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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

Consequences | Two

Word Count: 6.2k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, oral (m receiving), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex

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Hedi had noticed her praying more often, with soft tears in her eyes.

But no matter how much Hedi asked her what was wrong, the little maidservant would shake her head and insist that she was merely homesick having sent a few copper coins to her siblings.

In the room she shared with her fellow maidservant, Alanna, who luckily worked quite the opposite shift to her, she would sit on the stool before the pale of water, scrubbing at her skin to wash herself. Trying to rid her mind of the experience altogether. The taste of his spend on her tongue. The uncomfortable prod of his cock at the back of her throat. The way his voice sent a jolt of both fear and a thrill through her. It made her question everything about herself. That perhaps she didn’t know herself as well as she thought. And it was this fact that disturbed her the most.

That she was beginning to lose touch of herself.

She’d not said a word to anyone. And when she attended to him in the mornings as she usually did, she tried to make herself as small as possible, hoping that if she hugged her arms around herself tight enough, she might actually begin to disappear. Prince Aemond had almost pretended as if nothing had happened, with his usual one word answers, faint hums and lack of presence in his chambers.

The little maidservant wondered if she had done something to irk him, or if he had not enjoyed the experience and wished not to repeat it. Secretly, she hoped so. Hoped that he would lose interest and slowly slip into the old habits, ignoring her completely. Then she could go about her life, picking and cleaning up the royal Prince’s mess, and hers into the bargain as well. She thought that royals such as him do not think about the messes they make.

In that way they are like children.

She wondered if anyone, in Prince Aemond’s life, had ever told him no.

It was doubtful.

Perhaps that was why he felt entitled to torment her in the way he had. Perhaps it was the effect of privilege in the pursuit of pleasure.

It was a morning like any other and she dressed in silence, careful not to wake her fellow colleague whom she shared a bed with. Alanna was a night owl, through and through, but it did not mean she was not exhausted after performing her night shift duties and when she had come back in the early hours, it was like a prod for the other little maidservant to wake for her morning duties.

Who she saw in the looking glass looked very much like her, but didn’t feel like her.

The weather was pleasant enough, warm with a cool breeze as she carried Prince Aemond’s breakfast tray, a heavy bubble in her gut at the thought of seeing him again.

She’d turned at the call of her name. The young boy who served alongside the staff rushed up to her carrying a scroll.

“What is it?”

“Message from your family, miss” the boy’s voice broke as he spoke, he could not have been older than three and ten and still had that nervous wide look about him.

The little maidservant swallowed nervously and gestured for him to read it. She recognised him as the son of one of the staff, almost born for the role of being a hasty little messenger, and thus he was taught to read. Perhaps a benefit of his sex and his environment.

The letter read:

Your pestilent brother and sister are well, but their stomach’s are never full and the boy in particular has almost completely cleaned out the pantry. I will, for the love I had for your mother and father, continue to look after them, however I must request three additional copper coins per week to fund their insatiable appetite. Otherwise I shall be forced to send the little beggars on their way to earn their own coin, the young girl is certainly old enough.

The maidservant delivered a large sigh, an uncomfortable weight that was already on her shoulders was becoming heavier the more the boy read on.

“Thank you” she nodded to dismiss the young boy, only allowing herself to breathe a shuddered breath once she was alone. She told herself to not panic, to not cry and that everything would be alright in the end. But there was a small piece of her inside that allowed herself to be a child again, wanting the comfort of a mother and father. She wondered how she would be able to come up with 3 additional copper coins a week and still be able to feed and clothe herself.

Steadying her breath to keep herself from becoming emotional, she knocked twice and was allowed to enter when she once again heard the muffled tone of his voice.

Tray on the nightstand. Draw the curtains. Tie them back. She kept going over what she was going to do in her head, eyes downcast the entire time, not wanting to look at him.

And yet in her peripheral she saw him rise from his bed as she tied the curtains back

Her heart lurched into her chest when she saw his arms hook underneath hers to lean against the windowsill in front of her, and then when his bare chest had nudged against her back. She felt as if she could not make a sound and so she didn’t even acknowledge it at first, screwing her eyes shut to draw in a shaky breath. Aemond had smirked behind her, knowing what her reaction would be and his finger once again came to the little curl at the side of her head that perpetually made itself free of her braids.

“My little maidservant is shy today” he said lowly, pressing his form tighter against her back, thinking about how if he bucked his hips just a little, his hard arousal would prod against her dress-clad backside.

He looked down as she purposefully did not look back at him. He watched the way her lips were slightly parted, as if so afraid that she had to breathe through her mouth, albeit quietly. He chuckled at the effect he seemed to have on his little maidservant, smoothing his finger over her hair, then her neck, which he can tell made her shudder slightly.

“Tell me, sweet girl, do you still taste it…” he whispers in the shell of her ear, looking down he can see the shadow of her skin beneath her dress, but it becomes too dark to truly see anything. He allowed himself to wonder what her bare form would look like.

Would she have small, well-rounded breasts, easily fit into his palms. How he thought he'd grip them so tight he wouldn't let go, intent on making her at least whimper at the pleasurable pain.

Would she have a smooth curve to her hips, the line leading down to her cunny, to where he imagined that little patch of hair would welcome him.

Would she have supple thighs, ones he could leave bruises and marks all over. Perhaps even a bit of blood. The thought of smearing blood over her skin thrilled him more than he thought.

He remembers how she'd told him she'd not been with a man. Would she bleed so nicely for him, once he'd taken her maidenhead, be good and muffle her little whimpers of discomfort into the pillow. Or rather, he wondered if he'd quite like to hear them, while curling his fingers around her throat and squeezing tightly.

It was getting harder to breathe for Aemond. And unbeknownst to him, it was increasingly so for her as well. Frozen in absolute fear.

“...do you still feel my cock in your throat, hm?”

Yes, she thought, with a shameful twist of her stomach. She could still feel his hands holding her face, forcing her to take him as deep as he wanted, still feel every thrust of his hips against her, his fist tightening in her hair, tugging.

He released one of his hands on the windowsill to rest on her waist, making her inhale sharply. He’d not touched her intimately, only solicited the use of her mouth on him that one time. Aemond felt the movement of her ribs beneath her dress with her breathing, as if he’s just realised she was a living, breathing person before him.

“Have you touched yourself, sweet girl” he asks.

She managed to gather all the courage she has inside her and cleared her throat, “I…am not sure what you mean, your grace”

Fucking cock tease, Aemond thought. But she had really not known at all what he’d meant. Of course she had touched herself, to bathe herself, to brush her hair?

“I mean…” he starts, his large hands moving to gather her skirts in his fist. And this time she did shudder when the air hit her legs, skin that outside the boundaries of her own bedroom, should never be seen, “...have you touched your little cunt for pleasure”

She clenches her fists when his palm runs up the side of her thigh. It’s so wrong. So, so wrong for him to touch her like this.

Aemond breathes hot against her neck at the feeling of her soft skin. Just like how he'd imagined it. The curve of her hip, so feminine and squeezable in his hand. He thought of the way he would grab at them to fuck her, for leverage, using her body the way he sees fit. And now that he'd done so with her mouth, he thought of the rest of her little holes and how they would squeeze him too.

“Bought yourself to peak with your fingers…”

She could cry. She thought she’d lost his interest. Thought she might be free of it. Calm down, is all she kept trying to tell herself. She counted in her head, trying to ground herself.

He squeezes her hip tightly when she doesn’t respond, “Answer me now, or I will not be so nice”

“A few times” she admits, voice thick with tears, “a few times, your grace…”

But never to peak, she thought, embarrassed.

She spoke like she may have been in trouble for it and dreaded what he might do now that she’s given her answer.

“Hm” she chuckles, giving the skin of her hip one firm squeeze, one that is so tight in his palm it almost makes her whimper in pain. He lets her skirts fall as he moves away from her, looking much pleased with himself, smirking like he knows a secret.

“Go now” he orders, still with that gravelly authority but ever so slightly softer, now that he'd been thinking of her cunt. But the softer tone does nothing to calm her and if it were possible, she guards herself even more, keeping her eyes to the ground. She doesn’t even look back when he says, “I shall see you tonight, sweet girl”

She did not want to know what that meant, if it meant anything at all.

Aemond watched as she left, scared completely out of her senses.

Good, he thought. He loved that terror-stricken look in her eyes, the sharp taking in of breath when she was trying not to cry in his presence. He’d remembered wiping her tears away when he’d fucked her mouth so ruthlessly in search of his own pleasure, the way the slickness of it had smeared across her face. Aemond found that he wanted to know what she tasted like, every single bit of her. She would be so sweet…his virtuous little maidservant. He had to make sure she was entirely his, so that she knew nothing else but him.

Young women like her are so helpless in the hands of amorous men.

Whatever words were said to them, whatever touch and manipulation on their bodies seemed like love to them, the poor, silly little things.

He would make sure that whatever words, whatever touch inflicted to his little maidservant would be sweet, delightful torture.

All the while she was dismissed until the evening, she busied herself with such menial tasks such as helping the others with the laundry for the day. It was nice to get outside, free from the suffocating confines of the Keep, even if it was just for a moment. The hallways now served to remind her of him, dreading the moment she would be walking down them and he would round the corner, with that predatory gaze he always gave her.

It was a calm day, so she revelled in the lovely breeze for a moment, allowing herself to be happy.

There was some relief in the idle chatter of the other maidservants, as she scrubbed the white bed linen against the washboard, her sleeves turned up to prevent from getting wet.

“I hear the Princess Rhaenyra very well may be returning to King’s Landing soon”

Freiya was a little younger than the others and as such, had a wandering imagination, a large mouth and a bit appetite for gossip. So it was no wonder she’d already managed to receive the latest even if it was barely early afternoon.

The other, who went by Mari, also probably short for something but she would never tell anyone, rolled her eyes at the younger woman. Mari was one and twenty, but her mind was mature beyond her years.

“You must not believe everything you hear, your ears will fall off one day, you little tyrant”

Freiya pulled an offended frown, “No! I heard such news right from the source, while I was attending to the Queen. She said herself that the Princess will return to contest some…birthright or something like that”

The little maidservant raised her head and gave Mari an amused look, “You should not be listening to them while you attend to them”

“You get away with it if you pretend you’re not listening at all” Freiya snaps back with a mischievous smirk, “the Queen is understandably not thrilled with their arrival”

Mari huffed a laugh, “Neither are the Princes”

“Why is that?” she asks with a confused lilt of her head,

Despite being younger, Freiya talks over Mari when she’s about to open her mouth. Such a carefree little thing, it made her laugh. She cared not about such hierarchies.

“Supposedly they are here for the little Prince Lucerys’ ‘right’ to Driftmark”

Mari wrinkles her nose in distaste, “Prince Lucerys? The…”

“Exactly” Freiya responds,

“What on earth are you two talking about?” she asks, completely lost.

Mari sighs, “Prince Lucerys is the one who took Prince Aemond’s eye all those years ago, both merely children” she explains, folding the damp cloth in her arms, “the Queen was so distressed for her son, she barely allowed him from her sight”

For a very split second, something akin to sympathy washes over the little maidservant. But then underneath that is another feeling still. Something questioning.

“When are they to arrive?”

“Allegedly, within a few days” Freiya responds excitedly, ecstatic to receive some drama in her no doubt monotonous maidservant life.

For a man who had been so wronged in his past, with such a traumatic past, to turn into the person he was today. Someone who could be cruel, taking the little power she had in her own life into his own, greedy for more. She had done nothing to him but merely exist and attend to him, as was her job. And she wracked her brain about it. What had she done to incite such cruelty in him, if anything at all? What harm could she do to him in her position, that he had not done to her a million times over.

With her heart weighing heavy in her chest, after scrubbing the living daylights out of the linen, she carried the dirty water back with Freiya, chatting idly. She was good company, she had to admit, even if she was obsessed with the inner workings of the royal’s lives. As melancholic as the little maidservant felt, she let out perhaps her first genuine laugh when Freiya ‘accidentally’ bumped some of the water over the front of her dress. She’d given the young girl a friendly swat and told the little tyrant to scarper.

If what Freiya and Mari had said was true, there was a possibility that his typical Targaryen temper could possibly become worse. Perhaps irreparably so.

She waited in his chambers until it was impossibly dark. Later than usual, Aemond eventually returned, in a much more sour mood than this morning.

She’d knelt in front of the fire, placing more wood on it to heat the room in the cold that had captured it now that the sun had gone down. Was this how it was to be now? In the morning, he was one person, not burdened by the mood of others and his own not dependent on what had happened during the day. And at night, after the weight of his day had weighed heavy on his tired soul, his desire for release, of any kind, was insatiable.

“Your grace” she greeted with a bowed head, her soft, fearful voice barely carried above the crackling of the flames. Quite the opposite of the other night, while he was still angry, he let the door shut softly behind him. She just stared at his legs as they made their way towards her, and a flash of her pushing against his legs, in an attempt to push him away from her zips through her head. He was so much larger than her, she thought. It would take no effort on his side at all to subdue her.

She notices how he stands before her, fists clenched white.

“My little maidservant does not meet my eye today” he says with a hint of irritation to his tone, “Why”

She swallows nervously, trying desperately to regain her breath “Apologies, your grace.Just some problems at home that are of no matter”

When he remains still and quiet, she worries for a moment that she’s overshared, spoken too much and that depending on what mood he’s in, she might have set him off.

“What problems” he asks, and despite him asking, she gets the impression from his tone of voice that he is completely and utterly unbothered about the reason and just wants to hear her speak. She looks up to meet his eye and immediately wishes she hadn’t. His gaze is cold, uncaring, dark, like she is an annoyance.

“My…siblings, your grace. I am required to send them more coin, to pay for their support…” she replies nervously, insistent that she has shared too much information and that he very much does not care. She sees this, because his cold expression does not change.

His eyes roam her face, seeing the discomfort there at her situation. But he cannot find it within himself to care. All he cares to remember is how her smooth hip felt that very morning, how hard he had squeezed it, how he had dreamt for his fingernails to create little indents in her soft skin.

“You do not smile in my presence” he says simply.

At this, her lips part in shock. What did he mean? And also, what reason would she have to smile in his presence while attending to him?

“Pardon me, your grace?” she says in a quiet voice, immediately sucking in air as he steps closer to her. Her feet didn’t move from their spot.

“With the other maidservants, you smile so widely and yet in my presence…” he hums, his finger reaching out to twirl the little piece of hair at the side of her face once more, as if obsessed with it, “...I believe you fear me, sweet girl”

She could say nothing but try and keep her breath steady. He was right, he frightened her. But what woman would not be frightened at the way he leered at her, kept her in his sights firm and unyielding.

Only a woman who would want it, she thought.

“But no matter,” he says, his hand trailing to her the buttons of her dress at the top of her chest. Undoing the first…then the second…”I will have your fear if I can have nothing else” he smirks only slightly.

Her brain was all over the place. He said it with such conviction. Uncaring if she had wanted any of it or not. She could feel her stomach bubbling in her gut, feeling as if she might either cry or vomit. Aemond could not help but smirk at her efforts to keep herself calm, and failing miserably. His hand barely floated over her chest, over her clothed nipple and she’d flinched only slightly, with a slight inhale of her sweet, hot breath.

He had seen how she had smiled with her fellow maidservant, the way her dimples had shown on the upper apples of her cheeks, the pink that coloured them when she laughed. He had seen the way the little cock tease had water splashed down her front, turning her dress completely dark and sodden. Aemond would not be able to rid his mind of the image of her hardened nipples beneath the fabric for days, weeks, months to come.

“Sit” he gestured to the end of the large bed, while Aemond stalked to the fireplace for a moment.

She gathered her skirts in her shaking hands and sat herself down, closing her eyes to catch her breath, feeling as if the walls were closing in, and that the air was becoming difficult to breathe.

When Aemond turned around, his eyepatch had been discarded and he was shucking off his leather doublet, with the cream undershirt the only thing beneath it. He walked with such purpose towards her, until his tall, broad form was completely staring and looming over hers. His sapphire eye caught the light of the fire and at this moment, he looked almost possessed.

“I do not want your hair up when you are in my chambers”

There was a beat of silence, timed by the beating of her heart.

“Well?”

The intensity of his voice seemed to wake her from the impregnable fear for just a moment, and her shaking hands reached up for her hair again, quicker about her movements than she had been the previous time he’d aske-no, demanded for her to do so. It was wrong firstly to have her hair loose in his presence, but if anyone

“Look at me”

With her hair now falling in their waves down her back, she barely has time to look up before his large hand flies to her jaw, fingers squeezing painfully at her cheekbones, almost bruisingly. He pulls at her face slightly upwards and towards him. Aemond revells in the shocked and doe-eyed expression on her face and the way her skin blossoms pink under his firm, hard touch. His lips are drawn into a tight line, as if getting angrier by the second, and in his grasp he felt her tremble.

“Did you enjoy my cock in your throat” he says, his thumb drawing across her bottom lip, only slightly dipping inside into the warm embrace of her little mouth. He can see that she’s too shocked to say anything, her pupils shaking.

“Did you enjoy swallowing my spend…” he goes on, his thumb pressing against the wet muscle of her tongue, emphasising where his spend had been before he had demanded her to swallow it.

If he dipped beneath her skirts, would she bet as wet as her mouth? Accepting his digit so willingly.

“I think you did, sweet girl”

Did I?

He collects the wetness of her mouth on his thumb, still grasping her face tightly. When she briefly looked down, she saw how hard he was beneath his breeches and the memory of how he had felt in her mouth, heavy and hot. As well as how he’d tasted. At this she feels her gut tighten.

He pulls his thumb out her mouth, again, smearing the wetness over her lips and then her face as he grips her tightly once more.

“Do you like this job, sweet girl” he asked and her heart froze in fear.

“Yes, your grace” she whispered back,

“Then you will do as I say if you wish to keep it”

He quite forcefully pushes her back, making her support her torso on her elbows, looking over to the bed with parted lips when Aemond kneels on the floor, his eye forever on her face as he rucks up her skirts. It’s here she realises what he may intend to do and goes to shut her legs tight against each other.

“Are you going to be a good little maidservant and be quiet?”

She nods, voice failing her. Not that she would trust it to be steady at the moment.

If it were possible, his mood flattened completely. Aemond growls and hooks both his hands under her thighs and pulls her closer to him, his fingers digging into her bare, soft skin.

“Your grace, I-” she starts. Aemond glares right at her, forcefully parting her thighs and painfully squeezing the meat of her legs, emitting a whimper from her.

“What did I fucking say about being quiet” he snarls, hooking his fingers into her smallclothes and ripping them down her legs. She would shut her legs tightly if Aemond were not so strongly holding them apart, and she feels her heart going fast when she feels his hot breath on the juncture of her thigh. His tongue runs over the line there, inhaling deeply the heady scent of her sex, which he has no doubt is seeping with arousal.

“Stay still while I taste you, sweet…sweet girl”

He dips between her thighs and sees her bare cunny before him. It was just as he’d imagined it, the luscious hair framing it just for him was waiting there, his thumb ran over her lips, parting them to brush his thumb over her clit. She was wet. So wet. Her slick aided his movements and when he’d brushed over her swollen bundle of nerves, she’d released a shuddered breath, tensing up somewhat. Aemond was tempted to reprimand her, but now faced with her perfect cunt right before him, ready for his taking, he cannot find it within himself to care.

He dives in, flattening his tongue against her sex and he feels her body jolt beneath his hold, fingers curling into her hips.

“Mm…” he hums. She tasted so sweet for him, the intoxicating taste of her arousal flooded his tongue, waking his nerves and something deep, dark and ancient within. His eye opened somewhat to look up at her, being so good and quiet for him and he smirked against her cunt, quickening his motions when he saw that she’d laid back, keeping her hand over her mouth to obey him. Aemond watched as her chest and body writhed with each movement of his wet muscle against her clit, her other hand fisted the bedsheets and he could faintly hear her whimpering behind her hand.

Aemond pushed her legs further apart, granting his tongue access to her wet and waiting entrance, he dipped inside, using it to fuck her repeatedly. The only sound in his otherwise quiet chambers was slapping of his mouth against her cunt, lapping up her juices with a new vigour. He thought, the longer he continued, the more addicted he would become to it. He wanted to have this sweet cunt for all his meals; it gave him life and sustenance.

But it wasn’t enough.

His little maidservant was not letting go of herself enough. He could not bring her to peak like this.

He wanted her climax on his tongue, like she had his.

Aemond moves his tongue out of her, running up slowly to her bundle of nerves and sucks eagerly, giving her a new, deeper sensation in her gut that makes her hips buck against his face against her will. A new sound floods out her mouth against her hand that has Aemond’s ears perked up and his lips turn up into a smirk. He briefly breaks his contact with her to pull her hand from her face, pinning it by her wrist to the bed harshly.

“I want to hear you when I make you peak”

Her eyes are shut tightly, but Aemond doesn’t wait for an answer and goes right back in, licking and sucking her clit, one hand forever at her thigh to keep her open for him. He can feel her body trembling beneath him and the little sounds of her breath as she tries to keep it under control, and now that her hand is not muffling her sounds, he drinks in the various whimpers and tiny, tiny moans with renewed purpose.

She lets out halfway between a choked whimper and moan when Aemond mercilessly thrusts one finger into her, he moans against her sex at the tightness of her, and how she would feel when she was finally wrapped around his cock. How she’d squeeze him as he used her body for himself and milk him for his spend when her cunt convulsed with the force of her climax.

Aemond moved his head side to side against her sex, licking every bit of her he could as her moans had become louder. Stray tears ran down her face at the foreign feeling. It was strange and slightly unpleasant, as she’d never put anything inside her before. But his finger crooked up inside her slightly, rubbing against somewhere she never knew existed and it gave her the urge to move her hips, searching for something.

Uncaring if she was ready, Aemond hastened all his movements and inserted a second, stretching her little cunny with his long, thick digits. He thought she would need to be prepared, for when he would eventually have his cock inside of her.

It would hurt. It would be painful.

And it was this that excited him the most.

As he fucked her with his fingers, focussing his tongue on her clit quickly, he noted the way her body began to spasm in his grip. She was close, just that bit more.

He loved it when her pink lips parted to give him a quiet moan. It was like praise. And when he concentrated the pads of his fingers against that rough spot within her, her back began to move off the bed, her breath coming in hurried pants. Her tears joined the rest, sliding down her face at the absurdity of the feeling she was having. What was this? Was this pleasure? What everyone else sought so much? It didn’t feel entirely pleasurable, she thought. But there was something deep, dark about the way it was being drawn from her that set shame heavy in her.

“Come on, sweet girl…” Aemond murmurs against her, “come on”

He keeps his mouth on her the entire time, body wracked with painful pleasure. So much so that even her voice doesn’t manage to form coherently and her mouth is slack open, frozen in place as the warmth floods her body against her will.

“That’s it…” he coos, all while his tongue earnestly laps up every single bit of her climax from her, drinking it down like the air he breathes. Aemond can’t help but smile, now that he’s tasted her, seen what she looks like when she comes apart. He can’t not have her and fully intends to have her little cunny at his disposal. One hand dips beneath his breeches, to pump himself, feeling that he did not need much friction to climax himself.

Her body slumps against the mattress, limbs now entirely limp and feeling both warm and empty at the same time. She eventually cracks her eyes open when Aemond delivers one more warm, stripe upwards, collecting what little is left of her. She looks up to the ceiling, to the canopy and realises her vision is fogged with tears and her hand comes up to wipe at them, now being able to feel the wetness of them against her cheeks.

Aemond had travelled up her body, still furiously stroking his cock, aching for completion.

“Do not let it go to waste” he ordered, holding his manhood close to her mouth as he fisted it furiously, fingers once again running through her hair to grip harshly as he pulled at the back of her head.

Without warning, he shoves his cock into her mouth, prodding the back of her throat and moaning loudly when she splutters around it, having not been prepared. She could smell his musky scent, now even more amplified from his efforts on her previously and it completely flooded her senses. Not a second later, was the familiar flood of his spend into her mouth as he softly thrusted into her, wanting to prolong his friction.

He took one long breath and pulled his cock from her mouth. But her eyes were firmly shut, whimpering as she swallowed the thick, bitter substance. Again.

She had a strange thought. That there may have been more spend than food in her belly. And it rattled her beyond comprehension.

Why am I crying, she thought, having not felt them even come. Her body felt strange, like she was on the outside looking in at herself and she wondered how pathetic she must look. She wondered how other people would look at her if they saw what trouble she’d gotten herself into. What other people thought…

…it frightened her.

Regaining her strength, she finally sits up, looking around bleary-eyed to see Aemond, on the other side of the room, already seated in his armchair with a cup of wine in one hand, watching the flames of the fire in front of him. She could see from this angle that his lips and the skin around it was glistening and his other hand was at his lips, smearing whatever wetness was there more over them. She wondered how long she had been laid there.

In the soft light of the fire, he almost looked handsome. She thought that he, Aemond Targaryen, would be remembered as a skilled swordsman, rider of the largest dragon in the world, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. History books would record him for centuries to come, on his skills, his wit, his fearsome victories.

And she…

…She who had been owned first by her father. And now owed her life to servitude under him. She had always been owned and perhaps always would be. Any husband would own her as well as her money and her children, doomed by the determination of her sex to perform the duties of them for the rest of her life.

History would not remember her. It would scarcely even know she existed in the first place. Even her own name would not even be remembered by those she worked alongside, she feared. Those she called her friends.

Forgotten. Replaceable.

Gathering her breath and wiping her face, she’s unable to control the soft pants of her weak cries and pulls her dress back over herself. Aemond turns, but does not look at her straight on.

“Leave” he orders flatly.

She would be shocked, if it hadn’t already happened before. So she took shakily to her feet, feeling entirely degraded and empty within, despite the hum of pleasure still present inside. He didn’t say anything else as she struggled out of the door, her hair still loose around her shoulders.

It was only when she was in the lit safety of the hallway that she finally allows herself to comprehend what happened and a few more fat tears make their way down her face and her neck.

Am I his maidservant, or his whore.

Maidservant.

Whore.

The way back to the staff quarters was long and wracked with quiet sobs.

She’d brushed Hedi’s shoulder as she walked past and Hedi had looked wide-eyed at her, as if only just recognising her with her hair down. Hedi’s face immediately fell into a sombre, sorrowful one,

“Child, what is wrong?” she says, cupping her face in both her hands and looking over her for any sign of injury. She simply shook her head and hastily wiped her cheeks til they were red,

“I am just tired, please Hedi I-”

Hedi pressed a hand to her forehead, acting very much like a mother, despite the age gap being small between them, but she found no fever there and she was only very warm from all her crying.

“Why is your hair down, child?” she asks hesitantly, her eyes darting about her face in search of a clue. Hedi had noticed. Her loose hair, her two undone buttons, the shake of her hands.

“Please, I just need sleep” she insisted unconvincingly, tearing herself from Hedi’s grasp to wander through the halls to her own quarters, intent on scrubbing herself raw once again with the brush. Desperately trying to erase any memory of touch.

Hedi had watched her disappear, the other few maidservants followed with their looks, cementing their thoughts in their sour expression.

“Whore”

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, DM me if you wanna be removed besties

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onyourowndaisymae · 2 years ago

Text

obey me characters hands hcs (demon brothers, dateables, + side characters)

college has whooped my ass but your girl has officially graduated with two degrees!! finally!! hopefully i will be able to get out more writing soon. i think i am also going to tweak my request rules in the coming days to make writing easier on myself and my schedule, so expect that soon. anyways enjoy these random headcanons that came to mind one night out of nowhere

content warnings: none

Lucifer

lucifer is usually wearing gloves, so you rarely get to see or feel his hands. so when you do, it's a treat.

his hands are cold, but not unbearably so. they perpetually feel like he's been out in the cold just a few minutes too long. when he touches your bare skin, it makes you jump-- but keep them close for a few minutes and you'll chase the cold away completely.

his hands are soft. probably not super surprising considering he's always wearing gloves, but it's still pleasant.

he's got big ass, strong hands. they may be soft, but that doesn't mean they're weak. lucifer is the type of person that could open a jar for you with such ease that he'd almost look disappointed in your weak little human arms. if he's in a good mood, he might tease you about it.

he's pretty pale, so you can see the color of his veins under his skin. he's also got just a few prominent veins-- nothing excessive, but just enough to hit that sweet spot between too much and not enough.

his nails are always pristine. he's the avatar of pride. do you think he'd willingly walk around with chipped nail polish? if something somehow happens, they will be redone by the next day, almost like they'd never chipped in the first place. either he'll call asmo over to fix them, or fix them himself, depending on how much time he has.

Mammon

mammon has pleasantly warm hands. sometimes they get a little sweaty, but it's not much of a problem honestly. he's like a nice little heating pack on a winter day. because his hands are warm, though, yours usually feel cold to him... and he will complain. it's mammon.

his hands are also pretty soft. gotta look nice, y'know? i can see him keeping lotion (and chapstick-- not relevant here but it's worth a mention regardless) on his person pretty often. this came about bc he got tired of the lotion he borrowed from asmo smelling all perfume-y getting him odd looks.

this man is always wearing at least one ring and you cannot convince me otherwise. i can see him wearing a lot of matching gold ring sets. they just look like they belong on him, y'know?

i think he's got a few subtle veins across his hands. he knows that people like that, so i think he's pretty proud of his hands. he even takes care to avoid chipping or otherwise messing up his nails so the whole look will stay cohesive.

Leviathan

oh you know this man's hands are clammy as fuck. sorry bud. facts are facts.

he's blessed with very pretty hands. his nails just grow in a pretty shape (and asmo makes sure to keep them that way), his fingers are slender and proportional, his hands are a normal size, and his skin stays pretty moisturized, even in harsh weather. he doesn't have to try. which is good, because we all know he wouldn't.

i think levi actually hates the feeling of rings and hand jewelry. he'd fidget with it too much and eventually become so aware of it that he'd need to take it off before he goes crazy. if he gets married and wears a traditional wedding ring, it would have to fit perfectly and be very comfortable for him to eventually get used to it.

levi picks at the pads of his fingers a lot when he's anxious, but he's not super prone to scaring there, so it isn't super noticeable. he'll go through bursts of trying to break this habit where he covers his poor hands in vaseline, but nothing even quite breaks him of it.

Satan

satan has hands crafted by god specifically to play piano and look nice holding books. look at him. there's no way he'd have ugly hands. they're soft and pretty, but i think he has to put more effort than expected into maintaining them.

he's another one that i think would be anti-ring for much of the same reason as levi. i think it would just feel odd on his fingers and he'd get irritated by their presence. he's okay wearing bracelets though.

his hands, slender and pretty as they remain, are also quite strong. he's the avatar of wrath, after all. he's probably the second or third best to go to when you need a tough jar opened.

his nails and cuticles always look presentable, but i think he finds grooming them unpleasant. he lets asmo do it for him-- the younger one's chattering distracts him from the irritating feeling of pushed back cuticles and trimmed hangnails. his hands aren't naturally soft, either, but asmo has developed a routine for him so they stay nice with a bit of regular (secret) effort. satan's all about seeming effortlessly perfect, after all, and his hands are no exception.

Asmo

softest hands in the entire cast. simeon and mephistopheles are good competitors, but this is not a battle he will lose.

his nails are always perfectly manicured and soft. he's got a million different lotions scatter across his room, the HoL, RAD, etc., all to make sure he never encounters even a hint of dry skin. he's got emergency nail polish, too, just incase a nail were to chip while he's out and about.

asmo reaches a lot for daintier, tasteful jewelry. think small rings, delicate bracelets, pretty gemstones, the works. he's very particular about matching the jewelry both to his outfit AND his nails.

he doesn't have any visible veins, so his hands seem inhumanly perfect at times. he likes this. compliment his hands and he'll swoon-- not that he cares more about them than the rest of his body, but because it shows you notice the smaller details he puts effort into, and he appreciates it.

Beel

big boy's got big ass hands. even if you're grown yourself, putting your palms against his will make you feel like a kid again. he could palm a basketball like shaq.

he's got his fair share of callouses. i think he mostly leaves them alone because they serve the purpose of improving his grip, which is nice for the gym or fangol. asmo probably gets on him for it, but beel doesn't care enough to do something about it. i can also see him having quite a few prominent veins on both hands.

his hands fluctuate in temperature a LOT. it's pretty unpredictable, too. you can touch his hand and find it scorching hot, then touch it again ten minutes later to find it eerily lukewarm. nobody knows why this happens.

beel has to be very conscious of his hygiene, or his hands will get really dirty in a matter of minutes. he's constantly eating and touching things, so he needs to either be careful or have a napkin on hand. i think lucifer carries hand sanitizer for this exact reason (although he won't admit it).

Belphegor

belphegor's hands are upsettingly lukewarm. it's like touching things or inclimate weather has no effect on him. they're always lazily warm, like a glass of water sitting out in the sun.

his hands stay soft mainly because he doesn't do much with them. he is, however, prone to hangnails. he's lazily bite them off and accidentally cause more in the process-- not that he particularly cares.

he leaves nail and hand maintenance in asmo's hands. he'll let the fifth born do anything to them so long as he gets to sleep through it.

not anti-jewelry/rings per se, but doesn't care enough about it to a) put any on, or b) make sure he doesn't lose whatever he's wearing that day. if it somehow falls off, the most you're getting from him is a quick look around, unless the piece was really meaningful and/or borrowed.

Diavolo

is anyone surprised to hear that diavolo has massive, strong hands? no? didn't think so.

he's got really thick fingers, too. you feel like a toddler comparing hand sizes with him. he's just a mountain of a man.

his hands are always hot but never sweaty. it's comforting most of the times, but if you're already hot his touch is like fire. dawg. don't touch me. i'm sweating. his entire body is like this, too.

his nails are always very particularly manicured (it's an image thing) and fairly soft. he cares enough to use lotion but not enough to carry it. he's not one to be super vain in that regard.

there's a tasteful amount of veinage on this prince's hands. enough to be attractive, but not enough to make him seen overworked or to age him.

Barbatos

definitively the coldest fucking hands in the entire cast. barbatos' hands are cold enough to wake the dead with just a touch.

his hands are always covered by gloves as well, so they're not as rough as you'd expect. still, though, the butler is always keeping his hands busy, so i imagine there are still some minor calluses across his hands. nothing enough to be super noticable, but still there.

he's got long, slender fingers. very regal. his hands themselves are average sized. compared to someone like diavolo, though, they're dainty.

his hands are also very pale, but for some reason you can't spot a single vein. it's odd. you can see the tendons and bones shift when he moves so you know his hands are built like normal... but something about the veins just seems so odd. mammon tricked luke into thinking barbatos doesn't have any blood, so that's why no one can see his veins. this is wrong, but luke is too polite to ask about it. (the real explanation is that, although he's pale, he's got pretty thick skin-- demon perks-- so you don't really see much below it).

Simeon

simeon's hands are pleasantly warm at all times. you can feel the heat through his gloves. it's just a very comforting thing-- he'll hold your hand anytime you ask, so don't be afraid to ask if you're a little chilly or in need of some reassurance.

when he takes the gloves off, his hands are silky smooth. did you expect anything different? i can see him being very methodical abut hygiene in general, and in this case i think he's always using a nice lotion on his hands before he puts his gloves on for the day. when they come off, his hands are soft and sweet-smelling-- like cocoa butter and vanilla.

he doesn't paint his nails or anything, but they always look very nice. his liberal use of lotion pairs well with his other grooming habits. his cuticles are never overgrown, his nails are always short and uniform, and his nail beds are healthy and clear. it's minor, but it just adds to the overwhelming perfection that simeon exudes.

Solomon

solomon's hands are somehow both clammy AND cold. pick a struggle, peepaw.

on the plus side, his hands are soft. even in the winter, solomon never has to worry about rough knuckles or dry skin. which is good, because you cannot convince me that this man would remember to regularly apply lotion. he's a menace.

his hands are pale, like the rest of them, but also more veiny than i think most would anticipate. he's got one prominent one heading to his ring finger, and the rest are a bit smaller but still noticeable. his pale skin allows you to see the blue of his veins underneath. they're interesting to just stare at at watch move when he flexes his fingers.

i can see him wearing a ring or two on occasion. i don't think he'd care a whole lot about the aesthetics, but i think he'd put in enough effort to wear gold when his outfit has gold and switch to silver when wearing outfits with silver in them. it's a small thing, but it lets your know he's putting in at least a little thought.

Luke

luke has got such little, cute hands. his fingers are small and a little stubby, just like his nails. his nails also grow slowly, too, so he doesn't have to do much to keep them presentable.

unfortunately, they're often a little sticky. he bakes a lot, and while he's not usually dirty or messy, he's still young and somehow just attracts stickiness like any other child. it's especially bad when he uses honey in his recipes-- his hands are perpetually sticky for like two or three days after, no matter how often he washes his hands.

luke is a nervous little child, and for that i could see him being someone that picks at his cuticles. simeon gently discourages this habit, but at the end of the day he can't do much but make sure they heal properly.

BONUS:

Thirteen

she gives barbatos a run for his money in the cold hand competition. her fingers are ice. unlike barbatos, she will use this to her advantage. you'll find her frigid fingers on the back of your neck or under the hem of your shirt when you least expect it. she doesn't have any reason to do this. she just thinks it's funny.

her hands are a little dry, mainly around the knuckles. she strikes me as someone that constantly rubs her dry hands together and bitches about needing lotion, while simultaneously never remembering her own. she probably bums a dab of lotion off of someone ever day (i'm thinking asmo).

her nails are always really nice. they're just naturally shaped really well, round at the top and pretty straight. they're strong and don't break easy, which is good, because a hangnail can throw off her concentration for an entire afternoon.

Raphael

like belphegor, raphael's hands are an upsetting temperature-- no matter how warm or cold your hands are, his feel lukewarm against yours. it should literally be impossible, but then again, a lot of things you've encountered in the devildom should be impossible.

he's got some calluses. they're pretty interesting, honestly-- if he was a human, he'd have the bumpy, dry hands of a weathered veteran or lonely woodworker, all rough skin and long years embedded into his flesh. but he's an angel. the calluses on his hands are small and fairly easy to miss if you don't touch him. but run your hand along the ridges of his fingers or the fatty parts of his palms and you'll find them just fine.

raphael has really pretty nail beds. something about the way they look is just so clean and nice. he never has overgrown cuticles or anything, either. just really nice hands for a man that does not spare a single thought to the way they look.

Mephistopheles

this man has hands like butter. they're just so soft and luxurious. you think they'd be a bit more rugged seeing as he's a rich boy with a penchant for horseback riding, but no. i can see him being very anal about his hands. they're always soft with not a callous or imperfection in sight.

speaking of perfect, this motherfucker has amazing nails. they're just a tad longer than you'd expect to be traditionally "masculine", but that just enhances how slender and pretty his fingers look. no wonder he's always pointing and gesturing so dramatically-- he's gotta show off all that hard work!

pretty boy here just has really nice, strong hands. not really veiny, but very smooth and even. his palms are a bit lighter than his skintone, naturally, but across the board there's no discoloration or scarring to be seen. you can tell he's a noble just by looking at his hands.

he's usually in those gloves but, if not, i could see him being a rings kinda guy. only tasteful ones, though, and in moderation. not like mammon.

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constantcrying · 11 months ago

Text

Anger is a secondary emotion.

m!yandere x gn!reader

TW: obsession, some violence

This'll be my first post! If you have any feedback, I hope you'll share it.

He's trying. Honestly he is. He's putting in the work, biting his tongue and keeping his fists clenched. He'll never pick another jealous fight or cause a scene for the rest of your lives. He'll stop taking souvenirs from your home after every visit. Maybe he'll even go to therapy and unpick the fucked up weave of his childhood to find the origin of his every maladaption. Who knows, he might come out of this rough patch a better human being.

Promises between the two of you are worth something. You always say what you mean, do what you say. That consistency is another thing he loves about you, another one of the countless reasons he couldn't bear to lose you. It was why the look on your face that day had terrified him, as you confessed you were sick of his shit and struggling to be his friend—you meant it when you said you would go no-contact because he was obsessive.

It was bad enough being relegated to a mere friend after two years of adoring you. What was he supposed to do if you left him altogether? As much as he hated sharing your time and attention with the rest of the world, he couldn't bear to lose his humble slice of it. Before he met you, he hadn't cared so deeply about anything or anyone. He hadn't known what to do when he fell for you, except sink his teeth in and never let go.

Just the thought of life without you made him so sick, he fell to his knees on the spot. He fought his shaky voice and managed to utter an apology, begging for a chance to correct himself.

He isn't good with humility or patience or prostration. But he is honest. He does love you. He'll do anything for you, even act right.

You knew him well enough to believe his words. You also (rightly) pitied him. In the end you agreed that if he cleaned up his act, you wouldn't cut him off.

For now, he's on probation, seeing you once every eight days or so. He's not strong enough to go longer than that without being near you. In between those pressure control days, he journals, meditates, and reads self-help books. He'll even exercise more than he ever did before, because studies claim that it helps with emotional regulation. He thinks it's all stupid. He hopes it works and you think better of him. He continues this way for months.

The result? He isn't biting off your male friends' heads anymore. He isn't trying to monopolize your time. He doesn't obsessively check your location and text you like crazy. A touchy friend says hi to you at a cafe, and he doesn't get angry at them for interrupting and hugging you, he just says hi back. It's actually pleasant to hang out together in public again. For you, it's like the friend you made so long ago has actually come back. You don't ever say it, but he thinks you might believe he's actually over you.

He forgives you for that, and for the threat of leaving. He knows your peace is important to you, so you just said what you thought was best. And him...he'll stop with the outbursts, bury all of the feelings he's wrestling with. See? He changes for you. How many of your ex friends and lovers can say the same?

But there's nothing you can do about your missing possessions ex post facto. He still struggles, like anyone with bad habits. There's always an urge to come closer to you, to cradle you to his chest, to kiss you stupid. Just...let him keep the chapstick and the t-shirts, at least. He can tide himself over with the lingering scent of your favorite products.

And, of course, the anger remains simmering under his skin. It comes in waves, he notices, after every doubt and concern. Your casual smile at another person, for a split second, makes his gut churn before the heat of rage washes over him. After he sends a text you don't respond to, his heart sinks, and then it catches fire. He's always scared first. Maybe the journaling isn't so stupid if it can show him these patterns.

The problem is, he can't kill the source of his fear unless he can have you all to himself. That's not happening anytime soon.

So he's still struggling his way through your time together. You hang out like normal people, having dinner at a new restaurant before strolling down the street on a cool summer evening. Almost no one is outside, creating the sense that you two exist in your own little pocket dimension. You decide to go down a little alleyway, a shortcut that never presents any problems.

Somehow, a throw-away comment of his makes you laugh, and he wants to take the sound and inject it into his veins. The glory of your approval is bittersweet. He dreads the way this night will end: with you going to your place instead of coming home with him. It is all he can do, not to break the unspoken barrier between you. He wants to be optimistic. He wants to say that it's enough if you're happy, beside him right now.

As if you couldn't be happy elsewhere. As if he could be.

He can't handle thinking this way anymore, so he looks away. Just for a moment. Just to take some breaths and be something close to functional.

That's his big mistake.

The second you cry out, he turns back. You've been knocked to the ground by some staggering man, who trips over your leg and lands against a trash can. He must have come from the bar down the road because he reeks of bottom-shelf liquor.

"Son of a bitch!" The man growls. "Watch it! Watch where you're fucking going! You think you own the fucking street?"

"Fuck you!" You respond, trying to push yourself up off the ground. You hiss and stop, bringing your hand up to see that the palm is a scraped mess.

The drunk man mumbles some more curses at you and, in a fit of dionysian inspiration, kicks you.

It's not a hard blow. He's hammered, and totally out of shape besides. And maybe he never meant to hurt you at all—maybe he's just being childish and weird, his inhibitions drowned by a night of heavy drinking.

It doesn't matter to your friend.

His body has moved, he realizes, as he stares down at a pulpy mess. It used to be a face. His knuckles are raw, split from overuse. It feels like nothing at all. You're hurt, though, and the perpetrator is still breathing, so he needs to do something about that.

Without a hand gripping his collar, the drunk man splatters on the ground. He doesn't have the wherewithal to protect himself from further attacks, so with no resistance, your friend can just swing his foot into a perfectly vulnerable stomach. He does. He does it again. And again. And in the middle of this, even in his high-running emotions, he finds a sense of clarity that he's rarely afforded. Finally, someone pays the price for touching you. What a relief it is to have something nice and solid absorbing all the rage that he's always stuffing down.

You have apparently been calling his name nonstop. He only notices now as he's being yanked back by the arm. Like a spell is wearing off, he hears your voice. You sound far away, at first, the way you do in dreams. As he becomes aware of his pounding heart and aching knuckles, your muffled voice becomes clear.

"What the hell are you doing? Stop! You'll kill him!"

He's obedient, if you recall, so he stops. He turns to you, panting and shaking out his hand. Strangely, you flinch and back up. Your eyes are wide, your mouth pressed shut.

You've...never looked at him that way. He's irritated and embarrassed you, but nothing he's done has ever scared you.

He should worry about this, but he can't help smiling. You're so cute when you're frightened. You belong in his arms, where he can keep you safe.

He pulls you into him and squeezes you tight. As much as you do tremble, there's not an ounce of resistance from you as he does this. You are having the same epiphany is him right now—that he would never hurt you, that anyone who did would pay sevenfold.

But while he is imagining himself as your knight, you're thinking of all the strangers and friends who may be unkind, however briefly, to you. You're thinking of how sharp this man's memory is and how casually you complained about exes or classmates or coworkers when you thought everything was okay.

"It's okay. You're safe," he whispers into your hair, relishing the close contact.

He's going to stay good for you. It'll be easy now, knowing where to put all the excess energy.

#yandere angst #yandere x reader #yandere #male yandere x gn reader #male yandere x reader

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eldritch-spouse · 6 months ago

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Out of everyone in The Clergy who can sing?

[I think I might have answered this? Unsure, so I'll assume not.]

Belo. Angels are naturally melodic beings, and although Belo is a power, which is a warrior cast of celestial, one of his parents was a seraphim, which are about the most melodious sounding angels out there. Thus, even if unrefined, Belo's singing is ethereal and captivating, even healing in its nature. Unfortunately, he doesn't have a habit of singing frequently, finding his vocals to be unsuitable for the task. He also sings in dead higher tongues, so some of those songs are hardly meant for the human ear.

Grimbly has a decent singing voice, though deeper tones are definitely out of his range, he can reach some painfully high pitches with great ease. He likes to sing when he's focused, usually pretty catchy songs, either ones currently popular, or hits from the early 2000s.

Santi. Concubi have nice voices, it's part of their many charms. Santi knows his voice is a source of arousal for many out there, and what better way to project it if not to occasionally participate in karaoke nights at The Clergy's Eye? He intentionally picks pretty raunchy topics to sing about, but the activity is pleasant enough he won't refuse more wholesome titles. He once sang a few of Frank Sinatra's most popular hits and earned himself a small fanclub.

Although sad to mention, if Vinnel's voice weren't destroyed by his illness, he would have quite the range. The fact that he's broken doesn't stop him from mumbling and humming, but he knows he can't actually sing anymore. Not since he was very young.

Krulu, as a higher, can make use of his singing for a variety of effects, ranging from lulling people into states of great sickness to causing them to go mad from hysteric euphoria. Although Krulu sings from time to time, most of it doesn't leave the walls of his floor. The only person he will temper the effects of his singing for is his vessel, you.

#Santi oc #Belo oc #Vinnel oc #Grimbly oc #Krulu oc

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smallestapplin · 7 months ago

Text

Kaveh and Alhaitham omegaverse hc

I was going to do more but it's late and I'm so tired. But I'd like to hear anyone's thoughts, opinions, or asks! ^-^ might make more later.

Btw this is separately. Lemme know what ya think.

Kaveh

- hot take, Kaveh is actually a alpha, he just doesn't act like a jerk like most do because that's just not him, it's just his secondary gender to him, nothing more.

- He envies omega's and their ability to make such comfy structures. He tries to make nests but gets embarrassed at how well he makes them he destroys them and never mentions it.

- He's very picky about scents, but it makes him so nervous about what he smells like or how other's perceive him after hearing a few omegas mention how they love the scent of their alphas.

- He smells sweet like honey, with subtle scents of the coffee he drinks. However his sweeter mellower scent gets drowned out in all his nights at the tavern trying to drink away his stress.

- Kaveh grows distressed easily, which sours his scent in more of a burnt popcorn smell which shoos other's away from him on accident.

- You two started off as friends before anything, just the cute omega who worked at the Tavern, his harsh scent and drinking made you worried, so slowly while making his drinks you'd talk to him. You aren't surprised at how much he opens up, but it surprises him how kind you are letting him vent like this.

- Sometimes you'd even meet him outside of your place of work and get shocked at just how wonderful he is without the drinking, you don't mind, but he holds a conversation better without slurring his words.

- One thing led to him asking if he could court you, and how could you say no when he made you a mini scale model of a garden?

- His nesting habits come up when you come to his (Alhaitham's) house, to his room and see the nest he forget to take down.

- He was stressed last night and being covered helped!

- "I-i hope it's not a turn off or anything! I just, I get stressed and sad and these are nice to have to feel safe, you know?"

- You do, you make stressed nests all the time.

- But you don't move, which worried him, until you look at him and gesture to it "Can I join you in your nest?"

- Asking like any mate should.

- "Yes! Yes of course! Oh i hope it's okay and up to your standards-"

- "Kaveh, it's your nest, not mine, I'm just happy you are letting me inside it, I'm honored.'

- You comment on how good the structure of the pillow walls are and how comfy the blankets are, and it ends with your alpha curled around you, dozing happily with you in his arms, nuzzling into your neck scenting you.

- He purrs loudly, it fills a small room with noise if it's quiet enough, but its so cute.

Alhaitham

- another hot take, he is an omega. He hates leading, hates being the center of attention, loathes it when people ask him for anything, he just wants to be left alone with his work and to leave.

- However is never misses taking his heat suppressants, never misses taking any scent blockers, and doesn't even touch nesting matieral. To everyone and anyone he is just a moody beta.

- His scent is hidden, at most he smells like fresh paper, ink, and his shampoo. However if you were to smell is original scent it would be sage and orange, it's pleasant but not too strong, though you'd be able to point him out in a crowd from it alone.

- He rejects his secondary gender to the nines, he's seen how omegas get treated and hounded after and he's just not interested in finding anyone to date or mate, he will be damned if he's expected to be some stay at home omega either.

- No nesting items aside for whats needed for his basic bed, just two pillows and two comforter, and that so he can switch them when one needs to be washed.

- Since he is on surpressants he doesn't have his heat,, he avoids it like the plague, which he is thankful for cause it's just a nuisance in his eyes, he sees no purpose in having one, and he's is one of a handful of lucky ones that can afford it.

- His friendship qith you was a slow build. You two started off as 'you're the only coworker I can tolerate.' To occasionally chatting just before leaving for the day, to one of you hiding in the other's office to pretend to be talking something over to avoid people, to small hang outs outside of work even if you'd do most of the chatting, to coming over to his house (and promising his roommate not to speak a work.) to him denying he has any feelings for you.

- You are another omega who gets where he is coming from, and the only person who knows he's an omega too! So he swears it's just that you two have something to bond over.

- You two only started a unlikely courtship after he had been avoiding you for weeks, and you locked yourself in his office to explain himself, his calmness just annoyed you further and further until he broke at the sight of you near tears.

- You thought you were losing your friend, and honestly he did too.

- You walked out of his office with a bright smile and one of his favored bookmarks as a small claim.

- You give him gifts all the time, which he thinks is not needed but he can't help but feel touched by the fanart you always gift him thinks he's mentioned wanting to needing in passing.

- You two take it slow, but you both mesh together well, it's clear to see how you two fit together like a puzzle, one easily picking up one thing the other lacks, it's like watching a well oiled machine in action.

- He finds your scent comforting and often likes spending time at your house than anything,, it's drowned in your scent, how can he not love it?

- He watches you build a nest so effortlessly and beckens him in. His heart flutters, knowing this is a big step and a huge sign of trust, even if his expression doesnt change much.

- He likes cuddling with you face to face or you laying on his chest so he can still read, but he always keeps an arm around you, or is at least touching you in someway.

- Everyone knows you two are together just from him walking into work smelling like you, or because you barge into his office or wherever he is reading to scold him for leaving his lunch.

- His purr is silent, you'd never know he was purring unless you pressed your ear to his chest.

- His scent is safe with you, and you know you can rely on him to help you with your heats.

- Though neither of you know how that one will work as omega omega relationships are rare, and there isn't a guide book (he's looked.)

- But you two will get through it together.

#omegaverse #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact omegaverse #genshin omegaverse #genshin kaveh x reader #genshin Alhaitham x reader #genshin impact kaveh x reader #genshin impact Alhaitham x reader #x reader omegaverse #genshin x reader omegaverse #genshin impact x reader omegaverse

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whisperiin · 4 months ago

Note

hello-hello ^-^ i did Wanshi request a while back, when you were arkbeyond, it's fine if i repeat it?

btw, did you saw his S frame? thighs are mouthwatering

hello anon!! yes, of course you can! i actually held onto it because i was planning on writing for it and then i got super busy wahhh... i loooove lucid dreamer so much!!! he's so beautiful i started crying... and his login music is sooooo good too if you've heard it... i hope he gets an sfx skin soon ;___; it's been a while since i've written at all so i might be a little rusty, but i still hope you enjoy!

domesticism ft. wanshi

content warnings: none

➸ If you had to describe the dynamic between you and WANSHI, it would be one word — familiar. He may not be as much of a stickler for routines as some other people you may know, but he has habits he tends to stick to, and he makes sure to remember all of yours as well.

➸ That’s just one of the ways he shows he cares for you, after all — and it’s something that just about anyone with eyes and ears can immediately see. Wanshi remembers your favourite booth at the cafe, what candies you tend to pick up from the store if you have the chance, any habits you might have while sleeping. If he notices you take a while to sleep, there’s usually some kind of anonymous sleep-aiding gift on your bedside table the next morning, or if you haven’t been eating enough, your favourite dishes will inexplicably be sitting in a takeout box on your table during your next break. ➸ He’s not exactly shy about showing his affections, either. He’s rather forthright, after all — it’s more than obvious in the gentle way he speaks to you, and even more so in the way he so painstakingly looks you over after every mission for even the smallest wound. Wanshi can treat you like a kid sometimes, though, if only just to tease — how about a candy for sitting so still during your checkup, hmm? ➸ He also loves listening to you talk! Wanshi seems like the type to enjoy cuddling up with you and feeling how your chest vibrates against him as you tell him about your day. You don’t even need to talk, actually — feeling the rise and fall of your chest is just fine, too. He also seems like the type to enjoy hugging you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder, as you go about doing some menial task together… If he falls asleep on you then, well, what else did you expect when he’s lying against his favourite pillow? ➸ It goes without saying, though, that Wanshi enjoys falling asleep with you and waking up next to you the most. It’s just so enchanting to him, somehow — even if you’re a snorer, or a blanket hog, or roll around over and over in bed all night, he sleeps more soundly when he’s next to you. And though his dreams have been more pleasant since he’s met you, the sight of your face alone is reason enough for him to wake up every morning.

#pgr #punishing gray raven #pgr x reader #punishing gray raven x reader #wanshi x reader #pgr wanshi x reader #bee.writes

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cyanidehog · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! Could I request some yandere Silver the hedgehog headcanons? If not that’s okay, I totally understand. Have a good day!

BLOG'S 1ST request is for my favorite boy <333 thank you for kickstarting off my writing with this ! no spellchecking we die like (redacted)

⤷ “ i swear to you. as long as i’m by your side, you’ll never be harmed. ” [ ♡ 1.2k words -- SILVER + READER. ]

> first of all: worst hedgehog to have after you. he literally jumps through time. whether you are a civilian or an overpowered entity, you're screwed. not in a physical sense—he values your freedom and your dignity. it's just... you won't be able to avoid his advances. silver knows you better than you do yourself. after years of studying you, he'll have figured what makes you snap, what makes you melt, and the little intricacies that weave your past. then he'll drop himself back to a point in time where your relationship was still amicable and he'll sweep you up with a winner smile, using up every detail he soaked up in conversation about your person as a stepping stone.

> how you met is inconsequential. it could've been simple happenstance aided by your curiosity, or thanks to amy introducing you at an event. whatever the reason, you come to know of silver's plights and circumstances.

> silver latches onto you with a hunger because of your care and interest in his well-being. it's not that people aren't welcoming, or haven't been kind to him and blaze, of course not. there's been warmth aplenty in sonic's timeline. what sets you apart are the extra lengths you go to for his accommodation in a world alien to him and the love you display in different gestures: cooking him a sprawling dinner (a banquet of cultures, really!) or tidying up a place for him to crash at if need be; spending hours explaining history and the current state of affairs to a being completely removed from the context of modern society and common knowledge; finding time in your schedule to go places together and make albums of memories... the list could go on. you really tried your best for your friend - silver who'd never seen a tree or a valley or a flower... how could you not?

> you won't ever have fights with him. it's surreal and fantastical. he always, always has a hand in guiding you to a pleasant time. attentive and sweet and teasing, silver knows how to rile you up into feverish delight and how to soothe any nerves and doubts of yours. it's slightly unfair, actually, because at times you wish you could have the same tact and coolness he displays. whenever you express the want to make him happy he gets touchier and more joyful than usual, so you count that as a little win of yours. it is nice to brighten the day of someone who treats you fondly. and the tiny, furiously wagging tail is an endearing sight.

> your like or dislike for physical touch will define how he starts showing affection to you. if you're fine with it, silver won't hesitate to caress your back or shoulder, will lock arms with you on walks, and say goodbye with a peck to your temple. warm and strong hugs will be commonplace. you'll find yourself encased in embraces far too tender and embarrassing to remain cool-headed. and the average distance between you two will shrink every week. slowly but surely.

> if you are averse to it, he'll do his best to keep his hands to himself… though if you fall asleep in his vicinity, he'll slide a hand or two through your face and play a little with your features. it will be innocent enough to sate his need for your warmth. for a while. he'll get into the habit of playing with your fingers or tugging your clothes for attention. might develop a fondness for spaces full of people, if only to feel you leaning on him thanks to the moving multitudes. he'll also steal trinkets or inconspicuous articles of clothing that belong to you. he won't realize it, but not having your touch will starve him terribly, and he'll try to have his fill in other ways.

> you call him silvie and he's about to bust an aneurysm. his face catches on fire to the point he thinks it might be a heatstroke, and the real possibility of him fainting grows exponentially. he gives you a very personal nickname. some inside joke between the two of you. will whisper it only when you are both alone.

> he's devoted? dedicated? invested? in your friendships and emotional health. scratch that. like rotisserie chicken, his brain rotates worries about your daily life and physical and mental health to the point of burning itself to a crisp. he fears not having control over your joys. he gets literally sick ruminating on whether or not you are getting your due sleep, your due rewards, or your deserved love from those around you. he'll be a smidge too sharp on picking up changes in your mood and mentions of acquaintances and buddies and family. he probably has a journal with graphical maps on your relationships and other miscellanea. has filled up the margins with ideas on how to cheer you up and keep everything in check. whatever that means, or entails.

> HAHA if you get sick? if you get sick you'll sooner perish from silver's overwhelming presence by your side than from your illness. it's here that his obsession bleeds through enough to be alerted by. he gets super fussy over who's coming over and what you're eating. feels like it's his duty to schedule your time indoors and outdoors, and to make several lists of activities and meals and exercises for your speedy recovery. will have restocked your pantry and fridge with your favorite snacks and fruits before you know it (how did you know this is my fave, silvie? to which he replies: oh - isn't this what besties are for?) and areas such as the bathroom or your kitchen will be cleaned thrice as fervently. he's going to be around so often that you'll stumble across his toothbrush or his towel neatly organized along with your stuff. and yes he will give a subtle nudge towards the idea of being roomies, and having sleepovers, and movie nights, and so on. he won't be moving his stuff out even after you recover.

> anyway - silver is a protective, obsessive, manipulative and insidious yandere. your needs will most certainly be met when he's around and he'll try to elevate you into a lil pedestal while trying to improve your lifestyle in ways he thinks are the best. you won't have to worry about threats (eggman's or others') because he'll make sure you live in a peaceful and beautiful world. if he ever has to travel to accomplish this he'll make sure to return with a plethora of gifts and stories to share. but he'll worm and dig and root his way through your barriers and reservations until you rely on him, to some degree or other. he'll be... soft and good for you.

> and... you'll never have to know about all the screw ups in a different timeline. if silver has committed a chain of overlapping atrocities trying to monopolize your affection, how would you ever find out? you'll never know the depravities he has executed on others, nor the kind of abnormality he is a slave to. he'll always be just silver to you.

> so please, please, please. don't look at anybody else with tender love in your eyes. don't break his heart and make him crawl on his knees. don't make him screw the world over for a few crumbs of your time, and everything will be just perfect.

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punsmaster69 · 10 months ago

Text

11/FEB/20XX

got to practice my healing magic some more today as frisk continually papercut themselves during the construction of a heart garland.

"starting to wonder if that paper's red from paint or your 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 at this point, kiddo."

"I'm not bleeding 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 much."

frisk re-did a section they messed up from being cut, extra careful not to get sliced in the same way twice.

"so..."

"you just make these garland thingies for every holiday now, huh?"

turning to look at me, expression completely unchanged -

"Yes."

they answered confidently.

"..all right then."

they put glue around the edges of a paper heart and dipped it in glitter; repeating this process until they had however many shiny hearts they deemed 'enough'.

by this point, i'd already come to accept the glitter that was going to be everywhere forever.

that stuff doesn't come out of carpet well.

however, apparently me staring at the glitter going everywhere gave frisk a terrible idea.

"Hey, Sans. Look at me for a second."

i did.

i shouldn't have.

with a handful of glitter, frisk blew as hard as they could to coat my face in a glittery pink.

". . . ."

they couldn't stop laughing.

i took what i could off, eventually sure i had to have gotten most of it.

there was a knock at the door.

"Hello, Sans."

"I am here to pick Frisk up."

"Waitwaitwait, I'm almost done! Give me like five more minutes?"

"...Alright, five minutes it is."

"Me and Sans will be outside chatting in the meantime."

"Got it."

frisk sped up their paper-snipping.

"don't cut yourself again in the five minutes i'm not with you, ok?"

"I haven't cut myself THAT many times!"

"...."

".....Okay. I'll be more careful."

me and tori stepped just outside the door. the weather was just cool enough to still be pleasant.

she looked at me and started to say something before pausing.

"..Your eyesockets are looking quite glittery today!"

"."

"it's."

"it's still there??"

"If you mean-"

"the glitter."

"..Yes, it is."

"goddamn it."

"It is not a terrible look."

"thought i got all the glitter out. thought wrong, apparently."

"How did this happen, anyway?"

frisk would definitely get in trouble if i told toriel they blew glitter in my face.

i rejected that avenue of petty revenge.

"fell asleep without realizing i went face-first into the stuff."

"I see."

"If you are really so determined to remove it immediately, perhaps we could try some tape."

"worth a shot."

frisk looked confused when we re-entered the house.

"It hasn't been five minutes yet. It's been like... three and a half."

"I'm extending your time a bit."

"SICK! For how long?"

"..However long it takes to remove glitter from this skeleton's face."

"Oh."

tori poked around the room for some tape.

confused as to why they weren't being scolded, frisk gave me a questioning look.

"(didn't tell her.)"

"(Why?)"

"('s not a big deal, so why bother?)"

"(..Because you didn't want to bother.)"

"(yup.)"

"(Should've expected a lazy reason for it.)"

"If not here, where might you keep your tape?"

"oh, i think i had it in my room."

"..What for??"

i remembered taping things to a certain card.

"probably broke something. who knows."

"Alright then, I suppose."

"Is it alright if I go in your room?"

"yeah i- uhhhhh."

"actually, hold on."

opening and closing my door behind me, i looked around my room. no way in hell was i deep-cleaning the place, but kicking loose clothes under my bed and straightening the sheets a little was a start.

and by start i mean

"good enough."

then i opened the drawer that valentine's junk and the tape dispenser were sharing space in.

"ok, you can come in."

i kicked the drawer shut. tori entered and closed the door behind her. she looked around and inspected the bed for a moment.

"It is much nicer with a frame, is it not?"

"pretty cozy, i guess. still breaking that habit of flopping onto the floor though."

"Is that what that is for?"

pointing to a light i'd attached to the bottom of my bed.

"to remind me my bed's raised."

"Smart solution."

"May I?"

glancing at my bed.

"go ahead, but fair warning that my sheets'll probably make you smell of funky skeleton odor."

sitting down on the edge of my bed, she laughed.

"I do not mind 'skeleton odor'. Whatever it is that entails."

i sat down next to her.

"so, uh."

"you turnin' me into a tape mummy for this?"

motioning for me to turn around, toriel guided my head to her lap.

"...what's-"

tape was suddenly pressed into my left eye socket.

"....."

"no warning, huh?"

"Sorry. I figured you had understood where this was going."

"well i... certainly understand 𝘯𝘰𝘸."

the experience of having tape put 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 my sockets wasn't any less bizarre and slightly jarring than the experience having tape pulled 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 my sockets, but i think i'm pretty much glitter-free. at least she was more gentle from then on.

when we exited my room, i noticed frisk suddenly had headphones on. i tossed the ball of glitter-coated tape at their head to catch their attention. it bounced onto the carpet. they looked up and took off their headphones.

"Oh, you done making out?"

"Frisk! I was not 'making out' with Sans."

"she was helping me undo 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 mess, y'know."

"I thought you said you fell asleep in the glitter?"

"......"

frisk's face begged me not to tell. once again, i set aside the easy revenge.

"yeah, i did. anyway, you better take 'em home before they sparkle up the place any more."

frisk swept their paper and glitter mess into their bag and hopped up from the floor.

"Did you finish your creation, my child?"

proudly unraveling a glittery paper-heart string.

"Yup."

"It is very pretty! We can hang it up when we get home."

they swung up the front door and darted across the lawn to hop into tori's car.

toriel stopped for a moment, pausing to lock her eyes with mine. with a quick glance backwards to see where frisk was, she bent down a little to raise my hand to her lips.

"returnin' the favor?"

"It is only fair."

she gave a hopeful smile.

"You will visit me on the fourteenth, will you not?"

"..yeah. 'course i will."

#undertale #journal #sans #frisk #sans and frisk #frisk and sans #toriel #toriel x sans #sans x toriel #soriel #sorry my schedule is atrocious lately y'all #valentines

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joyfullyacat · 2 years ago

Text

Putting it Together

its another "good job for being a good noodle in school" reward for @cacaocheri aka the only reason i write fluff /j CW: none, pure fluff (maybe angst if u squint and tilt ur head enough) word count: just a lil over 1k, a nice fluffy rest for y'all -

The sewing machine hums beneath your touch as you carefully feed the striped britches through, letting the quiet music of the nearby radio bleed into the birdsong that falls from your open window send you into a sort of lull.

It’s a pleasant spring morning, chilled in just the right way from the showers of last night. If things dry up enough, maybe you’ll garden. Things need weeding and there’s those bramble patches that need to be taken care of.

You find yet another hole in Sun’s pants towards the ankle and puff in playful exasperation.

Maybe not today…

Muffled and distant, you can just make out the usual bustle of Sun as he goes about the little home that you inhabit with him. Hopefully he’s not making breakfast - not that he’s bad at cooking but you’re just not hungry yet…

…Have you even eaten yet on that note? How long have you been up?

“Might as well see.” You mutter to yourself with a convenient yawn as your attention teeters off.

Joints pop while you unfurl yourself from the hunch over your working table, maneuvering around the stool to actually face the clock that hangs on a wall just behind you.

He specifically put it there just for you, despite your wishes, just so you’d actually move when it seemed to be about that time.

Usually, it was always just about that time when you checked.

This time was no different, it’s been… Hours since you woke up. You don’t even really recall the surrounding lighting changing with the time. Just after dawn to the afternoon was quite the jump.

“...He’ll get me when he’s ready.” You note thoughtfully, the animatronic typically would get you as he knows your forgetful habits and chastises you for them every time with that same warm smile.

Endearingly kind as he always was.

Though the fact he hadn’t yet meant there was likely a surprise in store for you - so who were you to ruin his fun?

You spin yourself right back around and continue to fix up the worn out pants.

He was always quite adamant about having stripes on his apparel and was quite averse to stars or other imagery. Why? You didn’t quite know but he’d tell you when he was ready to.

It was a long long project of patching him up from how he used to be. Riddled with scorch marks, missing pieces and parts of himself you don’t think he’d ever get back. You learned quite a bit about mechanical engineering from him.

He also became somewhat of your walking canvas, the paint you had never lasted long on surfaces that wouldn’t stain like metal - so you gave him new palettes and colors with relative frequency. You think he used to be yellow, maybe golden.

Now he lives freely as your live-in assistant. At least as free as any autonomous robot could.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know?” You offer one evening, looking up from your book so you could see his response.

His hands move deftly.

“Where would I go? Back to a scrap heap?” He gestures to himself, his rays fluttering from side to side in that way you took as laughter before continuing, hands moving with a held-back speed so you could better read him. “I am happy. Safe here with you.”

Learning sign language from him had been fun - really, you learned a lot from him that was more than just taking care of yourself, your little house on the outskirts of highrise cities, or the garden that you got much of your food from.

Some days he did have a voice, or at least his voice box fell in a way that would enable it to function, you concluded. It was staticky and muffled as if something was swaddling the device in there and those days weren’t always his best. But it was never something he wanted you to fuss with, no matter how many times you offered.

“Sunray, I put lights back into your eyes and touched more wires in your head than I’ve got fingers - is something wrong down there that I can help with?” You look at him with furrowed brows of worry as he works on his own torso, a mirror in front of him and a pile of your late father’s tools at his side.

He looks up at you with a deer in the headlights look, obviously his hands are occupied so he can’t quite communicate with you but you can see in the way his eyes maneuver and his rays shrink in that he’s confused.

“...What’s that face for? Oh - do you not like Sunray?”

He shakes his head no, his rays unexpectedly popping outwards before doing a spin and he seems bashful of the reaction that happened on reflex.

“Hey, if you like it! I should have asked regardless… But do you need help? Seriously.”

Another shake of the head in refusal and he motions with his chin for you to go about your business.

“Alright, alright. I’m one heavy foot stomp away though, okay?”

He rolls his eyes in mock, lighthearted annoyance, you can practically hear the “okay mom.”

It’s not long until the pants are complete. A few separate patches had to be done in that you matched to your best abilities but it was done. Your to-do list for the day suddenly shrank by a fair amount.

Maybe you could work on the ribbons?

Sun held an absolute affinity for ribbons, endlessly he admires those you’ve tied to your plants as colorful notes for what was what. He always got touchy along his wrists when handling them on the few occasions they’ve had to be changed out or replaced due to thieving birds.

So, you were working on a collection for him, one with meaning. Ones for all sorts of occasions. Days he wanted to be to himself, days he needed to be cared for, the whole run of the mill.

So you get up, folding the newly repaired garment in your arms to rest at the corner of your work table before going to your stashed box of work-in-progress ideas, removing the clear segmented box with labeled tags.

Of course, many would just be worn because he wants to - he can give meaning to those as he pleases if he so wished.

The familiar lull kicks back into place as you hem each strip of cloth into a fine ribbon along your machine, the easy trance drawing you in and blocking out the world around you.

You don’t even recognize when the door to your workspace is opened up, even if Sun is someone who is a far cry from being stealthy in any capacity. You don’t notice how he stands there in shock as he looks over what you’ve done…

Sun spies the pants he wore before - the first pair, the only pair he ever really had before knowing you and your sewing machine. Now they brand new as if the fire had never happened to begin with. It was a miracle they survived at all but to see them restored now from the shreds they once were...

He now understood why you spent many sleepless nights in here and fussed over dyes and materials for a good month before settling down.

Currently… What were you working on? Were those ribbons?

He stares at the red strip of cloth feed through your sewing machine, now given a golden threaded edge.

They look much like his original set, the ones you never got to see. You would have liked them, he thinks.

But he also thinks he’ll love these ribbons even more than his old ones.

The animatronic approaches you carefully, setting the plate full of your lunch down in an unoccupied space on your work table before his arms wrap around your middle…

You’re thoroughly brought out from your reverie at the unexpected contact, just registering the noises of something hitting the surface you were working on before feeling a stone-hard chest press into your back.

Or would it be a metal-hard chest?

“Sunray? What’s this about?” It’s not that he’s never hugged you before but there’s something distinct about this particular one that has you worried.

There's much being poured into this action, feelings and intent that you can't hope to pick apart right now. His arms only wrap tighter around your waist at your question and you feel him softly bonk his faceplate into the back of your head, moving it side to side subtlety.

…Was he nuzzling you?

“I suppose the cat is out of the bag now, isn’t it - this was all gonna be a surprise for you. We’re coming up on a year of existing with one another, isn’t that fun? You’ve come such a long way.” You explain, moving the container of made ribbons over to the edge of the table on your other side not occupied by pants or food so he could inspect them.

Sun stays holding onto you however, just leaning off to the left enough to view your offering.

Something clicks and there’s a little buzz in the air now that you recognize comes from him, it’s the sound of his voice box. Has he got it working?

“I was… Going to surprise you too.” It’s not quite clear, there’s stutters and the audio crackles when he’s done speaking but it’s unmistakably Sun’s voice there. Speaking more than just one word at that.

“Look at you, Sunny!” Excitedly, you pat along one of his hands while awkwardly contorting an arm to hug him the best you can in your given position. A careful caress along his face offered. “It’s the best you’ve sounded yet and you’ll only get better, won’t you?”

Your heart soars as Sun tilts his head into the touch before speaking.

“I… Hope so.” With a final, little pop like an old recording, the buzz shuts off and he pulls away, moving to your side and keeping an arm about your waist while freeing up a hand to look at the ribbons.

It’s not until he has to sign his next request to you that he removes his hold on you entirely.

“...You want me to add bells?” You ask, a brow raising. “I… Think I have some actually, yeah we can do that - hold on…” You get up just to circle the table, pulling at drawers of the stout cabinet that hides beneath your main table. Boxes of various findings get removed before you find your package of silver bells. “Will these do?”

They’re not very large by any means but the way his eyes widen with hope and excitement is all you need. They’d do for now until you get some more suitable for his size.

“Sorry they aren’t gold, that tends to be your preferred color isn’t it?”

Queue the frantic, apologetic and placating signing. You catch onto a handful of words before you reach across the table to still his hands before you’re driving the package of shining, tinkling bells into his palms.

Their sounds, even when in a confined conglomerate of plastic and cheap metal, come out pleasantly.

“It’s alright. Really.” Is all you say before pulling away with a final pat of reassurance.

You spend your afternoon enjoying your sandwich and sliced fruits while watching Sun thread ribbons, bell after bell.

You can’t think of a better time.

#joyfic #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sun x reader #sundrop x reader #fnaf sb x reader #fnafsb x reader #sun x y/n #sundrop x y/n #dca x y/n #daycare attendant x y/n

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anika-ann · 2 years ago

Text

(Love)Sick - S.R.

Type: one-shot, early relationship, canon-ish (see A/N)

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader (GG x Sparkles) Word count: 3700

Summary: The stress of the past few days caught up with you, leaving you refuse Steve’s – your boyfriend’s – offer of a morning run. That’s fine. It wouldn’t be the first time Steve turned his morning run into a coffee-run.

What he didn’t expect was to only meet closed doors. He’d investigate. Aka you get sick and Steve switches into a nurse mode.

Warnings: FLUFF, mentions of flu and its symptoms, stubborn Steve, mention of Steve’s deceased mum,...language?

A/N: Standalone or a one-shot following the epilogue of Love on the Brain series. Written around Christmas when I have been so damn sick - and apparently infected my mutuals... long live self-indulgence. divider by firefly-graphics 😍

Steve Rogers was a creature of habit.

Wake up at 5:30. Dress up. Knock on your door to try to take you for a run. Either failing, stopping in the café to bring you your fix, revelling in how adorably hopeless you were when trying to be cranky with him with your coffee in his hand. Or succeeding, having the most pleasant company, even if one running slower than him. He liked that you pushed your limits with him, working to be better, faster.

He liked your drive. He liked you. He liked you ogling him these days unabashedly, because exactly six days ago, he had carried you over the threshold of his apartment, not his bride but his girl and after two years of fruitless longing, that was more enough for him.

Unlike you, he never minded mornings, especially knowing what awaited him – but knocking at your door today, trying for a second run with you as his girlfriend, he actually found himself grinning wide, giddiness lighting up his chest. He liked the routine morning runs with you. He loved adding kissing you good morning to that routine.

It appeared however, that today was one of those days this kiss would have to wait – not a running day. A coffee run day. He could work with that. Opting for a shorter route, he shot you a text when he was standing in a line at the shop, asking what kind of a sugary treat you’d like with your coffee.

When he got no answer, he chuckled to himself; the image of you grumpily scowling at your phone as you silently pleaded heavens to let you stay in bed for a few more minutes had him shake his head. Jam-filled croissant and blueberry muffin it was, then. You’d share. Once he’d kiss that grumpy look from your face, barely holding back laugh – as much as he’d feel sorry for your very true pain. The premise was most lovely and Steve found himself excited even.

What a naïve fool he was. And they had thought the serum strengthened his brain as well. Not.

It was only when he knocked on your door and you didn’t open the door – as normally did, when having followed the smell of coffee like a bloodhound – when he realized something might be wrong.

He tried knocking again, uneasiness filling his veins when no repose came. He leaned his head to the door, attempting to listen in – for the sound of a shower, for your footsteps. Nothing.

He nearly jumped and spilled the cup of coffee when his phone chimed with an incoming text. With a frown, he balanced the paper bag and coffee hazardously to look at the device, hoping, praying it was you.

The relief filing his chest upon seeing your nickname on the screen was sweeter than the pasty he bought for you.

(7:01) Sparkles✨: Just lemme die in piece

Steve’s eyebrows shot up as he glanced at your door, the corners of his lips twitching up. This was a very bad morning if you started out so darkly and with typos. He hoped he could turn that frown upside down.

(7:01) Me: Would never let that happen, Sparkles. Good morning 😘

The reply came instantly, considerably less warm and way blunter than expected, making his face darken.

(7:02) Sparkles✨: Is not

(7:02) Sparkles✨: Sotry GG

(7:02) Sparkles✨: Not work, no run

(7:03) Sparkles✨: Go

Go.

Yeah, right.

Except there was no chance that was happening after you just blew him off. You could be a firecracker – there was a reason his fellow Avengers didn’t blink twice at Steve calling you Sparkles, thinking it was about your nature – but cynicism was usually a sign of you feeling either ill or sad and Steve refused to leave either of these conditions untreated.

As a Captain with one level higher clearance than yours, he had the authorization to open your apartment door. It wasn’t exactly an option he was comfortable with; though he understood why this protocol was in place at an AI building and even on a good day, he could think of at least ten fearsome scenarios (or about a hundred on a bad day) where he’d be extremely thankful for it, but using his rank now felt like an abuse of power, like an invasion of privacy.

But the need to tend to you was stronger.

He’d try texting once more, to cheer you up, to show he was there for you, even if you weren’t at your best, he reasoned. If that failed, then he’d act.

(7:03) Me: Brought you coffee. And pastry.

(7:04) Me: And me.

He imagined the last note brought a smile to your face, hopefully. And perhaps it did – but no response came this time. No shuffling in the apartment.

Heart seized by worry, guilt seated in his stomach, he waited another full minute, giving you the last chance to stop him. No such luck.

Steve sighed, pulling out his key card, the safety mechanism giving in with a click when he entered his over-ride code.

Leaving the cup and the paper bag by the door, he discarded his shoes, lowly calling out your name. His heart leapt to his throat when no reply came, his body switching to a battle mode.

Something was wrong. Very very wrong. The image of you being held at a gunpoint, barely a week ago flickered through his mind and he regretted not having taken the shield with him – and cursed himself for waiting so long before entering.

Cautiously, he rounded the corner. Kitchen empty. Bathroom door open, no light on. Bedroom it was. His feet were quiet against the floor as he sneaked in; he heard the shuffle of sheets the same moment he saw the shaking pile of covers on the bed.

You were alone.

Quickly scanning the room to make sure his assumption was correct, he let his shoulders sag with relief, fear replaced by mere worry.

The shaking, the harsh breaths. A sniffle. Were you… crying? He couldn’t see you with your back to him, completely obscured by the blankets.

“Sparkles?”

You sucked in air so harshly it made you cough briefly, the bundled pile of sheets trembling harder.

“Sparkles? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked, lump in his throat.

You groaned, shuffling in your curled-up position, not turning to look at him.

“Go aw—way.”

“Yeah, no chance,” he muttered as he rounded the bed in four long strides, crouching by your nightstand.

His view didn’t get much better; with at least three blankets on top of you, all he could see through the slit you made - probably made so you could breathe – were your puffy tired eyes, a peek of your flushed cheeks and nose.

A small piece of his heart broke away at the picture of misery. You shot him a half-hearted angry look for he hadn’t listened to you – as if he ever had when it came to your well-being – before closing your eyes and slowly exhaling.

Steve suddenly understood what modern people meant when they talked about a burrito of sadness. Except you were shaking like a leaf – and Steve was staring to connect the dots, a compassionate tiny smile settling on his face as he placed his hand on what he assumed was your shoulder and rubbed.

“Oh sweetheart… what happened?”

You blinked your eyes opened again, squinting as you observed him from the safety of your unconquerable fortress.

“Tis cold. Wear a hoodie, GG, god’s sake,” you muttered, voice somewhat choked as your teeth clattered.

Steve grimaced. He rarely even got cold ever since having been injected with the serum, his body naturally running hot and sometimes skewing his perception of temperature, but there was no doubt you looked like you felt it was freezing in the perfectly warm apartment – and under three, no four blankets.

It didn’t exactly take a genius or a doctor – or both of those in one person, as Steve’s brain helpfully supplied – to figure out what was happening. Still, Steve carefully reached out, only for you to cocoon yourself tighter, looking as if you wished for the blankets to swallow you.

“I promise my hand is warm,” Steve declared softly, having you scrunch your nose.

“No touch. I feel gross.”

Steve sighed, rubbing your shoulder over the covers. He needed no other confirmation. You were down with a flu – that was why you had cut your evening short yesterday, claiming you had a headache he had tried to sooth with the softest kiss on your forehead, rewarded by one to his lips, accompanied with a tired but sweet smile.

“And everything hurts?” he queried, only to have you nod shakily.

“Yes,” you sniffled, avoiding his attentive gaze. “Back. Knees. Hips… Brain. Jaw. Tis too bright.”

And didn’t that sound familiar. It sounded like half of his pre-serum life and that might have been seventy years ago, but Steve remembered those years very vividly – and despite that, he found himself wishing he could take the sickness on himself to relieve you. But that was not how things worked, not even in the modern day.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did you take any meds?”

Even from the very limited view on your face, Steve could tell it was painted with guilt. Guilt that you failed to do something you knew you should have.

Just like Steve had refused to stay in bed when he was supposed to, because he was no weakling. Screw the flu. His mother worked double shifts in the hospital to make ends meet, he wouldn’t let sniffles take him down nor make the poor saint of a woman his mother was to work harder to buy medicine for him.

Your momentary attitude was starkly different – and it was endearing to see, to be honest – but the outcome was the same. No help to the healing process.

“Too far. Too cold to leave… I know,” you whined, embarrassment flushing your face and Steve felt his heart melt.

“It’s okay, you can stay where you are. I’ll bring you some and make some tea, yeah?”

“Don’t go.”

“Sparkles…” he chuckled as your hand found its way out of the fortress, grabbing after him, hissing as cold air crept under your defences. Biting into his smile – despite truly, truly feeling your pain – he enclosed your warm shaky hand with both of his.

“I don’t wanna die alone.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

He wanted to be exasperated at the drama, at the joke – but if anything, his chest ached a little, because he remembered the pain and the most violent chills and everything feeling like he just might die. Very few people died of flu these days, he had checked, and you were a strong young woman both of which you were no doubt aware of as much as he was, but that knowledge did little to make the shivers stop.

If you were exaggerating on purpose on, Steve was fine with it too. He brought your hand to his lips, dropping a brief kiss to the back of it. Your covers slipped a little, revealing your pouty lips. He smiled and tucked your hand back in, squeezing over the blankets.

“Hey. I told you I wouldn’t let that happen,” he reminded you, waiting for you to grimace. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

“You don’t have to tho,” you sighed, eyes large and vulnerable as you gazed up at him when he rose to his full height. “I can do that, eventually, I can take care of myself--- Christ, why can’t I stop shaking. I hate this.”

Oh yes, that was familiar as well. He knew exactly how much strength you had to gather to have energy to hate something. There was his fighter of a girl.

“I know. I want to,” he assured you, causing you to blink, a tear slipping down your cheek. His stomach clenched in sympathy. “Will you let me take care of you?”

“Yes.”

Steve bet his mother had wished he would have been such a dutiful patient. Wished he let others help; you resembled her in this regard, scolding him for being reckless and taking onto too much. Truth was, as much as he hated seeing you hurting and vulnerable, he was grateful that you let him hwlp and that you weren’t dead set on making things difficult.

For once.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

He came back to your bedside in only a couple of minutes, your eyes having slipped shut. As gently as he could, he had you sit up and take your meds and several sips of tea with lemon and honey. Your covers shifted as you moved, naturally, the cold seeping in and causing you to shake so hard that for a minute, Steve truly worried there just might be more to it than a common flu. A few tears escaped you, tying Steve’s insides in knots. Without a second thought, he took the mug from your hands and climbed to the bed with you, momentarily distracting you from your suffering.

“W-what are y-y-you-“ you tried to ask trough your clattering teeth, pulling your covers tighter to your body.

“I’ll help warm you up. Come on, lie down, Sparkles.”

“I’m gross,” you protested weakly, earning Steve’s unimpressed glare as he opened his arms for you.

“Heard that lie before. Come here”

“You’ll get sick.”

Steve sighed, biting back a grin when despite your words, you shuffled down and closer to him, even if without opening your cocoon just yet.

“I can’t, remember? Come here, I don’t bite unless asked nicely.”

“Har, har, wonder where you heard that one,” you commented dryly, your cough preventing you from reminding him it was, in fact, you who had told him first.

At least the cough wasn’t coming out from depth of your ribcage, Steve observed. That was a good sign; he remembered coughing fits that felt like his lungs have left his body.

Yet, you clearly didn’t have the energy to verbally spar with him anymore. At a painful snail pace, you lifted one side of the quartet-blanket. Content, Steve slipped in, sliding his arm under your side to pull your body flush to his, using his free extremities for tucking the pair of you in the covers neatly so no draught could bother you.

Steve was only a man – a burning soft body stretched all along his, legs tangled intimately, he was absurdly aware of every inch of you touching him; but his hindbrain was asleep. There was absolutely nothing sexual about the whimper that escaped your lips when you tried to tuck yourself into him as you would have into the covers, nothing seductive about your hands sneaking under his shirt, about the silent oh god when your palms laid sprawled over his hot skin – but damn, the line was thin.

You must have realized it too, because all of sudden, your lax body tensed, your hands jerking back, only to get tangled in the fabric.

“Sorry-“ you rasped.

The corners of Steve’s lips twitched, his hand easily covering both of yours and holding them in place over the thin material of his t-shirt. You didn’t fight him, but the fact you felt as if have erred was evident of your face.

“It’s fine, Sparkles.” More than fine. “Does that feel better?”

You just nodded, peeking at him shyly and his heart soared at the vulnerable look in your tired eyes.

“Good. Then I’m doing my job.”

As he felt you relax against him once more, cheek laying on his bare bicep, he dropped a kiss to your forehead – definitely too hot to touch. It elicited a tiny purr-like sound from your chest, making Steve smile against your burning skin.

One arm wrapped around you and holding you close, he ran his other hand down your back, this time earning a whimper when he reached your lower back.

“That where you need me the most?” he whispered, only realizing the double entendre once it left his lips; luckily for him, you didn’t catch it through the flu-induced brain fog, only nodding and snuggling to his side. “Okay, sweetheart, good. I gotch’u.”

“Thank you,” you murmured as your shivers slowly subdued, courtesy of the meds kicking in slowly – and hopefully, Steve’s happily shared body warmth too.

In a matter of minutes, the chills were gone – or at least the exhausting tremble of your body was. A tear seeped into Steve’s shirt, followed by a sniffle and a swift apology.

Shaking his head with a sigh and smile to his lips, he nuzzled your hair, slightly damp with sweat. Gross, you had said. Steve could roll his eyes.

“Didn’t exactly choose to be sick on top of everything, did you?” he mused, unable to stop the teasing tone into his words.

“No, but I’m being a whiny baby.”

He chuckled. Maybe you were, a little bit. It was cute. From what he remembered about himself being sick, he used to be mostly a cranky and stubborn pain in the ass. Emphasis on stubborn whenever he got hurt in the new century.

“You’re not,” he opposed kindly.

“Yes I am,” you argued, clearly feeling a little better. “But please don’t dump me anyway.”

Oh look, you even got jokes now. At least Steve hoped that was a joke.

There was the tinniest hint of a smile in the corner of your lips, wistful and tired, but definitely present. Good.

“I could never,” he promised nevertheless, kissing your scalp. “And you’re sick, you’re entitled not to be all sunshine. Don’t forget I used to be sick all the time.”

You shifted in his arms, allowing him to curl one arm around you and warm up your back at once, leaving his other hand free to caress your hair. Your chapped lips pressed a small peck to his throat. Affectionate even if sickness; Steve wasn’t surprised. This hadn’t been the first time he helped you through, though he had never got so close before.

“Right… I doubt Steve Rogers was a cry baby.”

Steve shrugged, a surprisingly fond grin tugging at his lips as your fingers petted the skin under his collarbone. “I had other ways of driving my ma and Buck crazy.”

“…will you tell me?”

That question should make Steve sad, he thought. Talking about his late mother, about his late best friend… but the pang in his chest was nothing but an echo of a heartache. Frankly, to say it took him by surprise would be an understatement; then again, looking back, he realized it was a pattern with you. Something about you worked as a soft painkiller for the wounds of the past. It didn’t erase them, it didn’t stop them from slowly healing, didn’t numb him all over, but it still eased the ache.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to-”

Steve ran his thumb over the low curve of your spine, silencing you without words.

“It’s okay.... I was the most unsufferable patient ever, I think,” he admitted, chuckling softly.

But you didn’t quite let go of the fact you pried into his past. He adored you for that; yet, he felt his heart more occupied by the fact that your considerate nature was somewhat outshined by the fact that he felt comfortable enough to tell you everything and anything. Especially when you stroked his bare chest like that.

“Share only what you feel comfortable sharing, okay?” you pleaded lowly, straining to kiss the side of his neck briefly before relaxing, head on his shoulder, closing your eyes. “And don’t take it personal if I drift off.”

“Noted.”

“You’re just really warm and I like your voice,” you whispered, almost as if you were half-asleep already.

“Yeah?”

You hummed in agreement, not even opening your eyes. “Feel safe.”

Steve gulped, overwhelmed by the simple statement. In the back of his mind, he knew that – he suspected, he hoped – but hearing you say it, even with your inhibitions lowered by the meds and fever, meant more to him then your body pressed to his. Or perhaps it meant precisely as much; your proximity was the physical equivalent of your expressed trust he treasured. Trust. One of the most essential and often unreachable conditions of love.

Steve loved you. Of course he’d tell you anything you asked for.

“I’m sorry, I’m babbling,” you mumbled, completely ignorant to astonished Steve who was still marvelling at your vulnerability at display, the softest of feelings humming in his chest.

“I won’t hold it against you,” he promised, thumb petting your temple gently. “You are safe with me. Always.”

“I know… How were you insufferable?”

Steve’s lips unwittingly curled up in a smile and he let his memories carry him back; your touch – just as safe, soothing and grounding to him as his seemed to be to you – allowing him to walk the past coloured with only little pain and plenty of nostalgy.

When you eventually dozed off in protective cage of in his arms, skin still burning with fever and slightly slick with sweat, he felt his heart grow three sizes – with love and pride. You felt safe with him. And he’d keep you safe. He’d watch over you and help you beat the flu, so you could cuddle him again without feeling like a cry baby.

And one of those days, he’d hold you close after he’d get you hot and sweating for a different reason. Another day… when you’d show him another kind of trust and he’d trust himself to do the same.

Until then, this was enough. This morning was enough, even if taking a completely different turn than expected. Did he mind? Not really.

Yes, Steve Rogers was a creature of habit.

He cherished his routine. But he cherished making you part of his routine more. He’d dismantle his routine happily for even a moment with you, even if it would mean serving as a pillow and a space heater. He’d break his routine for this with the pride of a man recently promoted to a boyfriend.

Because that was you, that was his girl in his arms. That was the most precious thing the universe had ever sent his way for safe-keeping.

And he would. By god, he would.

Steve Rogers masterlist // Love on The Brain masterlist

Thank you for reading! I hope your year has been okay so far 🥰

Stay safe and healthy 💕 (and spare a moment with feedback if you will)

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #captain america x you #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #agent reader #love on the brain #lovesick #anika ann

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bluestar22x · 11 months ago

Text

The Weekend

Summary: Steve and Connie visit you and Javier in Texas; Connie realizes something new about you that changes everything.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (The same from my Sweet Summer Series - there is a mention of the reader having hair again, but no other details)

Rating: 18+ (to be safe)

Word Count: 3,790 (ish)

Warnings: Anxiety/angst, fluff, fowl language, pov changes, and mentions of pregnancy symptoms

Author’s Note: This can easily be read as a regular oneshot if you haven't read the series yet/don't want to. Anyway, I was so excited to write this one cause I've wanted to write Steve, Connie, and Chucho since all of last year, I just never thought of a plot for it until now. (Chucho still didn't get enough love here, but someday, maybe, it'll happen). Anyway, apparently I won't stop until pretty much every Pedro character is either a first time dad or a dad again. Sorry, not sorry.

xxx

The first time you met Steve and Connie Murphy was on a weekend in mid-November, the same year you'd started dating Javier Peña. They'd driven from Florida with their daughter Olivia to stay at the ranch for a few days, Steve's excuse being that duck hunting season had started in Texas and he needed to show Javier how to actually shoot one, claiming his ex-partner was a shit shot and that it might take all weekend, leading to Javier to grumble under his breath and you to laugh.

They'd hugged despite initial hesitance from Javier and when he relaxed in Steve's embrace you understood then who they were to each other. Brothers, in every sense of the word but blood.

It only made sense from everything you'd gathered from Javier's father, the town, and later Connie and Steve himself. Colombia had been like a war zone, and war zones forged strong bonds, even unlikely ones. Not that Steve and Javier were all that different, you thought. After all, they'd shared the same goals while working together as DEA agents, they'd shared a similar capacity to do what needed to be done to reach those goals, and they'd both come back home with enough nightmares and regrets to last more than a lifetime. Connie had told you about nights where Steve startled from his sleep and didn't return to bed until morning and you'd shared with her that you'd caught Javier doing the same many times while you'd been dating, wandering outside in the middle of the night clearly in an attempt to empty his head of whatever was bothering him. Some nights he still smoked a cigarette or two before returning, the bad habit sometimes the only thing that helped calm him down at first, until he'd made some real progress with his therapist.

It was safe to say your first time meeting Connie and Steve had been eye-opening. It had helped you understand your boyfriend all the more, and you were grateful to them. Not just for the insight, but also for them having been there for Javier before you could be, and for them still wanting to be.

The second time they'd visited the ranch you and Javier were getting married and naturally Steve had been Javier's best man. Connie had also kindly accepted your offer to be maid of honor, since you hadn't had any real friends after you'd graduated college. Besides, after the first day you'd spent around her, you could've easily called her your best friend over all of your past friends. Connie was a very nice person.

You all had briefly seen each other once more when you and Javier had stopped by their house for a meal before heading out to the Keys for your honeymoon and that visit had been just as pleasant, ending with goodbyes and promises for future visits. You planned to make sure the Murphy family would always be a part of your lives.

And so they were back on the ranch the following November, Steve reaching out for Javier even as he roasted him once again. "Have to keep coming back until Javi is finally able to hit a bird. Any bird at this rate will do."

"Shut up, Murphy," Javier growled, though he couldn't hide the smile pulling at the edges of his lips. That made you grin, and it only grew broader when they hugged once more. You loved that your husband had a friend who understood him; who knew him from his darkest days.

"Let's get you all inside," you eventually said, herding them all towards the house, little Olivia tugging on your shirt sleeve as you followed them, looking up at you all adorably with her big brown eyes and wavy dark hair. "Food soon?"

You beamed down at her. "Soon. I'll have it ready in a half hour sweetie." You ruffled her hair a bit and she smiled up at you pleasantly before running ahead of everyone to fall to her knees before Trix, your red and white Basenji. Trix started licking her face like crazy and the little girl's giggles in reaction made your heart soar.

Once in the ranch house, Steve and Connie dragged their suitcases upstairs, into Chucho's old room. Chucho had moved out into a smaller, remodeled house on the south side of the property after you and Javier had married in June, on the day that marked the first year anniversary of your first meeting and date. It had once been a house for employees to stay during peak ranching days, but he'd claimed it was the right size for an old man of his age. You knew the real reason was because he wanted you and Javier to have your own space, because, though he hadn't said the words, you were pretty certain like most parents, he was hoping to become a grandfather.

While Steve And Connie were upstairs with Olivia settling in, you and Javier worked in the kitchen to finish chomping up fresh vegetables for the tossed salad you'd wanted alongside the main course of grilled chicken tacos which you were careful to monitor as the meat cooked.

They had just turned up at the kitchen table with Olivia when Chucho walked in, dressed in the cleanest white button down shirt and pair of blue jeans you'd seen him in since your wedding day. Everyone was in their best casual clothes. It wasn't every day they all got to gather together, after all. And it was almost Thanksgiving.

"Afternoon everyone," Chucho said cheerfully, snatching his cream colored cowboy hat off his head to hang on a hook by the main door. "Ya waiting on me?"

"You are just in time," you told him, smiling. You loved Chucho. He was as much of a father to you as your own, though you'd never admit it for your father's sake.

He settled at the table with Steve and Olivia while you, Javier, and Connie started to set the food out on it. You were feeling great physically and emotionally until you seemed to spin around too fast with the salad and barely managed to hold onto it, getting dizzy with the movement. Javier noticed your sway and pressed a palm to the middle of your back to steady you, concern evident in his expression. "Are you alright?" he inquired, frowning.

You nodded quickly. "I'm good." You weren't sure what had come over you, not being the type of person to easily get light headed, but you were feeling fine again as soon as the moment had passed so it was easy to brush off.

"Maybe you should see a doctor," Javier said lowly, only loud enough for you and a close by Connie to hear. Her eyes darted towards you both, and you could see the curiosity his words had peaked in her.

"You've been getting dizzy a lot lately," he continued.

"I'll set one up after the weekend," you promised him, more so he wouldn't draw the attention of any of your other guests. Whether you actually would or not was still up for debate. To you a little dizziness here and there wasn't enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. It was probably just a consequence of you being tired. You'd done some overtime at work recently and it had worn you down. You'd been going to bed early the previous four or five nights yet still hadn't made up for it. "But I feel fine, Javi. I swear."

He seemed satisfied with that for the time being, though he did insist on guiding you to the table to sit and had Connie finish helping him lay everything out.

The rest of dinner was pretty normal, filled with general chit chat about things like how Chucho and Javier were getting the cattle ready for winter, though it never got too cold in Texas, and how Olivia was adjusting to being in kindergarten.

Connie of all people seemed distracted the entire time, pondering, like she had something on her mind but wasn't sure how to say it. You were so concerned with her distant look that you almost didn't catch Javier sneaking a piece of chicken to Trix. Almost.

"Javi!" you exclaimed, dismayed, even though you'd suspected for a while that he'd been doing it. "No wonder she begs for food now!"

He gave you a sheepish look and Steve grinned from his seat on the other side of him. "Going soft in your old age, Jav."

Javier huffed and you giggled. You knew it wasn't because of his age though. He and his father had both always had a soft spot for dogs.

After that you forgot about how odd Connie was acting until you both cleared the dishes from the table and began washing them in the sink.

"I don't want to be nosy," she whispered to you just loud enough to hear over the background noise of everyone else still talking at the table, "But I can't help it. Do you think you could be pregnant?"

Her question caught you off guard and you starred at her, frozen in place with a soapy dripping plate still in your hands. "You think I could be?"

"Javi said you've been light headed a lot lately," Connie stated, "And you told me just the other day you've been tired. And you also mentioned eating something that hadn't agreed with you. You said you almost threw up."

The cheeseburger you'd had Wednesday night. You hadn't thought about it since.

You glanced around to make sure no one had gotten up from the table. "Are you suggesting it wasn't bad meat?"

"Might not have been," she replied. "I've been around enough pregnant mothers in my nursing career to know greasy foods can trigger morning sickness in them, especially at night."

"Ironic," you quipped. Calling that pregnancy symptom morning sickness was very misleading.

Connie gave you a stern look and waited.

"I shouldn't be," you told her eventually, leaning back against the counter. "I mean, we're not using as much protection as we used to, but I'm still on birth control."

"Any chance you missed a pill or two?" she inquired.

You pursed your lips as you thought about it and bit down on your bottom one after. "It's possible," you admitted. "I do get forgetful sometimes. Usually I'm pretty good about taking prescriptions, but..."

"Are you late?" she interrupted.

You didn't have to think about the answer for that one since your birth control pills always warned you when it was coming. "I might be a few days late. It's not outside the norm for me, but it's also not really inside it either since the pills are really good at keeping me on a strict schedule."

She nodded. "You have any tests here?"

"I have a few in the master bathroom," you told her.

She craned her head towards the table. "Mind finishing the clean up boys?" she called out. Javier and Steve gave you both puzzled looks but when she explained you wanted to show her something upstairs they agreed to do so with Olivia's help.

You watched briefly from the bottom of the stairs as Steve hoisted her up to sit on the countertop and Javier said something to her that wasn't quite loud enough for you to hear before booping her nose with a soap sudded finger, making her giggle, and your heart swelled.

He was so good with her.

Minutes later, Connie sat patiently on the bench in front of your bed while you took three pregnancy tests in the attached bathroom, to be extra sure, and took your hand in hers when you joined her to wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down.

"Have you and Javi talked about having kids before?" she asked gently.

"Of course we have," you answered with a sigh. "But we also agreed to wait a year before I got off the pill."

You weren't sure if you were quite prepared for it yet, but you knew you could ultimately handle whatever the results were, adapt your plans. What made you nervous was Javier. He was only just starting to find his peace, his healing, as much as anyone who'd been through what he had could. You weren't sure he'd be ready yet.

"I'm sure he'll be okay," Connie said knowingly, giving your hand a squeeze. "He's a good man and he loves you. I've never seen that man look at anyone like he does you."

The timer you'd set on your watch started beeping obnoxiously and you bolted for the sink where you'd placed the tests, anxiously scanning their result windows. There were two lines in each, which meant that they were all positive.

Without a doubt, you were pregnant.

Despite your concerns over how Javier would handle the news in that moment you were joyful, tears immediately flooding your eyes. Before meeting Javier you had lost all hope you'd ever get the chance to be a mother, but there you were, staring at three sticks that confirmed you would be one. You beamed at Connie when you walked back into the bedroom and she smiled back at you. "Congratulations."

You pitched into her arms and she squeezed you a little. "You're going to be a great mom. And if you need any advice, I'm one call away. Not that you can't call your mom too."

You chuckled as you also held onto her a little tighter. "I'm sure I'll need all the advice I can get."

You were fully aware that while you had wanted to be a mom for as long as you could remember, you hadn't had lots of interactions with babies. Olivia had hardly been a toddler anymore when you'd first met the Murphy family and you'd been an only child with an uncle and aunt who hadn’t had any kids.

"You'll do great," Connie assured you as you pulled away and wiped at your tear stained cheeks with the backs of your hands.

You nodded. It was comforting to know she believed in you and that she'd be there if you needed her help. She may have not known what it was like to be pregnant because she and Steve had adopted Olivia while in Colombia, but you knew her advice would always be solid because she was an amazing mother. Everything you hoped you would be.

You glanced towards the hallway. "Should I tell him now?"

"Delaying it won't make it easier," she told you wisely, grasping your elbow. "Do you want me to send him up here?"

"That would be great, thanks," you said gratefully.

She smiled sweetly at you. "No problem."

With that she left the room and you paced as you waited for Javier to show up. You couldn't remember a time you'd ever been more nervous - and you'd had major anxiety every time you'd taken exams in college.

"Connie said you wanted to see me?" he questioned as he strolled into your shared bedroom less than a minute later. When he saw the stress on your face his expression grew concerned once more. "What happened? Are you feeling okay? Did you get light headed again?"

You shook your head furiously. "No. No, Javi." You approached him and cupped his face. "I'm fine. I promise. I just know why I've been off now."

"What is it?" he inquired, stance still tense with worry. He searched your eyes with his dark ones as if they could answer for you.

"We're going to be parents," you told him, barely above a whisper.

He jerked his head away from your hand and blinked at you, stunned. "You're pregnant?"

You gave him a single nod to confirm and he gaped at you before wrapping you up in his arms and burying his face in your hair. "Oh, mi amor."

You melted in his hold after his initial reaction and hugged him back. "You're not upset?"

He pulled away from you and frowned. "You thought I'd be upset?"

You folded your arms over your chest, slightly ashamed of your assumption. "I wasn't sure. You said you wanted to wait a year, and I agreed to it. I had every intention of waiting, but I think I might have forgotten a pill at some point. It was a mistake."

He shook his head and leaned forward to kiss your temple tenderly, then your lips, letting his forehead rest against yours after. "However this happened, any child of ours could never be a mistake, hermosa."

You felt the love in his words bloom in your chest, warming it, and you beamed up at him. "So you're happy?"

"Of course I am," he assured you, brushing his nose against yours.

You grinned wider and kissed him again. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that."

He smiled back at you, though it didn't reach his eyes.

You were too excited to retell the story of how Connie got you to take the three tests to see that it was a front.

Once you'd told him the whole story, you'd lead Javi downstairs to announce your news to Steve and Chucho as well, and they'd pulled you both in for hugs after giving their cheerful congratulations.

"I'm going to be a grandfather," Chucho had boasted proudly and you'd smiled at him fondly. "You sure are."

Javier had been overwhelmed with how happy everyone was for you both, and a part of him was undeniably happy too, but another part, the part that sat in the darkest corner of his mind, said he didn't deserve it. He'd barely accepted that he was good enough for you, he didn't think that could extend to an innocent baby who had no say in who their father was.

He put on a show until his father left for his house, then excused himself to go hang out on the front porch alone, watching as clouds rolled in for an evening rain. It was fitting for his mood.

He should have known Steve would follow him out, handing a beer to him like it was some kind of peace offering.

He popped off the lid of his own bottle and took a sip before leaning on a beam at the front of the porch, across from him.

"Javier Peña, father," he said with a smile playing on his lips. "I'm honestly surprised." He quirked his brows. "Not that you are going to be one, but rather that it took so long, considering your reputation back in Bogotá."

Javier tilted his head, giving it to him. He couldn't say he wasn't surprised that a woman hadn't come forward to tell him she was pregnant while he was in Colombia. It wasn't like he'd been totally irresponsible, but the odds had to have been stacked against it not happening just by pure numbers. He'd had casual sex as a form of stress relief while he was there, just like smoking, and he couldn't deny he'd been very stressed during those years, especially since he hadn't always been able to keep his heart out of some of those said casual relations.

"I don't know if I'm ready yet," he admitted to his friend. "We just got married not that long ago. It took me months of therapy to work up to proposing to her and then going through with it. She kept insisting I was enough for her, that as long as I loved her that was enough, but I always still had that doubt at the back of my head. A part of me telling me she could do better."

"She could," Steve stated plainly, taking another sip of his drink. "And what about Connie? You think I deserved her?"

Javier snorted. "No."

"Exactly!" Steve exclaimed, pointing the lip of his bottle at his shoulder and grinning. "But that's not the point! Something Connie and several sessions of couples therapy when I got back to Miami taught me is that marriage isn't about what anyone deserves. It's about what you're willing to do for your partner. Who you're willing to be for them. And it's the same with being a father. I was a mess when we found Olivia. I didn't know what I was doing. And I'm not going to lie, it wasn't easy, but I did eventually learn how to be the dad she deserves. If you want to be, chances are you will be. It's as simple as that."

Javier glanced down at the bottle in his hands and swished the liquid inside, trying to find his words. "I do...want to be," he told him quietly.

Steve nodded. "That's good to hear. Because the one thing your wife definitely does not deserve is you running out on her now."

Javier clenched his jaw. "I'd never do that to her!" he hissed, outraged at the mere idea of it. "Lorraine was different. I was different. Back then I had the thought that marrying her would hold me back from my dreams of seeing the world and making a difference. Now I know better." He adjusted his stance and met his friend's eyes before continuing, "And I know being a parent can be tough, whether or not you're as fucked up as I am, but I do want this, more than I ever imagined I would."

"Shit, Jav," Steve said, the edges of his mouth pulling up, "Don't tell me that. Tell her."

He was right. Though Javier was sure you hadn't noticed, he still needed to tell you all of it. To assure you that he loved you and that he was going to be there for you, the both of you.

He chuckled and Steve raised a brow at him, uncertain of what was so funny.

"You ever consider a side job as a shrink?" Javier smirked and Steve huffed at him. "Depends, you ever gonna hit a bird?"

"Fuck you. You distracted me last time!"

Steve nodded at him as an amused gleam sparked in his pale blue eyes. "Sure. Whatever you say, Jav."

He patted his shoulder. "See ya in the mornin'."

Javier grunted a goodnight to him and entered the house to find you waiting in the kitchen, a broad smile on your face. He realized then that the screen door's window had been open.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked.

You strolled over to him and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Enough to know you're going to be a great father, whether you believe it or not."

"Say that again," he murmured against your lips, his heart feeling like it wanted to burst out of his chest.

You understood, you always did. You placed a hand over his heart. "You're going to be a father, Javi."

He grinned at you and scooped you up into his arms. "Thank you for that."

"I couldn't imagine having a baby with anyone else," you told him honestly, and the love in your eyes left no room for him to doubt it, so he didn't.

You spent the rest of the night in each other's arms.

xxx

Tagged: @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @yoursoulsunbreakable @harriedandharassed

xxx

Sweet Summer Series

New Year's Promise

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Javier Pena #Narcos #Javier Pena Fanfic (Mine)#Narcos Fanfic #Fanfiction #X Reader #Mine #Pedro Pascal Character Fanfic #Sweet Summer Series #Queue Me

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randomstoryenjoyer · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!

I’d like to welcome you to writing x readers! I hope you have fun while doing so, and remember to take care of yourself!!

If you would like to, would you be okay with writing for Financier Cookie (CRK) x reader (GN), where the reader is really short and just a small person in general? And they like to occasionally wear heels and stacks and other shoes to make them seem taller.

Hope you have a good day! And again, welcome!!

(Here it is, the first ask of my blog. Hope you enjoy and thank you for the request!)

Financier Cookie x Short Reader

When Financier Cookie first met you, she actually mistook you for a little young cookie, asking if you were lost and where your home was. Cue one awkward conversation later, and she’s left feeling shocked and also partially embarrassed.

Soon enough, her initial surprise turns into slight concern. You had spoken to her as if was a common occurrence to you, getting mistaken for a kid due to being such a short cookie. She’ll begin wondering if you ad ever faced any hardships from other cookies due to your size. Were you made fun of often? Did other cookies not take you seriously?

All these thoughts in her head eventually lead to her seeking you out on her own whenever she’s off from her main paladin duties. You soon became a bit confused as to why she was always seemingly nearby you, but you decided not to worry about it. Financier Cookie’s reputation in the Crème Republic was nothing to scoff at, after all!

As the connection between you two continuously grew, Financier Cookie began to see her time with you as another task for her Paladin duty. She’s always claiming it’s for your safety and for making sure your days in the Republic were pleasant, despite what some of her ulterior motives might say…

Despite being such a short cookie in general, your personality and disposition are often cheerful and outgoing. Your determination to enjoy your life to the fullest despite the difficulties you face due to your height is something she really admires. This also leads her to discovering one of your occasional habits…

Your tendency to wear high heels or stacks is something she now enjoys seeing too. She’s always making sure that you feel taller than ever when you have them on, sometimes leaning down to you so you can reach the same height as her just to see you smile more. If her Paladin wear allowed it, she’d totally be wearing heels too.

To her, no matter how what type of shoe you wear, it always manages to perfectly fit your whole cute look. Once in a while, you’ll even find a gift or two left for you that consists of a high-heeled or stack shoe with the paladin or republic emblem on it. It makes Financier Cookie feel content whenever she sees you wearing them and walking alongside her.

It truly has started to become difficult to keep her professional and calm demeanour whenever she spent time with you. Your personality, coupled with your height are one of the only things that cause her to loosen up with her formality, replacing it with a normal, more calm demeanour that she’s starting to like having as well when she’s spending time with you.

Anytime you ever do happen to feel a bit insecure or self-conscious about your size, she’s always there to comfort and reassure you that your height is not a negative aspect of you for you’re perfect just the way you are, her voice often slipping up and becoming more affectionate than her usual formal self. If anybody ever dares to make fun of you for your size, she’s always more than happy to let her sword do the talking and reasoning…

She thanks the Divine light for having had the chance to meet you, someone who’s both so adorably small and so wonderfully unique in the Crème Republic. As odd as it might seem, the constants urge to protect and socialise with you is something she doubts she can live without at this point…

#financier crk #financier cookie #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cookie run kingdom #crk #x reader #cr kingdom #cr x reader

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owlhead650 · 2 months ago

Note

i feel compelled to ask for anything of Saphira, if that is okay

That is more than okay, a predictable yet pleasant request coming from you. Rather than a drawing I chose to write a short story about Saphira. It's about 1329 words long. I meant to make it shorter but I lost track of time and just kept writing. Enjoy.

Pokemon Reborn - Saphira Belrose & Her Culinary Ventures

Saphira was slouching on the couch and crushing her left arm in the process. Not at all a healthy sitting posture, but whatever, she’ll probably right herself in a minute. She was in that frustrating state where her eyes felt tired but her body had lots of energy, she commonly felt this way in the morning. Maybe this wouldn’t happen if she just slept longer and woke up at a better time, she was in the habit of staying up till midnight every day and waking herself up for something at seven.

As much as she hated the orphanage her nighttime curfew was largely good for her, if nothing else about that place.

Okay, she forced herself to sit up on the couch. She was home, the Belrose Household hidden in Tanzan Cove. She had to stop thinking about the orphanage at every possible opportunity, she had to stop.

But how could she?

Her childhood suffering had largely defined the course of her life. She didn’t feel safe so she became strong, the strongest gym leader so she could make her own safety. She was never able to protect herself from what Sigmund did to her, so she just obsessed over protecting others instead. Just yesterday herself, Charlotte and Decibel all went to Labradorra city so that Saphira could plan how to build that youth shelter she was going to commit her career to.

She hated the place Sigmund built so she was going to build her own place that hopefully would feel to children and teens like the place she wishes she had growing up. Labradorra was even the city where Sigmund died, would she ever truly be rid of him?

She had to stand up and do something. Stop brooding. She went into the kitchen. Neither Laura nor Charlotte were awake yet, it was a Saturday at half seven in the morning. Saphira had meant to also sleep in, but she just couldn’t.

She looked at a pot in the sink that someone was going to need to hand wash. This was the one she used to burn water. Twice.

Yesterday Charlotte had said: “You may not exactly be the motherly type, but we all know you well enough to know you’ll do a way better job than the good Doctor ever did.”

Again with the fucking Doctor. But ignoring Saphira’s own inability to put him behind her, there was something about what Charlotte said which still bothered her. Wasn’t Saphira able to be motherly?

For the better half of her life Saphira’s main love language was violence directed towards The Enemy. If she killed anyone who tried to hurt her sisters then they would feel safe and loved. When she ran out of enemies to kill then she would feel safe and loved. Honestly now that Saphira had the introspection skills to put her previous philosophy into words, it was totally insane. Saphira now realised how mad she once was, and as she sorted the kitchen knives into their drawers, she actually felt relieved that she never used one of them to end Sigmund. It’s possible that killing him would have scarred her so permanently that she would never be able to heal.

Now that Saphira knew that killing people wasn’t a healthy way to express love, she needed to find some other way. Her sister Laura was quite adept at this. Laura had so many different little ways with her words and actions to make others feel better. Saphira decided that learning to cook was a good practical way to start. If she could always make a good meal then in that sense people would trust her and depend on her.

Only issue is that she sucks at it.

After Charlotte had teased her about the whole cooking thing, Decibel had actually said something really sweet to her:

“...Saphira might need to practise some skills like cooking and organising herself, but she already has the caring heart needed to be considered ‘motherly’. That’s the most important part, the rest will come with time.”

That was the first thing Decibel had said in hours. Charlotte was left speechless. Saphira found it both mortifying and gratifying to hear.

So Saphira decided that she would make rashers and sausages for Laura and Charlotte to enjoy when they got up. She put them in the griller and waited, enjoying the smell and the sizzling sounds.

She checked them. The colour had definitely changed, but were they hot enough? She didn’t want to risk serving them raw. Just leave them a little longer.

A ‘little longer’ turned into ten minutes of her scrolling through funny dragon type videos on her phone. She didn’t look up until she smelled smoke. “...Oh crap.” She flipped up the lid and saw that of the three rashers and three sausages, maybe two rashers were still edible albeit with a crispy flavour. She turned off the griller and put all of it onto a plate. After examining the meat she found that large parts of it weren’t burnt.

She sliced up the sausages and in the end there were two plates with unevenly sized chunks of meat that were black around the edges, but tasty. At least that’s what she thought from her singular bite.

Charlotte and Laura had come down stairs. “Oooh boy, did you enter the kitchen again?” Charlotte was wearing a vest and shorts this morning. “Well of course I did, we’re both in the kitchen right now.”

“Uh huh.”

“I made breakfast for you and Laura.” Saphira tried to match Charlotte’s apparent nonchalance.

“I can see that.” Charlotte walked around her and took out a bowl to get some cereal.

“Thank you for making food Saphira, it was very considerate of you.” Laura gave Saphira this little pat on the shoulder and ate a sausage which had been cut at some weird seventy two degrees angle.

“It’s not bad.” Laura was wearing a very soft long sleeved pyjama top and similar pyjama bottoms.

“Woah, really?!” Charlotte looked up from her bowl of cheerios.”Saph, your food went from ‘room for improvement’ to ‘not bad’. That’s momentous!” She proclaimed in mock awe.

“...It’s okay guys. Neither of you need to eat my stuff if you don’t want to.” Even if Saphira really wished she could do things to make them happy, it’s no good expecting them to pretend to like it. She didn’t want to be some nuisance to them.

“Wait, Saph. I’m sorry.” Charlotte had caught the sadness in her voice.

“What for?” Saphira had sat down at the other side of the table and ate some of the meat meant for Charlotte. It wasn’t that good.

“For being mean, I guess. I act a certain way to be funny or cool or something, it’s just how I am most of the time. I’ll work on it.”

“No, Charlotte. It’s fine. Really I’m fine.” Saphira’s idea of feeling ‘fine’ is warped due to her circumstances.

“Saphira.” Laura said. “We’re very proud of you and we love you. You’ve grown a lot and changed for the better in a very short amount of time, but you need to realise that you don’t have anything to prove. You don’t need to be the ‘provider’ or ‘protector’ just to be a good sister. You’re enough as you are, just do your best and take care of yourself. Please.”

“...What she said.” Charlotte added.

“J-jeez. I really don’t know what to say to that. Honestly I feel like I could practise cooking for another decade and I’d still be really bad at it.”

“Just do your best Saphira. That’s all you need to do.” Laura insisted.

“I’m with her on that, I think you’re the coolest person I know Saphira. I’m glad you're my sister.” Charlotte and Laura had somehow realised exactly what Saphira needed at this moment. She loved them.

“Yeah. I’ll just do my best then.”

______________________________________________________________

And that's the story. I meant to make it short and funny but the more I thought about it the more I wanted to make it introspective and emotional. These requests have so far only been answered with short stories, with this being the second request I've taken, but depending on the ideas I get for the character requested I could do either. The previous request, the first one, was about Ace Featherstone. I know you might enjoy that one @gree-gon and also feel free to request a different character whenever you like. There's no limit on the amount of requests I can take from one person, just keep in mind that I won't always fufill them quickly or to a super high standard. The requests are more of a way for me to get prompts from people about ideas for what I should create. The inbox is empty so anyone can make the next request whenever, and obviously it doesn't cost you any money.

#pokemon reborn #noctor writes #noctor answers #pokemon reborn saphira #pokemon reborn charlotte #pokemon reborn laura #thanks again for the request this one was a lot of fun

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