#standing up never required less preparation before??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

samkerrworshipper · 7 months ago

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sugar baby | alexia putellas x reader

a big big big thank you to @codiemarin because this fic would not exist without her suggestions and ideas!!! also back from my hiatus (maybe) hope yall enjoy!

warnings: smut 18+ minors dni

This had become normal for you.

Every second night, instead of lying in the comfort of your own sheets or servicing clients in the club you used to work at, you were standing in the kitchen of your newest employer, plating up the takeout that had been chosen for tonight.

Sunday nights were take out nights, because it was typically Alexia’s game night, which meant she was starving by the time she was home and looking for a quick eat. Majority of the time, she was riding on an adrenaline high, which meant one thing, you were in for it.

Sunday’s had very quickly become your favourite night of the week for this reason, Sunday night had expectations, ones that Alexia was extremely specific about.

You were to have dinner done by the time she was home, you were to be wearing whatever lingerie she’d most recently bought for you, the shortest skirt in your wardrobe and your cunt and ass stuffed with the vibrator and butt plug that Alexia required you to wear in preparation before she got home.

Normally, being stuffed exhilarates you, it’s your favourite way to spend your afternoons in Alexia’s apartment, as you aimlessly clean and spend time on Alexia’s balcony reading in the Barcelona sun. Normally, she edges you for hours before she returns home, controlling the vibrator stuffed in your pussy with the app on her phone. Today though, she’s left you stuffed but with no stimulation. It’s equally exhilarating knowing that Alexia is giving you a bit of a break, knowing that it means she’s going to destroy you as soon as she walks through the door.

Alexia after a game is always your favourite version of Alexia, it’s like all of the control issues, the built up adrenaline and exhaustion somehow mix into a perfectly horny Alexia who always managed to make you feel good in all of the worst ways.

You swore that you didn’t hear the door open or Alexia’s footsteps making their way through her apartment, slowly approaching you, too focused on plating up the food and making it look less like it had been crammed into a plastic container and more like it was a home cooked meal. Chances were Alexia couldn’t care less, as long as everything was clean and put away by the time she got home and the food was good then none of it really mattered.

She snuck up on you, her hand gently placing itself on the back of your neck. You did your best not to scream in surprise, instead squealing as quietly as possible at the warm hand that was now pressed firmly against your mostly bare thigh.

Ale’s breath is also equally as warm against your neck, you can tell just by her grip and firmness that it’s been a tough game, a bad day for her standards.

You never check the scores on her matches for this exact reason, it meant that there was always some element of surprise as to how Alexia’s mood was going to be when she arrived home, if it was a good game, an easy game, then she tended to be a bit more mellowed out, floaty and happy on the adrenaline high she was coming off of, bad games however could result in many different versions of Alexia.

“Hola.”

Your voice is croaky, the sudden pressure on the nape of your neck making it harder to enunciate.

“Hola.”

Alexia’s voice is short and scrapy, like she’s been yelling for hours upon hours, which you suppose could be the case.

“Dinner is on the table, from Clarice’s.”

It’s a boutiquey mediterranean place that Alexia loves.

For you, it’s mind boggling that she’s willing to spend such an insane amount of money on food that is only half decent, you suppose, though when you have exorbitant amounts of money you might as well spend it.

“You’re eating with me.”

Alexia doesn’t wait for you to take in her words, she grabs onto the hair at the base of your neck and pulls you towards the dining table, dragging you with her.

You don’t normally eat with Alexia, preferring to talk with her after her games or prepare yourself how she wished for whatever the rest of the night was going to entail, tonight though she seemed to have other plans.

Instead of guiding you into one of the seats at the table like you’d expected though, Alexia took her own seat, before dragging you down to your knees below her.

The floor was hard on your bare knees, not that you actually minded.

Alexia kept her hand in your hair, locked down on a clump of roots at the lowest point of your hairline where your neck and hair met.

She didn’t have to say much, her spare hand tugging at the waistband of her shorts was enough of an indication of exactly what she was expecting you to eat.

Your hands replaced Alexia’s, nails digging into the elastic of her shorts and tugging them down her ass and thighs. You didn’t take your time, not when Alexia was clearly so worked up, you dragged them off of her until they were still pooled at her ankles.

Next you moved onto her panties, taking them off with the same intention as her shorts.

You didn’t waste any time staring at the clear wet patch on Alexia’s panties, or the scuffs and scratches up and down her knees and thighs that told you the game had been rougher than she was letting on.

Her knee was cold, you realised that when your shoulder brushed up against it, like she’d had an ice pack pressed to it until she’d walked into the apartment.

Once her panties were off, you took a second to admire her, spread out directly in front of you.

It was one of your favourite sights, quite possibly your number one.

You started at Alexia’s knee, pressing warm sloppy kisses to the skin on the inside, slowly making your way up to where she wanted you most.

Were you purposely teasing her?

maybe.

It didn’t take long, a couple of wet, rough kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh managing to be enough to earn you a harsh pull of your hair, jerking your head backwards so you were looking up at Alexia.

She has a fork in her hand, clearly enjoying her meal.

“Don’t test me, keep teasing me and you won’t like the consequences.”

Alexia’s voice is definite, if you disobey her then she’s going to punish you, it’s a clear outline of her expectations.

Normally, you’d put yourself right in the middle on the scale of brattiness and submission, maybe teetering a little bit further towards the bratty side.

You knew where to toe the line though.

Praise was something you craved, you didn’t necessarily like to be constantly in trouble, you liked to please people and the easiest way to do that was to obey.

So without much fuss, you gently pulled your head from Alexia’s grip, moving past her thighs and with slight hesitation giving her exactly what she wanted.

You started with one thick, broad stroke, directly through her heat.

She was soaked, like she’d been anticipating this her whole way home, which sent a shiver down your spine.

Alexia pushed you where she wanted, up to her clit, you got the message and started to suck, hard.

It was exactly how Alexia liked it, your teeth grazing her most sensitive place every so often, her hips jerking so slightly when you did.

You weren’t all that surprised when her hand reached from your hair to the place inbetween your shoulders, tapping until you correct your posture.

It was random things like that Alexia was a complete freak over, posture, cleanliness, little stupid things that you couldn’t have cared less about.

Yet for some reason, you found yourself adjusting to how Alexia wanted you, even if it meant your head was that much closer to hitting the bottom of the table and your back was now cramping. It was worth it if it meant that Alexia was more at ease and you could avoid punishment.

Alexia wasn’t a loud lover, on a good day the best you could get out of her was a groan or if it was a really good day then a moan, it wasn’t any surprise to you though if you couldn’t get anything out of her.

Alexia stayed silent, apart from the noises of her slowly making her way through the food you’d plated up for her.

You had become a master of Alexia’s body, it was necessary considering she was so quiet, you knew her tell tale signs and exactly when she was close and how to get her there.

It didn’t take long, it never really did after a game.

You were no scientist or professional as far as women's health went, but you assumed it had something to do with all of the hormones and energy that was built up, it put a person closer to the edge.

You weren’t surprised when Alexia’s thighs slowly began to tighten on either side of your head and her grip on your hair became so tight that you struggled to move against her.

Everything in Alexia’s body tensed up, she went rigid and then finally, without any show at all, she relaxed, her clit throbbing underneath your mouth and thighs relaxing on either side of your head.

As soon as she’d come you moved your mouth down from her clit, cautious of over stimulating her too early and instead moving down to her opening and cleaning up the mess that you’d made.

It might have just been the best dinner you’d ever had.

You keep your mouth on her, not wanting to displease her in any way.

As she’s finishing her food and you lazily kiss and lick her pussy you become progressively more aware of the pooling wet heat that has begun to settle into your panties and is slowly beginning to leak out across your thighs, you feel so full and yet so empty, craving to feel more than the motionless toys that you’ve been stuffed with for hours.

Almost as soon as Alexia is setting her fork down on her plate she’s pushing your head away from her, pushing you back until your ass is sitting on top of the backs of your heels.

“Clean up, I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

Before you can nod your head Alexia is already standing, walking off towards her bedroom and leaving you on your knees in front of the chair she’d previously occupied.

With sore knees and arousal dripping all over your face you stood up, collecting Alexia’s empty plate and walking unsteadily towards the sink and washing it off before stacking it into the dishwasher. You do the same with her cutlery before closing the dishwasher and putting away any other mess you’d made and making sure the kitchen was as you’d found it, if Alexia found anything out of place in the morning you knew she’d punish you for it, so you took time making sure every meticulous detail was correct.

Alexia kept her home as she kept herself, organised to an obsessive point, everything had a specific space or place that it had to occupy. She had a dish for the tv remote, an alphabetically sorted spice rack, every painting, picture and frame had to be centred and her wardrobe was sorted into so many different categories that you struggled to comprehend how a person could put together an outfit everyday without having an aneurysm.

Alexia loved it though, and for whatever reason she expected you to uphold her level of cleanliness.

Once you were certain that the room was exactly how Alexia liked it, you began walking towards Alexia’s bedroom, your favourite room in her apartment.

The door was half open, giving you a glance into the space before you stepped foot into the doorway.

The lights were dimmed and whilst you couldn’t see Alexia, you could see the items she’d left out on top of the bed spread and it had you quaking from the inside to out.

The anticipation of actually getting to see Alexia is enough to get you through the door, slowly pushing the door open and allowing yourself to step foot in the room.

It didn’t take long for you to find Alexia, she was standing in the doorway of her wardrobe, hands on her hips and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

She was stark naked, excluding the strap that was hanging from the space in between her legs.

The red dildo was one that you’d never seen before, and for that you were glad.

It looked far larger than anything you’d ever taken with Alexia, there were veins up and down the length of it and the girth alone was intimidating, the length though, the length was enough to make your eyes pop out of your skull.

Alexia looked as smug as ever, the cocky grin on her face and the way that her muscles bulged out just above the strap. Alexia’s got a good body, she knows it, everybody on earth who has a functioning brain knows it. It’s one of your guilty secrets that you get it all to yourself, that you get to see parts of her body that nobody else gets to. You’ve seen thousands of women, super models, athletes, people from all walks of life but you’re fairly certain that nobody would ever come close to Alexia Putellas.

It wasn’t just her body either, it was her demeanour, her aura, everything about her was attractive to you. She was a good person, but she was also a good fuck, the best sex you’d had in your life was with Alexia and you’d worked in a sex club for years. You can’t be taught experience or confidence, it’s something that you have or you don’t and Alexia was the best. You supposed she liked to be the best at everything, the best at football, the best at life, the best at sex. Her strive for perfection in all walks of life never deterred.

“Alexia.”

Alexia pouted at you, her hands anchored at her hips, giving you a full view of her full breasts and her rock hard nipples.

“That’s not what you call me.”

You bit down on your lip, the stickiness between your thighs only getting stickier.

“Daddy.”

Alexia’s smirk broadened, her teeth biting down into her lip.

“Yes baby?”

You felt your pussy quiver, your cheeks reddening.

“It’s to big.”

Alexia’s smirk faded in a matter of seconds, the blonde starting to take steps towards you.

“I don’t like that attitude baby girl, you’ll take what I give you unless you want to make me mad, and I don’t think you want that, hm?”

The condescending voice, the way her eyes looked down at you, the saunter in her steps. If you hadn’t already soaked your thong then it was now.

“Daddy, it’s huge.”

Alexia nodded, like you were telling her what day it was instead of talking about the appendage that was attached to her hips.

“Wanna say that again? Wanna make me mad? Wanna put me in an even worse mood than that game did, because I recall that your one job is to do the exact opposite.”

She’s right, you were quite literally employed by her as a means for her to manage her stress. It had started at the club you’d worked at, Alexia spending half of her week in the shitty mildewy basement of a run down sex club in Barcelona just to enjoy your company. Eventually she was spending more time paying for your time at the club than at her own home and that was when she made the decision to give you a proposition, one you’d accepted happily.

“No daddy.”

Alexia nods her head, taking the final step to bridge the gap between the two of you.

“That’s what I thought princesa, now how about you lie back on the bed for me, you know how I like you.”

You didn’t hesitate, brushing past Alexia and straight to her bed, climbing on top of the covers as gracefully as you could manage, trying to give Alexia a show as you crawled your way to the top of the bed. Once you made it to the pillows you flipped onto your back, opening your legs for Alexia and keeping still as she liked you.

Alexia peered down at you, admiring the clear wet patch that was embedded in your thong. It was a sight that she was equally as grateful for every time she got to see it, the evidence that you were just as needy and worked up as she was, that you were equally as desperate for her as she was for you.

“So wet princesa, is that all for me? Does your perfect little pretty cunt get worked up at the thought of me?”

She knows the answer, she only asks you to try and get a kick out of you, to rile you up and try and get you to brat back at her, you know her tricks and you know that it’s best to answer her with some kind of submissive variation.

“Yes daddy.”

Alexia moves her way around to the side of the bed, leaning over to reach for your chin, her index finger pointing it up so you’re looking at her eye-to-eye.

“You’ve been good today? Doing as I asked and not touching what belongs to me?”

You shake your head obediently, you’ve learnt from experience that disobeying Alexia is the worst possible thing you could do, for starters the woman always seems to find the truth anyways and she’s more creative than most with her punishment tactics.

“Yes daddy, I’m always good for you.”

Alexia smirks big and wide, her grip on your chin tightening.

“I’ll be the decider of that. What colour are you princesa?”

You take a big deep breath before answering Alexia, composing yourself to give her a proper answer.

“Green, daddy.”

Alexia nods, her fingers staying on your chin with a grip that you couldn’t even try to escape.

“How are you feeling about being tied up baby?”

You thought about the question for a few seconds.

“Fine, I’m green daddy, I’ll let you know if I don’t like anything.”

Alexia smiles, softer, less aggressively domineering.

“That’s what I like to hear, what are your rules?”

You almost roll your eyes, almost.

Alexia’s made you memorise them, you know them like you know the colour of your eyes and the surface of your palm.

“I know my rules daddy.”

Alexia’s soft smile reverts to the harsh line, the same one you’d been met with when she’d found you in the kitchen.

“I didn’t ask if you knew them, I asked you to tell me them. Don’t make me have to punish you when you’ve been so well behaved so far, what are your rules, slut?”

Alexia’s grip turns into a bruising hold, her finger tips digging into the skin of your chin bone.

“No touching myself without permission. No talking without permission unless I’m spoken to. No cumming without permission. Use my safewords if I want to stop at any time. No moving unless you tell me too. If you tell me to do something, do it.”

Alexia nods, climbing onto the bed beside you and hovering her face just inches above yours.

“There’s my good girl, you can be good if you want to, huh?”

Once again, you do your very best to shrug off the condescension in Alexia’s words, smiling at her and simply nodding your head.

“Yes daddy.”

Alexia leans down, pulling your bottom lip with her teeth before your lips even begin to meet hers. Everything about the kiss is as controlled as Alexia, she goes at her own pace, deepening it when and however she likes, eventually pushing her tongue into your mouth.

It’s slower than you’d like, and with both of your holes still stuffed but unstimulated it’s ten times harder to endure, but you assume that’s Alexia’s doing, she’s trying to get you as riled up as possible, although you are unsure of her endgame.

“You look so pretty with my cum all over your face baby, I taste divine if I do say so myself.”

Alexia’s fingers begin to trail down your body, over the top of the lace that your breasts are confined to and straight down to the waistband of your panties, gently brushing over your hips before her hand dipped below the wet lace and swiped through your heat two times, collecting as much arousal as she could without touching any of the places that you were yearning for her the most.

Alexia’s hands are gone almost as quickly as they arrived, her hand creating a gap in between the kiss. Her fingers replace your lips, her index and middle finger being pushed into her mouth.

The way that Alexia sucks, nips and licks at her fingers is simply mesmerising, you're in a trance watching her.

“Such a fucking filthy slut, all wet from getting daddy off, huh? You taste magnificent, baby.”

The mixture of praise and degrading has your head spinning in circles, all of the different words mixing inside your head, sending you into that perfect headspace that Alexia always managed to drift you into.

“Open.”

Alexia’s fingers, now wet with her slobber, tapped at your chin and without any hesitation whatsoever you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

Within seconds, Alexia was spitting into your mouth, directly onto your waiting tongue.

“Swallow.”

You obey her once again, swallowing the spit on your tongue, faintly tasting your own arousal mixed in.

“How do you taste, baby?”

You focus on swallowing properly before answering Alexia.

“Horny, daddy.”

Alexia rolls her eyes before landing a sharp but playful slap to the inside of your thigh, plastering it with more wetness.

“Behave and maybe I’ll do something about it.”

Alexia’s lips don’t return to yours, instead they hover just far enough out of reach that you can’t connect yours with hers.

Alexia lifts herself up and off the mattress, walking over to the pile of different toys she’s left out on the bench at the foot of the bed and picking out a set of silk ties.

She walks back over to you, reaching for your wrists and knotting the silk around them before reaching up to the posts on each side of your bed and securing your wrists to them. Once she’s done she nods at you to check them, you move your wrists accordingly, testing her bonds.

They’re tight and methodically done, immobilising you how Alexia wishes, but they’re also loose enough that if you really tried you’d be able to escape them without much effort.

Once Alexia’s satisfied with her knotwork she walks back over to her pile, picking out a few items that she keeps hidden from you.

Alexia crawls her way back up the mattress, stop halfway up your body and opting to pull the sticky panties off of you, she peels them off of you, slowly tugging them down your hips until they’re sitting at your ankles. Alexia trails her fingers back up a long your legs, tracing little white lines across your skin with her nails as they made their way back up to the space that your panties had previously covered.

Alexia didn’t touch anything, instead she gently began to tug at the vibrator nestled deep inside of you, it’s lying painfully motionless inside of you and whilst you were more than happy to be filled up with something, it’s almost a relief having it removed.

“Such a good girl staying stretched out for daddy, hmm?”

You nod your head at Alexia, trying your hardest to keep your composure as she gently traces the tissue around your hole, never dipping inside though.

“Such a pretty little pussy, so perfect for daddy to stretch out and play with.”

You suck in a deep breath as Alexia’s hand comes down in a firm but quick slap, the pain flashing across your most sensitive areas.

Your back arches, a few months ago you would have been embarrassed that your body was seeking out that kind of contact but with Alexia that all changed, how could you feel embarrassed when she looked and talked about your body like it was created by God himself.

Her hand comes down again, this time more targeted towards your clit, it takes everything you have to turn the scream that was ready in your chest into a groan.

“Be as loud as you want, princesa, it’s not going to make me stop and it’s not going to make your body dislike what I’m doing to you.”

Alexia’s hand comes down again, the squelchy slap ringing out across the room, this time it’s more targeted directly at your stretched out hole. This time you let out something that sounds more like a ringed out scream, your vocal cords unable to truly suppress the extreme amounts of pain and pleasure that are being sent through the nerve receptors across your cunt.

Another two slaps fall in quick succession and by the end of both of them you’re groaning and moaning as much as your lungs will allow, hips chasing any contact you can possibly get or find.

“Such a little pain slut aren’t you, desperate for any kind of contact daddy will give you, you take it so well princesa.”

Alexia places gentle kisses across your hips and thighs, it’s nice, but it’s nowhere near what you want from her.

“Ale, please.”

Alexia’s lips move from your skin almost immediately, her head jerking up to look at you, her brows knitted in annoyance.

“It’s daddy to you, slut. The only noises I want to hear coming from your mouth are the sweet little sounds that you make when I’m touching you, understood?”

You nod your head, well aware that too much disobedience will earn you a very sore ass and no relief for the night.

Alexia reaches down to her pile at the end of the bed, picking up something that you don’t get a look at.

You find out quick enough, when you hear the whirring of a vibrator and seconds later it’s pressed directly against your sore and puffy clit.

Your body thrashes in reply almost immediately, it’s a painful overstimulation that your body was most definitely not ready for.

Your back arches and thighs clench, even though it’s clear that there is no escaping the forced contact, Alexia’s hand stays steady, pressing the vibrator down hard against your bud. Eventually, the vision blurring pain begins to subside, and your sent into the most unpleasurable slow lead up to your orgasm.

You were close nonetheless, and frighteningly aware that the chances of Alexia giving you an orgasm right now were slim and even if she did it was going to be possibly the least pleasurable one she could give you.

You didn’t need to wait long to find out, Alexia sensing your impending orgasm pulled away, giving you a chance to take a deep breath, a mere second.

A second long reprieve was all you got before she laid down another two quick slaps against your clit.

You screamed. As loud as your vocal cords would allow, you screamed. If the overstimulation before had been too much then now it was completely incomprehensible. There was an accumulation of sweat on your forehead similar to the pool of wetness accumulated between your thighs.

Alexia gave you another second to breathe, before the vibrator was pressed straight back against your clit, making you scream once again, your vision full of white as your body shook from the pure pain you were going through.

Alexia wasn’t wrong when she called you a pain slut, it was why she’d frequented you so much at the club, it was why she paid you so much for your company. Not a lot of people could take the amount of pain you were willing to, and still find it pleasurable, yet you loved every single second of it, or you loved the result that always came after taking some pain.

Alexia always made it worth your while, and she knew where your limit was.

“So perfect bebita, taking what I’m giving you, you’re so wet princesa.”

Alexia’s finger trailed down to your hole, briefly dipping inside and collecting some of the wetness. She smeared it across the flat part of your stomach, leaving a long trail of your arousal against your stomach.

“Can you feel that princesa? My little pain slut, hmm? Getting all soaked over me abusing your cunt. How’s it feel?”

It’s hard to talk and articulate what you’re feeling considering how much your body is being affected by the painful overstimulation Alexia is putting you through.

“Good daddy, so fucking good.”

Alexia smirks, silently proud of herself and silently just as proud of you.

“Mm, you reckon you can take another two for me baby? Another two edges and then you’ll get a reward, can you do it for daddy?”

You actually weren’t sure if you could, maybe another one, but two seemed like it could be teetering on the edge of too much. Alexia realised your apprehension before you managed to voice it, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Let’s try for another one and see how you feel, hmm? You’ve been so good for me princesa, if it’s too much let me know and we’ll stop or take a break.”

The soft Alexia fades as soon as you nod your head, the determination on your face returning, you didn’t want to disappoint Alexia and you didn’t want to tap out unless you were seriously struggling, so you tried to control yourself as much as possible and focus on the lesser sensations.

It didn’t take long for you to get close once again, once the pain subsided you were left with pure pleasure, pleasure that was almost as blinding as the pain that you had previously been experiencing.

As soon as it starts to be perfectly, consumingly good, the vibrator is taken from you and your overwhelmed with the pain of Alexia’s hand coming down on your pussy again. This time around she’s kind enough to spread her hit across your whole sex, instead of targeting your clit, the pain is there all the same though.

“What’s your colour, princesa?”

You take a few seconds to reply, focusing on taking a couple of deep breaths whilst you wait for the immediate pain to pass.

“Green, I’m green daddy.”

Alexia reaches up to press another soft kiss to your lips, her lips linger on top of yours.

“You feel like you can go for another one? I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

You take your time replying to her, enjoying the feeling of her lips pressed to yours and the vibrations that would spread across yours whenever she breathed.

“I can go again.”

You could feel Alexia’s lips perk up against yours, a smirk growing on her face.

She keeps her lips pressed to yours as she brings the vibrator back to your clit, making it a little bit more bearable.

Alexia’s lips stay connected to yours the whole time, the scream and moans being pushed straight against her lips as you work through the pain and pleasure coming straight from your core. As soon as you’ve begun to get closer to the edge, it’s gone and just like every other time, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain as Alexia’s hand comes down one final time.

Her lips leave yours as you groan and try to process the overstimulation that you can feel radiating across your lower half.

The pain is soothed by Alexia’s tongue, her lips and tongue flattening out across your puffy clit, it mellows out the pain slightly, but simultaneously begins to push you back towards the edge that you were so desperate to get over but also be away from.

Your hips cant up as a reflex, a reflex that is quickly put to rest as one of Alexia’s hands pushes down against your hips, keeping you pressed against the mattress.

“Stay still and let me clean you up princesa.”

Alexia’s tongue gently traced it’s way around your cunt, lapping at the wetness and getting as much of it on her tongue as possible. Her spare hand pushed it’s way underneath you, locating the forgotten butt plug nestled between your cheeks and gently tugging at it.

While her mouth doesn’t provide any real kind of pleasure, the tugging and twisting of the toy in your ass certainly does. Alexia’s been stretching you out for weeks, it’s been a slow process, but worth it, it’s elevated your experiences with her that extra bit, to the point where you could probably come solely from her playing with your ass. You’ve got no doubt that one day she’ll want to try it and when that day comes around you’ll be more than happy to oblige her, there was something so much more special and sacred about having her play with your ass in ways that nobody else had. You were no anal virgin, working at a sex club meant that you’d experimented more than the average person but never in the ways that Alexia managed to, even now that the two of you were months into your situation she still managed to surprise you by introducing new things.

Alexia didn’t wait for you to get to the edge, she needed you to stay conscious and she was fairly certain another edge might put you too far into subspace, to the point where you weren’t coherent enough for her to be using how she wanted to. Right now, you seemed to be floating in that perfectly obedient place where you typically fell after some proper exertion, compliant enough to do anything Alexia wanted. It was her favourite place to have you.

You mewled at Alexia as she pulled away, stripping off the rest of her clothes and leaving them in a neatly stacked pile at the foot of the bed before reaching for the strap she’d left on the edge of the bed and fastening it around her hips with practised ease. It was a new dildo that she had attached to the strap, larger than she’d had you take before, she was well aware that it might be a bit to big for you, but she was also excited to see if you were up for it.

Alexia crawled her way in between your legs, pressing the silicone cock flat against your stomach before pressing her lips to your neck, reaching behind you to take off the bra that was still attached to you. She keeps her lips attached to the skin across your chest, marking you up just how she liked to. Alexia loved the fact that you were all hers, hers to mark up, hers to order around, hers to come home to.

“Daddy, please.”

With the feeling of silicone pressed against your stomach and Alexia’s lips sucking deep purple marks along your collarbones, it was hard to not be insanely desperate, especially considering just how much she’d focused on working you up.

“I’ve got you princesa, daddy’s going to make you feel so good.”

Alexia finishes with one last hickey before pushing herself up onto her elbows, giving herself a better view of you.

“Gonna give you your reward princesa, gonna make you feel so good.”

Alexia leans back, positioning herself in between your legs and lining herself up with you, slowly beginning to work her way in.

The groan that you let out as Alexia slowly starts to thrust the length into you. Simultaneously, as she’s slowly working her way in, she reaches down, tugging at the plug still slotted inbetween your cheeks.

It seems to be the right move, because your body practically melts from the mixed stimulation, making it that much easier for Alexia to ease her way in, your body pretty much opening up for her.

Just as she bottoms out, she tugs at the plug, pulling it out and replacing it with her fingers.

You moan in a way that Alexia’s never heard before, your whole body vibrates along with the moan, like your whole body is generating the sound.

It only spurs Alexia on.

Once she’s certain that you’re comfortable with the length and width of the strap, she starts to quicken her pace, rocking her hips against yours, her fingers following the same pace. Alexia nudges your legs just a bit further apart and a bit higher up, giving her a better angle to start properly fucking you.

Alexia is mesmerised by the feeling of being inside of you in two different places, she hadn’t planned this for tonight, but she’s so grateful that it happened because it feels different in all of the best ways.

She roughens her pace as you seemingly begin to get closer, your body jerking to meet Alexia for every single thrust.

“D-Daddy, fuck, please.”

Alexia quickens her pace, beginning to roughen her thrusts.

“Hold on for me baby, wait till I’m ready and we’ll come together.”

You bite down on your lip hard, the double penetration is making you feel things that you’ve never felt before and you feel like you're about to explode in more ways than one.

“Please daddy, need to come.”

Alexia nods her head, desperate to get herself to the edge so that she can ride it out with you.

“I know baby, just a little bit longer, daddy’s got you.”

Alexia leans down, pressing a kiss to your jaw and pistoning her hips as hard as possible, getting enough friction against her clit for her own orgasm to begin to grow, the coil in her stomach beginning to tighten.

“Go ahead baby, come with daddy, I’ve got you.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re plummeting over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a semi-truck, quite literally.

You go boneless immediately, all the pent up pleasure and pain finally coursing it’s way throughout your veins and all the nerves inside of you lighting up like a christmas tree.

Alexia’s orgasm isn’t as strong but it hits her all the same, she pulls out slowly before collapsing on top of you, slotting her head into the crook of your neck and letting the both of you come down.

When your body stops shaking and your breathing evens out, Alexia lifts herself off of you, pulling the strap off of herself before lying down next to you and bringing you into her arms, allowing you to come down in her arms.

The skin to skin contact does wonders for you, sending you into a warm cloud of post sex happiness as you burrow your way into Alexia’s neck, trying your hardest to jump inside of her skin.

“Princesa.”

You try your hardest to ignore Alexia, opting to attach yourself to her.

“Princesa, c’mon you need to get up.”

Alexia doesn’t have the heart to actually try and lift you off of her, but she does have a brain that is telling her that there are things that need to be done before she can enjoy your company in her sheets.

“Princesa, go to the bathroom, I’ll fetch us both some water from the kitchen and then we can have cuddles, okay?”

You groan into Alexia’s neck, clearly displeased with her suggestion but also forcing yourself off of Alexia to do as she’s asked, knowing that it is the logical thing to do.

“I want cuddles when I get back, proper cuddles.”

Alexia rolls her eyes.

“I don’t pay you for cuddles.”

It’s lighthearted, a joke that has you even rolling your eyes.

“No but you probably should, I’m a pretty awesome cuddler.”

Alexia snorts, nodding her head, it’s true.

“Cuddles once you pee and drink some water, okay? I’ll even sleep in an extra hour for you, how does that sound?”

It’s an offer you’ve got no business denying.

“Meet you back in bed?”

Alexia nods her head, already making her way into the kitchen.

“I’ll meet you there.”

———————————————————————

anyways this fic was written in three different countries and i sooo can’t be fucked with editing it so sorry if you experienced the after math of that!!! love yall and hope you enjoyed this 🫶

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #daddy alexia putellas #alexia putellas smuttt #alexia putellas is mom #sugar daddy alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso smut #feral #i’m unhinged

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rileyglas · 6 months ago

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Hello! Can I request Alastor x Fem!Trust Issues!Reader? I've seen quite a few fanfictions and requests where Readers were wary of Alastor, but strangely quickly began to trust him. Therefore, it seemed to me that it would be funny to see a Reader who is so distrustful of people in principle that with Alastor’s reputation this distrust reaches the point of absurdity. And when Alastor really sincerely wants to gain the Reader's trust (romantically or platonically, it doesn't matter), then it becomes a really difficult task. For example, he offers help with some little thing and the Reader immediately “what do you want from me.” Or when Alastor brings the Reader tea/coffee, she waits for him to drink first (she would probably insist that he pour it from the same ?teapot?). The other residents of the Hotel find this hilarious.

This is such a fun prompt, especially under the assumption Alastor loves nothing more than a good chase during a hunt. 😉

Like Glass (Alastor x Fem!TrustIssues!Reader)

Four months. That’s how long it took for you to finally take Charlie up on her offer of the possibility of redemption. The chance to get to Heaven seemed like a pipe dream but after a few very long talks and persuasions, you now held a key to your own room in the hotel.

You try to keep to yourself and most seem to respect that. You’re left alone unless something is needed for one of Charlie’s exercises. You even specifically requested that Nifty didn’t bother coming to your room to clean. The less people in your space the better.

Charlie has such a big heart but that leads to her choosing to trust even the most despicable characters. She has even trusted and allowed the Radio Demon to live under the same roof. You’ve heard all the stories, all the theories of why he was really there under the ruse of “helping” her. You didn’t buy it one bit.

Just the other day you were trying to hang some banners the crew had made during an activity. Your ladder was rickety but unfortunately it was the only way to reach the beams. Pained grunts filled the room from you trying to stand on your tiptoes while maintaining some sense of balance. “Allow me to help, dear. Would hate to see you fall.” A staticky voice called from below you. “No thank you - I….am almost…done - shit!�� the ladder shifted and almost threw you off. Alastor stabilized it with ease. “See, it is a good thing I’m here!” he yelled smugly. At this point you would rather fall than allow him to hold your life in his hands. “You’re a busy man Alastor. Hey Husk? Mind helping -”

“Nope, looks like Al has it covered.” he teased from behind the bar, relishing in your uneasy tone. You shot daggers, both angry and begging for the cat to just help you instead of Alastor. You made the last tie in the banner and swiftly came down to more solid ground. “Thanks I guess. I had it though.” you said through gritted teeth, avoiding making eye contact and rushing out of the room. Had you looked back you would have seen Husk laughing at how irate Alastor suddenly became.

Now tonight, Nifty was kind enough to serve everyone one of her more popular dinners. It was a simple dish yet as usual, you waited for everyone to nearly clear their plates before digging into it yourself. You might have been starving but you could never be too careful. We are all in Hell for a reason. Could anyone be truly trusted?

“My dear, dig in! Before it gets cold!” Alastor’s voice chirped from across the table. You glare at the toothy grinned demon, “I just like to ensure everyone is enjoying before digging in myself. Appreciate the concern though.” You try to seem pleasant but your voice always seems to drip with disdain when speaking to him, “Why are you so worried? Did you help in preparing the meal?”

He chuckles, “I try to keep out of the kitchen when Nifty cooks but she did require a few extra hands -” You involuntarily choke and spit out the bite you had just taken. Angel and Husk also choke though it’s to hold back laughter. You sneer at their amusement. Alastor’s face twists with confusion, “Is everything alright?” “Oh uhm I’m suddenly not that hungry. Must be coming down with something. Excuse me.” You excuse yourself from the table and make your way to the library. Reading was always something that could busy your mind and right now you needed a distraction from both your growling stomach and Alastor’s attempt to help once again. He’d been making an uncomfortable effort to help you in any way he could and in your mind, that could only mean he wanted something from you.

Not many residents used the hotel library which was great for you. But of course, there was always someone who enjoyed breaking your solitude. The sound of footsteps pulls your eyes off your current page, “What do I owe the visit?” you snap over your book.

Alastor strides over with a serving tray carrying a tea set. “Well I saw just how horrible you looked at dinner and figured some peppermint tea might help whatever ailment you’re suffering from.” He sets the tray on the table in front of you but you don’t move a muscle. “Since when do you care if someone isn’t feeling well?” you cock an eyebrow at him.

He hums as he pours two cups of tea, taking one for himself and offering you the other, “What? Can I not offer a fellow resident a nice cup of tea?” “Nope. What do you want?” you continue to stare at the cup in his hand. His eye twitches, trying to hold back his annoyance, “Why do you insist on rejecting any of my pleasantries?”

You slam your book closed, “You’re wondering why I do not want help of any sort from one of Hell’s most vile Overlords?” He sets down your cup and sits across from you. You didn’t want company but it's too late now. “Ms. Morningstar trusts me with ensuring the safety of this hotel yet you cannot even take a cup of tea you’ve watched me both pour and drink myself. Other than what stories you’ve heard, what have I done to you to make you so cold towards me?” His eyes burn into you, eager for an answer. Although with his tone, you could only assume he knew exactly why you didn’t trust him.

You sigh as you pick up the cup he offered. You swirl it in an attempt to examine if it looks or smells odd before hesitantly taking a small sip for yourself. “Have you ever been betrayed Alastor? By a friend? By someone you loved? Because I have. It’s how I died and how I ended up here.”

His smile falters slightly, corners curving down before returning to their usual wide grin, “Trust is like glass, once broken it isn’t easy to fix nor will ever be the same. I admire how guarded you try to be.”

You scoff, “If it is so admirable then why bother trying so hard to earn my trust? Unless it just kills your ego that someone can see you for who you truly are -” The cup he holds suddenly shatters under his tightening grip, “Watch your tone, dear. I’ve been nothing but amicable with you. I expect the same in return.” his voice drops with static filling the air. You can’t help but smirk at how quickly you’ve managed to get under his skin. “Ooooh so it is an ego thing? Duly noted.” you bite and finish off your cup. As you stand you see Alastor’s eyes shift to black dials, his mind clearly spiraling. On your way to the door you brush a teasing hand across his shoulder, “Tea was wonderful by the way. I’m feeling better already!” Your coy laughter echoes through the library as you leave but the sounds of Alastor’s demon form drown it out. He snarls over his shoulder to you, “Don’t act so smug darling. I’ll get you to trust me one day.”

“Good luck!” You chirp walking out the door, unaware of the challenge you just put into place for the Radio Demon. He was going to have you one way or another. It was only a matter of time and patience, two things he had plenty of when it came to getting what he wanted. You.

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diejager · 8 months ago

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I've been reading the Stepfather! Konig fic and I had just an idea. What if to get away and feel at least some safety reader fakes their death and joins the military with many fake names and constantly changes up themself to keep safe and away from König and Horangi?

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, military, recruitment, enlisting, military inaccuracies, tell me if I missed any.

Where was the best place to hide? The last place they would look, right under their nose. You managed - somehow - to keep your papers a secret from them, you were lucky they dealt with things online on encrypted servers, keeping it as hush-hush as possible. Fortunately, there weren’t many requirements for enlisting, all they had asked was your age, level of education and citizenship, some vague papers about you and that was all. You bode your time, leaning on your freedom when you left the house to hit the gym to get a head start in your training, pack a bit of muscle and get into a tight routine to get used to it before you joined; and buying the few things you’d need to build you stage with the few materials and story you made up.

You were prepared when the time came, just a week before your training and your body thrummed with adrenaline and anxiety, slowly finishing off your plan. And when the time was right, you struck, vanishing with the car that you drove into the lake, you made sure that it was deep enough to be left untouched until you had at least finished your training. It was a stroke of luck, sheer luck that you made it to the base, flashing your papers and given a permit to meet the major of the base to receive your identification once you passed the examinations and interview.

“Welcome to hell, cadet!” Were the first words you heard in the mass, dressed in the black and white uniform of the navy you stood ramrod with others beside you.

They separated men and women in the early stages of training, once the selections were done, they’d mix both sex and leave them to train and learn together. It was a gruelling process, the physical and mental exhaustion of it all almost made you crash more than once, mind on the brink of frustration and muscles worn into painful bruises. You’d seen friends - made through nights of venting and moaning about life - and acquaintances quit early or halfway through the training and education. They were weeding out the weaker ones, the less competent and determined from the rest. You feared being picked of quitting, but you powered through it, all your blood, sweat and tears culminated to your graduation nearly eleven weeks later.

You could stand with pride in yourself, head held high as you received your praises from the major, his rough voice echoing through the room in congratulations. You took your oaths and were given a white uniform and a hat, the black cap and gold encrusted hat that gleamed under the sun. You were proud; you were happy; you felt accomplished and free. You thought of flying, to be and feel as free as the birds that soar the skies, perhaps you’d join the aviation branch of the Navy. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea, to be moved and passed around wherever you were needed, never staying in one place made finding you much harder if König and Horangi found your bluff.

But you’d gone so far, done so much to take things back or be taken back. You’d accomplished something with what little you had and you knew- You knew that your mother would be so proud of you for persevering.

“I miss you, mom,” you kissed the sole picture of your mother, the only thing you thought worth keeping, “I’m sorry, I miss you.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #horangi #horangi mw2 #horangi x reader #tw: dark content #dark content #tw: dubcon #tw: non con #dead dove do not eat #tw: stepcest #Stepdad!konig #Stepdad!könig #Dbf!horangi

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bimrwolf · 2 years ago

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Healing Hands by the Fire

geralt of rivia x afab!reader words: 3,684 warnings: smut !! 18+ (minors dni) ; squint and you may see a casual plot summary: Geralt visits Reader, a healer, with severe injuries. a/n: very out of my comfort zone. however, i promised my friend to write this as her christmas present because writing fanfics are my love language. good thing i know basic things about the witcher heheehe.

How did she always end up here? Months without a word or seeing him. She had accepted the peace. Only occasionally did she perk up when there was a knock on her door, secretly hoping it was him. But only one could be so lucky. Instead, it was travelers from all over the Continent who heard word of her abilities.

She couldn’t complain. Healing others in exchange for seeds, food, and sometimes money. Not that it was required for her service but she couldn’t complain about the gratuity.

In fact, she enjoyed helping others. However, it was nearing winter and there were less travelers. They were most likely home to prepare for the violent winter storms that damned the Continent.

It was one of the first snow falls of the season. She had finished feeding the chickens and her horse Atticus. That was always her nighttime routine. Feed the animals, make some tea, study until all the tea is drunk, and finally get ready for bed.

Some might think the routine would get tiring, but there was never any guarantee. It was the one consistent thing in her life at the moment. She was content.

However, some nights, she heard the enchanted chimes outside that let her know someone was approaching. But before she made it to the door, it swung open, snow flurries drifted inside. The cold was sharp and pricked her nose, making her sniffle.

In most cases she would be alarmed. There was no telling what creatures or people were harmless and which ones weren’t. She clutched the nearest thing to her— a broom that always gave her splinters when she used it.

His snow white hair peeked from under his hood and she recognized the distinct low grumble that could be mistaken as a quake. He slowly closed the door, ensuring it was locked this time. “You startled me.” She said, releasing her grip from the broom, checking her hand for any loose wood.

“You should keep the door locked. What if I was a dangerous man breaking in?” She played it off as a joke, not seeing the concerned look on his face.

“Some might say you are dangerous.” She smirked. She never expected him to react to her jokes, but she could feel the warmth blanket around her when his shoulders relaxed. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

He limped further into the cabin. She could see the snow melting on his cloak, dripping on her floor. “You made a mess,” she huffed.

His head lifted and cat-like eyes met hers. It was known his abilities and job forced him to lack showing how he felt. But, she noticed right away how his eyes drooped that he was in pain.

She ran towards him, immediately untying his cloak so that it dropped to the floor. She gasped at the large claw marks scratched into his chest. He could withstand most injuries but the cuts had broken past the many layers of skin.

“Fuck, Geralt. What happened?” Her finger ghosted over the wound on his shoulder. Almost immediately he grabbed her wrist. But she didn’t pull away.

“I’m starving.” He took a moment to look her up and down before letting go of her wrist and walking past her.

Unbelievable. She scoffed and followed him into her den. “Are you serious? Geralt, you’re hurt and need to be healed before you get an infection.”

“I smell meat pie. Do you have any to spare?” He left no time for her to answer. He grabbed the plate on a table and began to shove them in his mouth. He groaned in satisfaction.

She wanted to be annoyed, but she had never seen him act this way. So instead she watched as he stuffed his face. He sat down slowly in a wooden chair. His large body mass made it creak, rocking it with the sound of the crackling fire. His spastic breathing mellowed out into a deep sigh.

He was definitely hurting from his wound but there was something else. She could sense that something was bothering him. Yet, she didn’t pry for an explanation. Instead, she let him watch the fire as she gathered her supplies of elixirs and jars. Then she picked up the pot full of water hanging above the fire and poured it into a bowl. The steam warmed her face that was still cold from earlier.

“Are you still hungry? I think I only have bread.” She sat her things on the table next to him, but not looking in his direction. However, she could feel his piercing eyes watching her every single move. “If you’re not feeling like bread I can stay up and make you soup.”

His hand flew to her wrist. She jumped, nearly knocking over a bottle with green shiny liquid. She turned her head slightly, sighing deeply. “It hurts,” Geralt mumbled.

His wound was red, inflamed, and looked worse in the light. And if Geralt says it hurts then it was worse than she had imagined. “Take your tunic off while I prepare.” Although it was her giving the instruction, she couldn’t help the heat on her cheeks arise. Especially when he did what he was told. She had only seen his bare chest a handful of times, but each time made her stomach knot up.

He took a heavy breath as he settled back into the chair, wincing when she placed a hot cloth on his open wound. His nails dug into the chair. His teeth clenched as he threw his head back. She couldn’t help but giggle. In return, he snapped his head to look at her, visibly annoyed. “What?”

She swatted him for the rash reaction. “No need to be hot headed, Geralt. I was only laughing because I’ve never seen you act so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” he argued. He winced again when the cloth touched his skin once more. He rolled his eyes when he noticed the smirk she tried to hide from him, her hair covered her face. Not thinking, he took his finger and pushed it out of the way so he could see her more clearly.

She tried to ignore the knot in her stomach or how her chest was breathing differently. She even tried to look away subtly but the only thing she could look at without being suspicious was his bare chest. “How’s Yennefer?”

The change of subject was almost as if she had poured salt into his fresh wounds. He yanked his hand away and turned his head to face the fire, jaw ticked. She should’ve felt guilty for bringing up his on and off lover. Instead, she felt relieved his attention was no longer on her and probably wouldn’t be the rest of the night.

That’s how it always went. He would get too close and right before she fell under his spell she would mention the other woman. She had only met the sorceress once. They neither liked or disliked one another. Yet, she could tell there would not be any attempts to go frollicking in a field like they were the best of friends.

In some ways, she had been jealous of Yennefer– she was interesting and traveled the Continent and had fought in many wars. She was beautiful and cunning. Of course Geralt would pick her as a lover.

“Ow.” Geralt grimaced, shifting in the chair. Her fingers were touching the wounds, and spreading them apart. “Are you about done? I’m tired.”

She continued to inspect his wounds closely, having to push between his legs to get a closer look. “I have to ensure there are no severe damages so I know what to make.” His huff made her roll her eyes. She wanted to swat him for still acting like a child. “Whatever got you, got you good, eh?”

He looked away then back at her, swallowing. “Yes, I suppose.”

There was a beat of silence. Only the fire was popping.

“I thought I was goin’ to die.” He said out loud in a low whisper. Almost like he didn’t want her to hear him.

She stopped briefly to look up at him. He was serious. “Well, fortunately whatever it was missed your heart by a hair.” She pointed to where his heart was and traced a line to the start of one of the scratches only millimeters away. She got up, leaving him with a witty smile as she started to pour the many different potions into a different bowl.

“Me and Yennefer haven’t spoken in months,” he admitted.

It was hard not to react, but she had never seen him willingly talk about the woman before. “Oh.”

“We wanted different things I suppose,” he continued. “If it weren’t for Ciri’s letters, then I wouldn’t even know if she was still alive.”

“You miss her?” It was meant to sound like a question, but it came across as a statement.

He looked down at his hands, ashamed. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to miss someone.”

“Are you not allowed or are you unsure you know what it’s supposed to feel like?”

He didn’t answer.

She walked back and found her place again between his legs. “Missing someone feels like always looking at the door when there’s a knock, and your heart skips a beat, hoping it’s them.” She dipped her finger in the cream she had made and started to apply it to the open wound.

“I don’t live in a cottage with a door.” His hands creeped to his thighs so they brushed her as she moved.

She finished with the first cut and moved onto the second, which was much deeper and longer. “Well, missing someone can also feel like wanting to cry even when you’re happy.”

“You do know I have emotions?” He quizzed her.

She smirked. “Of course I do. I was only trying to help you figure out if you miss Yennefer.”

He hummed, running a finger over the first wound she had treated which was starting to already heal. His skin attaching itself together again. “I miss her, but not in the way you think I do.”

“Then in what way?” She raised her brow, clearly confused as to what he meant.

He didn’t answer her right away. “Not in the way I miss you.”

The bowl in her hand nearly clattered to the floor. She froze, replaying the words over and over as if she hadn’t heard him. Did Geralt really admit to missing her? No, he doesn’t actually mean it. He was messing with her. “That’s not funny.” Her breath was shaky. In fact, her hands were shaky too as she tried to continue healing him.

“Did I make a joke?” His tone was unwavering. He placed his hand on her warm cheek, brushing his thumb over her soft flesh. He had never touched her so intimately like he was now.

She shook her head, using her free hand to brush him away, focusing on the rest of his injuries. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delusional.”

“I thought your potions helped with that?”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, briefly, before averting them back to the bowl. She swooped the last of the cream on her finger and spread it slowly over the last scratch. The others had closed up but one could make out the red scar. “Those will go away in due time,” she mumbled.

As she tried to get up he caught her arm, standing up with her, and in doing so their chests were against one another. He could feel her heavy breathing. And she could feel the warmth from his body electrifying hers.

“I should go make your bed. You need to rest.” She tried to walk away but his grip never left her arm. “Geralt.”

He took the bowl from her hands and placed it back on the table. “How much longer will you deny it?”

She swallowed the gasp that had almost escaped her, shaking her head. “What do you mean?” Finally, she had pulled away but made no efforts to leave the room, only stepping back to make space between them. And of course he could probably read her like an open book while she only had his stoic expressions to decipher. He opened his mouth, but closed it, sighing loudly. “Thank you, Y/n.”

Her face softened.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I would’ve done if it weren’t for you. In fact, I don’t know what I would do without you.” His jaw slacked, watching her intensely.

She could feel the pull, like a magnet, all too familiar when it came to Geralt. Normally, she had to ignore it. But at that moment, it felt like a boiling pot of water, steaming and bubbling, unable to contain itself. And as she looked into his piercing eyes, the knot in her stomach told her it was time to say something. “Geralt.” Her voice was above a whisper. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?” His expression never faltered.

She shifted her feet, uncomfortable. “I… I um… I’m making oat porridge in the morning.” She had decided it was best to hold back what she really wanted to say. “I’ll go prepare your room.”

His yellow eyes narrowed, searching for hers. She knew he was watching the emotions swirl through her mind. She knew that he knew that wasn’t what she really wanted to say to him. “No.” He was assertive and the growled vibrations dragged along her back like a dagger, giving her chills.

Ignoring the goosebumps along her arms, she ran her hand over her face. “What do you want me to say?” She felt like a twig that had snapped. “Why are you being mean? You stand there forcing a confession out of me. A confession you will never get because there’s nothing to say.” Her tears burned in the corner of her eyes. She hated how foolish she looked in front of him. Crying and blubbering because he decided to dig deeper.

They had a routine. He would knock on the door and she would heal his wounds. Their deep conversations were rare, and sometimes he wouldn’t speak at all. Sometimes he would leave in the morning without a word. So why must this time be any different than the others?

“You’re angry.”

She scoffed. “Yes, I’m angry.” Unable to face him, she turned to look at the fireplace, shaking her head. “That’s the most frustrating part of all of this. I’m angry that you’re here. I’m angry that I don’t see you for months with no word if you’re even alive. I’m angry that you show up when I’m missing you the most.” Her eyes caught his, her nostrils flared. She had had enough of it, storming up to him and putting a finger against his bare chest. “I’m angry that you sit there and touch me and talk to me like we’re lovers. I’m angry that you won’t go to someone else for help. Because I can’t do it anymore, Geralt. I can’t do it.”

And there it was. Years worth of bubbling water, spilling over the pot and all over the floor. She had made a mess that she wasn’t sure if she would be able to clean up.

Geralt’s jaw ticked, his eyes scanning her face. “You wish to not see me anymore? Would that be easier?”

Her finger fell slowly from his chest. Her voice trembled. “It’s easier than caring about you.”

Geralt brought his hand up slowly to her cheek, brushing his knuckle against a tear. “I am angry at you too,” he whispered. Her brows furrowed, unsure what he meant. “I told you I have feelings too. Yet, you assume I don’t. You assume I don’t care about you either.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you?”

“Why do you think I keep coming back?” His jaw slacked.

The tension between them was thick and palpable. She wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Her heart was torn. Even with the confession, there was no guarantee. He was a Witcher with responsibilities that were not suitable for the life she wanted. She pushed it away, cracking a smile. “Are you saying that you got injured on purpose? So you could see me?”

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth flickered, leaning his head down towards her.

“You could’ve died.” She stepped closer to him, tracing her finger of his scars, looking at his lips.

“But I didn’t.” He said against her mouth, finally closing the gap between them.

He wrapped his arms around her, strong and sure, deepening the kiss. It was gentle but fierce, full of longing and tension that had been built up along the years. It tasted like all the warm tea she had made for him over time.

When she moaned, Geralt took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, gliding it tenderly and carefully against hers, groaning in satisfaction. He somehow managed to pull her closer as if their bodies weren’t already meshed together.

It was her who broke away first, both of them gasping for air, chests heaving from the heavy kiss. Geralt’s eyes had turned black, his senses heightened, craving more.

Without a word, she unbuttoned her blouse, freeing her chest as she dropped it to the floor. She kissed Geralt again on the mouth, his neck, and then his chest. She whispered in his ear, “I think I should go prepare your room now.”

He nodded, allowing her to take his hand to lead him to her room, rather than the room up in the attic that her guests normally stayed in. It was full of knick knacks and books scattered. Her bed was unmade, but neither one of them cared.

She pushed him on the bed, straddling his lap, peppering kisses all over his chest. If she was smart, she would savor all of it– every kiss and touch. But fuck all of it. She had waited too long to savor it. She grinded herself against his hardness, smiling against his ear when she felt him jump through his trousers. Something had told her it was too long for him too.

The rest of their clothes had found a new place on the floor of her bedroom. She was now laying down, Geralt hovered over her, his chain dangled over her face, and his hands roamed over her bare body as she whimpered under his touch. His lips attacked her neck, trailing down her body, relishing every inch.

“Geralt,” she mewled.

She felt the vibrations of his chuckle, revitalizing her, the warmth between her legs now ached. “Yes?” He came back towards her mouth, placing a life-wrecking kiss on it.

She nibbled his bottom lip. “You know.”

“Mm, I don’t think I do,” he teased. His hand was between her legs, fingers gliding, taunting her.

She thrusted her hips upwards, forcing friction against her swollen clit, gasping when he slid a finger in her. “I need you.”

The pitiful look in her eyes convinced him enough to give her what she wanted. And because any longer, he felt like he would combust. Geralt pushed her legs apart and then guided his girthy length to her entrance, sliding it in slowly.

She gasped as he sunk deeper inside her, finally able to marvel all of her. It was sweet like the honey she snuck in his tea. Rich like the pastries she packed in his knapsack whenever he left in the mornings, without saying goodbye because he was afraid he would never leave if he saw her golden smile in the mornings. Yet, he wasn’t strong enough to never come back.

At first, his thrusts were slow and tender, slipping so deep that his tip reached as far as it could. She gripped his shoulders, nails forming crescents, back arching as he picked up the pace. She wanted to hug him with her thighs, but his hands were sure to keep them open and spread for him.

The sounds of their sticky skin crashing together blended with their moans and grunts, forming a delectable melody. She pulled him into an open-mouth sloppy kiss, humming. The bed rattled beneath them, his pace was dangerously close to cracking the frame.

In a swift move, he pulled her up, so that she was straddling him. Their bare chests flushed together, her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering as she bounced on his cock. “I’m… fuck,” she breathed, unable to make the words as it hit her sweet spot.

“Me too.” He slightly pushed her shoulders back, wanting to see her. His palm cradled her face, swallowing the thickness stuck in his throat. He knew he looked destroyed. He didn’t show how he felt often, but the pent up tension over the year had finally arisen.

“G…Geralt!” She shouted as her walls closed around him, releasing her orgasm around him, resting her forehead on his chest as he continued to move her up and down. She clutched onto him as if she was about to float away.

He threw his head back as his cock twitched, finishing, He thrusted through his climax, panting as he slowed to a halt. His senses were still high and could hear the fire still crackling in the den. He could feel her breathing still rugged and hot, sticking to his chest.

She couldn’t see it but Geralt let a small smile briefly appear as he stroked her bare back. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. She looked up at him, running her fingers through his snow-white hair. “Will you stay one more night?”

He tilted his head, brows knitted together. “Are you still angry with me?”

A mischievous glimmer crossed her eyes. “If I am, does that mean you’ll stay?”

He snickered, placing a peck on her lips, lingering, scared if he were to break away she’d disappear.

Angry or not, he was going to stay one more night.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #geralt smut #geralt x reader smut #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher fic #blaize writes #geralt of rivia imagine #the witcher imagine

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infinitystoner · 11 months ago

Text

First Light

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Vetrnætr (Winter Nights) is a time to welcome winter and honor the gods of old. But, on the first morning of festivities, the only thing Loki wants to celebrate is you.

Pairing: Prince!Loki x Female Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Tags/Content: Fluff, Praise, Smut (Fingering, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms), Established Relationship, Pre-Thor (2011), Asgard AU

Rating: Explicit; 18+

Author’s note: A belated birthday gift to my amazing friend @loki-cees-all. You are the Goddess of Patience and Mercy and I appreciate you so very much! I hope this one lives up the hype. xx

It was easy to dismiss quiet mornings on Asgard in favor of boundless nights under the stars. But you never felt more content than when the first rays of daylight bathed the kingdom in a hazy glow. Beyond frost-kissed windows, the wind whispered a tale of winter’s early arrival, and you burrowed further under the protective arm curled around your shoulders.

Waking before Loki was a rare occurrence, and you offered up a prayer of gratitude to the Norns when you realized your lover was still slumbering beside you.

He was a being of little sleep, often arguing those bestowed with divinity had more stamina than the average Æsir, therefore requiring less rest. You disagreed.

Well, somewhat disagreed.

You pulled your lip between your teeth as you observed evidence of the prior evening’s chaotic activities: clothing and armor were strewn about the room, pillows and pelts haphazardly adorned the hearthside, and papers from Loki’s desk littered the floor, his bookshelves standing slightly askew. Even the bedposts seemed to be off-kilter.

Loki absolutely had the stamina of a god.

Still, he hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately. The past few weeks preparing for Vetrnætr had taken a toll on him. Loki had been responsible for coordinating the arrival of visiting dignitaries and nobility while also leading what he’d described to you as “lighthearted diplomatic discussions” with the royal council of Vanaheim. Queen Frigga, however, had confided that he was single-handedly responsible for not only fortifying Asgard’s long-held alliance between the Vanir and Æsir but also negotiating a new trade agreement between the neighboring realms.

You carefully tilted your face upward, committing the splendor of him in this moment to memory. Swathes of amber light illuminated the rise and fall of his chest, mapping the gentle exhales through parted lips that assured you he was alive. That he was real. That he was yours.

Your family and fellow courtiers had thought you mad when you turned down the advances of several of the Allfather’s golden warriors. But it was when you refused Thor that you’d stirred up any true semblance of trouble. Then again, the elder Odinson had attempted to court at least half the eligible maidens of Asgard, so it wasn’t that scandalous.

What everyone didn’t know then was that your heart secretly belonged to another. And even now, years later, it was hard to comprehend that he returned your affections. But he did, and he made sure you’d never have reason to doubt him.

For so long, he had existed in the shadows of those around him. Only a sacred few saw his light shining through. And once he’d revealed the whole of himself to you, how could anyone else possibly compare?

True, he could be unpredictable and disruptive, but Loki approached everything in life with an unwavering sense of humble dedication. His fidelity was one of the things you loved most about him.

“My beautiful miracle.”

You’d only meant to think it—but hearing the whisper of affection fall from your lips seemed the perfect way to commence the day. Tracing patterns across the exposed skin of Loki’s abdomen, you studied the contours of his handsome face. Long lashes fluttered against high cheekbones as his eyes darted back and forth behind closed lids.

“What is it you dream of?” you whispered, gently placing a kiss on his sternum.

“A prince dreams of many things.”

His reply caused your heart to stutter within your chest. The trickster had been awake all along, basking in the warmth of your sentimentality like a cat soaking up the sun.

“I should’ve known you were only pretending to be asleep,” you pouted as he finally cracked open his eyes to peer down at you.

“Mmm, you should have,” he said as he wrapped his hand around yours, bringing it to his lips and tenderly pressing his lips to your fingertips. “But, I did have the most interesting dream. It’s worth hearing, I assure you.”

Loki was nothing if not convincing, and you were curious.

“Go on then. I’m listening,” you replied with a playful roll of your eyes.

Loki cleared his throat as he fluffed the pillow under his head. Stars above. He was as dramatic as he was mischievous.

“It was the final night of Vetrnætr and the kingdom was blanketed in snow. I was tasked with riding into the forests alone,” he said, absentmindedly trailing his fingertips down your arm as he spoke, “to defeat a great beast with my magick.”

His voice was impossibly alluring, much like Loki himself. Soon, you were clinging to every word—mesmerized by the magnificent man beside you.

“I found myself in the depths of wilderness—where no other soul had dared to tread before. I, of course, was quite brave in the face of this unknown danger.”

“Fearless, some might say,” you offered.

He hummed in agreement, his eyes sparking with amusement. “Finally, I reached my destination. But a horde of Bilgesnipes was blocking the creature I’d come to slay.”

“Oh?” you said apprehensively. He solemnly nodded.

“So, I conjured a simple spell to vanquish them. Imagine my surprise when I realized they were not, in fact, angry Bilgesnipes but your dreadful snores plundering into my subconscious mind.”

Your brain stuttered—did he just? Bilgesnipes?! Loki smirked at the utterly bewildered expression on your face before mimicking the way you opened your mouth in shock. You’d walked right into his little trap and he was enjoying it far too much.

“Loki Odinson! I do not snore.”

You sounded less defiant than you hoped, and—in a bid to get him to renege the obvious lie—you wriggled out from under his arm and tossed a pillow at his stupid, handsome face.

“I beg to differ.” Deep, mirthful laughter rumbled in Loki’s chest. “Now, wait a minute—”

Much to his dismay, you’d moved to the edge of the bed. As you gathered one of the fur blankets around your nude form, Loki propped himself up on his elbows, those stark green eyes focusing on you with an intensity that didn’t seem justified this early in the day.

“Darling, don’t go. I was only teasing.” He grabbed your wrist, and the coolness of his fingers against your flesh sent a thrill rippling through you. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

The offer was tempting but, with Vetrnætr on the literal horizon, you had a never-ending list of obligations to attend to.

“You know we’re both expected at the first morning feast.”

“Yes, and that is still hours from now. Come back to bed.”

“It will take me hours to get ready for the celebrations.”

Loki clicked his tongue as you shimmied off the bed. “What a shame you don’t have a skillful sorcerer at your disposal.”

“Such misfortune,” you quipped, fingers reaching to secure the fur around your shoulders. A curse left your lips as nothing but cold air enveloped you instead. Loki shot you a wink as a wisp of seiðr danced across his palm.

“You’re not playing fair.”

“Where there are wolf’s ears, wolf’s teeth are near.” Dimples adorned the corners of his mouth as he grinned up at you.

“And now you’re not making any sense!”

“So come back to bed, little fox. Please. Help me make sense of things.”

Three thoughts inhabited your mind in this moment: a persistent chill was quickly settling in your bones and Loki’s bed was impossibly warm; applying the ceremonial makeup you were expected to wear today would take at least an hour—and having Loki glamour it on would be terribly convenient; and, finally, you were absolute shit at denying him anything. And Loki knew it.

He stretched his long legs as he awaited your submission. The action caused the silk sheets to settle low around his waist. Shadows traversed the deep V of his Adonis belt like divine brushstrokes while sunbeams highlighted the devastating muscles of his godly physique.

You never stood a chance.

Your pulse quickened as you propped a knee on the mattress, giving him a coy smile. “Satisfied, your highness?”

Loki inhaled as he surveyed your figure. It was easy to assume he was memorizing the smooth curves and soft dips of your body. Every imperfection, dimple, scar—he’d studied and worshiped each precious part of you. But in truth, he knew the map of your body better than he knew the wilds of Asgard—how to expertly navigate your release, to intimately claim you as his time and time again.

“Not quite.” His eyes glinted with desire as he curled his hands around your waist, guiding you to settle against the pillows. You watched in awe as he pulled the sheets over the both of you, adjusting the layers of covers and pelts as he caged you in his arms.

“Perfect.” It was no more than a whisper. But the sense of pride that thrummed through you must have been palpable, because Loki leaned down and brushed his mouth against yours. You barely had time to inhale before his tongue was swiping over your bottom lip and then moving against your own in eager, equal measure. He was heavy on top of you as he settled between your open legs—your collective arousal evident as your bodies seamlessly slotted together. It was exhilarating and grounding and you ached for him. When you dug your fingertips into the firm swell of his ass in a silent plea for more, he broke the kiss.

“What is it, my love?” you asked, noticing a glimmer of tears swelling in his eyes as he pulled away from you. You cupped his cheek, and his gaze flitted across your face.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Loki took in a deep, shuddering breath before kissing you once more. Sparks of white-hot heat ignited your skin as your heart hammered in your chest. Could he sense how wildly it was beating for him? “I’m so proud of you. You know that, right?”

How could words ever truly express that the love you possessed defied explanation, transcended comprehension, and overwhelmed every fiber of your being? How could you adequately convey that his praise was your Valhalla?

You finally managed to say, “I know,” but your response melded into a moan as Loki’s lips made contact with your nipple, rolling its twin between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re so good to me.”

“So good,” you echoed, arching into his touch as Loki’s hand skimmed your curves before dipping between your legs.

He found you slick and ready for him, and he easily slid two fingers into your cunt, his palm pushing upwards against your swollen clit. Delicious pressure built in your hips with each skillful turn of his wrist and you greedily bucked into his hand, grasping at his biceps for leverage.

You were quickly losing yourself to the adrenaline searing through you, igniting every nerve ending like a thousand meteors shooting across the night sky. Still, you knew Loki revelled in the euphoria of your unraveling just as much as you did. He yearned to hear your small whimpers of pleasure, to feel your hands on his body and your fingers twisting in his hair as you came undone at his touch. To be connected without reservation.

He’d once confided in you that the reassurance of your touch sparked something within him comparable only to his seiðr—you had become just as much a part of him as the ancestral magick that flowed through his very veins. Imagining a reality without either was like envisioning a world without sunlight or stars.

“Loki. Loki.” His name was witchcraft on your lips and his fingers deftly twisted inside you in response. When he slowed his movements, you clenched around him, desperately running your hands over the broad expanse of his shoulders. His skin was damp with sweat, his muscles quivering under your fingertips.

“And so eager. Gods, you’re gorgeous when you’re about to come apart.”

When Loki was nestled between your thighs, worshiping your body as if you were the only thing in all the Nine, time stood still. You were teetering on the edge of sweet release—right where he wanted you. A frustrated noise caught in the back of your throat as he removed his fingers, your thighs trembling as your climax began to ebb.

“Patience.” He spoke purposefully against your heated skin, as if reciting an invocation.

“Til árs ok friðar.” Loki paused, looking up at you with eyes so full of adoration you felt as though your heart would burst. He repeated the ancient phrase. “For a good year. And peace. That is my wish for you—for us—my love.”

You were completely lost under his spell. Your only tether to reality was Loki. His forearm heavy across your midriff. His tongue flat against your clit.

“F-faen, I’m– please,” you slurred, your chest heaving with ragged, uneven pants.

“That’s it,” Loki coaxed. “Come undone for me.”

At his words, the overwhelming tightness in your core snapped. Your orgasm ripped through your body—your mind clearing itself of every lingering thought. The wild beat of your heart became the soundtrack of your bliss and you sobbed as the tip of his regal nose rubbed against your sensitive clit. His tongue continued to lap at the warm center of your cunt as aftershocks rolled through you, your body involuntary jerking at the overstimulation.

“Too much…”

“One more, darling. If not for me, for Asgard.” A wicked grin spread across his face—his lips and chin glistening with your arousal—before he dipped his head back between your thighs. “Consider it a royal decree.”

It was pointless to argue with him, especially when he set his mind to something. You wound your fingers into his unkempt hair, and before long, you were curling up off the bed as you juddered under his touch for the second time.

“Thank you,” you said softly as you came down from your high. Loki pressed his forehead to yours.

“A final gesture of goodwill,” he murmured, the blunt tip of his cock nudging your entrance.

“We’ll be late to breakfast. I- I dare not disgrace your good name, my prince,” you said, gasping into his mouth as he pushed deeper inside you. You didn’t care if you missed every single celebratory banquet this week.

“I’m honored you think so highly of me, little wife.” You groaned in unison as he bottomed out with a swirl of his hips. “But it would not be the first time we’ve vexed the House of Odin thus. Nor the last, I hope.”

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki #loki fluff #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

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ballblender · 1 year ago

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Could I request some headcanons for GoM + Kiyoshi helping their scared s/o on the train? I’ve never been on one before and I’d be so nervous. Death grip on their hands fr

a/n: Thanks for the ask!! I'll also include Kagami if that's okay! :) Btw anon, i recommend trying out the train (unless you live rural and far away from a station, or already know how to drive lol), it's honestly so convenient :) also jshdghd they might ooc because i honestly haven't watched the show in almost a year

GoM + Kiyoshi comforting their scared S/O on the train

cw: fluff, gn reader, idk - trains???, not proofread, my writing is never proofread LOL

Kuroko

"Y/N...what are you doing?"

It's a strange sight to see his usually smiley and happy partner currently cowering as the train rumbles. The carriage is full of passengers, standing tall above the pair.

"Don't laugh but, I...I don't use the train very often...or ever, at that."

Kuroko's face contorts to confusion.

"...so, this must be scary for you, right, Y/N?" Kuroko asks, smiling reassuringly as you bod in response.

"That's okay, I'm here with you. Just hold my hand."

He wasn't expecting you to grab onto him like he was your saviour, but giggled softly anyway.

He kisses your cheek, whispering how he'll have to take you out on dates more often so you can get used to the train.

Kagami

(having a little liberty this time since he wasn't technically part of the ask)

When your boyfriend told you that he'd show you around America, you were excited, as you should've been. Not much about the place seemed to matter to you right now though, as you stand, cramped up in the damp-smelling train of the New York City Subway.

Kagami himself appears unfazed by the way the carriage rumbles, the random coughing from every direction, the flickering lights, not even the rat licking up an old coffee stain on the floor.

"Taiga..."

"Yeah, what's up?"

"...I-I wasn't prepared for America to be this...how do i put it...ratholey?

Kagami laughs out loud, smiling broadly.

"That's a good way to describe New York."

You chuckle along with him, each other's laughter serving as a better light than whatever was short-circuiting above you both.

You hold his hand, and he holds yours, resting his palm on your thigh, as he rubs your knee with his thumb.

"LA is better than this, I promise."

Aomine

"Idiot...why are you scared?"

You can practically feel Aomine's mocking smirk forming, even if your eyes are shut and your face is buried in his chest.

"I don't use trains...you know I walk to school..."

Aomine's eyes roll as he sighs.

"Well, better get used to it now, or how are you gonna live in this city as an adult?"

It's these occasional moments of wisdom that draw you to Aomine. Until he of course ruins it.

"Unless you want me to piggyback you everywhere like a baby."

"Shut up."

He chuckles, stroking a few loose strands of your hair from your face.

"Kidding. I'm not gonna break my back carrying your ass."

You huff in annoyance at his comment, your hands finding his as your face buries into his chest even harder. He chuckles, squeezing your hand and kissing the crown of your head.

"I told you to shut up."

Midorima

"Oha Asa predicted (Your Star Sign) would not suffer any misfortunes today, you shouldn't worry." Midorima says this so matter-of-factly, it's scary.

"I-I know that...but it's still scary, Shin."

Midorima casually wraps a hand around your shoulder and pulls you slightly closer to him.

"You really should travel by train more often. In the future, what if a job you want requires you to travel by train? Don't be scared." he says his last sentence with a little smile, an uncharacteristic one at that, yet you find it so endearing.

Midorima has always been like this, acting less like a boyfriend, and more like a proper spouse, a husband you can share anything with, and be free of judgement, well, except from Oha Asa's.

You then feel him slip a small bangle onto your wrist.

"Your lucky item today is a silver bangle. But, I want you to wear it whenever you go on a train, okay? In fact, wear it everywhere, then I'll be with you."

You look down at the bangle, admiring the small 'M' engraved along it.

"I will...I'll wear it all the time. Thank you, Shin."

As he takes hold of your hand, you suppress a giggle; he'd already given you your lucky item earlier that day, a animal eraser. He must've been looking for an excuse to spoil you.

Murasakibara

The carriage rumbling: the murmurs of students: the ringing of phones. It was a lot to take in, especially since the last time you used the train was when you were a kid.

It especially didn't help that your giant of a boyfriend was crunching on snacks, the sound only adding to your unease.

"Mmph...this flavour's nice."

"Atsushi."

He turns to you and swallows the mouthful.

"Yeah, Y/N?"

"Could you...hold my hand?"

"Ehh? But how will I eat my snacks?"

"...use your other hand."

"But that hand's for holding the bag!"

This little dispute carries on for a while until he suggests, and you (hesitantly) decide to sit on his lap, perched on his thighs as he continues chomping away.

Weirdly, you do feel safe. Too bad you'll be getting crumbs all over you.

Kise

"So then my boss told me that-"

Although Kise is great at telling his stories, both about his modeling work and about Kasamatsu's never-ending impatience with him, you truly couldn't care less in this moment.

Your shoulders press together as the carriage shakes. The contact is hot and unpleasant, despite Kise's joyful face.

Your forehead begins to sweat, the air in the train is damp and humid.

"Kise, c-can you stop talking for just a second?"

"E-eh? Why? I was just getting to the good part!"

"I really don't feel well..."

Upon your words, Kise looks up at the announcement bar, and grabs your hand.

"Come on, Y/N, let's get off at this station."

"Huh? This isn't our stop though..."

He chuckles, the train coming to a stop, as he leads you out.

"I can't have you fainting on me! Let's cool down with a drink or something, my treat!"

You smile at the offer.

"Alright."

Akashi

While you and Akashi would usually walk together, or get rides in his limo, today he decided to use the train. You honestly didn't question it, Akashi always had his reasons for doing what he did.

What you forgot, however, was that you've never actually been on the train before.

It's more...suffocating than you were imagining, despite passing by the beautiful hills and landscapes. Akashi is drawn to them, staring out of the window with a small smile painted across his face.

You, however, can't ignore the other passengers. The sneezing lady, the sniffling office worker, the crying baby. It's a lot all at once.

"Y/N? ...What are you doing?"

You realize that, subconsciously, you covered your ears with your hands.

"Ah, sorry."

"...Do you not like the train?"

"...I...i've just never been on one before..."

A slight silence forms between the two of you.

Akashi's fingers slowly find yours.

As your hands squeeze together, you know it'll be alright.

Kiyoshi

You're with the rest of the Seirin team, walking back from a game (Kiyoshi managed to convince Riko to let you watch from the bench), when Riko rounds up everybody to get their attention.

"Okay everybody! We have to meet up early tomorrow, so let's get the next train out of here."

Everybody nods in agreement, and you realise, you've never actually been on a train before. Kiyoshi's hand squeezes yours as soon as your expression changes.

"Y/N? What's wrong?"

"I've...never been on a train before."

He blinks for a moment.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah..."

Kiyoshi chuckles.

"Well, what is it that you're so afraid of?"

"Just...never thought i'd have to go on one."

Kiyoshi chuckles again, shaking his head slightly.

"We'll have to go on dates more often to help you get used to it then."

-------

a/n 2: sorry for the lack of posts, and more sorry to this anon for how late this post is. ill try better to post more often hehe

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melikedraw · 16 days ago

Text

Married life with Gaolang headcanons

Ft. Gaolang wongsawat x gn! Reader

Sickeningly fluffy

~~~~~

Take note: I'm not a writer, I don't know what I'm doing, I just want gaolang content

Now that that's set aside-

~~~~~

- Married life with Gaolang is probably the easiest part of your relationship with him. No more of your painfully obvious hints bouncing off his dense head, no more questioning whether the feeling you had for him was reciprocated due to his unreadable expression

- Now, Gaolang doesn't expect you to take his surname, but if you refer to yourself as Mr/Mrs Wongsawat, he will feel so fucking smittened with you

- Gaolang's job as Rama's personal bodyguard requires him to leave your shared house early and come back late

- However, that has never stopped him from giving you any less love

- Though it pained him to leave the bed you two shared, he would always wake up early to prepare breakfast for you

- and by breakfast I don't mean cereal with milk

- He can and will make a filling and balanced breakfast for you, with some carbohydrates like rice, pancakes or toast, proteins like eggs or ham, and fibrous foodstuffs like a side salad or a bowl of fruit

- as someone who doesn't usually eat breakfast, this meal looks like a lot, but even if you aren't a breakfast person, Gaolang's handmade meals aren't something you can just pass up

- He WILL make you eat it (usually the smell itself is enough to have you feeling hungry anyways, so it isn't too difficult for him)

- After prepping your breakfast, he would wake you up to eat it before it goes cold

- he also wants you to be awake to see him off while he leaves, but he won't be admitting to that any time soon.

- for his job, Gaolang has to wear a suit and tie, not his preferred choice of clothing, but it was what a bodyguard typically wears

- putting on the outfit was usually one of the more boring parts of his morning, so help him get past this hurdle by putting it on for him!!

- button up his shirt, tie his tie, straighten up his blazer and dust him off while standing him in front of his full length mirror, telling him how good he looked this morning

- and don't forget a goodbye kiss for when he's putting on his shoes to leave the house

- I think gaolang would like you to be a housewife/husband

- it's not that he wants you to give up your dream job or anything like that, no. If you have a job you want to keep, he'd gladly support you in any way he possible could

- it's just that part of him wants to give you a perfect life, comfortable, in which he believes he can provide for you, and indeed he can, which is why he would want you to have the freedom of not needing to work

- However, if you agree to this arrangement of his, you can't just laze around all day and waste away in bed

- Being free all day, you usually do the grocery shopping, cooking lunch and dinner, laundry etc

- basic housekeeping stuff

- gaolang will try his best to help you with it too, but his job is inherently tiring, so treat him well!!!!

- now that I'm done with you two's day to day activities, lets move on to other stuff (HELP IDK WHAT IM DOIN)(ignore me)

- Gaolang would be super conflicted about having kids

- on one hand, he is obsessed with the thought of a child that was a mix of the two of you, like a symbolism of your marriage and love for him or something

- on the other hand, he KNOWS how busy he is, and he understands better than anyone that he can't possibly split his time in a way that would provide for the child the fatherly care they would require

- if you do want a child with him, you're going to have to do a LOT of convincing, begging and pushing because he is STUBBORN

- it mostly stems from his very valid fear of not being able to be a good father, and not wanting an innocent child to have to face the fact that their father can't even be there for them

- most likely you two will not have a kid, but hey, you tried (or didn't)

~~~~~

Yikes I'm all out of ideas

Should I make a prequel to this?? (Dating life with gaolang)

#kengan ashura #kengan omega #kengan #kenganverse #kengan x reader #kengan x you #gaolang #gaolang wongsawat #kaolan wongsawat #gaolang x reader #fluff #kengan imagines #kengan headcanons #gaolang headcanons

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katsuthelittlekitten · 1 year ago

Text

In war and love

Summary : Daemon comes back from war injured and you are here for him.

You were reading a book In front of your chambers fireplace when you heard sound coming from outside yours and Daemon shared room. It wasn't usual because you were in a private and secluded place of the castle that only your husband and yourself were allowed to come to. Considering the fact that for a good month now Daemon departed for war, a frown appeared on your features and you decided to go see what it was.

When you opened the large door of the chamber, you found yourself face to face with your personal maid Mina, that looked quite erratic. The poor girl seemed panicked and you started to be worried to as she spoke in a hurry to you.

Oh you majesty thanks the lord you are awake! It's the prince~ He is back and...injured. We tried to take care of his wounds but he doesn't allows any of us close to him. I deplore to say that I'm quite desperate your Highness.

Your eyes went wide at her words, understanding that your husband was finally back in the castle and to your inner turmoil injured. You knew Daemon like you knew your own self, he wasn't the type to show weakness and allow others to see himself in a compromising position. Being injured and weak was one of them and you knew that apart from yourself, their was no one else he would allow near him in this situation.

Knowing that, you pushed away your frustration for not being informed right away of his arrival and just asked the young women where your dear husband was.

You weren't surprised at all to hear he still was in his dragon company in the lower part of the castle. After all, Daemon just loved this place and his dragon. So without further a do, you hurried to get to his side, your mind getting a bit overwhelmed with different scenarios possible.

Soon enough, you found yourself standing in front of the huge entrance of Caraxes home. A long breath escaped your lips as you prepare yourself to see Daemon after a week apart. You honestly never could pinpoint the reason but it always was a sources or stress and anxiety to see him after he went to battle...especially now that he came back injured. What if he was in a terrible condition, what if his injury were not something you could help him with this time...

You found yourself shot out of your wandering mind as Mina joined your side again and stood besise of you shyly.

Your highness, do you require anything from me before you get to his majesty?

Your eyes locked on your maid and you shook your head in a negative manner. You'll take care of Daemon by yourself you tought.

No I will be fine, the rest of the staff and yourself can retire for the night. You said with a serious but none the less gentle voice to the girl, before looking back at the large door in front of you.

As you wish your majesty, have a good night.

Your maid told you before retiring like you asked. Leaving you finally at peace to attend to your husband.

With a bit of hesitation, you opened the large door and came into the gigantic underground rocked cave that served as a home for your husband's dragon. Rapidly, as you scanned the area, your eyes saw Daemon's figure from afar, standing asside of Caraxes large scaly head to pet him. The only sight of it that was quite adorable you'll have to admit, brought a smile to your lips instantly and a chuckle to leave your mouth.

You slowly walked to the both of them after that, feeling your breathing escalating slowly. Your worry and love for your prince were making your poor heart all bothered, that even if apparently Daemon hadn't realized you were there yet. In fact, It wasn't until Caraxes let an happy growl out because of the sight of you, that your husband finally realised your presence close behind him.

Well at least there is one of you both that came home without any scratches. You said with your gentle and sweet voice that let your nervousness shows a bit.

Daemon turned to look at you when you spoke up, his deep gaze finding yours in a mere second.

He immediately smiled at the sight of you, standing there looking so devine. He missed you so much when he was gone and as he look at you, your husband could sware you looked even more perfect that you did before his departure. The Rogue prince heart was beating hard in his chest, his desire and need to get closer to you only growing stronger by the seconds. Daemon just couldn't wait any longer, so he moved quickly in front of you and took hold of your face. Then, with a deep and passionate devotion, he kissed your lips deeply.

The sudden contact made you moan and whimper, wanting so much more of him. His touch felt like heaven and his strong arms securely placed around your waist made you feel safe like only him could. For a moment, your mind went blank and you only had the feeling of his lips against yours and his presence close to you that matter.

Then, after a while of getting used to each other again, you both parted and only stayed in each other's embraced for a moment. Daemon caressed your cheek delicately, treating you like the most precious thing in the world and then spoke up.

My perfect wife...how I missed you.

A smile shined on your lips at this and you delicately started playing with strands of his long white hair that you loved so much.

I missed you to Daemon...you know it's difficult for me when your gone. You told him gently before your mind finally got lucid enough again to remind you why you were down here in the first place. You took a rushed intake of breath, realizing Daemon might actually be in pain, then you backed away a little from your man to take a better look at him. Your eyes scanned every single part of his strong and perfect body before they fell on his left arm and stop net.

Oh my God...

You whispered before placing your hand to each side of his wound. It was really bloody and he apparently had a long and quite deep cut starting at his shoulder and stopping a bit higher that his mid arm. It looked really painful and your eyes went immediately to his, feeling terribly bad.

Daemon for heaven sake why didn't you let the maids attend to this!! That's a serious injury.

You said with a shaky breath filled with sudden panic and worry.

Your husband that didn't seemed affected at all by his injury chuckled at your words and tries to get you to calm down. He took your face between his hand and looked deeply into your eyes.

It's nothing my love don't worry, my body have seen much worse. Beside I don't want anybody but you to touch me.

His pretty eyes and his deep and attractive voice calmed your nerves a bit. You felt frustrated by how fucking stubborn your husband was sometimes, he apparently thought it was a funny matter and wasnt taking it seriously at all.

Nothing! Daemon your going to bleed out if you do nothing about it, God your such a stubborn asshole sometimes. Thanks the gods for gifting me patience!~

You said with a serious and quite apparent anger, before taking your husband dagger that he kept on his belt and ripping off a large piece of black tissues of your dress. After doing that, you roughly tear apart the sleeve of his tunic and pressed the tissue you took from your dress to his wound to get the blood off of it.

While you were doing that, Daemon just looked at you with a smirk and a loving expression. Even if he knew very well it wasn't a situation that was supposed to be funny, he couldn't keep his amusement away from his feature.

You looked so sexy and entrancing when angry, he just loved this fire within you so much. You were so different from any other women. One second you could be delicate and soft and the next, rough and violent when something was making you mad. Daemon just felt like you fitted perfectly together. You were a delicate flower but you had really dangerous thorn that even him felt proud of.

As you carried on with your task, you didn't realised that your husband had gotten his lips closer to your ear. So when Daemon actually bite your lob and whispered something seductively to you, your body immediately trembled with surprise and desire.

You look so terribly attractive when you are mad my love...

Your cheeks redden immediately as he spoke those praises to you. You felt so silly to react like this when you were supposed to be mad at him. Why did he has to be so perfect, it was a torture in itself. Especially since you were separated from each other the past month, but anyway.

With all the might and control you had, you keep your cool and stayed focused on the bleeding, your eyes meeting his for a mere second.

Daemon, this is nighter the moment or the place for this darling.

You told him with the ghost of a smirk lingering on your lips and a little twinkle of desire that you just couldn't hide from him.

The Rogue prince at your words and apparent desire just chuckled and kissed the nape of your neck delicately.

Fine...I'll try to wait until you finish with this if that's what you desire my love.

Daemon purred against your neck before letting his lips leave your skin to smile at you.

You are such a child you know that?

You said softly to him while letting go of his wound to take his hand instead.

Come now, we need to get to our chamber. This wound of yours need to get stitches.

Yes mam. Daemon said obediently with an attractive smirk lingering on his lips.

Your only answer to his words was a cute chuckled and a smile before you dragged him out of the underground caves. You both walked your way through the different hidden passages that lead to your quarters. Daemon staying behind you, his eyes staying on your perfect figure. He honestly felt happy to be back to you and couldn't keep himself from thinking that you were perfect.

Soon enough, you reached your chambers and delicately entered before closing the door behind you both.

Daemon seemed to look around when you arrived. Just like if things would have change during the time he wasn't home or maybe was it because he missed being here. You couldn't say. However, you did remembered you had to take care of him so your mind when back to your task.

You flashed your husband a cute smiled then, before asking him sweetly to go sit on the bed while you get the things you'll need to stitch his wound.

The Targaryen prince, didn't even wait a second before executing himself and getting settled on the bed.

As he sat down, you immediately left his side to get what you needed.

During this time, Daemon was still looking at the room with an happy smile on his lips. It felt good to be back to the castle and back to you. He loves the war but sometimes being away from you was becoming a torture that he wasn't quite liking. Anyhow, as he observed the surrounding with a warm expression on his feature, his purple eyes moved to look aside of him to your side of the bed. To his surprise, he found the bed untouched, just like if nobody had slept on it tonight. Daemons eyebrows furrowed at this and he wondered why you weren't sleeping at this hours of the night. He was slowly starting to think about getting up to fetch you

but then you emerged back from the bathroom to come back to his side.

How did you know I was back my love, did the maids woke you up?

Your husband asked you with a gentle voice that only you got to hear. He seemed concerned suddenly and you wondered why. Your eyes found his as you sat aside of him on the bed, laying all the things you went to get. Then, you asked him to turn a bit so you'd be able to stitch his wound. While he obeyed in silence, you answered his question with a warm voice.

No they didn't, I wasn't sleeping actually.

Your husband turned his head to look back at you seemingly more curious and worried.

Why is that? It's nearly 4 in the morning if I'm not mistaken...you should have been sleeping at this hours my sweet.

As Daemon spoke his last words, you understood why he seemed worried. After all you did stayed up quite late and this, because you just couldn't sleep without him. The past month have been a nightmare for you honestly. You barely manage to get an hour or two of sleep each night and that only when you slept on his side of the bed with his pillow that smelled like him.

His perfect eyes were looking at you scrutinizingly and you felt yourself getting flustered suddenly. It was special to have Daemon caring about you, after all he was ruthless and terrifying for most people and you felt special to be the only one exception to this rule.

You gently started to dab at his wound with a cotton covered with alcohol. The action didn't even caused your husband to react or flinch. As you observe his feature for any trace of pain or else from your actions, you spoke up to him again.

I know...but I wasn't I'm sorry to disappoint you my dear husband.

Daemon eyes seemed to show love and care toward you as you speak. He honestly just wanted to know why you weren't sleeping and he made sure that you understood he needed an answer this time. His hand went to your chin and he brought your face softly up to look at him again. Your hands at this stopped moving and your attention immediately got taken away from him.

Why.

A shaky breath left your lips at the sudden tension that you felt between the both of you. He could be such a pain in the ass sometimes. It was making you mad that you were to tell him how desperate you were without him. Nonetheless, you knew he wouldn't stop asking if you didn't answered his question. Your husband wasn't the most patient of man, so you just answered.

Because I can't sleep without you Daemon! Is it what you wanted to hear, your happy now?!

You literally shout out at him before looking away back to his wound. You desperately tried to look everywhere but at him, the feeling of guilt within you getting stronger by the second because of how arsh you sounded. You regretted it the second it came out of your lips.

Your husband on his side, stayed dumbfounded looking at you with a blank expression. He defenetly didn't expected you to talk to him like that. You were for sure the only person in the world that he would leave alive after being that disrespectful toward him. Luckily for you however, daemons worry for you was stronger than his masculine urges to have you obedient and perfect for him. Therefore, instead of being pissed at you for yelling at him, he just took it on him to observe you better. Now that he could look at you clearly with the lighting of the room, the Targaryen prince could clearly saw how tired you seemed to be.

Oh my love...you look so terribly pale, I'm just worried about your well-being. How much sleep did you have this past month darling...honestly.

You were expecting anything but this reaction from your husband really. His voice sounded so soft and sweet, it made you feel even worse. After minutes of looking away, you finally allowed yourself you look into his eyes again before speaking up to him.

I'm sorry...I shouldn't have yelled. I don't have a lot of patience recently. To be quite honest...I don't really know how much sleep I got while you were gone. Maybe two hours a day or less.

You finally confessed to him before letting a soft breath out of your mouth. You kept looking into his deep violet eyes this time and you clearly saw his worry and slight panic when you said that. You immediately tried to recomfort him, to tell him you were fine even if it wasn't quite true. One of your hand came to his face and you just caressed it softly.

Daemon I'm ok, don't worry my love. I knew you would be away for war a lot when we got married. It's something I consented to and it's more meaningful than my sleep by far.

Unbelief cross on Daemon's face at your words. He couldn't believe that. Nothing was more important than your well-being for him and he felt bad that you didn't think the same.

My Beloved wife...there is nothing in the whole world that is more important than you to me. Daemon said as he gently started to caress your cheek with his fingers. It felt really good and without noticing, you leaned closer to his touch. You missed that. Those intimate moments that you both had and the delicate and loving way he used to touch you.

A pretty smile revealed itself on your lips as both your eyes met. Your heart beat harder in your chest from that simple touch of his. It truly mattered to you that he cared even if you told him not to. You knew it was Daemons way of telling you "I love you".

For a slight second, your eyes shifted to his lips. You felt like kissing them quite badly right now. A shaky breath left you as your thoughts lost the battle against your desire. Your body on its own, guided by your need for his, shifted on his lap and soon enough, your lips found his in a passionate embrace.

A sweet moan left your lips as you both kissed, Daemon not waiting a second before kissing you back and placing his arms around your waist securely. For a moment you forgot everything and just basked into him and the feeling of being close to him like this again. It felt so addictive and your body responded to it was if they had craved it for months. In a reflex, your fingers intertwined themselves into Daemon's long white hair and started playing with them gently. After a little moment, your lips parted from each other and you let your head fall on his. A moment of silence followed then and words your husband wasn't saying but showing to you stayed in the air peacefully.

I know, I love you too Daemon. My perfect dragon prince. You told him sweetly with all the love you felt for him showing in your eyes. A hand came to his cheek and you gently started caressing it, before speaking up again.

I know you worry about me darling but I promise that I'll be fine now that you are back. I just need to finish stitching your wound up and we will go to sleep.

Daemons seemed to think about that for a moment, then he finally gave up on arguing and just nod. He wasn't liking the fact you needed to waist time on your sleep that you already visibly lacked to help him out. Yet, Daemon knew he wouldn't be able to manage his wound alone so consequently, he just stayed there looking at you with a guilty like expression. Before you started again to attend to his injury, the rogue prince gently kissed your forehead and smiled to you.

Fine but don't even think about getting out of bed tomorrow because their is no way I will let it happen.

A chuckled left your lips at his words, knowing very well that he was absolutely serious about this.

Oh don't worry, I won't even more a muscle now that I have you back I'll make sure to take everything I can.

You said playfully, yet quite truthfully.

With an affectionate smile mirroring his, you started back to get his wound disinfected after speaking. It took you mare minutes after you got to work before finishing this step and getting to the stitching part. You had to say you were a bit worried for him knowing it would hurt quite a lot.

Nonetheless, you knew it was something that needed to be done so you just prepared the needle and the thread before your eyes went up to Daemons with the apparent worry that showed in them.

Are you ready my love? You asked him sweetly while laying a gentle kiss to his temple.

Daemon smiled at you apparently touched by your concern for him, then he just nodded at your words confidently.

Yes, don't worry for me it's really not the first time darling.

His words sounded confident and they got you a bit more appeased that you were seconds ago. Considering that you had his go now, you got to work and started to plunged the needle into his skin and stitch the wound. You tried to hurry up the best you could, even if when you looked at daemons expression while you work, he didn't seemed affected by pain at all. It was more for you than for him you thought but Anyway. After a good fifteen minute of hard work, you were done and your husbands arms finally stopped bleeding. You observed your work with pride and then smiled brightly to you man that seemed happy to be done with that.

There, I'm done my prince, try not to fight anybody until it heals completely would you.

You said with a playful tone and a smirk on your lips as you gathered everything you used in a little basket and got it on the floor beside the bed.

Daemons hand came under your chin as you cheekily talked to him and he kissed your lips to shut you up. A giggled left you during the kiss and you layed your hand on his strong chest. A cute little whimper got out of your lips when he let go and you feign a pout as he stood up from the bed and chuckled your way.

Don't be mad at me wife, I'm simply going to clean myself up a bit before we get to sleep. You'll get plenty of kissed afterward I promise. Your husband said before disappearing in the bathroom with a soft smile, leaving you sat on the bed, blushing like a shy maiden.

Your heart skipped a beat at the prospect of sleeping with him after all this time. To say you were excited was an understatement but you gathered yourself and hurried up to get ready for bed. It was nearly morning already but you couldn't care less, you needed sleep quite desperately and their was absolutely nothing that would get you out of bed before the day after.

As you stripped yourself from your gown and undid your hair, You felt the delicate and warm heat of the fire touching your skin. It felt good and you couldn't keep yourself from smiling brightly while getting dressed into your nightgown this time. Surprisingly, when you got back to bed and slide under the huge covers, Daemon wasn't there yet. You layed your head on your pillow then, waiting for him as your long white hair framed your pretty face.

You didn't had to wait very long before you saw your husband walking out of the bathroom in only his undergarment. His hair was undone and cascading down his back like an incessant river, his chest built up to perfection like gods and Celeste. You didn't even realised that you had stopped breathing for a instant as your eyes followed him walking to you. Daemons had a smirk on his lips like usual, his cocky and self assured self couldn't resist showing delight at your apparent attractiveness toward his appearance. He just knew too well the effect he had on you and to say he enjoyed it was an euphemism.

When he reached the bed and joined you under the covers, your heart stuttered then you blushed. It felt weird to have him back and there just aside of you. A good weird of course but still.

Daemon's eyes looked at you for a moment as you lay beside him, looking flawless and gorgeous. He couldn't believe you were his, it still was astounding even after all these years of being married. As he gently lay on the bed beside you, Daemon extended his arms to grip your waist and then hissed your body to his in a simple pull. Your body tensed up a bit at first, now that both of you were pressed against each other. Yet you rapidly got used to it and the breath you were holding in got out in a relief huff. It felt so good to be in his arms at last. The warmth of his skin finally back to keep yours hot enough during the time you slept. There was a happy smile that shined on your lips as you gently kissed your husband's chest and closed your eyes. The heaviness of sleep was getting the best of you and since you were in security in his arms, there was nothing that could stop you from sleeping like a baby.

I love you Daemon and I missed you...I missed that.

Your husband that was waiting for you to be asleep to himself follow, was stroking your hair in a relaxing manner. As you spoke, he sweetly shushed you and kissed your forehead.

I know my love, I missed it too... sleep now, you need it my darling wife.

His words said with so much love and affection, we're just what you needed to finally let go. You tried to get even closer to him with a little whine, then some minutes passed and you were finally gone in the dream world.

Daemon's eyes which never left your pretty face, shined with tenderness as he heard your steady breathing. You were asleep in his arms and he couldn't feel more at home. His eyes closed then, following you shortly to slumber. His head laid on top of yours and his arms stayed securely around you.

The prince has reunited with his princess, nothing would disturb them anymore. There was only sleep and love.

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juuuulez · 1 year ago

Text

📰 | prologue: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes-less chapter (sorry!), Negan x Daughter! Reader, pre/start of apocalypse, violence and minor gore, morally grey reader, mentions of child abuse/neglect.

summary: When the apocalypse breaks loose, you find yourself in companionship with your sport teacher, Mr. Smith.

THIS was so much fun to write!!!! Genuinely my favourite chapter I’ve done so far. Let me know what you all think, because I’d love to do more little tidbits that stray from the original story. But with that in mind, this instalment IS required to understand parts of the fic going forward. Prologue is mandatory…..I’ve just finally done it.

Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 are already out! 5 will return to our regularly scheduled program of Carl and (Y/N) bickering.

You valued consistency.

Doing the same thing, every day.

Even if your life was shit, at least it was consistently shit.

You always knew how to behave. What could just go unpunished. How to enter the house without making a sound. The perfect patterns to ensure your location wasn’t given away. What exactly to say to avoid being hit.

It was routine, comfortable. You permanently lived on the edge, waiting. Listening, watching. Observing those around you.

As routine, you were late. It was becoming quite the pattern, but you couldn’t help it. The bus ran late. Or, you suppose… if it ran late every day, then it was on schedule. Maybe you should start catching an earlier bus.

Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Second period, Tuesday.

Sport.

Now, you didn’t necessarily dislike sport. But you didn’t really love it, either.

The uniform always made you feel insecure. Which, at the ripe age of 13, doesn’t seem to be an emotion your peers are experiencing yet. Or maybe they are just better at hiding it than you are. It’s also incredibly performative, sport, which you hate. Being singled out, going one by one, choosing teams. All of it was terrible.

You didn’t mind your teacher.

Which, went a long way, considering you disliked most people who resided within these buildings. Teachers and students alike.

But Mr. Smith was nice. To you, at least. And to everyone. He was loud, had too much energy, but you didn’t mind. It just meant that he cared about his job.

You absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, the fabric wrapped around your arms to make up for the breezy garment of the girls tank top. It made you look different, set you apart. You hated that.

Regardless, you fall in line with the others.

Baseball.

Granted, you’ve never played baseball before. Sure, you’d watched it, on the small occasion that you were allowed to stay with a friend. It was a vivid memory. Watching from the hallway, over her father’s shoulder, whilst she was asleep.

You wished that your father liked sports. Or maybe cooking. Or collecting things, cleaning things, fixing things. Anything.

It’s almost the end of class, you’re standing at the back of the line. Three kids, then two, then just one. You. The others are standing on the bleachers, already collecting their equipment, preparing for break.

“Batter-up.” Mr. Smith says, though you don’t understand the colloquialism. Nonetheless, you move forward, accepting the bat from the previous student. Another is further down the field. Bowler, you presume.

The metal bat is cold between your fingers, clenched in your dominant hand. It’s heavy, but not an unmanageable amount, just enough to keep you aware of it. There’s weight to the swing, weight on your arm, shoulder. It takes a moment to find your footing.

But when you do, the other student has already thrown the ball. It’s hurdling towards you, faster than comfortable. Spinning through the air with a distinct whizz, perfectly curved, heavy. Dangerous.

It’s instinctual. Your body twists, landing a hit on the spherical object with laser accuracy, the impact ringing in your ears as it soars away, towards the end of the pitch.

Your head snaps in the opposite direction, recalling the match you’d silently observed years ago. There are beige bases in the grass, thin plates. The bat falls from your grip, hitting the ground with a thud, and you move to start running.

It only takes a few steps before reality clicks in, and you realise the feat is pointless. Nobody else is playing. There is no-one to catch your ball, to cheer and clap. Everybody has already begun to leave. They didn’t watch you, didn’t continue the game. Three seconds tick over before the bell rings, releasing the crowd of children awaiting their freedom.

Suddenly the summer breeze is too hot, the sleeves of your shirt itching, sticking to your skin. The tank is too tight. It hugs your body in the wrong way, vulnerable, at their mercy. And yet, you are unseen in a similar manner, and there’s an inkling of you that wants to be judged, simply to say you’d been recognised.

You’re collecting your things, and by that, putting your muddied sneakers into a plastic bag and slipping on new ones. There are footsteps behind you. Heavy, easily identifiable as an adult. You have impeccable hearing.

Before he can announce himself, you’ve turned. There’s always been respect in your tone when conversing with teachers, well aware of the authority they hold, despite your frequent disagreeable on their methods.

“Never mentioned you were good at baseball.” Mr. Smith quips, already packing up the equipment left behind from the lesson into a large bag. Those concrete-hard balls, the plastic bases, the metal bats.

“I’ve never played, sir.” You tell him, flashing that usual, awkward smile that doesn’t really count as a smile, but just the pursing of your lips. An attempt at civility from somebody too irreversibly damaged for their age.

“Well, we’ve got a team running,” He continues to speak whilst organising, and though he does not look at you, your attention is drawn. “Could come find you later, give you the permission slip.”

That bursts your bubble. There’s no chance in hell that you could persuade your father to sign it. There was forging the signature, but this game would run in after-school hours, an extra curricular. You wouldn’t be allowed.

“I dunno,” You shrug in premature defeat, slinging the bag over your shoulder, coming to stand at the feet of the bleachers. “Not really a team player. Wouldn’t fit in with the older girls.”

Though there’s no visible indication, it’s obvious that Mr. Smith disregards this as a valid excuse. Which, it definitely isn’t, but it’s the little statement you tell yourself in order to feel less shitty about missing an opportunity.

“How about I get you the slip, and then you’ve got the option?” It’s said as a question, but clearly isn’t, as he’s then reaching into the duffel bag and pulling out one of those heavy, metal bats.

He holds it out to you, and you have no choice but to take it.

“Get some practise in before the weekend.”

Then Mr. Smith is leaving, and you’re left standing there, on the muddy field. The second bell rings out.

You’re late.

Now, this habitual lateness may not be all so coincidental.

Tardiness was handled rather vigorously in the seventh grade, for whatever reason. You didn’t understand.

But it hasn’t taken too long into the year to crack the metaphorical code. Detention was mandated for wrongdoings, ergo, another hour before you had to be home.

You’d take detention over home any day of the week.

So it was unsurprising when you ended up there this afternoon, settling into your usual spot near the back. There were a other kids, the typical troublemakers, and a few poor souls who genuinely had misfortune befall them.

Mrs. Hagerty, the librarian, overlooked detention. She was old and slow, grey hair, grey lips. Grey… skin. Well, she looked half-dead, which was saying something. You weren’t surprised, though it was a little suspicious how she hadn’t chastised you for bringing the baseball bat into the room.

It sat propped up against your desk.

Despite your adamancy against pointless procedures, public humiliation, gossip, and assholes in charge, you were quite good at school. English, primarily, was your strong suit. Reading, writing. All of it.

The peace that you’d carefully crafted was interrupted roughly halfway into the lesson. Or, babysitting session, as Mrs. Hagerty was yet to look up from her desk. Talk about worlds easiest job.

You still remembered that day, even now. Years later.

At the time, Mr. Smith was nothing but your sport teacher, someone with authority who you detested less than most other figures. A reasonable constant in your life, so far.

Now, he was Negan. Everything to you, in a way. Alike to how you were everything to him. Though you didn’t know it then, this was the day that he’d consume an entirely different part of your mind, forging a new identity that would terrorise, ravage, and torment communities.

But in the same breath, protect you, help raise you, construct an entire empire with you as the sun. Though you’d never succumb to the hive mind, you were not Negan. But you certainly were his.

Nonetheless, it all started within that room. The detention room.

“Permission slip.” Negan announced, placing the small pink paper on the desk in front of you. He attempted to keep his voice hushed, mindful of the other students who were meant to be studying, but appeared more to be sleeping.

Now that it was out of school hours, and he was likely printing, Negan wore reading glasses. Later, you would mock him for these, making comments about him being old.

It always awarded you with that same distinct look of warning. Yet, it never made you feel threatened, but appreciated. Seen.

You slide the permission slip closer, reading the small black writing. In the same motion, you fish out a pen, jotting down cursive letters in the underlined section.

You slide it back.

“I can’t take this,” Negan points out with a sign, gazing down at the signature that is obviously not one of your parents. “You’re really making me go back, and print another one?”

This causes you to roll your eyes, “So I can take it home and do the same thing? That just wastes both of our time… our you could take it now.”

However, he won’t budge. “It’s policy. Go home, get it signed. I don’t need to know how.”

Though you feign annoyance, the insinuation made you want to smile. Turns out, Negan knew more than he was letting on. Gossip spread across faculty quickly, and it didn’t take a genius to deduct your… poor living situation.

The long sleeves, the turtle necks, the gloves. Jeans in summer. Never a parent to attention parent-teacher conferences.

He’s about to turn and leave, when there’s a slight commotion at the front of the room.

One of the younger students, Jasmin, is talking to Mrs. Hogarty in a hushed voice. Goody-two-shoes.

When she gets no response, the student only continues talking, trying to elicit a reaction from the teacher that has otherwise remained silent. In an irreversible mistake, Jasmin reaches out, gently waving her tanned hand in front of glazed over eyes.

Mrs. Hogarty lunges at her, finally in motion, chubby hands gripping at the forearm of the girl and taking a bite from plush skin. Blood spurts from the wound, Jasmin screams in horror, alike to the rest of the few misdemeanours in the room.

Everyone is in motion. Some try to help Jasmin, others flee. You’re stuck. Truth is, though you boast agility, you’ve never been in a situation like this. Your mouth gapes like a fish, open, closed, searching for something to say, to do. A reaction befitting of this complete, disgusting travesty.

“C’mon, up. Let’s go.” Negan is talking to you, you realise. It’s like everything finally clicks back into motion, the water no longer clogging your ears, making everything muffled and distant. This is reality.

You scramble from the chair, grabbing books, pencils, hastily shoving them into your little brown bag.

But there’s a hand on your shoulder, urging you forward, towards the exit sitting towards the back of the classroom. “Leave it, no time.” Negan is telling you, helping you off the floor. Before the two of you can make a break for it, your hands clasp around the metal baseball bat.

It swings at your side as you leave the building, feet padding against the concrete of the pavement. It’s strangely… desolate. There is no increasing urgency, nobody around. It almost makes you question whether what happened was real. But you’re still walking, forward, away.

“Shouldn’t we help her?” You ask, to which Negan finally stops to look back at you. His brows furrow, confused, so you clarify. “Jasmin.”

“No, no, there isn’t any helping her,” He clarifies, talking slowly to try and get the idea in your head. “I read about this shit online, it’s in other countries. Europe. They aren’t people anymore.”

You don’t quite catch on, understand the severity of his words. But it makes sense. No person would act like that. Your feet begin to move again, travelling the familiar path.

“Hey, where are you going?” Negan calls out, and it’s only now that you become aware of the distance between you. Your head snaps into the direction of the bus stop, a silent answer, and Negan seems to deduct your intentions. He nods in the opposite direction. “C’mon.”

You obey, needing to skip in order to catch up with his longer strides. The bat is still clenched in your dominant hand, cold metal occasionally making contact with the side of your leg. It’s heavy, but you’re getting used to it.

As you approach the car park, the sun beats down, warming the asphalt. A few paces away is Negan’s truck, but before that, another person you quickly identify as an older student.

Stringy hair, grey skin, dull eyes. Arms reaching out, wandering aimlessly. The animated corpse seems to have some semblance of consciousness, as it spots you, limping over.

Preemptively, you take a step back, that familiar feeling of panic flooding your system at an unavoidable danger. Luckily, Negan appears to be significantly more composed than you are, as he’s reaching back for something. Extending a hand to you.

When you don’t react, he whistles, a high-pitched noise that instantly gets your attention. You did not know it yet, but this would become a familiar constant in your life. Nonetheless, you catch onto what he meant, letting the metal bat fall into his extended hand.

“Are you gonna…?” You don’t finish your question, as you’re unsure what exactly you think may happen. There’s a small part of you that doesn’t want to know.

Luckily, Negan provided little answers. “Go around and get in the truck.” He tells you, instructs you, and you listen simply because you trust him. Which, in this day and age, is dangerous.

You busy yourself with the seatbelt in order not to watch, able to mentally fill in the blanks as to the measure that Negan was taking. It made sense, you supposed. They weren’t alive anymore, couldn’t feel. Only wanted to hurt other people. Therefore, they needed to be put down.

There’s a clang as he places the baseball bat in the back of the truck, getting into the drivers seat and starting the engine. You watch this interest, unable to remember the last time somebody drove you anywhere. Never, if you recall correctly.

Thankful, Negan opts to ignore the way you inspect his every movement, like a little bird. Or a startled cat.

“Your address?” He requests, already making a start down the street that he would presume lead towards your house. It snaps you out of the little daze, face scrunching up.

“No, gross. I can’t give you my address,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the idea of completely insane. “You could be a predator, for all I know. That’s private information.”

Negan gives you that look again, the same one when you’d forged the signature. He can’t quite understand you. “Why would I work in a school if I was a predator? Tell me, how would I get that job.”

You shrug, “Maybe because that’s exactly what you want.”

He becomes fed up with your inane accusation, rolling his eyes. Yet, despite the attitude you’ve adopted, he does not get frustrated with you. “Address, now. I’m takin’ you home.”

There’s a large part of you that doesn’t even want to go home, yet you obey, providing Negan with your address to which he turns down the proper street. Luckily, you don’t live too far from school… or, unlucky, you suppose. For it isn’t long until you’re pulling into your driveway.

You get out, footsteps cautious against the pavement. A few meters away is an older lady, half alive, clinging to the path with desperate hands despite the concave appearance of her head. Your neighbour. She groans upon noticing you, but her legs are broken, and cannot move forward.

Remembering earlier, you move backwards towards the truck, fishing out the metal bat. It’s shiny metallic end is caked with reddish blood, stringing bits of decomposing guts hanging from it.

You can only make it a step forward until Negan is holding your shoulder again, pushing you in the opposite direction, towards the house. “Nope. Just leave her, she ain’t hurting anyone.”

Usually, you would detest being controlled. Told what to do. The shadow of an adult so close behind you, watching, letting their hands intrude on your space. But you didn’t feel threatened by Negan, which was odd. You weren’t going to complain about it, that’s for sure.

You ascend up the shallow stairs, coming to a stop in front of the door. When you reach out, pressing on the doorhandle, you’re shocked to find that it simply swings open, already sitting ajar. Dread fills your body.

It’s not that fearful, sickly dread that you get when you know you’ve done something wrong, and are awaiting the inevitable consequences. No, its.. different. You’ve felt it very few times before. Concern, worry. Knowing that something is wrong, and you cannot stop it.

Nonetheless, you enter the house. It’s in its familiar state, which provides a slight comfort to you, but Negan finds himself taken aback. It’s practically a mess. Every surface has something on it, whether it be pointless junk, or the garbage of bottles and cans. A few areas remain spotless, like the kitchen counter, and the bin remains empty and carefully tucked away.

It’s clear that you upkeep the small areas which you require for your autonomy. The rest of the place? Not your problem. It’s no wonder you don’t like being there.

As you pat further down the hallway, Negan draws his attention to the entrance. There’s a large bookshelf, though the books are dusty, likely long since actually used. A few slots are unusually empty, indicating that you’ve taken some to keep elsewhere.

But it’s the top shelf that draws his attention. Two photographs, positioned around thirty centimetres apart, with two respective urns behind them. One significantly smaller. Mother and daughter, he recognises. Mother and baby, actually.

It’s apparent that this is the home of a family that’s lost half of its inhabitance. He can’t help but wonder, is this the fate that will befall him, come Lucille’s death? Hopefully not. Nothing like this.

“Dad?”

Negan regains his sense of reality, curiosity piked as you’re speaking down the hall. He moves further into the space, standing in the kitchen as he observes you, there on the porch.

You stand near the doorway, that bat still hanging from one hand. In front of you, a figure, sitting down. Next to him, a half-empty case of beers. Part of Negan becomes increasingly alert, aware, prepared to avoid letting any harm befall you. A harm that you’re likely accustomed to.

There’s no response.

“C’mon. Just say something.” You urge, sounding utterly defeated. And yet, your father gives no response, despite the impending doom blanketing the situation.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand. The vicious, red welt on your fathers neck gives it away, jagged and seeping blood that stains his already unkept shirt. It’s a matter of time, at this point. You’d like to extract at least one, genuine conversation. Absolutely anything before he disappears forever.

That isn’t seeming very likely.

Your eyes drift around the yard, welling with tears not of sadness, but frustration. This is it? You are to become an orphan, the world is ending, and your piece-of-shit father won’t even look at you? In this moment, you wished he was angry.

You wished he would yell at you.

Pin you against the wall by your neck.

Bruise you. Beat you.

Anything other than this.

“I made the baseball team.” You tell him, another futile attempt to elicit any sort of reaction. Pride, maybe. Congratulate his young daughter for her achievement. Even the smallest hint of recognition would go a long way, pull you from this spiral you’ve begun to succumb to.

And what does he do?

He scoffs.

His arm lifts, taking another swig of the near empty bottle.

Finally, you’ve gotten your sign. A signal, a hint. The divine intervention that sets everything straight, reminds you of your place in this world. Just enough attention to keep you subdued, but satisfied. Complacent.

Anger overtakes you before you’re even aware of these emotions, wielding a surprising amount of strength for a pre-pubescent girl. You want to scream and shout and hurt him.

So you do.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, really. Unplanned, messily executed. But would you have done it again? Certainly.

You cannot feel remorse for causing pain to a man who’s soul died long ago. Died with your mother, died with your infant sister. Tried to kill yours along with it all.

It’s already happened before you can understand.

There’s a distinct soreness in your shoulder, strained from swinging the metal baseball bat with such force. There are little blisters forming on your palms from how tight you’re gripping, clawing, clenching around the handle. The movement has shifted your whole body, but you don’t look down.

You don’t acknowledge the mess you’ve made.

Blood splattered across the wooden porch, some even hitting the adjacent fence. Skull broken, concave. Oozing sticky red.

The glass bottle rolls down the steps. Clink, clink, clink. It hits the plush grass, silenced.

It was inevitable, anyway. Whether to the virus, or your own hands, your father was going to die.

It was a mercy-kill, at best.

Vengeance at worst.

But that didn’t matter anymore, because when you turned around, he was there.

Negan.

Standing in the kitchen, watching you through the open door. He didn’t appear horrified, or disgusted. Maybe unsettled, sure. There was a darkness within you that he recognised, understood. Sure, he didn’t put it there, but over the years he would cultivate it, guide you. Raise you as somebody who would never be taken advantage of again.

Untouchable.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #negan smith x reader #negan smith #twd x you #the walking dead #carl grimes

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biwitchenergyz · 4 months ago

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A House of Blood and Fire

Chapter 2: The Tournament

<-Previous Next Chapter->

The tourney ground is loud and bustling, with hundreds of people preparing for the long day ahead. Squires fill the stables as they rush to fit their lord's horses for battle, shining their armor and sharpening swords. The smallfolk have already lined up outside the stadium. The first to arrive will surely get seats, but there are never enough spots for these events. You exit the carriage first to help Rhaenyra down the steps. Were the occasion less grand, the princess would have likely worn a violet kirtle, making it easier to move in while still adorned with jewels and myrish lace. With the smallfolk and lords of the realm watching her every move, Rhaenyra has gone for a grand houppelande as black as Balerion himself. The red fabric of her chemise still peaks through the slits in her dress, and she looks as fierce as any conqueror queen. Her silver-gold hair shines in the light of the evening sun.

“They already line the streets?” Rhaenyra watches the common folk as they cheer for every carriage that passes them. “It is a blessing to see the realms delight. Many have waited for days to bear witness to your grace.” Elinda praises as she follows behind Rhaenyra and you. Her voice continues, but you scarcely hear it. Ascending the stadium's stairs is none other than Aemond and Aegon Targaryen. They take their seats in the stand beside their brother, Daeron Targaryen. The charming younger brother was brought back home shortly after Helaena’s disappearance. The court claimed he was returning home to continue his studies, but everyone knew he was there to comfort the queen.

“Are your brothers not participating in the tourney, Princess?” Rhaenyra shakes her head. “Daemon offered himself as the Targaryen champion. He has missed warfare greatly. My brothers care not for tourneys, or so I hear.” She stops before you reach the stairs and, with a gentle hand, adjusts the black veil that covers your hair. You watch her from under your lashes. Rhaenyra never had a need for makeup, but on occasion, it is almost required that she wear it. It is simply rogue applied to her pale cheeks, and kohl used to make her eyes stand out. She is the most incredible beauty you know. “How long do you plan to wear these veils? A lifetime of mourning is no life at all.” Rhaenyra reminds you gently as she brushes your cheek with her palm. She smells of amber and ash. You brush her aside, embarrassed by her sisterly doting.

“I have worn them since my father's death, and when I finally took them off, my mother passed. Do not be eager for me to remove them, princess. It seems death follows me less when I am still mourning.” Rhaenyra shakes her head as she listens to you. You both ascend the stairs, with Elinda following behind. The crowd of smallfolk cheer at the Princess of Dragonstone. They praise her as one might praise the gods. “You are too morbid, my dear. You always have been such a stubborn, morbid little thing.” Rhaenyra talks over the crowd before turning and waving at her devotees. The smallfolk erupt with cries of joy that follow Rhaenyra to your stands in the stadium.

Instantly, you notice the clear division in seating. Alicent and Otto Hightower have already arrived with the queen's sons. They sit to the left of the stands, with Otto on Alicents left, her three boys in front of her, and the king's intended seat to her right.

Rhaenyra is to sit on her father's right side, with Rhaenys already in the seat on Rhaenyra’s other side. Rhaenys, your favorite cousin, had arrived with her granddaughters two days prior to the tourney. In your letters, she expressed her worry for her husband, Corlys. Despite Daemon’s original victory in the stepstones, the peace did not last, and soon Corlys was back at war, leaving Rhaenys lonely. Now, she leans forward to whisper to Baela and Rhaena, who turn to hear their grandmother's thoughts. Elinda follows Rhaenyra to her seat and places herself on the wall closest to Rhaenyra so she may be at her beck and call. You think of standing beside Elinda, but Alicent calls out to you.

“Darling girl! I have saved a seat for you.” Alicent cheerfully pats the chair before her as if hoping to summon you into it. Smiling gratefully, you make your way to the chair, but Rhaenyra’s grip on your wrist stops you. “If you’d prefer, I can have a chair brought to my side?” Rhaenyra sees the conflict on your face, but you are too stubborn to admit your discomfort. Sitting beside Daeron was not the problem. He was always a peaceful boy, eager to learn and interested in your culture. It was his older brothers that you worried about. The last time you spoke to either of them, things were complicated. Looking at them now, their silver-gold hair and handsome faces take you back to the night you left King’s landing.

• • • • • • • Alicent had been hysterical, shouting, “Where has she gone? Who was on watch?” She demanded answers from every knight on duty until she collapsed in her chair from exhaustion. Gathered in her chambers, you sat holding Aegon in your arms. His reddened cheek burnt your skin painfully, although not nearly as bad as the slap Alicent had landed against him moments before. Aemond stood by the roaring fireplace, watching everything go down. He was no older than six and ten, but he seemed the most mature of everyone in the room until his eyes landed on you.

“Helaena’s bedmaid told me she went to speak to you before retiring to her chambers. What did she say?” With a straightforward question, Aemond made all eyes fall upon you with suspicion. “Helaena often speaks to me before she retires. It is usually the same thing. She is scared to sleep. Scared that she will have nightmares. She told me that seeing me before bed replaced her nightmares with…sweet dreams.” Aemond wasn't convinced. He marched forward, grabbing Aegon by his forearm and yanking the older boy away from you. He stood between you and Aegon as though he was protecting his older brother from you.

“What did she say?” He snarled like a wounded animal. Aemond had never so much as uttered a foul word to you. Throughout your friendship, he had followed you around, helping you reach books on the higher shelf and bringing you things that caught your eye. That day, he had nothing but anger to give. “She came to my chambers, sat by my side, and told me that she feared…well it’s silly… but she said a union would be her undoing. I told her that her nightmares were not real and that she needed rest. Then she returned to her room. That is all, Aemond. She was paranoid as usual, and she needed reassurance.” You defended yourself as best you could, but there was no hope. The blame had been cast. Otto and Alicent exchanged whispers in the corner of the chamber while you sat with Saageal on your lap. Aegon had kept his distance after Aemond's questioning. When Otto turned to remove you from the room and take you to Viserys, his movements had been too quick and aggressive. Saageal had sprung from your lap and attacked the King's hand without warning.

• • • • • • • You wish he were with you now. Otto glares at you from his seat beside Alicent, but you are lucky to have Daeron by your side. “Remind me again what I should call you. The cousin of my father is my?” He draws the sentence out, waiting for your response. Laughingly, you tell him, “First cousin once removed.” Daeron’s nose scrunches up, and he shakes his head. “Good first cousin, once removed, doesn't have much of a ring to it.I shall call you my good sister.” He is charming as usual. Of all his siblings, Daeron is the most favored by the smallfolk. Where Aegon is too drunk, Aemond too intimidating, and Helaena too absent, Daeron quickly became the sibling most beloved. “I suppose good sister is as good a title as any.” You joke. Daeron is easy to be around, not that you have ever spent time with him. You only met in brief circumstances during your stays at King’s Landing. Still, seeing a face that didn't distrust you was comforting. “Do you enjoy the archery, good sister?” You watch the bowmen line up in the arena. There isn't much of a show. Most strike just outside the target; few are lucky to hit the intended mark. It is nothing like back home.

“I must say your archers fail to impress me. The summer isles are known for their archers and goldenheart bows.” Daeron listens to you, but his gaze is set on the tourney. It is another set of violet eyes that light your skin on fire. Like mulberry wine, Aegon’s eyes are the darkest of all his siblings. They have watched you since your arrival, but for the most part, you have been unaware. Now, you dare yourself to look into his eyes. They are glassy, and the black of his eyes are blown wide. You wonder if he's too drunk to recognize you, but then his lips move. You are not a mind reader; you have never been good at reading lips, and sometimes even gestures fall flat with you. But you would swear on the old gods and the new that he whispered your name.

Silence falls over your side while the laughter of the Velaryon boys rings in the air. Baela is entertaining her companions so well that Jace is doubled over. Rhaenyra and Rhaenys are also engaged in conversation, but it ends when Daemon Targaryen rides up to the stands with his lance outstretched. Without you noticing, the jousting event had begun. Rhaenyra smiles at his arrival and signals for Elinda to bring her favor, but Daemon’s voice halts everyone. “My Lady Alicent, would you grant me your favor as you once did.” Daemon openly mocks the Queen, calling her by her old title and reminding her of tourneys past. Rhaenyra shows no sign of shock, but her brow is lower. Alicent takes her favor, a small wreath of rosemary and lilies, and tosses it down for Daemon to catch. She sits without saying another word, but Daemon’s mockery is not over yet. “Thank you, good sister. I cannot lose with your favor.” While the smallfolk cheer, utterly oblivious to the tension in the stands, you shift in your seat.

The knight who is going against Daemon is from a lower house. The favor he wears is given to him by Alyssa Strong, who shouts for him as he prepares to joust. It is hardly a match. The young boy lacks the experience that Daemon has, and when he turns to ride, Daemon is quicker than him. The boy raises his lance instead of his shield, believing his strike will land, but the rogue prince's shield deflects it. The knight pulls back as his horse rounds the bend for another fight. This time, he is too slow. Daemon charges at full speed, and the young knight barely has time to pull his shield when the lance crashes against it. The force of Daemon’s hit breaks the lance and sends wooden shards flying, one of which hits the knight's armor and nearly lodges in his chain mail.

The young boy falls from his horse with a resounding clang. From below, you can hear Alyssa’s shrill voice shouting profanities, but the shriek of trumpets drowns her out. Everyone in the bleachers rises, cheering for their king. Those in the stands also rise, and you stumble to join them.

Viserys is carried up the stairs on a golden chair, but at the top, he takes his cane and makes his way to his throne between Alicent and Rhaenyra. When he is seated, there are more cries from the stadium. From a distance, the smallfolk can hardly notice the state of their king, but you are all too aware of your cousins' weakness. He pants heavily, even in the shade of the stands. Neither Aegon nor Aemond look at him. “My daughter, my only daughter, come here.” As quickly as commanded, Rhaenyra rises to her father's side. He kisses her hand with a tenderness reserved for her alone. From his spot in the arena, Daemon is noticeably irritated, and his horse paces in a reflection of its rider's mood.

“And my dear wife, lovely as always.” Viserys hardly turns to Alicent, but she thanks him nonetheless. “Let me see my grandboys.” The two Velaryon boys stand instantly, and Jace forces himself to stand straight as a sword. Viserys offers them praise. You hope he does not turn his attention to you and your prayers are answered. He says nothing to you, nor does he say anything to his sons. Daemon gets the last of Viserys kind words before the next champions prepare to joust. • • • • • • •

“Princess of Summer, I know I am not quite as tall or strong as the men of your isles, but perhaps you would grant me your favor?” Gwayne Hightower's green and gold lance waves proudly before you. When preparing for the tourney, you had no intention of being asked for your favor, but luckily, you made one just in case. Gwayne’s face is not yet covered; his great helm is held at his waist, and you can see his dazzling red hair. Though the man is at least eight years your senior, you can’t help but flush at his handsomeness. Elinda descends the stairs and hands you the favor you made. It is a delicate thing. It is not as intricate as Rhaenyra's or Alicent's, but it is pleasing with its colorful purple nightshades, dragon’s breath, and moonbloom. With confidence you must inherit from your mother, you take the favor, approach the railing, and hand it to Ser Gwayne as you tell him, “Do not lose with my favor, good ser.”

Now, Aemond has joined Aegon in his staring. Aemond initially pretended not to see you; he thought you were unaware of his short glances, but with you flushing and speaking with his uncle, Aemond could not help but watch. He nearly scoffs at the redness of your cheeks. He hopes his uncle will disappoint you; one look at Aegon shows him they share this hope. Unknowingly, the three of you were on the edges of your seats, waiting to see how Ser Gwayne would do.

Ultimately, Gwayne would nearly have won if not for Daemon striking him down in the last round. When asked to name his queen of love and beauty, Daemon names Rhaenyra despite Alicent's favor on his lance.

The festivities end for the day, but the night is young, and you, for one, plan to enjoy it. Before you must attend dinner, you make it your mission to find a book or two that may last your stay in the Red Keep. Except for one septon who scours the medicinal herbs section, the library is empty. You have read your fair share of herbal remedies; instead, you walk to the cultural section. Hidden in the rows of books, you frantically search for anything related to the summer isles. You do not know what compels you to search for it, but part of you misses your birthland, which you may never return to.

Finally, a brown leather book with a golden inscription catches your eye from the highest shelf. Ladders are placed throughout the library, one on each end of the row. You take the one near you, pulling it close enough to reach the book. One by one, you climb the steps of the ladder. It is wobbly, and you fear it will bend at your weight, but the old thing holds firm. Shakingly, you reach for the leather book when the ladder finally gives way. Toppling to the side, you grab the book just as you fall. You wish you were as agile as Saagael, landing on your feet rather than your back.

Surprisingly, you don't feel the pain of your fall. You feel only warmth. The scent of sandalwood and myrrh surrounds you. It is all too familiar. With strong arms wrapped around you, Aemond Targaryen catches you by your waist. The side of his face presses into your belly, blocking your view of him when you look down. Despite the awkward position, you are most relieved you got your book.

#aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aemond x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aegon the second #house of the dragon #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #helaena x reader #helaena targaryen #rhaneyra targaryen #rhaenicent

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dragonnan · 6 months ago

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Nightmare

May 15

This one was published back in 2021. While it isn't a dreaming type of nightmare, I think it still qualifies.

Please let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged :)

He could have taken the helicopter but, quite frankly, he had needed the drive in order to structure what he would say to them. Though, even as he pulled the sleek vehicle into the drive; gravel snapping and popping beneath the narrow tyres, he was no more prepared than he'd been when he'd left London. After turning off the engine he hung back for a beat – hands gripped around the wheel.

Whatever gods exist please let them not be home...

The house door opened and Mycroft swallowed – eyes closing for just a moment.

Before they could step out into the yard, however, Mycroft schooled his face and exited his car; feet settling onto the dusty drive. He should have changed into something more fitting; his polished black shoes were going to be scuffed beyond recovery.

“It's been three days; we've heard nothing – not even from that assistant of yours...” Words trailed away as Mycroft neared the door – those keen grey eyes taking in his features. Then, finally, his mother swallowed. “I'll go fetch your father.”

He followed inside. The trappings of the holiday still bedecked the walls and tucked in corners – red and green and things that glittered. The ghost of that wretched holiday nearly enough to spin his gut. Had it really been just three days? Having hung back in the sitting room, surrounded by the ruin of Christmas, Mycroft waited until he heard the back door open and shut – until he heard the tread of work boots cross the floor and the hiss of the tap as his father washed up at the sink. He'd been out in his workshop, then.

When he eventually made his way into the kitchen, his mother was setting the kettle to boil. There was a rum cake on the table – a holdover from their broken celebrations. Mycroft was quite certain he would never again deign to eat another slice of rum cake.

He felt caught in a current – his limbs disconnected from the floor below as he watched his parents carry out familiar movements cast in the die of decades – repeated and worn into the shape of the spaces around him until the very molecules in the air had been carved to fit their steps. It was nearly a head-rush that would have staggered him had he not been clinging with one hand on the door jam – that sensation of events playing themselves out to infinity. That sickening slip of déjà vu that wanted him to carry out his own predetermined patterns. He had taken these steps before... sat at the table, unburdened dire news which would fracture their family with regards to the youngest of them... that pall of death that had followed Sherlock from the very first time Mycroft had forced air into his stilled lungs in a filthy doss house. Seventeen years old and ODed on a tainted dose of cocaine from a disreputable dealer. Had he been the one, then, to stay that boney specter – to demand favor that would, eventually, demand its due?

Was this to be the payment demanded? To stand to the side while the blade of the guillotine fell?

Or was he the one required to let slip the rope from his fingers?

“Mycroft?”

His father's voice and proximity sent a rush of inhaled air through Mycroft's nose – head jerking back a fraction until his dark musings returned him to the room he'd fled. The tea was ready and Mummy stood next to the table while his father was less than a foot away – concern on both of their faces.

He stiffened his shoulders and walked to the executioner's block.

Once sat, he took his cup in hand and even sipped the warmth – his body so cold that it felt like a blaze sliding down his throat. He was aware that he was handling this all very badly.

His mother, likely sensing the impasse holding his teeth together, finally spoke to life the fear wrapping them all.

“Sherlock will not be allowed to go free.”

Mycroft's eyes fluttered shut, then, and he shook his head.

“No.”

“But you did not travel for over an hour to tell us that. We knew there would be a punishment of some sort. It's worse than that. Isn't it.” Her own tea remained untouched. At the edge of his vision, Mycroft watched his father take hold of his mother's hand. When had their home ever been so silent?

“He is to be held in solitary until the week's end. He is to have no visitors; myself included. On Friday, Sherlock will be escorted to my private airfield. There he will board a jet, to be taken to a location, deemed by M16 to be of high-value, which I am not at liberty to disclose... even to you. Such is the nature of this mission that, upon successful completion, Sherlock's debts will be forgiven and his slate wiped clean.”

Throughout this Mycroft kept his eyes fixed on his cup – watching the surface steam as it dissipated above the rim. When he finished, he considered another sip before noting the tremor in his hands that were held gathered in his lap. He breathed, measured in a count of eight, until they stilled.

Mummy, however, dithered with the cup in her free hand – the porcelain skidding on the old tabletop. Her voice, when it came, was stripped to a jerking hush. “Will he...?” Whatever remained of her question locked up tight behind her throat and when Mycroft lifted his head it was to watch a tear seep down one pale cheek.

But, then, he knew what it was she was asking. And maybe his silence, in reply, was more than enough answer because she turned into Siger's embrace and, with shaking shoulders, began to weep.

Some time later, Mycroft was halfway through his third cigarette, while overlooking the back garden. The burning fag jutted from between two fingers where they rested on the black metal gate. How recently he stood in this very place.

It had grown quite chilly, the past several nights; dipping down as low as six degrees. There was even the chance of snow flurries in the morning.

Finishing the cigarette, Mycroft tapped the ash tip against the fence before tucking the butt in his pocket. It struck him, then, that he would never steal away for a smoke with his brother ever again.

He didn't remember when he moved. He only knew that he came to himself as he was pounding his fists against one of the rough stone posts that stood on either side of the gate. The blood in his ears was pumping so loudly that he could not hear what tore from his throat – could only feel it in the vibration of his vocal chords. In truth he would have remained lost in his rage far longer had not arms wrapped around him from behind. In that moment Mycroft knew his father's embrace.

He sagged, then, in those strong arms. Stronger than the older man appeared to anyone who didn't know him. He held his oldest child as Mycroft tipped his face down into his spread hands and began to sob. Rough, jagged pieces of glass that left behind bleeding wounds where they ripped through his chest.

How long they stood there was lost to time. Mycroft only knew that at some point his father had laid an arm across his shoulders and was guiding him inside with soft words while Mycroft had all he could do to place one foot before the other in a mostly straight path.

When next he was logging events it was to blink owlishly at the stout mug of something steaming and alcoholic resting on the coffee table, before him. He lifted it and took a sip. Ah – father's special hot toddy spiced with cardamom. He had taken several sips before finally taking in more of the room. His eyebrows lowered when he noticed that the only other person in the room was his father – the older man sitting in his favorite chair next to the fireplace. His face was haggard and eyes rimmed red. At Mycroft's glance, Siger tipped his head towards the hall.

“She's lying down. It was... it's too much. We almost lost him, so recently, and now...” his throat bobbed and he subsided – long fingers twisting together. Mycroft held the warm mug in his hands – his fingertips tapping against the rim. Only then did he feel the sting rising in his knuckles. Blood filled every crease – though it was obvious the injuries had been cleaned and treated with a topical ointment. His eyes closed and he felt the flash of burn from his dried out stare. He was aware of losing time repeatedly and, were he not so emotionally flattened, it would have been troubling.

He held the mug in his hands until it cooled – setting it aside once he finally noticed the absence of heat.

“I've failed him.”

The words whispered free before his mind had fully formed them. Yet, the moment they were voiced he knew the truth of them. He had failed. The only mission in his life which truly mattered and he had failed... abysmally.

And his brother would pay for that failure. And there was nothing he could do to repair this.

He expected no response from his father – what was there to say? He was aware of Siger looking towards the low flames in the fireplace. His eyes were wet.

And so they remained; each trapped in their own misery.

An hour later his father stood, approaching to rest a hand against his cheek, for a moment, before going off to bed.

He had only intended to deliver his news before returning home but Mycroft found he scarcely had the energy remaining to slip his shoes from his feet before curling on his side.

He was asleep before he even finished the mental note to call Anthea in the morning.

The following day was possibly worse than the evening which had preceded it. His mother was, by turns, furious and horribly silent. Even his father, normally a stoic man, had a tremble in his jaw and more than once wiped beneath his eyes. It was a journey through hell as Mycroft forewent breakfast in his urgency to flee.

There were six additional texts from John as well as two voicemails. Certainly no point in perusing them – it was readily apparent what the man had to say and Mycroft deleted them without bothering to listen. He had no answers for him and the ones he could have provided would be a disservice to his brother's friend. There were too few things he could do for Sherlock. This, at the least, was a mercy he could offer.

There were many affairs he had to put into order. As it was they were not entirely new – having been established the last time Sherlock had confronted a madman. The difference, of course, was that Mycroft's involvement, back then, was to provide the greatest assurance of his brother's survival. Now...

It struck him, all at once, in a sort of breathless fashion so strongly that he was forced to pull to the side of the road. His hands clasped on the steering wheel and he felt a wild pounding through his chest and it was some outer observation of himself that recognized panic. That part of him, though, was incapable of offering more and even his sense of time was wiped away until he finally, eventually, came back to himself layered in sweat that felt icy against his temples. His mouth was tacky and dry so he opened his door to walk around back to the boot where he had a cooler among other supplies. The water almost hurt when he first swallowed – his throat was so parched. In short order, however, he'd emptied it and screwed the cap back onto the depleted bottle – tossing it into the cooler before retrieving a second and taking it back to the driver's seat.

It was an additional ten minutes before Mycroft felt confident to drive. But as he pulled out onto the roadway it was with a hum of determination that had begun to build from the moment Sherlock had pulled the trigger to end Magnussen's miserable life. He would not allow Sherlock to face this alone. Not while blood still pumped though his veins. No, he may not be able to alter this fate. However, he still had the autonomy his position afforded.

Even if it meant walking with his brother into the flames.

His uncle would have accused him of excessive drama. Rudy, though, had long viewed sentiment as little more than a tool for manipulation. And, in that moment, Mycroft found he didn't care one whit what Rudy Vernet thought.

He needed to contact Anthea again – an adjustment to protocols which had been previously established. She would not thank him, once she became aware of his intentions. However, she would, he hoped, understand. There was no other way.

In three days he would watch his brother board a private jet.

An hour later, Mycroft would take a temporary leave – boarding a commercial flight under an alias known only to Anthea.

He was quite certain he would never see London again.

He found no regret in this choice. In fact, for the first time since Christmas, he felt peace.

He only had one last task to accomplish – something he had promised his brother before Sherlock was locked away in a private cell. Contact dialed on his mobile, Mycroft was unsurprised when it was picked up scarcely after a single ring.

“Mycroft – what the hell is going on? Where is Sherlock...?”

“John. My apologies. Sherlock has been detained and I'm afraid he has not been allowed contact. However I...” he licked his lips; suddenly aware of a dangerous tremble which he forced aside before it could slip into his speech, “I was able to procure... a moment.”

“Moment? What...”

“To say goodbye. John.” Not fully silent, on the other end, Mycroft was able to note the sudden deep breaths. One last mercy, perhaps. “As recompense for the shooting, Sherlock is to avail himself to MI6 as a field operative. It was deemed a far better fate than to waste away in a cell.”

The breathing caught as John composed himself. When his voice returned it was subdued.

“How long?”

Mycroft rubbed his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Indefinitely.”

He had no trouble imaging John's eyes shuttering closed. “I see.”

They disconnected shortly afterward.

As grayed hills gave way to London streets, Mycroft pulled the tatters of self back around his shoulders. This was for the best. After 6 months, John Watson would receive a substantial deposit into his bank account – more than enough to see to his child's upbringing and education. He would know only that Sherlock had arranged for the funds via his trust. He would wonder – likely assume, correctly, that Sherlock was no longer alive. He would mourn and he would move on. After all, he had done so, once before.

As to Mary; Mycroft would have her under watch. Anthea would see it through personally. Should the former assassin ever show any indication of returning to her former life... should she ever present a danger to John or their child... it would be handled. His parents...

And here Mycroft faltered in his manic plans.

And not only his parents. He had responsibilities that only he, and very few others, were aware existed.

He... he could not do as he desperately wished.

There was only a vast emptiness of winter pale hills beyond the windscreen. The promised flurries had begun to fall shortly after five that morning – the roadway gilded with sparking flakes that frosted the browned grass and clung to the branches of trees. As the flakes began to thicken, building into a proper snow, Mycroft switched on the fog lights in spite of the fact he shared the road with no other vehicles.

Before the weight of it all could drag him beneath the rising waves, Mycroft mentally took hold of himself. He had allowed emotion to wrest control of his faculties. He had... indulged a fantasy. But that was all it would ever be. It was over now. It was all over, now.

It was time to move forward.

His parents would never forgive him. This, though, was something he had been prepared to face. And it wouldn't be the first child he had taken from them.

Before his maudlin thoughts could overtake him, yet again, Mycroft dialed a number on his mobile once again. There was no sound of a ring and only moments passed before he heard the click of a connection. “Anthea. I need you to make arrangements. It's for John Watson... and Sherlock.” He licked his lips; moving into a lane that would take him into the city and on to Whitehall. He remembered, with sudden and breathtaking vibrancy, a tiny face with watery blue eyes, peering up at him from the folds of the blanket cradled in Mummy's arms. And he knew, as well, that he gave himself away with the tremble that broke in his voice.

“It's time to say goodbye.”

Comment on AO3

Tagging: @totallysilvergirl

#sherlock #fanfic #may prompts 2024 #nightmare #mycroft holmes

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brailsthesmolgurl · 5 months ago

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“Wake up”

Preview: How the boys usually wake up, either on their own or with you by their side.

Zayne

“What time would you like to meet tomorrow?” He is the type to set only ONE alarm the night before. Even if he has less than 8 hours of sleep, he would still get out from bed the moment the alarm rings. He is a very disciplined man given his profession and he is probably used to working 24 hour shifts during hospital overload seasons. When staying alone, Zayne is very much the early bird. He likes to wake up an hour early prior to get ready for any plans he has for the rest of the day. Even on the days when he is not required to be at the hospital, he would much prefer waking up to his daily dose of Vitamin D and enjoying the breaths of fresh morning air. A little light workout in the morning never hurts for this doctor to keep himself in shape as well.

When he is with you, he might laze in a little more. “It’s alright, you should rest more.” He would say something along these lines, running his large palms from the top of your head and down your back, soothing your warm skin with his icy touch. He enjoys waking up earlier than you sometimes and just watch your undulating breaths as you dreamed. If he is lucky, he might catch you sleeptalking and might record your voice on his phone so he could ask you what you were dreaming of just a while ago. He would never wake you up against your will. A little twist of your lips or a little frown would get him to back off immediately, not wanting to ruin such a peaceful moment of yours when for most of the days, he can only get to deal with your hyped personality. “Sweet dreams my angel.”

Xavier

Never really the one to be waking up from his dreamscape. When he is within the solidarity of his own home, he would sleep whenever he pleases. Morning or night, daylight or moonlight, he does not care. He can practically sleep anywhere; sleeping while reading at his balcony, sleeping right next to his dirty dish after he had finished eating on the countertop, sleeping right when he is about to finish his business on the loo. The possibilities of waking him up are endless as Xavier is such a sleepy boy. Funnily enough, he has a guilty pleasure for his sleeping routine on those sleepless nights. He will never admit to the fact he enjoys listening to Mukbang ASMR until his YouTube search history reveals otherwise.

However, if you happen to be with him, no doubt you are going to be the early bird. Dazed, you would watch him sleep sometimes and realise that even when he was asleep, he twitches ever so often and it made you wonder was it because his battle with the wanderer was so tough that it got re-enacted in his dreams as well. But if you tend to wake up, prepare for a lot of lounging around and “I just need a bit more sleep” but with him still ending up dead asleep after a minute. You can shake him, rattle him, shout at him or utilise any other methods, but this boy would wake up for a glance and drift off again if he wishes to. On days with activities planned out, he will always be timely, but the amount of time he takes to get ready will always remain a mystery to you because sometimes it would be as short as 5 minutes and he is ready to go. Perhaps, another time would take more than an hour because he ended up falling asleep while standing in the shower. “You should stop trying to wake me.”

Rafayel

He is the king of setting alarms for every one minute. This simultaneous alarm situation only applies if he has plans with you. But if it’s for his art exhibitions, or any other activities that does not include you, be prepared to have Thomas charging into his room to drag him out of bed. Rafayel has a specific ringtone set just for you so in case you call him anytime in the night, or while he was quick asleep, he would wake up in an instant to reply you. The ringtone of his is definitely applied to his alarm tone as well because let’s be honest, only you are able to get Rafayel to plan his day with you and for you. Rafayel himself is a light sleeper but on certain situations when he burns the midnight oil for his work, he will give himself the leeway to relax within the embrace of his soft bed.

Being with you would be somewhat different. He might wake up earlier than you sometimes or he might laze in bed later than you sometimes. It depends entirely on his mood or the occasion for the day. “Don’t rush me, the date has to be perfect so of course I am going to take my time in getting ready.” If the both of you have plans, he would weigh the amount of activity and type of activity throughout the day to decide on whether he wakes up 20 minutes prior or 2 hours prior. 20 minutes prior include him having to take his morning shower, brush and blow dry his hair and to change his clothes. While the 2 hours routine involves him soaking himself in a warm bath, styling his hair, shaving his baby-like face, planning his outfit and maybe just having enough time to prepare breakfast in bed for you if you are staying over for the night. “Good morning my love. I made breakfast for you because I kept hearing you muttering eggs in your sleep last night. I made the scrambled the way you like it!”

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quitealotofsodapop · 8 months ago

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Century Egg Macaque is very confused and bitey

referencing this Century Egg au post (Macaque bit a bunch of gods to protect Wukong when the king's health crashed after the Egg's delivery).

Macaque was at Wukong's bedside, newborn Xiaotian wrapped snuggly in his scarf asleep, when the doors to the former Attendant's bedroom opened.

The black-furred monkey's fur is immediately standing on end like a frightened cat - he rarely would miss the sounds of approaching footsteps, but his mind must be far too occupied to notice.

The appearance of the Queen Mother herself does little to calm Macaque's nerves, especially upon seeing the large monkey-claw-shaped gashes on her forearms.

At the sight of his guilt and possibly fear, the Queen lets out a sighing laugh.

Queen Mother: "Do not worry Liu'er Mihou. I know what it is like to worry so much for someone that you lash out at all that separates you. You but up a fair fight, even with so much magic sedative in your bloodstream. " Macaque, quietly: "M'sorry about the arm ... it just when... when Wukong's eyes closed and he lost his strength I felt...?" Queen Mother, knowing: "Hopeless." Macaque: "Yeah." Queen Mother: (*kneels to get a better look at the baby*) Queen Mother: "They're truly beautiful. To think such a tiny thing could bring the entire Court of Heaven to a standstill amazes me." Macaque: "We're calling them Xiaotian. Wukong picked it." Queen Mother, her voice fond: "It's a fine name. One that all of big Heaven and the Realms beyond will know soon enough." Macaque, nervous: "What do you mean?" Queen Mother: "You trial was successful in a way. King Yama has agreed to acquit your unlawful resurrection in light of the circumstances. Preparations are being made to charge the White Bone Spirit with conspiracy to commit treason." Macaque: "But there's a catch isn't there?" Queen Mother, nods: "You will be required to face her in a secodary trial, and protect yourself against her own defence." Macaque, shuddering: "Ugh..." Xiaotian: (*grumpy squeak! at the sudden movement*) Macaque, quickly checking the baby: "Sorry bud." (*kisses face*) Xiaotian: (*satisfied grumble*) Macaque, eye locked on the baby's face: "If... if it means they and Wukong stay safe from her, I'll do it." Queen Mother: "I knew you would. I must warn you though... Erlang awaits a rematch." Macaque, surprised: "You're joking me..." Queen Mother, amused smile: "It is true! In your fury to protect your mate, you gave him quite the injury. I've never seen him with such bruises!" Macaque: (*smiling proudly to himself*)

Erlang has like a huge bruise covering his face, and his eye is swollen shut for weeks after the Egg's arrival. Word quickly spreads (via Nezha being annoyed that Macaque "practically ignored him" during the frenzy) about the general's injury, and celestials are shocked to learn that it was cause by no other than the Great Sage's mate! And by accident no less! Erlang is taciturn about the matter, though that could be because his lip has swollen over too.

Macaque gets challenged to a lot of duels over the coming weeks - most he ignores or shadow-portal's away. This is where he learns that his silly Brotherhood-era nickname is apparently his legal title in Heaven. He cringes each time an official unironically refers to him as "Great Sage Informing Wind", Tieshan giving him a cheeky sibling-esque smile all the while.

The day that Wukong finally awakes from his medical coma; Macaque had been asleep at his side, clealry run down by the (still awake) Xiaotian excitedly running his tiny hands through either parent's fur.

Wukong makes a joyous gasp at the sight of his baby - healthy and here. It takes a moment for Macaque to stir awake before he realises that his King and Mate (!!!) has finally awoken! Kisses and hugs abound before Macaque thinks to alert anyone else of Wukong's return to the conscious world.

Bonus: Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, and the Ao-Longs have been running around the Celestial Realm as often as possible during this time (tho Tang worried at first if the time dilation myth was true) and the whole realm is super confused but just accepting that the Monkey King's pilgrim brothers are just Here now.

#century stone egg au #pregnancy tw #shadowpeach #lmk aus #sun wukong #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #lmk xiwangmu #lmk queen mother of the west #lmk erlang #lmk nezha #lmk #lego monkie kid

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andreafmn · 11 months ago

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12 Days of Ficmas ❅ Day 3

Word Count: 4.0K Paring: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Prompt @12-days-of-ficmas: anonymous donor pays for the kids at your nonprofit to have a perfect Christmas. Wait, this handwriting looks familiar Warnings: mature language

Summary: For a little over half a decade, (Y/N) has run the Angel's Touch Foundation caring for children in need from all over Small Heath. But times are hard and money is tight, and all she wants is to give the children of her foundation the best Christmas. And an anonymous letter might just have all the answers she has been searching for.

A/N: goodness, I love angst a little too much. I think y'all might need to prepare for a christmas filled with just a tad of sad 🫣🫣

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Life in Small Heath had never been easy. Life in England had not been easy in general. At least not for the everyday man, much less for their children.

(Y/N) had dedicated her life to making sure no child went hungry in her town. With what little money her family had left her, she had started a foundation in their name to do just that. For a little over half a decade, the woman had seen to it that no child went hungry or homeless, especially during the holidays.

It had been hard to keep Angel’s Touch afloat for years. Keeping the foundation running smoothly required more money than was flowing in most of the time, but she somehow always pulled it off. She didn’t care if she went hungry herself for a couple of days or if she lived in the smallest apartment she could afford. All she wanted was to make sure no child went through the hardships that had been bestowed upon them with no fault to them. As hard as it was. She pulled through every year, and she would continue to do so for as long as she could.

That particular year had been particularly difficult, with their government funding being cut in almost half, a slow influx of donations, and the amounts of intakes growing (Y/N) didn’t know how they had even made it to December without more struggles.

“I don’t know how we’re gonna give the kids a good Christmas celebration this year, Margaret,” she sighed as she sat on her desk chair. “We’re barely making it as it is, and I don’t even know where we’ll get the necessary funding for next year.”

“Well, we could always ask…”

“So help me, Margaret, if you say what I think you’re gonna say, I’ll fire you right now,” (Y/N) warned. “I don’t care that you’re my closest friend and one of the only reasons I’m still standing.”

“I’m just saying, love. He could help,” Margaret shrugged as she placed a cup of tea before the woman. “But I understand why you don’t want to call him. We could try the church again. Grovel to the Father for some more donations. At least enough to give the kids a Christmas dinner.”

“Yeah,” she responded, ignoring the fact that her friend had tried to bring up the one man she had wanted nothing more than to forget. “I’ll try to call some family friends or try to kiss up to politicians and remind them or their re-elections. Maybe see if my brother has any money to spare. I just need to find someone with big and loose pockets for this month. Then, we can worry about next year.”

“You’ll find a way,” Margaret said with a comforting smile. “Somehow, you always do.”

“Just one year,” she begged. “All I want is for one year to go smoothly.”

“Oh, darling, we didn’t get into this business because it was easy,” the woman reminded her. “We do it so the children don’t suffer under someone else.”

“Right,” (Y/N) smiled. “For the children.”

“We’ll make it through, darling. Don’t worry your pretty little face.”

It was easier said than done, that much (Y/N) knew. She made more phone calls than she had ever done in her lifetime, trying her best to reach everyone and anyone who would listen. As Christmas day approached, she felt her time running short. Money poured in slowly, and it was spent twice as fast. At the rate they were going, it would have surprised her if all they could give the kids was a hot mutton stew.

But what (Y/N) didn’t know was that a higher power was in play. Something and someone she had no control over.

A week before Christmas, after receiving another shipment of donations of basic necessities, two of the children she housed ran after her down the halls. “Ms. (Y/N)!” they yelled as they ran. “Ms. (Y/N)!”

“Woah, Helen, William, slow down,” she chuckled softly. “You know there’s no running in the halls.”

“We’re sorry, Ms. (Y/N),” Helen smiled angelically. “But there was a postie outside. Left a package for you.”

“Yeah, he said it was urgent.”

The boy extended a pristine envelope sealed with the crest of England. “Alright, thank you, kids,” she smiled “Now, go on, darlings. Go get some lunch.”

Once the children were out of sight, (Y/N) hurried to her office. The envelope didn’t say who it was from, but her name was written on it in the most beautiful calligraphy she had ever seen. Inside the room, she put aside the box she was carrying and sat quickly by her desk to see what inside the letter was so urgent.

“Slow down, woman,” Margaret chuckled as the woman pushed her aside. “What do you have there?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Helen and William gave it to me. Said a letter man had dropped it off, and it was urgent.”

“Looks quite official, doesn’t it? Does it say who it's from?”

“No. It only has my name.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Margaret smiled. “Open it already.”

“Alright, alright,” she chuckled as she pulled out her letter opener. The wax came off the paper easily and, inside, (Y/N) found two pieces of paper. But it was the one in front that caught her attention. “Oh, fuck.”

“(Y/N), such foul language,” Margaret laughed. “What is it?”

“Someone has donated sixty thousand pounds to the foundation,” she choked out. “Do you know what this means, Margaret?”

“Oh, fuck.”

“My sentiments exactly,” she laughed. “We are more than set for Christmas, Margaret. And not just the holidays. We’re set for next year!”

“Happy fucking Christmas,” the woman exclaimed. “Does it say who it’s from? We need to do something to honor whoever it was that decided to answer our prayers.”

“Uh,” she stammered as she looked for a name. “It doesn’t say.”

“Anonymous donor? I mean, people do get rather generous during the holidays.”

“Yeah, I just wish we could thank whoever it was,” (Y/N) said. “But, we have enough planning to do now. Christmas is in a week!”

“Don’t you worry, darling,” Margaret smiled. “Everything will be perfect.”

As her friend set off to work, making phone calls and ensuring deliveries, (Y/N) looked over the second paper in the envelope. There wasn’t a name there either, but she recognized the lettering far too perfectly. In a handwriting that she wished she had forgotten the words: Happy Christmas to you and the children.

At that moment, she wanted to break down. It had been years since she had spoken to him, much less heard a word from him. Yet, somehow, when she needed him most, he appeared like a knight in shining armor. In a simple cheque, he had been able to resolve her biggest worry. All it took was the stroke of a pen, and all her problems had disappeared. It was just so easy for him.

But she couldn’t come undone. Not when there was so much to be done.

In the blink of an eye, seven days had passed, and the Angel’s Touch Foundation was preparing for a feast. Every single one of the kids had received their fair share of toys, clothes, and anything else they might have wanted. It was truly something out of a fairytale.

Their entire home had been decorated from top to bottom for the holidays. It made the children very excited to see the place filled with Christmas lights and decorations, and many a kid stopped to gawk at the massive tree that had been propped up at the foundation’s lobby. Everything was beautiful and perfect.

(Y/N)’s mind should have been focused on the kids and their happy faces. She should have been zoned into their reactions when they got to open presents that morning or their surprise when they were told what they’d be having for dinner. That’s what should have been running through her head.

Yet, since she had received that letter, only one thing lived in her mind. His name and his face swirled around in her brain like it was the only thought that mattered. It consumed her every waking moment and filled her dreams with images of him. She had done so well to avoid him for years, and with just a few words, he was all she could think about.

After dinner, while the kids all played and laughed a floor below, she found herself inspecting the piece of paper that had started her spiral. Maybe the longer she looked at it, something would happen. Maybe it would make him walk through the doors…

“Darling, you can’t spend the rest of the night locked up in here,” Margaret said as she walked in with two glasses of whiskey. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“I am,” she smiled softly. “I just… it’s this letter. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“There’s no point to dwell on it, dear. There’s no name.”

“I know who sent it.”

“What?” Margaret gasped. “So, there was a name?”

“No,” (Y/N) chuckled dryly. “I recognized the handwriting. Instantly, actually. And I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

“It was him, wasn’t it?” the woman inquired. “It was Thomas.”

“It was,” she sighed. “I just don't understand how he could have known. I haven’t seen him in years, and then he shows up out of the blue with this letter.”

“Darling, Small Heath is big but not big enough,” her friend mused. “Why don’t you go see him? It’s been long enough, don’t you think?”

“And say what, Margaret? That I ran away from our home, and he’s somehow still saving me? I… I can’t go see him.”

“But you want to,” she said. “And you know where he lives. Everyone does. So, just go to him.”

“He’ll turn me away.”

“It’s Christmas,” Margaret smiled. “He won’t turn you away on Christmas. Now, there’s a car waiting for you downstairs. So, go, love. Stop waiting around.”

(Y/N) didn’t know what had possessed her, but her legs moved faster than her brain could think. And before she knew it, she was in the black car headed toward Arrow House. She could have told the driver to turn back around at any second, proclaimed she had lost her mind, and the best thing she could do was sleep off the madness. But the car kept moving, and the distance became bigger. Then, the grandiose house was looking down on her, beaconing her closer and closer. Once she was out of the car, her decision was made for her. The only way was onward.

She knocked on the front doors, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anyone up at that hour. One second more, and she would have walked herself back home. Yet, the door opened wide, and an older woman opened the door. “Hello,” she smiled. “May I help you, dear?”

“Oh, um, perhaps you could,” (Y/N) stammered. “I was looking for Mr. Shelby.”

“Of course,” the woman said. “Come in. He’s just in his study.”

“This late into the night?” she questioned as she followed the woman inside. “I thought perhaps he would have already gone to bed.”

“Mr. Shelby keeps odd hours,” she explained. “But I think you knew that if you yourself are coming at this hour.”

“Right,” (Y/N) chuckled. “I guess if he had been asleep, I could have used that as an excuse to leave.”

“He was expecting you earlier in the week, Ms. (Y/L/N). But I guess you were quite busy with Angel’s Touch.”

The woman’s words stopped her in her tracks. “You know who I am?” she asked. “And you knew I’d be coming?”

“Of course, I know who you are. It’s my job to know,” she smiled. “Well, we’re here.” She knocked on the door before them and opened it ever so softly. “Mr. Shelby?”

“Yes, Frances?”

“Ms. (Y/L/N) has arrived.” Frances beckoned the woman inside, and she did as told. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

(Y/N) heard his voice before she saw him, and she felt shivers running down her body. His head snapped toward her the second he heard her name, and the cigarette he had just lit threatened to fall out of his mouth as he stared.

They stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, wondering if the image before them was a hallucination like the ones they’d had before. Maybe they were scared. Maune they thought the second one of them moved, the other would disappear.

“(Y/N).” Tommy was the first to speak. But his voice was so low it was almost as though he hadn’t, almost like he had said it as a prayer. “You’re here.”

“Yes,” she breathed, her heart fluttering against her chest and threatening to jump outside of her body. “I came to thank you for your very generous donation.”

“Ah, so Angel’s Touch is yours,” he said nonchalantly as his demeanor changed to the mask he always wore. “I was simply trying to do a good deed this Christmas. The name of the foundation sounded familiar, but I had no way of knowing you were the one running it.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Tommy. You already knew it was,” (Y/N) commented as she took a tentative step toward him. “Why now? After all these years, why have you reached out now?”

“I have no need to pretend,” he announced as he filled a glass with whiskey. “I was truly just doing a good thing.”

“Right,” she conceded. “Well, I’ll simply thank you then. And since you did not leave a return address I had to come personally to give my gratitude. Your donation has changed the lives of many children.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted.”

“Alright then. I guess I’ll see myself out. Since you were only doing a generous thing.” (Y/N) turned, fully determined to walk out the doors and leave him with the same indifference with which he was treating her. But she couldn’t walk away. Not again. “Oh, cut the fucking bullshit, Tommy, and give me a real answer. Why now? I can only assume you’ve always known where I was. So, why did you reach out now?”

Tommy’s eyes found hers, and she swore she could have died at that very moment. She was sure in the infinite blue of his eyes, she could see the love he used to have for her, the love that had died after he had come home from the war. “I reached out because I heard you were in need of donations. Truly,” he explained. “I was going to hand deliver the cheque myself. Even went by the building.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“But I saw you, (Y/N). And I realized there was still so much anger and resentment buried that I decided to send it through the post. Because regardless of how I feel, those children deserve a better life than they were given,” he said defeatedly. His shoulders had fallen and she was starting to see the broken man behind the mask. “Yet, I still wrote that note, and I knew it would bring you around sooner or later.”

“For what, Tommy? Why did you want me to come here?”

“Because I need a fucking explanation!” the man exclaimed, slamming his hands on his desk. “You fucking disappeared as soon as I came home from the war. In the middle of the night. You took your things, and you fucking left. Like I meant nothing to you. And you have the gall to stay in Small Heath. Hidden, but still there. Why, (Y/N)? ‘Cause it wasn’t just me you left. You left the entire family.”

“You’re joking, right? You truly have no idea why I left?” As she was met with silence, (Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh. She crossed the room as she did, staring out the window because it was easier than looking him in the face. “You were a completely different man when you came home. At first, I told myself it was normal. That the things you had seen in the battlefield would have haunted you ‘til the day you died. But then, there were things that could not be attributed to the war.

I know you used the opium to help with your Shell Shock, and I tried. I tried to be okay with it because I truly believed you needed it, Tommy. But you’d be worse after. The nightmares still overtook you and your behavior… well, long gone was the man that used to make me laugh,” she sighed, wrapping her arms across her chest. “And, up to that point, I would have put up with it all because I loved you more than I loved myself. But then, you brought women into our bed. Maybe you thought I hadn’t noticed, or you believed I would keep my mouth shut and let you do as you pleased. Maybe I did wrong by you for allowing things to get to that. Still, I had not expected you to ever raise your hand at me, Tommy.”

“(Y/N),” she heard him call.

“I can understand that you were drunk. Pissed out of your mind with the whiskey and the drugs. But I had told you how my father had treated my mother, and you had promised that you would never stoop that low.” She could feel the tears start to form in the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks in ugly black streaks. “That was the night I decided I would leave because I could not live in a house with a man I was afraid of. I told Polly what my plans were, and she helped me. She gave me enough money to go back to my brother’s, and she promised to keep my secret. I don’t want to think of what would have happened if I had stayed.”

“You know I would have never hurt you, (Y/N).” She could tell his voice was closer but cautious. It was the first time they had spoken, the first time they had gotten answers, and he was not about to lose his chance to understand it all. “I must admit, the man that came back from the war was not the man that left for it. I don’t think such a man even exists. But I would have never hurt you.”

“How can you be so sure, Tommy? You swore that you would have never raised your hand at me, and you did. How far could a strike be? Or perhaps a push or a shove? That’s how it starts,” she shrugged sadly. “If I had stayed… I couldn’t have stayed. It would have ruined us both. I mean, look how well you’ve done for yourself. This house, your business, I’d say everything worked out well for you.”

“It didn’t,” he sighed, stepping even closer. She could feel his presence behind her, looming over her. She could feel the warmth from his body even as the cold from the winter seeped in through the window. “There’s always been something missing.”

“I heard you got married,” she said. “Even got a little boy. I’d say that’s more than enough.”

“My wife is dead. And though, yes, I still have my child, you know what I’ve been missing.”

“You loved her,” she continued. “If love was what you were missing, you had it.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it, (Y/N).”

“You gave your heart to another. That’s what I know.”

“How could I ever give something that wasn’t there anymore? Something that was taken many years before.” Tommy’s chest was pressed against her back, rising and falling at a dangerous pace. His hands ran up her arms, his touch so soft she thought it was a ghost. But he was there. She could feel his breathing on her neck, feel his heartbeat through his chest. Tommy was there, and she could not deny it. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). The last thing I ever wanted was to lose you.”

“I didn’t want to go, Tommy. You have to believe that,” she sighed as she leaned into his touch. “I didn’t want to, but I had to.”

“I know, but you’re here now. You’ve come back to me,” he whispered in her ear. “Please tell me you’ve come back to me.”

“I can’t go through that again, Tommy. The children at the foundation depend on me, the workers… I cannot go back to the woman I was. I lost myself in you, Thomas Shelby. And if I did that again, I don’t know how I could survive.”

Tommy kissed her neck unexpectedly, savoring her skin as he had done many years before. He breathed her in and sank into the familiarity of her body. He remembered her softness and her warmth, he remembered every curve of her body and the way it would react. He remembered how it had felt to have her belong to him.

But (Y/N) also remembered how lost she had been without him at the start. Being with him meant losing a part of herself. It meant she would no longer be (Y/N) (Y/L/N). She would be Tommy Shelby’s girl. And she didn’t know if she could go back to that. Not when she had done so much to be the woman she was.

Yet, the feeling of his lips on her reminded her of the moments they had been happy. They had been young and in love, and even if they had less, they felt the richest they could have been. His hands reminded her of a time when she had not been afraid of him, when his touch was a welcomed solace and not a dark premonition. It all reminded her of the life they believed they could’ve had.

“Tommy,” she whispered as his kisses became feverish. “Tommy, wait.”

“What?” he groaned. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“If we were to do this, if we were to be in each other’s lives, we need to take things slow,” she said. “I cannot jump into these waters headfirst. I need time.”

“Time,” he chuckled softly. “Time is something we’ve had so much of.”

“And I need more of, Tommy. Please.”

“Alright,” Tommy conceded. And though he wanted to be more annoyed, all he could feel was compassion. “At least stay the night. It’s late, and it’s Christmas. You shouldn’t be out on the road.”

“If this is another ploy to get me into your bed, Mr. Shelby,” she chuckled, turning to look him in the eyes finally. Those icy blue eyes that had always haunted her.

“It’s not,” he smiled. “I can have an entire room set up for you if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“It takes trust, doesn’t it? And it’s already a cold night, I wouldn’t want to freeze until morning.”

With a warm smile on his face, one he hadn’t remembered he could muster, he took (Y/N) in his arms. “Happy Christmas, (Y/N),” he said. “I do hope it was a good one.”

“Well, I certainly haven’t had better in a while,” she chuckled. “But I know it’s the best one Angel’s Touch has seen.”

“The best one yet.”

“Right,” (Y/N) said. “I guess all we needed was a true angel’s touch.”

“I’m no angel, darling. I’m more of a god.”

“I can see the sense of grandeur hasn’t died down,” she chuckled as she leaned into his touch. They walked through the quiet house in each other’s arms, forgetting the past years, forgetting their absence in each other’s lives. They were simply present at that moment, and that moment only. “But I don’t think there’s anything I could do to thank you for what you’ve done.”

“Well, there are a few things I have in mind.”

“Very cheeky, Mr. Shelby,” she grinned. “But that’s not happening any time soon.”

“A man can only hope,” he laughed. “But I’ll take what I can get. As long as you promise you’ll still be here in the morning.”

“I promise, Tommy. I’m not going anywhere.”

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