll be a wise one."

As the court proceedings droned on, Anakin’s focus remained on his family. When a nobleman dared to suggest that his daughters were unfit to learn the art of swordsmanship, Anakin’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

"My daughters will wield swords if they wish," Anakin said, his voice like steel. "They’ll wield power. They’ll be warriors. And they’ll have no need of any man to defend them."

Eleanor smirked. "I’ll be the best swordswoman in the land."

"And I’ll be better than you," Roselyn teased.

"You wish!" Eleanor shot back.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, pride swelling in his chest as he watched his daughters. They were his legacy—not titles or lands, but fierce, intelligent, unstoppable girls who would shape the future.

As night fell, Anakin made his rounds through the castle, tucking each of his children into bed. He knelt by Eleanor’s bedside, brushing her hair back.

"Papa," she murmured sleepily, "will you tell me a story?"

He smiled. "Of course. What would you like to hear?"

"Tell me about Mama."

Anakin’s heart softened. "Your mother is the bravest woman I’ve ever known. She saved me in every way a man can be saved."

Eleanor smiled, her eyes fluttering closed. "I want to be like her."

"You already are, my rose."

In the next room, Roselyn and Elara were already asleep, their arms tangled around each other. Anakin kissed each of their foreheads, murmuring words of love before moving on.

In Lyanna’s room, he found her sitting up, clutching a wooden sword.

"Papa, can you teach me a new move tomorrow?" she asked.

Anakin chuckled. "Of course. But only if you promise to sleep now."

"Promise," Lyanna whispered, settling back into bed.

Finally, he reached James’ room. The little boy was already half-asleep, clutching the wooden lion Anakin had sewn for him.

"Papa," James mumbled, "will you always be here?"

Anakin knelt beside him, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. "Always."

As he left the room, you joined him in the hallway. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"They’ll be great leaders one day," you whispered.

"They already are," Anakin said softly. "And I’ll make sure they always know how much they’re loved."

Later, as you both sat by the fire, Anakin pulled out one of the wooden cribs he had carved.

"Are you making another one?" you teased.

He laughed. "No. But I thought it might be nice to keep them. A reminder of when they were small."

You leaned against him, your hand resting over his. "They’ll always be our babies."

"And you’ll always be my rose," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "And after all… we could make a sixth one." He grinned playfully.

The flames crackled, the warmth of the fire matching the warmth in your hearts. Outside, the stars shone brightly over the quiet castle—a symbol of the love, peace, and joy that now filled your lives.

The story of the poet and the rose had not ended in tragedy, but in love—eternal, unbreakable, and true.

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x reader #anakin x obi wan #evie writes

27 notes · View notes

stoutguts · 3 days ago

Text

FIRST REAL POST OF 2025, HELLOOOOO

Originally posted as a thread on my NSFW Twitter—MINORS DNI!!! 🔞, KINDA KINKY GHOAP INCOMING, GHOST IN LINGERIE, ENJOY

Probably the smuttiest thing I've written thus far—

“Ah’m back..”, Soap announces just as he enters Simon’s private quarters for the night.

He had just finished up an abrupt mission, having come up earlier that morning all of the sudden. Only having just returned by late evening, he was exhausted to say the least.

Though, by the looks of it, it seems he won’t be getting any sleep tonight—

“W—Wh-Welcome back…”, Ghost greets, blushing profusely. His heterochromatic eyes are half-lidded as he speaks, his cute blonde lashes fluttering, with pupils blown wide with desire.

Licking their plush, scarred lips to wet them.

Though, the first thing Johnny notices is what it’s wearing—A full set of women’s lingerie.

All-white lace, complete with a bra and garter belt even.

The bra has lace trim, accentuating the curves of his chest and upper back. His pecs are deliciously bulging just the right amount out of it. Their pierced, hard nipples can clearly be seen. One of the lace-y straps of the bra is hanging off it’s shoulder…

The garter belt has straps hanging down on both the front and back. Clasps in place, serving to keep a pair of beautifully fitted semi-sheer thigh highs up. They have a petaled trim, and a rose-like floral pattern. His excellently built calves and thighs, are a sight to behold, especially with the muscle rippling through the soft stockings…

They’re even wearing fucking panties.

The cherry on top is the small bow that rests at the top of em’, just below the waistband. The trim highlighting the creases where it’s thighs and abdomen meet delightfully.

But most of all, Soap can tell that he’s soaked down there. The darkened parts of their underwear, are a little see through…Their cock is seemingly half-hard already, and just oh-so slightly straining against the thin material…

There’s a pillow between its thighs, Soap’s pillow, with a wet spot. He must have been rutting against it prior to him coming home…

What he would’ve given to have seen that.

Perhaps calling out his name, as they rock their hips down into the mattress…..

His own cock twitches at the sight and the thought of it all.

But, Johnny can’t help but just fucking ogle.

He’s frozen like that for a minute,—really just trying to process what he’s seeing. Taking in the beauty of it all. His eyes locked on it, staring into Simon’s soul.

“D-do ya not like it—“, Ghost nervously starts, but is almost immediately cut off.

“Of course I fockin’ like it. I think I might like it a little too much..Bloody Jesus, Simon…”, Soap corrects, now beet-red. Closing his eyes as he quickly averts his gaze. Though it isn’t long before his eyes are open again, gaze flickering between undoing his belt and the straps of his vest, and hungrily looking up at him.

He hurriedly strips off all of his remaining tac gear, shoes and socks, before rushing over to them. Left in only his boxers and dog tags, by the time he’s finished disrobing.

The moment he climbs into bed, he’s pulled into a deep and passionate kiss.

Their tongues being practically down each other’s esophaguses, spit dribbling out the corners of their mouths. Teeth clacking against one another.

“I—I wanted to surprise y-ya…”, Simon says breathily, as Johnny kisses it’s neck, and drags his tongue along the scar that wraps around it’s throat.

“Well, ye sure as hell accomplished tha’…Thought I was loosing mae mind, when I first saw ye.", Soap answers as he roughly pushes Ghost down, and pins his arms to the bed. Simon merely chuckling in response, wrapping his legs around his waist. While, Johnny continues to press kisses into their skin and tongue at the scars on their face.

“Y-ya—your lips feel so good b-baby, like butterfly wings…Your always so ge-gentle with me..”, Ghost pants heavily, as Soap only briefly releases his grip on it’s arms. Pushing up his bra and begins to worship and mouth at his tits. Ghost arching its back in response.

"I have to be...After all, yer one delicate thing aren't ye? So pure and innocent..”, Johnny says, Simon shuddering at his words. Their face practically glowing it’s so flushed.

“But what’s this?”, Soap points out, deciding to be a little mean. He releases one of it’s arms to grope Ghost’s swollen cock through it's panties, and squeezes it hard.

“Hn!—J-Johnny-ny—!“, he cries out in response to finally being touched.

“What an impatient little slut ye are…Ye wanted mae so badly,—were so gagging for it,—ye almost couldn’t wait for mae to come home, hm? Missed mae that much huh, doll?”, Johnny teases. Simon can merely whimper in response.

He tuts. “Poor thang,—so needy…Don’t worry love, I’ll take care of ye..”, Soap says, reassuringly, before he leans down to kiss Ghost again.

Simon desperate to get their mouth back on his. This kiss even sloppier and wetter then the first. Johnny brings his hands from it’s cock and left arm (which was still pinned to the bed) respectively, to it’s chest, to pinch and toy with it’s nipples. Tugging on the rings. Ghost bringing his hands up to grip onto Soap’s back.

Simon pathetically keens, muffled against Johnny’s lips. Their hips bucking up for some kind of friction, but they find none.

Soap finally breaks the kiss to bring his mouth over a nipple, rolling it between his teeth. Ghost lets out a high-pitched moan, and arches again off the bed a bit, pressing its chest further into Johnny’s mouth and hands.

Once Soap finds that his partner’s chest had been sufficiently marked, he slides his hands down Simon’s body until he finds his cock again. Kissing and tonguing his way down their stomach, thighs, and long legs. All the while, Ghost is writhing.

Johnny then pulls Simon’s panties to the side with his teeth, finally allowing its big, useless cock to spring free of its prison. Red and angry with arousal, steadily leaking pre-cum. Letting the underwear snap against his crotch, with Ghost hissing at the pain. Gasping at his hot breath tickling. Soap’s large, strong hands keeping their legs spread apart and thighs pinned down.

Johnny just takes a moment to breathe in the clean musk clinging to the soft, fuzzy golden hair of its pubes.

Bastard even took a shower, and suddenly Soap feels he's ill-prepared for this, having come home all sweaty and nasty from a mission just earlier.

Though he soons forgets about it, as he looks up at Simon, who's now looking down at him. Want, clear as day on his face. Panting and breathing open-mouthed in anticipation.

This look of desperation and yearning on their face is something he could get used to. Though he decides that they’ve waited long enough.

“Such a good boy for me, Si..”, Soap praises, nuzzling the base of its dick. Kissing and licking, before expertly taking Ghost’s entire length down his throat.

“Fuuuuuckkk~”, Simon keens, as moist heat envelops him.

Johnny sets a steady pace, bobbing up and down. Working him to full hardness quickly. Taking them so well, all the way from the tip to the base, pressing his face into their belly. Not so much as a sliver of teeth.

Pulling all of his favorite tricks, and stuff that Soap knows will drive Ghost insane. Toying with and dragging his tongue along the heavy vein on the underside,—toying with and sliding his tongue underneath the foreskin (of which is uncut).—Kissing and swirling his tongue around the head.—Tonguing at and digging into the slit at the tip,—and flicking and messing with it’s Jacob’s ladder.

"Nn-hah—J-Johnny…!”, Simon practically shouts, sweating, shaking, and drooling. With tears slipping from corners of his eyes,—tapping down onto the pillow beneath his head. “I…I—“

That’s when Johnny pulls off them immediately.

Ghost whining, like they’re fucking dying, at the loss and the cool air hitting their cock.

“Gonna cum sweetheart? Not yet doll, want ye to cum from either fingers or mae cock. Whichever comes first. An impatient little slut like ye..only gets to cum when I say so…”, Soap practically growls, lifting up and planting his hand next to it’s head to whisper that in it’s ear.

“Please…..”, Simon pathetically begs, repeating the same “please” over and over again, though his pleading for mercy falls on deaf ears. Clutching even harder onto Johnny’s waist and back with his arms and legs.

Soap does his best to lean over Ghost, and the side of the bed, to tug open the drawer of his nightstand. Snatching up the bottle of lube inside, before closing the drawer again. He quickly drizzles the lube over his fingers and rubs it in-between them, warming it. All the while, him and Simon are locked into a deep and passionate kiss.

Johnny then finds Ghost's arse, tugging one of their cheeks to the side before lathering up their hole in lube. Slowly rubbing and kneading the tense ring of muscle with his fingers, in an attempt to loosen them up a little. Simon is whining pathetically, only interrupted by it begging almost incoherently. Toes curling and uncurling in anticipation.

Soap feels like he's about to fucking explode, so he wastes no time in fingering it properly. Probing and pressing at his entrance, pumping his fingers in and out to get him used to the feeling, and stretching him out as best he can. All the while, Ghost is euphoric with pleasure.

"Hn-ahhh—nghhh~!”, a litany of different noises escape Simon’s mouth as they’re nearing climax.

“Ye close beautiful? Cum for mae baby, wanna see ya cum…”, Johnny says at a full growl this time, at the same time he finally finds his partner’s sweet spot. His voice having deepened with an even deeper arousal.

“Fuckkkkk~Johnnyyy~fuckkk~!” Ghost practically shouts as their balls drawl up in an intense orgasm. Having came untouched. It’s seed splashing onto its belly and tits.

Some of the milky strands spilling onto its bra and garter belt, staining it an off-white.

Johnny couldn't suppress a long, drawn-out groan at the sight. He would swear he almost came right then and there.

After Soap quickly rips off his boxers, discarding them on the floor, exposing his own swollen hard-on.—And with the both of them as desperate and needy as ever,—they get right on the main event.

"Ye ready doll?”, Johnny asks, panting hard, craving his own release.

“Y-yes, yes, puh-please, f-fuh—fuck, Johnny…”, Ghost replies shakily, practically brain dead, with nothing but animalistic instinct taking over.

With that, Soap begins to slowly press in, warm, wet, and tight heat slowly enveloping him. Meanwhile, Simon’s gripping onto him like a vice with his arms and legs wrapped around him like an octopus. His face buried in his shoulder, shaking like a leaf, and moaning and panting loudly despite being somewhat muffled.

Once their bodies are pressed flush against one another, Johnny immediately sets a brutal pace. Pounding into them like there’s no tomorrow. Rocking their body upwards slightly on each powerful thrust.

Rough is just the way Simon likes it. And oh boy, Ghost is fucking ruined now. It can’t even form sentences anymore, it’s completely incoherent. Completely fucked out, the pure pleasure settling over its mind like a fog. Eyes all glazed over.

Arguably Soap is just as ruined,—he can’t even hold back his own noises anymore.

It doesn’t take long before the pair are cumming harder then they ever have before. Simon practically screaming Johnny’s name as he soils himself once more. While Johnny didn’t even have the mind to pull out, cumming deep inside Ghost, and it felt like he would never stop cumming.

—

After a shower where the two helped to clean each other up, (and perhaps a bit of making out in-between shampoo and conditioner), the two conk out for the night. Alongside cuddling with entangled limbs, and with soft blankets and pillows pretty much swaddling them, they drift off to an incredibly restful and peaceful, (though short), night’s sleep.

Sorry for so many NSFW posts lately 😔 (I FEEL LIKE I’VE POSTED SO MUCH NSFW LATELY I SWEAR 😭), I promise the next post will be something wholesome.

35 notes · View notes