#*CURLS UP AND CRIES FOR THE NEXT 10 HOURS*

[yaut-jaknowit]

Your Crown is Slipping

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3967

Summary: After the problem with Dwainet, new issues rise from the clan. Including those that don't think We'ar-ow is who they need. We'ar-ow isn't afraid but has to juggle their new life now. People are starting to question We'ar-ow's leadership. Which has to draw her away from her cabin and leaving you alone more. You see the way We'ar-ow is struggling and speaks with her.

Author Note: Uh oh. There's unrest in the clan guys. How's We'ar-ow gonna balance while dealing with you? Ehehehe

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 |

All it takes is one person to start rumors. Then, rumors will fly like a wildfire across the entire clan, destroying your integrity. Everything you’ve known will be uprooted by a single person. A person who wants to take away the precious little ooman they’ve cast to side. Discarded nothing more than rotten meat. An action that should’ve cost him his life but you, sweet ooman, begged for his life to be spared.

When she looked into those pleading eyes, she could not say no. Now, it was returning with a bite that hurt and caused more trouble. You were worth it. But his head should’ve been hung above her bedroom door, warding anyone off. Only if she didn’t fall for your soft cries.

Like any problem, they can be solved. The head of said problem was rooted in Dwainet. A problem We’ar-ow was going to get rid of.

She chuffed lowly to herself in the empty of her throne room. The door closed and locked tight while she had time to think in the lonely space.

Now, without the hunt of figuring out who had hurt you, We’ar-ow had changed her direction. At anytime she wasn’t in her quarters, she had the screen on her gauntlet pulled up with the cameras. Always watching and ensuring your safety. Though halfway across the ship from you, she had Xilomere stay nearby while she preformed her duties.

Today, she hadn’t even offered to take you with her. You had declined the last three times in the last week. We’ar-ow easily read the terror in your eyes. So, today, she left you behind to sleep in the comfort of her bed. The dark bags under your eyes growing only more every day. She knew what that was from and didn’t like it one bit.

Every time she returned to her dwelling, she would pull you to her room and sleep earlier than usual. You needed it. Every time, you would fight against her only to come to the conclusion it was pointless. Then, you were out. To sleep until the morning rose on the ship. We’ar-ow stayed up, more vigilant than ever. She got the necessary amount of hours to keep her functioning.

Curled up on the comforts of her large bed was your still sleeping form. Eyes still closed, chest slowly rising and falling in a deep sleep. One that you needed. She hated the fact that scum was disturbing your rest over his hatred of you. Dwainet lost his precious mate and realized his mistake too late.

You’re hers. Through and through.

A rap of knuckles on the two imposing doors brought We’ar-ow’s attention back to reality. All she gave was grunt. The screen on her gauntlet still pulled up so she would not lose a moment of you. Dwainet already has shown off his hand of tricks, which could include unlocking her doors. She doesn’t fully know who sides with Dwainet’s beliefs.

It needs to be squashed before the spark can grow. She’s worked far too hard to keep this clan peaceful.

The door revealed Dunkot, the head of security. His grey body moved into the room. A soft click sounded next as he strolled over to the base of the stairs. He knelt down on one knee and bowed his head fully. The hunter knew of his mistake and was attempting to redeem the entirety of his title. How could he allow this to happen, to let this slip past him? Her pet was injured because of it.

Her steely gaze was set upon his knelt form. “What news have you brought to me?” she snapped at him, voice firm.

Dunkot returned to a stand and yet doesn’t grow the courage to find her eyes. “The breach in the system has finally been patched. The corrupted data has also been recovered. Night vision was able to capture the attack,” he explained and kept his gaze down cast.

“And those who side with Dwainet during this revolution?” We’ar-ow eyed the grey Yautja closely.

He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. “I have removed them from rotation and put them in the brig, including Dwainet.” A pregnant paused settled in the air. We’ar-ow notice immediately he had more to say. “If I may, Monarch…” She dipped her head. “Why go through all this trouble over a ooman? He wants it dead. Why not jettison it off the ship? That-“

Before the stupid male could utter another word, We’ar-ow flew down the steps and swallowed his throat in one hand. Due to her larger frame as a female, she pulled him off the ground and held him there, choking him out. He mandibles flared out with a roar that shook the very ground. “That is my pet! That ooman is mine.”

Worst than a dry jungle fire, her eyes were alit with unruly rage.

The Yautja was at her mercy. She could snap his neck if she so pleased. He didn’t want further put himself in harms way by spewing shit from his mouth. An apology would only make things worse.

“I let him win. What kind of message do you think that’ll send to the clan? That I’ll roll over at the misfortune of a male who believes he can best a Monarch. I earned this title,” she growled into his face, ready to tear his features off. “I will not let go until it kills me, and I join Cetanu.”

“Yes, of course, Monarch. You are right,” he agreed with her, anything to let the crushing grip on his windpipe to be let up. She scoffed and released him. The male crumpled to his knees and coughed, rubbing at the new bruise that’ll appear.

A heat glare was set on Dunkot. We’ar-ow shooed him off. “Go. Send me the video as well.” To save himself from further embarrassment and attack, he scrambled away from the Monarch. Out of the room and down the hall he disappeared.

With a huff, We’ar-ow marched back up the stairs and collapsed back into her throne. The room once more empty to any living being. Her gaze returned to the screen on her gauntlet. Her eyes snapped wide at the lack of your form on her bed. Immediately, she flipped between the different screens to find you.

In the kitchenette, bent over and searching through the ice box, there you were. The tightness in her chest loosen. She relaxed into her throne once more and gazed at your form. All safe and sound in her quarters.

The peacefulness was interrupted by a pop from her messages. Dunkot. A video file. We’ar-ow could feel her gut burn and twist at the same time before even opening the file. It would take every cell in her body not to march down to the brig and tear apart that scum for laying a hand on her pet. Once she has her evidence compiled, she’ll set up a court date. Then, he’ll be stripped of his title and deemed a bad blood. Where any Yautja is welcomed to hunt him. But it’ll be her to remove his head from his body. Then, she’ll offer the head to you.

The way her scales crawled with rage she’s never dwelled to before was new. One look at the Monarch had anyone, male or female bolting out of the way. No one dared to stay in the same hallway as her while she marched her way through.

Even as she smashed her code in and entered her quarters, she didn’t stop. We’ar-ow snatched your confused form off of the couch like before and stomped into her room. The bed was welcoming. Your body was thrown once more on the pelts. You weren’t given a second to comprehend the situation before her weight was suffocating you.

Your limbs flailed about, slapping and smacking her, attempting to push her off. It was feeble thought but with all the air pushed off of your lungs, you weren’t thinking straight. “We’ar-ow!” you gasped out with the last bit of air you had.

That was able to snap the giant female out of her shadowed thoughts. She lifted her weight off of you and onto her elbows on either side of your head. Her head was quick to bury its way into the crook of your neck.

Now able to breathe, you heaved for oxygen before putting your hands on her chest and pushing. She didn’t budge, not that you thought she would. It was a good try. “What’s gotten into you?” you questioned, voice disturbing the silence that filled the room. She’s never acted in such a way before that it concerned you more than you thought it should.

Sharp fangs pressed into your fragile skin. Any more pressure would cause them to sink into the fragile flesh. You tensed up, afraid her kindness to you was all a rouse.

They never went further. “We’ar-ow,” you shakily said, heart beginning to thunder in your ears. The pink Yautja moved the fangs and dragged them over the column of your throat. You swallowed at the feeling and laid still under her. At her will.

“He is in the brig,” she finally announced. In the low light, your brows furrowed. Not that she saw. Before it hits you who she’s talking about: Dwainet. You shuttered, nails digging into her back.

“Okay?” you responded, confused on why she’s acting this way if he’s locked away. It doesn’t mean you’re safer by any means though. There were thirteen others that stood on his side during the confrontation. Who knows how many more are out there, lurking in the shadows, such as he did.

The fangs pulled away. Her piercing gaze looked deep into your eyes. “Will you come to the throne room tomorrow?" You huffed. You don’t know why she’s so adamant for you to join her. It puts you at risk. Here, it’s at least safer. Three doors to keep you from the outside world and the dangers that fill it.

“No.” You weren’t going to beat around the bush. “Why do you want me to join you so badly? Want to watch one your clan members rip off my head?” Despite your concern, though waning, you felt anger about the whole situation.

A threatening snarled vibrated your whole body. “You are safe.” Now, that irked you. If only you could push her off and be in a more equal playing ground. But no. She still hovered above you and not giving you room for escape.

“He can not hurt you while in the brig.” This again.

A soured expression passed over your features. You tried to shove the giant off of you again but she didn’t even flinch. It felt like attempting to move a brick wall. “And the others? They’re still out there, hunting me for him. My ex-mate wants me dead for some fucking reason.”

Stinging tears prickled the corner of your eyes. You looked away from her, head turned to the side. We’ar-ow pinched your chin and forcefully turned your head. “You’re mine.” Your face fell into a deadpanned expression.

“Oh, wow. Yeah, that saves me from the fact that a group wants my head.” Your seething anger only growing further as she tried to dismiss the danger of you leaving this room. “I’ve already known your species is only cruel and harsh. No need to rub salt in a festering wound.”

Your heart ached at your own words, disliking the fact that came from you. She’s not cruel. She’s not harsh. Not to you.

The Yautja started to purr softly. “No, don’t do that!” You gave another shove at her, even using your knees into her stomach. That got her to budge but not enough to remove her off of you. “Get off!” She raised a brow at you. It was stupid to demand things of her when she’s the one in charge of every aspect of your life.

Okay, well. That’s not true. But she is the Monarch and you’re just her lowly pet. That she’s fighting for somehow.

We’ar-ow leaned up on her knees, towering over you lying form. You scrambled the moment you had to get to your feet, standing on the bed. Even on her knees, you didn’t reach over her head. Her purr gone.

“I’ve regretted every moment I’ve been on this damn ship. From the moment I even met Dwainet back on earth. I want to go home, back to safety where I’m not being hunted down by someone who I loved. Dwainet was my mate, we shared a lot with each other!” you shouted at her and pointed a finger into her chest.

If you were clear in the head, you might’ve reformed yourself into the timid, shy creature she knew you as. Too terrified to deal with even looking her in the eye. But this, this was completely different.

A huffed sounded from the Yautja in front of you. That only made your anger hit an all time high. Flushed in the face, heated like a flame, you spilled secrets not meant for her ears. “And that’s why I’m planning my fucking escape!” Your voice echoed back at you in the limited space.

All you could hear was the pounding in your ears of your own heart trying to escape. You slapped a hand over your mouth and stumbled backwards, nearly falling off the bed.

The moment you saw her move, your instinct drove you to flight. You sped off of the bed in a flurry of flailing limbs for the only exit. It didn’t take more than two steps for your back to be pressed against a warm surface, trapped all over again.

Hot tears skirted down your face as you struggled against her. A futile attempt to release the hold she has on you. She was going to kill you. End it all. All this trouble you’ve caused. You just spat and disrespected her entirely. This was it. She was going to end you.

Yet, the killing blow never came. You slowly turned your head to look at her. Her facial expression was no different. “I know.”

She knows.

We’ar-ow knows.

Your jaw dropped. “You know?” you whispered the confirmation of an earthshattering discovery. How does she know? How long? Why hasn’t she tried to stop you? Punish you? She let you continue to plan this escape this entire time while knowing your idea.

“Yes. I have known.” She nodded her massive head, long tresses swaying with the movement.

“Why didn’t you stop me?!” You raised your voice again.

“I know a lot of things about you my dear ooman. You will not leave. You are mine.” A hand cradles your chin and forces your head up, exposing the soft tissue of your throat. One claw could spill your life essence and leave you drowning in it. But she does not go for the kill.

You rapidly shake your head. No! You swore this off. Swore off the hurt that would come if this were to happen again. You would not love again. Not her. You’re just her pet. That’s why she cares. The only reason she cares.

There were no more words to be said. You cast your gaze to the ceiling, unable to will yourself to look her in the eye. Anything to stop yourself from bawling out and curling into a ball on the floor at her feet.

Now, there was no escape from this hell, from this torture Dwainet brought you to.

“I will keep my ooman safe. I promised you that. There are cameras in every room, so when I am not in my quarters, you are watched over. I will keep you safe,” she reiterated for the last time. She wanted to get it into your thick skull you are to stay. Stay with her. “And your tablet. It is connected to my gauntlet. I see everything you have looked up.”

We’ar-ow leaned down to press her closed mandibles to your throat. “Maybe one day, I will teach you to fly a ship. Until then, you are to stay. Stay where I can protect you. Dwainet will face his crimes. I will quell this unrest like when I first was crowned Monarch. Everything will return to normal with you at my side, my ooman.”

Sharp tusks raked across feeble flesh, leaving behind goosebumps in their wake. You shuttered at the feeling, unsure if you liked or to fight the feeling growing more in the pit of your stomach.

After a pregnant pause had filled the air for longer than comfortably, you placed a hand on her shoulder. We’ar-ow stopped every movement in her body, waiting. “Will you tell me about how you became Monarch?” you asked, trying to change the subject. You were afraid on where this might take you if you didn’t stop it. It wasn’t a path you were willing to take a risk on. Not when fresh cuts still bled your weak heart.

Her blazing orange eyes searched through yours before casting to the side. A grunt surged through her vocal cords. We’ar-ow pulled away from you, stealing her heat back. With a motion with her head towards her bed, she stalked over to it but stopped. The alien waited patiently to follow her commands.

With nothing better to do, you shadowed behind her and crawled onto the sheets. You don’t know what the creature wanted from you and sat there, looking up at her.

She looked down at your smaller frame before kneeling onto the mattress again. All it took was a singular hand to push you onto your back. Then, she was on top of you, smothering you with her weight. This time, she was mindful of how much pressure was too much. Just enough to feel the slightest struggle to gather air back into your lungs.

The alien felt like a weighted, warm blanket. Forcing herself between your legs so they would either lay limp or wrap around her hips. Her alien face was buried back into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. A need after the day she endured so far away from you.

“You want to know about me?” If you didn’t know any better, it sounded like she was… teasing you. You tensed up underneath her, nails digging into her shoulders. She purred a laugh into your skin. “Do you know what it takes or the process of becoming a Monarch?”

All it took to answer her question was a simple head shake. You could feel her roll her eyes. “Of course, that scum never taught a thing about his culture. Typical.” You nearly snorted if it wasn’t for the reminder of the whole situation. One she either purposefully or not dragged you from.

“As you know, Monarchs are the leader of their clan with a council team. Like… a check in the system. The last Monarch nearly took down this clan if it wasn’t for the council standing up and bringing her down.” We’ar-ow shifted, still between your legs but now on her knees; nearly folding you into yourself. “When a Monarch either steps down or dies, a mourning process begins with the need to search out a new one.”

Fangs raked across your neck, leaving behind heat in their wake. You shuttered at the feeling, eyes drifting close. “It’s a month-long process. Any female is welcomed to step up and take the challenge. The old council leads the tournament, conducting the challenges for them to overcome.”

“Those who step into the ring have but one come to their death. Last Yautja standing wins the title, proving they deserve the title. It’s not one given but won.”

“As for the court, the newly crowned Monarch is allowed to either choose to keep the old council or pick new members. Many choose to pick their own, filled with people they know personally and trust. I, myself, stemmed off and kept the last court. One of my sisters is part of it. I knew many of them before I earned my new title. I preferred to learn about them and grow new bonds then having to decide who would be good for the needed positions.”

Somehow, the alien was able to shift her knees further under your lower back. You were pushed more against her fetal positioned body. Even if you minded, not that you did, there was not a chance to push the hunk of alien off of you. You huffed, amused at her antics.

While your hands rested on her shoulders, you noticed the tension under them, despite being a thickly corded beast. You tilted your hands and dug your thumbs along the countless knots filling her muscles on her shoulders.

It would kill you to say this but the way she turned into putty in your hands was… adorable. You melted at her reaction, not seeing the dangerous creature she had to be.

“By god’s grace. You’re incredibly tense,” you muttered and continued the same motion, forcing the knots to dissipate under your nimble digits. We’ar-ow purred louder than you’ve ever heard. A sound that could defeat you in seconds.

Before you could realize what you were saying, you dragged your hands down her biceps. “Do you want a back massage?” The rational side of you brain suppled it was like a payment for keeping you safe.

That was all.

Her sputtered before amping back up, face burying further into your neck. “What makes you think I need one?” The tone was teasing, allowing for bicker to rise. The same two fangs pressed into feeble skin, testing the limit of pressure. What would be too much to draw blood? Further marking you as hers besides her own Monarch symbol on the back of your neck.

Your hands return to her shoulders. “You feel tenser than a sphertine belt for a car.” She rested more weight on you and made it harder once more to breath properly. Not that you could do much to battle her.

When a confused trill sounded from her throat, you would’ve face palmed. You still haven’t learned they don’t under metaphors, at least not ones like that. “You’re just really tense. Do you want one or not?” You were growing embarrassed at the fact you were offering such a thing to her. A creature who could tear your skull from your body if she so pleases.

The pressure draped across the top of your body was removed, allowing you to fully breath. Her giant body moved to lay on her stomach next to you. Her arms crossed while resting her jaw on them. She looked comfortable as she gazed at you from her spot.

“Well?” she rumbled and motioned her head towards her back.

Despite offering, you were stunned she was letting you. Even you knew showing your back and laying down like she has was an extremely trustful action. You swallowed thickly before getting up onto your knees, knelt at her side. We’ar-ow jerked her head up again in the same motion as before. Your eyes snapped wide. She wanted you to get on her back.

Yeah… it would make the job easier but that? You gnawed on your bottom lip before timidly crawling on top of her, straddling her wide hips. It was a stretch to settle comfortably. We’ar-ow just waited.

Every next movement was slow as you started at the top of her torso, fingers massaging her shoulders. “T-tell me if I do something wrong?” you sputtered, terrified I might push my luck even with her permission.

In return you got a deep groan as the Yautja snuggled deeper into the mattress, content. It encouraged you to keep going, fulfilling your offer till the end.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 |

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #We'ar-ow

[sethsclearwater]

poly seth and paul with a pregnant reader who has cravings bad and just cries when she cant get it like its 2am and she just wants something specific crying and paul and seth dont know what to do and have to go out at midnight to get her her snacks so she wont cry anymore

PLEASE💀💀 send in more requests y’all!!

...

"seth," you sniffled, whimpering as you gently squeezed his bicep in an attempt to wake him up. the aforementioned male was quick to roll over and knuckle blearily at his eyes as he woke himself up.

"hey pretty girl," he murmured sleepily, yawning, "why the tears?" he asked softly, sitting up so he could gently cup your face in his hands and brush away the stray tears with his thumb.

you sniffled again, which apparently woke up your other imprinter who let out a loud groan as he rolled over, drawing both yours and seth's attention, "'s going on?" paul questioned, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand as you sniffled again, another wave of tears running down your cheeks.

"i really want those hot pickles but we don't have any in the fridge," you whimpered, anxiously looking between seth and paul who both let out soft sighs at your explanation.

"oh pretty girl," seth murmured, sliding one hand down to your protruding belly, "let's go look again, yea? i know we just got a bunch a few days ago," he cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before getting up.

you nodded as paul got up as well, taking your hands and helping you up so the three of you could walk into the kitchen. according to the oven, it was 2:13 in the morning and you could not have been less happy to be up at such an early hour.

paul helped you sit down at one of the barstools, gently brushing your tears away as seth looked in the fridge for some of your hot pickles.

he hummed, drawing yours and paul's attention, "i don't see anymore," he sighed softly, his explanation sending another wave of tears down your cheeks.

you anxiously looked over to your other imprinter who just sighed and leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, "i'll go see if the gas station down the street has some, yea?" paul suggested, knowing you well enough by now to know that you wouldn't be able to fall back asleep until you satisfied your craving.

you nodded, "please," you whimpered and he let out a breathy laugh.

"i'll be quick." he reassured, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before straightening up and grabbing his keys and wallet before heading out.

seth came over to you, offering you your hydroflask, "drink some water, yea?" he suggested, offering you a small smile when you nodded and sipped on the straw.

"you wanna put your show on in bed while we wait for paul?" he asked softly and you nodded, sniffling again as you grabbed your hydroflask and allowed seth to take your free hand and help you back into the bedroom where he got you back into bed.

he quickly crawled in next to you, allowing you to curl into his side while he got your favorite show on. it didn't take long for paul to get back and you lit up as soon as you saw him step into the bedroom with a bag of hot pickles, "hey princess," he smiled softly at you as he stepped over and handed you two of them, "i got like 10 of them so we'll have some extras in the fridge, yea?" he asked softly, his tone laced with a hint of teasing that had you giggling as you sniffled.

"thank you," you whispered, cheeks a bright pink as you quickly got one of the pickles out of the wrapper and ate it.

both boys let out breathy laughs, happy to know that you were happy. paul got the rest of the pickles into the fridge before he was getting back in bed with you, both boys chuckling as you ate 2 pickles in record time.

#poly!paulxreaderxseth #poly!sethxreaderxpaul #seth clearwater #paul lahote #seth clearwater imagine #paul lahote imagine #seth clearwater x reader #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote blurb #seth clearwater blurb #paul lahote fluff #paul lahote smut #paul lahote angst #seth clearwater fluff #seth clearwater smut #seth clearwater angst #twilight #twilight imagine #tts #the twilight saga #twilight blurb #twilight wolves #twilight wolfpack #twilight wolves imagine #twilight wolfpack imagine #sam uley #emily young #jared cameron #jacob black #embry call

[buckgasms]

So I’ve been craving your content lately! So I was thinking princess and Bucky where princess is very sensitive, like she cries over the littlest things, is always scared to break a rule, she’s basically walking on egg shells trying to make sure she does everything right. I love your work!🎀

Omg bestiiiiiiiie!! This is princess to a T!!!

Most of the time she is ok because her Daddy takes it upon himself to make her feel happy and safe and perfect, but obviously some days it can't be like that.

Like imagine Daddy has had a really busy week so even though he has still been taking care of his best girl, he's just too tired to keep his eyes open after sex and he gets up mega early the next morning without giving you as many kisses as usual.

So you lay in bed for a little while after leaves and even though you shouldn't you can't help but cry at the thought of him being mad at you.

And maybe he didn't leave his usual note of to do lists, so you cry again because even though you know he loves you and he's very busy..... It's just very upsetting.

You try and pull yourself together. What is normally on the list? Shower, tidy up, eat... Um... Pick an outfit.... Your mind goes blank. No idea what to do with yourself.

Maybe you should call him? You held your phone in your hand, staring at the picture of him on your lock screen. Your eyes welled up again because what if he was disappointed with you? What if you disturbed him and he got cross? You'd have to make do by yourself.

Tears tracked down your cheeks as you pulled on a pretty dress and it made you feel a bit better. You realised it's taken you over an hour to have this meltdown so you traipse out of the bedroom and try to find some food. You try toast to settle your nerves, but you burn the bread and set off the alarm.

It's all just too much, so you run into the bedroom and climb into Bucky's big wardrobe in the hope that you can just disappear.

🌸

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky has an alert that goes off if anything goes wrong with the apartment, so of course he sends a message to someone to check out the fire alarm, figuring it's nothing important, maybe you just burnt the toast again?

After 10 minutes he gets a call. The smoke alarm is off, but.... You aren't there. Bucky's stomach drops and he rushes up from his seat and heads down in the lift. The security guard says you haven't left, but the worry in his mind sends his imagination reeling.

He storms through each room in a panic, calling for you. Finally he heads into the bedroom and sees the sliding wardrobe door slightly open, a little bit of pink fabric sticking out.

Relief washes over him as he kneels down and slides the door open a little wider. His heart melts as he sees you curled up on the floor, wrapped in one of his jackets, your eyes puffy and face sore from rubbing your tears.

"Babygirl, what's wrong?" He coos leaning in a little and offering you his hand. Your eyes go wide, then fill with tears again as your sobs wrack your body.

"No... No I didn't want to bother you.... I'm sorry Daddy....please don't be mad..." You retreated to the back of the wardrobe and pulled his jacket tighter around you.

"What are you talking about Princess?" He asks softly, shuffling closer to you but still giving you plenty of space. Every instinct in his body screaming out to take you in his arms, but knowing you probably need some space for the moment.

"I was bad wasn't I? Made you cross? I didn't have my list... Tried to be good but then the alarm went off...." You descended into more tears and he couldn't help but smile at how fucking sweet and soft you were.

"Oh princess..." He scooches in a little closer and you can't help but crave his touch, even if you think he might be mad. He just smells so good, and feels so good. You lean against him and he wraps his arms around you, soft hand gently stroking your hair as you cry.

"Babygirl, I'm not mad at you at all... I'm so sorry I made you think that. I've always got time for my Princess..." He rubs circles in your arms and presses a kiss to your temple.

"m'sorry Daddy. I just got worried I made you mad and then I didn't know what to do. Then the alarm went off and it was so loud and I thought I'd be in more trouble...."

He pulls you into his lap and kisses your forehead before kissing down your cheeks, then to your pretty lips. "The only person who's been bad here sweetheart is me..." You pull away and look at him with wide eyes.

"You've been bad?" You whisper, biting your finger as he nods solemnly. "I didn't take care of my best girl, and now she's upset and worried. I figure that's pretty terrible don't you?"

You let out a giggle as he pinches your chin and pulls you in for a soft kiss. "Let's get out of this wardrobe and we can discuss my punishment hey baby?"

#daddy!bucky #princess!reader #💌 #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #darling nonnie #bucky barnes fluff

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 10: Little

Author's Note

Word count: 8.4k (whoops)

Read the rest on my Masterlist!

This would be easier if Damiano was’t saying all the right things all at once. A minute in between, or even a warning, would make the turn in conversation more bearable.

“There was a point, a couple months in, where I would have traded a lobe of my poor liver for you to be all clingy and needy in Little headspace. I miss being your Dom so fucking much, so fucking much.” He’s putting such emphasis into his words that it slightly strains his voice. “With your anxiety, having your Dom basically disappear…and we’d spent years building the dynamic into something that was both pleasurable and therapeutic. All that trust and I…the head fuck, I can’t imagine. I don’t want you to think that it wasn’t the most special thing in the world to me.” The sobs are coming so fast that you can’t inhale in between and end up literally choking on your own misery. It's the way a toddler with no self-regulation skills cried.  

“I know, at points, I’ve done power play with other partners.” He’s wincing as he speaks, which is totally unnecessary. You just didn’t get the inclination to submit to anyone else. 

“But I’ve just been stuck on the thought that you might have felt replaceable.” You shake your head and try to gather the air to speak. Instead of just embracing, an hand snakes under your blouse provides pressure through calming, even strokes along your back 

“Felt impor – ortan –ant,” you manage, face tucked snuggly against his neck. Damiano sighs in relief.

“Good. Thank god.”

“Knew I mattered.” Although all the syllables come out right, the next phrase is such a struggle that it's almost indiscernible. “Knew…loved, not – not a…burden.” It was the way your well-intentioned, but often unequipped parents made you feel: like more than they signed up for. It's hard to articulate negatively about a good childhood. They bought roses for your middle school graduation, but you’d rather sit on the bathroom floor with the flu alone than endure your frantic mother or patronizing father. How could a kid they very much intended to have be emotionally over-demanding? Must be something wrong with the kid. 

Except nothing made you feel more right than Dami kneeling on the side of a bubble bath, contentedly washing you with a baby-pink washcloth. He used lavender scented soap and smiled adoringly at how quickly you became non-verbal. 

“Feel floaty, little one?” he��d coo, asking if you’d entered headspace just from this intimate act of service. No pain. No sex. The dynamic had reached a point where just his presence and intention was enough since Damiano, himself, was completely tranquil. It created a euphoric energy exchange, always nurturing. He enjoyed it, you blossomed, but that all came to a grinding halt as soon as the trust wore thin.

“Selfishly, I miss feeling in control, too. I tried to sublimate, but I couldn’t wait for the scenes to me over. It felt manufactured with new partners and just…wrong. Gross, even. Fuck, why am I saying this?” he groans. “I just wanted something to click so badly and it didn’t.

“S’okay.”

“I know this is asking for a lot. Really, I shouldn’t be asking for anything at all, considering living together is more than I realistically hoped for. You know what? I’m gonna shut up.” You shake your head, drying your wet face on the cotton of Dam’s shirt, only for it to  be full of tears again. “Okay, I wish that — I want there to be a way that I earn your trust again, dynamic wise. I miss my little girl.”

That one physically hurts, like a side cramp from running after drinking too much water. The stabbing pain emanates deep into your torso because “yeaning” doesn’t begin to describe your emotions. You literally ached to be curled up in Dami’s lap while he hit his weed vape during The Little Mermaid. Of course, half an hour in, he was humming the melodies into your ear. Sometimes he even did voices or rocked back and forth to the beat of the songs, the soft pajamas he’s dressed you in pleasantly brushing your skin.

“I miss holding you and feeling the pure joy at convincing me to watch one of those Disney movies that are intolerable except for the music. You try to hide how excited you get and I try to act like I wasn’t gonna say yes to anything you picked.” 

“Damia…” You ball your hands into fists, fingernails biting into the soft flesh. It's a bad habit, but an effective one. The little bit of pain keeps you present when you’d like to fawn. This wasn’t the place: rehab facility, in a previously sterile, closet–size room. The couple times you’d accidentally slipped into subspace semi-publicly had been scary. If you were meeting him on tour, Damiano was extremely intentional about creating a controlled environment, and if he didn’t feel confident, you wouldn't play.

Perhaps, without realizing it, the hand under your shirt is stoking at the same pace as an even breath. When one body was upset, the other subconsciously moved to calm it. All you needed was to breathe in time with his hand against your back, and allow yourself to fall into submission. Every cell in your being had been screaming for this, waiting months for Dami’s reassuring touch, but you couldn’t allow yourself to enjoy it. Hell, you shouldn't be allowing it whatsoever because based on recent history you’d end up hurt. Worse still, you’d feel helpless, which was an emotion you’d clawed your way out of with cut up hands and bleeding fingernails. 

“I need to stand up,” you decide, clambering off his lap. It takes Dami by surprise and he hangs onto your wrists while you struggle to get your feet right. He can tell something is awry.

“Okay, you're standing. What now?” he asks in his gentlest voice. Speak. Fucking speak. Maybe you could go home and fall back into memory, pretend it wasn’t a temporary fix that would ultimately deepen the wound. 

“Look at me.” You can’t stop your face from turning, so you squeeze your eyes closed and feel a rush of tears. “Look at me.” You pout your lip and shake your head, whimpering in distress. The lip pout was a dead giveaway, so you bite it instead and taste blood. The palms of your hands hurt, your lip hurt, your heart hurt. How was a person supposed to contain this much hurt and be unaffected?

“When we split you didn’t have another dom. How long did it take you to find one, y/n?” He caught on too easily. Your left leg begins shaking, quivering at the knee like it's about to give out. Your body tries to contain nervous energy. It’s too much. The sobs are so frequent you struggle to breath, coughing on snot.

“Did some piece of shit hurt you, piccola mia? What did they do wrong?” You choke on your own spit at the tone of his voice, covered in goosebumps. Damiano probably didn’t realize how dominant he sounded. His little girl making a mistake within a new dynamic wasn’t even a possibility to him. Had to be the dom’s fault because you were perfection.

“When you’re ready we can redo the scene and it’ll go exactly how you want. I’ll be so careful to replace that bad memory with a good one. Hmm?” You shake your head. There had been no bad substitute dom, because there’d been no other dom at all.

“Open your eyes,” he commands, tightening the grip on your wrists. Dami sits forward and pulls you between his spread legs. You stare at your left shoe. One of Princess’s hairs was on the bland, gray carpet, nearly camouflaged. 

“I haven't submitted to anyone,” you whisper so quietly that not even crying can distort the words.

“Look at me.” It's another command, more forceful. His grip on your wrists aches, just enough to draw attention. Keeping the kicked puppy expression off of your face became impossible ten minutes ago, so when Dami looks, he sees. He’s absolutely devastated, then kicking himself for not putting two and two together. 

“You’re going to be Little for a while. Sit on my lap.” Now that the decisions made, you’re so awash in relief that your oxygenation gets even more fucked up.

“Can’t breathe.” He makes the decision physically, too, and pulls you down to him. You go completely pliant, so sitting on his lap becomes laying on his chest. Dami turns both your bodies to fit semi-comfortably along the tiny bed. You peel off your shirt to reveal just a sports bra, worn to keep the boobage under control. Now all that matters was his warm hands on your bare skin. The shirt falls to the floor and Princess sniffs it out of curiosity. 

“Let me change into a tank top,” he murmurs. It's a sign of respect, since he’d go shiftless any other time. “Loosen your grip. I’m just getting something from my dresser, you're okay, topolina.” Subconsciously, you’d wrapped your arms around Dami and established a vice hold, so he’d have to pry your arms apart to get away. It was a desperate move.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not allowed to apologize unless I ask, surely you remember that.”

“I remember,” you slip into Little Voice and watch Damiano’s from out under your lashes. It’d be so much quicker to get out of bed, but instead he props himself on his left elbow and reaches to open the drawer with his right hand. As a result you get to stay on his chest and listen to his heartbeat through the cotton.

Every movement is done together. Sitting up with a firm arm around your waist is done together. You even help him pull off the baggy t-shirt and unnecessarily smooth over the straps of his tank top. He’s gained muscle fast. Already you can see the difference in Damiano’s biceps and shoulders. It’d still be nice to see a healthy layer of body fat. Right now he’s a bit sinewy.

“They have a gym here.”

“You noticed,” he beams. Rather than answer his gaze, you stare at where your thighs touch and feel yourself get wet.

“Mm, you forget that I can feel what you’re thinking when you’re on my lap, michetta.” Why in god’s name did you wear cheap trousers and thin underwear? Even your ear’s burn with embarrassment. 

“Awe, now did I say you were allowed to blush that pretty?” He takes the hair tie from your wrist and pulls your hair back, so he can see your face from all angels. “Does this feel nice?” Dami fingers combs your locks, stropping whenever there's a tangle until the full ponytail is clutched in his first. Then he pulls from the base of your skull. You're too braindead to provide resistance. Rather than pull your hair, Damiano ends up tilting your whole head back. You freeze, afraid it's your mistake.

Initially, all Dami does is breathe, and you can feel the air hitting your stretched neck. He just sits there, with your head craned back, enjoying the view of all your exposed skin, like a predator before butchering its meal. Just allowing this stance is an act of submission by you. His eyes fall to the notch at the base of your neck, across your clavicles, along the flat expanse of your breast bone, and landing on the line of your cleavage.

“Notice your breathing.” For the first time in several minutes, your awareness turns inward, away from your dominant. Was the pattern of your inhale-exhale normal? No. But was it panicked? Also no. You were panting, aroused by the knowledge of Dami’s eyes on your neck. It was a ridiculous reaction. 

“‘S better.”

“Mhm.” The hand around your middle slowly rises to your throat. Damiano simply sets the bottom knuckles against your trachea, not applying any force, intricately observing your reaction. Then he folds the entirety of his warm palm around your neck, keeping tension with your hair. Finally he wraps his fingers around the column of your neck, leaving you in rapture. At any moment, he’ll apply force, restricting blood flow and subsequently flooding you in endorphins when his grip releases. Dami’s thumb tenderly rubs behind your ear lobe, the gentle sensation a precursor to some brutality that never comes.

“You are okay.” Using both hands, Damiano brings your head upright. As soon as he lets go you feel the weight of the world and yearn for his guiding touch.

“Signore?” you say his chosen Honorific in confusion. His careful hands are back, tucking your face securely between his shoulder and neck. One resumes the delicious tension with your hair and the other cups your cheek as he lays back down. 

“So good at keeping your eyes closed, piccola. Remember I had to train you to do that? Now, you give in without me even asking. Such a perfect pet.” He kisses your forehead and rubs your bare back while administering the occasional validation. “Curled up just right, topolina. You are my sweetest little girl when you’re snuggly.” Just when you’re prepared to swan dive into subspace for the foreseeable future, Dami jostles your shoulder. “I need you to stay verbal.” You groan in protest, feeling disoriented as you search for words. They’re unreachable objects, floating around in your submissive mental fog.

“Ssh, shh. I didn’t want you to startle. That's my fault and I’m sorry,” he coos, stroking your hair with gentle pressure that coaxes you to lay down. “Take a deep breath. Mhm, that's just how I asked, piccola mia. You’re doing a really good job.” 

“Brain off,” you groan. Damiano chuckles, but keeps his hand at the same pace. He’s good at that. As a dominant partner, his physicality often had a hypnotic quality. 

“I’m sorry that I have to keep you at the surface. I wish it was different, that I could be a better Dom.” 

“You…good Dom.”

“Three whole words? I’m impressed. I’ve seen you go non-verbal for so long I wondered if you’d talk the next morning.”

“Mm…nice.”

“Yeah, I bet that sounds nice right now. Maybe we’ll do that when I get home. This can be non-sexual for a while.” The bastard properly yanks your hair for the first time as punctuation, just enough for a violent full-body shiver and a little sting at the nape of the neck. It was your favorite.

“Fuck you.” Simultaneously, you stretch like Princess in the sun, coiling yourself tighter around Dami. “Fuck you and the way you smell.” Your nose was nudging against the back of his head, where all the sweat collected.

“I’m one day past needing a shower. Sorry, I know you only like that when you’re ovulating and feral.” And right now. He smelled grubby in a way you wanted to taste too. Would he notice if you licked him? With inhibitions compromised, you lick the nape of his neck, feeling the short hairs at the top with your tongue. Damiano startles and pulls away, shocked.

“Did you just lick me?” It's such a harsh reaction that you immediately regret it. Now that the cuddles have stopped, you feel uneasy with self consciousness. What kind of invasive, tone deaf pervert does what you just did? And here you’d lectured about boundaries. 

Damiano’s face dissolves from shock into pity into regret. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing back and forth. Were you crying again? You couldn’t feel your face, or anywhere else on your body. He hasn’t given you permission to apologize. Even so, the words are almost bursting forth. 

“You surprised me,” he explains slowly, speaking like you’re a confused child. It’s healing, to be talked down to, but not demeaned, in a world where your senses are in a constant state of being assaulted by information.

 “Good surprise. I shouldn’t have jumped. I’m sorry, pet.” It was the second time he’s said ‘I’m sorry,’ while you weren’t allowed. “It’s been so long since I had the privilege of our dynamic and…” Dami looks out the window again, and sighs in thought. He pulls you close again and rolls over so he’s resting on top this time. With his familiar weight pushing you into the mattress, not wrapping your legs around his hips becomes a very conscious choice.

“You are uninhibited by shame in the expression of your submission.” A single finger on your chin brings your eyes to his and Damiano’s gaze is the only thing necessary to own your attention. “So strictly platonic might not work for us, because I will never put limits on your sexual expression.” The moment is so intense that you mentally beg for Dami to release it, but he grasps it with an iron-clad fist, willfully. “So things are going to be partially experimental, at your discretion, because hard boundaries are not comfortable for you. They are not where you thrive.” 

You’re nodding along in wide-eyed agreement, dreading when this moment ends and you have to have an entire thought on your own. Dami is holding himself very still, rather than relaxing against you as is normal. It's undoubtedly because he’s hard. Wanting to feel that validation you begin to raise your knees, intending to wrap your legs over his hips and bring him close enough to eliminate any secrets. With a firm hand on your thigh, he stops the gesture, legs returning to the bed.

“Breathe,” he reminds, caressing your ribcage. 

“I wanna apologize,” you whimper, embarrassed at your own horny behavior.

“No. Breathe into my hand.” Each inhale, you focus on the sensation of Dami’s skin against yours and his weight on your left side. “I will not allow you to apologize for organically acting out your desires. I am here to regulate your behavior. I don’t expect you to do it.” Damiano’s face begins to blur as you slip deeper into submission and try to claw your way towards the surface.

He resituates your bodies to lay facing each other. One hand is cupping your ribcage, the other rests at the base of your neck. The immediate adrenaline rush makes you more cognizant. Curious about all the movement, Princess hops on the bed, meowing a complaint that there is not enough room to lay between your torsos.

“I'm busy, babygirl,” he tells her. She meows again and turns her head away, as if she understands.

“Okay, brain turning on.”

“Just keep breathing. That’s all you have to do and you’re listening so well.” He rubs circles on your chest and in response your nipples get hard, even though the bra’s padding. “I love it when you touch me like this,” he muses. Gathering all your focus, you slip a hand under Dami’s tanktop and lay it on his sternum.

“Piccola mia, look at me.” He only has to ask once. “You are okay. I know this was just the beginning of what you needed.” Instead of crying as a response to everything, you access that little well of calm inside you, and find that there's steadiness to be had. “If we were to do a scene, you might not feel safe here, or you might feel uneasy afterwards. Also you need to drive home.”

“I understand.” You strain to kiss Dami’s nose.

“Breathe. You are okay.”

“I am okay,” you repeat back, automatically. 

“You are okay.”

“I am okay.” You finally consider the words and nod in understanding. “I’m okay. I’m not actively trying to keep it together anymore. Holy shit, I actually feel alright,” you exclaim in surprise. He hums in agreement, and pulls you onto his chest. Being constantly reminded to breathe steadily has manually calmed your nervous system down. Your body physically knew that it wasn’t in a state of distress anymore, panic gone.

“Fiveish minute warning,” Damiano announces, like a nanny at a playground.

“No,” you grumble, getting a more secure grip and nuzzling.

“When you feel like you’re gonna turn into a sinkhole from all the pressure life is applying, find this feeling again. It’ll still be there. You don’t have to use it or owe it to anybody. Just have some peace and know I believe in your capabilities unconditionally.”

“I believe in you unconditionally.” Dami scoffs and pats the mattress.

“This bed we’re laying on, is in a rehab facility that I didn’t even get myself into. My brilliant, persuasive girlfriend tricked the entire Italian healthcare system and babysat me on the way here.”

“Technically I committed a crime, so don’t put me too high on a pedestal.” He frowns with just the right side of his mouth, eyes darting back and forth on the textured ceiling. “Hey…” You fold both hands on his chest to prop up your chin.

“Hey.”

“You’re missing the point.” He cocks an eyebrow. “We’re laying in a bed in a rehab facility that I tricked my way into together.” This earns a full smile and a suggestive lip bite. It's humanizing to view Dami from an angle that gives him a double chin, as he gazes down in adoration.

“That is a good point.” His eyes scan your face, repeatedly darting down to your lips. It is a very intimate position.

“Okay, so this is a question, not a statement.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you right now? Because I can’t tell.” You blush and break eye contact, laying a cheek to the cotton of Dami’s tank top. “Ah, fuck me. That’s a no. Fuck.”

“Not yet,” you whisper, tracing the lines of a cat tattoo on the inside of his bicep.

“I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“I know. It doesn’t come off that way.”

“Good because I don’t…I’m really happy with where we’re at and I don’t want to do anything to damage it.”

“You’re not, Damia and I don’t wanna…freak out and get snot all over you.”

“Are you kidding? That’s the first normal reaction you’ve had to all this. I’m relieved. Anger and tears are reactions I can understand.”

“I’ll be sure to yell at you next time.”

“You say that as a joke but it’d be nice to get it out of the way.” That comment rubs you the wrong way and you sit up.

“Do you think I’m just harboring secret rage, waiting for a moment where I can cause optimal damage to unleash it?”

“Wha – no. No, I don’t think that.”

“I haven’t held back on our phone calls or when we split up. I walked out of the hospital and I blocked all ways for you to contact me.”

“I know, I just feel like I deserve…more. More punishment.”

“That sounds like some shit you need to figure out with a therapist, not put on me.” Damn, subbyness gone. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Ugh!” You splay out on his chest once more, missing the simplicity of the previous moment.

“I ruined it.”

“You can’t be constantly debilitated by self-loathing because staying sober and putting our relationship back together isn’t gonna work with that weight. I don’t resent you the way you’re bracing for.”

“Why?” he presses.

“Because you are not the person I broke up with! Become that person again, and you will feel the wrath of a thousand hell demons. But this person –” you poke the middle of his chest with your pointer finger. “I fell in love with at 18 and continue to love. I know you didn’t act maliciously, or as your true self. Anger is just…so simple. Too simple.” He softens and traces his fingertips up and down your spine. “I will be an absolute prison warden about drug testing though.”

“Good, that’ll make me feel better. And I’m glad that you’re acknowledging the hurt I caused, even if it wasn’t my intent. Intent doesn’t heal the wounds.”

“Well, except…“knowing you didn’t mean to hurt someone takes away a lot of the betrayal, so it does matter.” You shift and sign in contentment. God, he really smelled unreasonably delicious. “Plus I’m a big girl, I can work through my emotions.” His fingertips massage your scalp in a way that damn near makes your eyes roll back. Instead, you shiver while he gathers your hair in a fist.

“My turn.”

“Huh?” Damiano flips you on your back again, but instead of keeping his head level, he lowers his face to your chest. You still don’t understand what's going on until his tongue licks between your cleavage, up to your collar bones. From there he kisses along your neck with tongue, pulling your hair to make the area more accessible to his mouth.

“Hnngg mm, Damia. Ahh, okay.” His tongue runs along the shell of your ear, making every body hair stand on end from the stimulation. “Huuuh, fuck. Not fair. Mm-mmm, not…not fair.” His chuckle is ridiculously sexy and he takes his time pulling away. “Not fair.” Damiano wears a self-satisfied smile, knowing he’s bested you, in addition to turning you on. Perhaps two orgasams before visiting wasn’t enough, because you actually consider lunging forward and kissing him hard. Maybe that's what he wants, to bait you into action without implicating himself. It's a challenge that he doesn’t mean to pose. Regardless, you take it.

“Princess?” You make a couple high-pitched trills and she jumps on your chest. Dami is surprised to have the focus pivoted away from him. Ever the attention whore, Princess rubs her cheek against his before settling down.

“Do you think she misses me?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Cause clearly, you miss me.” Sitting up, you brush the cat hair off your shirt and pull it on. Damiano makes a wounded noise in protest. 

“Looks like you’ll have to lick something else now,” you quip. By that you mean an arm or the fabric of your top, not the lightning fast comeback Dami delivers.

“I would lick something else. Now, if you’d like. Happily.” He gestures to his bed and your cunt burns, despite cunnilingus not even being an option. 

“You’re funny.”

“I couldn’t be more serious.”

“Pretty sure intercourse is against the rules. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I’m pretty sure that's what they think we’re doing right now,” he grins. Horrified, you yank the door open while Dami cackles. Luckily, he manages to catch Princess before she makes a run for it. Her short leash hangs on the bedpost closest to you. In a whisper, he repeats an earlier phrase while reaching for it.

“Did I say you were allowed to blush that pretty?” For a moment you’re speechless and sweaty. He sets Princess down and holds out the leash. Your mind is too preoccupied to realize that he’s offering it to you. Dami smirks as he steps out into the hallway. You try to think of some little gesture or a phrase that will do to him what he’s done to you. Everything that comes to mind is either not good enough, or too public. You’re fumbling and he loves to watch you lust for him.

“You want to have some gelato outside?” 

“If you promise to be civil.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that does not suggest compliance. You decide to be crude rather than clever, pinching his ass right before he steps into the hallway. Damiano yelps and jumps half a foot in the air, as does Princess. 

“Oops.” You skirt around him before he gets the chance to return the favor, skipping towards the stairs. The building was grand, with a high, intricately carved ceiling. Behind you, Dami was speed walking, Princess struggling to keep up. He ends up having to stop and scoop her off the floor, by which time you’re waiting at the end of the hall with a devilish smile. Maybe you were destined to play games of chase like this, until you trusted things enough to be caught.

His eyes scan the surroundings twice before growling, “c’mere.” You shake your head and hop down the steps as soon as he nears touching distance. It's not like Dami could grope you in the common areas where everyone gathered between meals and therapies, but this space was empty. You look over your shoulder, undecided if you’ll let him catch you, and he can see that indecision. Suddenly, it feels like a not so innocent game of prey and predator. Your focus oscillates between Dami and your feet walking backwards down the steps.

“Y/n, behind you!” You freeze and see a frail woman who could be anywhere from 40-70 years old with an amused expression. She was climbing up the stairs, minding her business, like a normal person.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Uh…sorry,” you cringe. First you flatten yourself against the railing, then realize she might need the railing. Already the woman has silently moved to the opposite side of the staircase. Dami’s nose is scrunched up in embarrassment, too.

“Lovely cat,” she murmurs so quietly only Dami realizes she's spoken.

“Oh, thank you!” His normal voice booms through the foyer in comparison. Damiano glances at Princess, as if noticing her for the first time, then sets her down. She meows just before her splayed paws hit carpet and looks up in apparent disappointment. 

“Come on, Miss Sassy Pants.” Once he’s in lock step, you lean over and whisper, “do you know that lady?”

“Mm-mm, she’s new.” His tightly controlled expressions indicate the obvious, that notoriety is a taboo subject in the facility. 

“Have people given you any trouble?”

“Thank god, no. The other patients have been in their own worlds for a while. Plus, no internet access, remember? Lord knows what they’re saying about me.”

“Really nice, genuine, complimentary things,” you deadpan. 

“Oh, really? That's a relief.” The paparazzi were publishing every sallow picture after a night out they could get their hands on, and even better if there was a model in the frame. Alot of the pictures were with women he’d never slept with, and while simply hung-over, not high. Of course that didn't matter. The more they had to recycle material, the more preposterous the claims got. 

“Last week they said you’ve been away managing a secret sex cult, not in rehab.” He scoffs as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Could be worse, I guess. Or less interesting.”

“Yeah…until the claims that it was mostly 16-year-olds started up.” Damiano stops in his tracks with an expression like he’s drunk sour milk. “But it got disproved in like a day! Fans started leaving horrendous reviews on the tabloid sites. Some of them were actually really funny…” You trial off, because Damiano is visibly seething. “Hey, literally no one believed it, Dam.”

“But the fact that they even thought it was acceptable to publish that, with absolutely no evidence, like it was news makes me sick. We always consciously avoided the groupie narrative and now…” He throws his hands up in frustration. 

“Pop culture doesn’t differentiate between a womanizer and a predator because it's normalized that sex be coerced. That's on society, not you.” 

“Maybe I’ll say something to that effect as part of my great rebranding. God it's just…” he stares at the carpet and scowls, mulling it over. “I don’t want to be angry, right now, while you’re visiting, this just really, really pisses me off.” After personally giving dubious and questionable consent in his mid-teens, the subject was a sore spot for Dami. He was very intentional about never doing that to someone else.     

“Maybe you can sue them for character deformation? Use the publicity to bolster releasing an In Nome Del Padre type single?” 

“Now there's an idea,” he allows a sliver of a smile.

“It would sure suck if paparazzi started harassing the journalist who wrote the article after seeing them in court.”

“Now that would be a great tragedy.”

“Perhaps there would even be a support group, for the fellow grievers.”

“I think that’s called a party.”

“I’ll bring the balloons if you bring the cake?”

“Deal,” he finally grins. “Christ,I can’t even…” Damiano shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Maybe I don’t miss the internet.”

“Porn.”

“Good point…But mostly I miss my camera roll.” You try not to turn red.

“Certain pictures on your phone make me very nervous.” 

“They are very safe.” According to many technological precautions you didn’t understand, Damiano’s camera roll was highly secure. But more so you trusted that, as a Dom, he’d never let images of you being Little be viewed by anyone. Yes you were happily non-monogamous, but as dominant, Damiano fucking lived for the fact that he didn’t share your submission. The polyamory was completely separate from your personal daddy/sub dynamic. 

What he got off on most of all wasn’t the nudes, or necessarily kink, but pictures he’d carefully orchestrated of you having sex together. After getting consent, he’d set up the phone camera with a random timer. Not knowing when the picture was going to be taken meant you couldn’t pose. Rather than his usual rhythm, Dami gave you as much stimulation as possible right out the gate, so you’d forget the camera by the time he found a slow groove. Then he’d rev the sex back up with tantric work, toys, dirty talk, and considerate angles. 

The result were images of you sweaty, flushed, gasping, half cognizant, and blissed out. Either captured at a moment of tension, or the release right after. They were not pretty. If you were kissing it could be downright ugly. Damiano always looked just as fucked out, but he wore it like a sex god. Sometimes, the full body shots of you on top felt beautiful, but he never preferred those. Dami loved the gaping mouth, furrowed brow face you made when rubbing your clit against him the exact right way. He’d excitedly point out the crescent-shaped nail marks on his chest you left when dragging your slick pussy along his pubic bone for the sake of orgasmic friction. In real life, or in the pictures.

“You didn’t delete them?” Dami stops in his tracks, face revealing that he hadn’t thought about this until now.

“Should I have?” he says slowly.

“I guess not. I didn’t set up a contingency, so it wasn’t violating anything. I just thought since we were – are, that you wouldn’t want…I mean you had access to all – wait did you take pictures with other people?” Exchanging and creating sexual images with other partners wasn’t even a conversation because of the fame. Now your voice comes out wounded and accusatory at the thought of him sharing this practice during your time apart.

“Not…” He guides you towards the empty kitchen to finish the conversation, as you wear an expression of shock. Intimate photography had only existed between you two out of necessity, not because you forbade it with other partners. It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realized this closed practice had created territorialism. You’d fallen right into the trap of monogamy – of wanting exclusive rights to Damiano’s sexual autonomy – at the first opportunity possible.  The hum of the refrigerator and Dami’s hand on your mid-back bring you to the present. Princess is meowing persistently, probably because this is where her food is stored. 

“You know what, it's almost dinner time. I’ll just feed her now so she’ll stop bothering us.”

“If it's almost dinner then I should go. Our time is up. I –”

“Y/n.” He holds you by the shoulders with intimidatingly intense eye contact. “I was not using sex in a healthy way. I was using it like drugs, okay? It was mostly inebriated and mediocre. Yes, I did photograph it on the rare occasion I was sober-ish and gave a fuck, but those photos never made it onto my phone.  Pictures preserve memories. There was nothing about that time I wanted to remember, especially how I acted.” He crouches down to pet Princess, self-soothing, and you hop up on the counter for something to do. Dami pulls a little metal dish from under the fridge and her meows only intensify. 

“I know, I know. It's happening. I’m getting your fancy dinner, babygirl.” He pulls open the door and the cool air hits your skin. “So I’ve been thinking about how our relationship is at a point where it's gonna evolve a lot.”

“Agreed.” Dami grabs ground, raw meat and a couple of plastic pump bottles out of the refrigerator.

“So even if we were to take a couple hours and hash our relationship all the way out,” he uses a measuring cup to transfer the meat to the bowl, “a week from now it might be…a totally different um, thing.”

“Right, and what’s that stuff?”

“Beef?” Damiano looks over his shoulder while washing his hands and raises an eyebrow.

“No, the bottles.”

“Oh! It’s fish oil, plus vitamins and supplements for her coat, her bones, her eyesight.” 

“Princess, the immortal, spoiled feline.”

“That's the idea, yeah.” She circles Dami’s legs, meowing incessantly, until he sets her bowl down.

“But, I agree about how fast our relationship will be evolving. I guess, ideally we’d sit down each time it felt like something had shifted, but that sounds…”

“Like a lot?”

“Exhausting. Doing the full negotiation while you’re still in the early days of recovery sounds emotionally overwhelming to be honest. And I’d like to say, ‘can’t we just agree to love each other with dignity and reverence,’ but that seems naive.” Damiano thinks for a few seconds, putting things back in the fridge.

“I’m,” he gestures with his hands “sort of doing a reset towards my – well, our fundamental principles. Because I really wasn’t conducting myself in a way I was proud of for several months there. And I want to talk about it.” He takes the gelato container from the refrigerator and retrieves a spoon. “Or rather I’m willing to talk about it” Dami grumbles while fighting with the lid. He finally manages to remove it, revealing the creamy, light green color. 

“Okay, this is gonna sound so cheesy, but I couldn’t eat gelato while we were broken up.” Using some grip strength, he digs the first spoonful out.

“Oh my gosh, Damia.” It’d been so long since you’d last felt butterflies. (Which you’d never outright attribute partially to him speaking in the past tense). Technically you were still broken up, but it didn’t feel like it. This was some uncomfortable in between, a limbo. However, Damiano didn’t call you broken up to his band mates, even though that label had definitely been put on your relationship in a mutual decision. 

“What's that face?” he passes you a spoonful. The handle is warm from his grip.

“You didn’t tell anyone we were broken up, did you?” He can see from your smile that you aren’t upset, which just makes him bashful. It's a rare occurrence to see Damiano David bashful. “Hah! You’re adorable.” He stares at his shoes while you enjoy the first taste of gelato. “Mister megastardom is blushing.”

“No, I’m not blushing. Shut up,” he grins. “And I may have, possibly…um, avoided using that particular label as much as possible. So yeah, I have said it, but I’ve also avoided it, to be honest. Vic has gotten good at hiding the visible pity in her expression, but Thomas especially has a ways to go.” You pry a spoonful out of the container and feed it to Dami. He stands between your legs, hands resting just above your knees.

“I propose that we are officially not broken up.”

“So then we are…”

“Not broken up.”

“Okay…” His tone is unsure, but he allows one of those precious smiles that reveal his gums and offers another up more gelato. “So are we friends?” As it melts in your mouth, you contemplate the requirements for friendship. It became too painful to continue relationships with a couple of my friends who were super into the club scene and bordering on substance abuse. But Dami was sober.

“Or no? Needing to allocate all my focus to staying sober and repairing my mistakes may not make me a very good friend.” He’s self aware and gracious which makes the decision harder. You scoop the gelato with so much gusto that it nearly ends on the floor.

“But consciousness about substance misuse and commitment to repairing relationships are really vital to my friendships right now.” You raise another spoonful to his lips. This time it takes Damiano a second to accept it. “So I don’t know, but it's really important that I do know.”

“Hey.” In a comforting gesture, Dami slides his hands up your thighs and leans in to make more meaningful eye contact. “I don’t want to exhaust you with this, sweetheart. I –” his self-awareness kicks in and he takes a step back, hands purposefully occupying themselves with the spoon and container. “We are roommates and you’ve already told me, in detail, your boundaries on that.”

“On your sobriety! There aren’t supposed to be hard rules in relationships!” You're exasperated and Damiano isn’t offended. Instead, he taps your lip with the spoon as a reminder to open your mouth.

“We are intentionally repairing our bond to work towards a relationship.” You nod and take a deep breath, feeling calmer. The gelato is beginning to melt, runny around the edges. If it overflows the container will never get un-sticky.   

   “You should put that in the freezer.” He sighs and stops meeting your eyes. The top of the container is stiff. Damiano carelessly tosses the shared spoon into the sink and the metallic sound is so loud that it makes you jump. He spins around right away with an anxious expression.

“Sorry, sorry! That wasn’t intentional, I’m just not used to having a metal sink. It’s basically always filled with water for doing dishes. I wasn’t tryna be intimidating or some bullshit. I’m sorry. I –” whispering to himself, Dami says “what the fuck is wrong with you” He clips Princess back onto her leash and loops it over the knob on a cupboard.

“That wasn’t me trying to change the subject, Damia. I got yelled at so many times for letting the gelato melt that it's like a Pavlovian response.”

“Okay.” He relaxes his shoulders, resuming his previous stance.

“Okay,” you repeat with a small smile.

“We know how to do right by each other and we’re on the same page. You’ve updated your boundaries. As far as I know, mine are the same. I’m sure shit will come up, but we’re good at communicating.” Unexpectedly, serenity washes over you at once again reaching cohesion. It was a familiar sensation with Dami, to be grounded in the presence of each other. He takes a deep breath in as well. 

“Nesting partners. It’s a label I’ve learned, but I know you’re not big into terminology.”

“No, tell me what it means.”

“It's the companion you live with. Not necessarily your primary.”

“Sounds like something from a documentary about birds.”

“It does,” you laugh. “Anyways, if you wanted a word for us, that’d be it.” 

“Are you asking me to be your nesting partner?” Subconsciously, he leans forward out of excitement, hands sliding halfway up your thighs.

“And you’re willing to have David Attenborough narrate your every shit for National Geographic broadcasting?” 

“Totally.” You suppress the urge to kiss Dami and instead pointedly look down at his hands, now creeping towards your hips.

“Well, then…”

“Shit, sorry. Sorry.” He stands upright, tries to put his hands in his pockets, then realizes these pants don’t actually have pockets. “I wasn’t trying to make a move or – I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m just really used to touching you.” Cue heartbeat skip.

“Trust me, I get it. Like when –”

The moment is interrupted by movement just outside of the kitchen. You push Damiano back by a hand in the center of his chest so things weren’t so intimate.

“Ah, there you are! Hiding from me!”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Dami defends, in a way you recognize as bluffing. A staff member, this time dressed in slacks and a wrinkled, blue button-up, walks into the kitchen. He’s amused, not frustrated, which is a small mercy. Maybe Dami doesn’t realize how close your bodies are, maybe he likes it, but you can’t get off the counter without running into him.

“Sorry, I’ll go.” You push him back again, and this time he finally heeds your request. 

“Don’t worry about it. It's just behavioral therapy,” he murmurs, as you adjust your trousers self-consciously. 

“Sounds pretty fucking important for an addict.”

“I would have to agree with y/n. I’m Dr. Rossi. I haven’t spoken with you personally, but I’ve heard so much about you from everyone.” He clasps his hands and looks at Dami expectantly. 

“Right, so they’ll have my purse and stuff at the front desk. So I’ll just –”

“How late am I?”

“13 minutes,” he replies, looking at his expensive watch with a flourish.

“Eh, damage is done. Let me walk you out.” Dr. Rossi nods curtly, gesturing at you to go forth first. Ignoring this, Dami takes his time grabbing Princess’ leash in one hand and yours in the other.

“What do you mean ‘damage done?’”.

“They write me up if I’m more than 5 minutes late. Then there’s a worse penalty at 10 minutes. At 20 it doesn’t count and I get billed for a missed session. Plus they scowl at me for a couple days.”

“Damia,” you groan. He shrugs and nods hello to someone else walking a snow white cat on a neon green leash. 

“That's Yeti. He’s a dog inside a feline’s body, plays fetch.”

“Okay, well thats fucking adorable, but you’re not gonna distract me from blowing off your therapist.” He sighs heavily as you reach the doors. 

“It's one appointment. Everything here is scheduled. I get the purpose, but I feel claustrophobic. You make me feel the opposite of that. Plus, even with visitor privileges, I’m only guaranteed one half hour slot every two weeks.” 

“Oh, your parents.”

“Uh, no. My mom can adequately berate me over the phone. I just fucking miss you and your energy.”

“But your dad…”

“She has him by the balls.” Damiano tries to shove his hands in his pockets again and looks at the floor. Sensing his stress, Princess sits on his shoe and gazes upwards. Only one of them feels like a caged animal and ironically it's not the one on the leash.

“Maybe I can talk to them?” He shakes his head, looking off to the side now instead of meeting your eyes. It was such an obvious tell.

“I don’t want you to spend your time doing that. In a way, I was the golden boy until this. I don’t know how she’s gonna react and I don’t want your feelings hurt on my account.” You momentarily consider proposing speaking to Damiano’s father, then realize that might feel like a betrayal to Andrea.

“It’s just a matter of time?”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly, pursing his lips.

“She’ll change her mind once you’ve been sober for a while,” you reassure, not knowing if it's true. He finally meets your gaze, cocking his head to the side, seeing straight through your empty platitude. Lost for words, you hug Dami, careful not to step on Princess’ paws. She seems content at the sight of her parents embracing. Or maybe you’re just deflecting your own emotions.

Three months ago you’d have called bullshit at anyone claiming Damiano would be setting a sobriety record, that being wrapped in his arms would feel so right and organic. You savor his smell and relax with an exhale as his hug tightens. For some reason the intrusive thoughts always bubbled up at greetings and farewells. The day's emotion, however positive, would probably result in nightmares tonight.

“I’m alive. I’m okay. I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, as if reading your mind.

“Ditto.”

“You don’t need to be okay.” Finally, amidst all the terror around Dami’s health, you ask yourself the question. Am I okay? Nightmares, severe and occasionally uncontrollable anxiety, mental stress from lacking a dom, general stress because of Damiano. A job that was supposed to be fulfilling, but made you too feel like a polar bear in a gray, plastic enclosure.

“What is it,” he murmurs.

“Shit, I don’t know if I’m okay,” you choke. The wave of emotion is so unexpected that it feels like getting jumped. 

“I’m going to take care of you. It's a relief to have the opportunity to take care of you.” The inner peace from earlier is harder to access than you like. Maybe you’d have to ration it.

“I’m gonna leave before I turn into a mess again,” you speak into the fabric of his tank top. Princess cocks her head to the side, and you miss her persistent little presence with a pang in your gut. You pull away and squat down to bid her farewell, stroking between her ears.

“I’ll see you soon, Sassy Pants.” As you straighten up, it's obvious Damiano is deeply conflicted. “I don’t want to let you leave like this. I want to make it all better.”

“It is better. It’s not perfect.” You stroke his face, then his hair. It’s at awkward length, spiking up at random angles. This touch prompts Dami to rub his head self-consciously. 

“It looks like shit.”

“It looks fine. You look good.” That, at least, earns a smile. It’s a better note to end on, so you decide to make your exit. Nervously slipping out was certainly easier than a ceremonious goodbye like this.

“I’m gonna go before you get a missed appointment fee.”

“Fuck the fee,” he responds ardently. You can feel the mood swing coming, but the volatility of his emotions makes them hard to read. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Damia,” you whine, heart clenching.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary. Drive safe.” He bows his head to avoid your eyes. Wanting to make the leaving a little sweeter, you peck his cheek. 

“Bye Princess.” Less than a month and you won’t have to fight the urge to look back, because you’ll be walking out together. No more Orpheus and Eurydice. This is what ultimately sustains you as the heavy maple door falls shut. The sky – clear when you entered the building – is now plagued with clouds.  

Notes: Whew! The longest chapter yet and we sure covered a lot of ground with these two. Cutting it pretty close posting this late in the day, but I made it. I got distracted by giving my taglist a makeover and quite probably making it worse. Oh well.

- XOXO, Eden

Get on my taglist! (hard edition)

@surelyfreedombound @shinshans @lonnybunnys @davianos-blog @hauntedpostpersona @lizzylynch1 @kammerstx @harryssshouseee @slavicgoddess133 @persona1read1ng @katyldamusic @whore4damia @the-chaotic-cow @icarodamiano @gr8rainbowpunk @elvirabelle @bright-shiningstar @maneslut @stardustingold @little-moonbeam-666 @que--sera--sera @dustyinkpages@lapauradelcheez@girlnred @ami--gami

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#cw: addiction #cw: power dynamics #maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #må #damiano #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david x reader #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x y/n #damiano david x you #damiano david smut #damiano david fic

[misguidedasgardian]

Hey I wanted to request a soldier boy x reader where she has powers to read minds and telekinesis and he force her to marry him and how he would react his second child being a girl ? But you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.

Yes! I loved this!! this is a continuation of WHAT I WAS PROMISED

Warnings: Childbirth and related pains, Ben is being an asshole (what’s new?), implied forced marriage and kidnapping, hinted forced breeding, cursing, Ben is disappointed for a little while, misogynistic behavior, might miss some warnings

Your water broke at exactly 10 am, you knew because you had checked the time Ben had returned from a "mission" in town, and then... the waterworks. You whined in discomfort and Ben came running in and slipped on your water and slipped to the floor, it would have been so funny if it weren't for the excruciating pain that came after, making you scream instead.

“He took you to the small town’s hospital, and here you were, almost 36 hours of the worst pain you had felt in your life when you could expel your baby from your tired body

You could have sworn Ben was scared at some point at the 24th hour mark… you thought you saw fear in his eyes when the doctors said that this was taking too long and you wouldn’t be able to “take it” anymore.

But you were a sup, and stronger than you looked, so you pulled through… 12 hours later you heard a cry, cheers from the nurses and doctors, and someone saying near your ear

“Congratulations! it’s a beautiful baby girl” she muttered. Oh you were so happy, a little girl! your body immediately relaxed and you felt so calm. You felt her faint cries while they cleaned her and cut the cord

Soon she was in your arms, and everyone left the room to leave your small family alone. Ben showed up in your eyesight as he looked at the two of you with a weird look on his face. You looked down to see your baby girl already falling asleep in your arms

“What should we name her?” you asked him, but he didn’t answer, he didn’t move. So you reached out and grabbed his wrist tightly, in ona long second all his thoughts and feelings came rushing to you. “You are disappointed” you muttered, feeling so tired and defeated you couldn’t stop the bitter tears that fell off your eyes

“No honey, I just…” he said quickly, but his face said otherwise

“You preferred a boy” you whispered looking down at your beautiful daughter curled up against your chest

“No…” but his thoughts didn’t lie

“Well… is not my fault” he took a step back releasing from your grasp and hiding from your power, he seemed like he wanted to argue with you about that statement, but stopped at the last minute. “If you are so disappointed you can just leave” you spurted out

“No, baby…”

“Leave” you demanded, choking out a cry, and since he was an expert in flying from conflict, he did leave the room, breaking your heart in the process

Your worst dreams came true because he could do whatever the hell he wanted with you and you wouldn’t be able to stop him.

The nurse that came in next looked sad when she saw you crying, and grabbed your baby girl from your arms and left it in the crib right next to you

“Look sweetheart, The Berau sent me” she said warmly, and you just nodded, knowing the drill, they were always watching you, “You do not, under any circumstances let this baby out of your sight, ok?” you nodded, “The hospital nor doctors no nurse has the rights to take this baby from the room without your permission, no matter what shit excuse they give you, ok?” you nodded again, scared again for her safety, “I just needed to say this to you, I already told your husband”

“Thank you”

“You need to rest” she said warmly, “I gave you some of the good stuff” she signaled the bag and the IV plucked into your arm. You giggled

“Thanks” with your baby sleeping right next to you you felt asleep quickly, content with feeling your body already healing for the excruciating 36 hour workout you just pulled 

Ben sat outside your room he almost fell asleep seated on that uncomfortable plastic chair, then the nurse came out of the room with a shy smile

“They are both sleep, you must be so happy” she said sweetly

“I am” he said with his grave voice, his eyes scanning this siren's body up and down, she was HOT…. NO. he told himself, you are married asshole, your wife just spend 36 hours pushing your baby out of her 

No other women, no drugs, no whoring, you barely let him grab a drink… You nagged him all the time but gods if he loved you. He adored you and taking you for himself was the best thing he had ever done. 

You made everything better

You made his horrible memories from the Russians disappear

You made him being monogamous and drug free and he loved it

You gave him a beautiful and strong baby boy, and now a little girl

And now you were crying alone in your room because he prefered to have another boy thana  little girl

Maybe he felt guilty, maybe he was scared of having a girl because he treated women so poorly in his life, his own daughter was going to see right through that, he did force her own mother to marry him… how the hell was he going to explain that?

He looked at both ends of the hallway with squinted eyes, he knew if Vought got wind of this they were going to be stopping by. He could feel his blood boiling at the thought of them getting his dirty hands on you or his babies. He would die before he let them get to you.  

He stopped his dark thoughts when he heard his daughter cry inside the room, without a second thought he jumped and got inside the room 

You were sleeping soundly, the pain and tiredness still present on your face, and your newborn daughter crying her little lungs out. 

With a little hesitation he walked towards the crib

“You should let your mother rest,” he said, like she could understand him, but she wouldn’t stop crying, so remembering everything from his son's first months of life, he grabbed her gently, taking special care in holding her head. As she felt his strong arms she stopped crying, and he looked your way to make sure you were still resting, and you were, you must have been so tired. 

Ben looked at his newborn daughter to find her looking back at him, with those ghostly eyes that seemed blue, but he knew that was going to wash off in a couple of months, but still…

“Hey, don’t look at me like that” he chastised. She draw some small noises and he visibly relaxed when he looked at her more closely 

He didn’t feel the same as when his son was born, when he came into this world he was excited, proud, with his chest filled with arrogance, but now, holding his daughter he felt… he felt scared. 

Scared he was going to drop her, or crush her between his strong hands. Scared that he was going to hurt her in any way. She was so innocent, so small.

”You look like your beautiful mother” he said like he was blaming her for something, “I don’t care if you are a girl, ok?” he muttered, “You are still training, becoming a sup just like your father and mother you hear me? no special treatment” she just kept looking at him, and his resolve just crumbled. That fear was overcome with an immense need, a need to protect his daughter so fiercely, he had never felt anything like it, he would burn the entire world to the ground for her 

“Ok maybe a little special treatment” he whispered leaning in to kiss her forehead, “Only maybe, ok?” he kept looking at her face with the faint lights from outside, she was so cute. 

“I mean look at your face cmon” he growled, “I’ve never been able to resist some doe eyes and a pretty face, haven’t I? Fuck” he admired his daughter in his arms and smiled warmly’ “only one look and you got your old man grabbed by the balls, uh? Is that how it is going to be?” The baby girl seemed to nod, just moving her head randomly and that was enough for Ben to chuckle, seeing himself on his daughter so clearly it warmed his heart

The baby just look at his fathers face and babbled something incoherent, she was a newborn after all, “I’m going to fuck up everyone that tries to hurt you, my princess” he whispered sweetly as he cuddled her against his chest, “no poor fucker is ever going to be good enough for my baby girl”

He recalled a jackass from a show you made him watch. He stated that a girl can always be the light on her father’s life, and he believed it to be true just by holding his little girl

“Now how should we name you, uh?” 

PART 3

#misguidedoneshot #soldier boy #soldierboy #the boys #misguidedpromised #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x y/n

[yawnzzznnn]

hihi! i was wondering if i could request haemin x fem reader and he’s like comforting her after she’s been burnt out from school, if you’re uncomfortable with this that’s completely okay! thank you so much anyways! your writing never fails to put a smile on my face btw, i’m always excited to see read your works! 🫶🏼

✂Addictive Love - Haemin~ ༝༚༝༚♡ﾞ

✂Special thanks too: Anon, Haemin, 8Turn

✂Note: I'm still sick and can't really focus but I hope you enjoy ♡︎ also happy Halloween everyone

✂TW: Slight angst : crying : stress : school : homework : Bones cracking : Haemin basically babying reader : sitting on Haemins lap : Haemin changing reader : reader wears makeup :

✂Taglist: @bunnie-stay-p1ece

✂Words: 619

10-31-23

Doubt filled your mind as you skimmed through the pages your professor provided you, the deeper you went into the text book more tears piled in your eyes, before you knew it you were a crying mess. Unbeknownst to you, you're boyfriend of two years Jung Haemin, was planning a surprise for you.

He noticed you've distanced yourself. Only staying at school or, in your room studying or, doing homework. While you were sobbing over you're text books Haemin had arrived at your house with a huge bouquet, arranged of you're favorite flowers. Haemin noticed how quiet the house was while he was taking his shoes off, no matter how hard he listened he couldn't hear you're pencil, you're sighs of frustration, nothing he heard absolutely nothing.

Worried, Haemin set his journey up the stairs, off to your room. Softly calling out your name after approaching every room, finally he made it to your room. The sound of your silent cried through the door broke Haemin's heart immensely. He slowly creaked the door open so as to not startle you, seeing you curled up on your seat tears running down your face, caused Haemin to almost drop the flowers.

Rushing to your side, Haemin sat your flowers on your desk, embracing you in a huge hug, "hey your ok...don't worry ok? It'll all be over soon, Don't worry about it" Haemin whispered in your ear petting your hair. Before rocking the two of you back and forth, Haemin picked you up, before quickly sitting in your seat and, placing you on his lap, after 30 minutes or so you're tears calmed down.

Before you could speak Haemin shushed you pushing you back into his chest "shh don't say anything. You don't have to explain anything to me...just rest ok?" Haemin assured in a soft voice. Haemin continued to rock you back and forth, almost like a mother would, to stop her infant from crying. Upon noticing you've fallen asleep, Haemin unwrapped one arm from around you, still rocking you with his body and other arm, as he flipped through the pages of your text books and packets.

Once gathering the information he needed Haemin grabbed you're pencil and began writing, his hand writing an exact replica of your's writing down answers he knew pausing to think on one's he didn't. A few hours later Haemin finished you're work, while still rocking you back and forth on his lap. Hooking his arms under you're butt he lifted both you and him up, his bones audibly cracking as he stretched.

Making his way over to you're bed he sat you down, before going to your closet to grab you're sleep clothes, making his way back over to you he changed you into you're pajamas. Grabbing makeup wipes to wipe off whatever you had on, once he got you're makeup completely off he brushed his fingers through you're hair.

Admiring your peaceful face. Haemin eventually laid down next to you tucking you and him in, turning towards you kissing you're head, then eventually falling asleep with you nuzzled deep in his arms. The next morning Haemin made sure you got your flowers, of course keeping one so he knew when they died and, made you memorize what he wrote down assuring you "don't memorize the formula's instead memorize the answers" he told you, making sure you were stress free that whole day.

#8turnrise #8turn #8turn fluff #8turn head cannons #8turn haemin #8turn imagines #8turn one shots #8turn reactions #8turn x reader #8turn x y/n #8turn x you #8turn scenarios #haemin x reader #haemin one shot #haemin one shots #haemin imagines #comfort fic #x reader #haemin #jung haemin x reader #jung haemin

[pastel0rchid]

Futuristic Lover (1)

Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Chapter One

Story Summary: It was a chance to have a family, and Miguel wouldn't waste it. No matter the cost.

A/N: I only know basic Spanish and will use an online translator. Please let me know if anything in the translation is off at any time in this chapter or in future ones!

The sound of children giggling could be heard throughout the small classroom, the group of toddlers surround the woman sitting on the carpet. A large smile was on her lips as she occasionally reached out to tickle the toddlers close to her, her laughter mixing with the toddlers'.

It was about an hour before the daycare closed, and keeping the toddlers busy before their parents picked them up was a bit of work.

But to (Y/n), it was all worth it. Seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter was the best part of her day.

One by one the parents came to pick up their child, leaving (y/n) with one last toddler and 30 minutes left before closing. With the little boy sitting on her hip, she begins to clean as best as she can with one hand.

She sings a small tune as she cleans, smiling as the young boy occasionally tunes in with his babbling.

As the clock ticks closer to 6 O'clock, one by one (y/n)'s coworkers peek in to say their goodbyes. The young boy still perched on her hip as she finished cleaning the room, leaving 10 minutes left until closing.

A small sigh leaves her lips as she realizes the little boy would most likely be here till 6. She sets him down to grab both of their things, gently grabbing his much smaller hand before leading them out of the classroom, flicking off the switch as they head towards the front office.

"Come on, George. Let's wait up front for mommy."

(Y/n)'s voice was soft as she slowly walked with the boy, her body bent slightly in half to keep a hold of his hand. They were the last two in this building, she noticed as they passed by the other classrooms.

This schedule was normal for little George, his mom always picked him up right at 6. Yes, it was a little annoying, and a bit hard to clean with a one-year-old, but (y/n) liked having the little one-on-one time with him.

Once the two made it to the front, (y/n) noticed a strange man waiting by the front desk.

His eyes seemed wide, flicking from one side of the room to the next like he was looking for someone. His hands fidgeted in front of him and occasionally reached into his hoodie pocket to mess with whatever was inside.

A frown reaches (y/n)'s lips at the sight, alarm bells ringing in her mind as she bends down to pick up George.

She protects the boy against her chest as she walks behind the desk, keeping her gaze on the suspicious male.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The man’s head snaps in her direction, seeming shocked at her sudden words and presence. (Y/n) watches as the man shakily removes his hand from the pocket of his hoodie, a small device in his hands with a button right under his thumb.

A second was all (y/n) was granted to duck behind the desk, curling her body around George, before a loud explosion went off.

Her body was blown back by the force, slamming against the wall behind her. A choked cry leaves her lips at the pain erupting up her back, her arms stayed secure around the boy in her arms, his cries piercing over the ringing in her ears.

(Y/n) slumps down into a sitting position, George close to her chest. The smoke from the debris clouds around them, a few pieces stuck in her arms and legs.

A small whimper leaves her lips at the pain she felt, both from the stabbing of the debris and the ache of her back. She could feel the warmth of her blood oozing from her cuts and some down her neck from where her head hit the wall.

She slowly checks over George, other than a few scratches, she takes the brunt of the damage. A breath of relief leaves her at the realization.

George continues his crying, gripping tightly onto (y/n)’s shirt. The poor boy was covered in a fine powder from the debris, his tear marks cutting through the powder on his cheeks.

“It’s alright, sweet boy.”

The words were strained as (y/n) tried to comfort the frightened toddler.

(E/c) eyes snap towards a thump nearby, landing on a figure towering over them. Her heart begins to beat harshly against her chest at the fear that washes over her.

Another attacker?

Another villain?

The figure was coated in a blue and red suit, his face covered by a mask of the same colors. He was tall, much taller than anyone she knew, his shoulders and muscles defined underneath the tightness of the suit.

His hand reaches out for the pair, stopping at how (y/n) flinches away from him, shifting her body to cover George as much as she could. Her eyes held fear, exhaustion hidden just behind it.

The man squats beside the two, trying to calm them by getting on their level.

“Ay, Dios. It’s gonna be alright, mi cielito.”

(Y/n) keeps her eyes on the male, unknowing of the words spoken in his native tongue, as he carefully picks her up, leaving George lying against her.

Nothing is spoken between the two as he carries them out of the rubble, heading towards the already large crowd. (Y/n) quickly recognized George’s tear-stricken mother, who pushed past police to run to her now sniffling son.

Everything after was a blur; George was taken by his mother to the ambulance, who couldn’t stop her endless thanks to (y/n), and the man who had found her carried her over to another ambulance.

They bandaged her wounds, and checked her head wound that still oozed blood, before strapping her in to take her to the hospital. Once the ambulance doors had closed, the man was out of her sight.

It was only when she was lying in a hospital bed, bandages all over her, that somebody carried in a small bouquet of red roses. Looking at the card, her eyebrows raise slightly at the message.

‘To Cielito.

From Spider-Man’

#reader insert #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv fanfiction #across the spiderverse fanfiction

[densi-mber]

A Gift of Joy

A/N: Yes, I’m being very self-indulgent, as usual, for my birthday.

***

“I scheduled the appointment to bring my SUV in for maintenance next week,” Kensi told Deeks. He glanced up from switching out a mini lightbulb from a strand of lights on the Christmas tree.

“Sweet.”

“Also, my water just broke.”

Deeks stilled, one eyebrow arching up as he processed this piece of information. “Are you having any contractions yet?”

“Yeah, but only one so far and not very strong,” Kensi answered.

“Ok, well, Sheila said we probably wouldn’t need to head to the hospital until you get to five minutes between contractions, right?” Deeks checked, clearly already three steps ahead in his head.

“Yeah. Unless I have any severe pain, get dizzy, or feel like I need to push.” She knew she wasn’t telling Deeks anything new, since he’d taken copious notes during all of their pregnancy classes provided by their midwife, Sheila. It was more to confirm that she wasn’t experiencing any unusual symptoms.

“All right. I’ll, uh, call Sheila so she’s ready when it’s time, and double check we have everything packed.”

Kensi watched him, unbelievably proud of his ability to stay calm. Aside from the first few days after finding out she was pregnant, when they’d both been in a state of shock and overwhelmed, Deeks had attacked the preparation with the same energy and focus he would a case.

“Thanks.” Kensi winced faintly as another contraction rippled through her abdomen and back. Deeks was in front of her, gently clasping her hand in a second.

“You ok, baby?”

“Yeah, that one was just a little stronger,” she explained. “It wasn’t that bad though and about 10 minutes from the last one.”

“Let me know if that changes,” Deeks said. “Do you wanna call Rosa?”

“Yeah, I will as soon as I grab something to eat.” He started to move away, but Kensi stop him with a brief tug of his hand. “Hey, thanks for taking such good care of us.”

“Alway. I love you,” Deeks murmured, kissing her softly. He sank to one knee and pressed his lips to her stomach, his touch so loving and gentle, Kensi felt her throat tighten. Standing up again, Deeks squeezed her hand one more time before rushing off to get things ready.

***

Caleb and Sophia Deeks entered the world 6 minutes apart and just short of four hours after Kensi went into labor. It was a remarkably uncomplicated, if fast, delivery. After checking that Kensi and the babies were all healthy, Sheila had left the family alone to bond.

“This is insane,” Deeks murmured, peering down at Caleb curled up on his bare chest. His hand looked giant against Caleb’s tiny back. For the first time today, he looked, and sounded, a touch overwhelmed. Or maybe awed was a better word.

It gave Kensi so much joy to see him realizing one of his most fervent wishes.

“Hey, come here,” Kensi called softly, not wanting to wake Sophia, who was similarly cradled in her own arms. Both babies had initially cried upon making their grand entrances into the world, then fallen asleep shortly after.

Deeks stood up carefully, keeping Caleb anchored to his chest with one hand. When he reached the side of the hospital bed, Kensi patted the mattress beside her. Deeks slid onto the bed, slipping his free arm around Kensi and Sophia once he was situated.

“I always forget how tiny and completely helpless they are at first. It’s incredible and so, so terrifying,” he said, brushing his finger over Sophia’s round cheek. She sighed in her sleep, shakily stretching one arm to the side before settling again.

“It is, but you’re a natural,” Kensi assured him. “You’ve always been. I mean, just look at how calm he is.” She snuggled closer to him. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Deeks scoffed. “Please. I just had to stand there while you pushed out these two.”

“You did so much more than that. You gave me the strength and courage I needed to get through labor.” Kensi smiled up at him. “Like you always do.”

“Either way, we made some cute kids,” he said with a smitten look. “I can’t wait for Rosa to meet them.”

“Yeah, just like their daddy.” Kensi tugged at one of his curls, and Deeks snorted.

“You’re ridiculous.” He gestured with his chin towards Sophia. “You wanna switch?”

They carefully made the swap, settling in once more. Kensi leaned her head against his, looking down on their two bundles of joy.

***

A/N: Yes, yes, yes, this time around I gave the babies my birthday. Title references my own middle name. And yes, this is incredibly cheesy.

#densimber 7.0 #densimber 2023 #densimber day 28 #ncis la fanfiction #densi #densi twins #marty deeks #kensi blye #fluff #ncis la #by ejzah

[mooshkat]

kinktober day 10+11, fucking machine and sensory deprivation

Carlos looks so pretty when he's like this, TK thinks. He watches his husband squirm on their bed, tugging uselessly at the ropes tying him down as TK plays with the controls to the fucking machine he'd set up for Carlos.

It's not quite at the highest setting, but there is one of their larger dildos attached to it, one that TK typically favors because it leaves him absolutely aching for most of the next day. 

They have the weekend to themselves without the worry of work, their shifts lining up finally after a few weeks of barely seeing each other. They've already been at this for over an hour, almost two.

There's a blindfold hiding his husband's beautiful eyes and the silk soaks up the tears spilling as Carlos is pushed past the point of overstimulation. He thrashes his head, chest stuttering on a whine as TK turns the machine down to a gentler pace.

They've decided not to use the earplugs tonight, but it doesn't matter as the mechanics of the machine masks TK's light footsteps as he walks around the bed. He stops at Carlos' waist and brushes his thumb over the remote, stopping the machine completely for a moment.

Carlos' panting is the only noise in the room now, and TK watches him as it takes a few moments for him to calm down. His husband's stomach and chest are both messy from the two orgasms he's slowly pulled out of him from the fucking machine, and he's aiming for a third before they're done.

Smirking, TK reaches out and brushes his finger over the tip of Carlos' cock, smearing precome over the head. Instead of wrapping his hand around him like Carlos' so desperately wants, with the way he jerks at the first touch and tries to arch up into TK's hand, he drags his fingers down the length, scratching his nails lightly across the overly sensitive skin. 

He wonders how it feels for Carlos, with his sight blocked and relying only on touch, sound, and smell.

With his other hand, he turns the machine back on to a rough pace.

Carlos cries out and he yanks hard on the ropes as he tries to get away from the sudden, overwhelming sensations. He doesn't drop the bell clenched tightly in his fist, though, so TK keeps playing with him even as Carlos' entire body begins to tremble.

"You're doing so good, baby, just a little while longer," he praises, so proud of how long Carlos has managed to go tonight. 

It's been long enough since they've played like this that TK was initially worried about accidentally pushing him too far, but Carlos had helped soothe those worries before they started the scene. The second it got to be too much, he would drop the bell.

His husband moans brokenly and tilts his chin up, silently asking for a kiss. TK knows how well touch can ground him when the overwhelming feelings can tip on the bad side of the scale, and he readily gives that to him.

He slides his hand up Carlos' torso and stops at his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat against his palm as he leans down to claim his mouth. Carlos does more panting into TK's mouth than actual kissing, but that's okay.

TK brushes his nose against Carlos', more than happy to let him take all the time he needs. He rubs his thumb soothingly over sweat soaked skin, humming quietly. "Do you think you can go one more time, baby? Or do you want to stop?"

Carlos shakes his head and his determination, as tired and shaky as it is, makes TK smile and brush his hands through his curls. "N-No, I'm good, I'm green. Promise." 

He bites his lip then, an anxious tick that TK has tried and tried to train him out of. Carlos catches himself almost as soon as he does it and stops, so TK doesn't say anything.

"I want to—" his breath hitches and his legs try to close and squeeze his thighs together, but the green rope tied intricately around them stops the movement and he whines. "I don't want the machine anymore, I want your cock, Tyler, please."

With such pretty begging, who is TK to say no to that? He turns off the machine and Carlos sighs in relief as it stops its relentless pounding. "Of course, baby. Let me move this out of the way real quick, okay?"

TK gently eases the dildo out of Carlos' ass and fuck, he reaches out before he can think about it and presses his thumb against the puffy rim, pushing in and watching the way his hole gapes around it.

"God, you're so fucking wet, Carlos," TK groans. He had been extra generous with the lube when they started this, and it had done its job of making the dildo slick and making an absolute mess under Carlos.

Carlos is going to be sore tomorrow, and TK won't be able to resist teasing him.

"Tyler," his husband whines, snapping TK out of his aroused daze. 

He pulls away and goes back to putting the fucking machine to the side, setting it on the floor by the bed to be dealt with later.

(Later, after a short nap with Carlos, he will have forgotten all about the machine when he wakes up and trip over it as soon as he's out of bed.)

After a moment of consideration, TK makes quick work of untying the ropes holding Carlos' legs and rubs the skin around his ankles rubbed slightly raw from all of his squirming.

TK strips out of his boxers and takes his cock in hand, his eyes rolling back at the first touch of relief he's given himself all night.

"You ready, baby? One more and then you can relax."

He settles between Carlos' legs and his husband tries to wrap them around him, but he's worn out and tired now. His head rolls against the pillow and his chest heaves with his harsh breathing.

"Please…"

#tarlos #katie.txt #moosh worbs #funky fungi writing fest #have it a lil early since it's two days fills

[mayhem-neverending]

Would You? Part II

Word Count:1371

Warnings: Nothing.

If he was being honest with himself, Neji was surprised when you and your father arrived at his family home only three hours after his proposal. He had, of course, hoped that you would accept, but he was curious how you decided so quickly. 

He had even blushed when your father made the both of you stand next to each other and cried, “Oh, yes! You will make beautiful babes together!”

That was two weeks ago. The date of your wedding was set for July 10, which was only seventeen days away. Neji had the sneaking suspicion for the rush was so that neither of you had time to change your mind. He didn’t mind, though. It wasn’t like he had ever had any romantic prospects besides you, so there was no one he had to say goodbye to. 

In fact, he had been warming greatly to the idea of sharing his life with you. At first, it was just a formality, but the more he thought about it, the more he desired not just sharing a life with you, but you. 

The two of you had been spending more time together over the past few weeks in preparation of the wedding. It was funny, because it felt like you two were an actual couple together when you were planning. Bickering over color schemes, cake flavors, whether you would serve a full meal of just hor d’oeuvres had become entertaining to him. Neither of you were quite fully serious; you would stick your tongue out at him and he would stifle his chuckle. 

He often thought to himself that he was grateful he had asked you, and even more grateful that you had accepted. It would be strange and unpleasant doing preparations with a stranger. 

He began imagining you with him as he went about his mundane activities throughout the day. What would you look like when you first woke up? Would your roll over and smile at him? Would you be out of bed before him, starting breakfast? When he went to the market, he wondered what you would buy. What changes would happen to his diet with you being the cook? Would you lounge in the garden, munching on fruit, or would you be strict like he was and not snack at all?

These questions never really bothered him, he knew that you two would work out a routine and things would be pleasant, just as the last two weeks had been. There was only one thing he was truly concerned about.  And that was that he had never.. performed. He had masturbated, sure, but he had never physically been with anyone. He had never actually kissed anyone, either, unless you counted the one time Kiba was dared to kiss him and he was smacked in the mouth with wet lips. 

He didn’t count it, if anyone was wondering. 

The idea of his first kiss being in front of your family and his embarrassed him. He knew that you had kissed before. You had briefly dated Shikamaru last summer, and he had seen the two of you making out at a party he had attended with Lee. His only consolation was that you would be able to guide him, and that you were kind enough not to make fun of him if he mucked it up.

He didn’t want his first time to feel forced, either. He knew that he was expected to consummate his marriage, but he really wasn’t comfortable with that idea, even if he found you more attractive every day. 

A knock at the drawing room door interrupted his thoughts. He took a deep breath. “Come in,” 

You slowly opened the door, slipping into the room and leaving the door cracked for decency. You smiled at him and sat on a mat next to him. 

“How are you feeling, Neji?” You asked, noticing the slight furrow of his brow. 

“I’m fine, just thinking about the wedding. How are you?” A small smile curled the corner of his lips. 

“I’m pretty good. I just tried picked my wedding kimono,” Your face broke out in a bright smile. 

“You look excited about that,” Neji stated. You gently touched his wrist. Something that you had been doing a lot lately. 

Neji felt butterflies flutter in his stomach. “I am. It’s beautiful.”

Neji nodded, trying to formulate a good response. He had none, so he moved on. He eyed you, wondering if it was okay to ask you about the consummation part of your marriage. He didn’t want to make you feel unattractive, but he was also nervous about stating his reasons. 

His pretty purple eyes carried an intensity and you struggled not to move away from their weight. You nervously brushed imaginary dust off of your clothes, waiting for him to say something.

He noticed this, and sighed. It was better said than unsaid, he decided. “Y/n,”

Your eyes shot up to his. “Yes?”

“I have a question, but I am struggling to ask you in an appropriate manner.”

You appreciated his straightforwardness, but it made you a bit uneasy every time he spoke to you in that way. 

“Go ahead then, just spit it out,”

He inhaled. “Do we need to consummate our marriage? That night, I mean.” 

You laughed in relief. Of course he would ask that. You were pretty sure he had never slept with anyone before, so it would make sense he would be nervous about it. You felt a twinge of disappointment, though. After marrying him occupying your mind since you had accepted, you had definitely thought about what it would be like to get down and dirty with him, and you would be lying if you weren’t riled by the idea.

“No, Neji. Of course not.” You replied, still smiling. 

You watched the air leave his chest as he let out a relieved sigh. You decided to tease him. “Are you going to ask if we have to kiss at the wedding, too?” 

You poked your tongue out at him, but his eyes went wide. Your brows furrowed at his reaction. Did he not want to kiss you, either?

“Well, I, no, of course we will kiss at the wedding,” He said uncomfortably. 

You were struck with a sudden thought as he shifted on his mat. “Neji.. Have you ever kissed anyone?” 

He averted his eyes, his cheeks going red. He mumbled something incoherently and you realized you had hit the mark. 

“You haven’t,” He shook his head, eyes still not meeting yours.

You leaned forward onto your knees, gently taking his chin and turning him to look at you. You were less than a foot from his face, and as he looked at you, his blush spread down his neck and across his ears. 

“Y/n, what are you doing?” He stuttered. His wide eyes searched yours, and you gave him an easy smile, leaning forward. 

“Would it be okay if we shared our first kiss here, instead of in front of everyone?” 

Neji didn’t react for a moment, didn’t seem to breathe. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and you leaned in to meet his lips. It was gentle, just barely a brush. 

Neji’s heart was racing and he was having a hard time thinking clearly. You pulled away a few inches and he met your eyes with wonder. 

“You have to kiss back, you know,” You said softly. You leaned forward again and he obliged, pressing his lips against yours in a firmer kiss. His eyes fluttered closed and he breathed in your scent. You moved your lips against his and he followed, realizing that he enjoyed the feeling. You kissed only a few moments, the wet sounds filling the otherwise silent room.

When you pulled back again, you sat fully. A blush splattered your cheeks and  he suddenly felt immensely infatuated. A feeling of completeness washed over him as he felt as though a piece of a puzzle connected inside of him. When you made eye contact with him again, he felt like a starving man.

“Well, I think I should go,” You stood, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

Neji said nothing as you left, just stared at your retreating form. 

#neji hyuuga x reader #neji hyuga #hyuuga clan #naruto #x reader

[mooodyblue]

Hello, can I have a request, please? Would you consider writing something for little!e when he is sick? His girlfriend Linda Thompson wrote in her book how she would stay with him in a hospital and he would be very cute and very little, so it made me think of such fic … 🧸🤒

hi friend! thank you for the request! i just started linda's book yesterday, my heart melts when she talks about him when he's regressed. i wanna take care of him so bad💔 hope i did your request justice!

teddy bear | little!elvis x cg!reader

warnings: fem!reader, little space, age regression

wc: 636

>MASTERLIST<

send me requests!

elvis being sick meant two things. one, he was going to need all the attention he could get. two, you would no longer be playing the role as elvis presley’s beloved girlfriend, but as the best caregiver he could ever ask for.

unfortunately, last time he was sick, you weren't with him. he was stuck in another state. he even called you, begging you to come and take care of him and that he would even get you on the next flight. elvis must have called you several times a day. you cringed when you got the phone bill later but he volunteered to pay it, he told you he didn’t remember calling you so much and apologized over and over again.

he didn’t always slip while he was sick, but the more sick he was and the more you took care of him, the more he would fall into his headspace. he was always taking care of others, having someone take care of him was nice for a change.

forcing him out of bed was harder than you thought. he’d spent the last 24 hours in bed, cuddled up to you. if you weren't in bed with him, he was crying about you being away from him.

you slipped out of the bed quietly, doing your best to not wake elvis. you had one foot on the floor when you heard gentle whines from the other side. “mommy, no!” he cried, pulling you back onto the bed.

you let out a small yelp, finding yourself in a tangled mess between the sheets and elvis. “baby, i need to get your medicine. i’ll be quick, okay?”

“please don't go!”

you pulled him out of bed eventually, his legs nearly giving out from laying down for so long. of course, he groaned the entire way down the stairs. you could have practically been carrying him down the stairs by the way he was leaning against you.

you gave him his soup followed by the warm-red liquid that you spent over 10 minutes trying to get him to take. he always refused to take it.

“mommy, it tastes nasty! i don’ want it!”

“if you take it, we'll go back upstairs and you can lay in bed as long you want. we'll even watch a movie or cartoons, whatever you want.”

elvis sat silent for a second, “will you stay with me?” he asked.

“of course.”

so now here you are, in bed with a sick elvis presley who's having his fifth coughing fit of the day. you were definitely going to get sick after this, but anything for elvis.

you gently pat him on the back as he whimpered and curled himself on your chest. “i don't feel good.” he murmured.

“i know, baby. i know. that's why i gave you that nasty stuff earlier, so you'll feel better.”

“i feel better when i’m with you.” he snuggled into you and rested his eyes back on the tv. your heart melted as his words, oh how you loved him so much. “but i can’t magically cure you honey, i wish i could.” you frowned.

he sighed, too exhausted to even argue with you. “thank you for takin’ care of me, mommy.”

you smiled at him, placing a kiss to the top of his head. “you don't have to thank me. you know i’ll always be here for you.” you glanced down at him, watching him slowly doze off.

“mmhmm….love you” he mumbled, cold medicine starting to slowly kick in. you let him sleep softly against you the rest of the evening, watching how peaceful and comfort he looked. when he wasn't playing elvis presley, he was your own little teddy bear but most importantly, he was your baby. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis presley #aus!elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #idk why these keep coming out so short #but keep the requests coming im having too much fun #y'all can request other things too whatever floats ur boat

[mattsdollie]

How could you ?

WARNINGS; angst, cheating trope 😞 fluff (?) at the end !!!!!

"mattt" you groan as you feel him leaving your shared bed. "Sorry, baby. i have to get ready, we're going on tour, " Matt whines. you lazily pull yourself out of bed and give him a peck on his nose as he goes to shower and you go to pack your stuff to go back to your college dorm room. you totally forgot that you had exams the next week, so you hysterically brush your clothes back into your backpack and grab your keys as you left, shutting the door to the triplets' house behind you.

It's currently 2.47 AM. You checked your phone because it has been blowing up for at least 3 hours whilst you were studying. "What's this all about?" you thought to yourself. you see your bestfriends message "y/n, honey are you okay? i fucking told you it wasn't a good idea to be dating someone who' famous" you stared at your phone, not understanding what was going on until you got a text from your sister "y/n, what the fuck is this ?" she said as she sent a photo. the photo was of Matt and a short, skinny blonde, matts arm wrapped around her waist as he led her to a car at what seemed to be a party. He looked slightly drunk. "what the actual fuck ?" you replied, feeling yourself fill with a burst of rage and sadness. your eyes filled with tears. Your phone vibrated as matt called you, you decline. "y/n baby please answer my calls." matt pleaded in his text message with a sense of urgency. "what the fuck, matt ? we've been dating since you were 16, me 15. and you fucking cheat on me ?" you sent the message with tears filling your eyes and rolling down your face. "baby, please. i was just helping the girl get a ride. nothing we did was meaningful." he replied. *bzz*, your phone started vibrating again, matt was calling you. this time you picked up. "y/n, please. you're the love of my life. i fully regret what i did. i love you so much please don't leave me over a stupid mistake i made while i was drunk." he said, shakily though tears. "i'm studying for my exams and this is what you do while you're on tour? you go fuck a tiny texas blondie? how could you, Matthew." you said, feeling your lips quiver. "n–no, y/n please. please let me fix this. im coming home right now, i'll see you in the morning. just please, let me fix this." he said, breathing heavier, struggling to breathe as he cried. "whatever." you said hanging up the phone to soon burst into tears. how could my own boyfriend do this to me? after 6 whole years of dating? you think to yourself, as you curl up on your bed, knees against your chest, tears rolling out of your eyes.

The next morning, you find yourself in your bed with the same clothes as last night, your eyes sore, lips plump from crying all night. you pick your phone up, feeling heavy hearted and empty as you remember what happened the night before. you see matt texted you " y/n, i'll be there at 2pm. please love. lets talk it out. im so sorry." tears start filling your eyes, threatening to fall out as you think about what happened all over again. you look to the upper right of your phone to check the time and see its already 1.58 P.M. "fuck." you whispered out as you hopped in the shower. 10 minutes into the shower you hear the doorbell to your apartment ring followed with matt calling out for you. you text him from the shower " theres keys in the shoe rack. just come in and wait, im in the shower, im almost done. " you type as you step out of the shower, pausing the music to do your skincare and brush your teeth. you wrap your towel around yourself as you step out, seeing matt sat on your bed, eyes puffed, nose and ears red. he gets up to hug you, nuzzling his nose in the crevice of your neck "i'm so sorry. i dont know why i did it. i promise there was nothing intimate. i was just deprived to feel love but she didnt love me like you did. i love you so much please, dont leave me." he said, sniffling and you felt his tears hit your shoulder. your arms wrap around him, your fingers entangled in his brown locks. "it's okay. you should've just called me. i felt so hurt, seeing the photos. please, never do that again ?" you say, voice shaky trying your best not to burst into tears again. "i promise." he said under his breath, not having the energy to saying with his chest"

THE ENDD ☺️☺️

this is my first EVER time writing a fanfic or story outside of school. if there is anything i could work on, please let me know 🥹🫶

#sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolos #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

[snaillamp]

Chapter 4 - Hell and Holy Water

Keh-yah let the priest hold him up as they made their way to the spare room. They had made a plan. Keh-yah would drink a glass every hour and when he couldn’t drink anymore, then Mark would clean the wound with it instead.

He was not excited about this plan, he already felt feverish chills running over his body, but this would be terrible, he might be out for days after this. ‘Honestly, that wouldn’t be so bad…’ He thought as they got up the final stairs. Mark carried the demon to the room, sitting him against the headboard, and leaving his chest bare and ready.

Mark prepared the first glass, handing it to Keh-yah who took it and gulped, staring at the glass in fear. Mark placed a steady hand on his shoulder, nodding. “I’ll be right here the whole time.” He murmured, looking tired already.

It would be a long night, but Keh-yah was thankful he was there.

He didn’t want to go through this again alone...

Raising the glass to his lips, he heard the glass clink against his teeth as he tipped it back, drinking the water. At first it was fine, he could feel the cold liquid flowing into his stomach, but the second it settled, a rising pain began to climb its’ way up his throat. Keh-yah gagged as he placed the glass back in Mark’s hand, eyes watering as he coughed.

The pain was getting bad now, and he cried out in agony, clutching his stomach and curling inwards, sweat beginning to pour from his brow. He writhed in pain for what felt like forever, before finally sitting up, shaking. “How long… until the next one?” He whispered, voice hoarse as his head swam.

“40 minutes.” Mark murmured, staring in horror at Keh-yah… “Great…” He replied, coughing again.

After a few minutes, he felt a little better, wiping his brow and sighing. They both sat in awkward silence until Mark couldn’t bare it any longer. “So, what’s with the ghost?”

Keh-yah lifted his tired head, looking at the blurry image of the priest swirling in front of his eyes. “Hmm? Oh, I don’t know… An old Father probably, not ready to move on, let the new priest take over. He’s an old man… short and hunched over, big eyebrows…” Keh-yah squinted, trying to make his mind form a clear picture.

“Sounds like Father Joseph, the priest before the guy before me. Apparently he was a bit of a…” Mark trailed off. “Bastard?” Keh-yah rasped, looking at him amused. “Uhhh,” Mark glanced around the room. “He’s not… here is he?” Keh-yah waved his hand in dismissal, before coughing into it.

The coughs kept coming and Keh-yah had to lean forward to get enough air into his lungs. Mark placed a hand on his back, rubbing the skin between his shoulder blades. Keh-yah was beginning to anticipate his touches, preparing for them. ‘This is not the hand that hurt you. This is the hand of someone who wants you to live.’ Keh-yah told himself. “You okay?” Mark asked as Keh-yah left himself be pulled against Mark’s chest. He felt cold, Mark’s chest was warm. “I’m good…” He rasped.

He lay back against the headboard again, 10 minutes to go. “So tell me, how do you get rid of a ghost?” Mark mused trying to distract Keh-yah, but his curiosity was piqued. “You can’t make…” Keh-yah coughed, “You can’t… make a ghost ‘go away’, it has to chose… to go on it’s own. It’s quite common for… them to… forget they are dead." He shivered as waves of cold washed over him.

"Most of the time they… can’t get any energy from living creatures and just fade… away like any soul, but some are just… stubborn…” Nausea was beginning to settle in. “Just keep telling him to leave and he will… probably anyway. They usually listen…” His eyes were sliding shut as his words were slurring.

“Seems like you have experience with them, huh?” Mark laughed, trying to ease the rising tension. “Something like that…” Keh-yah glanced at the glass of water as Mark filled it up. He felt a pit of fear rise in his stomach, it was only going to get worse from here.

~~

Three hours in, Keh-yah was getting delirious. His vision skittered around, his brain not quite catching up with his eyes. Everything was burning inside and it hurt to breathe. He was leaned against the headboard, sweating buckets as he gasped for air. His heart was pounding in his ears as Mark tried to keep him conscious, “Hey, hey!” He was calling out, but it was all garbled and strange sounding. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t figure out the words…

He awoke with a jolt, something painful piercing his side. He moved his hand to it, grunting in pain. “Easy, easy.” Mark whispered, guiding his hand away from the wound. “You’ve been in and out all night. Take it slow.”

“How… is… it…” Keh-yah whispered, looking over at Mark, watching as his blurry face focused. “Working like a charm. The tendrils are pretty much gone, but the black ring is still pretty bad. Wanna have a break?” Keh-yah shook his head, “No… can’t stop. We have to get rid of it all…” He pushed himself up on shaking arms. “Water...”

“Keh-yah I don’t think you should drink another…” Mark began, but Keh-yah just growled. “Another…” He insisted, voice cracking. Mark apprehensively poured another glass.

“Here you go.”

Keh-yah reached for it and tried to grab it, but he missed it, his hand closing on nothing. “Here, let me.” Mark sighed, pulling Keh-yah up a little more and placing the glass on his lips. “Ready?”

Keh-yah felt the liquid touch his tongue and was already screaming in agony. “Keh-yah!” Mark cried out in shock, spilling a drop of water onto Keh-yah’s chest. Keh-yah gripped his skin as the water burned it deeply, crying out until his voice couldn’t scream anymore.

“Again…” His voice was ragged, as he panted. “I don’t think I should...” Mark gripped the glass tighter. Keh-yah growled, “Again!” He rasped, the yell sounding more like a an angry whisper. Mark tried again, Keh-yah biting back the pain as he choked down the water.

'Last time it had ended soon after this point... It has to be near the end now...'

He felt his eyes roll back as he passed out, the ceiling swirling as he tried to stay awake.

~~

Keh-yah groaned, feeling like his head had been stuffed with cotton. He felt dry, achey and shivery. He glanced at Mark slumped against the wall, snoring softly.

Mark awoke to the sound of Keh-yah’s groaning. “Hey…” He whispered, approaching Keh-yah slowly, smiling softly. “How you feeling?” He waited while Keh-yah shivered, trying to make words work in his head. All he could manage was a groan.

“Your wound looks good. Drinking the holy water worked wonders.” The priest glanced at the wound, now like any ordinary wound, albeit a gaping hole. “I might need to google how to do stitches or something, and I’ll go into town and get some dressings so I don’t have to keep bandaging you up. How’s that sound?” Keh-yah grunted in reply.

He hadn’t caught half of what the priest had said, but it sounded fine. Right now he wanted the annoying priest to leave him alone. The distant stare of the angry ghost priest was also present in his mind, adding to the stress.

Waves of nausea hit him as he shuddered, and Keh-yah’s eyes grew wide as he felt the familiar sensation rising up his guts. He rolled, throwing his head over the edge of the bed. His body convulsed as a large, sticky goo flew from his mouth and landed in a large puddle on the floor. It was a teal blue colour, with little tendrils of black blood.

He suddenly felt a little less foggy, the last of the poison was leaving his body at last. “Ew, did you just puke?” Mark asked, lifting his sock clad foot and watching goo drip off in a thic film.

“Ec-ectoplasm…” Keh-yah choked. “Sorry…”

Mark sighed, looking at Keh-yah as he peeled the sock off his foot. “Weird, it has no scent. That’s a plus I guess, the smell of puke makes me puke.”

Keh-yah smirked, rolling over. “I’m gonna sleep, probably for the next century…” He mumbled into the pillow.

“I’ll go get that stuff, it’s getting late, I’ll have to rush to the pharmacy in my car. Uhh, don’t die while I’m gone.” Mark patted Keh-yah’s shoulder sending waves of trembles through his skin. Keh-yah moaned in annoyance, but was already passing out. ‘What time is it…?’ He wondered as he slipped into the void. He felt the eyes of the ghost watching him again.

~~

“Damn, you opening a hospital?” Natasha asked as she filled the small paper bag with wound dressings, saline and pretty much everything else Mark thought he’d need to treat Keh-yah. “Oh, just updating the first and kits around the grounds. Can never be too careful, right?” Mark lied.

“Oh, well, let me know if you need a new box installed, I can send Axel over!” She joked with a smile, her dyed purple hair glistening in the afternoon light. “Say hi to Axel and your mother for me.” Natasha rolled her eyes, “Axel will probably roll his eyes back at ya Father, that little shit has too much attitude for 16, eh?” Mark laughed, nodding as he left, waving goodbye. He got into his beat up little Camry and drove back home, hoping that Keh-yah’s infection hadn’t returned.

When he got inside, he called out, “Keh-yah! I’m back!” There was no response. That was to be expected, Keh-yah was probably sleeping through the fever that it said the holy water would cause. Creeping up the stairs he felt a wisp of cold air, shuddering as he imagined the angry ghost wandering his rectory. He continued to the room, looking into it as watching Keh-yah’s body. It was breathing slow, rasping breaths, sweat shining on its’ shoulders as it slept. “Keh-yah?” Mark whispered.

No response.

He stepped into the room quietly, listening to the sleepy breaths of the demon. It sighed, rolling onto its’ stomach and mumbling into the pillow behind his head and beginning to softly snore. Mark chuckled, setting the bag softly against the bedside table.

Keh-yah snorted, twitching as it looked up confuse, and weakly pushing itself onto its’ elbows. It could barely manage to do that, arms shaking before it dropped face first into the pillow moaning. “You okay?” Mark laughed, looking over at Keh-yah who moaned quietly into the pillow in reply, lifting an arm to rest above its head, gripping the edge of the pillow. It placed the bridge of its’ nose into the crook of its’ elbow, sniffing before looking up again.

“What time is it…?” It mumbled, finally looking around again. “Uhhh, 6pm. It’s Wednesday and you slept all day.” Keh-yah groaned again planting its face firmly back in the pillows. It mumbled more words but Mark couldn’t figure out what they were. “Sure, buddy.” He sympathetically patted the demon on the back, hearing a muffled “Ow…” emerged from it.

“Hey, so, how does dressing your wounds sound. Oh, and maybe you should have a drink, you know, keep your fluids up?” Mark pressed, pulling out the dressings from the little paper bag. He grabbed a bottle of saline ready to start dressing some wounds before Keh-yah sighed, making some sleepy noises as it passed out again. Mark watched its' grip on the pillow loosen as it sighed quietly. Mark rolled the demon over, feeling its' forehead. The demon was burning up and only getting worse.

Going to the bathroom, Mark filled a bowl with cool water, grabbing some fresh towels. When he returned, Keh-yah had rolled on its’ side, right arm gently tucked beside its’ face and the left arm slumped across its torso, dangling over the edge of the bed. Lifting the dangling arm, Mark began, cleaning the wounds that were still leaky and open. He worked for hours, cleaning and dressing everything he could, while also cooling Keh-yah down.

The demon would occasionally move or moan quietly, gasping in its’ sleep. At one point it opened its’ eyes, but despite their half lidded state, Keh-yah was still out. It was creepy.

~~

Keh-yah slept all of Thursday, not even waking once. It was burning up to the point that the cool cloths would neat up in seconds, there was no point doing it anymore.

Friday it to get worse still, Mark couldn’t even rouse them by shaking them hard by the shoulders. Mark felt in a panic for a pulse, finding it, faint and fast. “Lord, have mercy on you…” He whispered, running his hand through the demon’s hair. It was drenched in sweat.

Keh-yah gasped a rattling breath, whining quietly. It was quivering under his touch, way too hot for its’ own good. Mark spent the night trying to cool it down, but didn’t make much progress. The wound in the demon’s side seemed to be healing through, scabbing over into a normal wound. “That’s gonna scar…” Mark mumbled, looking at it as he cleaned it.

Saturday was much the same, except at some time in the morning Mark heard a scream from down stairs. He bolted to Keh-yah’s room to see it twisting and writhing in the sheets, panting and screaming. It was yelling something the same gibberish from a few nights ago.

Running to the demon’s side Mark ripped the sheets from the bed, untangling Keh-yah while avoiding flailing fists and feet. In the corner of his eye, he saw a fist coming at his face and catching it, he pinned it to the mattress. He managed to wrangle the other arm, pinning Keh-yah on its front, before he straddled the demon.

“Keh-yah! Listen to me, you’re dreaming! Wake up! Keh-yah!” Keh-yah thrashed and screamed into the pillow underneath it, panting hard. It continued for a few more minutes, before Mark felt the muscles in the demon relax and it returned to the quiet moans and whimpers, inky, black tears staining its’ face as it silently cried.

Rolling the creature onto its’ back, Mark placed his ear on its’ bare, heaving chest. He could heart the demon's heart pounding at a million miles an hour inside its' ribcage. Twitching again, the demon moaned, whispering something that made Mark freeze.

“Please… don’t hurt me… I… no… please…” A sob wracked the creature, and it squirmed under the priest’s grip. “Let me go…” The demon continued. “…please…” Keh-yah sighed, going limp under Mark, not taking in a breath.

Mark sat on it for a few tense seconds, longer than he should have to, waiting for the creature to breathe. “Come on, Keh-yah. Keep fighting, come on.” He murmured, staring at the creature’s chest. Getting off it, he decided to see if more water would help, and as he removed his hands from around the demon’s wrists and stepped away, he heard a slight, barely audible grunt.

Keh-yah jerked up suddenly, taking a big gasp of air and coughing. It put a hand on its’ chest, catching its’ breath, shoulders rising and falling heavily as it wheezed. Its’ black eyes looked duller than usual. “Keh-yah?” The demon looked over at its’ name, dazed, only managing a moan in reply. It sagged sideways, falling over the side of the bed, caught only at the last second by Mark, who propped the creature against the headboard, watching for more breathing.

Sitting for a while seemed to do it good, its’ breathing improving and body cooling down.

On Sunday, Mark came back after his Mass to check on the demon he had left slumped against the headboard. Keh-yah looked a bit pale, not its’ usual, too warm, flushed self. Walking over, he placed a hand on the forehead of the creature, alarmed at how cold it was. He lays it down, gently laying a few light blankets on it.

Keh-yah turned its’ head, grunting in pain at the sudden movement. Under the blankets, it seemed to warm up and soon enough, it awoke, gagging as it was overcome by a coughing fit. Mark helped it sit up, patting its’ back and waiting for it to catch its’ breath.

Keh-yah convulsed, a large wad of thick and slimy ectoplasm spilling from its’ mouth. The demon leaned forward, muscles rippling as it coughed up the large slough of teal goo for a minute or so, as one continuous glop. It finally gagged and trembled, the last of the slime sliding out of its' mouth and landing in a thick puddle in its’ lap. “Augh…” It suddered, wiping its’ mouth as it moaned in relief.

~~

Keh-yah could feel the worst of the sickness leave him as relief washed over his body. As the ectoplasm finally left his system, he felt weak, like his bones had been ripped out and he had been drained of all his blood. Mark sighed, pulling him out of bed and leaning him against the wall.

He gathered the sheets and walked away, muttering about a laundry in the basement. Keh-yah had no strength to move as his eyes darted around the room. His mind felt clearer than it had in days, though he could only remember delirious, half memories.

Downstairs a strange ringing sound suddenly broke Keh-yah’s thoughts. The sound of Mark shuffling and then the ringing suddenly cutting off made Keh-yah crane his neck, listening for the sound. The priest was talking to someone… He sounded surprised, maybe nervous?

‘Strange.’ He thought to himself as he wrapped his arms around his torso, waiting for the priest to come back with blankets.

The priest re-made the bed, picking up Keh-yah easily in his arms, a fact Keh-yah did not like. He had forgotten that he weighed almost nothing, despite how heavy his body felt. He sighed as he felt the soft sheets brush his skin, the nice, heavy weight of the blankets comforting him.

“You done throwing up now?” Mark asked, half annoyed. “That was a pretty brutal one.” He rested his hand on Keh-yah’s chest, and Keh-yah felt the familiar, subconscious flinch twitch under the man’s fingers. “Least you’re back to your twitchy self…” Mark half joked, nodding in satisfaction at the heart rate.

“You seem to be a bit better, wanna eat something? It’s been days.” Keh-yah shook his head, he couldn’t stomach the thought of food right now, enjoying the feeling of being empty. “At least water then? Something?” Keh-yah shook his head again.

“Let me try tomorrow, Mark…” He rolled over clutching his side, it still hurt, but like a normal wound now. “I wouldn’t keep anything down right now…" Mark nodded, bidding the creature good night, before turning in himself.

Keh-yah eyed him as he left, he could smell something strange on the priest. He was nervous… hiding something.

~~

Mark finished loading the soiled sheets into the washing machine, the third pair this week. “You really do make me feel like a live in nurse, Keh-yah…” He sighed, annoyed, but glad that his patient seemed to be on the mend. As he left the basement, he heard his landline ring. “Weird, no one calls that.”

He answered it, leaning against the wall. “Heyo, Father-” “Oh! Father Mark right? It’s Nathaniel Witterer, we spoke a few weeks ago. I just landed in Edmonton, gonna stay the night and then drove up to Buffalo Lake tomorrow, should be arriving ‘round noon if traffic’s light ’n roads are good, eh?” Mark felt a chill engulf his body.

“Father? You there?”

“Oh, yes, yes, sorry. Uh, that’s awesome! Uh, take your time, its pretty rough out here right now, ran and animals all over the road and stuff. Drive safe, Nathaniel.”

“Great. I forgot about him…” He mumbled as he gathered new sheets. The man on the phone was coming was a young priest, newly graduated from Seminary school, coming to do a year long placement under Mark.

Mark sighed, his mind scrambling at what to do. Keh-yah was in no condition to leave, but where would he hide it? The attic was full of junk… the basement was cold and dark. He couldn’t just let a young priest see that he was housing, hell, helping a demon. What would he even do? Mark swallowed his fear, trying to make plan.

As he entered the room Keh-yah looked up from its’ slumped position against the wall, watching him make the bed. It looked tired. Smiling sympathetically, Mark carried the demon to the bed, his thoughts flicking through his head as he did. ‘I wonder how long it will be able to use this for…?’ The demon eyed him suspiciously as he placed it in the bed, tucking it in. He knew it knew something was up.

“You done throwing up now?” Mark asked, the annoyed tone sneaking out a little more than he wanted. It was tiring having to change the sheets constantly. Keh-yah didn’t reply, just relaxing into the softness of the comfy bed.

“That was a pretty brutal one.” ‘I wonder if its’ heart rate is down?’ He wondered as he rested his hand on the demon’s chest, feeling it flinch. “Least you’re back to your twitchy self…”

He half joked, somewhat relieved by the fact that Keh-yah was alert enough to notice the touch. It was hard to tell with the pure black eyes if it was looking at him or not. He could, this time sense the demon looking in his direction, studying him. Trying to change the subject, Mark glanced at the bowl of water on the bedside table. “You seem to be a bit better, wanna eat something? It’s been days.”

Keh-yah shook its’ head, looking slightly sick at the thought of eating. “At least water then? Something?” ‘Come on, you have eat something, you’ll only get sicker if you don’t and then how will I look after you. I can’t curse you all night with that newbie here.’

Keh-yah weakly shook its’ head again. “Let me try tomorrow, Mark…” It spoke with a gravelly, tired voice, rolling over clutching its’ side “I wouldn’t keep anything down right now…” It mumbled, already sounding sleepy, sighing as it began to drift off...

'Great...'

Mark noticed that the creature was still watching him, through half lidded eyes. “G’night, Keh-yah…” He mumbled as he shuffled from the room. What was he going to do?

~next~

~masterlist~

#whump #whumpee #demon whump #demon whumpee #poison whump #sickfic #whump oc #demon oc #whump writing #whumpblr #snaillamp #original post

[dari-ede]

In the Middle of the Night: Chapter 24

Chapter 24: "Si lo forzás se marchita"

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30

MASTERLIST

AN: And it’s back! Thank you everyone for your patience. It’s been quite the 2 months. Hopefully, I’ll be able to come back to a regular weekly, or at least Bi-weekly, posting. Happy reading! 🥰

Summary: As Bangtan prepares for a new chapter in their lives, they head to their private property in the forest for a songwriting workshop. As a songwriter and producer they have worked with for years, I’m asked to tag along. I was ready for the heavy workload and small amount of sleep during the workshop week. However, I wasn’t ready for the storm that came that changed my friendship with Namjoon forever.

Pairing: Idol!RM/Namjoon x OFC

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut

Rating: M (mention of sexual assault, explicit language, sexual scenes in prior chapters)

Status: COMPLETE

Trigger warnings: hurt, heartache, anxiety (there are a lot of feels in this one)

Warnings: a BRIEF description of sexual assault (look for ***)

*****************

I don’t think I have ever cried as much as I did on that first day. There was a tightness in my chest like I was trying to breathe underwater. My ribs felt cracked from the numerous attempts of taking in a full breath. My lungs weren’t getting enough oxygen, the sobbing made it hard to. When my mouth would open, at first I thought it was to absorb the colorless gas my body needed to survive but instead, it was to let out sounds I had never heard myself make. It was a siren-type wail. I felt like La Llorona, searching for the person I cared most for but couldn’t find. Couldn’t find him because the monster inside me had caused him to leave. I had caused the destruction. I had murdered what I treasured most. I was the reason for my own pain.

I wanted nothing more than to call him. I would grovel and beg—whatever he wanted, I would do. Whatever demands he had, I would obediently follow. I would do it all just to have him back. To have him close.

I didn’t care how pathetic I sounded. Didn’t care how wrecked I looked.

I just wanted to breathe again. And he was the source of it.

It was in those first hours of crying out in agony that I realized the truth of what Namjoon had become for me. He had become the most vital chemical element to keep my body alive: oxygen. The little air I was able to inhale felt so wrong, almost poisonous. Rather than healing me, it was slowly killing me.

Fuck, I was so pitiful.

I was in pieces for a guy who didn’t feel the same for me as I did for him. Didn’t see a proper woman he wanted to be with. Didn’t recognize me as a person to respect.

“You’ve given it up easy before.”

Fresh, boiling tears made their way down my overheated face as the words echoed over and over and over. The siren came back out.

My stomach began to cramp from the shaking. My body automatically curled up, trying to ease the pain.

I think that’s how my tia found me.

At first, I didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded too high, too screechy. Tia Jia was normally so calm and sweet sounding. Had it not been for the familiar smell of orange blossom, I wouldn’t have known it was her.

I’m not sure where she found me, but I was certain it wasn’t in my room. I don’t know how I managed to drive myself home that night, but I remember parking. I recall entering my house. I think I might have sat on the couch? The living room was the last thing I remembered physically seeing. Everything after was a blur—literally. The tears made it difficult to see anything.

The next time I recognized my surroundings, I was in my bed.

My head felt like it was splitting into pieces, but I was aware of my aunt holding me. Her scent and embrace sent a bit of warmth through me. When I realized she was there, I only cried harder. It was like I was a toddler and the only way I would feel better was through her touch and words. That’s what moms are for, right? To erase all the pain and make everything better?

I clutched her desperately. Praying she would be able to eradicate the ache.

But after what seemed an eternity, it was still there. The fucking pain was still present. It was the first time in my memory that my tia Jia couldn’t make it better. And this made my chest shatter. The siren in me wailed until my vocals gave.

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

“Sweetheart, you have to eat.”

My tia Jia was sitting next to me in my bed, a tray on her lap.

The motherly strokes on my hair were comforting, but still not enough. It had been a while since my body exhausted itself. Tears were still coming out and my stomach, chest, and head still felt like they had gone through a car crash, but at least the wailing and shaking stopped. I could take normal breaths now, even though it still felt wrong.

“Sweetheart?” Tia Jia’s voice sounded strained, like in pain. I was alert enough to detect it.

There was another kick to the stomach. I felt guilty for my state. It must be tough on her. I could at least answer her. “No, thank you,” I let out. It hurt to speak.

My aunt heard the scratchiness in my voice. “At least have some water. Please.”

She sounded so desperate. I couldn’t say no. I lifted my hand, motioning for the water.

She quickly handed me the flask, which thankfully had a straw attached to it. I wouldn’t have to sit up to drink from it. Bringing the straw to my lips, I took a sip. My throat and dehydrated skin welcomed it. I was about to put it back down, but my logical mind forced my mouth to take at least one more long sip.

Closing the straw, I set down the flask next to me.

There was silence for a while again. The only thing I could feel was my tia’s touch on my hair and face.

Finally, she spoke up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Warm, new tears flowed down my cheeks.

“Did something happen with Namjoon?” she asked, gently.

I sniffed. “He broke it off.”

She let out a pained sigh. “Why?”

“I can’t do this, Maya. I can’t be in a relationship where it’s just about sex. I want more.”

New sobs began to make their way through my chest and traveled up my throat and down my eyes. “I’m not what he wants.”

It felt like a knife cut into my chest again. My old wounds still had not healed, so they quickly reopened.

Many years ago I developed a crush on Namjoon. I was quick to recognize it. However, for many reasons, I suppressed those emotions. One of those reasons had been that I knew I wasn’t his type. Physically or emotionally. Sure, he had eventually found me attractive and he started to develop a crush on me back. But he had realized last night I wasn’t built to be someone he could have a relationship with.

Namjoon was someone who loved to talk about philosophy and the human condition. We shared plenty of deep conversations, but I had never been able to fully let him in. There would always be a wall that prevented him from fully entering. And I just couldn’t take it down.

I explained little bits to my tia Jia about what Namjoon had said. I mentioned how my mother had called about the fucker. I admitted that I was still unable to talk to Namjoon about the incident and I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted to tell him about it. It was because of all my issues that made Namjoon not want me.

I curled into a ball as I finished my story to my tia. My stomach aches were starting again and my heart was racing pretty fast.

My tia applied some pressure on my chest. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

I followed her instructions. It took a few minutes but I had settled down again.

When my aunt felt safe to speak again, she did. “Sweetheart…what is keeping you from being fully transparent with Namjoon?”

I gave a pathetic shrug and didn’t answer. I knew it was a childish response.

“Well, I think it would be a good thing to figure out, don’t you think so?” she lightly pressed.

“Even if I did open up, I’m not what he wants, tia,” I mumbled.

“Now what would make you say that?” There was a bit of chiding in her tone.

“Because he’s known me for how long and I just now started catching his eye? He only became interested in me because I was the only girl around him who was available. After his bad break up, he’s been looking for a rebound.” I was finally voicing fleeting thoughts I had had in the starting part of my relationship with Namjoon. These thoughts had never lingered for too long, but in a state of complete low, my self-pity was scrapping for any negativity it could find.

My aunt wasn’t about to let me swim in that self-pity, though. “That breakup happened two years ago. His rebound was that girl he dated briefly earlier in the year. You are not his rebound.”

There was silence again.

My brain internally battled with my broken heart. Logically, I believed my tia Jia’s words, but the ache in my chest was marinading in the words that had shattered me.

“You’ve given it up easily before, whatever. I’m not that way.”

“The fact that…you did that with me…. I just don’t know how to feel about that.”

“We started this wrong. But like a fucking horndog, I gave in.”

“I can’t even say we can go back to being friends because I can’t. I can’t and won’t go back to that. I respect myself too much.”

“He still doesn’t want to be with me,” I said as my throat tightened. “It doesn’t matter if I tell him what he wants to hear. At the end of the day, my self-respect apparently doesn’t align with his. I’ll always be the girl who took it up the ass.”

“What?” Tia Jia asked, thrown off.

I hadn’t shared this piece of information with my aunt. The detail was a little too intimate for me to have shared with her. But I had spilled the beans; she couldn’t unhear it and I couldn’t unsay it.

“We had sex before the fight—before my mother called. It was anal.” I felt a flush of embarrassment hit my cheeks and neck, but I continued speaking. “During the fight, he brought up how he valued the act we had committed and I didn’t. I'm just a slut in his eyes.”

“He did not call you that,” my tia said with conviction. But then a beat later, she doubted herself. “Did he?”

“He might as well have,” I said in a small voice.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said simply. She didn’t say anything else, though. This time, she let me cry and wallow in my self-pity.

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

I honestly couldn’t remember how that night went. I mostly stayed in my room. My tia stayed the night with me. I caught her a couple of times on my phone. I was sure she was taking care of things for me, not that I had a lot of meetings. I might have had one, but I honestly couldn’t care less about it.

I was grateful she was there to handle it.

I had never felt this vulnerable before. Never been so pathetic. The last time I felt this low had been many years ago when my cousin died. But that had been a different kind of heartache. I dealt with the death mostly in anger. This time, there was no one but me to be angry at.

And as much as I wanted to bathe in self-anger, I couldn’t. Sorrow was all I could feel.

My tia eventually had to leave. “Your Uncle John has an appointment, sweetheart. If you want, I can come right after.”

I shook my head at her. “I’m good.”

She stared at the food next to me on the bed. “At least eat the vegetables, please. You didn’t eat dinner last night and this morning, you only had a few grapes. Lunch was left completely untouched. The least you can do is eat the vegetables.”

I reached out to my plate and grabbed a celery, taking a bite without a word.

“Thank you,” she said genuinely. She began to gather her things. “If you need anything, just go downstairs. Someone’s here to keep an eye on you.”

I wanted to argue with her and tell her I didn’t need looking after. I was positive she had called Jenny, her daughter and my best friend from childhood, to come look after me. However, I knew my tia well enough to know it would do no good.

She came around and gave me a soft kiss. “I’m only a phone call away. Do you want your cell with you?” she asked as she motioned towards my night table.

I shook my head. It was getting close to it being 48 hours since I touched that thing. I wanted to stay away from it for as long as possible.

“Love you,” she said as she disappeared into the hall.

I rolled over and closed my eyes, hoping sleep would come fast.

It did manage to come for several hours but my body had had enough of it. When I woke up, the stars had replaced the sun in the sky. There was a sudden sharp pain in my head. My body was angry at me for neglecting it. I pushed off the bed and felt an immediate cold.

I put on some pajama bottoms and put on thick socks. I think I had showered sometime yesterday because I surprisingly didn’t feel crusty. I touched my hair, feeling it damp. It was the confirmation I needed that I had, in fact showered sometime in the last 24 hours. Sometimes, I tended to put my hair up in a bun right after showering. This only prolonged my thick hair from fully drying.

After applying more layers of clothes and being grateful for not smelling, I took the plate of food that was still on my bed and took my water flask. Maybe I could microwave the food.

As I made my way down the hall, I adjusted the thermostat to warm up the house and went to get my food reheated.

Coming closer to the kitchen, I noticed the lights were on. After entering, I quickly saw the refrigerator open and a person standing behind it. Jenny must be up for a late-night snack.

“Don’t eat the cake; it’s gone bad,” I warned.

“I’m not craving sweets anyway,” came a deep and husky voice.

My heart stopped, panicking. I didn’t recognize the voice right away, so I acted on instinct. I placed down my food and took hold of the nearest, heavy object.

Before I could demand who was in my house, Yoongi’s head popped out from the other side of the fridge.

I let out a heavy and relieved sigh. “Son of a bitch, Yoongi. You scared the shit out of me.” I set down the heavy object, which turned out to be a rather pricey jar. Thank god I hadn’t used it. That would have been an expensive mistake.

He frowned. “I thought eomeonim told you I was here.”

I had completely forgotten I had invited Yoongi and his team to stay at my house. I had mentioned it to my Tia Jia after Yoongi agreed to stay over. The day we decided on Yoongi coming over, I was set to have a meeting. Tia Jia was going to be here to let Yoongi and the two guys in. That must have been last night. Or this morning. Shit, what day were we on?

I rubbed my head, feeling the sharp pain in my head again.

“Hungry?” Yoongi asked, a small hint of concern in his voice.

I nodded. “I was going to heat this up,” I said, motioning to the food.

He stared at the plate for a moment, no emotion given. Then reached over, took it, and placed it away from me. “Want a sandwich?” he asked as he turned around to the refrigerator again.

“It’s fine. I can just heat up the plate.”

“It’s gone bad.”

“Since when are you picky?” I asked, feeling irritated all of a sudden. “I’ve eaten pizza that’s been sitting out for 2 days.”

“Bet your stomach didn’t feel proud about that,” he muttered, taking out ingredients.

“I’m alive still, aren’t I?” I shot back.

He turned to me and did a once-over on me. He shook his head in disbelief. “Have you looked in the mirror? You look like death.”

I flipped him off.

That made him crack a smile. He reached for my water flask and filled it up.

I gladly took it, drinking a long sip.

We were quiet for a while as he put together a sandwich for me. Yoongi and I had eaten together plenty of times, not to mention cooked alongside one another. He knew my preferences.

After a long moment, he finally spoke up. “How you feeling?”

I took a breath, starting to feel my stomach get queasy. “Like shit,” I said genuinely.

I felt his eyes on me. He went still for a long moment, probably assessing what he could and should say.

There was a yearning in me that wanted to ask Yoongi about Namjoon. Fuck, just thinking of his name squeezed at my chest. An image of his beautiful dimples crossed my mind. The cluster of freckles across his nose and eyes would turn into a constellation whenever he smiled a certain way. But then the red eyes that were so full of hurt that night replaced the image, breaking my heart all over again.

The sound of a plate being placed down made me snap to the present. In front of me was a very good-looking sandwich. I knew Yoongi’s skills enough to know it was delicious. Yet, I had little interest in eating it. I knew my body needed to eat, so I took a few bites. I tasted the flavors of the ingredients and knew they were a perfect fusion, but I still felt zero enthusiasm for it. I managed to eat half of it, my stomach somewhat satisfied. After a few more sips of water, I felt the headache start to wear off.

When Yoongi noticed I was done eating, he finally spoke up. “Want to talk about it?”

It was strange because I did and I didn’t. I didn’t want to relive that night. But I also knew I needed to let out my emotions.

I took a breath and tried to control the tears that started to form in my eyes. “I can’t give him what he wants.” Saying the truth out loud hurt a lot more than just thinking about it.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke. “And what does he want?”

The warm tears made their way down. “Not me.”

There was silence for a long moment. The truth lingered in the air and pressed down on me.

After a long moment, Yoongi finally spoke. “Namjoon very rarely goes after something he is not sure about.”

There was almost a somber look on his face. He wasn’t looking at me, but in so many ways, it certainly felt like he was looking right into my eyes.

“He wants you, Maya.”

Conflicting emotions ran through me at hearing this. I knew Yoongi well enough to know that he was always honest. He would never say something he didn’t mean just to spare my feelings or make me feel better. But then Namjoon’s words the other night echoed in my head, telling me that I wasn’t what Namjoon wanted. It was so hard to think clearly.

“You don’t think he does.” Yoongi’s voice was soft and certain.

I gave a short nod, not trusting myself to speak without becoming a sobbing mess.

Yoongi let out a heavy sigh. “Sad.”

I was confused about what he meant by that. But, again, I was too scared to use words at the moment.

He stayed in the kitchen with me as I picked through my food. Eventually, we made our way over to the backyard where he drank his whisky into the night and I curled on the outside couch and looked up into the dark sky. I searched through the constellations, trying to find the freckles that would hopefully give me some solace.

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

The next couple of days passed slowly. My tia called several times, checking on me. I didn’t stay long with her on the phone, finding my throat too sore to speak for too long.

She didn’t push it. For a brief moment, I was a little confused why she wasn’t calling more often or insisting I stay on the phone with her longer. However, I noticed how closely Yoongi observed me. He usually was in the room with me or in the next room. I caught him texting a lot.

He used his phone for researching random facts, watching movies, documentaries, and playing odd mobile games. He had plenty of friends he messaged. Yes, he was usually glued to his phone, but I still noticed he was on it more than usual. I was certain he was keeping Tia Jia up to date about me.

Had his staff been around, I would have felt embarrassed about being treated like some fragile kid, but thankfully, Yoongi had sent them away insisting they explore the city on their own. A part of me wondered if they had heard about my walk of shame. Did they hear about how I had left Namjoon’s hotel room looking like some cheap whore?

The sting lingered throughout my chest, cracking my ribs.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Yoongi asked, pulling me away from my heartache.

It was night and I lived in a secluded area. Even if we came across other people, they wouldn’t be able to see us clearly. They wouldn’t notice Yoongi. I thought for a moment, debating with myself. I hadn’t left my house in days; hadn’t seen other faces. I had been bathing in my self-pity for many nights. Maybe it was time I snapped out of it. A walk would be good.

After nodding, we got ourselves ready and headed toward the beach.

We walked along the sand for a long while, and no words were said.

Eventually, Yoongi spoke. “How you feeling?”

Since the first night he had arrived, he asked me this towards the end of the day.

I gave a shrug. “A little better.”

He gave a nod. “Have you gone through your messages yet?” he asked carefully.

I had confessed to him yesterday morning I hadn’t looked through my messages since that night. I was scared to see Namjoon’s name on it—I couldn’t deal with reading through his words. Would they cut deeper? Bury me lower than I already was?

But what if he hadn’t written me? Somehow, his sending me nothing would be much worse.

Looking through my messages right now wouldn’t do me any good. I shook my head.

Yoongi let out a heavy sigh, similar to the one he had given the other night.

The scene replayed in my head and I remembered my unspoken question. I couldn’t ask it that night, but I could tonight. “What did you mean when you said ‘sad’ the other night?”

Yoongi was quiet for a moment. It was like he was thinking about his words carefully before speaking to them out loud. “I find it sad that you’re not allowing someone to truly see you.”

I was too stunned by his words to give a vocal response. My head turned to him, wondering if he was going to further elaborate.

He did. Keeping his eyes ahead, he continued his walk and I kept up. “As a friend of yours, I’ve seen parts of you—some of them aren’t great qualities—and still, I love you.”

Tears came to my eyes. It was rare to hear Yoongi tell me he loved me. Any time he did, it would move me because I knew it wasn't easy for him.

“You’ve been around Namjoon during some of his bad moments; moments that would paint him negatively. Do you feel differently about him—knowing and witnessing his bad qualities?”

Shaking I said softly but strongly, “No.”

“How do you feel after seeing him make mistakes and show his flaws?”

Moments of bad decisions Namjoon had made in his past crossed my mind. Yoongi’s question lingered throughout the memories. And all I could feel was my heart grow warm and expand.

I could feel Yoongi’s eyes on me. I hadn’t said a thing but seemed to be hearing my thoughts. “That’s what it means to care about someone—to accept the good and the bad. Whatever shit you’re afraid of in your past, fuck it. Don’t let it keep you from allowing someone amazing like Namjoon in.”

Suddenly, the face of the fucker entered my mind.

******His hands on me. I sat frozen, feeling my body lit up in flames.*******

Was the fucker the reason why I had this goddamn wall up? I thought I had moved on from him. Had he crept back into my subconscious and made me vulnerable again? Was he the reason why a wall existed that prevented me from allowing Namjoon in?

These last few days I thought it was just the way I was built. I could never be what Namjoon needed. I wasn’t made to let someone fully in. Having gone through therapy years ago I thought that I had grown as much as I could have.

I felt the arms around me before the tears. It wasn’t until Yoongi was hugging me that I noticed I had been crying. My face was wet, my nose was runny.

“It’s not just Namjoon that would like to break down that wall,” Yoongi said softly as he held me. “We all notice it. Some of us understand on a more personal level than others, unfortunately."

We shared a knowing look. He was meaning himself. Yoongi also had his wall. 

"You feel it's easier to keep people at a distance," he said, holding eye contact. "The guys taught me differently."

I looked away, feeling a bit of shame for having my faults.

Yoongi kept talking. "The guys and I normally never push—Namjoon especially. He respects boundaries. He allows everyone to open up at their own pace. But it's different with you. He needs more. And I believe you need more, too.”

Suddenly, my heartache grew. It was no longer just about a breakup. It was about learning that I was broken.

I needed fixing.

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

I picked up my phone. My finger hovered over my KakaoTalk app. Dozens of notifications were still unread. Were any of them from Namjoon?

As much as I wanted to look through them, I knew deep down I shouldn’t click on them.

Not yet.

My finger moved over to Contacts, selecting and calling the person I was needing the most.

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

My eyes were focused on the assistant’s desk. Since walking through the door, the feeling of déjà vu had been lingering through the air.

The lobby had remained the same. The portraits on the walls hadn’t changed. The couch I was sitting on was the same one as years ago.

I clutched my phone, this time having no one on the other end that was cheering me on for being where I was.

The urge to turn my phone on and go directly to my messages was strong. But like I had the other million times, I ignored it.

In my deluded, damaged mind I saw him sitting next to me. His dimples were deep and beautiful. That proud look was written all over his face.

“Hi, Maya. Come on in,” Dr. Rob said gently with a kind smile.

I returned the smile and got to my feet. As I made my way into his office, I could clearly hear Namjoon’s deep, timber voice behind me.

“hwaiting!”

As pathetic as it appeared, it worked. I felt a sudden burst of courage.

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

MASTERLIST

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30

#rm x maya #rm fanfic #rm x reader #bts rm #secret relationship #mother daughter relationship #heartache #heartbreak #miscommunication #anxienty #idol!namjoon #idol!oc #Spotify

[captainswanapproved]

An Indecent Proposal- Chapter 11

A03,Prologue, Chapter 1,Chapter 2,Chapter 3, Chapter 4,Chapter 5,Chapter 6,Interlude,Chapter 7,Chapter 8,Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Daemon x Rhaenyra Multichapter AU:

Daemon leaves Rhaenyra at her wedding feast. Rhaenyra marries Laenor. After a year of trying to do their duty and produce an heir, Rhaenyra writes to Daemon.

She needs a true Targaryen heir.

It only needs to be an arrangement of business, she says. And it would result in Daemon’s child one day taking the Iron Throne.

Daemon accepts the proposal and returns to court.

Only, ventures like these are never simple. As much as they would wish to, Daemon and Rhaenyra cannot let go of the past, or the feelings they once had for each other.

A/N: So originally, I was going to do a ten year time jump as they did in the show, (117 AC to 127 AC for this story), and only refer to events that happened during the gap. But after getting reader feedback on the Daemyra discord, I decided to write the ten years in short segments over the course of three chapters because I didn't want to skip 10 years of Daemon x Rhaenyra moments.

I outlined the bullet points of each year, sat down to write 117 AC and then I ended up adding extra scenes.

Then I decided to do each year as its own chapter. So the next 11 chapters will cover a year in Daemon & Rhaenyra's story. I hope you enjoy the shift in style for the middle part of this story.

117 AC

When Rhaenyra gave birth to her twins, the maesters had been less than helpful. So when she suspected she was once again with child, she summoned Kalinda and Merosi directly. They had helped her through nearly a day of laboring, while the Grand Maester Mellos and his lower maesters had observed and criticized the Essosi techniques of Merosi and ridiculed Kalinda for being baseborn with little education.

Rhaenyra asked them to move into a dwelling near the Red Keep and established a monthly allowance for their upkeep. With funding from the Crown, the two midwives were able to help many others in King’s Landing.

Rhaenyra was relieved that she would have her two midwives close at hand, for she wanted many more children. Partly to solidify her legacy, but mostly because there was no one she loved more than Alyssa and Jacaerys. Daemon told her one night that they could very well rival Good Queen Alysanne and Jaehaerys with their progeny.

Court was convinced that Alyssa and Jacaerys belonged to Laenor, and while Daemon did not like the fact that another man got to lay claim to his children, Rhaenyra knew he loved them fiercely, and he doted on them in the privacy of their chambers in the dark hours of the night.

Laenor upheld his role as father in public, and he loved the children as well, but he never made any decisions of significance when it came to their welfare.

It was a strange arrangement, but the three were tolerating it well.

***

Daemon and Rhaenyra were curled around each other. The full moon hung high in the sky.

Alyssa and Jace, nearly a year old, both cried at the same time, waking their parents.

Daemon held Rhaenyra back from rising. “You need sleep, love. I will see to them.”

The source of the children’s distress became clear. Their cradle mates had finally hatched.

In Alyssa’s cradle, there was a blood red dragon hatchling with ebony claws, wings, and horns. It was studying the princess with a sort of draconic wonder. Daemon smiled and took one of Alyssa’s small hands and placed it on the dragon, covering it with his own. Alyssa stopped crying and smiled.

“Rhaenyra, come and see,” Daemon said, his voice low.

Rhaenyra joined him and tears came to her eyes. “What shall we call her?”

“Meraxes, in honor of Queen Rhaenys’s fallen mount.”

“Perfect,” Rhaenyra said.

Jacaerys’s dragon coloring matched that of a sapphire, save for the smattering of silver scales. “We shall call Jace’s dragon Vermax,” Daemon said.

Vermax curled up next to Jace, and the babe settled and nuzzled against his cradle mate.

Rhaenyra’s heart clenched at the sight. “They will be phenomenal dragon riders.”

“We will teach them well. I will go summon the dragon keepers. Now that the eggs have hatched, they will need to be trained.”

“Wait,” Rhaenyra said, and she quickly wrote a message on a sheet of parchment. “The dragon keepers are loyal, but not immune to gossip amongst each other.”

Daemon kissed her. “One day, love, we will be free to wed.”

“Are you planning on killing Laenor?” Rhaenyra asked, her tone light and teasing.

Daemon shook his head. “No, but you and I are meant to burn together. The gods will intervene someday.”

***

“The small council still needs a Master of Laws,” Viserys said.

Daemon and Viserys were sharing a midday meal together as they often did since he had become Hand.

“We should write to Rhaenys. She has been passed over too often. It would tie the Velaryons closer to the Crown. And Rhaenys would agree to take the position in order to reside in the same city as her children.

“A woman on the small council? One who is not the heir?”

“It is not without precedent,” Daemon said. “And she is our favorite cousin.”

Viserys nodded. Perhaps it was time to finally mend the breach between himself and Rhaenys. “Very well. I will send a letter to Driftmark.”

Rhaenys accepted the position and within the moon, she arrived at King’s Landing. Her good-brother Vaemond would watch over Driftmark in her absence, as Corlys was still in the Stepstones. Her dragon Melys took up residence in the dragon pit. For the first time in years, the Targaryen dragons and the Velaryon dragons were all together.

***

In the sixth moon of 117, Queen Alicent gave birth to her third son. She allowed no one in her chambers but the maesters

The babe was named Daeron, and he was born without hair on his head. His features, however were distinctly angular and Dornish. His skin was not pale and milky as most Tagaryens, but darker and freckled. His brows were a dark brown.

Viserys was delighted when Alicent presented the healthy child to him. It did not bother him one jot that his son looked more Andal than Targaryen.

Rhaenyra congratulated her stepmother, as was proper, but from the moment she laid eyes on the child, she was certain it belonged to another man. Though she could not say who the father might be. Daemon’s spies still had not discovered any potential lovers that Alicent might have. They simply reported that she had not shared a bed with the king in nearly eight moons.

It was Daemon, however, that broached the matter with his brother over one of their midday meals a fortnight after Daeron was born.

“Does it not trouble you that Daeron does not share any of your features?” Daemon asked.

Viserys shrugged. “Daeron is a strong little babe. He favors his mother, who has blood of the Andals and the First Men. Nature is mysterious. We Targaryens have become so accustomed to marrying other Valyrians that it is easy to forget that Valyrian features are not always dominant. Once the boy has a dragon, his heritage will be clear. If only Syrax would produce a fresh clutch soon.”

“And what of the stolen egg,” Daemon asked. “Are you still intent on trying to recover it?” Daemon was sure the egg had turned to stone without a worthy Targaryen to claim it. Rhaenyra had long ago made her peace with the loss. Daemon and Rhaenyra were certain that Syrax and Caraxes would produce a fresh clutch in time for their third child. They were determined not to waste one on Alicent’s half-breed.

“There are gold cloaks searching each of the Seven Kingdoms. Alicent tells me that Ser Criston Cole and several of his fellows are quite determined to recover the egg for the prince. It was generous of Rhaenyra to agree to give it to Daeron should the egg be found.”

Daemon resisted the urge to smile. Rhaenyra had only done that out of certainty that the egg would never hatch for Daeron. It was enough to appease Viserys at least.

***

Rhaenyra’s labors began in the middle of the night during the eleventh moon of 117 AC

The midwives, Merosi and Kalinda, had the situation well in hand. The maesters were kept away. Viserys had to soothe the pride of Grand Maester Mellos. Laena had been called to sit at Rhaenyra’s bedside, as she had been present for the birth of the twins.

Daemon resented the fact that he could not be with Rhaenyra as she gave birth. If only he and Viserys had reconciled years ago, Daemon could have been holding her hand as she was laboring. It was yet another sin to lay at Otto Hightower’s feet. Daemon was glad to be rid of the whoreson.

Daemon sat and drank wine with Viserys and Laenor as they waited for news. In one hand, he held his goblet, while the other hand fiddled with the pommel of Dark Sister.

“The gods have blessed you again, Ser Laenor,” Viserys declared, raising his cup to his good-son.

Daemon drained his cup. He was accustomed to seeing Laenor credited as the father of his children, but it still rankled. Laenor was well aware of Daemon’s ire, though they never spoke of it directly. “The gods have blessed Rhaenyra, Your Grace, for she is an excellent mother. I am a passable father, but I am grateful that the babe has a devoted grandsire and uncle to provide what I cannot.”

The words mollified Daemon, but only a little bit.

Rhaenyra was only in labor for a few hours. Just before dawn, Prince Lucerys Velaryon was born. He had silver-gold whisps of hair and Rhaenyra’s eyes, down to the exact shape and shade. Rhaenyra chose to take little Lucerys to her own breast for his first feeding, brusquely dismissing the wetnurse.

The night following his birth, Daemon and Rhaenyra celebrated together in private, with sensuous kisses and Arbor Gold.

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemyra #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd an indecent proposal #my writing

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Can't You Come Home? - Whumptober2023

I'll take one final step, all you have to do is make me - Can't you see you're lost without me

It's Carole's funeral and Bradley misses her more than anything.

For day 19 (and 10) of @whumptober . Also on AO3.

Words: 650

Birds tweeted in the background. The sky was an endless blue and summer was setting in. Texas summers were always hotter than hell, humid and sticky. His collar was glued to his neck, his shirt was wet against his skin. He’d been wanting to rip it off for hours but now he was alone in the graveyard, he didn’t know what to do. 

This suit felt too big on him, yet also too small. He kept thinking the ground was going to swallow him, like he was slipping under just a little. His head was going, distance spreading between him and the world around him. What he needed right now was a hug from his mum. Too bad she was six feet under.

The flowers by her gravestone spelt out ‘Mom’ in her favourite flowers. At his feet was compact dirt from where they’d buried her. It was still fresh. The grave, the flowers, her death.

He’d cried so much over the past fews weeks that he didn’t think he had any left. Something within him was on the verge, he’d cried the tears and now the ground was cracking from drought. He wanted to destroy those flowers, the bouquets back in the church, wanted to rip it all apart because it wasn’t fair. He’d lost his dad, now his mum and all he wanted was for things to stop, for everyone to go away so he could possibly hear them talking to him. 

“Why did you have to go?” He said, his voice raw. “You said you’d never leave.”

That broke him. He thought the tears had stopped but the thick feeling in his throat couldn’t be denied. A sharp feeling shot throigh his nostrils as tears welled up and overflowed. They began to cover his face, making it slimy and wet as he wiped them away with the cuff of his blazer. His tie was undone around his neck, he hated formalware like this, you only ever wore it at uncomfortable situations. 

“I need you here, I need my mom,”

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as snot flowed out of his nose. He hiccuped as he couldn’t hold back the tears he didn’t know he had. An urge to crawl into the ground, to curl around her like he had done the past few months every night, like he still did despite her not being in that bed anymore. He was cradling her blanket every chance he could get. 

“I miss you.”

If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear her talking. He knew it was just in his head but maybe if he really really tried, closed his eyes and screwed them really tight, he could hear her, feel her next to him like she’d been on his dad’s funeral. 

“I’m right here,” she whispered on the wind. “Just listen.”

It didn’t make him stop crying, in fact it made the tears flow harder. But he needed to hear her, needed something to stop the anger that was flowing out even if it was all in his head. She was always good at that, not stifling his emotions but chanelling them, helping him make sense of them. 

Rain began to fall. The wind picked up, wiping the tears off his face, driving the stickiness off him as his mother’s words rippled around him. The petals of the flowers picked up around him, swirling and if he squinted he could almost see her, almost picture the way she’d smile and hold him so close that it made everything feel better. 

As the first few drops fell on his head, he didn’t smile but he felt the anger soothe and lower. She wasn’t here, not really, but if he breathed in the scent of the rain and listened to the wind. She almost was. It was as close as he was going to get.

----

Poor baby :( Just needs a hug from his mum :( This adds to my idea that even if icemav got to raise Bradley for a bit (a headcanon that isn't my favourite as I don't generally ship Icemav that much) then it wouldn't be a great fun time, they'd get an angry, hurt kid who just misses his parents in a way that probably only Mav would relate to. Also this could be interpreted as Bradley seeing ghosts, which is a fic I really want to write someday. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

#whumptober 2023 #fic #top gun #death tw #bradley rooster bradshaw #carole bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #grief #funerals #flowers #floral bouquet #no. 19 #no. 10 #you said you'd never leave #bear writes #dead carole bradshaw #dead nick bradshaw #just realised that bradley's an orphan #poor baby needs a hug :(