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mariacallous · 2 months

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There is a respectable way of betraying Ukraine. You do not spew out Russian propaganda like Trump and his admirers, and revel in Ukrainian suffering. Rather, you behave like a decent and solid European liberal, who deplores imperialism, but nevertheless refuses to supply Ukraine with the weapons it needs.

You rarely find the courage to spell it out bluntly, because plain speaking would make you sound cruel and selfish, but an element among progressive Europeans believes that Ukrainians must suffer for the sake of keeping progressive Europeans safe.

Like a sadistic teacher beating a pupil, they insist that they are doing it for the best of motives. We are not selling out Ukraine because we want to, they say. Good God, no! How can anyone believe such a calumny? We are acting for the greater good.

The model they invoke is the outbreak of the First World War.

We are so used to appeasement, Nazism and the holocaust being used and abused in contemporary discourse it is easy to miss how the disaster of 1914 can still influence thoughtful people, particularly thoughtful people on the European centre-left.

The story of the arrogant great powers unintentionally unleashing a conflict that destroyed Europe, and led to communism, fascism, the second world war, the partition of Germany and the cold war, can have a paradoxical effect.

You might have thought that German war guilt from the Nazi era would lead to social democrats being unequivocal in their opposition to Russian attempts to find lebensraum in Ukraine.

But the First World War allows a way out. War guilt does not inspire opposition to tyranny but opposition to war.

The righteous course is to go easy on the aggressors. Otherwise, we might sleepwalk into a disaster where a humiliated Russia unleashes its full power and lets loose nuclear weapons.

As its frontline comes under pressure and supplies of weapons, munitions and men fall low, Ukrainians are given stern lectures from Olaf Scholz’s coalition on the need for restraint, even as they stare catastrophe in the face.

This month Scholtz, with the support of the German centre-left, refused to send Ukraine Taurus missiles. They have a 500km range (far beyond the range of their French and British counterparts). Their delivery would open up the possibility of Ukraine destroying the Kerch bridge, which allows supplies into Russian-occupied Crimea.

But as they could also hit targets deep in Russian territory, Germany would not part with them. German troops would need to be deployed to monitor their use, and that Berlin would not contemplate,

“That is a red line that I don’t want to cross as chancellor,” Scholz explained before adding for the sake of the confused that, “prudence should not be qualified as weakness… we will do everything possible to prevent war between Russia and NATO."

All right, Lord Cameron, the British foreign secretary said, the UK will deliver more of its missiles to Ukraine and replenish its depleted stocks with German replacements. But Scholz would not accept his compromise. He and his supporters remain petrified of Russian escalation, of a nuclear war, of unforeseen events spiralling out of control as they did in 1914.

I am not putting my gloss on their motives.

Germany’s leaders are explicit about their horrified fascination with the First World War, and their belief that we can learn about 2024 from 1914.

At the start of the conflict Scholz declared, “I am not Kaiser Wilhelm”. He would not let Germany slide into a European war. Anyone trying to understand the German establishment should note the phenomenal success of Christopher Clark’s The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914.

The German edition sold 350,000 copies. Angela Merkel urged her ministers to read the book, foreign minister Frank-Walter Steinmeier invited Clark to debate the art of diplomacy, and the late ex-chancellor Helmut Schmidt drew parallels between 1914 and the Ukraine crisis in his last article for Die Zeit, entitled, unsurprisingly, Us sleepwalkers.

The Guardian reported that Olaf Scholz cited Clark’s book in an off-the-record conversation with international media as a case study in how irresponsible politicians could goad each other through bellicose rhetoric into a conflict that wasn’t in any of their interests.

Clark’s book is a magnificent history but, as Scholz’s comments show, that is not why he is so popular in Germany.

More than any other modern historian Clark dispensed with the notion of German responsibility for the war. All the European powers made huge miscalculations. None understood the consequences of their actions.

Clark wrote:

“The crisis that brought war in 1914 was the fruit of a shared political culture. But it was also multipolar and genuinely interactive – that is what makes it the most complex event of modern times and that is why the debate over the origins of the First World War continues, one century after Gavrilo Princip fired those two fatal shots on Franz Joseph Street."

It would be too crude to say that Clark sold so well because he destroyed the notion of war guilt, which the allies demanded the defeated Germany accepted in the Treaty of Versailles. There was no nationalist chest beating in the reception he received. Rather, Clark’s emphasis of unintended consequences appealed to the cautious, pacific strain in German thought, particularly when it lands on Russia.

After the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022, headlines in the serious German press proclaimed “The New Sleepwalkers” and “The Return of the Sleepwalkers”. Writing in Der Freitag, the commentator Christoph Schwennicke warned that heavy-weapons exports to Kyiv could become “the Sarajevo incident of a Third World War”.

As a historical comparison, the link between the First World War and the Russian invasion of Ukraine does not work. Christopher Clark intervened to tell his German readers that the First World War began “in an incredibly complex, around-the-houses way”. Whereas “in the case of the invasion of Ukraine, in 2014 and in 2022, “it’s quite clearly a case of the breach of the peace by just one power”.

“It’s a very different set-up. There’s no Balkan crisis, there’s no sequence of will-they won’t-they decisions. Europe is not divided into a binary pair of alliance systems. In Europe, at least, Russia is isolated this time.”

His intervention had no effect on German policy. What German commentators take from the disaster of 1914 is not an intelligent analysis but the simple lesson that no one can predict the future.

As Phillips O’Brien, the great academic authority on the war put in his Substack the consequence is that for Scholz, “the escalation fears and a desire for practically any peace deal, even one that would be destructive to Ukraine, would be the ultimate German policy”.

It is indeed a trivial truth to say that no one can predict the future.

But two arguments against the German position remain. At every stage of this war, its caution has proved false. Scholz, and on several occasions the Biden administration, said that if Ukraine received modern weapons, or if it attacked Crimea or Russian territory, Putin would escalate the conflict. And at every stage they have been wrong.

A little humility would be order, although none is on display.

More pertinently they fail to see a plausible nightmare.

The war does not end in a frozen conflict in this scenario. The Ukrainian frontline collapses, and the Russians advance towards Kyiv. Poland thinks it has no choice but to intervene. Europe looks to America for leadership. But there is none. Donald Trump is in the White House and he has no interest in stopping Putin.

Then what? Where does a victorious Putin leave Germany and Europe? It is these considerations that have turned Macron into anti-Putin hawk. He has the imagination that Scholz and much of the German establishment lack.

He can see the disaster that would overcome Europe if Putin triumphs. By contrast, Scholz and much of the German establishment have a one-track mind.

They take the moments of history that suit them. They narrow their focus as they – what else? – sleepwalk towards disaster.

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autumnwoodsdreamer · 2 months

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Write a Different Chapter for Us

Chapter Six: Out of Commission

Summary: The next day, Tony has to go to a meeting. Fury comes to share some intel with Natasha

Words: 3060

Rating: Teen

Characters: Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov, Avengers Team, Nick Fury

Relationships: Tony Stark/Natasha Romanov

Tags: established relationship, family, team as family, pregnancy, conversations

Sleep didn’t usually sneak up on Natasha; but, then again, she’d been trained to not let herself acknowledge basic needs like hunger and exhaustion until she was safe—and she never felt truly safe until it was just her and Tony.

The evening had only just begun fading in when they curled up on the couch. Well, “curled up” wasn’t quite an accurate term; it was more of a coordinated sprawl. Regardless, she was finally comfortable—pressed up against him, stealing his warmth, letting the synchronized thrum of his arc reactor, his heartbeat, and his deep, even breathing draw the dregs of unease and worry from her being. For now, everything was alright.

She was already slipping asleep when he offered a movie. She heard herself hum an agreement, her body too heavy, too disconnected to try forming coherent, audible words.

The movie started. Her eyes refused to open even the slightest and all sound grew muffled and distant. Vaguely, she wished she had a blanket.

Tony shifted, carefully, thoughtfully, but it was still enough to pull her back to the edge of consciousness. He moved away, taking his warmth and heartbeat with him.

She made a noise—it was so pathetic, if she’d been even the slightest bit more aware, she would’ve hated herself. Now, she didn’t care; she wanted to stay here, wanted to sleep.

Why was he moving so much? Couldn’t he just...?

Arms slid underneath her and lifted her up.

A flash of instinctual panic rose at the touch, at someone holding her in a position she couldn’t control. She stirred, tried to drag herself awake and defend herself.

“Shh. It’s okay, Tasha; it’s just me—just Tony.”

The hushed, familiar voice reached her and she let herself relax. She trusted these arms—armoured or not, they always caught her.

Next thing she knew, she was in their bed, under the covers. Habit forced her onto her side, coiling her body up tight and secure. When a warm weight settled behind her, she drew closer to it, to him, and finally gave in to sleep.

. . . . .

For the first time in weeks, she slept right through the night and well into the morning, nausea and nightmares graciously bowing out and allowing her a rare dose of rest.

The other side of the bed was, unsurprisingly, empty. Somehow she just knew he’d stayed longer this time.

She got up. Routine tugged at her, insisting she dress and commence her workout and training. It didn’t take much effort to decline; she may have managed a whole night’s worth of sleep, but it wasn’t nearly as replenishing as it should have been. (That, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she could and couldn’t do regarding exercise—Bruce was still working on that part of the care plan).

She shuffled from the bedroom to the kitchen—actually shuffled, her body still too tired to pick her feet up between each step.

It seemed Tony had achieved the benefits of a full night’s sleep. He had already showered and dressed; Natasha took note of his business attire—smart slacks, pressed shirt, untied tie hanging around his neck. A mental memo sprang up, reminding her of something important he had coming up but she hadn’t paid enough attention to their schedule over the past few weeks to recall details.

He stood in front of the microwave, waiting, his arms folded and his back to her. She purposely didn’t silence her drowsy steps but he still visibly tensed in the split second between sensing another’s presence and registering their identity.

Twisting around, he saw her and broke out a smile, his arms unfolding and inviting her. “Ah, the dead arise.”

“Ha ha.” Natasha accepted the invitation and they locked together; no hesitation, no force—they just fell into place with one another like magnets. Still, she was careful not to hold on too tightly; he may have been standing straighter and not taking as many shallow breaths, but he wasn’t completely healed yet.

Her sense of smell had been so heightened and sensitive ever since the immuno-suppressants let her enjoy a more authentic morning sickness experience; everything stank, everything churned her stomach, even innocuous things she thought didn’t have any notable scent like tap water. But things weren’t so bad this morning; Tony’s coffee and cologne registered as normal, even comforting again.

Whatever he was making for breakfast, however, was another story.

The microwave dinged. Tony didn’t hurry to pull away; she didn’t really want it to end, but she let him go and then strategically moved to take a seat on a barstool on the other side of the kitchen island—as far as she could go to get away from the smell of food but still be in his company.

He pulled a bowl out of the microwave. Natasha had to wait for the cloud of steam to dissipate before glimpsing... soggy bread filled with vibrantly coloured curry.

Just as a precaution, she covered her nose. “What is that?”

“Bunny chow. Apparently.” Tony retrieved a fork from a drawer and poked at his breakfast while withdrawing to a further corner of the kitchen. “Daisy dropped it off for us last night, when you were asleep. It’s Thor’s new favourite food.” He took a bite, frowned thoughtfully, and went in for another. “She said it was really hot but—” a short, terse cough interrupted him. “Oh. Okay. There it is.”

Natasha snickered. “Milk’s in the fridge, dear.”

Tony shook his head and took another bite. “Nuh-uh. I can take it.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and headed to the refrigerator anyway—it was probably a good idea to eat while she wasn’t feeling so sick—but she stopped short.

She hadn’t expected to see the sonogram on the door of the fridge, fixed perfectly at eye-level, nestled amongst their lists and planners and appointment cards and all the magnets they took to collecting for some dumb reason.

Subconsciously, she traced the black and white shapes on the smooth paper and the cartoonish strawberry holding it in place with a featherlight touch.

Grasping the reality of this situation still eluded her. In the wildly hopeful moments, she saw her and Tony and their child; in the moments fear threatened, she protected herself by just shutting down and not thinking about it. It had been easier to believe when they were with the Barton family, so close to Clint and Laura’s joy, enticed to imagine their own; now they were back to normal, back in the world they belonged, and it was a lot harder to deny who and what they were in the midst of it.

But just seeing these blurry pictures, just hearing that heartbeat... it pushed the vacillating mass of hope and fear aside, told perception and imagination to take a hike, and said: “No. Doesn’t matter what you think; doesn’t matter what you tell yourself. Right now, this is real.”

It was just a bit difficult to keep believing it...

“So, I should be back by lunch,” Tony said, his voice careful but trying for casual.

“Hmm? Sorry?” Natasha shook herself and resumed her task of searching the fridge, even though she was quickly losing interest in breakfast.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve got that board meeting today. Can’t shift it again; Pepper already rescheduled it because of that scrap I got into with Whiplash and then, you know.” Flippantly, he drew a circle in the air with his fork. “Our vacation and all... that.”

Natasha frowned and straightened up, altogether abandoning her act. “If you don’t feel well, Pepper will understand.”

“I’m fine, honey, don’t worry,” he assured, fondly exasperated. A beat later, his expression faltered and he dipped his head, suddenly very interested in that curry. “It’s just... I... I don’t want to... well, you know...”

Realization broke her frown. “You don’t want to leave me on my own.”

He met her gaze, took a breath to speak, made half a sound, then shut his mouth and glanced away.

It was hard to explain, and even harder to understand; she gave him credit for trying and an uninterrupted minute to try again.

“It’s not that I think you can’t take care of yourself; I know you can.” He took a quick breath. “And I know I can’t really... do anything to help. But I don’t... I mean, I just...” The words stalled again, leaving him looking lost.

“I will be okay,” she said.

He nodded, the action stilted and hard. “I know.”

“And I won’t be alone. Jarvis is always here. And Bruce is just in his lab; anything happens, I’ll call him.”

Another nod, another “I know.”

“And Tony?” She waited until he picked up on the cue, waited for him to concede and raise his gaze to meet hers again. When he did, she gave him a smile infused with as much assurance as she could muster this soon after waking up. “You do help.”

It took a minute, but when Tony tried to smooth the worry from his expression and mirror her smile, she actually managed to believe it.

She slipped hers into a smirk—it felt like it fit this time. “Frankly, I’m more worried about the board.”

The shift in topic and tone tugged an eyebrow down, then he caught on to her mischievous hint. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

She pointed to his breakfast. “They have to sit in a closed room with you all morning.”

He laughed; his real laugh, the one with a snort. “This is a very strategic move, mind you. It’s called mutually assured destruction.”

“Whatever you call it, I’m just glad it’s them and not me.”

. . . . .

Not ten minutes after Tony left, a discreet, electronic chime alleviated the just settling silence.

“Agent Romanov, Director Fury has just arrived in the apartment complex,” Jarvis announced.

“Is he coming here?”

In the space above the kitchen island, a holographic screen appeared and relayed crisp security footage of Fury, striding down the corridor, his back straight, his pace precise and purposeful but not unduly hurried. “Well, he appears to be carrying a rather hefty paper file,” Jarvis pointed out. “In my experience, he only ever brings those here.”

Natasha looked down at the bowl of muesli she’d just made; this day clearly did not want her to get through breakfast and, really, she didn’t feel like fighting that. She left it by the sink and headed to the bedroom.

Ordinarily, she would’ve been dressed for the day by now. She could probably squeeze in a shower in the time it would take Fury to reach the apartment, but she didn’t feel like moving that fast. Instead, she put her hair up and grabbed a gown (again, Tony’s; of course she had her own, but his things were always comfier, and stealing them in a comically obvious fashion was pure tradition at this point).

Fury knocked and waited. He only barged or snuck in during emergencies—emergencies were just so commonplace in his line of work that people had a tendency to misinterpret that as his nature, much like they did hers.

Natasha made her way to the entrance corridor but gave a quick flick of her fingers for Jarvis to open the door before she reached it.

“Next time that husband of yours decides to relocate the Avengers, I expect him to take into account the location of the SHIELD head office,” Fury griped the second he stepped over the threshold, deep voice filling the space. “Do you have any idea how long I sat in traffic?”

“Good morning, Nick.”

“For you, maybe. You didn’t have an idiot in a mini sitting on your butt the whole drive over.”

“You know Tony will just suggest you parachute from the Helicarrier next time, right?”

Fury rolled his eye. “Of course he would...” He cast a quick glance over her; whatever conclusions he drew from her admittedly disheveled state, he decided they didn’t need verbalizing. Still, his expression shifted, softening around the edges. “How is he?”

“Still stiff and sore, but better.”

“He got lucky.”

“Yeah. He did.” She glanced pointedly at the file Fury held at his side. “Business?”

His mouth pressed into a grim line. “Some leads turned up regarding the Whiplash incident.”

Natasha frowned. “Leads? I thought it was pretty straightforward.”

“Initially, it seemed so. But, as you know, you tug on a thread and things start unravelling. Long story short, it doesn’t look like the Maggia hired Scarlotti.”

Something stung in her chest and her stomach clenched. She moved towards the living room, towards the couch, putting forth effort to make it look casual. “And short story long?”

Fury followed her, took a seat on the opposite couch to her, set the file down on the coffee table between them and opened it. “It comes down to two threads. First of all: Scarlotti got away, of course, but he left behind one of his whips.” He flipped through the papers until he reached a photograph of the whip laying limp on dirty asphalt, its serrated segments still covered in deep red blood—Tony’s blood. “SHIELD managed to salvage it and our technicians have been analyzing it. Now, the Maggia are largely traditionalist when it comes to their weapons, but they have developed a mutually beneficial affiliation with AIM in recent years. AIM supplied Scarlotti’s original gear, which was an amalgamation of Vanko’s designs and bits and pieces of Stark weapons—both bootleg and authentic. The Maggia paid for all that. This,” he tapped the photograph, “still has traces of Stark’s tech, but everything else about it is new and unlike anything we’ve come across before.”

“So they got a new supplier?”

Fury shook his head. “The Maggia went on an arms shopping spree this past month. Coulson’s team has been interrupting as many of these deals and shipments as possible, the most recent being just last week.” He flipped through the file again, stopped at a section with a cluster of photographs and specs of various guns, all smooth and fancy and brutal. “These are all AIM. Scarlotti got his tech somewhere else.”

Natasha skimmed through a random page of the specs and the technicians’ notes—while she wasn’t on Tony’s level, she understood a fair bit of the jargon. “Which... isn’t unusual. Despite his history with the Maggia, he’s always operated more as a mercenary.”

“And I would’ve been satisfied to leave it there.”

“But?”

“The second thread.” Without turning the papers again, he pulled out another photograph, this time of a young woman: dark hair, dark eyes, makeup and dress and jewellery aiming for elegant and glamorous but completely missing tasteful along the way. “Recently, the Maggia have been caught up in something of a domestic dispute. Count Nefaria’s daughter, Giulietta, has been trying to take over the family business. By force. The family is split down the middle. They don’t have time to focus on taking down Iron Man, especially when he hasn’t even crossed their path for months.”

Natasha sifted through the file until she found the first picture of the whip. Something about its design rang a faint bell but no connections presented themselves. “So Whiplash got his gear somewhere else, and the Maggia are too preoccupied to put out such a high profile hit.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“But you don’t know who made the gear or who hired him.”

Fury sat a little straighter. “That is where you and Stark come in.”

She saw that coming. It was like this mission had been handcrafted specially for them, calling as much for her finesse as it did his expertise.

As Fury continued, outlining other instances of enemy tech with components similar to the new Whiplash gear and the few, hazy leads to the shadowy figure at the centre of it all, a plan of action wrote itself in her mind, quick as an electric shock. Where to begin, who to contact, the paths to take, the favours to cash in—the spy in her was awake and alive and raring to go.

Tony would enjoy dissecting Whiplash’s tech as much as she would enjoy tracking down whoever had the audacity to put a hit out on her husband.

This was her nature, her element. Following clues and traces, bringing all the scattered puzzle pieces together, unravelling the mystery, never knowing just what the big picture will look like in the end, or where the—

She stopped herself.

It wouldn’t all be simple desk work.

“We may not be able to take this on,” she said. When no reply came, she glanced to Fury to ensure she had spoken aloud and not just in her head.

Some of the solemnity gave way to sympathy and he leaned forward. “I realize Tony may not be up to dealing with this so soon—”

“No, it’s not that. It’s me, actually. I’m...” she trailed off, uncertainty derailing her explanation.

Only Bruce knew, and that was out of pure necessity. They had decided not to tell Clint and Laura—as much as they trusted them, it didn’t feel right, not when it was their time to be happy. And they hadn’t sat down and discussed telling any others yet.

But they couldn’t keep it a secret indefinitely...

“While Tony was in the hospital, I... found out I’m pregnant.” She kept her gaze fixed on the papers covering the coffee table; she could sense the consolation in his expression, she knew she wouldn’t take seeing it (she blamed the hormones). “It looks like it may work out this time.”

A warm, calloused hand reached out and covered hers—it was a small gesture, but considering its source, it spoke volumes. “I understand,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze and then drawing back. He kept the silence in place for a moment, offering no further sentiments or sympathies—she didn’t need or want them, and he knew that; it wasn’t them, it wasn’t how they cared. “Would you mind if I left this with you anyway?” he asked. “You’re still my best agent and Stark’s gonna want a part of this.”

She considered it for a minute before nodding. “I just can’t do any of the heavy lifting.”

Fury stood up. “Leave that to me. Just do what you can.”

. . . . .

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#tony stark #iron man #natasha romanov #black widow #avengers #nick fury #ironwidow #tonynat #ironwidow fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #my writing #write a different chapter for us

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whumpitlikeyoumeanit · 5 months

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Whumpuary 7

Whumpuary prompts should theoretically make up one cohesive narrative, though I'm not currently putting in the effort to flesh out the story around the prompts just yet. I have good intentions to do so eventually. Masterlist. Oh yeah and they're totally out of order, chronologically.

((content warnings: mention of torture ))

promptspiration: @whumpuary 07: Drugged

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy Whumper: Voldemort whump type: comfort fic type: Deathly Hallows "Voldemort learns Draco hooked up with Harry" AU

Snape and Narcissa caretakers while Draco's still a prisoner.

words: ~1000

-------------------

"My lord, eventually you are going to kill him."

"Feeling sentimental, Severus?"

"Hardly." Snape's voice was dry. "Even as the dubious pleasure of minding students goes, a Malfoy is a special annoyance. But he is a useful tool against Potter, and Draco is not strong. Even the Cruciatus alone will eventually kill him. Sooner, if you keep letting Bellatrix at him."

"That's what I have you for."

"I am not a healer." He sounded annoyed. "I'll do what I can."

Draco was lifted into the air by a spell. He didn't resist it. He didn't know if they realised he was conscious and he thought he would prefer it if they did not. Maybe he wasn't, really. He felt very far away from his body, from the situation, like an observer. That was better.

He was taken to his mother's parlour; even before he was laid on a sofa, he recognised it by the smell. This was where she had once arranged the flowers that dotted the house. They hadn't had flowers in years now, but still their ghosts lingered.

Something was poured down his throat, vile and no doubt effective. His pain-tensed muscles began to relax and the ache eased. Snape was gentler than he had to be, holding his head in one hand and making sure he didn't choke. It wasn't really a surprise; ever since he saw how perfectly Snape hid the fact that he knew about him and Harry, he had realised that his words may just be just words, no matter how fiercely he seemed to believe them. He really was incredible.

His mother's clipped steps hurried into the room. "Draco—" Snape moved aside and she took over, sitting with him and holding his head in her lap. He wished he could stay there forever. Her fingers brushed through his hair.

"I've done what I can," Snape murmured. His voice was so low it seemed unlikely someone outside the room would even know there was talking going on inside. "You're allowed to tend to him?"

"Sometimes," she said icily.

"When you are, give him this, as soon afterward as possible. It will impede the formation of the memories. Calming charms are tempting but try to avoid it if he's coherent; the long-term effects are unhealthy. He needs sleep—"

"I know this," she snapped, She was snappish from stress, not because Snape was doing anything wrong, but he was the closest thing to a safe person to take it out on. Draco wished he could make her feel better. Her hand gripped his shoulder tightly. "I need something to protect him—"

Snape cut her off. "There is nothing," he said harshly. "Nothing will provide any protection from the Dark Lord's punishments, that would not be obvious and make the situation worse. He will have to endure. This might make it easier to live with."

She said nothing, but, in a few seconds, Draco felt her move and heard the touch of metal to glass, one of her rings coming into contact with the potion bottle as she accepted it.

"Pain. Seized muscles." It sounded like he was going down a line of potions. He could sense the shifting of bottles. "Use them when necessary. I don't know when I'll be able to spare more."

"Sleep?"

"No. The demand is too high; Sleeping Draughts and several ingredients are in short supply. Blood-Replenishing."

"He won't need that." She sounded less like she knew that than that she couldn't believe otherwise.

Snape's voice was quiet but inarguable. "There is a mandate that he will be punished nightly, whether the Dark Lord is here or not." His mother's hands held him tight, but she couldn't make that not true. "Not everyone will continue to be entertained by mere pain. Keep it, and hope you're right.

"His mind is another matter. Draco." He didn't respond, willing Snape's attention to go away. "I know you're awake." It wasn't working. He shook his head infinitesimally and turned his face into his mother's stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair silently. That still seemed to be enough of an acknowledgement for Snape. "Practise your Occlumency."

"It doesn't work," he murmured.

"No," Snape agreed. "You will never be able to hide anything and I would discourage you from trying. I hope for all our sakes that you don't have something somehow worse that you need to — although at this point it seems nothing is beyond the scope of your ability to make bad decisions. But if you can maintain control of your mind, it may preserve your sanity."

The 'for a time' went unspoken. Maybe it would keep his mind strong enough to take being dragged out in front of Him… every night…. for more torture, for no reason, nothing he could do to end it… Maybe it would. For a while. But if anyone made an effort to break him, he would break. If He lost control in his anger and didn't care if he stayed sane, he would break. Even if anyone became overzealous and went too hard, he could break… If it went on for too long with no end in sight, maybe then he would still break…

"All right," he said quietly. His mother held his head.

"Give him a few drops of that. It's too late to do anything for tonight's session, but I don't need this conversation on display."

She stroked his hair and turned his head up, and dropped a small dose of a horribly sour potion into his mouth. He heard Snape's footsteps retreating from the room and put it out of his mind, hoping that everyone else would have forgotten about him and he'd be allowed to stay, for a few hours.

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno7 #drugged #harry potter fic #harry/draco #draco whumpee #narcissa caretaker #snape caretaker #whump writing #whumpitlikeyoumeanit wrote it #not a prompt whumpitlikeyoumeanit #mostly comfort

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samwritesforyou · 3 years

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lantern rite with zhongli

zhongli x reader

summary: you stay in liyue and zhongli wants you to go to the lantern rite with him

warnings: gender-neutral reader

wordcount: 2.2k

A/N: its just zhongli brain rot, can we jsut live our mundane life w him forever??

you were wandering the lands of liyue for a significant amount of time already.

you would’ve usually just camped in the open like you used to do on your adventures in mondstadt - before the knights learned about this and generously offered you an apartment with no rent required - but ever since you mentioned this idea to a powerful god of geo zhongli, he wouldn’t hear of it.

“you are staying over at the wangsheng funeral parlour, y/n,” he said in a serious, low tone that made your stomach twist in ways that you didn’t yet understand.

“what do you mean? i can’t just stay there,” you said in return, brows furrowed.

“there are a few rooms behind the official wing that we use for business and actually me and hu tao live there, we do not have a conventional “home” anywhere,” he rationally explained and continued looking steadily into your eyes.

you never had a problem managing eye contact, but with his piercing amber orbs it was quite difficult.

“zhongli, i-“ you started, looking behind him at the open entrance to the balcony.

it was getting dark already, and even though you were used to camp life, you did notice that wild liyue was rather dangerous to rest at.

“only if you really don’t mind,” you stated with a sigh of defeat, closing your eyes and putting hands on your hips, “but i’ll pay.”

“dear y/n, i simply won’t allow it,” he said and you felt his gloved fingers on your chin and opened your eyes immediately, meeting with his.

a mysterious smile played on his lips, “you can just invite me to a meal, this form of payment will be sufficient,” when he saw a blush creeping up your face, he let go of you, standing straight again and clearing his throat, becoming flustered himself and looking away.

“alright,” was all that you could muster to answer in a higher tone than usual.

and there began an era of you living with hu tao and zhongli for the course of weeks that stretched into months as you tried to scout out the eternity of liuye’s landscape, hopelessly looking for your lost sibling.

most days you’d come back to your new home exhausted and just plop on the couch in front of the kitchen isle, already seeing some food left on the counter for your arrival.

you were never sure if it was hu tao’s making or zhongli’s, but that question was answered tonight, as you saw geo archon finishing up tonight’s dish - slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup - not even paying attention to your shuffling in the room.

you felt grateful yet a bit guilty that you made zhongli do something for you every day this late.. sometimes you wouldn’t return until the morning and even then you found a warm plate of breakfast on the counter.

you didn’t have much free time to get to know zhongli better, but even so you two have become an acquaintances of sorts. someone could even say.. friends.

a few times during your stay you were persuaded to take a break and took a few evening walks alongside rex lapis, your conversation making you feel at ease and understood.

if only you’d have more time to just.. do nothing, then you’d even..

you were staring at his broad back for quite a while already as he was cooking, no official costume present, just a simple comfortable shirt that gave you more of a feeling how home-y you have become with him.

it felt natural to come home and see him, either reading a book or just sliding the door to his room open to say a gentle “goodnight” or ask a few questions about your day.

you really liked him. you clicked as personalities, he was interesting, handsome-

“are you here?” you suddenly felt a gentle single tap on the top of your head, as zhongli’s voice brought you back to reality from your thoughts.

from the thoughts that you shouldn’t be having, because there’s no way that something would ever happen between the two of you.

so you shook your head and then smiled at him wearily.

“yeah. sorry, a long day,” you said silently and looked at two plates that were now sitting at the table.

“i wanted to dine with you tonight, is that alright?” he asked and looked up at you with his amber eyes.

“of course!” you nodded and then looked down at the table, “and thank you.. for always making food for me.”

“oh, it’s nothing. hu tao said that since you’re our guest i don’t have to worry about using more ingredients for food than we do usually,” he then began to eat.

as you dug in into your dish as well a comfortable silence has settled in the room.

it was always like this with him.

comfortable, safe.

you wondered how he’s gonna react when you tell him you’ll probably have to leave soon.

maybe it’s a good time to bring it up, even though it’ll ruin the moment of peace.

you mulled over the idea for a few minutes and couldn’t find any way of saying it the way you wanted it to sound, so you just started;

“uhm.. i think i’ll go back to mondstadt.”

ever so composed zhongli literally choked on his food and coughed a few times, steadying his posture once more, brows furrowing, not meeting your eyes.

“why so sudden?” he just asked simply.

“well… i don’t think i have any luck here.. and i’d love to move to the next region, but i wanted to talk it over with other knights beforehand, just to be safe,” you answered and sighed.

it’s not like you wanted to leave.

“that is a good choice indeed,” he stated, but you sensed that he wasn’t pleased by your “choice” at all, “but why won’t you stay just a few days longer?”

he finally finished up his food, gently patted his lips with a cloth and put it aside, now meeting your gaze.

“there is a lantern rite festival in the end of the week and..” seems like zhongli was trying to pick the right words, which was unusual of him, “i was hoping you’d accompany me.”

“oh,” you have heard about the event scarcely, but didn’t pay it any mind, knowing that you’d probably have no time to enjoy it anyways.

“your sibling is out there somewhere, i believe in it,” zhongli didn’t even let you speak, which was twice as unusual of him, as if he was already trying to persuade you even before hearing your verdict upon the matter, “and i wanted to offer you my help. i finally have no rites of parting to arrange and am quite free of any work that was holding me back before,” and as an afterthought he continued, “and i think you really deserve some rest, y/n. i’ve seen how hard you’ve been trying to find your sibling, help the adventurers guild.. it’s only natural and fair for you to take some rest and replenish your energy.”

you were frozen in place with a spoon half-risen to your mouth already, unable to tear your eyes from him as he finished his monologue.

you were used to him talking about the past events or fond memories for a long time, but it was never addressed directly at you.

so you just looked down and started intensely finishing up your soup, trying not to think about the way you’re probably blushing right now.

and once you did and looked back at zhongli, he was sitting composed in front of you, light smile resting on his lips.

“i’ll stay then,” you nodded and smiled at him back, his expression growing softer at your words.

“thank you,” he mirrored your nod and then took the dishes - even after your protests - and started cleaning them up himself.

you were so glad you decided to stay. last few days were filled with you just walking around the city and outskirts alongside zhongli as you were finally able to relax a bit and push a pressing matter of finding your sibling for a few days later.

the lantern rite day grew near and it was already happening in the evening. for some reason hu tao insisted of pampering you up and didn’t let zhongli see you until the event started.

“why are you like this?” you ask tiredly hu tao as she was helping you to put on a classic chinese dress that was worn both by men and women (and everyone in between) in this festive time.

“you think i don’t see how you’re staring at each other?” she giggled as she started rummaging through her hair pins that would look good on you.

“each other?!” you yelped in confusion, only to be met with a flustered reflection of yourself in a mirror in front of you, so you dropped your shoulders and sighed, lowering your gaze, “if anything, it’s only me who’s staring, hu tao..”

“ha!” the laugh was more similar to a bark as she reacted to your words and soon enough appeared next to you, putting a pin to your bangs, adding your hair a little decorative twist, “that’s what you think.”

you didn’t have any time to protest to that, because you heard a knock on the door and hu tao yelled “don’t you dare come in, old man!” right back.

“i just wanted to inform you two that the festival has already begun,” said a calm muffled voice outside and you found yourself smiling at that.

“okay, we’re almost done!” said hu tao and finally helped you stand up, letting you look at yourself in the mirror.

you really looked exceptional tonight and couldn’t hold your positive emotions bubbling inside of you.

“thank you,” you said to hu tao and hugged her tightly.

she just giggled and murmured something along the lines of “don’t mention it” and went with you out of the room, straight onto the balcony in front of the wangsheng funeral parlour.

your eyes found zhongli immediately as he turned and looked at you.

he gave a polite nod to his friend and then his amber orbs drifted to you and his expression broke into something way softer than you’ve ever witnessed before.

only after a while you realised that your festival dresses were matching. yours was just in lighter, yellow tones, whereas his was in dark brown ones. it complemented each other perfectly.

you didn’t really notice how it happened, but you two ended up alone, just walking on the outskirts of liyue harbour, after participating in many festival activities.

you were standing on the hidden viewpoint where you could see the whole city, beautifully lit up, yet where you were standing there were scarcely any lamps, so the atmosphere was dim and comfortable.

zhongli was the first one to break the pleasant silence between the two of you.

“i dont want to be straightforward,” he started as he stood next to you, his hand on the railing of the balcony, “but i’m afraid i just have to share my feelings with you, y/n.”

you looked up at him, question in your eyes.

could it be?..

“i don’t usually take interest in humans, but.. it’s safe to say you drew me in and left me enchanted,” words were rolling off his tongue effortlessly, “by your driven heart, pure intentions and determination,” he paused a little and then chuckled to himself, “kind of remind me of myself, back in the day.”

with his free hand he reached out to yours, and took it in his palm, squeezing a little;

“i’m not immune to human weaknesses either.

and my guess is that i’m certainly not immune to your charm.”

he then brought your hand to his lips and gave it a light kiss, eyes trained on you.

“so if you accept me, then i’d be happy to court and protect you,” he finished his speech more quietly than he began and now was just politely waiting for your response.

for the rest of your life, if you allow me; he thought to himself, but these kinds of words are still too heavy for you to bear, he settles and doesnt say the rest of his initial sentence.

he came to accept that his lovers will come and go, since he is an immortal being, but it won’t stop him from giving his all to his loved ones.

“zhongli..” you said with trembling lips, as you tried your hardest not to cry.

you were falling in love with him slowly day by day, not even realising it and you’d never even think of him reciprocating your feelings and now it simply feels too overwhelming. in a good way, of course.

“is that a yes?” he squeezed your hand once more, his smile growing wider and eyes softer.

“of course,” you sniffed and pushed yourself into his embrace, not willing to let him see you cry, at least not yet.

you felt his heartbeat in your hug and you swear you never wanted to let go anymore.

“thank you,” he said gently and you felt his lips pressing to the top of your head.

you really chose the best man to fall in love with. ////// if you wanna be added to my genshin (or any other fandom) tag list then please either comment or dm me! also my requests are open so feel free to text me that as well, if you’d like <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #rex lapis x reader #zhongli #rex lapis #genshin #genshin zhongli #genshin fanfiction

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weaselle · 3 years

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Ant Cthulhu

Tumblr ate my story! Goodbye to. just. so many thousands of notes. This was one of my first stories that people on tumblr liked. So I’m making it a new post, so that people can find it. Plus, of all the thousands who read the first one or two installments, not nearly as many discovered that I had written a third and final installment that ends the story, so here is a chance at that.

The story was inspired by a pair of observations on Tumblr, where users probablybadrpgideas and 20thcenturyvole said, respectively

“if Cthulhu can be summoned by humans who are so far beneath it, why can’t humans be summoned by ants? The answer is they should be.” and “Well if a bunch of ants formed a circle in my house I’d certainly notice, try to figure out where they’d all come from, and possibly wreak destruction there.“

It gets just a little dark, but any story named for Cthulhu surely must have some death and destruction, right?

ANT CTHULHU

That’s why knowing and correctly pronouncing the true name is so important to the ritual. Imagine how impossible it would be to not go take a look if the circle of ants started chanting your name. And they’re like, you can’t leave because we drew a line made of tiny crystals - now you have to do us a favor. And you’re like, let’s just see where this goes “yup, you got me… what’s the favor?” and usually the favor is like, “kill this one ant for us” or “give me a pile of sugar” and you’re like… okay? and you do, because why not, it isn’t hard for you and boy is this going to be a fucking story to tell, these fucking ants chanting your name and wanting a spoonful of sugar or whatever. And SOMEtimes you get asked for things you can’t really do, one of them, she’s like, “I love this ant but she won’t pay any attention to me, make me important to her” and you’re like… um? how? So you just kill every ant in the colony except the two of them, ta-da! problem solved! and the first ant is like *horrified whisper* “what have I done” …. _____________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile another colony of ants invades your house, and evidently that last ant has gotten some of them to join her in a circle and taught them the ritual because you’re coming out of the bathroom one day and you hear the ants singing your name. Sure enough it’s that ant, but she’s dark and fucked up now, and she’s like, “kill the queen. I will rule this colony” and you’re like, sure, I guess I kinda owe her, and you do it. And she manages to become queen, and they worship you. Which is cool, you’re not, you know, very important in the human world, but to these ants you’re practically all-powerful.

Your beloved Naya doesn’t understand your fascination with the ants at all, but you easily train her to leave them alone. She’s such a good dog. The ants are horrified that you command such a beast.

You begin to realize can’t be just, doing everything a bunch of ants tell you to all the time. When would you watch Netflx? So you tend to only show up for super important ants; you teach them some extra words and when hear them you go see what’s up. Usually. Also though, you’ll show up to just your name, if you’re bored and you hear it. And, sometimes some of the ants are like, tell us more human names, and you’re kind of jealous of the idea of some other human diluting your private godhood, so you refuse. Your roommate Greg is like, yo, that’s fucking awesome, I want ant worshipers! But whenever he approaches any, they run away, because it turns out that the illusion of control from the named summoning is what makes them feel safe around you. That’s great, because Greg is a dick who never does the dishes, and one day you decide to teach Greg a lesson. So you show up at the colony, and you’re like, “yo, witch queen, did you think there would be no price for all these things? Your colony must do something for me, go to the Room of the Housemate, I will meet you there.�� And you go sit on the couch and play Overwatch for a while. You’re like, right there, you can clearly see the ants all marching along the wall to Greg’s room, but to them you’re not even there, you’re so far away they can’t see you. It takes them, like, an ant week to make the journey. They have to figure out ways to get over and around things. Some of them drown, or get stepped on by the dog, or whatever. You win a game, you lose a game, you look over, and they’re trying to get through some cobwebs… looks like they’re mostly going to live, you keep playing, you look over, okay they’re all in there, and you stand up and walk over and by the time they’ve chanted your name once, you’re there. “right, hold on” and you look around and you see a twelve-pack of Greg’s precious fucking soda, that he keeps in his room and refuses to ever share, even though it’s a communal food household and you share your hot chocolate with him all the time. So you gather the ants unto you, and you poke a little hole in each of the sodas and you leave the room to the sound of the ants rejoicing. Greg will suspect of course, but he’ll never be able to prove the ants didn’t chew holes in the plastic and steal his stupid drinks.

He actually tries to blame it on Naya. What a prick. You insist with wide eyes that the ants must have found it somehow — maybe he shouldn’t leave soda pop laying around his room. But later, while you’re at work, Greg destroys most of the colony in a rage, and you come home to find the witch queen gasping her last. “The Dew of the Mountain, which you had us steal, was cursed - and so I lay my curse on you” she manages, and then she dies. Well first of all, you don’t really believe in curses, but last month you didn’t believe ants could know your name, so that’s unsettling. And second of all, you feel kind of bad. You know, not SUPER bad, cause she’s like, an ant. But still. And most importantly, third of all, Greg must pay. Like some kind of movie villain, you pet your loving Naya and say out loud “Oh yes, and pay he will.”

But Greg has done more than kill a bunch of the colony. As you wait for eggs and pupae to replenish the ant population, you discover he has found some ants that didn’t go on the Mountain Dew raid, and he’s spared them, told them his name.

He’s made himself a good sized cult in YOUR fucking ant queendom. Greg has started locking his door. So now you NEED the ants. Once again you direct the ants loyal to you to journey to Greg’s room. You meet them at the door. A locked door means nothing to the ants, they don’t even know there is a door, and can barely perceive the difference between it being open and shut - either passing the threshold on the floor regardless, or being on its surface no matter the position. But you need them to get inside. You’re going to put itching powder in his underwear drawer and leave a raw fish under his bed. So you instruct the leading party of ants how to go into the Cave of Keyhole, and position the Magic Megaliths inside just right to enable the opening of the Great Door and allow you to pass into the Realm of Housemate. Crouched by the door, you can hear when your ants are met by a party of Greg Cultists, who insist that if the Great Door is opened, the colony will be doomed. There is fighting. Your ants prevail, the lock tumblers are moved into place, and you swing the door open… To find Greg! In his room all along! It’s a trap! His cultists attack you! I mean, they can’t do much real harm, but it kind of hurts and it’s super annoying. You order your ants to attack him, and they do, but he storms over and pours bleach down the colony entrance.

It’s the end of their world. Now you and Greg are at war, and you both understand the unspoken rules to your fight. You can’t do things directly to each other, why, that would be assault. But anything you can get your ants to do is fine, because “she told the ants to do it to me” isn’t going to get very far with any authority figures that get involved. Later, nursing your anger, you confer with your few remaining ants and stare moodily at your new prize, the ant farm that came in the mail. It will take time to integrate them- your ants have to get access to the new ants’ scent marker chemicals and go undercover. Meanwhile, you’ve got a laptop schematic to go over with your high priestess. It’s finals week, and if you time it right, he’ll lose everything. … You look down into the summoning ritual. The current high priestess, Zé, is an ant of great influence and personality - you quite like her, inso far as a human can be friends with an ant that worships them. You thought the new queen would become the next high priestess, but according to Zé the queens don’t like to come out of the colony after they shed their wings. Plus they are very busy laying eggs and supervising the care of their ant larvae. Zé says it’s a better deal for you, this way your high priestess can have the time and energy to really serve your interests, and wield an authority among the colony that is purely yours - no conflict of interest, and no baby making duties. It’s really just what’s best for both you and the colony queen to have her as high priestess, she informs you, making you laugh at her flattery-wrapped ambition. There’s no laughing this evening though. It’s serious business on the docket tonight. “O wise and ancient entity of power, you grace us with your presence!” and for formality’s sake, she intones the additional ritual greeting from their holy books “You Look Fantastic, Have You Done Something New With Your Hair?” Ants don’t really understand hair. You respond as you have become accustomed “Thank You, Yes.” It’s just easier. They mean well. Mystic greeting complete, Zé and the rest of the dark clergy move straight to business. Several 10s of them line up in formation, creating a diagram of the apartment complex. You had to coach them into how to make it, as far as they are concerned it’s a complex sigil that conveys knowledge to you - for creatures that traverse the building in long journeys along the pipes in the walls and in the spaces between the lower ceiling and upper floor, it looks nothing like the apartment complex as they know it. Zé claims to understand it, but secretly you suspect she’s just mostly cementing her authority among the clergy. She has, usefully, memorized which parts of the sigil correspond with what parts of the building, and that’s good enough for your purposes. “O mighty being, we have done as instructed. Our scouts had to search wide for them, but we have left the corpses of many termites in all the locations you specified, every night this week. “Very good,” you assure them, “and the Greggorites?” “Our spies among them have learned of their next attack. We should be able to influence their timing somewhat.” “Good. And..” your eyes narrow, “the other thing?” “Ah, yes.” Zé’s antennae wave and dip in that way you know means she is uncomfortable. “to the best of our ability to find out, the… Antifreeze initiative was entirely conceived of by the Demon Lord Greg.” “Just Greg,” you tell Zé with bitter hatred as tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. “Greg is not a lord, just a fucking prick who’s going to get what’s coming to him. I swear by all of creation he will.” “Is there…” Zé trailed off and tried again. “O Deity of my heart, far be it from me to question Your Exaltedness, but help your poor servant to understand… your plans have become, ah, they seem perhaps, I am sure I am wrong, but they seem, overly audacious? Your recent change in demeanor has made some of us nervous - not me! - but some of the less devout among my sistren, have become… concerned.” Your fists clench. “I don’t expect you to get it. I’m pretty certain none of you could possibly understand.” Your voice breaks. You clench your teeth. You won’t, you won’t cry in front of your ant worshipers. You lean down and say in the strangled half whisper that is the only way you can force the words past the lump in your throat, “He killed my dog, Zé…” The ants flee the sound of your terrible wailing. The great Finals Erasure had worked to more devastating effect than you had anticipated, and things had… escalated. Then Greg proved himself to be less human than the ants , who themselves had turned out to be such surprising little beings. So. The orders for the heinous deed did in fact come from him. Now, there are things that have to be done. You call the ants back out of hiding and get to work. In the end, it was easier than you thought it would be. You talk to all the neighbors, without Greg. You hide the relevant pieces of mail. You have the scuba gear and the stuff from the sex shop shipped to a friend’s house. You ensure your spies among the Greggorites have escape plans, though Zé assures you they are ready to sacrifice themselves to the cause. “I’m not that kind of Deity,” you tell her. The night before, your ants slip a double dose of tylenol p.m. into Greg’s milkshake. You almost laugh; all your efforts to make sure there is only soup to make for dinner, and he comes home with Burger King. He sleeps so soundly that he never comes close to waking the whole time you are attaching the padded bondage equipment to his limbs and hiding with him in the closet. The walk through by the company inspectors that morning is a tense moment, but as you suspect, they don’t open the closets. After they leave to do their work outside, you finish your work inside, tying Greg to his bed. By the time he starts to wake up, you are sitting in a chair in the doorway to his bedroom, with your mask on. The air is beginning to thicken and discolor. Greg coughs around his ball gag and opens his eyes. You feel curiously calm and empty. “Hi, Greg.” Your voice is muffled, “You like my dive mask?” Greg makes an angry questioning noise, spread eagled to the full extension of his limbs. “Oh, yeah, that must be uncomfortable. Can’t give you enough slack to jerk against the ropes, though, or you might leave tell-tale bruises through the padding.” More angry noises, coughing. “Hhhmm? Oh, did I forget to tell you? It’s termite day, Greg, they’ve tented the house. That’s Sulfuryl Fluoride you’re breathing. You’ll cough for a bit, you’ll throw up, and your heart will stop.” He’s thrashing around as much as the ropes will allow, which isn’t a lot. He’s pretty energetic about it, though; maybe he can’t hear you over his efforts. “You shouldn’t have meddled around with godhood, it didn’t suit you. Power compromised your judgement. You definitely shouldn’t have fucking killed my dog, Greg” You’re suddenly filled with rage. You need to know he hears you. You stride over to the bed and grab him by the throat. Not too hard, you try to remember through your anger, no bruises. The grip is enough to make Greg stop thrashing and look at you with wide wide eyes. “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE FUCKING KILLED NAYA YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! WHY? WHY? HOW COULD YOU!? SHE NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU!” Just as suddenly, your anger is gone. You feel tired. You look down at him and shake your head.”Time to die, Greg.” You cross the room and sit back down in your chair in the doorway. Watching him die isn’t easy, but it’s not as hard as watching Naya suffer through acute kidney failure. Afterwards, you take off all the bondage gear, throw it in a duffel bag. You leave through the back, rolling out from under the fumigation tent against the back fence, and packing the scuba gear into the duffel before you climb into the neighbors yard. A month later, you’re moving from town to town. The colony has become so large you’re going to need a bigger truck full of clay for them to live in. Maybe an old Uhaul. The ants bring you a newspaper. They bring you everything now, food, money, information. Word of how you value the life of each individual ant has spread through the colony, and reports brought back from the apartment by scouts confirming your status as a godslayer has …elevated… their worship of you. You open the newspaper to find Greg’s death has made the papers. No suspicion of foul play despite the exterminator company lawyers insisting on an autopsy. Tylenol p.m. in his system accounted for his presence in the building, it was decided, and the failure of the inspectors to notice Greg in bed during their walk through was settled out of court, paid off by their insurance. The ants bring you a conga line of grapes, peeling them for you while you stare off into space. A small line of ants brings the peels back to the colony larder. You’re going to have to teach them how to disable cameras - the leaked security footage of hundred dollar bills slipping themselves out under the bank doors has caused a bit of a stir on some parts of the internet… you eat another grape, and count your money. As usual you put half of it in an envelope, uncapping a sharpie to write “From Naya” on it. The ants will slip it under the door of the local animal shelter for you tonight. END

_____________________________________________________________________

so, looking back, I feel I should tell you that when I wrote the final chapter of this I had just become homeless and had to leave my dog in a better home than I could provide. It’s cool, we still see each other a lot these days, I was just real sad about it and it effected what I wrote. Anyway, that’s the Ant Cthulhu story

#ant cthulhu #ant #ants #writing #fiction #story

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uwuderes · 3 years

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Ask Was- Ok just wanted to say I'm happy you're back, hope you're staying safe and drinking water! Was wondering if you could do a one shot or headcanon of either Eve or Rex becoming obsessed with someone they met after their break up.

Ive been working on this for so long... I might do a Eve one to go with it and Im glad to be back and tbh ive been only on coke...

You walked into the main center of the old Guardians of The Globe Headquarters seeing it empty. You sighed loving the peace, being a tech guru had its perks but being left alone wasn't one of them for the most part. But now there was a crew and your peace would be disrupted. You mourned when you lost the first team, except for Nolan. They were like parents to you taking you under their wing and allowing you to help out the best you could.

You reminisced until you heard a loud noise realizing the door was opening allowing in a crew of teenagers?? A child and an older man?? A robot?? You raised a brow at them and looked around. You wore a set of pajama pants and a spaghetti strap t-shirt. This wasn't the best first impression at all.

“This is (Y/F/N). She was the old team's tech and computer expert, therefore will be your new eyes during battles.” The Robot hummed out walking by you and placing a copper hand on your shoulder. You waved looking away trying to quickly go back to your room. You were the only one who lives here finding peace and usefulness whenever it comes to brainstorming.

A dude with red hair walked up to you invading your personal space, making you step back out of pure reflex. He smiled and snickered at you, eyeing you down, making you uncomfortable. “You're cute, you know that?” The redhead spoke. You eased back, not liking how close everyone was.

“Thank you, I’m g-going back to my room…” You said quickly abandoning your task of getting food to replenish your spirit to keep working. You would talk with them later, that was just way too awkward and sudden. You fell back and quickly rushed into your room, closing the door.

Rex looked at the now slammed shut door and back to Robot. “What was that about?? Did I do something wrong?!” He stated out loud pushing a finger into the copper machine's chest.

“Rex she's been through a lot, give it time.” The machine replied, Kate, jumping in to back it up.

“Not only that but you tried flirting with her at the first chance you got, you can't just compliment someone and expect them to allow you into their pants that easily.” Kate rolled her eyes walking off to go elsewhere. Rex looked back as everyone dispersed leaving him and Robot. He left and walked off going to get a drink.

It had been a week since that day and you and Rex had gotten close, having him stay over often. Just like right now. You played in his hair as the two of you talked.

“So Eve just left?” You asked, combing through the eccentric male's fiery red locks.

“Yeah and I didn't even do anything wrong, but it's good to know that someone likes me,” Rex said, looking up at you. You smiled back and continued to mess around in his hair. Then the door opened abruptly to Black Samson standing outside the door.

“We have to train, Robot wants you outside immediately.” He orders. Rex groaned out, sticking up a finger at the bulkier man.

“Tell him I'm busy, okay? And do me a favor and all of you fuck off.”

“This is the fourth time you've pulled this shit. You cant be ditching your fucking team to hang with (Y/n) all the god damn time.” Samson replied, taking a step further into your room. “You have to train to save god damn lives, that's what you signed up for when you took this job.”

“I don't have to be a part of this team!” Rex shot back. “So ill say it again fuck off dude!” Black Samson rolled his eyes, Before walking out of the room. The door closed shut behind him leaving you and Rex, your face shown with obvious shock. “I'm sorry about that, where were we?”

“Rex you should go, they sound not happy with you.” You inquired getting up to open the door to let him out, but were stopped as Rex grabbed your hand to pull you back down.

“It's fine just stay here we can hang out do whatever-”

“Rex go. You have shit to take care of.” You said opening the door and falling back into your spinning chair. “Bye!” You jokingly said getting to work on another trinket of yours. Rex grumbled under his breath getting up reluctantly. He didn't like being told to leave when he wasn't doing anything. But that didn't matter he would just watch you later tonight so he could spend all the time in the world with you then.

“Rex, you lied to me!” You yelled walking into the main headquarters. It being just you and Rex, he insisted on you two hanging out again after one of the team's smaller missions. Only for you to find out what happened between him and Amber.

“Well sure I did but that's behind me now.” Rex sympathized as you kept going forwards. “Why do you care so much huh?”

“Because you lied! Not only that but I found out about all your fucking secrets too. How you act, the way you've been fucking stalking me!” You yelled back heading to your room. You opened the door and started to pack all the necessities.

“Wh- I don't even know what you're talking about?”

“I looked through the cams, it's my fucking job. And multiple times I've seen you walk in and sneak into my room. I don't know what you do here but I'm not staying here another night.” You replied, zipping up your duffle bag. You threw it over your shoulder walking to your door. “And you cheated on Amber, with fucking Kate! We aren't even together but I already knew you were trying to groom me into getting with you, you desperate fuck!.”

“Where are you even going to go? It's not like you can just run off somewhere and be fucking homeless.”

“I'm staying with the Graysons. At least they respect me and don't lie to my face.”

“Please, don't go, I need you here..”

“Well, I don't need you. Rex, do me a favor and get some serious help. You need it.”

With that, you pushed past him and left. The next day the team was confused as to what had happened but you were gone and would never return.

You stayed at the Grayson household for about a month now, The Graysons adopted you. You'd lie and said that you didn't feel safe at the base, you of course couldn't tell them the full truth they wouldn't get it. But they enjoyed your company and loved having you around.

Debbie asked you to pick up groceries on your way home from work so you did. You had started working to afford your place with Nolan's help of course. You had a bit of money already and were close to affording an apartment in the city. It was peaceful on your walk home, nothing was messing with you nor bothering you.

Until a hand grabbed your shoulder, yanking you back into an alleyway. You struggled but the force held you at your neck.

“Shhh, it's going to be okay…” You knew that voice from anywhere which caused you to struggle more, battling the black spots in your vision. You finally got loose falling to the ground. “W-What are you doing here? Oh god did you follow me…” You started quick-firing questions at him crawling away further into the alley unbeknownst to you.

“I've been thinking about you for so long (Y/n)...” Rex mumbled walking towards you. “Why’d you leave me. I need you, do you know how hard it was to get with other bitches when all that plagued my mind was your body.” You pulled back more, hitting a wall eventually.

“Leave me alone..”

“I've been watching you even after you left. You're my bitch, and I've seen my bitch do some pretty questionable things. Things you know damn well I wouldn't like. First off going with that fucking Mark prick and his family!”

“I don't feel safe around you Rex!” You finally blurted out in a last-ditch attempt to escape him.

“Oh but you will, it just takes a bit of trust.” Rex finally started pulling out a bright coin from his pocket. You got up and pressed yourself further into the cement as if it’d save you.

“Night Night. Bitch.”

#yandere blog #yandere boy #yanderes #yandere #yandere x reader #invincible #yandere invinvible #invincible animated series #reader insert #rex splode #rex splode x reader #submission

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nazyalenskyism · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans

Summary: A Zoyalai fic based on the prompt: “Some angst and comfort. Some reunion after a very, very long time.” send me a promt and i’ll write you a blurb

“Do you see her?” Genya called out, scanning the waves of people disembarking the ships on her tiptoes. It had been months since Zoya had been stationed in the Wandering Isle, a position she had specifically asked him for before the war had ended as they walked through the streets of Ketterdam. Despite Genya’s insistence that Zoya not leave, the two of them had known that it was a necessity. They were too close to crossing a line that they couldn’t afford to, and they had silently agreed that distance was the only way to remedy the problem. Nikolai had known that leading the country into a peaceful era was going to be taxing, but he hadn’t imagined how difficult it was going to be without Zoya at his side. He had come to rely on her, not only for matters of the state, but for matters of the mind too, and ever since she’d left all those months ago, he’d only felt the discontent in his heart grow. He thought he could temper his want for Zoya if she wasn’t constantly at his side, but he’d come to learn that there was a reason for the famous saying, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’, being so popular. Nikolai could hear his general’s voice in his ear, could picture the roll of her eyes at the confession, how she would threaten to call Tolya into the room so that the two could lament over forlorn poetry while she got drunk with Tamar, Genya and Nadia. Saints, he missed her.

“It’s dropped anchor late,” Nikolai called back, slipping his timepiece back into his pocket, brushing his fingers against the cool velvet ribbon before turning to Genya. “And besides, it’ll take them a bit to disembark and--”

“Nikolai,” Genya gasped in response to a sudden commotion at the gangplank. Nikolai’s head snapped up spotting the daub of blue silk descending down the plank, supported on either side by First Army soldiers. Zoya. “Move,” Genya yelled, elbowing her way through the crowd, Nikolai hot on her heels. If the sickly pallor of her face and droopy lids of her eyes weren’t alarming enough, the way that she crumpled into his arms was and matted blood in her hair were.

“Commander Nazyalensky? Zoya?” A low, unintelligible groan sounded from her lips and Nikolai’s heart dropped. What had happened to her? At Genya’s command, he laid Zoya out on the ground, letting Tamar assess her condition. Tamar’s hands hovered over Zoya’s form, and after a long moment, the Heartrender spoke. “She should be fine, but we need to get her back to the Dacha, we need more healers.”

Genya grasped at Tamar as Nikolai carefully lifted his general into his arms, “is it that bad?” “She’s lost a lot of blood, it’s a messy and difficult process that I don’t want to try in the back of the carriage. She should be okay.”

“She has to be fine. I can’t lose her too.” Tamar squeezed the other girl’s shoulder at the words before hopping into the driver’s seat with Tolya, briefing him on the situation while the others settled into the coach. “Come on, Nazyalensky. Hold on a little while longer,” Nikolai whispered as they tore down the road, Zoya’s unconscious form limp in his arms, Genya’s shaking fingers curled into the blue silk of her kefta, as if she could force Zoya to stay with them.

The next few hours were a blur in his mind. As soon as the carriage stopped, the Tolya offered to take Zoya in his arms but Nikolai refused to leave, carrying her to his chambers. For once his head was clear of anything but the situation at hand. They’d lost so much, they couldn’t afford to lose Zoya. He couldn’t bear to lose Zoya. He stood by the window as the healers got to work on his general, applying their training in the small science to replenish her blood and heal her wounds. Nikolai knew that the Corporalki were more than capable, but he knew as well as anyone the potential for things to go wrong, no matter how good the odds were.

Nikolai was brought a basin of water to wash off with, a stack of urgent letters, and the reports from the crew of the ship and their account of the events that had left Zoya in this state. Once he’d read the reports, he sent the letters away, nothing was more urgent than this. After what seemed like an eternity, Tolya sent the healers away, stating that he and Tamar could finish the job themselves, but he knew the reason they did this. It was because Zoya would’ve hated to appear vulnerable before this many people, she would probably admonish them all after she woke up for having the audacity to view her in her injured state, despite being her closest friends. It was when they were alone, Genya in one corner of the room, Nikolai in the other, with the twins standing over Zoya when the silence was broken once more. “You’re not allowed to let her leave again.” He scrubbed a hand over his face before turning to Genya, “even if I tried, do you think she would listen? Zoya Nazyalensky takes orders from no one, we all know that.” “Don’t let her look for reasons to leave. Give her a reason to stay. ” Before Nikolai could fully process the meaning behind her words, a low groan caught their attention. “Nikolai?” I’m here, he wanted to say, but for the first time in his life, apprehension held him back. “Where’s Nikolai,” she mumbled again, writhing enough to disrupt the twins’ work. He was at her side in an instant, sinking onto the mattress and taking her reaching hand in his. “I’m here,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from face, watching the crease in her brow ease as she unconsciously leaned into his touch. Her movements stopped, her body relaxing back into sleep, and Nikolai felt his heart tighten at the way she curled into him. He felt stares from their friends, but no one said anything aside from Zoya’s occasional calls from him whenever he stepped back to let the twins continue their work. Every time she called, he was there, brushing back her hair, holding her hand between his, murmuring words of encouragement he knew she wouldn’t hear or remember. Around twilight, Nikolai realized that his friends had left them, the quiet of the room felt suffocating now that they were alone. It felt wrong that she was the one injured and asleep while he watched over her, for months their positions had been reversed, and while he hadn’t missed being chained to his bed every night he had missed the time it had given him with her. She had been the first thing he saw in the morning, the last thing he saw at night for months, and he hadn’t realized just how much he missed what that particular practice of theirs had given him. He slowly pulled his hand from hers, easing into a chair at her bedside. “I’m sorry I let you go,” he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment before he heard her voice.

“Nikolai?” “I’m here,” he replied, helping her into a sitting position, and filling up a glass of water for her before settling down himself. “You’re really here?” “I know it’s hard to believe, as handsome as I am, I’m not a dream.” He smiled at her irritated exhale, “long time no see, Nazyalensky. You’re looking as darling as ever.”

“You look worse. Much worse than I remember.”

“I know I must be devilishly handsome in your fantasies, but a day spent tirelessly at your bedside may have me looking a little worse for wear, I’ll admit.” “Where are we?” Her dark lashes fluttered against her golden cheeks, voice hoarse but the colour seemed to have returned to her face.

“Udova. The twins said that you needed more Corporalki to help stabilize you. You lost a lot of blood.”

“This is your ancestral estate?”

“Given how my father is Fjerdan, I don’t think it’s technically mine.”

“You used to come here as a child?” faint amusement lit her eyes, “baby Nikolai reigning terror on everyone, or holed away in the library, reading books until you couldn’t see straight?” “Both.”

“Of course, I would expect nothing less.” A lingering silence followed her words, neither sure of exactly how to proceed. “How are you feel--”

“You look tired,” her hand reached out, and before he could react, she was cupping his face softly, thumb gently stroking along his cheek. “Have you been sleeping?” “Yes.”

Her stern gaze met his eyes, “your lies don’t work on me.”

“First you’re immune to my charm, and now my lies. Keep this up and you’ll put me out of business, Nazyalensky.”

Zoya’s hand dropped suddenly, her whole body recoiling at his words, leaving him to shudder from the absence of her warmth. Was she so horrified at the mere idea of being charmed by him? Nikolai sank back into his chair, unsure of how to proceed. Zoya sat staring down stubbornly at her intertwined fingers, and he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed answers. “What happened out there? You almost died Zoya.”

“I was protecting the crew.”

“You were unnecessarily throwing yourself in harm's way and you know it. I got the report from the Captain, he said that they would’ve made it safely to port without your heroics.”

“I had no choice! It was either me or them.” Nikolai laughed humorlessly, running a frustrated hand through his hair, an action he had repeated countless times today. “That’s not true and you know it. Four years as Commander of the Second Army, of working with me and you couldn’t come up with an alternative? Do you get joy out of nearly getting yourself killed?”

“No,” she hissed. “You would’ve done the exact same thing without a moment of hesitation, don’t act like you wouldn't have.”

“It doesn’t matter what I would’ve done. What matters is that you shouldn't have done it in the first place.”

“I’m a single soldier, I’m expendable. The intel we gathered, my unit, the crew, they weren’t. It was an easy choice, one I’d make again.”

“For Saints sake, you’re not expendable Zoya!” he burst out. Why was she so convinced that she was?

“I was there to lead them--to protect them. If you’re worried about being down a general, you know there are more than capable replacements for me, Nikolai. ”

“You’re not replaceable! I don’t need anyone else. I need you, Zoya!” The words were breathless, and once they were out he couldn’t reel them back in.

His words hung in the air before she began to nod slowly, as if she had been expecting the outburst, “as your general.” It wasn’t a question, but it was.

“Yes, but it’s more than that.” Why was he having such difficulty saying it? How did he explain the all encompassing nature of his feelings to Zoya? Brave and beautiful Zoya, with her eyes hesitantly, maybe even hopefully trained on him? Nikolai wanted to take her into his arms and explain that ever since they’d been dragged into the Fold by Saints, he had felt a connection to her, that he could taste the ice wine they shared on quiet nights, smell her signature scent of wildflowers on the wind wherever she was near. He wanted to tell her that he felt a connection between them, as palpable as a golden thread binding them together, and wondered if she felt it too. Nikolai desired to tell her that at her departure, he had felt like the thread had been pulled and pulled until he couldn’t breathe, only for it to suddenly snap back like an elastic at the news of her return, an overwhelming sensation of longing overtaking his senses. He wanted to tell her that when he first saw her today, it had felt like someone had pierced his chest with a lance, an agony rivaling only what he’d felt when being impaled by the thornwood that day in the Fold, the same day he’d felt his fate be irreversibly bound to hers. He wanted so much, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward in his chair, uttering words he could never take back.

“I want you. I want you all the time, Zoya.”

“You want me, but will you have me? Are you not bound to your duty as king to choose the best person for your country?” To anyone else her face would appear impassive but he knew the way her eyes widened slightly, the way her lips parted, when she was holding her breath, afraid to hope that something was true. She wanted it to be true.

“If my country and I are one and the same,” he began, taking her hand in his, “then I shall only give it what it most deserves, and hope I am worthy of it too.”

“Can you let yourself do that?” “A king can do as he pleases, can’t he?” She turned away at those words, and Nikolai reached out, cupping her face and bringing her gaze back to him. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t stay. I thought we both knew what was right at the time, and it’s clear that we were both wrong.” “Go on,” she whispered, her shining eyes locked on his. “I don’t want you to leave again. I want you here, by my side, for as long as time will let me, if that’s what you want.” “What are you proposing?” Her hand slid up to his and she leaned further into his touch. “A coquettish courtship, a exuberant engagement, a whirlwind wedding and when all that’s said and done,” he angled his head towards hers, “hopefully many, many years of peaceful and quiet companionship.” “Sounds perfect,” Zoya breathed, her gaze trained on his lips, “except for one thing.” Nikolai pulled back, afraid that he’d alarmed her, “what?” She wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, pulling him down towards her, “you expect me to believe that a single moment with you will be quiet.” “I can think of several ways you can shut me up if I ever get to be too much. I think you’ll find that I am easily--” Zoya crashed her lips against his, and despite the harsh words she always seemed to have readily on hand, he felt her smile against him. For once in his life, Nikolai let himself relax, knowing that the rest of the world would still be there when they were ready to face it, together.

#zoyalai #zoyalai fic #row fic #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #my writings

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Fate

Summary: The morning after Harry faces Quirrell - and Voldemort -, James and Lily meet Harry's best friends.

I always wanted to write something about James and Lily meeting Ron and Hermione, but this turned out harder than I imagined. So please enjoy probably the only interaction between these four characters I'll ever write.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

_____________

The halls are empty as they walk by and Lily feels grateful. From everything they’ve heard, the news of Harry’s little night adventure will soon be known by the whole school - as if their son is not already on the spotlight for that scar on his head. The boy-who-lived.

The boy-who-lived again, she thinks somberly, not at all happy with everything that Harry did the last night.

He was supposed to be safe at Hogwarts, and yet his first year had been far from normal. Dumbledore had explained how Quirrell was working with Voldemort - possessed, she remembers with a shudder -, how he was responsible for almost killing Harry on that first Quidditch match and then last night, in his attempt to find the Philosopher's Stone.

She should have known something was bound to happen after Harry had first told them about how someone had jinxed. And she should have noticed how weird he was over Christmas, spending an strange amount of time in the library of their house - which now Lily understands as him searching for clues for who Nicholas Flamel was.

Something Harry had kept a secret of, not once asking his parents if they knew anything about it, which Lily will admonish him later, when he wakes up.

When. The uncertainty of it all makes her shudder too.

At her side, James’ face is troubled. Lily knows he is feeling fiercely proud of their son, of what Harry faced, even though he is worried for Harry’s condition, for what it meant.

The hospital wing is deserted but for its only patient. Madam Pomfrey assures them that Harry is still in the same condition, in that deep sleep of someone who has spent too much of his magic. He will recover, Madam Pomfrey had assured them early in the morning when they had first come to see him, and Dumbledore had also guaranteed it; Harry just needs to replenish his energies.

But despite knowing this and despite having already seen it, her heart still clenches at the sight of Harry laying on that hospital bed, looking so tiny there, his face pale with cuts on his cheeks, and his neck and arms with purple spots where a devil’s snare had bound him.

A devil’s snare. Her eleven-years-old son faced a deadly plant - not to mention that three-headed dog and living chessmen and, of course, Lord Voldemort.

‘He looks so young’, James mumbles, caressing softy Harry’s hair to mess it like Harry enjoys.

‘He is young. Too young to meet Voldemort again - we were at least of age when that happened’.

‘Yeah, but Harry is marked since birth’, James sighs. ‘And at least now we know what this does’.

He touches Harry’s scar carefully, tracing the lightning bolt before rearranging the hair to hide it as Harry always does. Harry always hated that scar, how everyone would look at it when they were out in wizarding places; he always avoided the spotlight.

And then he went and got himself an adventure everyone will know about in Hogwarts, she thinks.

‘It’s really a love protection’, Lily whispers. ‘I know that Dumbledore always suspected, but -’

‘Oh, don’t talk about him’, James grumbles. ‘I am still a little mad. I get it that he gave Harry all the tools for this quest, but -’

‘But he didn’t warn us’, Lily agrees, sighing. ‘Or told us about. You know why’.

‘We would not allow it. We would want Harry to be protected no matter what’.

‘He already is’, Lily notes, watching her son’s sleeping face. ‘I know it’s not really a comfort, but if he needs to face Voldemort, I will sleep easily knowing that he really can’t touch Harry or get near him at home’.

‘I can’t believe he tried to get back’, James says heavily. ‘I mean, I can, but… I think I let myself believe it would never happen’.

Lily smiles sadly. The shadow of Voldemort hung over their heads for the last ten years, a topic they almost never mention but they can’t forget either. And now, to think of everyone who could have discovered about the Philosopher’s Stone, who could have faced Quirrell - it feels a lot like it was supposed to be Harry, as if it’s his destiny to face -

No, she says to herself, even as she remembers that old prophecy supposedly binding Harry’s fate.

‘And I can’t believe Harry didn’t say anything’, James adds, though Lily thinks he sounds more exasperated than annoyed.

Well, knowing James, he is probably a little impressed that Harry, always dutiful, got to keep a secret about everything and got an adventure that’s undeniably remarkable.

‘Don’t congratulate him for it’, she warns him.

‘Oh, no’, he agrees lightly. ‘I may have found that story with the dragon amusing, but keeping things from us? Especially when he was suspecting old Snape of all people?’

She lets out a reluctant laugh.

‘He is really your son, isn’t he? Barely knows him and already has a grudge against him’.

‘We Potters have good taste; and in any case, he was wrong, wasn’t he?’ James stops, looking at her rather concerned. ‘And how do you feel about it?’

‘About what?’

‘What Dumbledore said. About Snape trying to protect Harry all year and even dealing with Quirrell -’

‘He said it was because of his life’s debt to you’, Lily cuts him off, with fatality in her voice. ‘He probably never got over that, just like he never moved on -’

‘You?’, James asks softly, and Lily pretends to not have heard it.

‘ - on his feud with you’, she finishes. ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with me. We haven’t talked for - what? - over ten years now?’

James just shrugs.

‘I just meant - if you want to talk to him -’

‘There is nothing to talk about’.

He raises his eyebrows, not believing her, and Lily keeps her gaze locked on Harry’s face without betraying any emotion. She is telling him the truth; she feels like there is nothing more between her and Snape - he never once tried to contact her, and for all she has heard now and then as how Snape is as a professor - favouring Slytherins and mistreating other students -, she is not sure she even wants to be near him again.

And she is positive that all he did to help Harry was thinking only to somewhat not feeling more in debt to James. She remembers how sour he had been about that.

There is no reason for Snape to do anything thinking of her.

‘Well, if you are sure, I just thought -’

But whatever James thinks is lost, because they hear a noise coming from the door of the Hospital Wing. Someone is trying to open the locked door, moving the doorknob.

‘You can try Alohomora’, a boy is saying.

‘Not in the Hospital Wing. We will get into trouble’, says a girl.

There is a muffled laugh.

‘More trouble, you mean? And we just want to know how Harry is, it’s no crime -’

‘Well, Madam Pomfrey didn’t let us in earlier. Maybe - maybe we should wait -’

‘We’ve been waiting since yesterday!’

Madam Pomfrey appears after hearing the commotion outside, but Lily raises, shaking her head with a reassuring smile. The nurse frowns, but she nods, returning to her office as Lily approaches the door.

‘Or I can pretend my head is still hurting. Better yet, I can throw myself from some stairs and then - oh!’

Lily opens the door. Facing her are two kids she has never seen before, a tall ginger boy and a girl with a bushy brown hair, but she can deduce who they are from Harry’s description - he mentions them in every letter he sends home and he had talked about Ron and Hermione over Christmas, evidently missing his best friends.

‘Hello’, she greets pleasantly, amused by the fact that they are both frozen staring at her, embarrassed to be caught.

‘He-Hello, Mrs. Potter’, Hermione says, nudging Ron when he stays silent.

‘We didn’t mean to disturb’, he says hurriedly, the tip of his ears burning. ‘We just -’

‘Wanted to see Harry, yes, I heard you. Please come in. Harry is still sleeping but you can stay a little - it’s better than injuring yourself’.

Now his whole face is as red as his hair, but Ron nods, entering the infirmary with Hermione. They look both shy, their steps slow as they approach the bed Harry is sleeping in, throwing brief glances at James. When Lily turns to him, she sees James is frowning, looking strangely stern, his face unsmiling.

‘Hello, Mr. Potter’, Hermione says with a tentative smile.

‘Er - nice to meet you, Mr. Potter’, Ron adds.

James just nods, quiet and unmoving. Ron and Hermione exchange a look, apparently unsure of what to make of him - Lily supposes that Harry shared with them stories about his father’s years at Hogwarts and that his somber face is nothing like they expected; but, to their credits, they keep moving until they are on the other side of Harry’s bed.

And then their stress with meeting Harry’s parents finally turns completely into their stress for Harry; Lily sees the worry on their faces, how upset they seem contemplating the injuries on Harry - despite the fact that Ron has the same purple marks on his neck, she realizes - and how they really care for Harry.

‘Is he okay?’, asks Hermione, her voice heavy as if she is refraining from crying. Ron takes a step closer to her almost without noticing it.

‘He will be’, Lily assures them softly, coming to James’ side, but his eyes are still on the pair in front of him, slightly narrowed.

She resists the urge to sigh. They've already shown they are his friend…

'He could have died', James says grimly. 'He faced Voldemort'.

They both shudder, and Lily throws a warning look at James now. They are just kids.

‘Was really him?’, Ron asks in a scared whisper.

‘And Professor Quirrell?’, Hermione adds, equally trembling. ‘Was he really working with You-Know-Who?’

‘Yes’, Lily says simply, arranging Harry’s blanket around him. There is no reason to lie to them - and they need to understand. ‘You could have all been killed’.

Ron and Hermione exchange a look and now Lily sees resolution in their faces, all traces of fear disappearing.

‘We couldn’t let Harry alone’, Ron says quietly. Lily feels his loyalty, but there is none of it in his voice as if it never occurred to him to do anything differently.

She fights back a smile, glancing briefly at James and hoping it’s enough for him - it certainly is enough for her, but James just crosses his arms.

‘And you didn’t think of calling someone?’, he asks, raising his eyebrows, watching them flush under the seriousness in his voice.

‘We tried Professor Dumbledore’, answers Hermione, and Lily remembers Harry saying, exasperated and fondly, that Hermione always feels a need to provide a right answer. ‘It was the first place we went, but we found out he was gone and… and Professor Snape suspected us, and we thought - well - he seemed so suspicious - ’

‘That old bat really looks like your typical villain’, James agrees, making Ron chuckle in appreciation. The corners of James’ mouth twitch too and he almost breaks his stern parent character.

‘James…’, she calls him, just a little bit reprehensive. They are the parents there after all.

‘Well -’, Hermione continues, looking uncertain of what to make of James making fun of a professor. ‘There was no time to call anyone - we didn’t know who to trust and Harry knew there was no time to contact you’.

‘He wrote you a letter’, Ron says, a little hesitant. ‘Just in case… he said’.

Lily shudders.

‘He knew what was at stake’, Hermione adds, her voice very low. ‘And so did we’.

‘And you went anyway?’, James asks.

Ron and Hermione seem bewildered by James’ question.

‘Harry was going’, Ron answers at last as if that explains everything. Hermione nods.

‘He said… Harry said that if he didn’t do anything, he would only risk... dying... a bit later than he would have, because he was never going over to the Dark Side. He said he was going through the trapdoor because - because You-Know-Who had tried to kill you and he had to act’.

Her breath catches in her throat and Lily glances over to Harry, to that small kid laying on the hospital bed, her heart filling with a pride of him that protects her from the flood of fear Hermione’s account also brings her.

She had wondered why Harry had gone over to face Quirrell when he knew Voldemort was somehow involved, and she had thought it was just an impulsive streak on him, a desire to do the right thing because James had taught Harry since he was very young to be brave and selfless and to stand up. But she had never guessed that Harry had thought of them, as if somehow he felt the need to protect his parents too.

‘Oh, Harry’, James whispers at her side, his voice tender as he stares at his son as if he wants to take Harry and run away with him to the safest place he can find. Then he blinks and turns to Ron and Hermione, his face serious. ‘So - instead of telling your friend that his idea was crazy and that you should find some adult to deal with it, you just went with him to face an evil Dark Lord?’

There is another look exchanged between Ron and Hermione, and it suddenly occurs to Lily that they can talk to each other without exchanging any word at all.

‘Hum. Yeah?’, Ron says, again sounding as if it is obvious to him.

‘Even when you could be expelled?’, James adds, looking at Hermione. Her face is all flushed, but she nods.

‘There are worse things than being expelled’, she says, making Ron throw an amused look at her.

‘Now you think that?’

‘Well, I learned, didn’t I?’

‘Who would have thought that Miss Know-it-all would -’

James coughs loudly, interrupting them, and they turn to him with a guilty expression on their faces, looking like kids who have just been scolded by their parents.

They are, Lily thinks, and James is a parent. Despite everything they’ve been through that year - that story with the troll, stopping the jinx on Harry on his first Quidditch game, searching for Nicholas Flamel, that weird story with the baby dragon and then a detention on the Forbidden Forest (she is not sure what Dumbledore was up with that) -, which she feels are adventures enough for a lifetime instead for just their first year at Hogwarts, they are just kids.

Kids who are Harry’s friends and considering Harry’s involvement in all those adventures, how he seems a magnet for trouble, she thinks they will need to be ready for any challenge if they want to be by Harry’s side.

No, not if they want. Considering where they were last night, considering the resolve she sees in their eyes, it seems that decision is already made for them. It fills her with pride that Harry radiates loyalty to his friends just as much as it fills her with dread that he may need it.

And still, there is a warmth in her heart now as she contemplates them, a sudden fondness for both of them, but Lily waits for James. She knows trust is much harder for him and that James is always sensitive about friendship values.

‘If I were you’, James begins, his voice strict before he breaks into that contagious lopsided grin that is his trademark, ‘I would have done the same’.

‘Hmm, what, Mr. Potter?’, Hermione asks, confused.

‘Oh, everything you did, except I would never forget my Invisibility Cloak on top of the Astronomy Tower’, James says genially. ‘And it’s James, Mr. Potter was my old dad’.

‘You mean… you are not mad with us?’, tries Ron.

‘I am a little mad that Harry didn’t tell us sooner, but about you two - oh, no, I’m very glad that you are friends with Harry’.

They smile tentatively.

‘Not that we approve you didn’t call an adult to solve everything’, Lily adds lightly. ‘But, yes, we are happy Harry has friends by his side’.

‘Who helped with that dragon?’

‘My brother’, Ron says, bewildered, looking at James. ‘He sent some friends to collect him’.

‘Baby dragon’, James says, amused. ‘Now that’s something I’ve never thought before’.

‘And Hogwarts is a safer place because of it. Imagine if you ever laid a hand on a dragon’, Lily says, grinning at him. Then she turns to Ron and Hermione. ‘You should come stay with us for a few days in the summer’.

‘I - Harry too, I mean -’ Ron flushes up to his hair. ‘It’s not a big house, nothing like you must have, but Mum told me to invite Harry too’.

‘Molly, isn’t it?’, Lily asks, smiling at him. ‘I loved the sweater she sent Harry. I have to thank her for it’.

‘We knew her brothers’, James adds, with a sigh. ‘But we were never very close to her and Arthur. Time to fix that, huh?'

‘We should have a family dinner. We can call both your parents - yours are Muggle, right?’, Lily asks, turning to Hermione, who nods.

‘They are… Harry told me you are Muggleborn too, Mrs. Potter?’

‘It’s Lily, and yes, I’m Muggleborn’. Their eyes meet and Lily sees something flashing in Hermione’s eyes, something she remembers sharing with Mary McDonalds many years ago - that acknowledgement of what it means to have Muggle parents in the wizarding world. They smile at each other.

Then Hermione turns to James and says timidly: ‘Harry also told me you are a transfiguration theorist, Mr. Potter’.

‘James’, he reinforces, though his smile shows he knows he doesn’t expect Hermione to immediately call him by his first name. ‘I wouldn’t say a theorist, I do enjoy some practical applications’, he says, but Hermione’s puzzled look tells them Harry didn’t share with them that his father is an animagus. ‘You like Transfiguration?’

‘I love it!’, Hermione says excitedly, just as Ron groans and shakes his head. ‘It’s my favourite subject - Professor McGonagall is amazing and everything just makes so much sense -’

‘Hermione’, Ron calls her, exasperated. ‘Keep talking about Transfiguration and Harry will refuse to wake up for the boredom of it’.

She flushes, but James lets out a chuckle. ‘Harry never appreciated Transfiguration’, he says, winking at Hermione. ‘That’s fine, we true connoisseurs of the most noble of the magical arts can discuss it later’.

Hermione looks simply delighted at the idea. Ron laughs.

‘Watch it’, he warns James, good-hearted. ‘There is not a thing Hermione can’t discuss for hours’.

He is teasing, but there is such fondness in his voice that shows how he really feels about Hermione’s obsessions.

‘As if you are not the same with chess’, Hermione replies, in the same voice, smiling.

‘Oh, that’s true, you were the one that beat Minerva’s chess’, James says. ‘I was impressed - I only beat her once. You should try playing with her sometime’.

‘With Professor McGonagall?’, Ron asks, surprised. ‘No, I couldn’t -’

‘Minerva doesn’t bite’, James assures him. ‘Beneath her stern face there is a soft kitty’.

Ron raises his eyebrows, clearly unsure if James is playing with him or not - Lily knows that James has a soft spot for Minerva, but she isn’t certain if anyone could describe her as a soft kitt

'She also has the best biscuits', James adds, eyes sparkling. Ron's smile is brighter now, which sparks a memory on Lily.

'Have you had breakfast yet?', she asks and they both shake their head. 'Go on then, you should eat'.

'Ah…', Ron hesitates, even as his stomach rumbles. Lily resists a sudden urge to pass her hand through his red hair, like she would with Harry.

'You can come back later', she promises, knowing what's on their minds. Her smile falters a little. 'Harry will be here for a while'.

They turn to Harry, somber too.

'He will be okay', Hermione whispers, more to herself, and Ron takes a step closer to her, bumping her shoulder with his arms; he is much taller than her.

'Sure he will', he says confidently. 'It's Harry'.

She turns to him, smiling and nodding, and Ron's ears turn red. Lily fights back a smile.

Harry will have a full plate with these two someday.

'We will come back later then. See you, Mr. and Mrs. Potter', says Hermione, practical, grabbing Ron's arm so they can leave. Ron nods to them.

Lily watches them go with a soft smile before sitting on the closest empty bed.

James sits next to her, his arms around her waist and Lily rests her head against his shoulder.

'Harry will be fine', James whispers and Lily knows what he is talking about.

She thinks of watching James with Sirius, Remus and even Peter all those years go, back in their first year at Hogwarts. She remembers being annoyed by them, those boys that were always involved in some prank and that never left Snape alone, but also impressed by their friendship. Whatever reservations Lily had with them back then, she would never deny they were true friends, always together, always with each other's back.

There is also a sadness when she thinks about them, as she remembers how that bright group of Marauders almost broke from inside - the dark time when they were at war, when they mistrusted each other. She thinks of how James had been broken then, having to admit there was a traitor among them and not knowing - not believing - who it could be.

And she remembers the darkness on his face as he understood Peter had betrayed him. Peter, who James had protected so much, had comforted in the most difficult times and to whom James had trusted the things he most valued in his life - his family.

When Peter had died, something had died in James too. Lily always thought that his death had broken James mostly because now he would never understand why Peter had betrayed them.

And as Harry's letter began mentioning more and more Ron and then Hermione, when it became obvious that Harry was attached to them with a fierceness that spoke of his love and loyalty, James had been worried. He understood the betrayal and heartbreak that came with losing a friend - something Lily shared too. They both knew what it meant to give a piece of your heart to someone who broke it without hesitation.

But now… after seeing Ron and Hermione worried about Harry, knowing that it never occurred to them that Harry could go alone, she knows James is right.

Maybe Harry's destiny is really predicted by that prophecy, maybe he was always meant to face Voldemort the night before. But Lily thinks of the coincidences that meant Harry and Ron would share the exact same train compartment and then how, of all students, they would be the one to face a troll with Hermione, and she thinks that maybe fate meant for them to be friends.

It's a comforting thought.

#jily lives au #jily fanfiction #jily meets ron and hermione #eyes glistening #t: fanfiction #friendship

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obwjam · 3 years

Note

Hey!! I was wondering, can you do a Loki x female teen borrower story where the borrower is caught by Loki and starts crying and then Loki feels real bad about making the tiny cry so he tries to make it up to her?? And in the beginning there could be a little fear play👍🏻, which is why the borrower starts crying.

I love your stories btw!! They’re so good!!💗💗

fsjfsajfd thank u omg 🥺🥺 sorry this took a while i’ve had a busy last couple weeks lol but here ya go :)

---------------------------------------------------

You thought they were all gone.

You could have sworn you counted them all. Red suit, shield guy, bow and arrows, woman in black, guy with a hammer, the green monster. You had counted six. There were only six of them.

Six of them that you knew of, anyway.

See, there was a seventh. A seventh that you never saw, and that was by design. He was kept on the down low so his brother could try to reform him; teach him the ways of good and teach him to help the city, not destroy it. As a gesture of goodwill on his part, he let his brother roam free around the tower while they were all out on a mission. Building trust was essential.

But you didn’t know this. You assumed you were free to replenish your supplies, like you did every time they all went out. So you slid open the piece of tile from the ceiling you had cut off, dropped your rope down and gently landed on the kitchen counter. With two bags slung over your shoulder, you were excited for today’s haul.

You would soon be interrupted.

Loki had sensed something was off almost immediately. It didn’t take a genius to see that there was a thin rope dangling from the ceiling that wasn’t there before. He normally wouldn’t touch the kitchen, but now that he was alone, he was wont to wander off.

He saw you scampering across the counter, heading straight for the bread. “What in the nine realms...” he whispered, careful to keep his voice low. A tiny person. He had certainly heard the tales, but he had never seen such a thing with his own eyes, and the last place he expected to see one was on Earth.

A mischievous smile spread across his face.

Tip-toeing ever so lightly, he made his way over to the counter where you were just reaching the wrapped up loaf of bread. You didn’t even realize someone was there.

“Now, what do you think you’re doing, little one?”

You nearly fainted right then and there. No, you thought. No no no no no... I have to be hearing things...

You were frozen to your spot, but you managed to turn your head around enough to see the giant hovering over you with an evil grin. You dropped both your bags.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” the giant teased. “Afternoon snack, is it?” He reached over you, delighting in the way you twitched when his hand got close, and grabbed the bag of bread. You looked at it with tearful eyes.

“This isn’t yours, you know,” Loki tutted. He tossed the bread onto the table. “And the kitchen is no place for a creature such as yourself.”

“Please-- please, NO!” you cried as Loki’s hands descended down. You weren’t poised to run away, so you shut her eyes tight and clenched your jaw as Loki pinched your waist and pulled you up.

“You can’t be older than a teenager!” Loki gasped, feigning sorrow as he held you in front of his face. You were writhing. Loki hummed.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be making a daring escape, borrower,” he smiled. “You’re mine now.”

“LET ME GO! PLEASE!” you shouted, but Loki ignored you. Back in Asgard, catching a little one like this came with great honor. Loki almost scoffed at how easy it was to capture you.

But something was beginning to eat at him as he brought you back to his room. He had never really planned on catching a kid.

Once you were safely to Loki’s quarters, he opened up the palm that was holding you. You were trembling and holding yourself tight while tears streamed down your face.

“No... no...” you kept repeating. “No, this isn’t real, this isn’t real...”

“Look at me, borrower,” Loki instructed. You just shook your head. You were too scared to move. You yelped, though, when Loki grabbed the back of your shirt and yanked you up into the air.

“When I saw look at me, you look,” Loki sneered. You cowered from his words, your tiny legs flailing about as you tried to wriggle free of Loki’s grasp.

“You should be relieved,” Loki said lowly. You whimpered. “I saved you from an awful accident. If any one of those Avengers had found you, you would be fully dissected by now.”

“Please...” you said again, your voice scratchy. “Please -- please don’t -- don’t hurt me...”

“Oh, I won’t hurt you,” Loki said. “See, that is why you’re lucky. I don’t hurt creatures who are too weak to defend themselves.”

Creature. You couldn’t get over how he kept calling you that. You were just a tiny little thing that he could do whatever he wanted with. You knew he was lying. You weren’t safe here at all.

“In the natural order of things, I rank above all,” Loki continued, “so when I say look at me, you. Look.”

Your whole body was suddenly whipped to the side as he roughly twisted his hand so you would be facing him. Your entire body was shaking from the pure fear of Loki’s entire face engulfing your field of vision.

And that was the last straw.

You sobbed. You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and just when you thought you would run out of tears, more appeared. The realization that you would be kept in captivity for the rest of your life hit you like a ton of bricks. You were going to be his pet. You would never get a chance to be free again.

At this display, Loki softly gasped. He hadn’t actually expected you to break down as much as you were. Without thinking, he lowered you back into his palm and gently brought his hand up. This time, he made sure not to loom.

“Little one...” he sighed. “You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

You didn’t look at him.

“I... I’m sorry,” he managed, hoping that would get you to stop. You were still crying, but you finally tilted her head up at him in confusion. Did he just... apologize?

“I was only teasing,” he tried. It was hard for him to sound sincere. “I am not going to hurt you. I only meant to have some fun.”

Your tears slowed down until you were left sitting in a puddle in Loki’s hand, sniffling and wiping your puffy red eyes.

“What is your name, little one?”

You whimpered and shook your head.

“Okay... that’s fine.” He stared at your tiny, shaking form. “I am Loki,” he finally said. “I’m stuck here in this tower, just like you.”

You huffed. You were not alike.

“At least you have the freedom to roam where you please. I am not allowed to step foot outside the doors of this wretched place.”

At this, you looked up. “Really?” you asked, voice raspy and impossibly small.

“Oh, yes. My oafish brother won’t allow it. And unfortunately, on this pathetic little rock, he’s in command. So now that I told you my name, won’t you tell me yours?”

Your eyes darted back and forth. Should you say? He could just be trying to get you to let your guard down. But there was something so sincere about the way he was asking. You could feel it.

“I’m... I’m (y/n),” you said so quietly that Loki almost didn’t hear. “(Y/n). And I’m stuck here too.”

Loki smiled. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve been here since I was nine.”

“Since childhood? And you have never been seen?”

“A few times,” you shrugged. “But nobody really knew what to do, and they never came looking for me. Except for the time that the guy with the bow and arrow thought I was a bug and tried to squash me.”

Loki felt his chest fill with rage. Clint was already his least favorite.

“Where is the rest of your kind, borrower?”

You shook her head. “I dunno where they are. I live here by myself.”

“By yourself? You have no family of your size? No lineage?”

You shrugged. “I mean, I used to have parents, but...” you trailed off. “That was a long time ago.”

Loki blinked. He hadn’t expected this.

“...why don’t you stay here with me, (y/n),” he said, trying not to sound too sympathetic. You wiped your eyes one more time.

“Stay with you?” you repeated in awe, surprised he had said your name.

“Yes. You will be safe in here.”

You pondered his offer. If you said yes, you would be stuck with him. If you said no, though, he might get upset again... or tell one of the Avengers about you. He seemed to be lightening up a bit. You really had no other choice.

“Okay,” you said finally. “I’ll stay.”

“Wonderful,” Loki said in amusement. You gasped and gripped onto the folds of his skin as he lowered his palm down to his bedside table. You immediately jumped off and landed next to a large, bright object that you didn’t recognize. You yelped and skidded back.

“That’s just a clock, borrower,” Loki laughed.

“A clock... I know that,” you lied. Something else caught your eye. “What... what is this?”

“I believe humans call it an ‘eye phone,’ though I don't understand where the eye part comes in.”

You giggled. “I don’t either.” With your new vantage point, you could suddenly see a world of new objects. Loki watched with a smirk at your sense of wonder.

“What’s that again?” you asked, pointing to a flat, black screen across the room.

“That’s a television. It’s how humans entertain themselves.” Loki paused. “Would you... like to see how it works?”

You eagerly nodded. Loki waved his hand, and the TV flickered to life.

“I don’t understand how humans can stomach this garbage,” Loki complained. “I mean, look at this. She’s taming a dragon like that?! You would never approach a female dragon from the front, unless you want to be killed.” Loki stole a glance down at you. You were staring wide-eyed at the TV. So this is what it looked like.

Without warning, Loki carefully reached down and scooped you up from the table. Your heart leapt up to your throat, but your nerves calmed when Loki swung his feet onto his bed and stretched out. From your new vantage point, you were sitting in Loki’s hand, which was resting on his chest, which had a direct view to the TV.

“Is this alright?” Loki asked, straining his eyes to look down. You nodded, too awestruck to say anything as you tucked your knees to your chest and settled in.

As the show progressed, you became decidedly less interested in what was going on. It had been an emotionally taxing period of time, and you were tired. You slowly unfurled your legs and leaned back into the curves of Loki’s fingers, mimicking his own relaxed position. You could barely keep your eyes open. The thumping of his heart was like a low and steady drum marching you off to a quiet and happy place.

Loki’s fingers twitched at every movement you made. Eventually, he realized you had stopped moving and that your hair had settled into a single spot. He peered down. You were fast asleep, your tiny chest rising and falling to the slow beat of his heart.

Loki couldn’t stop staring at you. He didn’t quite understand why he felt this way, but he knew what he had to do.

From this day forth, he would be your protector.

#marvel g/t #been a hot second since i wrote marvel AND loki damn #g/t #obwrites

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: I Got You** {One-Shot}

Lewis Tan x Reader

Warning: Mild Cursing, Fluff, Mild to Moderate NSFW, Mild to Moderate Smut

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Lewis takes notice that you’re having a hard day, so he pushes everything to the side to make it easier.

Note: This is for @munteanhorewrites I hope this make you feel all fluffy, doll. 💜💜

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Mildly Interactive***

~~~~~~~~

The way you kissed him goodbye this morning was weighing heavily on his mind. He was so in tune with you that it was easy for him to decipher how you felt. Depending on the kiss he got, he could determine if you were happy, feeling flirtatious, sad, angry, or even annoyed. This morning’s kiss was a detached one that left the taste of melancholy on his lips. He’d wanted to pull you back to him and badger you until you told him what was wrong, but time was once again against him.

Four hours into this shoot, and he was still at it. He’d never had more than fifteen minutes to himself, and even then, he was still working. Either it was doing small interviews and web appearances, or it was answering emails. He always tried to find a balance in his life. A balance to give you the attention you deserved, but the last few months had been difficult because his name was coming up more and more for potential roles, which meant many more meetings.

Finally, with some time for himself, he dialed you. After three rings, you picked up.

“Hi babe,” you said, your voice low and dejected.

“Hi, princess. How are you?”

“Eh--,” you began on a sigh. “I’m okay. I’m just sitting on the balcony with Bear.”

“Is she keep you good company until daddy comes home?”

“Yeah, she’s always so sweet to me.”

Even your voice now didn’t sound like your usual self. He could feel something was off.

“What’s wrong, princess?”

Again, you sighed, but you didn’t speak right away. Instead of speaking, he patiently waited for you to be ready to talk about it. He knew better than to force you to open up. You’d do it in your own time. After almost a minute, you spoke.

“It’s just one of those days, I guess.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it,” he coaxed on.

“I just feel at a crossroads, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it. I feel all over the place, but like I’m standing still. I don’t even know if that made any sense.”

He could hear the struggle in your voice and even felt the chaos going on in your head. His heart sunk, and just like that, his decision was made.

“It made sense. How about we talk about it when I get in?”

“Sure, baby, I’m sorry I don’t mean to bring you down while you’re working,” you began before he quickly shut you down.

“I don’t wanna hear you say that again. You never bring me down. You’re the reason I’m always on cloud ten.”

You snorted. “Babe, you mean, cloud nine.”

“Nah, I said what I meant, princess. Cloud ten. You got me walking in the sky on a whole different level than anyone else. They wish they were me.”

“You’re so silly. Get back to work,” you teased.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, baby.”

“I love you. You know that, right.”

“I know, babe,” you began to brush off.

“No, I don’t think you do, but you will by the end of the day,” he finished.

Once he ended the call, he got on the phone with his people to cancel the rest of his day. He didn’t care what it took. He had no intention of working for the rest of the day. It was strictly for you.

Once the photo shoot was finished, he made a few quick stops to pick up things he would need. Plenty of your favorite candles. An overflow of your bath and body products from Lush. Your favorite order from the Japanese restaurant you always craved. Several servings of your favorite dessert and a few gifts. When he made it home, it almost six. Before bringing in the bags, he tracked you down, finding you still on the balcony in the bedroom.

“Hey, baby.”

Your smile was bright, but it never reached your eyes. “Hi.”

He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. “You smell like cotton candy, vanilla, and sugar. Where’ve you been?”

Trying not to seem suspicious, he shrugged. “I just picked up a few things from the store. Have you eaten today?”

You leaned back and hugged Bear closer, who was trying to reach him. Bending down closer, he allowed her to lick along his jaw.

“Hi Bear, how are you? Have you been taking care of our lil’ mama? Yes, you have. Such a good girl.”

For a few moments, both of you snuggled and scratched behind Bear’s ears, showering her with the same affection she always showed both of you.

“So, did you?”

“I had some tea and a muffin earlier.”

“Princess,” he began scolding before you sighed then pouted those perfect lips.

“Don’t be mad at me,” I couldn’t take that too.”

“No baby, I’m not mad. I just don’t like it when you don’t take care of yourself. You mean everything to me, and I need you around.”

You felt your heart swell from his words. You knew you meant a lot to him, but hearing him voice it always made your heart skip a beat. Turning around with the chair back between you, you flung your arms around his neck, holding him closer.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, princess,” Lewis whispered back.

That was when you let everything out. You told him about the sleepless night you’d had, which he wasn’t even aware of. You told him about your worries, your fears, the anxieties that had reared their ugly heads, and held you captive all day. You held nothing back. The deepness of your anxieties and pain had him pulling you out of the chair, so you straddled him on the floor. He held you as you cried and let you use him as your teddy bear for as long as you needed.

Once your sobs subsided, he proceeded to tell you all the things he loved about you, beginning with your kind and giving heart, the one he fell in love with first. He told you how much he loved your sense of humor and intelligence and loyalty to those you love. He even revealed a few secrets he’d held on to since the beginning of your relationship that would have told you how completely wrapped around your finger you had him. Nothing was off limits. He let it all out.

By the time the sun had set over the horizon, you were staring at each other, neither in a rush to move or do anything else. He almost forgot about the night he’d planned—almost.

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll be right back,” he said, kissing your nose and placing you on the floor.

He rushed around your home to gather the bath products he’d bought and brought them into the bathroom to fill the tub. As he filled it, he didn’t think much of what ingredients were meant for what; all he cared about was the scent. He knew which scents would help with stress and mood, and those were the ones he focused on. As the water filled and the bath bombs fizzed out, he placed the candles around the bathroom and lit each one.

Once he was sure everything was perfect, he went back to your bedroom and found you right where he left you, again with Bear in your arms. She loved the attention. Slowly he covered your eyes and led you to the bathroom, all the while you softly giggled.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing. I just want tonight to be all about you. I want you to truly feel loved, taken care of, and safe.”

“Aw, babe.”

When he lowered his hands from your eyes, you gasped and brought yours to your mouth.

“Oh my god, Lewis.”

Before you was such a lovely sight, it brought tears to your eyes. The soft glow of the plethora of candles that were decorated around bathed the room in a romantic aura that had butterflies filling your belly. When your eyes dropped to the tiled floors, you found red and white rose petals leading to the back of the bathroom, where the dark bamboo colored flooring held the white porcelain tub.

“Babe.”

The tears in your eyes welled to capacity. Lewis dragged the pads of his thumbs just underneath your eyes to sweep them away.

“Come on.”

He led you along the flower path to the tub. The scent of plumeria, gardenia, vanilla, brown sugar, and a few other scents wrapped around you, making you moan.

“Babe, this is so sweet,” you whined. When he smiled and showed off those adorable dimples, you playfully dug your pointer into them, deepening them.

“Come on. Let’s get you in.”

Lewis stepped behind you, undid your robe, and helped you into the tub. As you sank down, you sighed out, relishing the feel of the hot water on your skin. Once you sat, you stretched and dipped your back to rest your neck against the cushion there.

“Is it good?”

“Yes, baby, thank you.”

Instead of leaving, Lewis went behind you, sat on the raised portion of the floor, and picked up your bath gloves. When you felt him begin to bathe you, you melted.

“You’re going to give me a bath?”

“Yep,” he replied.

“Sure, you can handle that?”

His smile was wide before he bit his bottom lip. “You know how focused I can be when I have a goal.”

“And what’s the goal, baby?”

Your eyes met. “The goal is to have the love of my life feel like the queen she is. So turn around, lay back, and let daddy do all the work.”

You did as you were told, and Lewis did as he promised—he did all the work. Lewis rubbed your muscles and massaged out all the kinks and lumps your body held with expertise. You always knew he was good with his hands. He could handle every weapon with ease and skill. That skill didn’t stop there; it stretched far beyond martial arts and weaponry. By the time he’d drained the tub and rinsed your body off, you could have floated away from how lite you felt.

He left you for a few minutes leaving you to wrap in a towel and make it back to your bedroom where you found your stock of body products replenished with a sweet note and gift box. Inside the gift box were a new robe and a sexy cami and short set. After lathering your skin with the lotion that smelled like coconuts, roses, and cocoa butter, you put the items on. When you turned around there, Lewis stood leaning on the door jamb, just quietly watching you.

“How long have you been there?”

“Since you popped that delectable thigh up there,” he said, nodding to the bed.

Smiling, you tried not to feel embarrassed. He’d been watching since the very beginning and hadn’t made one sound.

“How many times have I told you not to used your creepy martial arts stealth against me,” you teased as you walked across to him.

“Once or twice, but I get the best shows when you don’t know I’m there,” he cooed into your ear before he placed and kiss on your neck.

“Mmm, you smell so good,” Lewis added, biting your shoulder, making you moan and melt against him. His hand slid down the curve of your back to grip your backside, again making you moan.

“I like this,” he huskily mentioned.

“Not sure who you bought it for, me or you.”

Lewis’s grip tightened on your flesh, pulling you closer so you could feel the beginning stirs of his arousal.

“Mmm, is that also for me?”

You lifted a leg and wrapped it around him, making his grip change, so his fingertips gently brushed your sex. The action made both of you groan. When you felt his member thicken even more, you slipped your hand between you to rub your hand against his crotch. Lewis sucked in a breath, then grunted.

“Behave, princess,” he said before you felt him pinch your clit, sending a hot red blaze of desire through your body.

Lewis lowered your leg, turned, and led you out of the bedroom and down the stairs. When he brought you into the living room, you stopped in your tracks to find the biggest pillow and blanket fort you’d ever seen. Excitement bubbled in you, which had you jumping and screeching as Bear scurried by your feet.

“Oh my god, baby. A pillow fort? Aaah!”

With that, you ran around the living room, looking at everything he’d managed to do. It was a small thing, but he knew how much you loved cheesy things like this. When you rounded to him, you leaped into his arms, wrapping your legs around him.

“Oh, baby, thank you. I love it,” you said, kissing all over his face.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s gonna stay up the whole week. It took forever.” Your smile was wide before you kissed him once, then twice. On the third kiss, you delved your tongue into his mouth and took control of a kiss you hoped showed him how much this and he meant to you. Lewis moaned on your mouth before his hands dropped to cup your ass. As if unconsciously, he angled you against his need, and in seconds you were making out and moaning. Lewis was the one to abruptly pull away and groan.

“Let’s eat.”

Dinner was amazing and perfect. While you ate, Lewis gave you complete control over what you watched. Not wanting to make him sit through some super sappy romance movie, you chose something with a good mix of action and romance. By the time you moved on to the second movie, dinner was finished, and you’d moved on to dessert. Again you melted when you saw just how much trouble he’d gone through for you today. The second gift he gave you was a gold bracelet with a heart with your first initial and his together, and the mandarin word forever etched on the back. That was when stray tears rolled down your face, to which Lewis whispered nothing but words of love, infatuation, and desire.

Halfway through their third movie, your hands began their search for the warmth of his flesh. It didn’t take long for your search to go from innocent to complete debauchery. You could tell your touch was having an effect when Lewis’s breathing sounded more and more labored, and the speed of his heartbeat increased underneath your cheek. The way his slim limbs looked in his boxer briefs had your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Slipping your hand down his abdomen and over every ab, you slinked your hand unto his underwear. Lewis groaned.

“What’re you doing, princess?”

“What does it feel like, daddy?”

He groaned, bit his bottom lip, then slightly arched when you gently gripped his shaft.

“This is supposed to be a calm night for you. it’s not supposed to be about--.”

His words paused, and breath hitched as your hand traveled lower to caress the balls of his manhood.

“God, you’re killing me, baby.”

“What am I doing?”

When he looked at you, the innocence in your eyes hid his member visibly pulsate. The helplessness you saw in his eyes had you instantly wet. You swung your leg over him and straddled him, letting the heat from your core sear his hardness, branding him as yours all over again. Lewis sucked in a breath and leaned back on one of the mountains of pillows.

“We don’t—you don’t have to—I just wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to show you how much I love you,” Lewis rushed out with great effort.

“I love you so much for everything you did today. You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it and you more than you’ll ever know,” you began.

You then leaned closer to him so your face was right in front of his. He was close enough to kiss. All he had to do was take it.

“It’s my turn to do something for you to show you how much I love you.”

Once the words came out, Lewis’s lips were on yours. He kissed you intensely and passionately. It was a kiss that stole your breath. In no time, everything had flipped, including your body. You were now underneath him with your legs spread. As Lewis kissed you, he rocked his body against you, fanning the flames of your desire.

“I love you,” Lewis whispered as you peeled his underwear off his hips. Lewis assisted you in sliding them lower until he’d kicked them off.

Once you felt the heaviness of his need rest on your pubis, you moaned and wrapped a leg around his back. Lewis didn’t wait. In seconds he’d managed to pull off the shorts you wore and fling them somewhere in the room. From then, there was no need to go slowly.

“Make love to me,” you whispered.

Lewis locked eyes with yours and thrust forward, connecting your bodies. Both of you sighed out as if you’d found your sanctuary after a long day.

“I love you,” you whispered on a strangled breath.

His response was a kiss that spoke of nothing but languid need, while his thrusts said he needed you and needed you now. His thrusts were swift but deep, and they worked to drive you insane. Within minutes you were clinging to him, sinking your nails into his back. Every connection you clenched around him while panting his name. On every retreat, he whimpered yours.

“You’re my world, Y/N.”

You could see the truth of what he spoke in his eyes, and it brought you closer to the edge. Lewis sensed it and doubled down on his efforts to make you come undone.

“Do you love me, princess?”

“So much, baby,” you whispered before you gasped loudly.

Your back arched, and seconds later, you were clenching around him as your orgasm tore through you. It was so powerful it dragged Lewis down with you. The two of you laid on the soft blankets of your fort, catching your breath. Lewis traced lazy patterns into your skin before he shifted onto his side, taking you with him. As you gazed into each other eyes, you fell in love with him all over again.

“Thank you, baby.”

“I’d do anything for you. Remember, I’m always here for you. You win, I win. You’re happy; I’m over the moon. You’re unhappy; my world is dark. Confide in me. I got you.”

He kissed your nose and pulled you closer. It didn’t take long for you both to doze off completely exhausted.

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

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#i got you one shot #lewis tan #lewis tan fanfiction #lewis tan one shot #lewis tan x reader #lewis tan x you #lewis tan x black reader #black fanfiction #fluff fanfic #lewis tan smut

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ficsnroses · 4 years

Text

Intimate - John Wick x Reader (nsfw A-Z headcanons)

Word Count : Way too many. (little under 5K...im so sorry guys you know I have a problem)

Warnings : Smut. Fluffs.

Summary : All about your sex life with John :)

A/N : Requested by a few lovely anons! Did I forget a letter? Let’s hope not. Are these even headcanons cuz they’re so long??? These were tricky, I’m sorry if they kinda suck, it took me a hot minute into last night to complete them. Enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated.🖤

A : Aftercare. (What he’s like after sex).

John has a heart of gold, despite his enthralling profession. Many think John can be stoic, cold, reserved, but you; you know John. After sex, John makes sure to keep you close, asking over and over to make sure you’re alright. He’d never hurt you, even if during the deed. For a moment, he rests his forehead against yours as you’ve both came together, eyes closed as he catches his breath, cock still buried deep in you. He relishes in the afterglow, your head on his chest as he holds you, bulky arms wrapped around your figure, every now and then he presses a kiss to your hair, sighing deep relief; contentment. Sometimes, you’ll lay there together, skin sticking from the heat, relaxing in the moment. John will pepper kisses over your temples, your cheeks, your hands, your wrists. Being quiet and reserved, it’s his way of letting you know how much he loves you, and how lucky he feels to be able to make love to you. Normally, he prefers being the big spoon after sex. But, he is human. Sometimes, he likes being held by you; finds it really cute when you try to wrap your much smaller limbs to his much larger body. If he’s been away for a while, he loves pillow talk, lost in the company of just him, and the woman he loves.

B : Body Part. (His favourite body part of yours).

John is a simple man. He adores each part of you, to him, you are the embodiment of perfect. If he had to choose, however, he loves your breasts. They provide a safe haven for him to nestle his head in during sex, especially if its missionary. When you’re on top, it turns him on immensely to see them bounce up and down, so full, so plump, swollen from pleasure. John loves hugging you from behind, whether it be in the morning in front of the washroom mirror as you’re just waking up, or as you’re getting dressed on the edge of your bed after some hot and passionate sex. Occasionally, he’ll trail his hands up, palms and fingers working your breasts, fondling, massaging as delicate kisses place themselves on your neck from his sultry lips. Of course, when he’s spoon fucking you, or has you bent over as he slams in from behind, he loves to reach forward and hold your breasts.

C : Cum.

John has a lot of cum, can you even be surprised though? You feel dirty admitting it, but you love his cum. It’s the most intimate form of him, and its reserved only for you. It’s quality seed as well; thick, succulent, creamy, perfectly glossed. It’s not a bad taste at all; a delicacy to your lips if you will. John has almost a primal need for his cum to be inside you when he finishes; he feels it where it belongs. Whether it be brimmed deep inside your cunt, or in your mouth after you’ve gone down on him. He’s never actually admitted it due to his slight shyness, but he loves when you swallow for him. Pulls his heart seams to know you love and trust him enough to do it. Part of the reason you’re on birth control is so he can come inside, you know how much he enjoys it, and how much he appreciates to feel all of you, without the barrier of a condom. The feeling, his orgasm hitting him as with the force of night to day, you tighten around him, feeling him spill inside you; it’s pure nirvana for him. Coming inside you makes him feel closer to you; something he always craves.

D : Dirty Secret.

John is away often, but that doesn’t mean your sex life dies for the time he’s away. John and you always want one another, crave each other. You take pictures for John often, some suggestive; his favourite black, lacy lingerie embellished on your satin skin, allowing little to his imagination, and some full and frontal nudes. You love to hear the way his breath hitches over the phone as you hit send, the way his raspy voice compliments you.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. So beautiful,” his coarse, yet velvety voice whispers, hand pulling out his girthy cock, that has already started to throb for you, from thousands of miles away.

What you don’t know though – John keeps each and every picture of you in an album on his phone, locked away where no one can find it, but him. He only does it because he knows you wont mind, those pictures are all for him, and you best believe he’s going to savour each and every one for as long as he can. They come in handy when he’s away and needs you; he can’t get off to anything else since but the thought of your heavenly body. You assume they just disappear in conversation overtime, so you take more for him, constantly replenishing his feed ;)

E : Experience.

John is experienced, in the sense that he certainly knows what he’s doing. He hasn’t slept with many people, his work made it tough, his attention and focus constantly diverted to it. You’ve been with John for many years now, but he is on the older side still. John has had a few flings over the course of his life, however, they never really meant much. With the very few times he has been with someone, it was merely because he needed someone to give him sweet, sweet relief. But when he met you, it all changed. With you, his experience comes in handy, because he always puts your needs before his. He pays close attention to what you want, always making sure to communicate.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” His hand moves to securely hold yours, letting you know he’s listening. “Harder, baby?”

John can effortlessly bring you to multiple orgasms during a session. His sturdy fingers, his veiny cock, his suave mouth, he knows how to use each tool to the best of it’s ability, for you. Of course, he’s willing to try anything new for you as well. You want to try a new position? He’s on it. Want him to pay attention to a certain part of your body? He’s already there.

F : Favourite Position.

Definitely depends on the mood, but he is simple and doesn’t try to be too adventurous. Normally, John prefers good old missionary. He likes the intimacy, holding onto your hips with your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close. His lips have easy access to litter slow, passionate kisses to your face, your neck, your chest as he pleases. However, John also appreciates a good ol riding as well from his baby, especially after a demanding job. During riding sessions, he indulges in you; being able to sit back and relax, your aching cunt bobbing up and down on him, your walls tightening around him, so perfectly soaked. The way he’s able to buck his hips up into you, to feel you deeper, the way he can hold you to his chest as you ride him, allowing him to speed up when he needs.

The sounds you let out drive him insane. Did I mention, he loves watching himself slip in and out of you, the way your glistening releases coat his thighs, slicking his pulsing cock. Sometimes, he likes taking you from behind, he enjoys the gorgeous view of your peachy ass for him, and the way you whimper when his balls slap into your skin, the sounds so delicious filling his ears. Doggy style is also a close favourite of his, more for days when you both crave a good, rough fuck that’ll clear any trace of stress.

He enjoys a good against the wall fuck as well, in the shower is always nice. There have been a few times, he’s came home, neither of you able to control as he pins you against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist with his cock pounding you into oblivion.

G : Goofy. (Is he serious in the act or goofy?)

John isn’t too too goofy in the moment, but he can be on some days. Although he finds sex to be a very intimate, serious act, he can’t help but giggle at how adorable you can get during foreplay. You make him smile, laugh, feel loved, valued. You make him happy, and that comes out during sex as well. He sees you smile, and he’s gone. It’s his favourite thing in the world. If something happens in the moment, such as your face turning red from a particularly loud and explicit moan, he can’t help but smile, giggling with you.

On days when he’s tired and just needs to feel you, he can be a bit more serious. You don’t mind though; on days such as those, you focus your entire attention on making him feel good anyway, you know he deserves it. In turn, John tries incredibly hard to make you come as many times as possible on those days as well, it gives him relief and makes him feel better to know his lady is being treated well, leaving little room for giggles and laughs in those sessions.

H : Hair.

John used to not care before he met you, but now, he makes sure to keep himself tame and trimmed for you. The mans beard is always on fleek, you best believe the same follows down under. He does keep his hair; he’s never been one for being clean shaven. You love going down on him, tasting him in your mouth. He doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable, so he makes sure to keep clean for you. It is a bit bushy, but he’s consistent with grooming.

I : Intimacy.

Sex is John’s way of showing you how much he loves you, and how much you mean to him. John hasn’t been with many women; he’s never really had time for sex before you. But now, now that you’re together, in love, sex is what keeps your love fresh, alive, keeps you close and vulnerable with each other. He takes his time with you, making sure to appreciate each part of you, and the alter that is your body. He’s tender, gentle, he loves to feed your self confidence.

He loves kissing you during the act, lips smothering you as his cock slips in and out leisurely. While he’s thrusting is usually when his lips leak with praise for you, how good you feel, how much he loves you.

“Fuck, Y/N…” your name glides off his tongue, smooth as honey. “You…you feel amazing, sweetheart.” He whimpers, cock grinding your G spot each time he thrusts. “So good, baby.”

Even when he’s pounding into you, thrusts hasty, profound; he’ll still make sure to hold you tight, whether it be your hips or your hand. Anywhere from eye contact, to forehead touching, to the cuddle sessions after - John likes to let you know that he’s there with you in the moment; there for you, as he’ll always be.

Till his last breath.

J : Jack off.

Only when he’s away from you. When you’re together, he doesn’t need anything but you to make him feel good. But his work calls for it, and you know there’s times where you need to be away from him. Of course, he loves to have you on the phone for him as he sits in the Continental hotel room, a completed job behind. His palm sloppily wraps around his base, pumping slow, thumb swirling his tip as precum seeps out to the sound of your voice.

“Are you touching yourself, John?” You purr, your own hand trailing suggestively close to your heating center. A mere moan escapes his lips, the sound of your voice enough to make him feel bliss. Twitching, shuddering, he throbs in his hand, movements picking up as he strokes, base to shaft, to tip, pumping, with images of you clouding his mind.

“I want you to come for me, John. Let it out, baby. Let me hear you.” You encourage, hearing his moans, gasps and grunts over the much too distant phone line.

K : Kinks.

John is calm and collected, yet still a little shy. You adore that about him, the way his gentle personality shies away from fully letting you know what he wants sometimes. Over the course of your relationship however, you’ve learned some of his preferred kinks, and you love using them on him, on days you lounge together and have time to really get down and dirty.

Due to his profession, John takes control too much in other aspects of his life. In bed, on days where you want to focus on making him feel good, John relishes in being submissive. He loves to let you take control of him, allow you to do what you please with him. It makes him feel vulnerable, helps him feel human to be at your mercy. He loves you, trusts you enough to let you have him this way. He’s into light bondage, he likes having his wrists restrained, although nothing too insane. He is a simple man after all. Marking is a huge turn on for him, he loves leaving hickies on your silky skin, your collarbones, loves having them on him in turn. He loves body worship, appreciating each inch of you as he trails his kisses down your breasts, your chest, your stomach, slowly inching down to the ache between your legs.

Although John isn’t huge on praise kink, you do like the way he blushes ever so slightly when you tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“John…” You moan, fingernails digging into his back. “You’re fucking me so…” Whimpering, you whine softly in his ear. “So good, Jonathan…don’t stop baby, please…” He picks up pace, husky tone letting out small, soft moans as he slips in and out, fueled by your praise.

L : Location.

John and you have a mission; to have sex in each part of your home. Although his favourite is your bed, it’s safe, familiar, allows you both to be free and active as can. A close second is the couch, usually because the couch means you’re on top of him, spread on his thighs as he thrust up into you, hugging your body close. Hot seat position sex is easier on the couch as well. Anywhere in your house is John’s preferred place, in the comfort of where you live in peace together, the gateway to the dream that is your connection. He’s had you in the shower, in all the rooms, even on the hood of his car in your garage.

The kitchen counter has been one of John’s favourites, assuming how often he has you whimpering for him on it. Fucking into you with your body propped on the counter? He’s a sucker for it. Being tall enough to reach your cunt standing, he props your leg against his torso and shoulder, holding it for support as your other wraps around his waist, watching himself glide in and out of you. it’s always rough on the kitchen counter, but you like it that way. He makes breakfast right after, returning the favour for letting him get one in before the start of the day.

M : Motivation. (What gets him going?)

John is always turned on by you, you never have to try to get him to want you. Perhaps that’s just how deep you both are smitten with each other. He loves when you wear lingerie for him, it gets him tenting in his pants, his cock rising to the mere sight of you embroidered in lace for him. Lingerie shopping with John is always tricky due to it, he’ll have his hands roaming each crevice of your body in the dressing room, lips leaving delicate, quiet kisses along the skimpy lace adorned on your breasts. Of course, he’s no help in choosing a piece. Everything is perfect on you through his eyes.

He has a sensitive neck and ears, so he loves when you whisper for him, in your oh so sensual voice, smooth and sugary.

He loves celebrating with you after a successful contract. What better way to wind down than buried deep inside your cunt, warm, wet, as if perfectly moulded for him. Sometimes, that’s what gets him through work. Knowing that soon, he’ll be in your arms, where you’ll make him feel so, so good.

N : No. (What he won’t do)

John would never, ever hurt you, even if you asked. With all the violence, the murder that lies on his fingertips, he feels guilt. He tries not to, but he feels guilt. You love him endlessly, and you know he fears causing you even the smallest amount of pain during sex. If you wince a bit too loud, he’ll immediately pause and ask if you’re okay. Even if its simply the bulk of his sizable cock making you feel pain when he first enters, he gets concerned, always holding off until you’re adjusted to him, nodding when you’re ready for him to move.

You have a fantasy of John face fucking you, his twitching length jammed inside your throat, lapping as much as you can with your cheeks hallowed. You know it would be pure bliss for him, they way you’d choke on his cock for him, allowing him to savour each inch of your wet, warm, tight mouth. John is still a bit scared, however. He almost doesn’t trust himself; he fears he’ll hurt you.

You’ll get there someday, though. As long as you keep proving to him that you trust him.

More than anyone, anything else in the word.

O : Oral.

Oral is one of John’s favourite parts of sex. He loves going down on you, and love’s having you go down on him. John is crazy good at eating you out, he has had tons of practice with you. The way you moan for him, fingers tangling his hair turns him on like crazy, it’s addicting. The mere sound of you, writhing, whimpering as he laps your nectar, tongue expertly flicking your folds, your clit, hands graciously soothing your thighs, your breasts; he thrives off all of it. You love the sound of his mouth eating you out as well, the slicking, the smacking, the wetness of two of his stocky fingers pumping you, the way you know they’re the sounds of him making you feel good. He flattens his tongue, spreading your folds, alternating between the perfect symphony of fast and slow licks, making sure to dot a few kisses to your center through the process.

Head from John is a dream. A sweet, sweet, beautiful dream; only you have the pleasure to drift in.

P : Pace.

John is a master of pace, another attribute that comes in handy from his work. He knows exactly what pace to use for exactly the type of fuck you’re going for. During proper sex, where you both can take your time, he’ll always start off close and sensual as you get used to each other. His generous length is thick, heavy, and always needs time to get used to as mentioned. Slow at first allows him to focus his attention on kissing you passionately as he glides his dick in and out, feeling each other close. Gradually, he’s unable to hold himself back. Not when your pussy feels so heavenly around him. He’ll get faster and faster, until the bed frame is creaking and the wall behind is being pounded into-much like you. John has the power to shake your entire body with his thrusts, always keeping sure to hold you secure. Often, John leaves you aching for hours later, sometimes into the next day.

Q : Quickie.

A good quickie is always delightful for the both of you. You crave each other so much, that quickies inevitably find their way into your daily lives together as you coexist. In the morning as you’re just waking up? John never says no to a good ol quick morning fuck in your bed, your soft morning voice moans causing his heart to flutter. At breakfast on the kitchen table? John wasn’t able to resist when you wore just his oversized shirt and a pair of panties. Sometimes a good ol quickie before bed helps him sleep better, and you never deny him when he asks for one. John can have trouble sleeping sometimes, so sex before bed helps him relax, wind down, and most of all,

feel good. Something he deserves.

R : Risk.

John is okay with taking risks, if you want to. He’s always looking for new ways to satisfy you in bed. If you want to try something new, he’ll always say yes for you. He trusts you, and you trust him, so experimenting can be nice sometimes. Sometimes, there have been instances where either he, or you don’t end up liking it, and it makes him a little upset. He doesn’t want to let you down.

You try out new positions all the time, the most recent being The Wheelbarrow. He loved it, the way your hands planted on the floor as he raised your hips to his cock, pounding, pelting into you from behind; your legs wrapped around him.

John likes thrill too, sometimes. He fantasizes about public sex, perhaps in the washroom of a restaurant or something, somewhere where the stakes are higher and you could get caught. He’d be extra cautious, of course. He’d never want to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.

S : Stamina.

John can last decently long, long enough to make you cum. If it’s been a few weeks away from each other, and you haven’t been able to have sex in a while, his stamina increases and he can go for more rounds. There have been times where you’ve had to tap out on him as well, but he’s alright with it. He respects you way too much to make you give him sex when you don’t want to. On average, John can go for 2 rounds if you want him to, although most of the time, one is enough. John is the embodiment of quality over quantity; he fucks you so good, so well the first round, that you’re too sore for another, you’ve been completely satisfied.

“You got another one in you for me, princess?” John chuckles, your breathless body under him, coming down from your high with him still nestled between your legs. You look at him in disbelief almost, wincing when he removes his cock out of you, collapsing on the bed beside.

“Another one already?” You breath, running a hand over your sweaty forehead.

He softly smiles, leaning over to kiss your shoulder, his hand moving to lightly rub a few circles to your clit, building your anticipation again. “Give me a few minutes, sweetheart, I’m not done with you just yet.”

T : Toys.

He has no problem incorporating toys into the bedroom. Neither of you need them, but they do add some spice to your sex life. John isn’t too much of a tech guy, but he did spend hours on his laptop searching up the best vibrators to try out for you. John gets off seeing you get off, and pleasing you. Sometimes, he’ll use the vibrator on you before sex, allowing you to delve into oblivion. On nights when he’s away, he loves when you send him pictures of you using it on yourself; his cock wheezes to the sight of your dripping cunt at the mercy of a vibrator, knowing it makes you feel no where near as good as he does when he’s home. John is willing to try out more toys, and he’s open to the idea of you buying some for him as well. You mentioned a vibrating cock ring to him; (not that he needs it for the extra support), but more for the pleasure the vibrations could give to your sensitive nub and his balls when he’s fucking you. There’s a lot you want to explore with John, you want to find out what he’s into, what he may be fond of. He’s a tricky man to get a feel of since he’s always so focused on you.

U : Unfair.

“John…John please..” You wail, feeling him sink just his tip into you, before pulling back out, teasing. He smirks slightly, placing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, teasing to not even give you a proper kiss when all you want is for him to fuck you senseless. His fingers rub small circles to your clit, eliciting deep moans, yet he makes sure to keep them slow, light, enough to let you feel him on you, but not enough to let you feel relief.

You love edging each other, love building up each other’s orgasm to maximum potential. When you’re on top, you’ll halt movement, your hands planted to his chest as his palms hold your hips tight. He’s always panting under you, biting his lip with breathy moans falling as you start to move again.

He’ll tease you when he’s going down on you as well, leaving kisses to the insides of your thighs, close to your heat. You totally get him back, though, the way you wear very revealing shorts around the house the next day, making sure to bend over a little further when you reach down to pick a towel off the floor.

V : Volume. (Is he loud?)

You both can be loud, depending on the type of sex. If it’s just a quickie before bed, you both tend to stay a little quieter, reverting to small whispers of praise, soft, gentle moans into each other’s necks and ears. John’s voice is smooth, buttery, fine as velvet when he’s trying to be quiet, it makes your pussy quite literally tremble knowing you’re the reason those delicious, delightful sounds are leaving his lips.

When you’re having a proper, longer session of sex however, you both tend to get slightly louder than you mean to. You live alone together, in a reserved neighbourhood. John’s grunts and groans can get excessive when you clench around him, your screams of his name flood the bedroom walls when he’s expertly working you. Sometimes, with John, its far too difficult to hold back your cries and sobs, his balls slapping your core to his demanding pace, his breath tantalizing on your skin. Perfectly, he hits your sensitive nerve endings each time, your eyes fill with tears at how well he’s fucking you, loud gasps to each buck of his hips.

W : Wildcard. (Random headcanon).

John has needs – he has to masturbate when he’s away from you, but only to the thought of you, and the nudes you send him. They’re marvellous, but he wants more. John wants to record you having sex at least once for when he’s away. He misses you dearly, although the lonesome comfort of his stocky palm, coated with the blend of shea hand cream he carries with him show no comparison to your soaking cunt. A video of you unravelling for him will definitely elevate his lonely nights spent away from you in the hotel walls. He would never do it without your consent, so he’s made a mental note to ask you next time you get intimate. Phone sex with you is nice, and it gets home going so well. But the thought of the real deal, a video in which your moans can be heard, your beautiful pussy on display for him, would be divine.

X : Xray. (What’s going on in the pants)

John has a very generous load to offer. His cock is quite literally- fucking gorgeous. When you first saw it, your breath hitched. He’s above average, makes you swallow in anticipation when he’s fully erect for you. He has the perfect amount of girth, a few striking veins running down his shaft, and a very slight curve. His tip shows a blushy, rosy shade of dusty pink, and you can’t help but elicit a moan when droplets of his gleaming pre cum glide down the length of his cock, almost as if a delicacy made just for you to devour. John’s cock is the only to ever had made you feel completely full, completely fulfilled. Struck gold? Definitely.

In more ways than just one.

Y : Yearning.

John has a pretty high sex drive. He’ll never deny you, that’s for sure. You almost never deny him either, whether it’s when he’s tossing and turning in the middle of the night and you offer him a quick session to calm his nerves, or whether it’s in the middle of the day, when he craves to feel your body close. John would like to have sex every single day of the week, but he knows that’s not always what you want, and he respects that. You settle for 4-5 times a week, right in the middle so his needs are taken care of. Sometimes, when you’re not in the mood for sex, you’ll give him a blowjob because you want him to feel good.

That’s your man, and you know how to take care of him.

Although he would like to have sex everyday, he doesn’t ever resort to masturbating unless he’s away. If you’re there, he wants it from you, or not at all. He’d rather wait for you than whip one out alone, without the feel of your body to compliment it.

Z : Zzzz. (How quickly he falls asleep after).

John and you both need a good round of cuddling, just holding each other after sex to doze off. A good cuddle session is part of sex for you; it’s part of the aftercare, part of the intimacy. Value is so important in a relationship, and holding each other, even if it’s just him holding onto your hand on his chest as you lie in comfortable silence, coming down from your highs; it all allows you both to feel valued, appreciated. You both share a little bit of pillow talk, and get cleaned up before you can actually fall asleep. John is a well organized, clean man. He helps you wipe down, change, shower, whatever you need to do before you both retire to bed, your skin freshly peppered with the scent of the eucalyptus shower gel you always buy. He can fall asleep pretty quickly after that, nice and relaxed, gratified and content with the love of his life tucked securely in his arms. He loves it when you hold him and use his chest as a pillow, takes him out like a light to know you’re safe there with him. The clothes you ripped off each other before sex are still scattered on the floor.

“John?” You quietly whisper, arms wrapped around his core, his biceps holding you close to his chest. He stirs slightly, half dozed off already.

“Hmm?” He murmurs, ever so slightly, eyes closed with his heartbeat steady against your ear.

Giggling, you softly plant a gentle kiss to his chest, allowing your head back to rest on him. “Goodnight, I love you.” You whisper into the quiet of the night, sure he’d already drifted to dreamland. He doesn’t reply, until a few seconds later, his deep voice drifting,

in and out of consciousness.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

Taglist Posted Seperatly (Ask to be added or removed!)

#john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick oneshot #john wick x you #john wick #john wick smut #john wick headcanon #john wick series #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick fluff #john wick fic #john wick ff #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves imagine

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the-witty-pen-name · 3 years

Text

Peace

Mando x F!Reader

Warnings: lots of fluff, very vague mentions of violence, overall mostly sickening sweet

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: This is my first ever imagine! I hope you enjoy. It’s very loosely inspired by the song Peace by Taylor Swift. Also not my original gif, credit to the maker!

Mando’a Translations:

ni jate’kara = I’m so lucky

gar yaim’ner = You are my home

russ’ner = my rock

Summary: Din realized that he was in love with you on your 127th day onboard the Razor Crest. You were never supposed to be in his life that long. You were supposed to be a temporary passenger- nothing more than just a stop along the way. You were just a hitchhiker heading the same way. And now he can’t imagine how he survived so long without you.

Din realized that he was in love with you on your 127th day onboard the Razor Crest. You were never supposed to be in his life that long. You were supposed to be a temporary passenger- nothing more than just a stop along the way. You were just a hitchhiker heading the same way. And now he can’t imagine how he survived so long without you.

His son adored you from day one. The little green troublemaker wanting nothing but your attention when he could get it. That’s probably the main reason Din first decided to ask you to stay longer. He knew he needed someone to help him with the kid, and he couldn’t keep bringing him on his missions. You both settled on a plan for you to stay as a crew member of the Crest, your number one priority being Grogu. You learned from Mando many other things about the ship and quickly made his life so much easier.

It hit him faster than he could have ever realized. The honest realization that he’d been falling in love with you after all this time. It caused him to panic and to shut himself off. He knew life with him would never be easy. It was dangerous and messy- never any true sense of security. The Creed already causes so many restrictions he must insist you follow, and adding more to that list was a burden he would never want to impose on you. You were so unlike him in so many ways and he loved you for every single thing.

It was late at night and the Crest was parked in some armpit of the galaxy in need of repairs as usual. It frustrated Mando and it caused him so much stress. You were never one to let those negative emotions hold onto you the same way. It was nightfall and the planet was silent. The only noise was the sound of the kid waking up again for the third time that night. Mando awoke in his bunk, looking for the Child only to find him missing from the little hammock. In the darkness, he put on his helmet and left his bunk to find the source of the cries that filled the whole ship.

Careful to not wake you with his movements if the Child hadn’t woken you up already, he climbed up the ladder to the cockpit following the cries. He was cursing to himself silently wondering how the kid managed to sneak out of bed and into the upper level of the ship. Before opening the door, he heard the cries suddenly begin to calm down and he heard your voice on the other side of the sliding doors. He must’ve woken you up before Mando even heard the cries.

“Shh,” he heard you quietly calming the baby back to sleep. The sliding doors opened for him and he walked in. You were sitting in his chair, resting your feet up on the dash, and he held back the urge to tell you to stop. The Child was sitting comfortably on your lap, his back resting on your torso, as you pointed out stars to him in the night sky and told the folklore which corresponded to each constellation. Mando didn’t recognize the story, and honestly, he can’t remember now what it was anyways.

He was just so focused on you, and only now just realizing, how beautiful you truly were. Not just in appearances, but just as a soul- your whole being. You ability to care for Grogu and just how important your presence these months has been. He knew that you were aware of his presence, but instead of talking, he just took the copilot seat you normally occupied and listened to you talk. He watched how you gently stroked the kid’s head and how his big eyes grew heavy at your movements. Mando for the first time in months realized how much you were also like his family. It used to just be him and his son, and now accidentality you have become such an important part of their life.

As the baby slept in your arms, he wanted nothing more to stay just as you all were forever. It was a fantasy and to him, an entirely unattainable one at that. This life he leads doesn’t allow for a misfitted family such as his to ever work out in ways he would want. As he watched you and the kid, he let his mind wander to so many happy future memories the three of you would share. A cottage on a green planet, a little utopia for the three of you, all the worries of this current life just a fainted scar of a life once lived. He’d marry you, and finally have everything his life up until then he’d never gotten and then the ability to just give it all to you.

“I’ll bring him back to his bed,” you whisper quietly with a small smile. Your words breaking him out of his day dream. He nodded and you left, with the kid bundled snug in your arms. In the next few minutes, the darkest parts of his mind and the reminder of his harsh realities destroyed his dream just as quickly as he had imagined it.

Over the months, he confided in you so much. He shared his earliest memories and his life story. He taught you about the Way of the Mandolore and taught you a little bit of Mando’a. Now he felt exposed. He felt foolish for letting his guard down and letting you in his life. He could never be good enough. He could never imagine asking you to live this life, and he couldn’t imagine these feelings he felt to be reciprocated.

He was wrong. He had no idea how wrong he was to believe you wouldn’t want him. He had no idea how deeply you felt for him and longed to ease the pains of his troubled life in the ways you could. You had long ago come to accept every piece of his life he thought would scare you away. He knew you loved the Child but he had no idea how you loved him just as much. For you, you had fallen in love with the Mandolorian on the 86th day onboard the Razor Crest.

You both sat in your normal seats preparing for takeoff. Grogu sits cuddled up to your side and you hold him tightly. He plays with your hands and pulls a thin and round piece of metal out of his clothing. He slides it onto your middle finger on your left hand like a ring. It’s his own little way of giving you a gift. It resembled a ring, and it fit your hand like one. You realize it’s a piece stolen somewhere from the Razor Crest and you chuckle softly, looking down at your hand and the kid’s big smile. You whisper a thank you just for him to hear and you kiss his head. Since that day, you’ve never taken it off.

Mando had asked you about it later on that same day when he finally noticed. You and him were walking side by side away from the ship, heading into the town on the newest planet for food and supplies, and the kid following closely behind in the floating pram.

“Where’d you get the ring?” his modulated voice asked, his gloved hand gesturing to your hand.

“It was a gift from the kid,” you reply, holding it up proudly.

“Is it from the ship?” he questions, the helmet tilting.

“Probably,” you reply sheepishly. He nods and doesn’t question any further, which you appreciate. It would’ve broken your heart if he’d taken the part back to return to its rightful place somewhere in the ship. Mando realized the ship was so broken down anyway that a small piece as insignificant as that one wouldn’t matter and he much rather you keep it if it made the kid happy.

Once you reached the outskirts of the town, Mando gave you the credits you needed to complete the supply run and he separated from you and the kid to go after a bounty he had received a tip about the night before. You had a Commlink and knew you could reach him if anything happened. The kid accompanied you for the day, picking out food and also picking up medical supplies and other things that needed replenishing on the ship.

Once rations and other supplies were acquired, you safely returned to the Crest with the kid. You put everything away in its proper place, and spent a couple hours just playing and reading stories to the kid. You decided to get him a few story books while in town as well. As long as they were for the kid, Mando wouldn’t care about the additional purchases. Comfortable in his makeshift bed, you read him one of the stories until he had gone down for a nap. Shortly after he had fallen asleep, you realize how late it actually is and head to your own bunk.

You hear Mando return, and he must assume you both are sleeping already due to the darkness of the ship. You hear him just head straight to his bunk, most likely exhausted from the mission. You try to make a mental note to ask him how it went in the morning before you drift off to sleep. You’re only asleep for a couple of hours before you’re jolted awake from a horrible noise outside. Before you think of yourself, you’re getting out of bed to check on the kid. You meet Mando in the hallway, somehow already wearing his full armor.

“Stay with him,” he says, holding onto your shoulders. “There’s thieves outside the ship. Lock yourself in my bunk with him and I’ll take care of it. Just make sure you and him stay safe.”

You nod, following his plan. He grabs some of his weapons and waits until your locked in his bunk before opening the ship. The baby still was sound asleep, probably exhausted still from today. He didn’t even stir at the sound of blasters and fighting outside. You picked him up and laid down with him on Mando’s bad, holding him in close and keeping his ears guarded from the noise. You weren’t sure how long you were there, protecting the kid and just waiting in Mando’s bunk. Eventually, the noise outside had ceased and you heard Mando’s voice back in the Crest. You breathed out a deep sigh of relief, finally able to properly relax.

You couldn’t imagine what you would’ve done if something bad had happened. The thought of losing him was simply unbearable. Your eyes were heavy, and closing them felt like heaven within itself. You fully intended to return to your bunk when Mando arrived at the door, but for now you basked in the comfort of his bunk. In your hazed state, you let your mind drift on the worry you had felt, if you had lost him. It pained you more than you ever imagined. You hadn’t heard the door open, or did you hear him come into the small room. You only realized his presence when you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around you tightly, and you felt the coolness of the beskar helmet behind your head. It was in that moment had you realized you were absolutely smitten. You smiled to yourself, happy he was unaware how awake you were so you could enjoy the moment in peace.

His skin was soft, and so were the palms of his hands when he rested them on top of your own-his thumb carefully grazing the metal of the ring. His arm rested over your body and you felt his body relax behind you. This was the closest you had ever been to the man. You can’t call the Mandolorian a hugger, so up until that moment, unless he needed to touch you to keep you safe, he had never touched you. Now it was such an intimate moment as he held you and the kid in his arms. As you both drifted off to sleep, you realized how much you were in love with the masked man behind you.

Mando doesn’t confess his feelings until the 211th day. The craziness of your life had calmed down, at least by the standards of a life led by a Mandolorian bounty hunter, his magical green son and you. It was like you both had fallen into a domestic routine, keeping up the ship and taking care of the kid. Mando hadn’t gone on a mission in the past two months. You got accustomed to him being around more, and in your own way, you all began to feel like a real family.

The kid was playing with some new toys Mando had just gotten him when he left for the day to get rations. He played on the floor of the cockpit, Mando watching him silently from his chair and you were curled up in yours reading a novel.

It was the silence that only comes when two people understand each other.

Family that he chose.

Could this be enough for you?

“(Y/N)?” He said hesitantly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the ship.

“Yes?” You ask, looking up from the book you had been reading. You place the bookmarker in and then set it on a nearby surface. “What is it?”

“I can’t expect you to stay here forever, and I couldn’t ever bring myself to ask you to,” He begins and then stops suddenly. You can’t tell how much he’s shaking under the Beskar. “But I just… I feel like you have the right to know… and I know they go unreciprocated, and I don’t expect a response.”

“I need to know what?” You ask quietly. You become nervous yourself, hoping he isn’t asking you to leave.

“I- I’m in love with you,” he confesses solemnly. The tension in the room for him rises, completely exposing his emotions to you fully, for the first time since he’s realized them. “And… there’s so many things you deserve that I can’t give you, and I know that. This life… this is so unstable, and dangerous. There’s so many constant threats… and (Y/N) I can vow to protect you with my whole life… and that I know still isn’t good enough. I know those dangers follow me no matter what. I know you couldn’t love a man you’d never seen and I know this isn’t enough. There’s so many things I can offer, except that I can never give you peace…”

“Mando- “

“My name is Din.”

“Din,” you correct yourself, and he loves the sound of his name on your lips.

“Din Djarin.”

“Din, I love you too,” you confess, “and I love your son. I love you both so much. How could you even think I wouldn’t want you?”

You can feel him become more at ease, and you can’t see his face, but Din is smiling, ear to ear. His face is red, flushed to match the feelings of complete joy which had overpowered him. He’d throw away the Creed, be done with everything if you asked in to in that moment. He’d do anything to keep you looking at him how you were looking at him.

He pulled off his gloves and discarded them on the floor. He rushed to your side, knelt down in front of you, holding your hands tightly in his, like if he’d let go, you’d vanish. His thumb grazed over the ring on your hand, like it did every night he held you close in his bunk.

“(Y/N), ni jate’kara,” he whispered softly, the emotion of his voice only vaguely distorted by the modulator. “gar yaim’ner. Please close your eyes, russ’ner.”

You closed your eyes, and you heard the clicks of his helmet. He placed it on the floor next to him. He cupped the side your face gently with one of his hands, taking a moment to take in your beauty for the first time without the digital screen. He sighed. You were so stunning, and he just took in exactly how you looked in that moment, determined to remember every small detail of your skin. When he was ready, he connected his lips to yours for a tender kiss, the first shared testament of the love you shared together.

#mando x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #the mandolorian #pedro pascal #mandolorian imagine #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #fluff #star wars imagine

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spiderling-space · 4 years

Note

Hello!! Well i think that sam sells all the spooky decorations so if mc helps him? Sorry if my english is bad

First of all, anon, never ever apologize for having bad English. Learning a second language is challenging. It is way worse if the said language has a bunch of differences from your native language. God knows I’m still haunted by the articles of German. Not everyone can have a second language but you do, dear anon, and you should be proud of it. Secondly, as long as you try your best, it’s okay. Lastly, I’m not a native English speaker either.

Italics indicate thoughts

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

Sam

Was Crowley cheapskate? Yes. Was the allowance he gave to (Y/N) not enough to have all necessities and some personal things? Yes. Was the life expensive? Yes again.

These were the reasons why (Y/N) applied for an open position in Sam’s shop for Halloween day and a few days prior to it. It was only a 5-day job to manage the crowd the better. (Y/N) wondered if it would be the same for Valentine’s Day but their thoughts were interrupted by new customers. The day was completely chaotic for the shop, students barging in groups, making loud noises that were driving (Y/N) insane.

Sam told (Y/N) that they should try to sell what the customer didn’t ask for as a complementary to the one they did. It was logical for a shop assistant to do but wearing a demon costume while doing that was not logical. Sam told them it was for the spirit of Halloween, not that they would have argued since he was the boss after all. Thankfully, the day ended quickly

The shop was filled with all things Halloween from fake spider webs to various costumes for people. There were even already carved pumpkins and fake props like fake blood and fake knife. (Y/N) thought Sam considered everything. He even had fake skeletons, at least that was what they hoped for since when they asked Sam about it, he dodged the question.

After the last customer left the shop, Sam asked (Y/N) to do the inventory check and replenish the items that were sold today. They just wanted to go to Ramshackle and sleep, it was past midnight and officially Halloween day but they didn’t have the energy to be excited about it since they worked the whole day. (Y/N) counted the items as fast as they could and listed which ones are needed to be refilled then went to storage to get new items.

(Y/N) expected their day to end normally like the other days they worked there. They certainly didn’t ask to see inanimate objects floating in the air or the purple and green smoke covering the shop. They almost dropped the boxes they were holding when they noticed one of the skeletons move its arms. Am I dreaming or am I tripping? They were about to call out Sam but seeing him talk to shadow-like creatures changed their mind. Okay then… I better leave silently. (Y/N) swiftly and quietly placed the boxes on the floor and tiptoed between shelves towards the exit.

“Where are you going young one?” A deep voice came from their left side but it couldn’t be Sam’s since he was on the other side of the shop and his voice wasn’t deep. “We just came here.” (Y/N) watched too many horror movies to know where this was going but they had to look. It was one of the carved pumpkins talking to them, its mouth was moving as if it was an actual functioning mouth instead of a carved one.

“Would you look at that? Another human? Hahaha!” This one came right above them, air brushed against their hair as whatever just spoke moved to their eyesight. It was a puppet, as if it being an immovable object wasn’t creepy enough, it came to life. I should remain calm and ignore them. I can make it to the door and just leave.

It was a perfect plan yet it was doomed to fail as a skeleton held both (Y/N)’s hands, making them dance to a piece of non-existent music. It was too much for (Y/N) as they let out a squeal as they struggled to let the skeleton go. Their action caused an uproar in the shop, it seemed like every object in the shop started laughing at them.

“Ladies and gentleman and people from all genders, you had your fun with my assistant for tonight. I need them to be in working condition for tomorrow.” Sam’s voice cut the sounds of other beings. Can he command them? The heck? (Y/N) wasn’t going to question his abilities until they were at a safe distance from the shop. “Little demon, don’t worry, these are my friends from the other side. They came to say hi since it is easier to come and go on Halloween night.”

“Uhm… Why didn’t you tell me about it before I applied for a job?” (Y/N) was used to the ghosts of Ramshackle, not some suspicious spirits.

“You didn’t ask.”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Will there be spirits involved while I work?”

“Yes.” That cheeky…

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next job application I have. Can I leave now?”

“As soon as you’re done with putting up the decorations for tomorrow.”

(Y/N) nodded even though they dreaded every minute of it. Sam’s friends from the other side possessed different Halloween ornaments and tried to mess with them. While they were having fun, (Y/N) was getting annoyed but they couldn’t oppose them either since they feared the friends would haunt them after Halloween. They had already their hands full with people overblotting and Crowley making them do his errands.

After Halloween, they would talk with Crowley about increasing their allowance. Maybe I can ask Sam’s friends to come with me talk with Crowley, he would be convinced then.

#Sam #gender neutral reader #ficlet #halloween event #staff #twisted wonderland #twst #twst sam #twisted wonderland sam #night raven college staff #nrc staff #night raven college #nrc #mc/yuu #twst mc #twisted wonderland mc

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theeasternempress · 4 years

Text

A Strange But Special Child

Summary - After the Mandalorian drops off his child to be cared for by the frog mother and father, they learn just how special a child can be.

Author’s note - This takes place during Season 2, Episode 3 when Din has dropped off baby yoda with frog mama and frog papa. This is from frog mama’s POV. Because they aren’t named in canon, “The mother” refers to frog mama and “The father/husband” refers to frog papa. Enjoy!

AO3

The mother had never been happier in her life. Here she was, safe with her husband and able to watch their first children be born. All of the fear and anxiety she had held in her heart about this journey had disappeared and been replaced with love and warmth. Surely nothing could break her out of her current euphoria.

But the knock on the door certainly broke her out of her thoughts.

In walked the Mandalorian, his child cradled in his left arm. The mother had not expected to see them again so soon, but she figured the Mandalorian would only come to her and her husband if he needed their help.

“Something’s come up,” the Mandalorian spoke, as the mother expected, “Can I leave him with you?” Without a second thought, the mother nodded. While her journey with the Mandalorian had not been ideal, he did as she requested and now she was here with her husband. For that, she was eternally grateful.

The Mandalorian mumbled some words to his child before handing him over to her. As soon as she had placed him on the table in front of her, the child was crawling up to place a small hand against the glass of her incubator.

“Thanks,” the Mandalorian said as he walked out the door, “I’ll be back for him.” The mother turned her attention to her incubator and the eggs inside it. There was movement for a moment when suddenly, one of her tadpoles emerged from its egg. The child made a sound of surprise, but it barely registered in her mind from the pure joy she was feeling. After all of her years of misfortune, she would finally be able to have her family.

“My dearest, we are finally having our children!” her husband exclaimed, reaching over to firmly grasp her hand. The mother smiled and placed her free hand on top of her husband’s to return the gesture.

“All of our struggle and sacrifice will be worth it, love,” the mother replied, “We will be safe and happy with our children.”

Her husband nodded and smiled, but she didn’t miss his inquisitive glance down at the green child in her lap.

“This is the Mandalorian’s son,” she croaked, “He’s very interested in our eggs.” As she finished speaking, the child pressed his face against the glass and wrapped his arms around the incubator as if he were giving it a hug.

The mother’s husband laughed at the child and said, “This child is a strange one. I’ve never seen someone so interested in offspring before.”

“My time with the Mandalorian proved that this child is very unique,” the mother replied. Truly, the mother had never seen anything quite like this child in all of her years. She doubted her husband had either.

A few minutes later, her husband had scooped their first hatchling into a bowl filled with incubator fluid. Almost as soon as her husband had set their first tadpole between them, the child had plunged his hands into the bowl. The mother quickly grabbed his wrists and pulled them out of the bowl so he would not cause injury to her baby. She knew the child didn’t have any malicious intentions, but sometimes children didn’t understand when to be careful.

The child pouted and made a sad cooing noise as he stretched his hands back out to the tadpole.

“Do you want to play, little one?” the mother asked, “If you do, you must be very careful. Babies must be treated gently.”

The child seemed to somehow understand her because he reached out carefully and placed his hand on the tadpoles back. The tadpole made no acknowledgement of the tiny hand stroking his back until it whipped its tail to splash the child in the face. The child made a small noise of surprise and fell back into the mother’s lap.

The father laughed and said, “It seems our hatchling wants to play as well.” The child stared up at her husband with confusion on his face. It seemed he thought that the tadpole was trying to shoo him away rather than play with him.

“Watch, little one. This is how we play,” the mother spoke. She dipped her hand in the bowl to scoop up some water before spilling it over her tadpole. The tadpole swam around in circles as they enjoyed the sensation of water dripping on their body. A moment later, the tadpole used its tail to send a small stream of water at the mother.

The child in her lap still seemed confused, but he carefully and slowly repeated the mother’s actions by dipping his hand in the water and drizzling it over the tadpole’s body. Again, the tadpole swam itself in circles before using its tail to splash the child in the face. This time, the child smiled brightly and giggled, clapping his hands together in excitement.

“I think our child just made their first friend, dear,” the mother’s husband spoke, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. Looking at the two children splashing each other ferociously, the mother couldn’t agree more.

---

The two children spent hours playing together and as they did, their splashing game ended up soaking everything around them. There was so much splashing going on that the mother and her husband had to replenish the water bowl numerous times, but they weren’t about to stop the children from bonding and having fun.

A loud knocking came from the door, which opened to reveal the Mandalorian. As soon as he walked in, the mother could sense a weariness surrounding the Mandalorian that had not been there when he left a few hours ago. She figured whatever task he had just done, he truly had not wanted his son to witness it.

“Thank you for watching him,” the Mandalorian said. The child did not look up from his tadpole friend until his father picked him up with a, “Okay kid, come on. It’s time to go.”

As soon as he was up and moving, the child cried and protested as he reached back out towards the tadpole. The mother stroked his hand and croaked, “Goodbye, little one.”

Even as the Mandalorian congratulated the mother and father on their offspring, the child continued to whine in his father’s arms. The Mandalorian said something the mother didn’t catch to the child, but it turned his loud whines into soft whimpers.

The Mandalorian placed the whimpering child against his shoulder with the child facing the mother. The child lifted one of his little hands and focused his brown-eyed stare on the incubator. The mother continued to stare at the child, but she heard the unmistakable sound of another one of her eggs hatching. The child smiled at her before resting his head against his father and allowing himself to be carried away.

The mother now agreed with her husband’s earlier statement; this was definitely a strange but special child.

#The Mandalorian #Baby yoda #frog lady #frog mama #fluff #my writing

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vesuviannights · 4 years

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Lucio x Reader 🍋🍋

Gender neutral reader, no pronouns or body parts.

As an Omega, you’ve spent your life yearning for adventure and covering your symptoms with any range of spells and herbs you could find. And the world has been kind to you, keeping you hidden from any Alpha who would wish to have you - until a white wolf appears in your forest sanctuary, golden eyes and blood-stained maw, and your carefully crafted control begins to unravel.

5411 words.

Featuring: omegaverse lore, knotting, breeding kink, cum stuffing, biting/claiming, Alpha Lucio, Omega Reader, some Asra x Muriel, mentions of blood, mentions of starvation

If you’re familiar with Omegaverse lore, know that I’ve fiddled with some of it to merge it with what we know of the Arcana universe. If not - welcome, and I hope you enjoy your stay! Here’s an informative page if you want to learn about it before you read, but if not there’s just enough exposition woven throughout the fic to give you the basics.

Also, the whole ‘consent what consent’ vibe in Omegaverse fics always throws me a bit, so there’s some vaguely political stuff in here to address that.

This is the second fic (and third prompt) for my Terrifying Ten scorecard!

You had never wanted to be an Omega. Or a Beta. Or even an Alpha. You had only ever wanted to be you, and free to do whatever you pleased, and not weighed down by what each label meant, or how others looked at you because of it.

And so you had spent every year since your first heat, that horrifying moment you could no longer deny exactly what you were, trying to figure out new ways to stop or mask it.

Casting spells. Starving yourself. Hiding out in certain magical places to mask your scent. Carrying specific herbs or magical items with you to ward off the all-too-obvious symptoms until you could find sanctuary.

You knew it was dangerous. Illegal, in some parts. The right kind of Omega might be considered property by the wrong kind of Alpha, and the longer an Omega went through their heats without sating them by submitting to an Alpha, the more they risked one day being crippled by them.

But you…you risked it all. All for freedom. All for the world. For wanting to see and explore and live how you wanted and not for someone else.

And all because of what your Aunt had told you one day, when you had been walking past the Count’s palace. Her eyes had glazed over, her voice had become fickle and husky, like it always did whenever she was possessed by the spirits.

And then she had turned to you and whispered the six words you knew you could never escape:

One day he will have you.

The air is crisp around you as you push your fingers through the damp soil, seeking the mushrooms and roots you need for your evening meal.

Beside you, a basket is already near-filled with them, all sorts and varieties and colours, ready to be washed and made into stew. You would usually never pick so many for yourself, especially not during your heat when you were too nauseous to eat, but you always enjoyed leaving some for Muriel as a thanks for letting you kick him out of his hut for a week.

You didn’t think you could ever thank him enough, really, but you tried to every moment you could. The sanctuary it allowed for you to have was priceless, and no gift would ever suffice in return.

You drop a few more roots into your basket before dusting the dirt from your hands. A little is still there when you move your hair from your face, and flecks of it catch in the strands and on your cheeks.

You huff quietly under your breath.

—and just barely hear a second, more distance huff join it.

You freeze at the sound, an almost low growl that reverberates through the clearing and straight into your chest.

And that’s when you feel it.

Eyes.

Watching, waiting, curious.

Ready to devour.

You stand on shaking legs, your eyes darting around the edges of the clearing. Three rapid beats of your heart pass before you see it, hidden in the shadows of the trees just beyond reach.

It’s a wolf. White as snow, with two golden eyes and a bloodstained maw that curls back over its glistening teeth.

Your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it, the world stilling around you as its eyes pin you in place. There is a burn at the base of your throat, a thickness you can’t quite dislodge. A soft wind pulls at your clothes, rustles the trees around you, and when the wolf takes a single step forward, you’re hit with the faintest scent of honey.

It’s this that snaps you from your daze, that awakens you enough to release a short gasp as you take a single step back. The wolf’s ears perk, its pupils blow out, but it doesn’t take another step, and you manage to clamber your way back into the hut and slam the back door shut.

You pull every lock but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

You wait out the night in the bedroom upstairs in darkness, all curtains pulled, alone with your thoughts and fears until the sun peaks over the frosted forest trees and you are safe once more.

There are no more signs of the wolf, a mere figment of your imagination when you set foot back in the city a week later. Asra sends word that same day of his own return—without Muriel, but with fresh fish from the northern rivers.

And so you venture into the markets that evening with your satchel and coins, determined to have at least something in the house other than dried fruits and stale bread. Perhaps some root vegetables and spices for the fish. Some wine to pair with it.

The city is bustling at the evening hour, and you pick your way through it via a series of back streets and alleys you know well. Already in your bag is a fresh pick of swedes, and your mind is set on the mulled wine from the vendor by Salasi.

As you side step a cart and duck into an alley, you let out a quiet sigh—and are immediately hit with a swoop of heat that nearly crushes you.

It moves from head to toe with brutal force, one clean swoop before it settles in your gut. Your knees give from beneath you, and you barely notice the sting of you palms as you catch yourself on the ground.

Your vision is pinpricks of black, a foggy midnight. Racing heart. Short, shallow gasps.

And when you look up, you see it.

The wolf.

The sounds of the city are so distant, cut off by a fog you barely have the clarity to try and push your way through.

There, in the airless alley, there is nothing in the universe except for you and the white wolf as he paws forward, sharp claws clicking on the cobble.

His eyes are searing into your soul, and with each step he takes closer you find yourself keening, little whines and huffs from somewhere deep in your chest as your fingernails curl into the ground, near snapping from the force.

The wolf comes to a stop before you. As you wait on shaking hands and knees, it presses its nose to your face, your jaw, your neck. It inhales, and with it comes an oh-so-soft growl before it begins to circle.

And there you kneel, barely a day after your heat had already passed, brought down by the Alpha who circles and inhales you like its last meal.

When it steps behind you, you feel quiet noises of protest bubble in your chest, little whispers of no no no no no as he presses his maw between your legs—and with that singular action comes the wolf’s deepest growl yet, one that makes your arms give out from under you.

You fall and curl in on yourself, shaking and shivering even though it feels like a baby sun has found its home in your body, flaring and stretching itself out to every nerve and muscle it can find.

You’re barely aware of the wolf shifting, of its human scent hitting you.

A dying campfire. Honeysuckle.

You gasp out and try to shift out of his arms when he scoops you up.

“No, no,” you moan. “Please—please, I don’t—”

“Ssshhh.”

His voice is so soothing, right against your ear. Gentle. Safe.

You relax, the world slipping for a few moments as you press your face into his chest. His hands—one soft, one hard—curl into your body to keep you close. You sway as he walks, a soft oceanic movement that lulls you, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones.

And then the world goes black.

You blink and push yourself up on a shaking hand, the room slowly clearing as you brush the sleep from your eyes.

Every part of you is a little sore, as though you had run for too long without water. It’s daylight. The smell of fresh bread lingers in the room, and a moment later—

Asra appears in the door, soft smile and dazzling eyes as he leans against the frame.

The shop. You’re back in the shop.

“I was wondering when you would wake.”

He has that look about him. That freshly-fucked glow, the kind he always has when he comes back from being railed by a rutting Muriel’s fourteen inch cock for six days straight.

You stand, stretch, rub your face. “Is there food?”

“Plenty. You know I always need to replenish when I’m back.”

Downstairs, there is a ridiculous spread. Dried figs, small chunks of cheese, breads and olive oils, cold cured meats from your favourite market vendor. There is even a small selection of sweets in the corner, placed closest to Asra for ease of access.

The sight of so much food should be overwhelming, but you’re used to it. Asra never puts his money where his mouth is, or rather the food—always says he wants to eat and eat and eat after returning home, when really all he wants is to pick at things like a spoiled concubine.

He lounges on his side by the low table, supported by plush silk cushions while you lower yourself to sit cross-legged opposite him.

The two of you immediately begin working through the food while he talks about his plans for the week, how the weather will turn just enough for the two of you to spend a night out in the fields stargazing.

You murmur and agree to each thing, though you don’t really remember them once he moves on to the next one. Your concentration isn’t normally so poor, and if he notices you thinking on it, he doesn’t say a thing.

The spread of food slowly clears, until about half remains, and Asra has stopped picking.

You have a piece of toast halfway to your mouth when it hits you. Hazy and not entirely there and curious.

The alley. The wolf. The…the scent.

“Are you alright, love?” Asra asks, his voice coming to you as though through a thick fog.

You’re frowning, eyes unfocused. You don’t know if you’re alright. You can’t quite recall how you got home, or what happened after the scent.

Asra’s face shifts. He reaches out for your knee, squeezes. Your hazy memories become a little more so, and then you blink, and they are gone.

You exhale softly, and accept a small circle of cheese Asra pushes toward you. Your cheeks bloom in your happiness: it’s your favourite, a kind only available in a far-off city on the continent.

Grabbing it up with unapologetic greed, you take your first bite and release a soft moan. Asra beams at your pleasure, and the final sliver of uncertainty eases itself from the room.

“How did your week go?” He asks.

You nod, and you tell him it went well. You got a lot of reading done. You tried to paint. Muriel has a new row of herbs in his garden, though you couldn’t say what—identifying seeds has never been your specialty.

Asra’s eyes light up, and he laughs. “Muri will adore them, I’m sure.”

And you smile back, and bite into your toast.

“Last time I changed something in his hut,” you remind him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “He pouted for a week. Remember? He hated those carvings. Said he wanted to move out, they were so hideous.”

Asra’s lips twitch up, but something seems to fall, too. You tilt your head and watch as his gaze lingers for a second longer, then loses the fight and drops away.

“He’s…not leaving the hut, is he?” You ask slowly, a little more alert. And then, with a slightly tighter chest, “You’re not leaving, are you?”

He shakes his head, no, and then shrugs.

“Maybe. Muri is getting restless anyway,” he says. His gaze drops to his hands, where he’s picking at his nail beds. “He wants pups.”

“Do you?”

And then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, a resigned, “Yeah.”

But. There’s a ‘but’ there, one you know not to push.

With the remains of your meal scattered and a new weight settled over the shop, you stand and begin to collect whatever you can save for the next day. Asra remains in his spot, staring at his nail beds, until you crouch by him and kiss his head, nodding toward your shared room.

The day melts into the afternoon, until the sun begins to disappear beneath the skyline and you’re stirred from your dozing by the sounds of rapping at the shop door.

Asra murmurs and stretches out beside you, then slowly unfurls each of his limbs from each of yours and moves for the door. Faust slithers out from the sheets at the foot of the bed and curls into the curve of your neck, and the two of you are very nearly back to sleep when Asra returns with a small piece of paper bearing the palace seal on the back.

He holds it up to you between two fingers, nose crinkled in mild distaste.

“It’s—” You pause to yawn, murmuring quietly as you sit up and rub at your eyes. “It’s from the Countess?”

Asra nods.

“The Count’s ruts have been getting longer and longer,” he sighs. The paper vanishes in a puff of magic, and he begins to gather his scarf and coat as he speaks. “And she can only be alone with the insufferable twat for so long herself.”

Your lips twitch a little at the comment, and he slings his bag over his shoulder before offering out a hand for Faust to slither up.

“Muriel isn’t back in the city yet,” he says, looking a little worried. “Will you be okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” you assure. You lean forward to kiss Faust on her nose, and then flop back down into the sheets, ready to settle in for another nap. “Wake me when you get back.”

Asra murmurs his goodbye, and you’re already slipping when he closes the shop door behind him.

Until another rapping comes, this time much firmer and a little more impatient.

Near blind, you push yourself up and stumble toward the door, still rubbing sleep from your eyes with the heel of your palm as you open the door.

And before you stands your white wolf.

Count Lucio.

You know it without thought, without consideration, as though every nerve in your body knew the exact feel of the flames that licked at them whenever he came close, in whichever form he chose.

You wait for it to hit you, that crippling heat, that burning need, but as you stare up at him through your lashes and his canines glint in the torchlight, you find nothing inside of yourself except your own racing heart.

You pause before you speak, body still as your eyes flicker over his face. “How—how did you know Asra would leave?”

He peers into the shop and steps inside, not waiting for an invitation as he looks around.

“I was a particularly insufferable twat today,” he tells you. “So that Noddy would request your master’s company.”

You exhale hard to cover the shake in your chest as you close the door, and against your better judgement you lock it.

“He’s…not my master,” you murmur to him.

He turns to you, canines glinting in the torchlight. “No. He’s not.”

With long, sure strides he stalks toward you, and of your own accord your eyes drop down and you walk yourself back until you hit the wall. He gives a low growl of approval, and—

There it is again, that scent, honeysuckle and a dying fire. Your eyes flutter shut; you can already feel the promise of what comes next.

“You’ll find I’m not a patient Alpha, my sweet,” he murmurs to you.

His alchemical arm reaches down, you feel it brush against the fabric of your clothes before he pulls something out. Your eyes catch on it, but you still can’t look up, still can’t raise your voice above a whisper.

“What is that?” You ask.

But of course, you know what it is.

“You know what it is,” he answers, an impatient lilt there. “Though perhaps you haven’t been knowledgeable in the ways you’ve been using it.”

He holds it out, and you take it in trembling fingers.

Myrrh. You knew it well, despite your attempt at ignorance. Muriel used it so people forgot him, and you used it to ignore what you were.

Asra had introduced it to you as something he himself had used in his battle to fight off his own heat and find true love instead—something that had clearly worked, and knowing that Muriel and Asra were as much in love as they were mated kept you religious about carrying it with you wherever you went.

With a clever combination of other herbs and spells, it kept the worst of it at bay. The pain was still there, but not the crippling heat, not the burning desire to be fucked and pupped without conscious choice.

You had never submitted to an Alpha, and you had never attracted any.

Until now.

Lucio tuts, pushes the hair from your face, laughs with an almost condescending edge.

“You’ve never submitted to an Alpha before now because you were waiting for me. This—“ He snatches it back to brandish it, then crushes it in his alchemical hand with a scoff. “This means nothing. That day in the forest I could have had you, could have pinned you and pupped you while you screamed.”

You shiver at his words. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you said ‘no’. Then, and last night when you collapsed in the alley. I’m an Alpha, but I’m not a monster.”

He traces your bottom lip, and it trembles then parts as your tongue darts out, hesitantly lapping at the tip of his thumb. You dare a glance up and see the approval in his eyes, the darkening of his irises, and your stomach leaps at the look. You turn your head and close your lips over his thumb, whimpering and whining as you suckle.

“You won’t last forever, pet,” he says. “You will have to submit. Your body demands it. Even now I can see the sweat of your brow, the tremble in your thighs…the myrrh and spells hide the symptoms but they don’t erase them forever.”

And at his words, your entire body shudders and you drop against him. It’s the alley all over again, a heat licking up your spine and every nerve, clawing at your veins, you’re whimpering and whining and the only thing you know is honeysuckle and dying woodfire.

He is growling, muscles rolling, pressing you against the wall as he nuzzles into your neck, as he paws at your clothes.

Say it say it say it say it—

You don’t know what he’s asking for, your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, your chest heaving, you need it now, you need to be rewarded, filled, fucked, pupped—

The thought slams into you without elegance and without warning, and you gasp out and shove him away, but he comes right back. He smashes his lips to yours, teeth clashing as he ruts his hips into your thigh.

“Say it!” He growls; it’s deeper, it echoes in your mind, demands. An Alpha’s voice.

You whimper, and the word tumbles from your lips in a pathetic cry.

“YES!”

And then he’s on you. He’s shredding your clothes, his teeth are at your neck, grazing and threatening to mark. You can feel the heat of his cock as he throws you down onto the table, you part your legs whining and clawing at the wood.

He snorts at the sight of you, a cold sneer as he looks you over. “What am I supposed to do with you like this? Present yourself.”

You scramble to roll over onto your stomach and push your hips into the air. You can feel your sudden heat lashing at your body, causing arousal to drip down your thighs, lubricating you for everything to come. You push your hips back, panting and whimpering, trying so desperately to find the heat of his cock.

His cock, his seed, to be filled, to be swelled, to be knotted and held there and bred and pupped and fucked over and over and over again—

“Please!” You whine and look over your shoulder, but he growls and pushes your head back down.

“Behave yourself.”

You feel his cock press into your inner thigh, and you know he must have shifted into his mating form, because no human cock could be so large, so thick. You shudder, your eyes sting from desperation.

He just laughs. An Alpha in control, desperate to fuck you and pup you, but he won’t make it easy for you to get what you want.

“Please!” You gasp out again. “I’ll—I’ll be good, I promise—”

“Oh, my dear little Omega,” he purrs into your shoulder blade. He pauses to graze his teeth there, and you go near-feral from the sting. “You will be good no matter what, my cock will see to that. Have you ever taken a cock this big before?”

You shake your head.

“Have you ever taken cock at all?”

You swallow, and when you don’t answer, his grip on your hips tightens.

“AH!” You yelp and jerk away from the bruising, but he drags you right back with a warning growl.

The action causes the head of his cock to slip into you, and you sob at the stretch of it, as the ache in your body burns even deeper at the knowledge that he’s inside of you, but not enough to sate you.

“Do you want my cock, little Omega?” He purrs. “Do you want me to fill you?” You give a pathetic whine. “Oh, you do? Well, then perhaps you should ask for it.”

Your words begin bubbling out before you can stop them.

“Please, please please—”

He scoffs. “Better than that, my dearest.”

His alchemical fingertips trace the curve of your spine. You clench and shudder around the head of his cock, but he remains perfectly still.

“Tell me exactly how you want me to take you.”

Your eyes roll as you gather your next words.

“I—I want—” You attempt to turn your face into the table to hide yourself, the drooling mess of your mouth, the crossing of your eyes, but he twists you back with an impatient growl. “PLEASE! Please, f-fuck me, please fuck me, fill me with your cock, breed me and pup me and fuck me please—”

Your words snap his final ounce of control, and he slams into you in one go with a howl, one that seems to shake the walls of the shop and every object on the shelves.

An Alpha’s howl.

A claiming howl.

The Count of Vesuvia, finally having found his Omega.

He begins fucking you without warning, long and thick strokes you know couldn’t possibly fit inside you. But they do, your body has shifted along with his own and every inch of him can fit inside of your dripping hole.

The room echoes with wet squelching noises as he moves at a brutal pace, his growing knot and balls slamming against you as he buries himself as deep as possible each time.

“Ohhh, does that feel better, pet?” He croons to you. “Does it feel good having my cock inside of you, fucking you like the submissive little bitch you are after you spent so long denying it?”

You nod and gasp, nails dragging along the oak of the table as you try to gain purchase to push back. You want his knot. You need it so bad, you need to be filled—

You sob. “P-please!”

“’Please’?” He laughs, and the barely-hidden edge makes that final hold on you snap.

“I WANT YOUR KNOT!” You scream. “I need your cum—I need it please—”

He reaches forward and closes a hand around your neck, yanking you up and back against his chest. His movements don’t still as both arms close around your waist, caging you in.

“I’ll knot you,” he murmurs into the back of your neck. “I’ll fill you with my cum and then my pups and watch you swell with them over and over again—” You whine as he speaks, and the deep growl from his chest is his approval. “But first, you must give me something in return.”

And then you feel it—the scrape of his too-sharp canines against your neck.

He wants to mark you.

Claim you.

Make you his, and only his, for everyone to see.

“Yes!” You gasp it out without even thinking, without needing to. “Mark me, I’m yours, I’m your mate—”

He lets out a feral growl at the word. “Say it again.”

“M-mate, I’m—” You feel your grip on reality slip, just for a moment, only to be brought back by his hand at your throat, shaking you as he rattles your body with his brutal pace.

“Louder, again—scream it for the city to hear!”

“MATE!”

His hand tightens just that little bit more.

“Again!”

“MATE, I’M YOUR MATE—AH!”

His teeth sink in, right as his knot does, and it’s the most exquisite pain you have ever felt in your life.

While his teeth cut into your neck and mark you with his scent, claiming you forever as his, his knot stretches you to its impossible size, locking you to him as his cum spills inside of you, copious and hot and thick.

You groan and whine and whimper at the feel, the world blacking out for a few moments as your body strains to take it all in. No world, no words, no time; just the warmth of his cum as it swells your stomach, the sweat that trickles down your collar bone along with the blood that stains your skin and his teeth.

When you return to consciousness a moment later, your own orgasm is rocking through you. It’s burning you from the inside out, leaving you dazed and aching, squeezing around his swollen cock and knot, greedily draining him and everything he is offering you.

As you start to come down, panting and gasping, you can feel something at your thighs. You realise, with heavy eyes and barely-there mewls, that there is so much of his cum inside of you, flooding you, that it has leaked out past his knot. It’s dribbling down your heated skin, following the curve of your thigh, the back of your knee, to the floor with soft little pats.

You let out a soft cry as he pulls his canines from your neck, then laves at the marks with his tongue to seal them. Your hand goes to your stomach, still so impossibly swollen with his cum—and one day, if he had his way, with more than his cum.

His hand joins yours at your stomach, pressing gently. You groan in protest at the ache, and he shushes you with a kiss behind your ear as more of his cum leaks out and runs down each of your legs.

“Oh little Omega, look at the mess you’ve made,” he murmurs.

His voice is quiet now, the Alpha sated, though it’s only temporary. Within half an hour, his knot will have receded, and he will be ready to fuck you again, and knot you again, and fill you with his cum again, over and over throughout the night and well into the next few days, until his rut is over and he has had his fill.

You let out a soft cry as he shifts the two of you to stretch out along the table, his body curved along your spine.

“You’ve been coupling thistle with the myrrh, have you not?” He asks.

You nod. Even though you were so careful to never be exposed to an Alpha until now, you still took the precautions to prevent pregnancy.

“That will have to stop immediately,” he murmurs into the back of your neck. He nuzzles with his nose, and then presses a single, slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “I want you swollen with my pups.”

You swallow thickly, and when you don’t nod or make a noise to agree, he reaches forward and roughly takes hold of your chin. Your eyes go to his lips, feeling the Alpha roll through him again, you can’t meet his gaze.

“Do you not want my pups?” You shake your head. “’No’, you don’t want them, or ‘no’, I’m wrong?”

You swallow. His grip tightens. You whimper, and in response you feel his cock twitch inside of you, setting off a new round of heat that begins to curl around your abdomen and the base of your spine.

You’re already panting a little when you answer. “I want your pups. I want to be your—your breeding bitch.”

“Good mate,” he murmurs. His hand goes back to your stomach, pressing against the swell of it once more.

As if pulled by strings, you whine and twitch against him, and his body rolls with a growl as he nuzzles into your neck.

“B-but—” You gasp it out, and feel him freeze behind you. But he waits. “I…I want to wait. Please. I don’t think I can handle…pups, right now.” You swallow, and when he still hasn’t said a word, you add in a whisper, “I want to see the world.”

It seems like an eternity before he speaks, or moves, or gives you any indication of what he feels. His lips remain at the back of your neck, and his hand against your stomach, the pressure there just enough to be a constant reminder of how full you are of him.

“I would never dream of taking your autonomy from you,” he murmurs, breaking the silence. “If you wish to be swathed in silks, then I will find the best out there. If you wish to spend your days lounging in my palace without lifting a finger, then I shall assign you a thousand hands to help. And if you wish to see the world…”

Your breath catches in your throat. You can hear the shake on his voice, the barely-contained Alpha—and beneath it all, the terrified Count Lucio, afraid that affection will not remain forever. That you will not remain forever.

“…then you will see the world.”

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to thank him. Instead, you lift a hand to his wrist, holding it against your throat for the comfort and security it offers.

It doesn’t take more than a few moments before you feel him tensing behind you, the Alpha’s growl building in his chest.

“I will fuck you on every surface in this shop until sunrise,” he says, voice deathly still. “Until you can no longer walk, until you can no longer swallow my cum or fit any more of it inside your aching hole, and even then. And if your master returns, I’ll make him watch—maybe I will even make him join, no matter who his Alpha is. How does that sound, pet?”

You’re shivering from the heat again; without the myrrh and with your Alpha so close by, with your new mark burning at your neck, there is little to do.

Everything he says sounds so wonderful. So delicious. You want to be fucked and bred and swollen and held down while he does whatever he needs to you, while he coos to you about how much of his cum is inside of you, how swollen and aching you are, how pretty it looks dribbling down your thighs and leaving drops on the wooden floor of the shop.

All too soon, before you have even managed to answer, you feel him beginning to pull out of you. Along with it, some of his seed spills out onto the table, and you feel tears sting your eyes at the loss.

Until he rights you, hips in the air, and rakes his claws down your spine as he leans in to whisper.

“Spread yourself apart for me like a good little breeding slut.”

And then he slams himself into you once more.

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