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fanaticsnail · 2 months

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Grand Line Playgroup

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,200+

Synopsis: Adoptive parents have all taken the initiative to join together with their children to form: Grand Line Playgroup. This is the way it usually goes at playgroup: filled with shenanigans, support, and most importantly love for their children.

Themes: the adoptive parents of one piece, all children are all relatively aged 3 to 7, but Robin is 10, au they all live, modern au, platonic, not an “x reader” fic, parenting drabble, fluff, nonsense.

Parents: Mihawk, Rosinante (Corazon), Bellemere, Dadan, Zeff, Uncle Beckman, Shanks, Garp, and Smoker.

Children: Perona, Zoro, Law(rence), Nojiko, Nami, Uta, Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Sanji, Uta, Koby, Helmeppo, Robin, and Tashigi.

Notes: A small drabble about what it would be like if the one-piece characters were adoptive parents to an assortment of their toddler counterparts. This silly brain-worm was brought to you by several conversations with @feral-artistry & @writingmysanity, and the bestest aunties @since-im-already-here & @sordidmusings. This worm got to me and I needed to get it out.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff, @gingernut1314, @vespidphoenix, @i-am-vita

Dracule Mihawk arrives at Grand Line Playgroup ten minutes early every single Tuesday. He has a personalized gothic embroidered bag for both of his children filled with snacks, changes of clothes, water bottles, first aid kits, and a book for him to read while his two children play.

The next to arrive is Donquixote Rosinante. He always attempts to get there early: set up his variety of bags to ensure his son, Lawrence, has everything he needs to enjoy his time at playgroup. His hair is a blonde, fluffy mess of mopped curls, his clothes disheveled and askew, but his smile is always cheerful despite his constant exhausted exasperated state.

He wears matching nail polish with his daughter, Perona: today, she chose pink with black accents. He has parenting down to a fine art, everything always perfectly planned for any circumstances. Zoro takes out a collection of sporting equipment and begins kicking around a soccer ball as he waits for his friends to join him.

Law is a quiet child, not really engaging with Perona as she sets up a mock tea-party, nor Zoro as he kicks the ball against the wall. He, instead, opts to sit quietly alone and read a picture book in comfortable silence.

Mihawk offers Rosinante a moist towelette, gesturing wordlessly to his lips, cheeks and right eye where Law graffitied art with permanent marker on his face as he slept. Rosinante gives him a gratuitous smile, huffing his laughter as he scrubs at his face with the towelette.

The next to arrive is Rosinante’s old work colleague, Bellemere, with her two daughters in tow. Nami and Nojiko were walking arm in arm before rushing off to join Perona in her tea party. Bellemere gives Rosinante a clap on his shoulder, nodding her acknowledgement to Mihawk before taking her elected seat.

As the clock ticks over to 10am: a small bundle of nervous, chaotic energy bounces inside the door and over the walls. This flash of black hair was followed immediately by a small blonde child that stares, unblinkingly, at Law. Dadan is exasperated as she carries an older and asleep Ace in her arms, attempting to catch up with Luffy to rein him in and set up.

As if on queue, Ace wakes up and immediately springs out of Dadan’s arms, hurrying over to Zoro and joining him by kicking the ball against the wall. Sabo backs into the corner of the room and glares with his pale, blue eyes at Perona’s tea-party with intrigue.

Rosinante springs into action, offering to ferry Luffy towards his regular playmate, Zoro. As Luffy nearly joins Zoro, he is instead drawn to the sticker book Law is holding containing bugs, beetles and arachnids. Luffy becomes entranced by the stickers: and he and Law begin cataloging them by shape, size and type over pages of lined paper.

Dadan sighs, already exhausted although her day has barely begun. Rosinante smiles and fawns over the two dark-haired boys before resuming his seat beside Bellemere, talking about the latest gossip at his old workplace and the shenanigans his colleagues' love lives.

After Dadan, in comes Benn Beckman with his niece, Uta. Uta bounces on her heels as she runs over to Sabo, doing all in her power to make the small blonde smile instead of glare. She has a cheery disposition, guaranteed to always get a smile out of the quiet boy the longer she sings and pulls faces at him.

Zeff is the next, his young son, Sanji, sprinting towards the soccer ball and easily stealing it away from Zoro. They immediately get into a heated fistfight: legs and limbs flying as they butt heads as to who's turn it is to kick the ball next. Mihawk sighs, immediately rising to his feet to play referee to the match as Beckman places Uta's bag beside Perona's.

Arriving late, and with his two adoptive sons Koby and Helmeppo, strolls Garp. Dadan glares at him, up turning her lip in a snarl as Garp shepherds his boys into the room. The tension is thick between these two due to Garp's history of dropping off children at Dadan's and not returning to raise them himself. She refuses to help with the latest two additions to his family, although she cares for them greatly. Sabo nods at Koby, Helmeppo scoffs at Uta.

Another late arrival is a larger gentleman with his quiet and older daughter, Robin. Sir Crocodile is dripping in luxury brands, gold rings and smells of expensive colognes. Robin immediately humors Perona, Nami and Nojiko by playing mother in their tea party adventure.

“Mihawk,” the larger man gruffy nods in acknowledgement.

“Crocodile,” Mihawk mirrors his tone, gesturing with his chin to take a seat beside him. Sir Crocodile takes his seat before unrolling the newspaper tucked beneath his arm and beginning to read.

As the children interact together, the more talkative parents swap parenting advice amongst one another.

Rosinante asks for support with Law's current food aversion. How does he get this child to eat grained carbohydrates without him gagging about the fact it's bread? Dadan is a seasoned expert in parenting at this stage, still ignoring Garp as Garp speaks to Mihawk about his blonde son’s latest interest in kendo.

Bellemere joins in the conversation, Mihawk leaving as the topic changes to work and joining beside Beckman who is silently brooding on the chair beside Crocodile.

“No Shanks today?” Mihawk quips at the larger man.

“No Shanks today,” Beckman parrotted in return with a disgruntled and gruff growl.

As if the mere mention of his name summoned his presence, in comes the red-haired Shanks in a lazy and cheerful stupor. His socks are raised to his knees, tucked into some comfortable sandals on his feet. His cargo shorts are tied loosely on his hips by a brown belt, and his patterned shirt is open to expose his bare chest.

Glasses are lying lazily on his head as he extends an enthusiastic smile at the children before acknowledging the adults. An enthusiastic chorus of “Uncle Shanks!” echoes throughout the playspace, a flash of small bodies immediately moving to tackle and engulf the redhead in a warm embrace.

Shanks falls on his ass, holding high his coffee cup as he laughs at Luffy, Uta, Ace and Sabo as they enthusiastically clutch at him with grabby hands. Their faces all shine with the utmost adoration at the redhead, who shoots Beckman and Dadan a wink while mouthing: “I'm still the favorite.”

Beckman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Dadan rolls her eyes at him.

The adults are finally all gathered for their children’s weekly playgroup, the kids settle into playing amongst themselves once again. Shanks offers Beckman a smile before offering him the half-drunk coffee cup. The taller man takes a sip, choking on the liquid as the surprising burn of warmed alcohol scorches his throat so early in the morning.

As their meeting draws to a soft close, a knock at the door interrupts their close knit conversation.

“I heard there was a playgroup in here?” a gruff voice rumbled at the door. White hair and the scent of tobacco immediately sprung through the hallway. In arrived a large gentleman, another common associate of Garp, Bellemere and Rosinante who immediately sprung up to greet him.

Smoker presented ushered a quiet child into the room, her uncertainty was one the children knew well. Immediately, Luffy sprang up from his arachnid archiving with Law and went to introduce himself to the girl. Smoker smiled at the interaction, nodding to Tashigi as an indicator for her to go ahead and play, before joining Bellemere and Rosinante.

“Finally decided to foster, Smoker?” Bellemere smiled, embracing him into her warm and welcoming arms. Smoker returns her gesture, tapping her on the shoulder and releasing her from the embrace.

“Foster? Not a chance,” he smirked, pulling away and smiling at the purple-haired woman, “Adopting.”

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queenshelby · 6 months

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An Illicit Affair

Part One: My Boyfriend's Father

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

It was 15 months ago when you first met the man who, unbeknownst to you, would eventually become the center of your disastrous life and that man was not your current boyfriend Maximilian Murphy, a twenty-two-year-old Irishman from Dublin.

You had been going out with Max for about a year when you met the man who changed everything for you and, whilst Max was almost an entire year younger than you, you had both met at London's top medical school after he had transferred from Trinity College.

Max was energetic, confident and intelligent. He was popular with the girls and, although you were drawn to him because of his sense of humor and easygoing nature, it was quite obvious to you that he was much less serious about life in general than you were.

After a year of non-serious dating, Max eventually told you that he was taking you to Dublin for his father's 46th birthday and it was then when you first laid eyes on him. Cillian Murphy, your boyfriend's father.

The name "Cillian Murphy" didn't ring any bells for you at the time as you had never seen any of his films, but now, 15 months later, you knew everything that there was to know about him due to the publicity his movie Oppenheimer had received in recent weeks.

You went to see the movie too with some friends and whilst you had broken up with Max about a year earlier, you happened to recall the weekend you shared with him and his family in Dublin.

Both Cillian and his wife Danielle made you feel welcome when you arrived with their son Max late on a Friday afternoon at their large Victorian townhouse near the coast, just outside Dublin.

The house was decorated with tasteful modern furniture and a collection of modern art hung on the walls. The living room featured large windows overlooking the sea with heavy curtains blocking the view when needed.

You spent most of Saturday relaxing by the pool with Max, swimming and sunbathing before enjoying a dinner prepared by Danielle for her husband's birthday.

As you sat down at the table, Cillian seemed distracted, and it wasn't until the second glass of wine that he asked you more about yourself and your aspirations.

"So, what do you want to specialize in?" he asked and you looked down at your plate and replied softly, "I haven't decided yet. I think I might enjoy working in pediatrics."

"Working with children can be emotionally demanding," Cillian said, "but I am sure it's incredibly rewarding," he then went on to say before acknowledging that Max had told him that you were at the top of your class.

"It sounds like you have a bright future ahead of you," he told you and your heart fluttered a bit as you heard his voice, deep and resonant, filled with warmth and confidence. It was a contrast to Max's playful teasing, something about which made you feel comfortable and safe.

Danielle, Cillian's wife, chimed in with a question for you, "What got you interested in medicine in the first place?" she asked. You paused for a moment, considering how best to explain such a complex answer.

"Well, my dad was a doctor, so healthcare was a part of our household growing up," you began thoughtfully. "But the real turning point came during high school when I visited a friend who was hospitalized with leukemia. Her doctors and nurses took such great care of her, and it really opened my eyes to the impact that medicine could have on people's lives."

Cillian nodded along, seemingly genuinely interested in your response.

"That's amazing," he murmured. "You are genuinely empathetic and that's a good trait to have, especially as a doctor," he went on to say with a smile and you couldn't help but blush slightly under his intense gaze. His piercing blue eyes seemed to look right through you, making you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn't felt before. But instead of feeling uncomfortable, you found yourself strangely drawn to him. There was something magnetic about him, something that made you want to spend more time with him despite the fact that he was twice your age.

The day after his birthday party, while you were lounging around the poolside, you couldn't help but notice Cillian looking at you intently from across the lawn. His eyes held a mysterious glint, a curiosity that seemed to grow stronger every minute.

As if sensing your presence, he approached you and started a friendly conversation. The topics ranged from movies to books, and even personal interests. It was a pleasant surprise finding out that both of you shared a love for Jazz before Max pointed out to you that Jazz music was for "old people", causing Cillian to laugh.

The sound of Cillian's laughter was soothing and comforting.

You felt butterflies in your stomach as adrenaline surged through your veins. You tried to compose yourself, focusing on the casual exchange of small talk, hoping to distract yourself from the strong attraction you felt towards your own boyfriend's father.

But no matter how hard you tried, those enchanting blue eyes kept drawing you back in. The subtle smell of his cologne lingered in the air, filling your senses with a mix of excitement and shame.

Luckily for you however, on Sunday morning, Max and you travelled back to London, leaving behind the memory of the lingering gaze that Cillian gave you as you boarded the plane while, in hindsight, you realized that Cillian's gaze did leave something behind - a seed planted between the lines of your otherwise innocent encounter.

In the months that followed, you found yourself thinking about Cillian more often than you expected and, unfortunately for Max, at the same time as fantasizing about his father, you became more and more annoyed by his immaturities.

And then, one evening, after another argument between you and Max over whether you should go clubbing or stay in and study, you finally snapped.

"This isn't working out anymore, Max," you told it him straight. "We need different things in life and we would be better off breaking up now rather than prolonging something that won't work long term," you told Max, sitting on the bed of his dorm room, causing his chin to drop.

"You don't mean it," he said, sounding shocked.

"Yes, I do," you said firmly as you looked away from him, knowing that he wouldn't understand why you couldn't go on like this.

"No, please, give me another chance. We can make this work," Max pleaded, moving closer to you, reaching out to touch your arm.

"No, Max, I've made up my mind," you said firmly, avoiding his pleading eyes.

You knew that it was only a matter of time before Max would come to terms with the truth, but you also knew that the process would be painful for both of you.

Max moved closer, grasping your hand gently. "Maybe we just need to communicate better," he suggested, his eyes full of hope. "I love you, you know. I am happy to try anything," he continued but you shook your head.

You pulled your hand away, fighting back tears. "I just... I can't anymore, Max," you whispered quietly. "We tried to make it work several times, but our expectations are quite different. I am taking university serious, but you are not. You have different interests and I think that you would be better of with someone else," you confessed, averting your gaze.

"But... but, what about the future? What about us?" Max stammered, desperation seeping into his tone. You remained silent, allowing the silence to hang heavily between you two. Finally, you took a deep breath.

"I don't want to lose you, Y/N," Max pleaded, his voice quivering. "We have been together for a year, surely we can find a way to make it work. I promise."

You shook your head sadly, unable to meet his desperate gaze.

"We are both still young and year is nothing if you are in your early twenties. I'm sorry, Max," you managed to whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I think it's best if we end things here."

He let out a choked sob, his face crumpling. "Please," he implored, clutching onto your wrist. "Don't leave me like this."

But you couldn't stand it any longer, pulling your arm free. "I need space, Max," you said sharply, rising to your feet.

"I need to focus on myself and my studies right now," you told him while, deep down inside, you knew that something was missing, something was holding you back from fully committing to your relationship.

And it wasn't long before fate intervened as, just over year after your breakup with Max, you ran into Cillian again at a jazz concert in London...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction

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themotherofblood · 6 months

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Omg I love your Bloody Baby series! Could I request like an update where maybe reader is in danger and gets hurt and ends in fluff? If anything I would just love more updates 😭😍🥰

you asked and I deliver :)

warnings: blood!! (duh) major injuries, not very realistic but in fanfic so don’t give me a hard time. just lots of gory blood stuff okay :)

synopsis: Nyra and Daemon go out hunting for The Seven, Nyra gets poisoned and ends up hurting baby (badly!) Daemon saves the day,

masterlist | bloody baby series | vampire au

A/N: I’m in hurt/comfort mood.

There was nothing, they had been at it for a week— shady fuckers never stayed out long enough to leave a scent.

Daemon had to raise a toast to their religious determination for sure, spending over a millennia hunting them— their kind. Wasn’t an easy task to keep up with a growing population, they had another reason for their relentless search this time. A secret that was hidden so well even they couldn’t find it, a possibility of cure from the last Great Weirwood tree.

A tree that should have burnt when the Night King was taken down, but its own powers saved it. The blasted thing was out there, somewhere far north, even modern technology had not ventured that far out and neither could they.

“There is nothing, two weeks and nothing!” Rhaenyra sighs into the phone.

There was news of a deal being struck at a very special kind of apothecary, and if the Seven pokes their heads out now, when they are more exposed then ever. It would have been for a damn good reason.

“We should head home, lingering will do us no good.” Daemon hummed, circling the hotel room where his enemies laid in.

Rhaenyra hums on the other end, a faint sound a zipper rumbles on the other end before she speak again.

“Be careful my love.”

“Always.”

Rhaenyra let go of her phone, picking up her bags to carry them to her car. She missed home, it wasn’t like she could sleep— ever. But she missed the feeling of laying in a soft plush bed with her husband on one end and you in the other. She missed the touch of pure human warmth against her skin, the sound of a beating heart under her.

Her senses however caught a whiff of something else, the deceived tug of something being missing, something looming around the corner bothered her. She froze by the door of the abandoned building, her ears hearing everything from miles away, cars, motorbikes, children crying and a dog howling. Nothing went unheard, just like the distant sound of a thudding heart. Very prominent by the second.

Out of the blue, a hooded man comes at her, too powerful for human but not quite quick enough as she dodges his blow, grunting as she whacks her bag against the side of this man. From behind her, the sounds of gunfire echo, pointed wooden bullets lodge themselves into her back.

Motherfuc—

Painful, effective but not enough to take down a vampire of her calibre. She reaches down to duck more shots, tearing the heel of her shoes and launching it at the person with the gun. The pointed heel launching itself straight in their neck, blood guzzling out of their mouth as the person fell to the floor twitching, succumbing to death.

The second man still taking his shots at her, pushing her hard against the cement walls of the building.

Rhaenyra’s hand curled around his neck, hoping to tear his head off his shoulders.

The man bares his fangs out wide, snarling before digging into Rhaenyra’s throat, pulling a chuck out in the process.

She screams, kicking the man’s knee so hard it breaks— he falls to the floor grunting. A bloody smile to his face as he accepts that he has no way out.

Rhaenyra huffs before plunging her hand deep into his chest, pulling the his frosted red heart out of its cavity, letting his body grey into nothing.

Pain radiated through Rhaenyra’s body as she reached behind to pull the six wooden bullets out of her back, the wounds small enough to stop bleeding immediately but her throat, it was throbbing in pain.

She had to feed, she had to go home. The wound was healing but she hadn’t feed enough for it to heal entirely of its own. She stumbled out of the building, using a piece of her torn dress to stop the bleeding as she some how managed to speed home. The sheer will of not wanting to kill an innocent took her home, to the vast fridge of blood bags waiting for her.

The car seat she sat on was soaked in blood as she grunted out of her BenZ, she looked up to her castle and suddenly her perspective shifted. She turned behind for a moment, her car no longer there but an ornate carriage. She shook her head hard, this time she saw her car.

With relief she stumbled into the castle, making beeline for the kitchens as quietly as she could, she didn’t want to wake you. She didn’t want you to see her like this— you couldn’t cope from the blood and she knew it.

When she opened the doors to the kitchen, instead of very modern stainless steel appliances she was treated to stone walls, massive pots placed on wooden stoves, the aprons of maids hung by the door. She shook her head once more.

Kitchen— her kitchen

She proceeded to rip open the door into her walk in bridge of all the blood she could want, she reached for the first bag closest to her and took a big swig— her pain dissipating for a moment as she rested her hot head against the ice cold fridge shelf. She took two more swigs before reaching for two more bags and exiting the fridge.

She was once again greeted to a medieval stone kitchen. This time she was terrified

What was happening to her

The open wound on her neck began to rip into her, she screamed in agony as she fell to her knees.

The blood pooling around her in the kitchen, she peeled her eyes open, trying to compose herself enough to call for Daemon.

She was still created by an old kitchen and woman she wished she had killed with her own bare hands.

Few feet from her stood Alicent, a bloody smirk on her face and a stake in her hand.

You woke up to the sound of crockeries rattling, other than a few security detail outside. No one should be home.

You tried to rub the sleep away from your eyes as a certain excitement filled your chest.

They were home

You happily pulled yourself out of bed, wrapping your fuzzy teal robe around you and taking your water cup along with you as you padded down the cold tiled hallway and down the main stairs.

You heard more thrashes, wondering if it was Rhaenyra and Daemon yet again very passionately professing their love for one another. It seemed a hobby of theirs to completely destroy a room as they fucked away their fill.

What you were met with instead was bloody footsteps, dragging from the main doors headed towards the kitchen. This time you were cautious, reaching for the closest silent alarm in the main foyer and picking up an old heavy candle stand. You know you shouldn’t, you should go upstairs and lock yourself in there until help comes, but then you see more blood—puddles of it leading into the kitchen.

You see a hand poking right out from the kitchen doors, as you turn the corner you see your detail, men dressed in black clothes— dead men dressed in black blood soaked clothes.

One body, two body.

When you move into the kitchen, you hear rustling behind the massive kitchen island. You hold the candle stand with both hands in front of you, ready to swing it at whoever was behind it. As you turn another corner, you find silver hair soaked in blood and a distinct red colour of a dress.

“R-Rhaenyra?” You stuttered, fear losing itself so deep in your bones but also concern as she turns to you.

Then you see it, the hefty chuck on her neck oozing blood as she sucked the blood out of one of the dead men meant to be protecting you.

Her eyes are dark, face stained red with chucks of flesh hanging from her lips.

“Wh—“

“Run.”

“L-Let me help you.” You whimpered.

“D-darling I need you to run.” She cries.

“But”

“I said go away!” She screams at you, eyes red and wild.

Tears pour from your eyes as you hesitate, you begin to walk backwards, everything in you wanting to fix Rhaenyra— to be with her until Daemon returns but as you keep walking back. You foot slips in the puddle of blood and you fall backwards, hitting your head at the edge of the island in the process before splashing into the thick red liquid.

Rhaenyra turns to you once more, she was there one moment and she shook her head again.

This time she charges at you, landing on top of you as you push her face away screaming.

“Rhaenyra please!” You cry out, hoping that she is in there somewhere.

You however were no match to her strength, she easily caught onto your wrist— a little pressure from her end and then throbbing pain shot through your arm.

In the moment of adrenaline, you reached next to you, giving Rhaenyra the perfect aim for your jugular. She bites in as more pain shoots up your spine.

This time you catch onto the jagged candle stand and stab her right through the back, Rhaenyra retreats, sitting over you but you don’t hesitate and plunge your weapon straight to her heart.

Rhaenyra freezes, the veins in her body go blue as she crumbles next you, her body grey and eyes life less.

You had no time to witness what you had done, some how without slipping in the pool of blood again you race out of the kitchen and up the stairs into your room and then your closet. Using your entire body to push a white dresser in front of the door before cowering behind the rack of coats.

The aderaline still coursing through your body, you look at your bent wrists, you cry out— the blood covering you and Rhaenyra.

She wasn’t there but—

You killed her

Daemon had already been driving home, after collecting some more information from his insiders he too shared the same need to lay in the arms of the two women he loved. The streets were dead enough from him to feel the might of his car’s engine as he blasted music.

What caught him off guard however was the security alarm notification that popped up on his watch, if he wasn’t already flooring the gas he sure was now. Racing to get home, Rhaenyra should have been home by now— that gave his heart some comfort but he sped nonetheless.

What he was greeted with was gruesome, cruel. His eyes were seeing things but he couldn’t process them.

Blood to the kitchen and blood up the stairs.

“Rhaenyra!”

“Y/N!”

He screamed, within a second he was in the kitchen. The room stunk of death, the bodies of his hired detail laid scattered across the floor, and in the pile a head of lovely silver hair stained red.

“Rhaenyra…” he sighed, fingers grazing at the iron candle post in her chest.

He placed her body back down, this listening hard for a faint heartbeat that was very much present. He rushed up to your room to find it empty and thuds of your heart echoing from your closet. He pushed against the barred door, huffing unwanting to scare you any further.

“No…no please.”

He heard your weakened cries as he pushed down the door to find you sitting against your long coats, a shawl pressed up against a heavily bleeding wound and your left wrist bent backwards.

Your lips were nearly blue as weakly cried and stuttered.

“I- I killed her.” You repeated over and over again, refusing to be held by Daemon.

Daemon bit into his wrist, letting blood ooze to the surface before pressing them to you lip, almost forcing the liquid into your mouth as you repeated the same phrase in shock.

You sat against him, letting the vampire blood do its work, Daemon could hear your bones realigning as he soothed you with his hands running down your back and nestling your hair. Once healed he effortlessly lifted your limp body and carried you to the bathroom, he placed you on the sink counter. Letting your body rest against the pink walls as he filled your claw tub with warm water.

If you were conscious enough to see it, it tore him from the inside to see you covered in the blood, the faint marks of your still healing wounds and the lifeless pain behind your eyes. His wife laid temporarily dead in the kitchen that he very lovingly made her breakfast this morning in.

He undid the cuffs of his dress shirt, pulling them up his forearms before gently taking off your night shift, he saw more bruising slowly fading away as he deposited you into the warm water.

The sensation seemed to have shot life back into you as you gasped, you looked up at him wide eyed, with so much pain and concern.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes pooled “I hurt her, I- kill-“

“She’s fine, she will be fine.” He cooed, pulling the hand shower to wash the blood away from your hair.

His fingertips feeling the head wound shut itself as he washed away the remaining blood. It took nearly an hour to wash away all the blood from your body.

You switched from states of sobbing uncontrollably where he would have to stop and calm you and just staring mindlessly at the red water you sat in.

“Sshh, you are safe.”

“You did good, so good.”

“I know it hurts,” he kissed your temple as the last of the wounds healed themselves.

He had plucked you away from the bath, once again dressed and tucked under the heavy sheet of their shared bedroom instead of yours.

Even tucked in, your eyes pooled once more. He didn’t want to do it but he was yet to pick up the pieces of his wife just yet.

His cold palm rested against your cheek as he wiped away the falling tears.

“You have to sleep.” His eyes dilated.

You whimpered and nodded, your eyes soon after fluttering to slumber. He sat there for a moment, listening to your heartbeat and watching as the frown from your face melted away.

This was close, too close. Rhaenyra was indestructible, you however were a dandelion in the breeze.

She was holding back, she was in there. If she wasn’t, you’d be dead and that’s the kind of weight that would destroy Nyra for the rest of her miserable eternity.

Daemon pulled away, locking the doors to his bedroom from the outside before heading down for Rhaenyra.

All he could think of as he pulled the candle stand from her chest and carried her to the Iron Cells was how close he was to loosing everything.

To loosing you.

Andddd that’s a wrap, I missed writing for this series so much but I crunched it down in one go.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated

Let me know if you would like to be on the tag list.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #bloody baby series #daemon headcanon #daemon smut #daemon things #daemon prince #vampire!rhaenyra #daemyra vampire au #vampire!daemon #vampire au

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chilling-seavey · 24 days

Text

Even Out of View (pg10, eo31)

↳ A/N I took so much creative freedom with this request from my 1.5k celebration, straying quite far from the modern-vibes song, but once I get a WW1 idea in my head, I can't say no. (Plus shoutout to my girl @starlightiing for not only submitting this request but also helping me to broaden my writing to include different interests, such as undertones of cardiophilia iykyk lolol)

↳ Inspired By: 'Beating Heart Baby' by Head Automatica

↳ Pairings: WW1!FrenchArmy!Pierre x WW1!WarCriminal!Esteban

↳ Word Count: 1824

↳ Warnings: Active historical war setting, some minor descriptions of heart related things, military crimes and their historically accurate punishments, descriptions of execution

Pierre’s footfalls echoed through the abandoned house as he ascended the rickety staircase to the second storey. His muddy boots thudded across the creaking hardwood floors with each step, his rucksack clanking ungracefully against the walls of the narrow upstairs hallway in his rush, past lived-in rooms with their furniture and once-loved belongings coated in layers of dust and gunpowder. All he could hear was his breathing, echoing in his mind, the thudding of his heart and the rush of blood loud in his ears.

He reached the door at the end of the cramped hallway in no time, the bullet holes in the wood overlooked by him in the world that had long since numbed him to the shock of war. Thrusting it open with an unattractive creak, Pierre was met by the sight of a tiny bedroom with a lanky figure sitting on the side of a single bed that was clearly built for a small child. The juxtaposition was a cruel mirth: a reminder of where they came from and the way war ripped their childhoods out of their hands far too soon.

The commotion of Pierre’s entrance had Esteban slowly turning his head to see who entered, keeping his hands folded with his forearms resting on his knees. His face stayed stagnant, pale, even when he noticed who it was. The sight of his expression sent a chill down Pierre’s spine.

“Este-” Pierre’s dry voice caught in his throat and he cleared it quickly before rushing closer, slinging his rifle from his shoulder to let it clatter to the grimy floorboards. In one smooth motion, Pierre helped himself to the side of the small bed beside his friend, his wide blue eyes dead focused on Esteban’s stone expression.

Esteban hung his head, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Esteban, how could you?” Pierre spoke as gently as he could, resting a firm hand on his forearm. He squeezed.

“Go away.” Esteban replied firmly, although his volume was quiet.

Pierre’s concerned expression faltered for a moment, eyes jumping all over Esteban’s face before he answered, “No, why would you want me to go away? In a moment like this?”

Esteban unclasped his fingers and shoved Pierre’s hand off his arm, “I am to be shot at dawn, Pierre, I don’t particularly want to sit here with you and make small talk. I want to be alone.”

Pierre swallowed thickly at his comrade’s bluntness and he turned his body to face forward too so they were sat perfectly parallel, side by side on the little bed with blue gingham sheets. Silence rested heavily on the dust coated room and the soldiers’ shoulders. Across from them, the ripped wallpaper was tacked with a few children’s drawings – or, at least the few drawings that weren’t shot to smithereens – and many of them housed colourful scribbles of stick figure men amongst red, white, and blue. Messy juvenile printing scrawled ‘Vive la France’ and ‘Pour le drapeau! Pour la victoire!’ on the parchment above the subjects.

The nationalistic phrases written proudly by the hand of a likely now deceased French child stared tauntingly back at the two of them.

Long Live France

For the Flag! For Victory!

None of this felt like they were heading towards victory.

Pierre’s shoulders sank, glancing around the abandoned bedroom of some unnamed child. They were supposed to be fighting for the children of France, for their future, for their country, and now, with the world in peril, Esteban was now to be treated as the enemy by his own people.

Despite Esteban’s firm request to be left alone, Pierre spoke up quietly, alerting him gently as if he were a grenade about to go off, “I can’t leave you. I’m your night watch.”

Esteban looked over at him again, eyebrows furrowed, words thick with angst, “Why are you my night watch?”

“I offered…I asked the Lieutenant.” Pierre answered, “I just…I needed to see you.”

He swallowed thickly, blinking back the dampness in his eyes that came with the weight of their hellish reality. He wanted to say more to him: to say that he was worried sick about him when he didn’t return to the trenches a fortnight ago, to say that when he heard he was captured by the military police and was to be tried for desertion Pierre first felt relief, to say that after such a short lifetime together he couldn’t stomach the idea of living without him…of going back out there to the battlefields without him.

But, instead, the silence spoke enough. Esteban simply nodded once.

What else was there to say when he was to be facing his execution in less than twelve hours?

If it were anyone sent to keep an eye on him over night, he was damn glad it was Pierre.

As if that thought physically pained him, Esteban rested his elbows on his knees again and hid his face in his grimy hands. His blue uniform jacket was caked in mud until it looked almost brown and the sweat and blood of the enemy that he was drenched it flattened his midnight black hair across his forehead. Pierre didn't look much better.

Pierre just stared at him like that, wanting to ask so many questions and say so many things.

“I know you don’t want anything to do with me,” Pierre stumbled out, “but, can you let me in your arms just for tonight?”

When Esteban lifted his face from his hands, his mud-stained cheeks were streaked in tears.

He nodded.

Pierre’s heart leapt in his chest at the unexpected agreement and he hurried to shuffle off his rucksack and his utility belt to drop them to the floor before Esteban could change his mind. The tiny metal bed creaked and groaned under the two grown men as they arranged themselves in a hesitant mess of uniformed limbs.

Always the braver, bolder, more assertive of the two, Esteban cuddled up under Pierre’s arm like a weak child. Branded as a coward and a traitor to his country Esteban had just wanted a break. A break from the war, the cries of agony, the death. Here, now, in this abandoned house in the French countryside, in the country they were raised in together, they finally felt a moment of peace for the first time in a long time.

Pierre’s chest shuttered through his calming inhale as he familiarized himself with their newfound position, chest to chest with Esteban, his arms wrapped around his taller comrade. He could feel his rapid heartbeat against his own, the two of them a frantic mess of anxiety and unspoken uncertainties. In a world of darkness and fear and death, the feeling of Esteban’s heartbeat was a reminder of life, of love, of hope.

The two of them kept their eyes screwed shut as if silently willing themselves to be taken back to their childhood town on the beach where summers were joyful and the air was filled with laughter and they raced each other on their bicycles down cobblestone streets. Just like those summer days, their hearts beat firmly in steady time, rapid from exertion and the good company of familiarity.

As the sun set below the horizon to the distant sound of cannons and shells and gunfire, the two men stayed tangled together on that little blue bed. Their heartrates slowed as they held each other, finding a calming rhythm against each other beat by beat. Everything was uncertain – life was uncertain – but them always finding each other? That was always certain.

“In spite of all this, I still love all of you.” Pierre breathed into the night, trying to keep his voice from shaking with subconscious awareness of what the morning would hold, “I do…and I always will.”

Esteban’s hand tightened on the back of Pierre’s matching blue uniform jacket. His heart skipped a beat.

In the morning, they were woken by the officer in charge and two assisting men. Esteban was firmly yanked out of bed by the men of his same rank, each with a stone-like grip on his biceps as they nearly dragged him down the narrow hallway and towards the stairs. Pierre barely had a chance to grab his belongings before he was rushing after them, boots pounding down the flimsy staircase and out into the damp spring morning. It was so cold he could see his panting breath.

He wanted to call out for Esteban as the men let go of him outside of the abandoned house they had slept in that night, letting him fall clumsily to his hands and knees.

“On your feet, Private.” The commanding officer ordered, standing in front of a line of eleven soldiers all armed with their rifles.

As Esteban brought himself to his feet on trembling legs, he looked over at Pierre only a yard away. The officer followed his gaze.

With a cock of his head, the officer called out to Pierre next, “Over here, Gasly, open your rifle.”

Esteban and Pierre both looked at the officer as if he were completely out of his mind.

“Sir-” Pierre started as calmly as he could muster, trying to decline the order.

“We need a dozen men, Private, don’t make me ask again.”

If he argued, he would be put up there against the wall with him, he knew. With a curt nod to his superior, Pierre joined the lineup.

He was supplied three bullets to load into his empty rifle and he loaded it with trembling fingers before clicking his weapon back into place. His red rimmed blue eyes rose to Esteban’s figure standing in front of the stone wall of the house in which they shared their last night together. Out of everyone in that lineup, Esteban’s gaze was locked solely on Pierre.

Esteban was offered a blindfold. He declined.

On the order, the firing squad raised their rifles. Twelve rifles pointed at Esteban.

Pierre had killed a lot of men since the start of the war. He had more blood on his hands than in his body, one might argue. Killing Germans was easy. But this?

Pierre could hardly hear over the ringing in his ears, the rapid thump, thump, thump of his heart enough to drown out the officer’s pitch for Esteban’s final words.

Through the deafening noise, he barely heard Esteban’s voice cutting across the misty spring dawn, words off-set from the movement of his mouth as Pierre stared at him, “I defend France with honour and glory.”

Esteban’s dark eyes never wavered from Pierre’s baby blues, staring at him right through the rifle that was pointed directly at him. He raised his hand to set over his heart, a silent reminder of the rhythm they shared so closely the night before and all those years back home. Pierre swallowed the lump in his throat.

Finally, the commanding officer gave his order, “Fire at will, gentlemen.”

Pierre shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.

"You want nothing to do with me, I don't know what to do with you, Cause you don't know what you do to me. Baby is this love for real? Let me in your arms to feel The beating of your heart, baby."

#emilys 1.5k celebration!#1031 #pierresteban #pierre gasly #esteban ocon #pierre and esteban #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #pierresteban fic #ww1 #f1 au #esteban ocon imagine #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fic #eo31 #pg10 #alpine f1

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

Text

Coming Home for Christmas

Pairing: Modern/Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Returning home late after a rough day, Thomas arrives in an empty living room and not even the dog greets him.

Warning: Just Fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n:. Requests are open!!!

Thomas Shelby Masterlist

The smell of gingerbread, mulled wine sweeter than honey, roasted apples and a hint of cinnamon was lingering in the air and greeted the blue-eyed man into the stone walls he called his home. The fairy lights, a soft yellow hue, illuminated the hallway, and the man placing the shoes next to the door heard hush voices singing a Christmas song.

Reindeer with stately antlers, fluffy scarves and red hats stood on the high and low wooden shelves next to elves with dangling feet in high brownish boots and wide smiles. Snow melted under the warm touch. His hands were tucked in the trouser pockets, and Thomas walked on with an ever-growing smile on his lips.

No barking, no friendly voices greeted him, but Thomas felt her presence in the tranquil house at the end of the world. He peered into every room, hoping she was there, but to his horror, Y/N was not in any of the lavishly decorated rooms connected by the long hallway leading into the living room.

The three nutcrackers in red uniform saluted. The sound of burning wood filled his mind. Dark strands stuck to his forehead. The tip of his nose was shimmering red as his cheeks. The fairy lights were switched off and the only source of light except the dying fire was the moonlight seeping in narrow streams through the curtains, but Thomas saw clearly. The mantelpiece seat, which once held pictures in wooden frames, was decorated with elves, wooden figures, and a small gingerbread house with crooked windows and missing candies. The Christmas tree, decorated with red and burgundy baubles, some of them adorned with trees, presents, bows and various vine-shaped ornaments, stood in the far corner.

Thomas tiptoes around the house, hoping and guessing his wife was resting on the sofa, waiting patiently for his arrival wrapped in a soft blanket in a bed of cushions. The smile faded away. Crumbs were on the plate with golden shimmery appliques. The blanket was warm, and the Shelby knew his wife and children had spent the night on the couch watching clad in ugly Christmas sweaters movies. Her name did not escape his lips. He turned to the table and strolled towards the stairs leading to the first floor, guessing the children were sleeping. He undid the buttons of his coat, took it off and threw it over the chair, loosened the tie and undid the darkish buttons of the waistcoat matching the rest of the well-fitting suit. He rolled up the sleeves until his muscular upper arms stretched the fine material.

At the sight of the richly set plate, a bad feeling spread through his heart. He pressed his lips to a fine line, gasped, cursed like a banshee and wished he could be a wizard and turn back time with the wave of a wand and return in time for dinner, as promised. The fork was stuck in the depths of the dish. Y/N had eaten little, but Thomas knew his wife, knew she had lost her appetite at the sight of the empty place at her side. Swiftly, he followed the stairs, took two steps at a time, and slowed his pace as he passed the closed doors leading into the children's rooms. He leaned to the side, exhaled, heard nothing and did not open the doors adorned with letters shaped into names.

With every step he took towards the bedroom at the end of the long corridor, the voices telling a story grew louder, a fairy tale he knew almost by heart. Thomas could not count on two hands how often he had watched the movie with the children and if he had to watch it again, then he would it without a mobile phone in his hand, would not comment on the wish but enjoy the joy of his children, and would even encourage them to watch it again.

Thomas braced himself. A weak excuse mirroring the others rested on his lips. The two simple words did not escape. His heart and the cares of everyday life melted away, turned to gold touched by flames. His fingers brushed back his hair. Thomas smiled, leaning against the doorframe with a frown. The candle spreading, the scent of apples and cinnamon burned. The sleeping, peaceful, nearly untroubled faces were lit by the dimmed glow of the television. He muffled the chuckle with his hand.

The three of them were all in the same pyjamas, red with presents, green dotted and with cheering elves, and the mother among them was wearing her hair like the daughter in pigtails. The wood moaned under his touch. The children were sleeping peacefully. The dog was snoring. Gasping, Y/N´s eyes shot open, but before she could scream for help and beg for mercy, her heart calmed. Smiling, the young mother huffed and leaned back into the pile of dozens of pillows. The drowsiness was gone. She stretched, and shook her head in disbelief. Y/N freed herself from the strong grip of the children hidden under various blankets, sleeping peacefully, and crawled closer to her husband.

"I didn't mean to scare you, my love." Thomas breathed.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, the feared Shelby approached the bed, couldn't take his eyes off of the children sleeping with legs and arms outstretched and he wouldn't be surprised if Y/N asked him to massage her aching back the next morning.

"I called you. I was worried about you." Y/N whispered.

She didn't want it to sound like an accusation, but it was.

"I'm sorry, my love. My phone ran out of battery, I couldn't charge it and there was traffic. I was stuck downtown for at least an hour. I didn't forget and I'm sorry, I should have left earlier." he spoke low.

Thomas settled on the edge of the bed, exhaled and leaned forward, reaching for her hand adorned with a ring mirroring his.

"Tomorrow, I will make it up to you, to all of you. I have a day off. And I've left my work phone in the car, it'll be there all day.", "I'm sure the kids will be happy and I doubt you'll find a place here." Y/N joked, pointing at the children taking up more and more space.

Thomas laughed, a wry grin spreading across his lips.

"I thought.", "That I would be mad? I am yet I know you are working so hard for your family.” she started.

Exhaling, she settled in front of her husband, clasped his hands and smiled.

"I would be lying if I said that I am not upset and the children are not disappointed. We were waiting for you. We couldn't reach your brothers. I nearly called the police and the hospital." Y/N gulped.

Fear spread in his gaze and before he could pronounce another apology, she silenced him.

"You are an adult, but we should have rules. Maybe you can come home around seven. The children go to bed around eight during the week. They would at least see you for one hour in the evening. Perhaps we could take the children to school and kindergarten in the morning and have breakfast on some days, once or twice a week. At the weekend, you could cut down on work." Y/N murmured, not frightened.

He smiled weakly, nodded, knew she was right.

"Will you at least think about it?" she asked. "I don't demand an answer today, nor tomorrow, or in the next few hours. It would do the children, you and our marriage good." Y/N added briefly.

Her fingers brushed over his skin, saw in his eyes that he was thinking about what she had said.

"I will think about it and I will try to come home on time and take the children to the schools with you twice a week.", "I'm looking forward to it, and the children will be surprised to see you seated at the table tomorrow," she spoke.

Closing her eyes, Y/N leaned into his touch as his thumb danced over her cheek.

"Are you tired?" he breathed into her ear, and Y/N answered with a shake of her head.

"I fell asleep before the children." she added.

She brushed the traces of the thawed snow away.

"We haven't seen each other all week. I could order us a pizza and wine; we could sleep on the sofa and watch a movie like in the good old days and tomorrow I'll surprise you and the kids with breakfast." Thomas asked.

No answer escaped. Clasping her hand, Thomas helped his Y/N to climb out of bed. He embraced her, cradled his wife against his chest and guided her quietly out of the master bedroom, closed the door, breathed a sweet kiss on her cheek and whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

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hime-bee · 1 month

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how would the boys' room look like in a modern setting?

Hey there, Lacie owo Well, tbf, the only ML of mine that isn't in a modern setting is Njero. Flores is like, half and half because he spends some time in the human world as well. I'll do my best to describe their rooms, though! (Long post incoming lmao)

Lucas: Pretty minimalistic, about what you'd expect from a 40-year-old man that lives alone. His walls are lined with bookshelves and floating shelves, all containing a myriad of history, mathematics, novels, language and recipe books. The only pieces of furniture he has in his room are as follows: a king-sized bed (sheets are cream and black), a wardrobe, an ottoman, a desk (also covered in books and papers, though he does have a study too), and a large plant in the corner. If his partner were to move in, he would try to hang up more pictures and buy more decorative items!

Njero: If he were in a modern setting, I think his room would look similar to Lucas', except there would be more paintings and maps on the walls. I'd like to think he would also have a sky light in his room. His bed is probably queen-sized with dark blue and grey sheets. I imagine him having lots and lots of throw pillows lol. He would also have a cat bed and a bird perch in his room for his familiars. His bedroom floors are definitely hardwood with a large black rug in the middle of the floor.

Leumin: Since I plan to make a sequel to his game, y'all will eventually get to see what Leu's room looks like! I'll still try to explain it though- his bed is a king-sized with white and lavender-colored sheets. He sleeps with two or more pillows, and possibly a plushie or two. His walls are covered in anime or game posters for sure. He also has a shelf dedicated to figurines and statues he owns. Has a nightstand with a cute lamp and also a star projector on it. There's also a few potted plants and terrariums lining the small desk he has in the corner. More often than not, you'll find a stack of fresh clothes in the chair at his desk that he hasn't folded/hung up yet-

Flores: His room in the fairy world is kind of similar to the one he has in the human world, so I'll just explain his human world home! Flo's room is more like Leu's room, but times ten with the plants. He also has a little fish tank in the corner! His bed is definitely a king-size canopy bed and his sheets are dark green or white, he changes them often. He keeps a mini bookshelf full of children's books right beside his dresser, and he'll usually give them out to the kids at the clinic. His walls are also covered, but in paintings he's bought, and decorative vines/moss. Has a little white vanity with a cute mirror and pretty pink lights surrounding it too!

Mikka: Similar to Njero's, but a lot more messy. He's got papers, books, journals, and test tubes overflowing on his desk with a big box of papers and textbooks right beside it. He's also got a lot of bookshelves with a lot of books missing from them that he misplaces often- his bed is a queen-sized and the sheets he puts on it varies (usually ocean-themed though). He also has a large fish tank and some terrariums in the corner of his room, but the fish tank is almost always empty. The only thing he keeps tidy in his room is his dresser/wardrobe. His clothes are always ironed and hung up, shoes polished and lined up perfectly in his walk-in closet. Also has a floor-length mirror somewhere in there.

#this was fun to think about!#thanks for the ask Lacie #designing rooms is fun but drawing them is kind of a pain lmao #i'll probably end up changing the backgrounds and art style in Sheltering the Storm #lucas clair #njero iclawyn #leumin holiday #LBA Flores #male yandere #yandere #male oc #mikka lapan #yandere octopus

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alex0fan · 11 months

Note

Can I have a Wally x reader request where the reader is a puppeteer in disguise and lives amongst them as a fake puppet and Wally finds out about this truth?

Wally darling x puppet master!

Reader - reader

-he/him for Wally

-they/them for Frank Frankly

-requested

You open your eyes and blink a few times, blinded by the bright light. You look around and feel a surge of panic. Where the hell are you? This was your bedroom, but the walls are not white, the floor is not carpeted, the ceiling is not plain. This is your house, but clearly different. The furniture is not modern, the TV is not flat, the phone is cordless. This is not your world. The toys are not electronic, the books are not realistic, the posters are gone.... You are in a room that looks like it belongs to a children’s show....the old welcome home show you once worked on.... The air smells like candy and flowers, making you nauseous. The window has curtains that have smiling suns and clouds on them, mocking you. "What kind of sick joke is this?" you mutter to yourself as you get out of the bed, you peeked outside and saw one of the old puppets walking down the street you remember your colleague used to work on creating him...what was going on? You walk over to the mirror on the wall and stare at the mirror that is covered with stickers of stars and hearts. It shows your face, real face you weren't a puppet like the man. You knew you'd look odd if you didn't....maybe it's time for a new makeover.... ----- You look at your new self, your face shows your face, but it doesn't look like yours. Your hair is a different color, a bright red that glows in the light. Your eyes are that sparkling blue. Your skin is a different tone, a lemon yellow that contrasts with everything else. You look like a cartoon character, not a human being. Good.... You notice a display of makeup in a box next to the mirror. They look like products found in the 80's. You feel a surge of curiosity and excitement. Maybe you can use the makeup to help make you look more like a puppet. Then you turn to the closet and cringe at the sight of the clothes. They look like outfits from 80s movies, not clothes from a closet. You see a denim jacket with a graphic tee, a dress with boots, a pair of high-waisted jeans with a sweater. You see a pair of white sneakers and a pair of ankle boots. You see a bunch of headbands, earrings, and necklaces and rings. After that your memories come back to you of this old show, you remember the main character Wally darling and how much fun if was to create him, you remember Frank Frankly and Eddie Dear, and how you always thought what if they were together as a couple and the other puppets Your head started to buzz with questions all wanting to be answered but you knew you had to be smart, and get into character. Once you were you decided to look around and meet your new neighbours. And the first man you ran into was one and only Wally Darling himself and instantly you started talking, he seemed to be interested in you, but it was hard work staying in character, especially when you met Frank, they seem so grumpy, maybe they were having a bad day, but Wally introduced you to everyone but you could always feel someone watching you....watching you.... So you and Wally become friends and he trusts you a lot, and so do you others except Frank....you worry that they can tell your not a real puppet, but they don't have proof, right? Well, that got answered very quickly....they could tell....and everyone found out. At first Wally thought it was a joke and still stayed as friends but one early morning Wally knocked on your front door, without even realizing what you were doing or anything you opened the door and it wasn't till he looked wide eyes at you, you realized why, you didn't look like a puppet, you didn't have your puppet disguise on and he realized almost immediately that you werent like him... You instantly tried to explain to him, and tell him you didn't mean any harm, you weren't gonna to do anything to him or the others, explaining what happened and why you did this, all Wally could do was stare at you. Then it went all black...

(Sorry it's terrible)

#x reader #welcome home x reader #Wally darling #wally welcome home #wally darling x reader #welcome home

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hometoursandotherstuff · 6 months

Text

1901 colonial revival in Baltimore, Maryland has been updated and it's so colorful and bright, it looks beautiful. 5bds, 4ba, $1.1M.

The wood has been painted white, but that bright blue is just so striking.

The living room fireplace got a new surround and I'm not sure if they put the molding on the walls, or if it was already there.

Bright red dining room has a matching fireplace and it looks like the wall has been opened, exposing brick that has been whitewashed.

Off the dining room is a large sunroom with beautiful windows, built-in shelving and a fireplace.

I wonder if they outlined the cabinets or if they came that way.

The bright blue continues up the picturesque stairs.

The primary bedroom is a nice size and features a fireplace.

The bathroom is very large and modern. That's quite a big shower.

Smaller bedroom is a child's room.

Bright nautical themed bath.

The children's bedrooms are pretty big.

The finished attic has a spacious bedroom.

And, a nice en-suite bath.

Plus there's a 2nd bedroom up here under the eaves.

The basement is set up as a playroom and exercise space.

Sink and bathroom down here, too.

Nice porches up and down, plus a nice yard with a patio. The lot is .33 acre.

#colonial revival house #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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theslasherslut · 11 months

Note

Do you accept orders from Yandere wally? If yes, you could do wally with the reader, where the reader rejects wally's dating request. The reader only sees Wally as a friend, and the reader is also determined to get out of Welcome Home and back into his real world.

Welcome Home, Darling: A Wally x Reader

Warnings: mentions of stalking kidnapping and bits of yonder behavior

A/n: I had fun writing this I hope you like it

_______

You open your eyes and blink a few times, blinded by the bright light. You look around and feel a surge of panic. Where the hell are you?

This is not your bedroom. The walls are not white, the floor is not carpeted, the ceiling is not plain. This is not your house. The furniture is not modern, the TV is not flat, the phone is not cordless. This is not your world. The toys are not electronic, the books are not realistic, the posters are not cool.

You are in a room that looks like it belongs to a freakin' children’s show, with colors that hurt your eyes, shapes that make no sense, and patterns that clash with each other. The air smells like candy and flowers, making you nauseous. The window has curtains that have smiling suns and clouds on them, mocking you. The door has a sign that says “Home”, lying to you.

"Home? What kind of sick joke is this?" you mutter to yourself as you get out of the bed with a quilt that has pictures of animals and flowers on it. It feels soft and warm against your skin, but you don't want to feel it. You kick it away from you as if it's infected.

You walk over to the dresser and stare at the mirror that is covered with stickers of stars and hearts. It shows your face, but it doesn't look like yours. Your hair is a different color, a neon pink that glows in the light. Your eyes are a different color, a crystal blue that sparkles in the dark. Your skin is a different tone, a lemon yellow that contrasts with everything else. You look like a cartoon character, not a human being.

"Who are you? What have they done to you?" you ask yourself as you touch your face, feeling for some sign of your old self.

You notice a display of makeup on the dresser, next to the mirror. They look like products from your favorite 80s brands, not makeup from a dresser. You see a compact with a blush and a bronzer, a palette with eyeshadows and a highlighter, a tube with a mascara and an eyeliner. You see a lipstick, a lip gloss, a lip liner. You see a brush, a sponge, a curler.

You feel a surge of curiosity and excitement. Maybe you can use the makeup to change your appearance and make yourself look more like yourself. Maybe you can use the makeup to have some fun and express yourself. Maybe you can use the makeup to escape from this nightmare and pretend it's all a game.

You grab the makeup and start applying it to your face. You don't care if it's too much or too little. You don't care if it's too bright or too dark. You don't care if it's too bold or too bland. You just care about feeling something other than fear and confusion.

You turn to the closet and grin at the sight of the clothes that beckon you inside. They are just right for your style and taste. They look like outfits from your favorite 80s movies, not clothes from a closet. You see a denim skirt with a graphic tee, a floral dress with a denim jacket, a pair of high-waisted jeans with a striped sweater. You see a pair of white sneakers, a pair of ballet flats, a pair of ankle boots. You see a bunch of headbands, earrings, and necklaces.

"You've got to be kidding me," you say as you jump up and down. "Is this some kind of treat? Cause it's a welcome diversion."

You grab some clothes and change into them quickly. You don't care if they match or fit well. You don't care if they are clean or wrinkled. You don't care if they are old or new. You just care about feeling something other than fear and confusion.

You hear the phone ring on the nightstand next to the bed. You walk over to it and pick it up cautiously.

"Hello?" you say hesitantly.

"Hello, apple." you hear his voice say cheerfully.

You shiver as you recognize his voice.

"Is it another one of your paintings?" you ask sarcastically.

You have no idea who he is or what he wants from you. You have never seen him before in your life. You don't even know his name. He just calls himself Wally Darling, and he calls you apple. He acts like you are his best friend, his lover, his everything. He says he loves you more than anything in the world. He says he brought you here to make you happy. He says he wants to spend every moment with you. He says he will never let you go.

You are terrified of him and his delusions. You don't know what he is capable of or what he will do to you if you don't play along with his fantasy. You don't know how to escape from him or from this place. You don't know if anyone can help you or if anyone even knows you exist.

You feel hopeless and helpless as you listen to his voice.

"No, it's not a painting this time." he says softly.

You hear him slide something under the door.

"It's a ticket." he says eagerly.

You look down and see a piece of paper with colorful letters and numbers on it.

"What is this?" you ask suspiciously.

"It's a ticket for our date today." he says excitedly.

"Our date? What date?" you ask incredulously.

"You know, our date. The one I asked you yesterday." he says casually.

"You didn't ask me anything yesterday." you say angrily.

"Yes, I did. Don't you remember? I came to your room and asked you if you wanted to go to the carnival with me today." he says confidently.

"I don't remember that." you say firmly.

"That's because you were asleep." he says slyly.

"You asked me when I was asleep?" you ask disbelievingly.

"Yes, I did. And you said yes." he says proudly.

"I did not!" you say defiantly.

"Yes, you did. You said yes in your sleep." he says insistently.

"That doesn't count!" you say desperately.

"Of course it does. It means that deep down inside, you really want to go with me." he says persuasively.

"That's ridiculous!" you say dismissively.

"No, it's not. It's romantic." he says dreamily.

"It's creepy!" you say fearfully.

"No, it's sweet." he says tenderly.

"It's insane!" you say frantically.

"No, it's love." he says passionately.

He pauses for a moment, then adds:

"Besides, it's too late to back out now. The carnival is starting soon, and we have to be there on time."

"Why? What's so special about the carnival?" you ask nervously.

He chuckles softly and says:

"Oh, apple. You'll see. You'll see soon enough."

He hangs up the phone and leaves you alone in your room.

You stare at the ticket in your hand and feel a chill run down your spine. It’s a glossy paper with rainbow letters that spell out “Welcome Home Carnival”. It has a barcode and a number that says “001”.

You wonder if you are the first or the only one to receive this invitation. You wonder what Wally has planned for you at the carnival.

What does he mean by “you’ll see soon enough”? And what will happen if you don’t go with him?

You feel like you are in a trap with no way out. You feel a cold sweat on your forehead and a tightness in your chest.

You feel like screaming, but you know no one will hear you. You wish this was all a bad dream that you could wake up from. But it’s not a dream.

It’s Welcome Home.

_____

Requests are open

#wally x you #wally x y/n #wally x reader #wally darling x reader #welcome home arg #wally darling #x reader #yandere #welcome home

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rosedominatesyou · 9 months

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Bedtime Stories w/ Rose

ੈ✩‧˚ Turkish Coffee ‧˚ੈ✩

(Bedtime Story #3)

Good evening my pretty puppies. I’ve got another interesting tale for you. You all voted pretty heavily for this one, probably thinking you’ll hear about me in a little maid outfit ;3 Remember to keep this story in your likes until you are all cozy and ready for bed.

Before reading: Everything I’m about to say is real and actually happened. I’ve withheld things like certain locations and last names to be respectful to the people in the story.

This time in my life I’m about to describe 100% shaped me as a person. I wouldn’t be who I am today if it didn’t all happen. I kept an extensive journal the whole time and have written hundreds of pages already about my experience, hoping that one day I might publish my story. Though there’s so much I could say, I will try to summarize it within a 20 minute read.

~'*•.¸♡¸.•*'.・。゜✭・.・✫・。.'*•.¸♡¸.•*'~

Please look up the song, “So Wie Du Bist” by MoTrip. A song I heard on the radio while on public transit in Germany, its title translates into, “Just The Way You Are.”

I went through a pretty intense existential crisis my senior year of high school. Everything felt so bleak. I felt like nothing really mattered anymore.

My whole life, my parents were preparing me for college. One day at the dinner table in grade 12, I asked them if they would help me send in some applications. They laughed at me, and told me there was no way they could afford to send me to a university. I felt like they had lied to me my whole upbringing. What was the point of all the pressure if I wasn’t going to be anything anyway? How could they laugh like that?

My sister had just gotten back from an au pairship in Germany that was organized through a family friend, and during this same dinner conversation, my parents asked me if I was interested in doing that as well.

With no real goals anymore and spending my days sitting on the couch talking to my online friends on Xbox Live, I said fuck it, why not? I signed the paperwork and I would be sent out at the end of July. I didn’t know any German, but I was told that the point of being an au pair was to do a cultural exchange, where they’d teach me German and I’d expose them to regular English.

The contract I signed laid out two distinct parts of my job: to help the two children I’d be living with with their homework, and to be a live-in maid for the household. The plan for my days was always the same: get up at 8am and do any housework that the mom, Mrs. K, assigned to me, and then be ready to tutor the kids once they got home from school.

Things don’t ever turn out like we expect. We have all these ideas and hopes for how it’ll be, but we never really know. We can only guess and wait and see.

The family I was living with wasn’t German, they were a Turkish family and exclusively spoke their own language in their household. One of the first Turkish words I learned was “Anne”, meaning ‘Mom’. The second was “Yok”, which means ‘No’. The blue Turkish ‘Evil Eye’ will always make me think of them, as it was very important to their culture and had to be able to be seen no matter where you were in the house; they were everywhere, above every door frame, and in every room.

Mr. K was a dentist, and their family lived a very well-off life because of it. They owned two Porsche’s and their home was gorgeously modern: 4-stories tall with one level being a fully furnished basement. The color pallet of the home was white, with the outside being red brick. The walls on the ground floor that made up the kitchen and living room were essentially just massive windows, floor to ceiling all around the house, with huge zombie-esk shields that could be raised to cover the windows at night.

I was their little American trophy, and they loved to bring me to their friend’s homes for dinner to show me off. “Say word!” they’d encourage me.

The children I took care of were the most monstrous spoiled little brats I had ever met. The girl (I’ll call her D) was 12 years old at the time, and the boy (I’ll call him C) was 14. Two very hormonal ages for a kid and they had to suddenly spend half of their time at home with me. Originally, they were very insecure about their English, but they were both actually pretty smart, and could speak it very well. Our homework time was called ‘learning’ and they would always fight with eachother over who would have to go first.

The girl would throw tantrums regularly. If she didn’t get exactly what she wanted, she’d start stomping her feet and screaming her head off. One time when we went into town, she wanted to buy an umbrella from the store, and her mom said no. “Yok!” She was on the floor, kicking and screaming in front of everyone about how she never gets what she wants.

She was such a silly girl with me sometimes though, always wanting to laugh and poke-fun instead of learning. We’d be trying to do her vocabulary and she’d be asking me all sorts of things that had nothing to do with school.

“She messes with me by asking me random questions that throw me off. We spent the last 10 minutes laughing about how her cardigan made her look like a bat when she spread her arms out.”

The boy was devilishly smart, but his parents expected too much of him which caused him to slink away a lot. He would say some pretty racist things to me at times, things that would make me use google translate to try to show him how horrible his words were. He was well aware. The boy also had a silly side though, and would get so distracted during our learning time with questions just like his sister. They hated it when I said that they were very alike.

“C spent the first 8 minutes very eager to kill the fly stuck in the room. Once I got him to finally sit down, I had to stop teaching every six words because C wanted to talk to me about Destiny.”

My room was basically an apartment, located in “level 0” as I called it in my journal in the basement of the house. It had its own entranceway to outside, as well as my own kitchen and bathroom. It was pretty cool, and things were going really well until about a month into my stay.

The family planed a trip for all of us to go to the nearby city of Köln, or better known to most with the French spelling as Cologne. The Köln Dom is a very famous cathedral in the city, and we climbed all the way to the top to see the view, spending the day walking around and eating local food. It was wundershön. Towards the end of the day, when we were at a restaurant having dinner, one of the daughters of the family friends we knew invited me out to a night club later that evening.

I asked Mr. and Mrs. K if I could go, and much to my surprise, they said yes.

It was close to 9pm when N and her brother came and picked me up. We went to one of their friend’s house first to pregame. We sipped mixed drinks while we watched some of them play FIFA. It made me feel so cool. I was only 18, but the drinking laws were much different in Germany than they were in the states, so even though I wouldn’t be able to legally drink for another 3 years back home, I was of age here.

The club was exactly what I hoped from the underground German-club scene. The U I think it was called, we all piled together in an elevator that was crammed full of 30+ people that took us to the top of a skyscraper. The bouncer gave me the craziest look when I showed him my California ID. One of the boys we were there with snuck in a whole bottle of vodka that we all took turns drinking from as we danced. It was my first time in a club, and also the first time a random stranger started grinding on me.

Things were going great, until they weren’t. No one knew they needed to take care of me. I didn’t know either until my legs stopped working. I had never had that much freedom to drink alcohol in public, but the laws in Germany start at age 14 for supervised drinking, so all of them assumed I had been used to alcohol for years. We were leaving when my legs gave out. I don’t remember much after that. We were suddenly in the car and N was handing me a water bottle. Then they were telling me I was home, and to get out. They asked me if I was going to be okay, and I confidently waved at them and wished them goodnight.

I woke myself up by vomiting everywhere in bed. There was no time to run to the bathroom, it just happened before my eyes were open.

One of the rules in the house was no closed doors. The kids had to leave their’s open at all times (which made me really sad for their developmental needs), but that also went for me as well. I shut my door and went upstairs to have breakfast with the family. I forgot and started working on my cleaning duties when D came running up to me, saying that Anne was very upset. She saw my door closed and went in to check, seeing the throw up on the sheets.

This moment unfortunately changed everything. I was a good girl. I worked very hard. I never wanted to do a better job in my life. But now I was labeled as irresponsible, and lost my privileges to sleep in the apartment room. They made space for me at the other side of the basement, in a cold, windowless room that didn’t have any furniture, just boxes and the kids old toys meant for storage.

“It’s a strange feeling to wake up reaching for your stuffed animal and to remember that you’re not home. It’s even stranger when it’s in a bed that’s not even a bed. One that I woke up in this morning, sprawled out across two couches in the abandoned toy room of my host family’s basement.”

The days got bleaker from there. I had to keep track of any work that I did, writing down the exact amount of minutes in a calendar to make sure I did enough work. Some days, Mrs. K wouldn’t give me anything to do, and I would be standing there in front of her begging to assign me a task. She’d wave her hands and go back to watching her soaps, leaving me to just go sit somewhere and wait. There were days I only did 2 hours of work, when I had to get 6 done each day. It started to become a real burden to me. They would make me write down the hours I didn’t complete, even on days that they blatantly told me that they didn’t have anything.

The negative hours were adding up. At the end of it all, I had 14.3 hours they expected me to somehow fulfill. There were days where I worked 10 hours of just cleaning trying to make up the time.

“What am I supposed to do? How is that fair? How can they tell me that when I’m standing there asking for work and they say no? I’m more stressed out than I have ever been. I hope this is one of those things where if you face the storm and just keep moving then everything will clear and it’ll be okay.”

However terrible I felt, I did start to get used to our routine. Once the kids were done with their homework, it was my free time, and I eventually started taking the spare house key and announcing I was headed out. I knew they couldn’t stop me. I would walk around the neighborhood until it started to get too dark and I’d sluggishly take myself back home.

A river went through their backyard, and on the other side was a large city-owned cemetery. I would walk about 15 minutes down the road to the entrance, always making my way to a specific bench that faced one of the gravestones. I loved talking to her. It felt good to say so many things in English. People would see me and I just hoped they assumed I was grieving; they always let me be, which I truly appreciated so much.

The last straw was sometime in November. The plan was that I was supposed to be there through Christmas, and I had already experienced an Oktoberfest which was really very exciting, but I ended up filing for breach of contract and leaving early.

Their house was always under construction. There were workmen there doing something every single day, hammering or drilling or doing some kind of panelling. They didn’t like when they accidentally hired German workers - Mr. K only wanted them to be Turkish. A German boy named Ray struck up a conversation with me one day he was there doing landscaping at the house, but he was never invited back. I had dreams about running away with him, having him save me from the life I was living.

I was sitting in the kitchen one morning when Mrs. K pointed at the backyard for me to look. A dump truck was coming into their large yard and unloading dozens of uncut logs. I watched them for a moment and then asked, “Workers?” Mrs. K looked frustrated and said, “No workers. You!”

I wasn’t as strong as I am now, but even still, it was too much work for a single person to do. Winter was coming, and it snowed heavily in Germany so the family needed lots of firewood for the next several months. She had me hauling and stacking the logs in the shed behind the house all by hand. I wasn’t even halfway through the mountain of wood before I started to feel dizzy, my vision was fading and I was afraid that i’d pass out on top of the pile if I didn’t go inside.

I made the mistake of calling my mom. She freaked out, and when I woke up from my exhaustion nap, the damage was done. She called everyone involved, and had already bought me a plane ticket home. There was no changing it now.

D used to text me constantly after I got home, sending me videos of herself asking me over and over again, “When are you coming back?”

There’s so many things I regret about what happened in Germany. So many things I wish I could have handled differently. But there’s also so many amazing things that I was so happy to go see and do.

I loved Mrs. K’s cooking. I would do a little dance everytime we sat down to eat and it would make her smile so much. No one ever said thank you to her, so I always made sure to thank her for the meals she made. Her authentic Turkish cooking was to die for. Lamb and rice with dill and her brown lentil soup were my favorite.

I earned 1 vacation day every month I was there, so I eventually was able to save up 3 vacation days, and also used my 1 day off during a specific week to take a bus to London. It drove all through the night and then got on the ferry to cross the English Channel.

The whole experience living with this family made me very good at understanding people without English. It was incredibly difficult at first, of course, but I work with a lot of vendors at my current job where English is not their first language, and no matter what they speak, I will not have a hard time talking to them.

Even when things were rough between me and the K’s, we all still had lots of good moments. Just like any family. I know that they think about me just as much as I think about them.

“It’s amazing to not speak the same language, but still be able to understand a person’s emotions and body language. It really shows how we are all the same species, and all humans are very much the same. All of our laughs say the same thing too, and I think that’s really beautiful.” That’s the end of our story my sweet angels. I know it probably wasn’t what you were expecting, but I still hope you enjoyed it. Mommy got very good at cleaning windows because of these days in her life. Thank you again for reading, and I hope to hear what you think. ❤️

Sleep well babies xoxo

~'*•.¸♡¸.•*'.・。゜✭・.・✫・。.'*•.¸♡¸.•*'~

#rosebtstory

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spiderceo · 1 year

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WORLD SWAP AU

warnings: slight scopophobia (fear of staring)

a/n: welcome to my funky lil au inspired by @aerkame and their ‘alive au’. i really like the idea of the puppets somehow ending up in the reader’s world and making their life ten times harder than it needs to be lol

master post

🌟 you were never a morning person so you always hit the snooze button the moment your alarm went off. you reached over like you usually do to your alarm clock but instead of the usual metal, you grabbed onto something soft and squishy like…felt? hold on-

🌟 you opened one eye only to come face to face with a little yellow puppet staring at you widely with a grin. it’s blue hair in your hands and nothing but staring between you both. time seemed to pause as you waited for your brain to catch up but then it suddenly spoke:

🌟 “…good morning, neighbour.” it smiled brightly.

🌟 you let out a screech that could burst eardrums and tried to put as much distance between you and this creature. you backed into the wall against the other side of your bed and just kept screaming bloody murder. the puppet was also screaming alongside you but it wasn’t scared, it was just copying you.

🌟 cut to a few minutes after and you are standing in your living room with all of the puppets crammed on your couch. they all came in varying sizes so it made their squeeze to fit rather difficult. the puppet who almost gave you a heart attack introduced himself as wally and then told you the names of all the others. the fact you even felt sane enough to sit and listen to them all talk over each other for your attention was a miracle. most people would have either fainted or gone back to bed in hopes this was just a bad dream.

🌟 for some reason, the shock of these living puppets in your home wore off pretty quickly. it was probably the idea of having to take care of them and the stress it would put you through that did it. no time to be in shock when your entire life needed to be rearranged.

🌟 none of the puppets could find a way to explain their situation. “one day we were playing, and the next we were here!” the one named sally exclaimed, using her arms expressively as she talked. it wasn’t like you were much help in this situation. you were just as confused as they were.

🌟 the rest of the day went by a bit chaotically. these new roommates of yours caused a lot of trouble. they didn’t know anything about the modern world apparently so you had to teach them like they were children. they asked about everything from the toaster to your toothpaste. curiosity was something they all didn’t lack.

🌟 keeping them entertained wasn’t a hard job. it meant that you could process your situation and figure out a way to send them back to where they came from.

🌟 frank was interested in your bookshelves. you found him reading pride and prejudice. the speed at which he read amused you greatly. they were practically flying through the pages.

🌟 you had to teach poppy how to use your kitchen. all she wanted to do was bake you a nice meal in thanks for welcoming them into your home — despite all the trouble it was going to cause.

🌟 you let julie try on all your clothes and have a fashion show with everyone. cleaning up after her was a haste but they offered to help clean up which was weirdly sweet.

🌟 wally had figured out how to use the tv but not entirely. you walked in on him watching static to which you asked “how long have you been staring at that?”. his response was “my eyes feel funny.”

🌟 sally has taken a liking to the random ornaments scattered around your house. she will randomly pick one up and come running to you to ask what it is. of course you’ll explain anything to her but it was strange that she didn’t know what a sea shell was…

🌟 eddie has started doing arts and crafts in bulk. frank said that he does it when he’s stressed. you’re not entirely sure how to relax him because it’s not like you can take a puppet to a spa or treat them to a nice meal-

🌟 barnaby has been following you around with perfectly timed jokes and sound effects. it’s starting to get on your nerves (especially when you’re trying to nap) but your hope that they’d soon return to whatever world they come from makes you tolerate it.

🌟 howdy hasn’t found something in your home he enjoys yet. he spends most of his time helping you with housework. his multiple arms and tall stature help when it comes to cleaning and reaching the top shelve. if you could choose any of them to stay it would definitely be him because he’s so kind and helpful — maybe you’d keep poppy around too because her meals are like heaven on a plate.

#welcome home #welcome home arg #wh #reader insert #gender neutral insert #wally darling #eddie darling #frank frankly #julie joyful #poppy partridge #sally starlet #howdy pillar #barnaby b beagle #fanfic

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

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The Night Nurse - Ch 7

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much. │ Masterlist / Chapter Map │

VII.

“You did good,” he complimented.

“I did good?” she scoffed. “That was like a movie. Is your life always like this?”

He thought a little bit about that while turning onto the ramp to the highway. “More or less.”

He didn’t get shot at in broad daylight very often. Usually his opponents were smarter than that. More discreet, at the very least.

Luckily, no blue and white sirens appeared in his rear view. There were certain cops in the area who would recognize his car and not pay his hijinx much mind, unless they absolutely had to. More likely though, he’d simply outrun any sluggish response the city might have offered.

Unless Igor and Alexei could get their ride flipped back over, he had a feeling they would be having an annoying little chat with the fuzz. The thought made him feel slightly better, though his overall sense of resignation didn’t subside. The fact of the matter was, they had shot at him, and that was a thing John Wick the Baba Yaga couldn’t let slide.

He would have to do something about it. That was a fact of their world. Any sign of weakness would be pounced upon. Usually this was a thing he would have dealt with quickly and efficiently, but…he didn’t want to go hunting that evening. He wanted to make dinner for this beautiful woman beside him, and linger over a bottle of good wine. Usually self-discipline wasn’t an issue for John, but this once, just this once…

The rest of the trip was uneventful—as uneventful as driving in the Big Apple could ever be. However, John didn’t really relax until the city views gave way to the pastoral, the landscape shifting from the angular grays and browns of buildings to the welcome softer lines and greens of early spring. It was about an hour’s trip, all in all, and Helen looked around curiously as they motored up his manicured driveway, slipping into the garage.

“Wow,” she said quietly as they went through the mudroom to the kitchen, the cavernous open living area filled with natural light from the wall of windows. “So modern.”

“I guess so,” John shrugged, dropping his keys in the bowl on the counter.

“It’s definitely not what I would have pegged for you,” she admitted as she stood on the cusp of the living room, looking around. There was no negativity in her words, more a statement about her own perceptions of him.

John joined her in looking around, curious if there was something he’d missed.

“What would you have guessed?”

“Something darker, maybe. More traditional. You seem to gravitate towards classics.” From his suits to his taste in books to his vintage car, he supposed she wasn’t wrong, and thus far those were the only things she knew of him.

With hands in his pockets he looked around. He realized he was about to share something he’d never told anyone; it came so naturally, with her. “I only realized this a few months after moving in…but I think I bought a luxury version of the Soviet orphanage I grew up in.”

He thought back on the cold concrete building that had been home for years of his young life in Belarus. The hard angles, the utilitarian design. Ugly, but cheap to build in a pinch when housing was needed for the numerous parentless children of the USSR.

This home took those design principles and made them into something beautiful. In this rich country, the most basic modern building materials of concrete and steel were transformed into luxurious commodities for the rich. It mirrored his own transformation in a way. The hungry but stubborn child, ragged but determined to survive—and now, a man of means, living comfortably. The American Dream, or some version of it.

She turned back to regard him, compassion in her eyes. He hadn’t imparted the information to garner sympathy; it was just the truth. She had a way of bringing it out of him. He realized he wanted her to know him. The real him, outside of the legend she’d been gossiped to about at the Continental.

But rather than coo over him, you poor thing, I’m so sorry, she simply canted her head. “So, this house is like your ‘Fuck you’ to Communism?”

It was also the exact opposite of the shabby elegance, the opulent but crumbling ormolu mouldings and dark enclaves of the Tarkovsky theatre, another place he did not miss.

He smiled a little, in spite of himself. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She nodded, looking around with approval. “Nice. So, you like it, then?”

He looked through the windows, across the expanse of his yard to the tree line. Beyond that, there was a glimmer of water in the distance. The travails of the city were a distant dream there. He’d bought this house under the name of a shell corporation; one could not easily look up where John Wick lived in the real estate records. It truly was a sanctuary. And now, for the first time, in fact, a beautiful woman was standing in his kitchen, looking through him with her wise, bright, eyes. It made this place feel like a home more than any couch or table or painting, and he wondered what it would take to convince her to stay.

“Yeah. It’s peaceful.”

“I’m happy for you, John.”

Strangely enough, he believed her. After that, he didn’t know where he got the cheek to tease her. “Thanks, for not calling me a rich asshole to my face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just for that, I’m going to make you carry my bag.” Hefting the thing, she handed it over.

“Oof. What’s in this? Bricks?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” With an insouciant look over her shoulder, she began to wander down the hall like she owned the place. Allowing himself a borderline dopey smile with her back turned, John made to follow.

***

“I think we’ll start with the basics. Do you know how to throw a punch?”

Helen placed a hand on a spandex-clad hip, one eyebrow raised high. “Do I give the impression I grew up on the yuppy side of Boston? I’ve been in a scrap or two.”

They were in his home gym, a large room he used to exercise and train, and he was fairly certain the sight of her in form-fitting yoga clothes was going to be the death of him.

The corners of John’s mouth turned up, delighted by her sass, as usual. “Yeah? Have I got a juvenile delinquent on my hands here?” He couldn’t fathom a young Helen getting up to much, in the grand scheme of things. Shoplifting. Possession. The usual mischief teenagers amused themselves with. He’d been running guns by the time he was fourteen. Killed for the first time when he was sixteen. Most teen misdeeds paled, in comparison.

As soon as the words left his mouth Helen froze.

After a few awkward seconds she remarked, “Did Winston tell you?” There was a strain in her words, and he knew he’d stuck his foot in it somehow. Sighing heavily, she looked off to the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room, avoiding his eyes. “That man is a terrible gossip.”

“Tell me what?” asked John, feeling like things had jumped from point A to point F and he’d missed everything in between.

Helen, however, kept skipping ahead, talking to herself as much as him. “I wondered if that was why you mentioned blade training today. The record’s supposed to be sealed, but I guess he has his ways of finding things out.”

“I…am completely lost here,” admitted John, and only then did she look at him again. “Did you stab someone?” The suggestion seemed ludicrous, but Helen’s frown conveyed a multitude of words.

“Would you believe me if I told you he had it coming?”

To his credit, only a beat passed before John answered, “Absolutely.”

“That's something, I guess.”

“Give me a name.” It was becoming a theme with them.

“I would...but he's dead.” John’s eyebrows lifted at that. “I didn't kill him,” she quickly amended. “But...I would have. Still think I'm such an angel?”

He could tell that the possibility that he might think less of her hurt her.

“Yes,” he answered, unequivocally.

“Well. You do kill people for a living…” She tried to muster a smile, but it was an extremely watered-down version of her usual radiant offering. “I don’t think you enjoy it though.”

“No.” It was true. He thrived on the adrenaline of completing a difficult task—but the actual killing brought him neither joy nor much pain, these days. He’d numbed himself to it. “Did you enjoy…what you did?” He had to admit this was not a conversation he’d ever expected to have with this woman.

She crossed her arms over herself, sighing again. “In a way?” A nervous little laugh escaped her. “God, I’ve never told anyone this before.”

John simply waited, patient as the mountain.

“I guess I should give you some context.”

“Only if you want to.” What he’d meant to be a playful comment had turned into an ordeal for her, and he loathed himself for it. This was what he got for trying to flirt.

She nodded, more to herself than him. “My father died when I was in my early teens. My mom...was a drunk and an addict. It got so much worse after Dad was gone. Some of the men she brought home were very aware of the fact that she was a train wreck with two young girls in the house. Luckily I was older by then, but my sister…” She grimaced, and even after so many years, the flash of rage in her eyes could have started a wildfire. “I caught my mom’s boyfriend trying to corner my little sister in the kitchen. So I stabbed him with a kitchen knife. And in the heat of the moment…it felt good. I hated him. He was creepy and horrible and it felt so good to hurt him.”

John wanted to hold her in that moment, yet he could tell she didn’t want to be touched just then. He understood that all too well, so he simply nodded. “You did what you had to do to defend her.”

“I guess.”

“I think you’re amazing.”

There was a broken note to her laughter. “I know he deserved it. But I think in a way I’ve been trying to make up for what I did to that awful man my whole life. Nothing like Catholic guilt to make a bad situation worse, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He thought for a moment about this information she’d offered up like a confession, eyes lowered. He had a feeling she meant it as a warning, but he couldn’t take it as such. He knew what true evil looked like. He saw it in the mirror every day. This woman was not it. “I do know that your sister is very lucky to have you for a protector. I never had anyone who would have done that for me.”

She took a deep breath, her long fingers holding her throat as she looked at the ceiling, picturing the conditions he’d endured as a child. The thought of him as a scrappy little dark eyed boy with hair in his eyes, fighting for the meagerest crust of bread, lodged her heart directly in her throat. Her voice came barely a whisper. “Was it as awful as I’m imagining it was?”

“Probably. But my point is…don’t blame yourself for doing what had to be done to survive. For your sister to survive. Blame your mother, if you have to blame anyone.”

That brittle laughter came again that broke John’s heart. “Oh…I do.” She swiped at a tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Enough pity party. Teach me how to kick some ass.”

And just like that, she was back. He’d always known it in a way, but he found himself more convinced than ever that this woman was tough as nails beneath her warm exterior. Somehow, despite what had happened to her, she had not let the world turn her bitter or mean. That took a strength that John could barely fathom. He felt that he had survived the traumas of his youth out of pure spite. Spite for his captors, and his tormentors, and the dark world he owed fealty to through no real choice of his own. He’d killed and killed until he’d carved out an existence for himself that slightly resembled freedom.

But Helen—she resisted, and kept her heart full all the while, and he’d never admired her more than in that moment. This woman was precious, and he wanted to make sure she had the tools to fight anyone or anything that might dare try to quash that light. It was possible he’d never realized how much he’d numbed himself to the horrors of the world, until she’d entered his life. Now he felt everything to the power of ten. Desire. Fear. Rage. The thought that someone might even dare hurt her made him want to burn the world down. He knew it was crazy, but now that the box had been opened—he didn’t know how to put it all back.

He was realizing there was no going back, and if he’d had any sense left to his name, that would have scared him.

***

He knew it would take a lot more practice for this multitude of information to sink in, but hours later he was proud of Helen’s focus. She absorbed information like a sponge. She was already no stranger to the workings of the human body. As it turned out, taking it apart was almost easier than healing it. He showed her how to attack the vulnerable pressure points in a man’s body. The underarms, the throat, the eyes, the groin. How to break from certain holds on the wrist and how to turn joint locks against them. How to use an opponent’s momentum or own bodyweight against them, so it didn’t matter if they outmuscled you, if surprise was on your side.

Despite his earlier faux pas, he taught her some blade work too. As a student of anatomy, she already knew where the most vulnerable arteries were. The femoral in the leg, the carotid in the neck. The wrists weren’t bad either, and the belly would certainly usually make an aggressor pause and evaluate their life choices. With a small knife concealed in her pocket, he felt comfortable that she could do almost more serious damage than with a gun. He already knew exactly which one from his collection he would be sending with her.

He would have been a liar, if he’d claimed it didn’t move him to be in such close proximity with her. Touching her. Even if with such a specific purpose in teaching her how to defend herself, there was a titillation he hadn’t anticipated. Training had always been about survival. Now, after they had been at it all day with only a short lunch break, exhaustion and maybe a lowering of guard was setting in.

“One more time, then we’ll call it,” he insisted.

Helen answered with a pout of lips that played hell with his resolve. “But I’m tiiiired.”

“I know. You’ve done great, and I’m proud of you. Kick my ass one more time.”

“Yeah, right.”

She looked him up and down, taking in his lean form, the corded muscles of his arms deliciously bare in his black sleeveless shirt. He’d been slowly driving her mad throughout this training session. It took every iota of her concentration to focus on what he was trying to teach, with those large hands touching her. To not utterly melt, like in every delightfully bad bosom-buster romance she’d ever read. She’d known John was strong, in theory. He had to be, to do what he did. However, it was quite another matter to experience that inexorable strength first hand, even while she knew he was being exceedingly gentle.

“It will make me feel better about unleashing you back onto the world.” He couldn’t watch her back 24/7, as much as maybe he would have liked to.

“Ok. One more, then I will be officially pooped.” They assumed the position, the way they had countless times that day, John standing close at her back with his arm around her waist, his other hand resting lightly at her throat. After several seconds Helen released a shaky breath. Centering herself, John reasoned. Reviewing her options. Probably not enjoying the fleeting moment of closeness, the way he was, because he was a sick bastard.

The moments of stillness stretched on, their awareness of each other amplified by this exquisite nearness.

“Are you going to do something about this?” He didn’t mean to whisper it. He really didn’t. But she was so close, and her scent of sweat and that sweet honeyed herbal soap drove him to the edge of sanity.

In answer Helen leaned back slightly, closing the line of their bodies that were damp with sweat from the day’s exertions. Nerves he didn’t even know he had came to attention, leaving him painfully aware of this woman in his arms. He held her weight effortlessly, his grip tightening of its own accord about her waist.

He never wanted to let her go.

She turned her head, their lips agonizingly close to touching. One hard intake of breath was all that stood between them. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. “You make it hard to want to get away,” she answered in equally hushed tones, as though they were in a church, and not the place where he daily honed his deadly trade.

“Helen…” He didn’t know what he was asking for, in saying her name like prayer. Benediction, absolution, or damnation.

She touched the tip of her nose to his lightly, experimentally. How well they fit. John Wick was not a man to give in to nerves, but he realized his hand on her throat shook ever so slightly.

He’d never wanted anyone, the way he wanted her.

Her eyes fell to his mouth, a tell as to her thoughts if ever there was one.

Then her gaze dropped lower, and those beautiful eyes went wide as saucers. “Shit, you’re bleeding!” A smear of tell-tale red glistened across his shoulder.

The magic of the moment shattered like glass on stone as she turned in his arms, all business as she wrenched back the shoulder of his shirt to see. “You’ve pulled your stitches. I was afraid this would happen. John…you are a hazard.” The exasperation in her tone was mostly endearing.

Indeed, the newest wound on his shoulder had opened a little. Blood seeped from the small tear in his flesh, running down his pectoral.

“Sorry.”

She shook her fist up at him, though her smile belayed any ill feeling. “Well, you wanted to know what was in my bag. It’s mostly the Costco-size first aid kit I’ve put together for hanging around with you.”

“Lucky me.” He tried not to betray his disappointment, still feeling as though live electricity crackled over his skin, desire tying his insides up in knots. This woman would be the end of him. It took everything he had not to grab her up and kiss her silly, his noble intentions and his pulled stitches be damned.

“We’ll see. Alright, where’s my operating room? Bathroom? Kitchen?”

“How about…the dining room.”

“Okay, it’s your furniture.”

“I’m not bleeding that much.” He certainly wasn’t bleeding enough to want to stop what they had been about to do.

Maybe there was something wrong with him.

This was probably for the best, but why did it have to hurt so much? Worse than his wound, by far.

“Lead the way.”

<<CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 8>>

#john wick #john wick fic #john wick x helen #keanu reeves #helen wick #john wick x helen fic #john wick the night nurse #i have returned from antartica #plz enjoy this long ass chappy

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aemondslefteyeball · 11 months

Text

It's The Everything For Me

[Modern!Helaena x Fem!Reader]

[Warnings: Sapphic yearning]

(Needed something a little bit lighter before cracking into the next chapter of Sic Transit Gloria Mundi so here's my first one-shot. Let me know if y'all want more Helaena.)

Word Count: 2.9K

Love the way you teach me,

Love the way you listen.

You glanced over to the corner of the room where Jaehaerys sat at the pottery wheel, a concentrated expression pulling at his cherubic face. A smile pulled across your face as your heart warmed at the sight, to the right of him Jaehaera was snuggled up securely in a sensory swing. The clock on the back of the classroom read 4:35 in angry red lettering. Normally you would be irritated at a parent being so late to pick up their children, but this time anticipation tugged at you. The twins had been an absolute dream since you had the pleasure of meeting them back in August. The first-day jitters hit you before every school year, and you had been setting up the last of your science posters when an ethereal voice broke the silence. Botticelli’s Venus stood before you, her silver hair aloft with light and a shy look on her face. From that day onward her soft lilac gaze flashed behind your closed eyes, the smell of her perfume haunting the classroom after she had left. She had come to talk with you about Jaehaera who was diagnosed with autism but left to fend for herself last year after her teacher gave up. The sadness on Helaena’s face broke your heart, the silent admission at how often her daughter had been othered by the people who were supposed to nurture her. You made sure to meet Jaehaera’s every need, and you loved the twins as if they were your own. This was the first time Helaena had been late, though you secretly hoped she would make a habit of it. The twins kept at their respective tasks until the blonde burst into the door, an apologetic look drawn across her angelic face. “I’m so sorry!” She made direct eye contact with you, her cheeks flushed and breath heavy, clearly having run from the lot.

“Oh, it’s no worry.” You smiled at her before looking back down at the stack of spelling assignments you were grading. “They’re always a dream, they’re so well-behaved I barely noticed they were here.” You teased, though it was half true. There was an ease about them that you found soothing.

“Either way, we should get out of your hair.” Helaena’s hands tugged at the sleeves of her powder blue cardigan. Please don’t go. She walked towards Jaehaerys and unsuccessfully attempted to pry him from the wheel.

“Please Mom, I'm almost done!” Your throat dried as you tried to think of any reason to spend just a second more with her.

Suddenly, your salvation dawned on you. You stood from your desk far too quickly, and Helaena looked back at you in shock as your chair rattled against the floor. “Well we have the tomb, maybe your Mom would like to see that?” You looked from the twins to their mother, holding your breath for a second.

Helaena looked back at the boy on the pottery wheel, his glasses crooked on a chubby little face smeared with clay. The most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen pulled across her soft pink lips, and she nodded at you. “I’ve heard about this…” She brought a finger up to her lips, face twisted in concentration. “A Valyrian tomb, right?” You looked back at Jaehaerys and winked at him before looking back to the blonde and gesturing for her to follow you.

“Yeah, we asked the janitors if it would be okay to clear out the closet while we have our unit on Valyrian history.” You gestured to a wall of Valyrian burial veils in the hallway, pointing out the two the twins had made. “Every student contributes two things, and the day after our test we’re going to have a Valyria party and explore the tomb.” Waving your fingers and adding a spooky lilt to your voice, your heart raced as the giggle broke out from the woman next to you. You smiled before looking down at the waxed tiles. When you two finally arrived at the tomb, you opened it and led her in, leaving the door propped open behind you. Maroon and gold tapestries soaked up the light, and different art pieces and knickknacks placed around the makeshift tomb cast an ethereal glow to the janitor's closet.

“Wow.” Your palms began to sweat. Good wow or bad wow???? You smiled anxiously at her as her gaze panned back over the shelves you lined with miniature towers. “This is amazing.” Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you beamed at her, shifting your gaze to the art as if proud.

“It’s the kids that do all of it.” Your hand came up to awkwardly rest at the nape of your neck, praying you didn’t look like an idiot in front of her. Thankfully and heart-wrenchingly, she didn’t seem to notice you at all as she glanced back over at the artwork. Helaena doesn’t say anything else, and you guide her back to the classroom where Jaehaerys had finished his vase and put it on the cart destined for the kiln. You sent the twins off with a hug, and Jaehaera squeezed you for an extra second. Helaena locked eyes with you for a second, and something unidentifiable stirred in her lavender irises. When you let go of Jaehaera her mother looked as if she was thinking about something for a second before she gave you an awkward wave and left the classroom.

The snow had been piling up high around the classroom, and you found yourself grateful that Christmas break was starting. Cinnamon pine cones had been stacked on your desk and a wax burner filled the air with the scent of gingerbread. You were ladling out a cup of hot cocoa for yourself when her voice broke the silence. “I come bearing gifts.” The blonde held up a green gift bag, and ecstasy poured through your veins.

“Well, I can get you a cup of hot cocoa and some cookies and we can call that a fair trade.” You suddenly thanked God that Baela brought you a glass of spiked eggnog after the students left. Helaena nodded, and you pulled out the prettiest mug you had available and filled it with painstaking care. Once it was suitably full, you added some whipped cream and peppermint crumbles. Grabbing her the few gingerbread men that were still intact, you brought the bounty to your desk, where she had pulled up a chair. The two of you spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing and were only disturbed by the darkness that fell dimly over the classroom.

“Well,” Helaena said, looking at the unopened bag before you. She nodded to it, and you reached for it. Pulling out the crimson tissue paper, you gasped as you lifted the black bust out of the bag. It looked like it was an authentic Valyrian piece, the stone having clearly been tempered by flame.

Your eyes widened in shock as you looked back up at her. Holy fuck she’s trying to kill me. Your mouth moved aimlessly before the words could come to you, and you cursed yourself once again for looking like a moron in front of this absolute goddess. “I can’t accept this.” You said finally, moving to hand it back to her. “This is so kind, really, but th-” Your train of thought derailed when Helaena’s soft hand was placed on yours.

“Merry Christmas.” She squeezed your hand lightly before finishing the last bite of her cookie and grabbing her purse. When you got home you put the bust on the mantle of your gas fireplace and grinned stupidly at it for far too long.

In the spring your unit on bugs had started. To give the children a hands-on experience you got a Praying Mantis as a class pet, and every child had been given a caterpillar that would grow into their own butterfly. You were tending to the habitats when her footsteps stopped beside you. The blonde sat and watched you for a few moments, and you tried to will the blood from rushing to your cheeks. “So pretty.” Your head snapped over towards her when she broke the silence, and you looked back at the enclosure, laughing awkwardly.

“Yeah, they are.” The blonde took another step closer, and you prayed she wouldn’t be able to hear your heart pounding through your ribcage. Helaena reached into the habitat, ever so gently tilting a chrysalis so that she could look at it, letting out a small tut.

The blonde turned to look at you, her face tantalizingly too close. “What kind of plants do you have?” You smiled at her, fidgeting with your hands as you shifted your gaze to the cocoon.

“Milkweed, borage.” When the blonde nodded approvingly and turned her gaze back to the habitat you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Really, really beautiful.” She said one more time, your gaze still fixed on the array of chrysalises within the fabric cage. You had never really taken a hard glance at them, but you could start to see what she meant. When you turned to look back at Helaena, she quickly looked away.

Over spring break you tried to enjoy the brief respite. The days were warmer now, and you ached to leave your house. Pulling on a sundress and grabbing your purse, you headed out to the Lyseni Market. The aroma of roasting cherries greeted you as you walked away from your favorite stall. Carrie had put out a whole new line of bath bombs that smelled as sweet as the spring breeze, and you made sure to pick a few up for yourself. You were underneath the blossoming cherry trees when she spotted you, holding a wicker basket full of produce. “Ms. L/N!” She exclaimed, a happy smile on her face as she held her basket. “May I?” She asked as she gestured to the open spot on the stone wall next to you. Helaena sat after you eagerly nodded, moving your purse to your other shoulder so she could sit closer to you.

“We’re not at school right now.” You shot her a small smile as you bit into your crepe, savoring the taste of strawberries and Nutella. “You can call me Y/N.” Helaena smiled at you and leaned back slightly.

“Where did you get that?” She asked, glancing back towards the crepe in your hand. “I’m famished.”

You looked back down at the crepe, an apologetic expression drawing across your face. “Suze made them, but she closed up her stall a few minutes ago.” When the blonde’s smile dropped, your skin crawled. “Wanna split this?” You glanced back towards her, holding the crepe out. “I’m not that hungry.” You lied.

The small wave of guilt abated in you when her face lit up and she took the crepe from you, taking a bite of it before moaning. “I need to come out here more often, this is amazing.”

“You should try her pumpkin cheesecake crepes in the fall.” Your tone was almost warning, and Helaena nodded.

“Nope. That’s dangerous.” Chuckles broke out as you leaned into her and batted at her arm playfully.

“You have twins, you can definitely handle a crepe.” You teased.

“Speaking of them.” Helaena groaned, rubbing at her temples tiredly. “I could really use a cup of coffee. Any vendors here good?”

You shook your head with a frown, “No dice. But…” Your heart fluttered when she snapped to meet your gaze. “There’s a really good coffee shop a few blocks away.”

A grin pulled across the blonde’s face as she stood, offering a hand out to you. “Alright, I’m paying then.” She winked at you. “Since you got the crepe.” She held the wrapper up before tossing it in the nearest recycling bin. The walk to the cafe was filled with perhaps the easiest conversation you ever had. Helaena remembered things about you that you had never even told her, apparently having gleaned from the twins. Your knuckles brushed against each other as the two of you walked, and you both looked away. A cherry-red blush burned across your reflection’s face, but you swore for a fraction of a second you saw a similar one painting Helaena’s features. Telling yourself you were just reading into this, you held the door open for her and walked in. After the two of you ordered you settled into a little nook away from the view of the street. The black forest latte you ordered was as perfect as the cafe always made it, and you watched Helaena’s eyes widen after she tasted it. A few more hours of eager conversation passed, and as the rays started to wane into late afternoon, you glanced back toward the blonde. She looked uncomfortable for a few moments. “We should probably get outta here.” She admitted, one hand coming to play with a lock of silver hair. “But I know this uh…” She gestured idly, her face thoughtful. “Place,” Helaena said finally, her lilac gaze locking onto yours. “You interested?”

You have no fucking clue. “It sounds great.” Helaena left a tip on the table and the two of you got up, to yet another destination. It was a bit longer of a walk, but the late afternoon sun cast a comfortable warmth onto your exposed skin. When your knuckles brushed against Helaena’s again, you let them linger for a moment. A large park stood before the two of you, but it didn’t seem designed for children. Large abstract sculptures were carved into the ground, with steps too high to be a playground. You looked at her in wonder for a moment before stepping onto a roundabout. “Can you push me?” You asked, and you held a careful hand down as the skirt of your dress waved in the breeze. You kept your eyes locked on her silver hair for as long as you could, but eventually stumbled off the roundabout giggling. Helaena reached to steady you, and your hand rested on her shoulder. The two of you looked at each other for a few seconds longer, and your heartbeat raced. When your lips locked you brought your other hand to rest gently against her face. She tasted like cafe mocha, and her lips were as soft as an angel’s. Electricity crackled wherever your exposed skin met. She tilted her head, and the two of you deepened the kiss, only drawn out of it by the sound of somebody settling onto the swings near you two. I hope that motherfucker gets audited by the IRS.

“Shit.” Helaena cursed as she pulled away, your heart dropping as she did so. She licked her lips before turning her gaze to the ground. “I should probably get going…” She trailed off. “The twins.” You nodded and smiled politely. Your heart felt empty the entire walk back to your apartment, and you cried into your cat’s belly that night.

After April 6th Helaena was formulaic. Methodical. She would drop the twins off with a wave before shooting you a terse smile and walking away. She waited in her car for the twins when school was over. Each day you mused might be the one the earth swallowed you whole, and time passed achingly slower. When the end of the school year came you felt some relief. If nothing else, the twins wouldn’t be in your class next year and the space would help you finally get over your stupid little crush. You were standing on a chair peeling sticky tack off the wall when she walked in. “Bae?” You called out. “I’ll catch up with you guys when I’m done.” You focused on your task, and Helaena let the silence hang for a second longer before you turned to face her. You turned back to peel another wad of blue tack off the wall, poker face engaged. “It’s great to see you.” You said politely.

“I uhm…” Helaena held a wrapper up towards you. “I got you a crepe.” She offered meekly. You stared ahead at the wall, reminding yourself that you wouldn’t see her again after this. Desperately as you tried, you just couldn’t convince yourself it was for the better.

“That’s very nice. Thank you.” Gathering the last wad, you took a step down from the chair before she had the chance to offer her hand. Helaena outstretched her hand and you took the crepe. The worst side of you told you to ice her out, turn away, and refuse to look to see if it affected her as much as it did you. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“I wanted to ask you something.” You turned to look at Helaena, taking a bite of the crepe and looking at her as if to continue. “Now that you're not my kids’ teacher anymore…” She trailed off, and you bitterly swallowed the crepe. Here it is. She was going to ask why you kissed her, and you couldn’t think of any proper excuse. “Would you want to go out sometime?”

Your eyebrows knit together at the question, and you froze on the spot. The crepe started to shake in your hand as your heart pounded. You pulled your lips over your teeth before nodding enthusiastically. “I hear there’s a butterfly garden on the other side of town.” Helaena smiled, looking down and blushing before she held a hand out. You took her hand, and the two of you walked out of the classroom into the warm summer day.

#hotd x reader #helaena targaryen #helaena x reader #helaena targaryen x reader #helaena x you #house of the dragon helaena #princess helaena #modern helaena #helaena x fem reader

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