#its so sweet to me whenever i get a recipe from like another person just word of mouth even if its like a complete stranger ill never see | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Note

Can you write overprotective long hair harry imagine?? Like he always hovers the reader when she is doing something or even nothing. Or when she needs to run errands he always go with even though its not required. And when reader fell sick he is full on mommy daddy mode dom!h vibes

A/N: OOPS I GOT EXCITED AND WENT OVERBOARD WITH IT :D

Harry’s awfully sweet. He’s a literal sweetheart with those marble sepia eyes, hazelnut curls and that big golden kind heart of his's.

But, to people he’s intimidating. From the black loiter of tattoos, a silver of piercing to the corner of his plush bottom lip and those long curls of his's that frays his broad strong shoulders turns everyone too giddy to talk to him and he's okay with that – bunch of loosers anyways whom he doesn’t want to waste his time on chit-chatting.

Then Y/N came into his life and his world flipped upside down, in a beautiful way (where he felt like floating into the crashing waves of crystal sea). It felt like she made him see the world through pink heart-shaped glasses and everyone’s just bursting into rainbows, puffaw! Boom! Their heads blasting with colourful confetti and ribbons.

Even though his slight grouchiness towards people lessened he still doesn’t gives two fucks before punching the shit out of someone if they in any way hurts, be rude and try to take physical and emotional advantage of, Y/N.

His bunny.

He’s too protective of her. And why wouldn’t he? She’s his everything. His little miracle and his hype-person, his lovie.

He’s the softest peach for her. The guy who walks and everyone scrambles away to give him a way, is whipped for his girlfriend.

He’s always having his strong arm looped around her waist when they’re out and walking, going to hold her hands instead if she’s too wiggly, keeping her close to his chest while he holds their coffees and sweets.

Whenever they’re doing grocery he’s always wheeling the cart around how much Y/N insists and pouts, he likes it that way. Hearing her blabber and skim her eyes down the ingredients labelled on the products then tossing it anyway with a shrug – makes him want to smooch her wet in kisses.

If they’re partying out with friends. Which they rarely do, (Y/N sometimes makes fun of them saying they’re getting too domestic day by day) he’s always having her put in his lap, his screwed up expression lazing when the alcohol starts to kick in and he’s just a blubbering mess of nonsense, and a very horn dog with his cock bloating up in his tight skinny jeans.

Not that he doesn’t let her have a breather and enjoy herself. He indeed does, they’ve a healthy relationship where they keep trust and faith in eachother.

But, sometimes he gets super jealous when people steal his little girlfriend away from him and once home he’s cuddling and oodling her, kissing her face all over with loud smacks and not letting her be away from him another second even it’s too bring him water or to get rid of his smelly socks.

Other times. When he’s particularly very jealous. The serious ones where Y/N unintentionally spends a tad more time at some of her classmates to wind up their upcoming project, he’s driving himself to pick her up and knocking at the door harshly and then dragging her out of there not letting her carry her stuff and huffing and puffing while throwing her things in the backseat.

Because Jeremy’s a sore rascal who’s shit at hiding his crush for Y/N and he should know better to whom she belongs. His innocent baby is too naive towards the possible hints and evil intentions of people.

“Oi. What got into you today?” She brushes the loose curl that escaped from his bun and let her fingers slide down his tight set angry jaw staring him a bit concerned upon seeing him this furious and ruffled up from nowhere.

“You’re mine,” Is all he'd respond. Smashing his lips against hers in a an ardent kiss and glide his palm down her ass to squeeze it and bring her closer grinning when she squeals into his mouth giving him a chance to slip his tongue in and kiss her deeper and sloppier.

“You’re a silly geese.” She giggles whisper into the mess of pecks and lock her elbows around his neck to give him an eskimo kiss.

“Watch y’mouth.” He glares her intensely loving the way Y/N gulps timidly bobbing her head.

“You’ll get a spanking today,” He always likes to warn her before hand. He wants her comfortable with him in every case and it’s downgrade monstrous to treat the person you love like a mean bitch out of blue -- so whenever she deserves a punishment he already announces her of it, warming her to the idea and giving her time to back away if she doesn’t want it.

“What did I’do now!” She whines and he nibbles onto his knuckle glancing her way in disbelief other hand on steering wheel, “What did y'do?” He asks her sternly. Spreading his palm over her thigh and squeezing it grimly.

“Did y'even care to look at the time, Y/N?” Oh boy. She’s in real trouble. Her name on his tongue never fails to turn her insides gooey and pause her heartbeat horribly. A red light for her to being bratty before she falls into the deep black dig of trouble.

Reaching home. He’s throwing her on the bed and demanding her to lay still on her tummy while he puts a pillow under her and spanks her bum sore with his rings imprinting her skin pink, though he never forgets to take care of her afterwards – putting a cool cream to soothe the burn and letting her sleep on his chest so she wouldn’t come in contact with the sheets as he kneads her asscheeks with gentle hands.

He could never have his hands to himself when she’s cooking and baking for them. Always, poking and prodding around having her head tucked under his chin, her embraced in his arms from back swaying them along to Hozier while she reads the recipe she wrote on one of the tiles.

“Stop!” She giggles, squirming in his arms when he blows raspberries against the dip of her neck and then creates growly noises biting and lapping into her skin, “You’re gonna burn our lunch!” She pressed her hips against his crotch to push him away and that warmed him more, delving his fingers more into her hips with a throaty groan.

“We could have a takeout.” His breath shuddery against her ear as he tries to pry the spatula away from her and kiss her grumpy whines down when the pots actually got burned, “I’ll wash and scratch them.” He’d assure picking her up and wrapping her legs around his hips and slipping his fingers in her hair to tug them and bring her mouth down against his’s to taste her.

“Wants to fuck you so bad, baby. My cock’s been weepy fo’ hours without your touch.” He groans, taking her hand and sneaking it inside his joggers to make her feel how stiff and erect he’s for her.

“I just gave you a blowie in the morning!”

“Blowie isn’t equivalent to fucking!”

“What y'readin,?” He scoots closer to her end of sofa with a smirk and towers over her trying to take a peek of whatever she’s reading with such intensity and then rake his warm palms up her calves to lay them over his thighs while he snuggles her wrapping a chonky blanket around them.

“Shhh baby girl, just want you to be more comfy.” He mumbles into her hair scratching his short nails against her scalp in soothing motions and watch her melt against his touch, eyes fluttering as she lurks dangerously to the verge of sleep.

“You always do that. Whenever the hot part’s about to come, you make me all sleepy.” She mutters laying her head against his clavicles gazing him up with hazy eyes, sighing in feign disappointment when he grins down at her in quite victory and gives her a sloppy kiss.

“What do y'need erotica fo’ baby? When your man’s the living walking momentum of sex.” He pouts, grazing his teeth down her neck and leaving a fresh hickey at her throat.

“That’s infact not, true. You’re such a cutie!” She beams up at him never failing to give him dancing butterflies in his stomach and he doesn’t admits it but he likes getting treated soft and gentle by his girlfriend.

“Such a shame. My own little love doesn’t find me sexy.” He grumps dramatically making her scramble hesitantly and turn to him in their tight embrace, cradling his face in her cold palms, “No. No. I find you sexy. I just don’t like sexualising you.” If Harry didn’t turn into a puddle before he indeed did now as he melted into her touch and kissed the inside of her hands lovingly.

“You’re sucha sap!” He whispers at her in fake offence and plant his lips against hers, patting her bum to make her hug him more tightly.

On cleaning and laundry day’s. He’s always helping her. As they scrub and mop the floors together, might fuck on them bubbly floors too if Harry’s lusty gaze remains on her spilling tits for too long.

“Thinks your floral bra needs a wash too, moppet.” His gradual attempts to lure her with his fingers stroking her thighs seductively always turns into a win when she nods shyly into his neck and let him have an easy access to her panties.

They’re always having a warm, full of essence bath together cleaning and washing the dirt off eachother after that.

Then sharing a cuppa tea while folding their clothes together on the bed and he’s always trying to tackle her into mattress when she laughs at his terribly folded clothes compared to her neatly binded ones.

“Your sucha menace,” He jests with his nose skewered up while he smacks her ass.

“Talk for yourself, Styles.” She retorts, tangling her knee around his waist and pulling him down into him. Puffing out relaxed breaths upon feeling safe and protected under his weight and Harry always smiles into the crook of her neck when she tries to cuddle him as if she wants to be his skin.

He’s the most daddiest when she’s drunk, sick or stressed.

Never letting her go out of his sight when she’s dancing on the floor with her friends. If some man even tries to approach her and breaths in her direction he’s sprinting towards her and pawing at her hips to situate her closer to him whilst blowing those potential guys off with a monotone expression.

“Harry! Do a lil dancey dance with me!” She giggles, making him sway with her and looking up at him with glassy floaty eyes.

“Bunny. ‘s late, time to go home.” He tells her, pinching her chin to plant his lips against hers and she squirms giving him a timid smile, “Okie. But I’ve to pee.”

“Me too!” Her friends chimes from behind her and Harry rolls his eyes playfully, gesturing all of them to follow him.

“C’mon you spies, not lettin’ ya’ll go alone.”

He waits for them outside the washroom while they do their business and he has his arms always splayed open for when his lovie comes back and he’s welcoming her in his embrace warmly with a sweet smile.

Dying with fond injecting in his every vein when she slurs and blabbers, “Home.”

Walking her up the stairs of their flat’s building is the most hefty struggle while she’s a sleepy, clumsy and giggly muck of doe gleaming eyes and swollen pretty lips drooling over Harry testing his patience while he makes her take one step at a time.

“Darling, bunny, just some mo' steps lovin’.” He coos at her, putting a firm hand under her bum and heaving her up into him so she doesn’t falls.

“Mhmmm you’re so pretty, daddy.” Harry’s head snaps in surprise as he stares down at her in adoring amusement and push her head under his chin while she slings her arms around his waist lazily.

Sometimes, she gets him so flustered he doesn’t know how to respond.

She whines and cries in dishevelment when Harry makes her sit on the cold marble counter and wipes her makeup off.

“I just wan’ to sleep!” She toes at his torso trying to push him away but he grabs it and tuts, glowering at her strictly, “You’re g'na complain in the mornin’. Sleepin’ with makeup makes ye' breakout remember?” When she still huffs and slumps giving him a hard time to clean her he’s pinching her chin and giving her a gentle jerk.

“Bunny. Stop with ye' battiness.” He grunts not letting his facade slip when she mewls stroking her cheek up and down his lightly stubble covered cheek softly.

“Else what? Y'never punish a sleepy bunny.” She smirks at him foppishly and lazily knowing damn well that one of thing Harry doesn’t do’s tease or punish her when she’s tuckered out and on the edge of sleeping on him.

“You don’t test me bratty woman.” She squeals when he takes hold of her panties to pull them down her legs, slapping her mound once discarding it in the hamper and he sighs when she’s already snoring lightly, slobbering his throat with her mouth parted comically.

After pattering her face with loving kisses he’s tucking her under the layers of blankets and letting her use him as her stuffie.

“Aw poor baby.” He mumbles, kissing her forehead when he finds her burning up against him and he’s quickly rummaging for thermometer from the night stand and the tissues he had stashed for emergencies.

“I don’t feel good,” His heart breaks when Y/N croaks out weakly and tries to crawl up his chest to stuff her face in his musky neck but her frail limbs gives out making her cry out.

“It’s okay bunny, ‘s okay. How but I make you some soup. Then y'take your medicines like a good girl of mine, then if your condition gets worse we’ll go to doctor, yeah baby?” He talks to her gently and sweetly, stroking her hair and peppering kisses to her temples.

“Just last bite, moppet.” Harry hovers the spoon infront of her and sighs when she shakes her head pushing his wrist away, “I’ll puke.” She sniffs blowing her nose harshly in the tissue .

“The bin’s right here, bunny.” He smoothens his hand down her spine putting the tray aside carefully to snuggle and comfort her as she cries softly against his chest.

“’M so sorry baby, you’ll be alright in the morning.” He couldn’t see her in such condition. It pulls and tugs at his heart so painfully he feels himself hurting.

“Oi. Why you crying, hmm?” He cups her cheek and makes her look at him as she skims her eyes away from him jn embarrassment.

“I —- You’re so caring and loving, treats me so good and it makes me c.. cr–-,” She hiccups finding it hard to breath and Harry rubs her back, whispering affinities in her ear making her finally sob, “Cry....” He chuckles softly pelting kisses upon kisses on her puffy eyelids, soaky dried up cheeks, her frowned up forehead, her wobbly chin and her nipping love bites down her chest then blowing raspberries at his own slick covering her skin making her giggle through her hiccups.

“I love you.” She whispers droopily, head lulling to his chest when the effect of medicine finally starts to kick in.

“I love you too, I want my healthy and happy bunny back.” He mumbles, inhaling a huge puff of her scent and squishes her lovingly.

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rezzyromance · 3 years

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Idk if this is how you request things or if it's just asking, BUT-

How would the Lords react to an S/O that's usually the chillest person that you will ever meet (not to be confused with a pushover because they are not), they've never seen them even mildly annoyed when something bad happens. But then something happens and, turns out, the S/O is utterly TERRIFYING when they're mad.

Hope this makes sense!

Aw man I'm gonna feel awful scaring Moreau and Donna :(

Alcina

You're relaxing on a beautiful morning. The sun is shining through the window just enough to warm the room but not hurt your eyes. You hadn't even changed out of your sleep wear. "How are you feeling, my dear?", a sweet voice rang from the doorway. You were sitting in your favorite chair near the window. You turn and smile at her. She walks over and rubs your face in her large hand before leaning down and giving you a soft kiss. "I'm feeling amazing. And you?", you grab her hand before she pulls it away and you place a kiss on her knuckles. "I'm feeling alright. There's a new maid here. She's a bit slow. I'm giving her until tonight to finish dusting the entire castle or else she won't see another sunrise." It was almost comedic how dark her words were as you both stared out the window and gazed at the beautiful scenery. "Come on Alcina.", you stand up and place your hands on hers, trying to hold them despite the size difference. "Give the girl a break. It's a huge castle AND it's her first day.", you knew your words would probably change nothing. Alcina was rather cruel, but you looked past it. You tried your best to make the nervous maids comfortable whenever they arrive.

"We'll see how she does." She gives you one more kiss before leaving the room. You sit back down in your chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun for a little while longer. You lose track of time, minutes maybe even hours go by. Suddenly, there's a crash not far from the door. You jump and stand up, no longer comfortable after being startled. "What in the name of Mother Miranda?!", you leave the room and look down the hallway. The new maid stood there with a terrified look on her face. In front of her was one of the paintings Alcina had on her walls, now with a broken frame and a hole punctured. Your blood began to boil. It was a painting of you, her, and the girls all together. It was your favorite. "How in the hell did you manage to do that?!", you begin to stomp towards her. She cowers and struggles to find her words. "I-I-I was just dusting! It fell and I-I didn't mean t-", you cut her off. "How the fuck did you knock such a large painting over just by dusting?! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE ALLOWED TO MAKE SUCH STUPID MISTAKES HERE?!", you unravel. "I-I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!", she almost begins to weep. "SORRY ISN'T GONNA SAVE YOUR ASS!"

"MISS DIMITRESCU PLEASE HELP!", she cries out. You freeze, realizing that the lady herself is right behind you. You turn to face her. Her eyes are wide with shock. She has never seen you like this before and never even knew you had this type of side to you. She was impressed as much as she was terrified. "(Y/N)? Are you alright my love?" She had no idea what to do as your seething slowed down. "Why don't you go back to the room, yes? Settle down a little and deal with her later.", she places a hand on your back helps walk with you back to the room. Once you're there, she bends down to whisper in your ear. "I don't know where this side of you has been this whole time, but I am so amazed by you. And also a little frightened."

Donna

The Beneviento house was usually a calm place despite its creepy aura. You and Donna are both quiet and chill people. Never once have you fought or even raised your voices at each other. It was pleasant.

You had planned a nice dinner for the both of you. You wanted to try out a new recipe and surprise her, so you made your way to the kitchen to get started. "Okay, what first? I guess I'll need a pot.", you go rummaging through the kitchen and you find the pots stacked within each other inside one of the top cabinets. You groan and stand up on your toes, grazing the pots with your fingers. It didn't take much to cause them to tumble down, crashing on top of you with a loud sound that followed. "Aw shit.", you sighed and picked up the knocked over pots. A small but annoying pain began to throb in your head from where it made contact with a pot. What you didn't notice was you forgot to pick one of the pots up. It remained unnoticed. "It's fine.", you say to yourself as you maintain your composure. Next, a cutting board and knife. You turn around and begin to walk forward to find the cutting board, but you slam your toe into counter. You wince in pain and grab your foot. "SON OF A BITCH!", you yell.

You calm yourself, still wanting to have a pleasant meal with Donna. "Alright. Everything's fine." You step forward and kick the pot that you had forgotten to pick up. It caused your freshly kicked toe to ache even more. "OH COME ON! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!", you scream and swear as you throw your arms up in pure rage and shock.

"...(Y/N)?", a gentle voice whispered from the doorway, causing you to whip your head in that direction. It was Donna. She looked absolutely horrified and almost looked like she could cry. "Is.. is everything... are you alright?", she worried. "Yes. I'm sorry. Just got a little pissed off.", you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, feeling bad for scaring the poor girl.

Moreau

You were sitting on the dock together, looking into the water as your feet swung back and forth above it. It was a sunny day and you two decided to spend it outside. Your hand slowly made its way over to his. His feet stopped swinging for a second as you entangled your fingers. "I don't know what I'd do without you, (Y/N)." his words were bitter sweet as a gentle smile formed from his lips. "Oh, Sal. You don't have to think like that. I'll always be here for you.", you kiss his cheek and continue to relax as you sway your legs.

"There it is! There's the beast!", a voice yelled from not so far away. You both look in the direction of the voice and see a few young village boys. Possibly between the ages of 13 and 16. Moreau had become some what of a scary story for the villagers. A tale that kids spread on school court yard and bring up during dares. But, you've never seen a kid brave enough to actually make it far enough into the reservoir to actually see Moreau. Now, there were about 3. All of them stood and pointed, shocked and terrified.

"Hey beast! Come get me!", one kid teases. You glare at the kids as a newfound rage begins to boil inside you. "Let's go back inside.", Moreau says before standing up from the doc. The sadness in his voice was heartbreaking. Suddenly, one of the children gathers the guts to pick up a rock and throw it as hard as he could. His aim was off, but not by much. It slammed into the wood near Moreau's feet, startling him. "Take that you devil!", he laughs. "THAT'S IT YOU LITTLE SHIT!", you begin sprinting in the direction of the immature brats. Two of them run from the direction they came from while the one who threw the rock was frozen in fear. You took the opportunity to grab him by the collar of his shirt. "Listen here you little waste of space. I'm gonna give you 3 seconds to turn around and run for your goddamn life. If you or any of your little snot-nosed friends come around here again, they'll be goddamn fish food. Do you understand?" The kid was too scared to speak and instead began to nod rapidly. You let him go and watched as he ran as fast as he could, screaming the whole way.

You walk back to the shack and find Moreau standing in the same place he was when you took off. His mouth was agape and he looked almost as scared as the kids. "You alright Sal? I made sure those little shits won't be coming around here anymore." "Yeah... I didn't know you could be so... scary", he says. "I'm sorry. But those kids were being cruel. I had to do something.", you say. "Well... it was awesome!", he smiled. "But also very scary!" You laugh which helps sooth him a little.

Heisenberg

"Screw driver.", is all Karl said with an outstretched palm. He was working on some type of mechanical heart for his experiments. He wanted you to lend a "helping hand" even though he could easily do it all by himself. He did this because he wanted to be around you, he was just too stubborn with too big of an ego to simply say it. So here you were, handing him every little tool he asks for.

"Do you want the big one or the little one?", you say with a hint of boredom in your tone. "Aw c'mon don't sound like that! Isn't this exciting? It's like you're working on it with me! Also, hand me the big one.", you do as he says and hand him the big screw driver. "I just don't get it. You literally have powers. You can easily do this by yourself and have been for so long. Why do you need me to help?" He pauses for a second and looks over towards you, his brow slightly furrowed. "I don't NEED you to help. I just thought it would be nice for you to help out. Plus, you're the one always bitching about me constantly working. Well, here you are! Helping me work! So, either suck it up or you can leave." His harshness had no real ill will in it. He was just confused and a bit too ignorant to consider his words. But, he was testing your patience. He continued to use the screwdriver until handing it to you without saying a word.

"Hand me a screw.", he demanded with his hand facing palm up again. "Which size?" "They're all the same sizes, dumbass." You feel your blood begin to boil. "They're different fucking sizes! This one is smaller than this one!", you hold up two screws that are obviously different sizes. This makes Karl angry. Not because you were right, but because you seemed upset over something that seemed so insignificant.

"If you came here just to yap in my ear, then I don't think I need your assistance.", he huffed. You put the selection of tools and supplies he was making you hold on the table he is working on and ball your fists. "You're the one who told me to do this in the first place!", you yell. "Yeah, because you won't stop bitching! Non-stop you're always compla-" you cut him off before he can finish. "SHUT UP!", you yell. The room goes silent. "YOU SAY I'M BITCHING? HAVE YOU HEARD YOURSELF? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST KARL YOU BITCH AND MOAN ALL THE TIME! I'M DONE TAKING SHIT FROM YOU!" He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. He felt something much more overwhelming. Was he.. intimidated? He didn't move from his seat. All he could do was look up at you with a confused expression. What now? What is there to do? If he pushes you further, what would happen? He was actually too scared to find out.

You take a deep breath to calm down before speaking. "Now, if you want me to help with your shit, I'll stay as long as you keep your mouth shut. Can you possibly manage to do that?" He gulps nervously. "Yes ma'am."

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xlbrh · 3 years

Text

Genshin Impact - Small things they do to show their love

notes : so i’ve been trying to think of an idea for a long story to write for one of the characters, but i’ve been having a little bit of trouble :( if anyone has any suggestions i’d love to hear them! hopefully i’ll be able to come out with an introduction or something soon

in the meantime i wrote this up, so i hope that you guys enjoy!

Genshin Masterlist

warnings : none

format : bulleted, headcanons. fluff

pairings : diluc, kaeya, childe, zhongli, xiao, albedo, aether x gn! reader

word count : 1426

everything under the cut-

Diluc:

during your nightly walks around mondstadt, he notices how chills can rack your body, especially when the wind blows

he’ll remove his jacket and drape it around your form, no matter how much you may protest

sometimes his arms will circle around your waist, drawing you towards him in an effort toto keep you warm until you get home

if you’ve been out adventuring close to the dawn winery, he’d invite you to the manor to share a meal or drink, whichever you’d like

whatever you desire, he’ll see to it that you receive it – most of the time he wouldn’t even ask you due to how well he can read you and your actions

when you try to refuse his offers, he’ll tell you ‘just let me look after you, my love’

when you come to visit him in the angel’s share, he always has a seat ready just for you

he’ll keep a blanket and some books under the bar, since he knows how you like to curl up in the corner, engrossed in your reading

if you’d like he’ll come and sit with you for a short while, bringing a drink of your choice over while you tell each other about your day

Kaeya:

kaeya is the kind of man to call you every pet name under the sun

whether it be sweetheart, darling, love etc. he loves to use these types of names for you frequently, as a form of affection

he loves your reactions to them, especially when your cheeks flare up and you turn away out of shyness – he finds it extremely endearing

he would offer to train you in swordsmanship, regardless of whether you can already wield a sword or not

he likes to not only see your strength grow, but also offer you a way to protect yourself since he cannot be with you at all times

kaeya takes pride in the training sessions you have, after all they give him another reason to spend even more time with you

he loves for you guys to have matching things, no matter how small they may be

for example, he’ll buy you a bracelet to wear, one that matches with one on his own wrist as well

jokingly he once bought you an eyepatch to match his, but he finds it sweet but hilarious when you’ll wear it around him sometimes

Childe:

since this man is a literal walking wallet, he has no problem with spoiling you with gifts

whether that be a necklace you’ve had your eye on, a new shirt because you ripped yours in battle, or a book he knows is the next in the series you enjoy

when asking him why he leaves you so many small gifts, his response is just ‘well, because i love you, of course!’

if you ever get hurt during a battle, he’ll be the first to help you

whether that be taking down the enemies if you haven’t already, or tending to the wounds you’ve received

he’d work with utmost caution, wrapping each wound gently and finishing them off with a kiss on top

when strolling the streets of liyue together, childe ensures that your body is connected to his one way or another at all times

whether that be intertwining your hands together, an arm loosely wrapped around your waist, or stopping to give you a brief peck on the forehead

he has no qualms in showing the public that you’re his – something he makes you well aware of

Zhongli:

he knows you love when he tells you stories of his past and the history of liyue, and he enjoys telling you about them

he finds the childlike wonder in your eyes adorable as he tells you tales of adepti and archons alike

zhongli will try his best to make them as entertaining as possible for you – drawing you in with every word he uttered

he likes to play with your hair, and for you to do the same to him

if you have longer hair you can guarantee he’d be braiding and styling your hair in all different ways, adorning it with hairpins he’d purchase for you

if your hair is on the shorter side then he’d love to run his fingers through, stroking your hair and massaging your scalp until you fall asleep with your head against his chest

if there is anything in particular that you take a big interest in, zhongli will try his best to research around it – even though he probably has the knowledge anyways

he wants to be able to talk to you about things you’re interested in, as well as share in the enjoyment that you get from it

he would leave small notes to you when he can’t always be around you, sometimes with small facts he learned of

Xiao:

he would for sure watch over you if you ever go on a long adventure, no matter what other duties he may have to attend to

expect to see a good few hilichurl and treasure hoarder camps abandoned thanks to his interference

‘anything to ensure your safety’, he thinks

some nights, when his duties have been fulfilled early, he’ll try his hand at preparing a meal for you to share

of course nothing especially fancy! After all he doesn’t have to eat himself – its all for your enjoyment

if he struggles he’d probably reach out to verr goldet some help

just imagine him setting a small picnic up on the wangshu inn rooftop iM WEAK

once xiao finally becomes accustomed to physical contact, he’d make an effort to hold your hand a lot more often

lightly squeezing it or tracing shapes with his thumb every now and again

if you’re lucky he way even take his gloves off – just to feel that warmth from his hand can be very comforting indeed

Albedo:

you’re literally the only person he will listen to when he is engrossed in his experiments

as we know he tends to block out the rest of the world when he is deep in though

but as soon as he hears your voice of concern asking if he’ll take a break to eat, you wanna bet he’ll be leaving his office in an instant to join you for lunch

he does the exact same for you when you’re hard at work, so he appreciates the way you always look after him

when out looking for more specimens to analyse, he stumbles across his fair share of flowers

of course he knows which are your favourites – he knows everything about you, after all – so he’ll be sure to pick some to bring home to you

when giving them to you, he mentions ‘well, they reminded me of you, so i thought you’d like them’

if you ever get ill for some reason, albedo becomes your personal doctor

he’ll spend hours preparing serums and medicines for you to alleviate your pain – but will never let you out of his sight while doing so

he’ll ask noelle if she can fix up some food for you in the meantime, since at every free opportunity he’s sat at your bedside, hand in yours as he whispers words of comfort to you

Aether:

aether is always ready to make you something to eat whenever you’d like!

he for sure has a small section of his brain dedicated to learning of recipes that he knows you enjoy, no matter how simple or complicated they may be

will make sure that you always have some lunch ready to take with you wherever you go, even if it means he had to wake up early and travel halfway across teyvat to bring it to you

he will bring you back numerous treasures from his travels

sometimes he’ll ask the locals in whichever area he’s in if they can craft the raw materials into something that you can treasure

there would be a shelf in your room specifically for aether’s gifts, where he’ll occasionally point to each one and tell you the story of how it made it’s way back to you

he makes sure to let you know how grateful he is to have you by his side

every time you do something for him, no matter how small it may be, he’ll thank you and let you know how much you mean to him

when on his travels he makes sure to write letters and send them home to you – just because he’s far away doesn’t mean he’s not still thinking about you

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harry-writings · 3 years

Text

Bothered

- A blurb in which somebody flirts with Y/n for the first time, and Harry lets jealousy get the best of him

This is a little Drive Me Wild extra for all your valentine’s day needs!!! I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

“Tequila, please. The best one you’ve got!”

Open bars at work parties are an absolute lifesaver.

Harry and Y/n have been nonstop on their feet since three, wearing their sunday best, talking to all the higher ups and other officials at the firm with as much professionalism as possible. And though it was certainly a nice break from the work setting, it was still a lot for the both of them to keep up with.

It’s nearly eleven now, the party near its end and the exhaustion finally settling in. But Y/n wouldn’t ever dream of passing up unlimited free drinks whenever offered (neither would Harry, but getting her home safe is his biggest priority). Besides, she needed to take the edge off, somehow.

The bartender smiles at her, his eyes looking at her up and down very briefly before making her drink.

She’s humming softly to herself, her fingers tapping against the bar, the palm of her other hand resting on the back of her neck and she looks around the venue, admiring the architecture and the chandeliers that hang from above her.

“How long have you been working for them?” The bartender asks as he slides the shotglass to her, to which Y/n smiles.

“Almost three years! It’s been really good to me so far. I must say, though, it gets a bit stressful and there are a handful of times we end up having to take our work home. But I’ve met some of the best people through the company, so I can’t complain much! Especially when this is the only job I’ve ever considered staying at for so long.”

When the bartender doesn’t answer, yet rather just stares at her with amusement and endearment in his eye, Y/n starts to get nervous.

She considers diverting her attention back to Harry and moving on with her night as if she hadn’t spoken a word at all, but she’s never been the kind of person to walk away from an uncomfortable silence. And most certainly, she has never found it in her will to escape somebody’s pressing and persistent stares.

All of it just makes her so anxious.

So, as an attempt to calm her nerves, Y/n throws her head back as she takes her shot of tequila, her nose scrunching and eyes squinting as it burns down her throat and settles in her chest.

“What about you? How long have you been working as a bartender? I’ve heard it’s a lot of work, remembering all the recipes and stuff. Whenever I went to university, I would go to bars and get drunk by myself and watch how fast all the bartenders made drinks. I found it mesmerising, really. Like an art, almost. A sport, too, I suppose, given how much you all have to think and act quickly yet unmistakably.”

Harry smiles softly to himself, a bittersweet feeling bubbling in his chest as he listens to her get caught up in her rambles.

She doesn’t do that much with him anymore, not in the way she used to. And it isn’t because she’s lost any trust in him, or because she loves him any less — rather, it’s because she trusts and loves him so much more that she doesn’t feel the need to fill any gaps or spaces between them anymore.

He doesn’t make her nervous.

She doesn’t need reassurance with him because she already knows how madly in love they are with one another and how they are undeniably bound to spend the rest of their lives together. The silences they share are comfortable for her, his simple presence enough to make her feel at ease and loved and respected without him having to constantly remind her.

And surely, Y/n still chews his ear off here and there, but he only ever wants more of her.

It’s a disease, his greed and longing for her. She is so enough yet so not enough at the same time, it kills him to think about it, but only in the best way possible.

But the smile and the admiration die down nearly instantly when Harry’s eyes catch the way the bartender looks at Y/n, and the way he straightens himself before her, and the way his bottom lip tucks between his teeth ever so slightly.

Harry crosses his arms at this, watching the way another man is drooling and fonding over his Y/n and not at all trying to hide it. And the sad part is that he can’t even blame him for it — how could he? He had done the very same thing for nearly two years straight.

So he suffers with it in silence.

“My goodness, I do love me a woman who can carry a conversation.”

Harry’s eyes squint over at him, his arms still crossed over his chest, his fingers twisting as he watches him blink flirtatiously at Y/n and the upward twitch of his lip whenever she flips her hair over her shoulder.

She only ever does that when she’s sweating, he knows this because she’s his girlfriend and he knows her more than he’s ever known himself. He also knows that Y/n thinks too lowly of herself to ever consider one’s kindness as flirting.

And though Harry wouldn’t dare to dream of changing anything about her, he does wish, just this once, that she’d see it.

Y/n blushes at his comment, but only because she doesn’t know what to say.

“Can I have another shot, please?” She asks as a form of distraction, but in such a sweet manner the bartender barely seems to notice. “I never get to go out to drink much nowadays, with work and all. So, I’m sorry if I order too much. Large groups of people aren’t really my thing. Not that I hate people, or anything. I guess they just make me nervous.”

And as the bartender pours her shot glass full of tequila, his eyes don’t make the slightest move to leave her. He’s gawking, looking smug as if he could ever stand a chance.

Y/n pretends not to notice.

“Look, I close down the bar in an hour. And since large groups of people aren’t really your thing, why don’t I take you somewhere nice —”

“Oh...”

“— just you and me, so I can have the chance to get to know you more? Maybe in more ways than one, if I’m lucky?”

Oh, fuck no.

Flirting is one thing, but listening as some stranger talks about wanting to have sex with his girlfriend is something entirely different. Especially when she hasn’t done anything other than be nice and considerate towards him.

He’s taking advantage of her kindness.

Harry can’t hold himself back anymore.

“Excuse me?”

And curse his fucking natural lack of emotion because it was supposed to sound threatening and protective, but rather, it must have come off the way any other customer were to grab a bartender’s attention because he looks over at him with a tight and strained smile, clearly laced with annoyance, with not a hint of suspicion.

“Yes, sir, what can I help you with?”

Harry clenches his jaw and nods his head, his gaze falling to the top of the bar as he tries — really, really tries — to keep himself together instead of knocking this poor bloke’s teeth in.

The urge is there, but he could never scare Y/n like that, or sacrifice his job for satisfaction’s sake — he was lucky he didn’t jeopardize it when he landed a solid right hook on his coworker a few months back. But to make such a rude, blunt, disrespectful comment to his girlfriend is too much for him to process.

But it’s not all anger. There’s something else there — something else brewing and swelling inside of him that’s never been there before. He can’t identify it no matter how hard he tries.

“It would help me tremendously, actually, if you were to stop asking to sleep with my girlfriend right in front of me.”

It’s silent for a moment, the air thick with tension as the bartender looks both between Harry and Y/n, Y/n and Harry. He looks weary of it, as if it were so impossible for her to ever be seen with somebody like him.

“You’re with him?” He asks Y/n, as if Harry’s word wasn’t enough and it nearly throws him off the deep end.

Y/n’s eyes blink with confusion and shock as she tries to adjust herself to her surroundings. Everything happened so quickly to her, she feels like she can’t keep up.

Harry senses this — he senses her uncertainty and uneasiness and takes notice in the way her fingers begin to grip at her shot glass a bit tighter. Confrontation and arguments are not Y/n’s strong suit and in the hands of either one, she is defenseless.

“Is my word not enough for you?”

The bartender lifts his hands up in defense, his eyebrows raised as if somehow proving a point he’s clearly been missing. “Can’t blame me for assuming she’s single, you’re sitting next to the prettiest girl on earth and you look like you couldn’t even be bothered.”

Harry’s hands turn to fists, his jaw clenching and eyebrows twitching as he hears him speak all the words he’d rather die than hear spoken again.

How a complete stranger can cut a wound so deep within him is unfathomable, but here he is, bleeding out with all his insecurities and flaws and weaknesses along with it. And it pains him. It hurts and if one more wrong word is spoken, he’ll fall victim to all the darkest parts of himself.

He can’t risk that, not around Y/n.

“I would highly suggest you stop talking now —”

“You aren’t even interested in her! I gave her more attention in the last ten minutes than you’ve given her all night!”

“Hey.” Y/n cuts in with pouted lips, her face fallen as her voice quivers at the argument brewing in front of her. “That’s not true. He — he’s been beside me all night. I thought it was — I thought it was obvious.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore. We’re going home.”

Harry’s tone is unlike anything she’s ever heard. It’s stern, harsh, laced with impatience as he stands from his barstool and scrambles to gather her belongings.

And Y/n’s at a loss, just standing against the bar helplessly, looking at Harry with tearful eyes and shaking lips. He has never been this angry at her before and she doesn’t know how to fix it. Talking was what got them into this mess, she’s sure talking won’t get themselves out of it.

But it doesn’t hurt to try.

“Wait, H. I’m sorry, I —”

“That’s enough, now. We’re making our last rounds and then we’re going straight home.”

That was the first time he’s ever interrupted her.

It isn’t until Harry starts the car that Y/n breaks the silence.

“H, I didn’t know he was going to ask me out on a date.” She speaks with a voice small and shoulders slumped as she tries desperately to fix all the trust she has broken. “I was just trying to be nice and —”

“Not now, Y/n, please.”

She realizes the severity of the situation when he doesn’t call her a pet name.

Her eyes fill with tears, fully aware that even when he was most upset with her, he never interrupted her while talking or avoided her gaze like it was the last thing he ever wanted to see. He’s doing both right now and to say that it hurt her is an understatement.

He’s sick of hearing me speak. He’s angry at me for talking too much to everybody and not noticing the consequences. He’s tired of listening to me make excuses for myself when I’m never going to change. He doesn’t want this anymore.

Her mind can’t help but to think such things, and though deep down in her heart she knows he’d never feel that way towards her, words of her past can’t help but torment her in the heat of this moment. Because this is so different than how it usually is with him, and it all started with her.

Harry can feel how much of a toll his words took on her, but he doesn’t know what to say. He is feeling so many things, and processing so much, he feels like he’s lost himself. All sense of everything else had left him the second the bartender spoke the words he always feared to hear.

You’re sitting next to the prettiest girl on earth and you look like you couldn’t even be bothered.

He knows it isn’t true, and he also knows she knows it isn’t true, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

To know other people see it that way devastates him. He doesn’t date Y/n to look uninterested in her, or bored of her, or tired to be with her — he dates Y/n because he wants to show her off, desires to make her and everybody else see how in love with her he is, to make it known she never has to walk this world alone.

To know he has failed to do that simply by being himself is a lot for him to take in.

He sighs, ripping off his glasses so his other hand can rub at his burning eyes before settling the both of them back on the steering wheel, his gaze still set on the windshield.

“I’m sorry for not letting you finish talking, twice now. It wasn’t right and I know what that does to you. And I’m not angry or upset with you, either. I’m just — I’m just not in the mood right now, alright? I need some time to think.”

Y/n nods, fearing that whatever words she chooses to speak will only make it worse.

Neither of them talk the rest of the way home, but that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t reach his hand over to her thigh to squeeze at it three times, as if to tell her he loves her.

It isn’t until they make it into their bedroom that Harry starts to let it all out.

He’s pacing, his hands fidgeting with his clothes and running through his hair, his eyes wild but still refusing to look at her, muttering curses under his breath but nothing directly towards her just yet.

Y/n’s standing by the dresser, taking off her remaining jewelry and allowing him his time to dwell on his feelings. He needs this. She knows she’s the only person that he’ll ever show this kind of emotion to — he couldn't even show it to himself — so she listens, smiles sympathetically at him here and there, refusing to leave his side until this is all figured out.

He huffs before letting out a sickened laugh.

“Who the hell does he think he is? Telling me I’m not interested in you. I can’t be walking around kissing and hovering and touching all over you at a work party, I respect you too much. But he wouldn’t know a damn thing about that, would he?”

He throws his suit jacket down on the bed, only allowing himself one beat of a moment to shake his head before his hands start to fidget again, pacing around the foot of the bed to try and understand his primary emotion.

He feels a million and ten different emotions scrambling within him at once, he can’t make sense of them. Whether he’s angry, or sad, or hurt, or insecure, or humiliated… he doesn’t know. It all feels the same yet all feels so different. He is utterly lost in all of them.

“Then proceeds to have the nerve to say he’s given you more attention than I have. What the fuck does that even mean? All he does is serve you two drinks and speak one sentence. I give you all my time, all my company, all my attention, and somehow he thinks he’s better for you than me?”

And it hits her.

No wonder he’s been acting so different towards her and so quiet despite him not blaming her for what happened — he’s jealous, which is the exact reason he doesn’t have an understanding with it.

She’s his first girlfriend, and until now, there had never been any reason for him to feel this way.

But as sick and twisted as it sounds, Y/n’s heart warms at the thought of it. Because never once has someone ever had a problem with letting her go. Her loss never affected anybody around her, and so nobody had ever feared it.

To know that out of all people, it’s him who does, means everything to her.

She hums at him, an all too knowing smile on her face as she makes her way to her frantic lover, who stills when he notices her closeness.

Her hands rest at his chest, rubbing at it over his dress shirt, just the way he likes. It reminds him of the night of their first date — when she gave into her cravings and put her hands nearly everywhere they could touch — and so she always goes back to that very first moment.

It never fails him.

“It’s okay, lovebug.” Y/n smiles softly at him, her voice even more soft and tender than usual as she tries to get him to relax.

Her hands slither down the hem of his trousers, her fingers resting just above the swell of his bum and pulling him in closer to her. And he wraps his arms around her shoulders, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before bringing his chest toward her cheek for it to nest in.

“Don’t let somebody get the best of you. Especially when they don’t know anything about you or me or our relationship. We know what we are and what we have, it doesn’t matter what he thinks is better for me. I have what’s best. Forever.”

He sighs, the weight of the night lifting from him slightly, but not enough.

He rests his chin on the top of her head, his eyes on the verge of being soaked with tears. Because though he knows her words to be true, he just can’t seem to shake what’s rattling in his bones and picking at his skin.

He wants it all to be okay, and it almost is, just not fully. And it’s killing him from the inside out.

“It’s a new feeling for me.” Harry confesses sadly, trying to think of the right words to say to explain what’s burning in his chest. “It hurts me to feel it. I’m so comfortable and confident in you and yet somehow I can’t — I can’t stop thinking about you and that fucking bartender and him touching you and making you laugh and —”

“You’re jealous.”

She pulls away from him slightly, her eyes looking up at him softly and sympathetically. He gives into her gaze for only a beat longer before looking away from her again, unable to take it.

It all makes sense — the unfamiliar feelings, the scrambling of emotions, the sensitivity to the words that had been spoken about him. His relationship had been threatened for the first time since it started, how could he not be?

“Of course I’m jealous. Which is absolutely horrible because you look so pretty yet it hurts too much to look at you.”

She chuckles, a playful smirk on her face as she reaches her hands up to his cheeks. And she turns his head to the side, forcing his eyes to look into hers as she rubs her thumb along his cheekbones.

Even like this, he is the most perfect man she’s ever seen. She has loved this person longer than she has loved anything else, how he could ever feel jealous of anybody is absolutely beyond her. He is all she will ever need, and everything she will ever want.

He is the only person that has ever deserved her.

“Baby, you have nothing to be jealous of. I don’t think, since the moment I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve ever bothered to look for anybody else.” His breath faults, then, his heart dropping as if it were falling in love all over again.

And just like that, the hurt is gone.

“I’m yours, H. I have always been yours.”

He wants her to keep going, so instead of answering, he taps the back of her thigh twice. He’s never done so outside of sex, but he needs her all over him, holding him, hanging onto him. He needs it now more than ever.

She giggles, understanding exactly what he wants before jumping up until her legs are wrapped around his waist and her arms are looped around his neck. He catches her instantly, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck and kissing at the exposed skin.

She loves how much her words have an affect on him.

“I love you so much. I always will. No matter how many sleazy men ask me to sleep with them.”

He whines, lifting his head from her shoulder before looking at her with sad eyes and pouted lips at the subtle reminder that somebody else thought of her that way. Only he has, only he can, it doesn’t matter the circumstance.

She’s his.

She smiles down at him with a small blush on her cheeks, her arms unwrapping from his neck so her hands can grip his face again.

“I sleep with you. Every night. In more ways than one.” She kisses at his lips. “Cause I’m lucky.”

And for the first time tonight, he smiles. And as if that wasn’t enough for her, he laughs too — quietly, breathlessly — his hands rubbing all along her lower back and her thighs.

“Hmm... I am lucky, aren’t I?” Harry hums in bliss, his eyes looking at her fondly as she hangs on his neck in their home and it doesn’t get better than this. She had a man practically drooling on her lap and yet she’s here, with him, loving him, choosing him, just like she always has. “I do have the prettiest girl in the world. And the sweetest. And the strongest.”

“Too bad you couldn’t be bothered.” She teases, a smirk on her lips before her tongue pokes out to run quickly against his closed lips.

He lets out an almost sinister laugh, rumbling so deep in his chest she somehow manages to feel it in her legs.

“Why don’t I show you how bothered I am?”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles preference

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cat-induced-fever-dream · 3 years

Text

Acquaintances

Pairing: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Description: Wanda meets someone who doesn’t treat her like a villain, but she doesn’t know who you really are.

Notes: I promise it’s fluff and not a trap. Also sorry about my hiatus, I’m just super unmotivated to do anything. So here’s my feeble offering to try and get back into writing.

- - -

Wanda groaned at the sight of a man with a camera. All she wanted was to pop down to the shops, buy some paprika, but alas, even a shopping trip was gold for the paparazzi. Maybe if she hid behind an aisle he would leave. But she heard the door open behind her. Ducking quickly behind a stack of tuna cans, she scanned the rows for the precious package.

She knew she wasn’t the favourite of the public, and the guilt of what she’d done ate her alive every night, but she was sick of being blamed. All she did was try her best, but this was the kind of thanks she got.

She frowned a little when she saw the man round the corner. She steeled herself, not wanting the tears to spring to her eyes. Turning around to face him, she- There was a person talking to him. You had a shopping bag in your hand, so you must have been another customer. Dressed smartly with a blazer, but paired with jeans and sneakers, you looked friendly, but the cold look you gave the man said otherwise. You exchanged words quietly with the reporter, and he seemed to refuse you, turning back to look at her. Realising that this was the perfect stall to get out of the store, she resumed her search. Cumin, Ginger, Paprika! Quickly glancing back to see how long she had, she saw you hand the man a business card as he hurriedly shuffled away.

“Sorry about that,” you turned to her, looking genuinely apologetic.

“Why?” she asked, it coming out harsher than she meant for it to. “It wasn’t even your fault.”

You shrugged. “You don’t deserve it.”

Wanda frowned again at this. She didn’t even know you, but you helped her out, so the least she could do was be polite. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you smiled. The two of you started to walk towards to counter. More like she did and you kind of happened to as well. “What are you cooking with the paprika?”

Sliding the bag to the cashier, she turned to face you properly. “I was making a traditional Sokovian dish.”

“I’m a big fan of trying different cuisines,” you replied, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “That sounds delicious.”

Wanda’s not really sure why you’re trying to make conversation, but you didn’t seem to have an agenda, so she indulged you with a response as the two of you walked out of the store. “It is, my mum always had the best recipe.”

“Ah well, my parents weren’t around much, so I can’t say the same,” you laughed, throwing your shopping in the back of what must have been your car.

Wanda hadn’t even realised she had walked with you to your car. That was embarrassing. “Well, it was nice to meet you, but I should be going now,” backing away as quickly as she could without making a fool of herself.

“Wait,” you called, “do you need a lift back?”

“You’re a stranger.”

“Well I know your name is Wanda,” you grinned cheekily, opening the passenger door. “And my name is Y/N. Guess we’re not strangers anymore. So, what do you say? It’s the least I could do, with that man bothering you.”

She’s not sure what compelled her to agree, but she found herself sitting in a plush leather seat as you adjusted the rear view mirror. Tapping the dashboard screen, you pulled up a map to Avengers Tower and backed out of the parking lot.

You didn’t seem to mind that she didn’t make conversation, bopping your head gently to whatever pop song was on the radio. Instead she spent the time trying to figure out who you were and why you were being so nice. “It’s rude to stare, you know?” you winked at her.

Wanda felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “Wha- No, sorry,” she mumbled. She’d done it again, made herself look dumb. You giggle, returning your eyes to the road. Trying not to stare at you this time, she observed the fancy watch adorning your wrist, and the sleek interior of the car. You must be a businesswoman of some sort, since this clearly wasn’t your average suburban car. But you were wearing jeans. Maybe a lower level employee than?

She sat there musing, until the door suddenly opened. “We’re here,” you smiled, gesturing at the grand tower that was now her home.

Why couldn’t she stop being so awkward? This was the third time. Unbuckling the seatbelt, she stumbled out, clutching the paprika to her chest. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime, Wanda.” And with a small wave, you hopped back into your car and drove off.

- - -

Heading straight to her room, Wanda abandoned her plans for paprikash. The whole interaction was quite frankly, baffling. No one was ever nice to her, except for the Avengers. But you clearly knew who she was, driving her back to the tower without an address. Tossing her jacket on her bed, she sighed. It’s not like she’d ever see you again. That’s when she noticed the card peeking out from the pocket. There was a phone number printed neatly on it, and a cursive scrawl underneath. “I am actually interested in the dish though. Could I have the name of it?”

She hadn’t exactly interacted with anyone else, so it must’ve been you. Running her thumb over the ink, she was hit with a renewed sense of energy. Grabbing the paprika, she dashed back down the stairs.

- - -

You’re spinning around in your office chair when your phone goes off. Clicking on the message, a small smile makes its way into your face.

Unknown Number: this is the dish i was talking about

Unknown Number: *image*

Unknown Number: it’s paprikash

- - -

“Hey Wanda,” Tony called, a carefully wrapped package in his arms, “this came for you.”

One look at the scarlet wrapping paper, and she knew who it was from. “Thanks Tony,” she said, grabbing it and running to her room.

Setting the package gently on her bed, she untied the ribbon and unfolded the wrapping paper. Nestled in the middle, a box of cookies.

She grinned to herself. Wanda’s been texting you for a couple of months now, and now she could really say that you’re not strangers. She knows that you can’t cook, but you can bake. You’re a businesswoman “of sorts” you say, and that you’re a pretty busy person. But regardless, you hang out with her, chilling in the local coffee shop, going shopping, even just a stroll around the park. She also knows that this happiness she gets when she sees you is definitely not platonic.

Opening the lid, the chocolate aroma wafts into her room. Her favourite of your baked goods. There’s a note tucked into the side of the box, and she delicately pulls it out. “Be my girlfriend?” she read, the handwriting obviously yours. Wait. Be my girlfriend? She sat there dumbly for a couple of seconds before it hit her. You’re asking her to be your girlfriend. Wanda scrambled for her phone, snapping a picture to send to you.

Y/N: those cookies look delicious, who sent them?

The witch rolled eyes at your antics, but played along.

Wanda: idk, but i just got asked out

Y/N: whoaaaa, did you say yes?

Wanda: yes you dumbass

Y/N: okay, under other circumstances that would’ve hurt, but i’m too excited to care right now <3

Wanda: ...

Wanda: did you try to bribe me with cookies?

Y/N: it worked, didn’t it?

Wanda: i can’t believe i actually like you

Y/N: honestly, me too

Y/N: sorry it’s a busy day, but you wanna come over for dinner?

Wanda: sounds good <3

Y/N: i’ll come pick you up, see you then girlfriend

She didn’t want bugs in her room, so Wanda grabbed the box to put in her kitchen cupboard. Balancing a cookie in her mouth, she was about to close the lid, when a hand pinched one. Eyes immediately glowing red, she locked onto Sam as he backed away, half eaten cookie and hands up in surrender.

“Do that again and I will give you nightmares.”

The Falcon whistled lowly. “Okay. Protective over cookies. Got it.”

“There’s cookies?” Bucky asked, strolling in.

“No.”

“Oh okay.”

- - -

The heroes were sprawled on the couches playing a game of UNO when Wanda came down the stairs.

“What are you doing with that hoodie?” Tony asked sharply.

Wanda furrowed her eyebrows. “This.. hoodie?” she replied, tugging on the drawstrings of the soft item of company clothing she was wearing.

“Yes! That’s my enemy’s!”

She didn’t really want to get into whatever nonsense the genius was spouting again. “My friend lent it to me.”

“You have friends?” joked Sam.

Steve gave the man a warning look. “It’s good that you’re adjusting to life here.”

“I think the important question here,” Natasha said from her spot, “is where are you going?”

“Dinner,” she replied, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. She tried to fight the silly smile that crept into her face whenever she thought about you, but she mustn’t have hid it well enough, since the red headed spy gave her a sickeningly sweet smile.

I hate you, she projected.

Nat winked back.

“Based on the way Miss Maximoff keeps anxiously glancing at the door, there is likely to be someone waiting for her,” Vision piped up. “I have searched the Internet databases, and from what I have gathered, your casual outfit means that you are going with someone you are familiar with. The sharing of clothes is usually reserved for close friends or romantic partners only.”

Of course the android had to get involved.

“Your heart rate seems to be speeding up Miss Maximoff. Are you okay?”

“Wanda Maximoff,” Tony asked slowly, “do you have a boyfriend?”

That’s when all hell broke loose.

“Who is he?”

“Is he hot?”

“Where did you meet?”

“How did you even get a boyfriend?”

“Can we meet him?”

“What-“

“Okay,” she groaned. Well it was bound to happen eventually. She just wished she could’ve gotten even a few months without the teasing. “I have a girlfriend, yes she’s hot, yes I’m going to have dinner with her, and I’ll ask about meeting. I’m going to go now.” With that, she stepped into the elevator.

“Don’t think this conversation is over witchy,” called Tony, as the doors slid shut.

- - -

“Hey,” you smiled as she slid into the car. “What took you so long?”

“The Avengers found out.”

You chuckled at that. “What, did they interrogate you or something?”

“Something like that.” She paused. “They want to meet you.”

“Are you sure?”

“They’re my family, and they’ll love you as much as I do.”

“Cute,” you grinned, “but I don’t know about Tony.”

“Trust me, they’re a mess a lot of the time, but they’re good people.”

You checked through your phone. “I haven’t got anything on around lunch tomorrow. I can come by then, how does that sound?”

“So you’ll come?”

“Anything for my girlfriend.”

- - -

Her green eyes locked onto you amongst the bustle of suits in the lobby.

“Hey.”

You adjusted the grey fabric of your pantsuit. “Hey yourself.”

“Did you wear the suit to impress me?” Wanda asked, delicately tugging on your tie.

“Actually, I’ve got a meeting with the investors later. Gotta make an impression, you know?”

“Well consider me impressed,” she whispered against your ear.

Blushing, you allowed Wanda to lead you to the elevator.

- - -

Clint wasn’t sure what to expect with you. But if Wanda liked you, you were sure to be one of the good sorts. So maybe like a cute girl she met at the cafe or something. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting the confident girl dressed in a suit to step out of the elevator.

All of them were lined up in the common room and he’s pretty sure any normal person would have been intimidated by the sheer amount of Avengers in front of them, but you stepped up to them absolutely unfazed.

“Mr Rogers,” you offered your hand to shake, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Steve was expecting to have to take the lead with introductions, but here you seemed to be handling yourself fine. “Likewise.”

“Is Mr Stark here today?” you asked him.

“He’s a bit busy at the mo-“

Clattering and a string of curses interrupted him. And of course, the man himself stepped into the room, Iron Man debris in his wake.

“Tony,” Steve scolded.

“What? Did you think I’d miss meeting the girl who stole the heart of our cold antisocial emo?”

Wanda tossed a couch pillow at him, but he brushed it off.

“Tony Stark,” he declared.

You shook his hand politely. “I know who you are Mr Stark.”

“And you are...?”

“Y/N L/N.”

The genius might have been singed from his armour, but the moment that name fell from your lips, he yanked his hand away, as if he was burned.

“L/N. As in L/N Corporations?”

“That’s me.”

Abruptly he turned to Wanda. “Do you know who this is?” he hissed. “The greatest rival to Stark Industries. I thought you were introducing your girlfriend.”

You gave him a winning smile. “I am her girlfriend Mr Stark. And you may have made me your rival, but I can assure you that you are not mine.”

Sam snorted.

“What are you doing here then? Are you here to try and steal data? You can’t...”

You paid him no mind as you winked at Sam. Spotting the metal arm, your eyes widened. “You must be Bucky, right? Princess Shuri told me she’d been working on some vibranium projects. I’d love to take a closer look some other day if you don’t mind?”

“How do you know Shuri?” Stark spluttered.

“You think that she only talks to rich boys who need her help? Sorry to burst your bubble.”

Nat couldn’t help but smirk at this.

“Oh and I’ve actually been working on some prototype Widow Bites as a bit of a free time project,” you added. “If you’re interested, your opinion on usage would really help me to refine them.”

“Of course.”

“Traitor,” Tony glared.

It’s at this point your phone began to ring. Glancing down, you offered a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve really got to take this.” You turned to face the wall as your friendly tone turned professional.

The Avengers huddled together as your call went on.

“Is she using you for information?” Tony scowled.

Wanda scowled back. “She’s my girlfriend Stark. Not everything is about you.”

He looked as if he was going to say more, but Steve interrupted.

“Look Tony, she seemed like a perfectly lovely girl.”

“Yeah I like her,” added Sam. “She can keep your ego in check.”

“If Wanda likes her, I’m fine with it too.” Clint said.

Wanda gave him a thankful look.

A cough came awkwardly behind them.

“I really hate to cut this short everyone, but something’s come up back at the office. Investors are a pain.”

“Yeah go on back to your investors then,” spat Tony.

“Wow” you drawled, heading back to the elevator, “is the rich card the only thing you can play Stark?”

The light on the wall indicated that the cab had arrived, and you stepped inside the carriage which would take you back down, as Peter stepped out.

“Oh hey Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving Pete, but swing by later, alright?”

“You know it.”

“Oh and I heard you liked the hoodie I gave Wanda, Mr Stark,” you called. “I can grab you one as well, since it’s my company. But I really do gotta run now. Nice to meet you all!” The metal doors slid shut on your grinning face.

There was a silence, before Tony turned on his protégée. “How the hell are you on a first name business with her?”

“We’re friends?” Peter offered.

“Friends?”

“She went to college with me. She was super smart and we hung out and stuff. You know, what friends usually do.”

Squirming under his mentor’s gaze, he continued. “She was too smart for college though, so she dropped out and started her company. It didn’t mean we stopped being friends though.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Underoos?”

“She figured you might overreact, especially with the web sho-“ The boy’s eyes widened, and he made a mad dash for the stairs.

But Tony grabbed his wrist. “What were you saying?”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “She helped me out with my web shooters in college, and since then, she’s been developing them with me.”

“What?”

“She knows I’m Spider-Man and I work with her on my tech,” he said slowly.

The man surveyed his teammates, making deliberate eye contact with each and every one of them. “Traitors, the lot of you,” he huffed.

“I mean you gotta admit it,” laughed Sam. “She’s college age, and built an empire to rival you. Not to mention that she’s pretty, smart, has better PR and actual time management skills-“

“Okay I get it,” the genius cut him off.

“Don’t be upset,” Clint smirked, “you can’t lose if you’re not her competition.”

Tony stomped off.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll come around,” Steve said gently, nodding at Wanda who was fiddling anxiously with her rings.

“She was cool,” added Nat. “Tony can be a pain in the ass, but he knows she’s a good person.”

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

<3: i’d say that went pretty well

Wanda: cannot believe you didn’t tell me

<3: i’m really sorry babe, please don’t hate me

Wanda: i could never

<3: just didn’t want him to stop you from fraternising with the enemy or whatever

Wanda: i’d break the rules for you any day

<3: how romantic

<3: so miss rebel, you coming over tonight?

Wanda: depends if you’re still wearing the suit

<3: anything for you ;)

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch #marvel #mcu

159 notes · View notes

t-lostinworlds · 3 years

Text

Dear Santa (Tom Holland)

a/n: this made me want a baby, preferably with tom but anyway. here’s my gift to you lot for the holidays! i hope you enjoy this one <3

pairing: dad!tom holland x female!reader trope/genre: Dad AU; slight angst; fluff summary: It’s a yearly thing for Tom and your daughter to write letters to Santa together on what they want for Christmas. Only this time around, it was over video call given that Tom was miles away from his two—three, including Tessa—beautiful girls. Santa did get the letters though... warnings: tom being such a dad (which is a warning in its own right), a dash of ‘missing you’ angst, it’s so fluffy that i died a couple times, bad pun/dad joke & a lil steamy in the end. word count: 7.2k+

masterlist in bio & pinned post

-:-:-:-:-

"Dada!"

"Hello, angel," Tom gushed, heart warming up ten times over as he looked right at his four-year-old daughter's beautiful and chubby face. Her little hand waved enthusiastically while she sat on the tall chair in the dining area, her beam turning brighter at the sight of him. "How was your day?" He slid himself in the little nook he had in his trailer, placing his laptop on the table in front of him and getting himself comfy as he listened to her tiny voice babble. Some of her words were mispronounced, sentences cut short and randomly stringed together but Tom listened to every single one of it with much interest.

"What?! She didn't," he gasped exaggeratedly when she talked about Tessa sitting on her while they played in the living room, the pup barking soon after to make her presence known.

"She did! 'N Tessa so heavy dada."

The young lad heard your sweet giggle next and his whole body softened even more at the sound. He leaned back on the seat with the brightest smile he could ever wear. Although Tom could feel the sting in his chest gradually grow when you came into view.

The curve on your lips was tender and sweet, one that he could never get enough of even after years of seeing it, one that he's so dearly missed seeing in person. Tom felt his heart ache the more he stared at his two precious girls, both looking at him with smiles. But still, he can see it, the tiny specks of sadness in your eyes all because he was thousands of miles away, five days before Christmas.

He would absolutely do anything to be in the same room with you two right now. Hell, even to just be in the same country but alas, work and duties. Tom has been away for roughly five months and the last time he's seen you two in the flesh was two months ago when you came over and visited him on set. Now, it was the holidays and he's still not home. And Tom can attest that it's one of, if not the worst feeling in the world.

It wasn't in his plan to be so far away at this time but his schedule is ever changing which led him to still be at work nearing Christmas. He'd done the best he could to try and make it before or on the 25th but it wasn't set on stone. No real and solid plans until the actual day which was very gut wrenching.

It was the first Christmas he's away, after all.

But at this moment, Tom has been lucky enough to have a few hours off this afternoon given that night shoots were the agenda of the day. And even though he should be using this time to get a few hours of sleep in before a very long night, of course, Tom took this opportunity to video call over instead. He just got done eating lunch but it was already dinnertime back in London, and he so badly needs to see your beautiful faces before you went to bed.

"Thalia, sweetie, go wash your hands for a sec, yeah?" you hummed, running your fingers gently through her curly hair, one she got from him. Although her eyes, her smile and overall beauty? It was all you, Tom thinks so at least. Well, except for that cute nose that she got from him as well. The more she grows, the more it shows how she's the perfect mixture of her parents, and it honestly makes his heart soar. Thalia is the reminder of the love you and Tom have, one that's pure and strong that blossomed into this joyful, precious and beautiful little girl.

She looked up at you with a soft pout, pointing towards the screen as she shook her head. "Bu—"

"I'll be right here pumpkin, don't worry. Listen to mummy," Tom chuckled softly. Upon seeing the apologetic smile you flashed him, he knew that you saw the flicker of sadness that crossed his features. You always do see right through him. He shot you a small reassuring nod, a silent way to tell you it was okay.

"No go anywhere," Thalia warned, narrowing her eyes at him.

Tom felt his heart break even more but he flashed her a wide grin, crossing his finger over his heart and said, "I promise."

Thalia reached a hand out for you to take, a sweet smile on your face as you curled your fingers around her tiny ones. "There you go," you said, helping her off the seat.

"Thank you," she hummed, tugging your hand to urge you to lean down. A lovely giggle vibrated in your chest once Thalia placed a wholesome smack on your lips, the sight making Tom's heart skip a couple beats.

"You're welcome, angel," you said. Thalia disappeared from the screen, Tom assuming she had swiftly made her way over her little stairs that he had built for her a couple months back, just so she could reach the sink. "Careful," you called out, the soft grunts of the little girl echoing in the kitchen along with Tessa pitter-patters on the tiles. Tom knew she was in a rush up the stairs, eager to get her hands clean so she can go back to talking to him. He doesn't know if the thought made his heart soar or break a couple more pieces.

You turned back to look at him through the screen, a shy smile erupting on your features the moment you saw him already gawking at you with the proudest grin on his lips. He just can't help but admire the goddess before him. You just look so stunning and gorgeous in a simple knitted sweater, you, his wife.

That alone was honestly enough to make Tom combust with the love that fills him up ten times over. But then, by the heavens above, you're such an amazing mother. He genuinely doesn't know what to do with himself. You make him feel like he's on top of the world. Both you and Thalia make him feel so, so happy.

"Damn, how did I get so lucky," he gushed, gaze locked with yours with adoration coating his orbs. "I mean, look at you, the fact that I get to call you my wife? Whew." He shook his head in pure disbelief, blowing out his cheeks in the process. You let out a bashful laugh with a roll of your eyes, his smile only growing at your reaction. It makes Tom's heart melt whenever you get all timid when he showers you with compliments and affections, all the more reason for him to keep doing it as often as he can.

"All clean!" Thalia exclaimed as she climbed back onto her seat with your guidance, showing her palms to him with a bright smile.

"That's my girl," Tom said proudly, shooting her a wink with a grin to match.

You moved the laptop farther so Tom could see both of you clearly. Disappearing for a moment, Tom heard you speaking to Tessa, handing the doggo her dinner he presumed. You came back into view soon after with two plates on hand, placing one in front of Thalia—to which she adorably clapped with a soft 'thank you'—and setting yours right beside hers. Tom simply watched with a smug smile as you handed the young girl her utensils before you sat yourself down. Your little girl waited for you to get situated without touching her food. Then you and Thalia locked eyes, lifting your spoons and taking a bite at the same time with giggles coming out of you both.

The amount of times Tom could literally die and resurrect at the adorable scene before him was immeasurable. He was unable to wipe the love-struck grin painted on his lips, cheeks hurting but totally worth it.

"Oh, that was a very big bite," he commented when Thalia took another spoonful. Tom adjusted the sleeves of his flannel shirt, pulling it up his forearms for him to easily prop his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm as he admired his two precious girls.

"Hmm, so good!" Thalia nodded enthusiastically, eyes all squinted with her cheeks puffed out as she chewed her food as thoroughly and as carefully as she could. Although a little bit of it still managed to stick to her chin, Thalia quick to clean it up with the napkin you placed right beside her plate.

God she's growing up fast.

Tom felt his eyes sting at the thought of his little girl growing to be not-so-little anymore. Not long ago he was the one who'd wipe the little crumbs and mess off her face, but now she can do it all on her own. He could honestly cry.

"You know what, I'm so jealous of you young lady," he huffed, leaning back with his arms crossed and a deep crease on the middle of his brows. "It's unfair how you get to eat mummy's cooking every day."

"I sent Sam some of my recipes, didn't I?" you asked, amusement laced in your tone as you furrowed your brows at him.

"Yeah, but it still isn't the same when it's you cooking because then I can give you hugs and kisses during the process." Tom pouted. "That's one of my favourite parts aside from eating."

"Ew, dada, cheesy."

Tom's mouth fell agape as his gaze snapped towards Thalia and then at you—to which you only shrugged with a giggle—and back to his daughter. "Okay, who taught you that?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Uncle Haz!" Thalia exclaimed proudly, nodding her head as she continued eating.

Tom shook his head disappointedly as he locked eyes with you. "I've been telling you, love, Harrison is a bad influence on her," he grumbled, jokingly of course.

"Oh hush, it's not like what she said was a lie," you pointed out with a knowing smile.

"Hey!" He pouted.

Thalia giggled at his reaction. "Dada cheesy," she repeated.

Tom sighed, shaking his head but the smile never did leave his lips. It never could whenever his eyes are on you two. He was going to confront Harrison about that though; makes Tom wonder what other things that blonde lad has taught his daughter.

"How was your morning, bub?" you asked with a soft smile.

Tom relaxed in his seat as he proceeded to recount the events that happened earlier all while you both continued to eat your dinner.

"—and then we got to visit the children's hospital and gave out presents, which was nice."

"They met Spider-Man?" Thalia queried.

Tom gave her a nod with a wide smile on his face. "Yes, they did."

It's still surreal to him how he's managed to now have the fifth movie of the franchise. It was the last installment which was somewhat bittersweet on its own right. Nonetheless, Tom was very thankful with the run of his career as the famous web-slinger. Lucky and blessed would be huge understatements to describe his life. Even more so now that he's got a wonderful, beautiful daughter and an amazing, gorgeous wife.

"Dada a real life superhero."

Yup, he definitely couldn't get even luckier than this.

Tom let out a coo, bottom lip jutted out as he looked at you and then at Thalia with a little gloss in his eyes. "I could literally burst into tears right now. You own my heart, darling," he gushed. Eyes glancing back at you, he sighed, "You both do."

The warmth and love you held in your eyes glowed some more, his smile widening at the beautiful sight as he tilted his head at you sweetly. Turning back to his daughter, Thalia flashed him a wide smile, setting her spoon and fork down with a satisfied hum.

"Finish already?" Tom asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. "It's letter time!"

Tom can't help but chuckle. It's been a yearly thing for him and her to write their letters to Santa every 20th, always the same schedule which was after dinner. Thalia has grown accustomed to the tradition real quick despite only doing it for only a few years. Well, she is just four.

"Alright, alright, why don't you help mummy clean up while I'll go get my pen and special paper," he said with a wriggle of his brows. The young girl clapped cheerfully as she grabbed for your hand before hopping off her seat, gently taking her plate from the table and carrying it to the sink.

"She's getting so big, love," Tom breathed out, looking at you with his bottom lip jutted out.

"I know," you sighed, eyes on Thalia before you tilted your head at him with that gorgeous smile of yours, nothing but adoration coating your orbs.

Smile turning into a mischievous smirk, he wriggled his brows at you. "Should we make another one?" he purred, voice low and guttural but quiet.

"Thomas!" you hissed as softly as you could. You looked at your little girl briefly and Tom literally saw the relief that washed over your face before you turned back to him with a death glare. "She hasn't asked about that yet and I swear if you're the reason why she starts now—"

"Tessa, not the spoon!"

Your head whipped towards the direction of that little voice before you turned back to Tom with narrowed eyes. "You behave yourself, Mr. Holland," you warned, raising a brow at him and then walking off screen.

"Love you, Mrs. Holland!" he called out with a chuckle.

***

"Dada don't peek!" Thalia gasped once she saw Tom craning his neck teasingly. She glared at him as she covered her paper with her little hand, which was honestly the cutest thing ever.

"I'm not, I'm not," he chuckled, going back to writing his letter.

He wasn't really asking for presents. Well, realistically, he doesn't need to. Of course he could pretend and not write anything at all but he feels a little bad lying to his daughter. So, he resulted to jotting down the things he already has rather than asking for more. All of his yearly letters had consisted of nothing but gratefulness as he lists down what he's been blessed with and was so thankful for, you and Thalia always at the top of that list.

The party has been moved to Thalia's room now, the little girl fresh out her bath and was wrapped in her PJs. The laptop was right on the little desk she had in the corner where she practices her writing, reading and even drawings.

It was where they always write the letters. The previous years, Tom would sit right beside her in one of the tiny chairs as he helps her write. But now, instead of side by side, they were looking at each other through the screen, which honestly makes Tom's heart ache. To add to that, she was writing on her own too, a bittersweet feeling coursing through his bones. Because as much as how he feels so proud to see his little girl know—slowly but surely—how to write, there's always going to be a part of him that clings to the memory of her little hand encased in his much larger ones as he helps her navigate the pencil around the paper, letter by letter.

God, she needs to slow down on growing up. Tom can't honestly handle it.

"You peeked again!" she squealed when she saw Tom lift his brows with widened eyes as he tried to get a look at her paper. Thalia quickly glanced over her shoulder, pointing at the screen with a pout, so obviously telling on him which made him let out a hearty laugh. You came into view right behind the little girl, toys on hand which Tom knows you got off from the floor. There's always so many of them littered around her room. Well, he admits, he does spoil his little girl, sometimes.

"Dada, no peeking," you scolded playfully, raising a knowing brow at him, Tom's heart melting at the seams at your use of the nickname.

"I didn't see anything, I promise." He threw both his hands up in surrender, scrunching his nose at Thalia who only stuck her tongue out at him in response. You disappeared from shot again, continuing what you were doing, Tom assumed. He turned back to his daughter. "Now, write your name at the bottom so Santa knows who it's from. And then put it in the envelope and give it to mummy," he instructed.

Thalia scribbled a few more lines before taking the paper in hand, folding it up as best as she could—all wonky and uneven which is so darn cute—and then carefully sliding it in the envelope provided for her. She then lifted it up to you once you made your way back over to her desk. "Done!" she exclaimed proudly.

"Great job, angel," Tom commended. "Now, time to brush your teeth."

Thalia nodded before turning behind her to catch your eyes. "Mama, help please." She pointed towards the laptop as a way for her to say that she wants to bring it with her, never wasting any time to talk or just see him. Again, Tom doesn't know if his heart could melt or break at the thought.

You nodded with a hum just as she rushed towards the bathroom across the hall, you right on her tail as you carried the computer in your arms.

"Ugh, my heart literally soars every time I hear her call you mama," Tom groaned as he shook his head. "Never gets old."

"Stop being so adorable when I can't kiss you right now," you muttered.

Tom smirked, shooting you a teasing wink to which you only responded with a playful roll of your eyes before you placed the laptop by the sink. Thalia was back on screen again, already brushing her teeth like a pro. Tom knows he's being a broken record but she genuinely needs to stop growing up too fast.

It's not good for his dad heart.

"Smile, sweetheart," Tom hummed once she saw her finish, the little girl showing her rows of teeth at him proudly. "Very pretty," he cooed.

"Thank you," she said with a cute giggle. The little girl bounded back to her room and climbed on the bed, you following suit with the laptop in hand. You gently placed it at the foot and on an angle so Tom could see you both clearly as you tucked her in. "Tessa!" Thalia squealed, tiny fits of giggles escaping her lips soon after as the pup circled around to find a comfy spot before settling right next to her.

The lovely doggo has become Thalia's best friend, personal cuddle buddy, and bodyguard. Wherever she goes, Tessa is always in tow. They always, always sleep beside each other every night and it's honestly the most wholesome thing in the world.

The room became dim when you turned off the main light, leaving the lamp on as Thalia wiggled a few more times before finally settling down. "Story, dada?" she yawned.

Tom nodded with a smile, leaning over the table as he switched up his voice a little. "In a kingdom far, far away..." he started, Tessa resting her head on the little girl's tummy as if she wants to have a piece of the story as well. His smile widened when you sat beside your daughter, your fingers caressing through her hair lovingly as you listened.

Tom can't help but pout at you, missing the way those same fingers feel against his scalp as you run them through his hair. You shook your head with a soft laugh, raising your brow to urge him to keep going with the story.

Gasps and giggles escaped out of Thalia as she listened to him all throughout his impromptu fantasy world. She made sure to throw in her two cents, turning the story to how whatever way she sees fit.

"...and then the princess climbed on her dragon with her new found freedom as she flew into the sunset. The end," Tom finished, his little girl letting out another yawn with her eyes now barely open. He can't stop his heart from melting at the sight. "Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you," he cooed.

"G'night dada. Love you too," she hummed, eyes fluttering close as she threw her arm over Tessa.

"I'll see you soon my princesses," Tom whispered, eyes flickering over at his pup and daughter with a bittersweet smile.

Tom caught sight of the stars that circled around the room when you switched off the lamp and turned her night light on. You flashed him a smile as you took the laptop in your hand and ventured out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind you.

***

"How about you, my love, what's in your letter for Santa?" Tom asked as you settled yourself down on your shared bed, back against the headboard with the computer on your lap. The screen really doesn't do you much justice on how gorgeous you look, especially now when you got changed and opted on wearing his hoodie.

"I just want you home," you whispered, hand going over your mouth in realization that you said it out loud. Tom saw the guilt spread across your features once you locked eyes with him.

"I'm trying, darling," Tom sighed, hand running through his hair dejectedly, ache coursing through his chest at the sound of longing in your voice.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," you rushed.

"No, nothing to apologise for, love," he said, flashing you a sad yet reassuring smile. "It kills me too, being so far away from you both. But I'll see what I can do okay?"

You shook your head, brows furrowed in worry. "You've already done all that you could, Tom."

"But I feel like I should be doing more," he admitted, frown settling on his lips as he held your gaze. Oh how he wished he could take the sadness away from your orbs, to feel your warmth as he pulls you into his embrace. He wants nothing more than to cover you with kisses, to whisper sweet nothings onto your skin to replace your frown with those giggles he adores. "I miss you so much," Tom sighed.

"I miss you too—"

"Tom—oh, hey, Y/N."

You smiled softly. "Hi, Harry."

"I hate to be the one to say this but they need you on set now," Harry said in dismay, shooting you and Tom a guilty smile.

Tom looked at the clock, shock befalling him on how fast time had passed. It didn't even feel like he's been sat in this little nook for five hours, didn't feel like he's talked to you enough at all. He thought he had a few hours more, not a couple minutes left.

His eyes landed back on you briefly and you only flashed him a small smile. Tom turned to his brother with a nod. "Yeah, okay, I'll be right behind you," he said.

"Tell Thalia her favourite uncle said hi," Harry said to you with a proud smile.

Tom shook his head at his brother's bold claim given that Thalia hasn't said that at all. She hasn't shown to have favourites, nor does she have anyone who she likes to spend time with, more. But being competitive lads, it was natural for his brothers—which includes Harrison, Tuwaine and Jacob—to compete for the title of her favourite uncle. She's just spoiled to bits really.

You let out a laugh, though it was a faint one, smile not as wide as you nodded at the twin. "Will do, Harry."

Harry flashed you one last smile before he turned to give Tom a curt nod, hand coming up to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. Tom smiled at him gratefully, patting his hand before the younger lad made his way out of the trailer. Turning back to you, Tom felt his heart drop to his stomach.

"Darling, please don't cry," he whispered, hand instinctively reaching for you, a harsh foot stepping on his heart when his fingertips only got as far as touching the screen.

"I'm not," you muttered, blowing out your cheeks as you leaned to the side, so obviously trying to wipe your tears off screen. Tom still saw it though, and even if he didn't, he knows you like that back of his hand. The smallest change in your voice could tell him all.

Tom did his best to keep himself together, flashing you a small, comforting smile once you met his gaze again. "I'll see you soon alright?" he said. "I love you so much, darling."

You nodded, frown settling in your lips as you sighed, "I love you too, Tom, oh so much."

"Goodnight, my love." Tom tilted his head at you with a knowing grin. "Dream of me," he teased, earning a small giggle from you.

"Always."

***

"Is dada not coming home, mama?"

It was the 24th of December and your heart could do nothing but ache at your daughter's question. You tried your best to not let your frown be so prominent while you tucked her to bed.

"We don't know yet, lovie," you sighed, hand caressing her cheek tenderly. "But maybe dada will be here the moment you wake up tomorrow," you added, shooting her a knowing wink despite the sharp stab in your heart given that it was still uncertain.

Tom hasn't called at all the whole day. He only sent you a text earlier this morning explaining that he was going to be busy, hence why he won't be able to call. Strings of apologies buzzed through your phone even despite telling him over and over that it was okay. You know that guilt is eating him up whole right now, know for a fact that he's beating himself up black and blue by still not being home on Christmas Eve.

Thalia flashed you her sweet smile and a nod in response, not pressing anymore about her father's absence.

She's really smart for her age, so you wouldn't doubt it at all that she understands why Tom is away right now. You did tell her that her dad wasn't going to be joining dinner this time and she simply said, ''S okay. Dada is a superhero and superheroes are very busy.' And it honestly took everything in you to not start bawling at the dinner table.

"Story time, mama," Thalia hummed, taking your hand in hers as she tugged you closer.

"Okay, scoot a little you two," you said, both Tessa and Thalia making room for you to sit on the edge of the bed. "Once upon a time..."

***

With Thalia fast asleep, you treaded towards the door, leaving it slightly open—for Tessa in case she has businesses to attend to in the middle of the night—behind you and made your downstairs, turning on the little lights on the steps in the process. You went inside the living room, walking over to the wooden stool by the Christmas tree to take the plate of cookies and the glass of milk. You emptied the glass as you made your way to the kitchen, placing the cookies back in the jar and then putting the dirty dishes in the sink.

Venturing into the guest bedroom, you took out the bag filled with the few gifts you had wrapped up the day before. It wasn't a lot, just a couple of toys for both Tessa and Thalia. The little girl really hasn't asked much this year aside from a few toys she saw on TV or at the mall. And what she had on her letter...it was a bit difficult to get.

You slipped back inside the living room, placing the gifts under the tree along with the few sweets inside the stockings. Once you've turned off the electric fireplace, you went over to the tree lights next. But before you could even get to the plug, you suddenly heard the creaking sound of the front door opening and then closing, making you shoot straight up and freeze in your spot. Your heart pounded against your chest, hands trembling at the thought of a break in. Your mind ran a hundred miles per hour as you thought about what to do, ready to sprint upstairs to get to your daughter. You felt your breath hitch when you saw a figure emerged in the entryway.

But then you saw that it was him.

"Tom?" you gasped, eyes wide and glossed up, mouth opening in closing in pure shock as you stared right at your husband.

His face was now in full view as he pulled the hood of his hoodie down. A loving smile played on his lips, one you missed seeing in person. Your heart stuttered as you held each other's eyes, so many emotions swimming in those brown orbs but the love and satisfaction outshined everything else.

"Hi, darling," he sighed in pure content, that voice you love so dearly clear and real, not muffled by the poor quality of the laptop speakers. "Do I not get a welcome home hug?" he teased when you stayed in your spot, unmoving and simply gawking at him. Tom opened his arms wide for you to easily jump into.

Once you've got a hold of reality, you just ran to him full sprint, a sob escaping your lips as he caught you right in his embrace. Tom wrapped his arms around you with a shaky breath, squeezing you oh so tightly as he rocked you side to side. You breathed him in, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, hands fisting the material of his hoodie from behind as your body raked with soft sobs.

Tom pulled away briefly to cup your face in both hands, thumb wiping away the tears that sat on your skin. He smiled at you all adoringly, eyes turning glossy before he swiftly pressed his lips right on yours. You let out a whine as you melted into the kiss, fingers taking home in the mesh of his curls on the back of his head as you held onto him, to physically feel him, just to make sure that he was actually real.

"I fucking missed you so much," Tom groaned against your lips, arms back around your waist to pull you inhumanely closer. His warmth was quick to coat you both inside and out, the feeling of his lips on yours familiar but never fails makes your head spin. His embrace felt like home and oh how much you've missed it.

You pulled away to give into your lungs' needs, but only just a little, both of you in dire need to keep each other as close as possible. The tips of your noses brushed against each other as your chests heaved, though the smile on your lips never did waver.

You stared into his brown orbs, your brows furrowed lightly in question. "But how—"

"Once they gave me the go I took the first flight home," he said, pressing his forehead against yours as he stared right into your eyes with utmost love and the widest grin on his lips to match. You placed your hand on his cheek, Tom turning his head to press his lips against your palm briefly before he leaned into your touch.

"I can't believe you're actually here," you whispered.

"I couldn't miss spending Christmas with my two—" Tom stopped himself when he heard the pitter-patter of paws down the stairs. You turned to see Tessa bounding towards your direction, jumping right at Tom as he crouched down to greet her with a chuckle, "Right, three favourite girls."

Then a small voice spoke, "Dada?"

Tom's head shot up, his handsome face glowing even more, remaining crouched on the floor as he spread his arms. "There's my sweet pumpkin."

Thalia ran to him as fast as her little legs would let her. Laughs came out of the young girl, the sweet sound echoing around the room as Tom lifted her up and spun her around.

"Yay! Santa got my letter!" she cheered, both hands up in the air.

Tom settled her in his strong arms with a soft furrow of his brows. He looked at you confused.

Later, you mouthed.

Tom nodded as he turned back to his little girl. "I missed you so much, my princess," he said, littering her face with loud kisses to which Thalia squealed and giggled in response.

You wrapped your arms around yourself with a satisfied hum and a wide smile on your face. To see Tom be such an amazing and loving father never fails to make your heart grow twice its size, never fails to make you fall even deeper for your man, your husband.

The lovely sight of him and Thalia made your body tingle in more ways than one, a thought crossing your mind, a feeling in your bones telling you that it was the perfect time. It made you smile wider, heat dusting your cheeks as you tilted your head at your husband and daughter.

Tom caught you staring, a proud smirk erupting on those lips of his as he shot you wink. You can't help but roll your eyes at his smugness.

Of course he knows the effects he has on you, knows how him being such a dad makes your heart flutter. But also, how it makes your body fill up with heat and want that you'd have to resist the urge to pounce on him. It probably was obvious in the way you look at him, easily sees it in your eyes because he knows you, he is your husband after all.

But then again, maybe he knows because he's just the same, if not much more intense. The amount of times he's gushed over and over how he wants to put another baby in you whenever he sees you taking care of Thalia goes to prove that point.

It's an equal reaction really, both of you just as whipped for each other.

"Come here, darling." He beckoned you over with a sweet smile, resting Thalia on his hip as he held a hand out for you to which you gladly took. He pulled you closer, giving you a soft peck on the lips before snaking an arm around your waist. You wrapped your arm around the small of his back, chin on his shoulder as you looked at him with utmost love. He shifted his eyes from you and Thalia as he sighed, "It feels so good to be home."

It was such a picture perfect moment, a pure family in love. There was nothing but wide smiles on all your faces, happy to finally be in each other's embrace after so long. Plus, Tessa sat right in front looking at her humans lovingly with her tail wagging enthusiastically.

Thalia's head fell onto her father's shoulder as she let out a loud yawn, tiny fists rubbing over her eyes before she wrapped her arms around his neck. Your heart melted at the adorably sight, a soft coo escaping your lips as you reached over to brush the stray her that landed on her face.

Tom chuckled, turning slightly to give his daughter a kiss on the forehead. "Let's get you back to bed yeah?"

***

Tom came inside your shared bedroom just as you slipped the envelope inside your drawer. Closing it, you leaned back against the headboard with a smile, eyes landing back on your man who stood still in his place.

Tom had his back pressed against the closed door, staring right at you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"You going to join me in bed or are you just going to ogle?" you teased, raising your brow at him with a tilt of your head.

Tom chuckled, pulling himself off the door and sauntering over to you all while slowly stripping off his clothing, starting with his hoodie to his shirt and leaving them across the floor.

He's lucky you miss him too much to call him out on that, willing to give him a pass since he did just got off from a flight. He'll probably pick them up tomorrow though. If not then, he'll definitely hear from you.

By the time he's reached your side, he was left in nothing but his boxer shorts.

"She asleep?" you asked, looking up at your husband lovingly as he towered over you, standing on your side of the bed.

"Mm-hmm." He bit his lip with a smirk as he leaned down, hands on either side of your thighs that were hidden under the covers. "I've got such a beautiful wife huh," he muttered, brushing the tip of his nose against yours all adoringly before he captured your lips in his with a satisfied hum.

You giggled between the kiss, fingers lost in his hair as you pulled him closer, lips moving in sync like they've never been apart for so long. Tom nibbled at your bottom lip, a low groan erupting in his chest when you let him in, your tongues meeting as his hand landed on your thigh with a hot squeeze. You basked in his taste for a few moments more, letting him explore your mouth just to feel him closer, especially after months of being deprived from each other. Your hands slid down to rest on his broad shoulders, giving them a squeeze before you pulled away.

"Before you get too excited, I suggest you read Thalia's letter first," you said with a soft giggle.

Tom let out a hearty laugh, nodding in agreement and giving you once last peck before he jumped over you as threw himself on his side of the bed. The whole mattress bounced due to his weight, earning a pointed eye roll from you. Always a dork no matter what.

He slipped himself inside the covers, settling back against the headboard just as you rummaged through your drawer. You handed him an already opened envelope before you laid your head on his shoulder, slinging an arm over his naked torso as you snuggled to his side. Tom took out the piece of paper, a smile erupting on his lips once he unfolded it, eyes catching sight of his daughter's messy handwriting.

His strong arm wrapping around your shoulder, Tom pulled you closer, giving you a tender squeeze before he read the letter out loud:

Dear Santa,

Please bring dada home.

Me, mama and Tessa miss him so much and I don't want mama to be sad anymore.

Thank you, Santa.

Thalia

Tom tore his eyes off the paper to look at you with a pout, brown orbs glossing up as he placed the paper back in its envelope and set it aside. Snaking both his arms around your form, he gave you a loving squeeze. "Such a sweetheart with a big heart, just like her mother," he hummed, leaning down to give your forehead a sweet kiss.

"I read that at the mall when I did last minute shopping. I had to rush to the bathroom to get myself together. I got so stressed because I don't know if you were coming home or not. Which would then go down to explaining to her that Santa didn't get her letter and I really didn't want to break her heart like that," you elaborated, Tom's fingers caressing your arm comfortingly. "And then I was walking past this comic book store and saw this life size cardboard cutout of you as Spider-Man with the mask off. I was really contemplating if I should just get that instead," you laughed.

"You should've," Tom chuckled.

"And creep her out? No." You shook your head with a giggle. You pulled away from him slightly, his hands sliding down to rest on the small of your back once you did so. With your palm flat against his toned chest, you gawked at his handsome face with nothing but love. "Yet here you are, always here to save the day," you hummed.

Tom smiled widely at you, hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek fondly before he pulled you down for a passion-filled kiss.

"Now," he murmured against your lips, hand sneaking down and under the covers, fingers hot against your bare thigh. He gave it a pointed squeeze before he pulled away slightly. "What do you want, my gorgeous wife?" he purred, a certain glow in those brown orbs as his smirk grew.

With a quick peck on his lips, you release yourself from his grasp for a second so you can reach inside your drawer. You gave him another envelope, a sealed one this time, Tom taking it with a confused look on his face. Lying down on your side, you propped your head up with your hand as you waited for him to read it.

Brows furrowed, Tom opened it and pulled out the letter, pupils moving slowly as he scanned the words. You can't help but giggle once you saw the shift of emotions on his face, his eyebrows rising as he stared at your handwriting wide-eyed.

Dear my lovely Tom,

Thalia is due a younger sibling, don't you think?

Love, Y/N ;)

Never have you ever seen Tom move so fast in your life.

Your sweet laugh echoed around the room as he immediately pulled the covers off your body so he could get himself on top of you without any hindrance. He hovered above you with a wide smirk on his lips, strong hands gripping your thighs as he threw them around his waist, body slotted in between your legs with ease.

He didn't waste any more time as he swiftly dipped his head to capture your lips with utmost love but also, need. The kiss was hot, rushed, a little messy and filled with absolute fervour.

Arms taking home around his shoulder, you pulled him closer into you, your heels digging into the small of his back, both of you groaning at the familiar closeness, bodies fitting perfectly together like two puzzle pieces.

Tom slipped his tongue in your mouth with ease when rutted his hip once which earned a gasp from you. He did it again with a low growl, to make you feel just how badly he needs you. And oh you can feel it alright, feel it really hard. There was the obvious desperation coursing in you both; it's been months after all.

Pulling away for a moment, Tom wriggled his brows at you with lust-filled eyes and a love-struck smirk. Your chest was heaving as you stared right into those brown orbs, ones that turned even darker as his hands took hold of the hem of your—his—shirt. He was ready to pull it off of you but not before saying,

"I guess Santa isn't the only one emptying his sack this Christmas."

"Thomas!"

-:-:-:-:-

♛ Overall/Everything Taglist: @theunwantedomega @badreputatiom @fallinfortom @disneysamara @avengersficwriter @musicalkeys @apatheticanvas67482 @camimndess @tom-hlover @jjandreidsgirl @caramelscoffee @thenoddingbunny-blog @sarcasticallywitty15 @call-me-baby-gir1 @miraclesoflove @tanakaslastbraincell @itstaskeen @hollanddolanfangirl ♛ Tom H. Taglist: @hollandfanficlove @averyfosterthoughts @2018shawn @darlingspidey @namoreno @spacebitch2 @keepingupwiththehollands @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @unbelievableholland @kittenruby @sunkisseddreamer @worldoftom @quaksonhehe @big-galaxy-chaos @clara-licht @dummiesshort @imanativeofswlondondahling @sonofabitchstyles @peaches-parker @geminiparkers @parker-hollandx @arivera-30 @rebekkah4766 @particularnarry @iwannabekilledtwice @prettyintopeerpressure @spideyspeaches @givebuckyhisplumsnow @asoftie4bucky @dandelionxgal @peterspideysstuff @zspideyy @lmaotshollandd @sluttytears @likearainbowinthedark @hommyy-tommy @madz-holland @becicamina

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#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland reader insert #tom holland one shot #tom holland angst #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x female reader #tom holland oneshot #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfic #dad!tom #my writing

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marvels-writings · 3 years

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Moments like These

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Requested by @procrastinatingsapphictrash : Natasha x reader with prompts 1, 16 and 27 from the types of kisses prompt list? You don't have to do this since I know you asked for angsty prompts, I was planning to but then I saw this and it was so sweet! Btw I love your fics!

1: Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

16: One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

27: Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

Summary: Moments like these, making dinner for your girlfriend and falling in love with her all over again are everything to you.

Word Count: 1.1k (shortish and oh so fluffy)

A/N: This is like EXTREME fluff, it’s kind of to make up for the angst requests I got earlier. But it really is tooth rotting fluff and you’ll love it

A warm smell blanketed the room in its comfort, radiating from the oven to infect the rest of the apartment. The smell wasn't in any way unwelcome, just unusual. Soft music accompanied it as you sat on the bar stools, waiting for the dish you'd spent hours on making to cook.

Beef stroganoff shouldn't have taken you more than thirty minutes, but you'd made everything from scratch. Your only hope was it resembled what Natasha missed in Russia. The dish was to spoil her when she came back from the mission since you knew how much she had been dreading it.

It seemed almost right that she didn't want to take it as she walked back in, looking exhausted and beaten. A bruise was formed under one eye, soot covering her face and her ripped suit. Her red hair was dusty, tied back into a messy braid. She limped in, perking up at the smell surrounding your home, her eyes searching for you.

Natasha chuckled when she saw you seated on the barstool, humming to yourself, oblivious to her. It wasn't until you heard her laugh did you notice she was there; you grinned and beckoned her over.

"Nattie!" You exclaimed excitedly, meeting her in the center of the kitchen. Her smile grew at the nickname you called her, already happier now that she was home with you.

Your arms encompassed her waist in a tight hug, bringing your head to rest on top of her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders tightly, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. You felt her take in a deep breath and let it out, grounding herself with you.

The longer the hug took, the more weight she rested on you. The exhaustion rolled off of her in waves; you knew all she wanted was to sleep. But she had to eat first, even if it was to gratify the hours you'd spent making stroganoff for her. It was because you knew she didn't eat until she was safe at home with you.

"Hi, love," Natasha squeezed you tightly before letting go. Keeping you close, she looked around the kitchen to see the ingredients for her favorite dish strewn around. She raised a silent eyebrow, gesturing with her head to the rest of the kitchen.

"I thought it would cheer you up." You grinned, pulling her back towards the barstools to take a seat.

Natasha ignored the chairs; instead, she slid into your lap, wrapping her arms around your neck. She treasured in your reaction, the way your jaw slacked open, and your raised eyebrows. She chuckled, leaning forwards and kissing the top of your hair.

Warmth emanated from her; your arm slid around her waist to keep her upright. Somehow, even after almost a year of being with her, she still made you nervous. Natasha was well aware of the effect she still had on you, taking advantage of it whenever she could. Moments like these caused her to remember just how far she had fallen for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to rid yourself of your flustered expression, and pulled the recipe book towards yourself. Not trusting your voice to come out right, you pointed to the recipe you used. Your girlfriend ignored it, not even glancing towards the recipe, instead leaning towards your lips.

"Cheering me up now," Natasha whispered, her breath fanning over your face. Her lips turned up into a smile when she heard you gulp beneath her.

The smile remained on her face as she met her lips to yours. Her lips were dry and a little chapped, but they were still so soft as you kissed her. Her hands wound around your neck, playing with the baby hair there, feeling the rise in response to her. Your hands tightened around her waist, letting yourself get lost in her.

Natasha pulled away slowly, panting as she rested her forehead against yours. Her eyelashes fluttered against yours, breath hitting your face. A hidden smile crossed your face, leaning forward to meet her lips in another soft peck.

She chased your lips, leaning forwards, but you pulled away. The redhead pulled away, pouting at the lack of attention. You chuckled, shaking your head at the deadly Black Widow pouting in your lap. Seeing her so open and soft around you made your heart soar, keeping this moment closer to yourself.

"Shower first," You spoke, wanting to continue but finding it hard to when she continued pouting at you.

She looked down at herself, sighing when she saw the need to go shower. You knew she would, but for now, she kept pouting at you for more attention. Indulging in her requests, you met your lips to hers again, feeling her smile underneath you.

These kinds of requests, you'd always oblige in.

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

Natasha walked into the kitchen again, a towel tousling her wet hair as she watched you in the kitchen. She sat herself on the barstool, a smirk crossing her lips when you didn't even seem to notice her presence behind you. You were far too absorbed in getting the dish onto some plates.

It sometimes worried her how oblivious you were to everything around you. But now, watching you prepare dinner for her, was not a time to be worried. She cleared her throat, watching you jump in surprise and turn around towards her, the plate of stroganoff still in your hands.

"Beef stroganoff?" She raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. She pretended she didn't know what you'd been making based solely on the smell and the ingredients. Humoring your efforts got her the reaction she wanted. The adorable smile as you set your creation in front of her.

Natasha chuckled, the smell filling her nostrils and calming her as she beckoned you over to her. You took your plate, setting it down in the seat next to hers. A squeal left your lips when Natasha abruptly pulled you into her, keeping you close.

"Thank you," She murmured into your shoulder. You smiled, your hands reaching up to rub her back comfortingly.

You knew she wasn't used to having someone take care of her. It had surprised her when you'd stayed up a little late to welcome her back from a mission for the first time. Making her dinner and spoiling her was a change, but one you hoped she could adjust to.

Natasha pulled away, only to pepper your face in small kisses. You laughed as her lips tickled your face, squirming in her hold. Your hands pushed her and pulled her closer at the same time, treasuring in the attention. The beef stroganoff remained on the side as she turned all of her attention on you.

Everything about you was so perfect to her; sometimes she found it hard to believe that you were hers. Maybe it would take her years to get used to your love. So be it if she got to enjoy moments like these for the rest of her life.

A/N: Tell me what you think!!! Comments and reblogs are amazing!! And tell me if you wanna be tagged for the angst coming up

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart , @never-didbefore , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @marvelbbyx , @wlw-imaginesss , @hcartbyheart , @summergeezburr , @imnotasuperhero , @a-stressedstudent , @aaron-despair , @rooskaya-yelena , @dynnealberto , @thewitchandtheassassin , @wannabe-fic-reader , @izalesbean, @higherfurther-romanova , @natalia-quinzel , @blackxwidowsxwife let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask!

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

“He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

Please let me know what you think!

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#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #asoiaf

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hualianff · 3 years

Text

Smol XL

Modern AU where HX comes home around one in the morning after his night shift at a restaurant known for its exquisite fish dishes. Even after taking a dinner break during his shift, HX is starving.

It takes HX several tries to jam his key into the lock before successfully stepping into his apartment. His numb feet carry him through the foyer, heading straight to the fridge.

On his way to the kitchen, the open space to the living room grants HX a view of his roommate HC’s head turned to the television. Some sort of rom-com mixed with martial arts plays on the screen—not what HC typically watches, but HX doesn’t care enough to think too much of it.

With a large yawn, HX opens the fridge in hopes there is something moderately tasty to snack on. The sweet and tangy smell of pork hits HX’s nose, surprising him. HC must have cooked tonight because there was no pork in the fridge this afternoon when HX left for work.

HX reaches for the container sitting on the shelf at chest level, inspecting the overflowing contents of pork, veggies, and rice. He is momentarily skeptical. It’s strange for HC to leave so many leftovers after cooking. It seems HC has left enough that HX can snag a portion. When it comes to his roommate, HX certainly takes what he can get.

After glancing at the lid, HX spots a small sticky note with elegant hand-writing: He Xuan ♡

(HX: 🤨)

HX turns to the counter.

There’s another container with semi-burnt cookies in the middle of the island.

(HX: 😲 )

Begrudgingly, HX scoops the leftover food and some cookies into a bowl to take to his room. On his way, HX is forced to pass by the living room. This time he is afforded a side view of the couch.

Sure enough, HC’s boyfriend is tightly wedged between his legs, leaning back against HC’s chest. A purple velvet blanket covers them both, combining their forms into one huge blob.

The couple doesn’t notice HX. Or at least, HC side-eyes HX for a split second before leaning his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder, eyes glued back to the television.

HX shakes his head, then scurries into his room.

Even if HC is going to have XL over for dates and permeate the air with romance when HX is home, at least they always save food for him.

***

When HX gets up at a quarter till seven to brew his morning coffee, he’s met with the sight of XL cheerfully mixing pancake batter in just boxers and a t-shirt that is clearly HC’s because of the way it slips off one shoulder.

HX rapidly blinks as his eyes immediately locate all the love bites littered on XL’s collarbone.

“He Xuan, hi! Good morning!” XL exclaims, turning to face the taller man.

“Morning,” HX greets with a nod of his head. To distract himself from the physical evidence that HC is a goddamn leech, he rounds the counter until he stands beside XL. Out of politeness, HX asks, “What are you making?”

“Pancakes! I’m trying this new recipe that my mother sent me. They’re supposed to be extra fluffy and savory, and I’m going to add blackberries since those are San Lang’s favorite,” XL explains distractedly. HX assesses the bowl of blackberries, bottle of syrup, and whipped cream on the island behind them. “And don’t worry, I’ve made enough servings for the three of us and possibly extra. But that depends how hungry you and San Lang are.”

HX stares wordlessly at XL’s side profile as XL turns the stove on with a brief click! The shorter man holds his palm over the pan, waiting for it to heat up.

It’s safe to say HX is thoroughly touched, though he would rather not admit it. Despite his snarky comments, HC cares for HX with little things like doing his laundry or buying HX’s favorite snacks on a spontaneous grocery run. Then there’s XL who goes out of his way to strike conversations with HX to ask about his days and of course, cook for HX.

The two of them make quite a pair.

So here HX is, helping XL flip the pancakes while XL himself decorates the stack designated for HC. Once enough pancakes for the three of them have been cooked–half the bowl of batter left–HX picks his plate up, standing behind XL to wait for the toppings.

HX is in the middle of telling XL about this one customer who eats at the restaurant every week just to request that the head chef, which is HX, surprise them for their dinner order. It baffles HX to no end. What was the point of going to a restaurant and relying on the chef to decide what you’re going to eat?

“How can a person be so bold?” HX asks in disbelief. He tugs at the collar of his black t-shirt, itching at an area on his shoulder where his uniform slightly chafed the skin. XL laughs lightly, followed by the sound of whipped cream splattering out.

“Well, they certainly have your attention, don’t they?” he teases, flashing HX a smile over his shoulder.

HX jerks back at that.

“What? No, they don’t. Not like what you’re thinking. No. Nope, not like that-” HX rambles, narrowing his eyes at the shorter man.

“What’s their name?”

“...”

XL merely raises his eyebrows. HX exhales sharply, breaking eye contact with the devil’s counterpart.

“How could I not know? Their name is always on the receipt. It’s not my fault I’ve memorized it from seeing it so many times.”

“I never said anything was your fault. But…” XL trails off. He turns back to sprinkle some chocolate shavings onto HC’s pancakes. “Are they hot?”

HX outwardly scoffs. Seriously, HC is a terrible influence on his boyfriend!

(Little does HX know, it goes both ways.)

“What- what kind of question is that? Completely irrelevant. I’m a chef who does their job. I don’t care about a customer’s looks; I care about their tastes and whether they are sufficed by the food we serve. Nothing more,” HX insists.

He is unknowingly babbling at this point. He doesn’t know why his big mouth makes its appearance whenever he’s with XL. It just happens. Which HX will regret within a few hours. But it’s okay because no matter what HX has to say, XL is the type of person who will always listen.

Having at the very least one person like this in his life is not something HX will take for granted.

“-and it seems to work because they always leave generous tips, which I’m not complaining about-”

A raspy dominant voice asserts itself in the middle of HX’s monologue.

“Why the fuck are you talking to yourself?”

HX pauses his rambling, eyes rolling to the ceiling. This dickhead-

But before HX can turn around to respond with a defensive “fuck off,” XL’s entire body straightens up. With the plate of neatly stacked pancakes piled with berries, whipped cream, and chocolate, XL peeks his head out to the side of HX’s figure.

“San Lang! I made pancakes-!”

A startled choking sound snags in HC’s throat.

“Gege!?”

HX, in the middle of such a comical scene, can barely contain his amused smirk.

***

Bonus:

HC internally screams as XL settles into his arms for their movie night. He loves squeezing XL against his body. Hugging him from behind. Tickling him. Really, anything to get his boyfriend’s attention. (As if he doesn’t already hog most of it.)

XL alike loves being in HC’s arms. He loves listening to HC’s heartbeat while leaning back against him; loves feeling HC’s laughs reverberate against his chest.

Towards the end of the first movie, HC playfully pokes XL on the cheek. When XL turns his head around with an indignant expression, HC grabs his chin and places loving pecks all over those soft cheeks. XL instantly smiles, eyes curving into crescents from the affection.

HC quickly gravitates towards XL’s lips, pressing his mouth firmly against XL’s. Within seconds, HC’s grip on XL’s jaw tightens as he kisses his boyfriend with urgency, swiping a tongue against his bottom lip.

XL, gasping out a breathless: “Hmmph-! San Lngg-!”

Twenty minutes into their makeout session, the smoke alarm goes off. The couple breaks apart from the blaring beeping.

XL: “MY COOKIES-“ *leaps off of HC*

HC, winded as XL uses him as a springboard to jump off the couch: “OOF-“ *wheezes*

Raws:

XL IS SHORT ENOUGH TO NOT BE SEEN FROM THE BACK OF THE COUCH. HC’S FRAME COMPLETELY SHIELDS HIM.

XL IS SMOL COMPARED TO HIS TOL BF

HX saw the food and was like “yep, Xie Lian is definitely over, even if I can’t currently see him”

(Special thanks to @no-one-says-hi for contributing/listening)

#tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #modern au #he xuan #xie lian #hua cheng #cerdrabbles #smol XL hours: OPEN #fluff #slice of life #implied beefleaf

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clairecrive · 4 years

Text

“Small thing” - Alfie Solomons x reader

A/n: So, I failed to post this on saturday but here it is! Thanks again for requesting @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby! I changed a few things however I hope you’ll like this!

Summary: Alfie can’t help but step in when he sees that the man you were talking to was about to hit you. Then, one thing leads to another and eventually it’s your shared love for animals that’s what brings you together.

Word count: 2.2K (roughly)

TW: violence on animal, abusive behavior but fluff overall

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @of-love-and-of-the-sea, @shadow-of-wonder, @fandom--0verdose, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @sopxhiea, @fuseburner, @ashesbelle (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

(this beautiful piece of art was made by @fortunetellingnonesense. she has other amazing art so go check her out!)

“Hey, stop! What the hell are you doing?!" Your voice resounded in the streets, its echo jumping through the buildings amplified. You weren't one to shout, nor did you get into fights easily. But if there was one thing you hated, it was bullying. Especially when those pieces of shit always picked on people half their size or age. It wasn't fair and showed how insignificant they were. However true that might be, the cuts and bruises that their kicks and fists would leave on them weren't insignificant. Especially compared to a smaller body such as the one of this little kitty that piece of shit on the other side of the road had decided to kick.

Unfortunately, it had taken the small kitten cries for you to notice what was happening. But now that you had, you couldn't turn a blind eye to it. Not even if you weren't a strong muscular person and there was no one in the streets could give you a hand. Given the hour, the street was deserted.

"This little shit has decided to pee all over my doorstep. That’ll show him." Not happy with the kick that had probably broken the kitten's ribs, the bloke spat on its trembling body and was about to keep going.

"Don't you see that it's a little kitten? They don't even know what a doorstep is." You pointed out incredulously but wasn't it obvious?

"You almost killed him", you added to show that it was totally unnecessary and simply a dick move.

"I don't fucking care. He peed on my doorstep and I taught him a lesson." His voice became even harsher as he bragged what he thought was a grand gesture. But really, he only proved your point further.

"You're a piece of shit." Simply put.

"Oi, lady, I don't know who the hell you think you are but ain't no one gonna talk to me like that." You could see that he trying to make himself look bigger and threatening but you didn’t expect anything less from him and were set on not let him win.

"If only you cared about yourself just half as much as you cared for others than I wouldn't have to point out the obvious." Dismissing him, you turned towards the poor kitten that was pathetically laying on the floor. Their breath was uneven and you could tell they were having trouble doing so.

Your words must have confused the man, who apparently wasn't accustomed to a more complex way of speaking. You hadn't apologized but he wasn't sure that you had offended him either. By your tone though, he figured out that it must have been the second. And of course, his ego was bruised.

"Right, you sl*t, it seems that you need to be taught a lesson too." Too busy cooing over the small thing, his words didn't even register. It was probably going to be too late once they did but luckily for you, a guardian angel interceded for you.

"It ain't very manly to hit a woman, mate, right." A loud husky voice spoke behind you and you looked up, cradling the kitten to your chest, ready to make a run for it if it came to it. A tall figure of a man leaning on his cane with a big hat that cast a shadow over his face was the newcomer. You had never seen this man before but one look at him was all it took to understand that you did not mess with him. If you didn't want to end up bloodied and broken, that is.

The bully was about to shoot a retort but the burly man spoke again before he could, "Just like hitting small animals. What fucking beast would do that, hm." And then he spoke no more, only stared at the guy. You found amusing how big and mighty the guy was trying to be just a moment early when it had been only you, and how scared and spineless he was being now, under the stranger's unwavering stare.

It only took a minute, maybe even less, for him to lower his head and retreat.

"That's right, no more lesson teaching for you, bastard." You snickered, mocking him. When the man in question turned to send a death stare your way, you shivered and moved behind the stranger's back, just to be sure.

"Keep on going, mate." The stranger said fully ridding you of that menace finally.

"Asshole", you muttered under your breath as the man disappeared into his house. You must have been louder than you thought because that prompted the stranger to look at you.

"What are you doing, lass, getting head to head with a guy bigger than you, eh. Got a death wish?" As you were standing close to him now, you were able to see his face clearly since he was looking down at you for the height difference. What a lovely face. A guardian angel had sent him for sure because there was no way that such a handsome and kind man would stumble into your life by coincidence.

"Look, he almost killed this kitten and was definitely going to if I hadn't stopped him." You didn’t move to put some space between you. His eyes were too mesmerizing to look anywhere but at them and the way his lips trembled before forming a small smirk, was too endearing to miss.

The stranger’s name turned out to be Alfie, but that wasn't the only thing you ended up knowing about him. He was a fellow animal lover and the human of a sweet bullmastiff. He had a trusted vet and offered to take you to him. On the way, you got to know each other. Albeit, he did all the talking, only stopping to let you answer the many questions he asked you, it wasn't annoying as it may sound. His rumbling was… comforting, in a way. It gave your mind no room to think back about what happened or worry about what could have happened if Alfie hadn't shown up. It only allowed you to lightly caress the kitten's fur and hum now and then to what he was saying.

———————————————————————————

And after months of knowing him, you could vouch that it was.

He was an interesting fellow, this Alfie. Such a scaring looking guy, all burly and dishevelled. His cane angrily stomped the ground, his boisterous voice and confident stride successful kept away any wandering eye and unwanted attention despite how difficult it was to not notice them walking down the street. Of course, since you had just met him, you couldn't know that this happened mainly because of his reputation. And you would have never guessed either because despite his rough exterior, there was an underlying tenderness in the way Alfie looked at the small thing in your arms and how quickly and unprompted he had offered to help. It was the recipe for a sweetheart, wasn't it?

"Right, I reckon we should get him some help, don't we?" Alfie couldn’t help but find you amusing and was more than willing to spend a little more of his time with you. His day had been uneventful up until now. Besides, the small thing in your arms did need help.

After the kitten was entrusted to the vet's care and eventually saved, Alfie, moved by your love for animals, had asked you to take care of his boy, Cyril. Of course, you happily took the job. Yes, the money was good and certainly helped but you mainly agreed because of him. As naive as it sounds, Alfie had made a really good impression on you that day and always had been the portrait of the perfect gentleman around you.

He would welcome you in and offer a cup of tea when you’d get to his home in the morning and another one when he'd come home in the afternoon before you'd leave. And whenever he needed to stay at the bakery until late at night, he'd phone and tell you either offering to have someone walk you home or when you'd refused to leave Cyril alone - that was your job after all- he had given you one of the spare rooms for you to crash in and get some sleep, always with the promise of a raise for the inconvenience.

You were titubant at first, yes Alfie had always been nice to you but was it enough to trust him? Eventually, you caved and stayed the night. The door of your room locked and a route for a quick escape already in mind. You'd soon find out that you wouldn't need it though. Alfie had come home a little past midnight and despite the late hour, he didn't go to bed straight away. Instead, you heard some noises coming from the living room.

Curiosity got the best of you and you ventured downstairs. You had cooked a small dinner and left some for him in the oven. Alfie however, hadn't even noticed. The concept of a cooked meal was new and far away from him, his nightly routine mainly consisted of whiskey and the papers he'd brought from the office.

Coming home to someone was also something out of the ordinary for Alfie, so when your silhouette appeared in the doorway he thought he was hallucinating. The whiskey made him a little slow but his mind still worked quickly enough that you didn't notice his moment of disorientation.

That night turned out to be an interesting one for both of you. Looking back to it, it was also a kind of turning point in your relationship. Whiskey proved to be something that made Alfie even more prone to speaking and since the night is young, you two talked a lot, and you inevitably ended up feeling closer to him.

After that night, Alfie made sure to come home a bit earlier so that you could talk a bit before you had to head home. And you ended up spending more nights at Alfie's too.

Today was one of those days when Alfie said he would come home in time for tea. So, as usual, you had got everything ready, the cookies you had just taken out of the oven were nicely arranged on a plate beside the two steaming cups of tea.

———————————————————————————

"We are restless today, aren't we? But we just came back from our afternoon walk, so what can I do for you, eh?" You were sure you sounded utterly ridiculous, using a baby voice with him but you loved doing so whenever you talked to him. And you’d swear that he could understand you.

"A-ha, these are not for you sweet boy," you tutted at Cyril when he tried to help himself to the food.

It felt like a crescendo, your relationship getting out of the acquaintances’ stage and entering something blurry that you still couldn't figure out. All you knew was that it was warm and it felt a lot like home.

"Alright, alright, I'll give you some cuddles." Yeah, maybe you were a little soft on him but how could anyone be anything but when he looked so cute laying on his back with his little paws in the air?

Exactly.

The sound of the door closing caught your attention and you got up from the ground and walked in the hallway to meet Alfie who was taking his hat off.

"Welcome back, Alfie. How was your day?" Walking to him, you helped him take his coat off. After hanging it on the coat rack, you turn back around to listen to his answer. You expected him to have moved away instead you found your faces extremely close after you had turned around.

A gasp left your lips when your noses brushed whereas Alfie appeared unaffected. His eyes flickered between yours, his moustache tickled your upper lip as he spoke, "it's about to get a lot better, it seems pet. What do ya think?" He whispered on your mouth, referring to your previous question.

The kiss was slow at first, your lips were cautious of each other, tentative and shy. Then Alfie’s hand reached the back of your head and it was like a flip had been switched. Only a brief pause to get some air, your forehead touching, before your lips reconnected. This time with far more hunger, like you had been waiting for this moment. And in fact, you had been.

"Look who's decided to join, cheeky bastard", Alfie commented, amused at his dog who was now panting on his leg. Cyril barked as if he had understood his human and you couldn't help but laugh. This dog was something else.

Your hands trailed on his shoulders up to his neck while the kiss grew more desperate and Alfie pushed you to the wall behind the coat hanger. His hands began wandering trailing down on your body and his mouth was about to follow when something humid and wet interrupted them.

Your eyes bore into his then flickered to his mouth, so close to yours, before you answered him. "I wholeheartedly agree." And that was all he needed to hear before his mouth was on yours. A shot of electricity ran through you when he did.

"I'm sorry mate, but this is a dance for two," Alfie gave him a loving pat on his head, "now where were we?" he turned back to you before connecting your mouths again.

#alfie solomons #tom hardy #tom hardy imagines #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons imagines #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons one shot #alfie x reader #alfie solomons fluff #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine

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aquilaofarkham · 3 years

Photo

title: mishpachah rating: T+ word count: 3,085 summary: Five years after rebuilding the manor—and the birth of a new Belmont into the world—Trevor decides to share an old recipe with his newfound family.

For @fibulaa 💛 Thanks so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

The first bread Trevor Belmont ate while living his newly orphaned vagabond life was so dry it cut at the inner walls of his throat. He swallowed each bite with grimace after grimace, knowing that despite the pain, the already hardened child of thirteen could stave off starvation for a little while longer. Until he tasted the faintest tinge of copper on his ruined tongue.

Putting those years far behind, he now stands in front of a wooden counter, blurry eyed and with a yawn reminiscent of a sun drunk cat. It seems clean at first glance but in every corner Trevor notices fragments of past meals which he tried wiping away once they were finished and placed on a more pristine table meant for family. Bits of salt, half minced vegetables, and crumbs of bread much softer than the ones belonging to a later childhood he would rather forget. This kitchen, warm in its early morning sunlight, was the final instalment of the manor, newly risen from the ashes. Or rather, simply rebuilt thanks to the calloused, blistered, and splintered hands. No more ruined stone, no more fire blackened beams holding together little less than an architectural skeleton. The somewhat mirror image of Trevor’s lost home has been faring better than the castle. Too many memories, fresh, ranging from bitter to incomprehensible.

Slowly, he grows conscious of his surroundings and his own self. A continuing habit of being the first to wake not just in this manor hold but in life. Reluctantly opening his eyes prior to dawn covering the landscape while still traveling alone only to drag a pair of worn boots back along a similar muddy road. Trevor never wanted to wake up before the sun. He just couldn’t bear to stay in the same place for much longer whether due to the laundry list of dangers or more often than not, his newfound hatred of whichever backwater hamlet he unfortunately found himself in.

He’s happy to wake up early. Happy to never feel a need to leave or escape, happy to know that lack of food replaced with pints of liquid pleasure mixed with death will never plague him again. Happy to prepare breakfast in a hot iron pot over a well stoked fire. What he thought he lost forever has come back, along with new additions to the family he’s carved out.

Another presence bounds her way into the kitchen and ambushes Trevor from behind. He’s not old—not yet, he’ll give it time—but years of drinking have made their permanent stay, dulling the more acute senses. Makes it easier for a five-year-old to catch him off guard. Trevor’s eyes bolt open as tiny arms hold him in a tight cage.

“Good morning, papa!”

His ears ring at the sound of Mirele’s loud voice, but at least he won’t have to worry about nodding off. He stares down at the youngest Belmont who looks as though someone had split Trevor and Sypha straight down their centres into four pieces and sewed each differing half onto the other in order to create a new person. A homunculi of messy dark chocolate hair, bright eyes shining with blue ice, full rosy cheeks somehow conspicuously smeared with some sort of dirt or jam, and enough energy to wear out an electric powered jackrabbit.

“How’s my little monster doing this morning?” Everything Trevor says is laced with his own personal touch of affection and Mirele loves it.

“Mama and papa are still asleep. Help me wake them up! Pleaseeee?”

This doesn’t surprise him; Sypha has always preferred to savour her last moments of sleep longer than normal and Alucard is… well, Alucard.

“Tell you what.” Trevor places a lid onto the simmering pot with a heavy clank. “While this heats up for our breakfast, we’ll go wake up those lazy bones.”

“Right!” Hand in smaller hand, the two make their way upstairs into the shadowy master bedchamber. Curtains drawn with only a sliver of light cutting its singular path across the floor and over two distinct lumps covered by blankets and furs. They seem conjoined, linked in each other’s arms, unaware that a third party has been missing for long enough. Mirele plunges into the room first, jumping onto the bed as all children do when parents refuse to join the land of the conscious. She playfully shoves and cuddles her way between the two bodies who sink deeper beneath the covers, lazily moaning like ghosts.

“Mama! Papa! Wake up! It’s time to get up!”

Trevor hopes that his tactic of throwing open the weighted curtains works in a more effective manner. Listening to the rising chorus of wordless protests coming from behind, he’s pleased with the results. “Never thought I would be the one setting a good example for our daughter.”

“Do not get cheeky, especially this early.” Sypha’s response spills out like running water. It’s clear her mind isn’t quite all there yet. But she can scoop Mirele into her arms, find every ticklish spot, and illicit giggles that only canines might hear. “At least we both know how to have fun, right my sweet?”

“Vampires… nocturnal…” A deeper, muffled voice emerges from under one of the pillows.

“Something you’d like to share with us, Alucard?” Trevor quips, amused at how the other father of the household can never seem to shake off his morning dishevelment. Perhaps sleeping in a coffin would help—a very large one so he doesn’t have to be alone. Alucard reluctantly removes the pillow as tangled heaps of gold fall over his face.

“Vampires are supposed to be nocturnal. Would you rather I burst into ashes upon contact with the sun? Think of our girls, Trevor.”

“We’ve all seen you in the sun before, it’s about as dangerous as a clove of garlic.”

“I have my own means of physical protection. Far beyond your measly human comprehension, love.”

“Personally, I’ve been able to comprehend you plenty.”

Mirele stares up at Sypha, her bushy brows furrowed. “What does… comp… sshhheshion mean?”

“It’s just another word your fathers use whenever either of them want to feel smart.”

Alucard gives Sypha a gentle pinch on either side of her abdomen. “I thought you were on my side.”

“What about my side?” Trevor asks, excelling at the greatest strength he possesses—the ability to never take anything seriously, only when he must.

“I’m hungry,” Mirele speaks up. “Hungry and bored. Can we eat now?”

This life is not normal, but then again it is. It always has been for them. Normal once meant coming together because of violence, encroaching darkness, and some flimsy prophecy stringing them along one dead body at a time. A prophecy which never said what had to be done after they followed it to the hard earned letter. Perhaps that’s why Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard floundered afterwards. No instruction on how to live their upturned lives.

Fuck prophecy.

They made this life by their own standards and in accordance with their own desires. They loved how they wanted to love and no prophecy could have foreseen Mirele. How she calls for her father while both Trevor and Alucard turn their heads at the same exact second. How she quickly calms herself when presented with a bowl of warm oatmeal drowning in honey and wild fruits hand plucked from the surrounding forest. But it’s not enough. Nothing ever is for someone always growing, always wanting more from life at such a young age.

“Can I have bread?”

Trevor, half way through his bitter coffee, turns to Sypha then Alucard as all three parental figures exchange glances. They haven’t the heart to tell Mirele. No bread at the ready, only the necessary ingredients and a considerable amount of flour bags to blanket Enisala. There’s the option of making it themselves, yet it depends on a certain someone’s capacity for patience.

“How do you feel about baking our own?” Trevor’s voice wavers, which he tries to mask with his characteristic dry tone. It’s been a long time since he’s made bread. Then again, helping the manor cooks was a somewhat selfish endeavour as it meant extra servings for the baby of the Belmonts. Yet his proposal goes over well with Mirele, whose inherited eyes light up at the prospect of trying something new.

“I wanna make bread! Can we? Can we please?”

“When was the last time you baked anything, Trevor?” Alucard asks, genuinely curious and with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You still won’t tell us much about anything concerning your former life, let alone the sort of foods your family ate.”

Trevor feels a twinge in his gut—still better than a punch. His two lovers, even his daughter, they only know of his mother; a matriarch in her own right. They know her name, the monsters she killed, and not much else. Trevor’s excuses: he doesn’t remember anything about her, despite the fact that he does. He didn’t know her for very long or very well, so there’s no point in missing her. Trevor did know Sonia and he does miss her, sometimes more than he can handle. Then the easiest excuse: it’s just another self-preservation tactic.

Out of this inner reflection comes an idea. It breaks tradition in a way. For the Belmonts and other Jewish families, everything is passed down through the mother—recipes, forms of worship, blood memories, centuries old tactics of bruising one’s knuckles and temples. Trevor doesn’t think this slight deviation from his culture’s norm will make him any less of what he’s always been. Mirele will simply have to pick up where he left off when she’s grown.

He doesn’t want to think about that now. She’s only five after all. One lesson at a time.

“Alright. Gather round, pupils. The bread we’re making isn’t just any bread. Forget everything you know and everything you’ve been taught because this will be the closest thing to heaven you’ll ever taste.”

“How dramatic…” Sypha mutters under her breath. Alucard joins her amusement with a subdued chuckle.

“I believe you were partially his influence.”

Trevor knows how much trouble he’ll be in if he puts Mirele through the most agonizing cruelty of waiting a second longer than necessary. Fearful of her pint-sized wrath, he gives everyone the order to start gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, honey, and some indulgent herbs to make this particular bread something special. As much of a strategic leader in the kitchen as he is when the world is coming to an end. With everything spread out on the countertops, Trevor guides his family step by step through the only recipe he remembers. He calls this bread “challah”, which Mirele immediately strains her freshly green vocal chords, trying to pronounce the word exactly as her father does. She quickly gives up and focuses on mixing the ingredients with an intense look—almost to a fault as bits of sloppy dough fly out of the bowl. Good. This enthusiasm is what Trevor wants to see.

Kneaded and allowed time to rise, the next step is the most important. Trevor divides the dough into four halves, then again, and again until each participant has their own handful of raw unbaked strips.

“We have to braid them?” Mirele asks following his explanation.

“That’s right. It’s what makes this bread different from all the rest.”

“Just like when papa let’s me braid his pretty hair!”

Every pair of eyes turns to Alucard, whose smile widens in that way which causes his eyes to shut tightly. Fangs happily bared as he pulls Mirele into his flour and dough covered arms while she giggles in delight. After they all return to work, her loaf turns out the same way as the braids she gives to him—lopsided, uneven, lacking a few outsticking stray hairs, but filled with affection and genuine resolve.

Three loaves are placed into the oven, including a fourth crudely constructed but still adequately done piece. Mirele is now more willing to play the waiting game—so she claims. Sitting in front of the oven while staring directly into its insides, utterly fascinated, oblivious to her surroundings. Unaware that her three parents are whispering behind her back. Eventually, Sypha has to gently pull her away with her bottom dragging along the kitchen floor.

“How about you and I do something a little more interesting while your fathers keep watch over things.”

“But what about the c… the calla!”

“Don’t worry, they will look after it. And we are not going far, my sweet.”

“We’ll make sure nothing burns down.” Trevor assures, despite it being Sypha who usually revels in cinders and ashes, intentionally or not.

The two retreat down the corridor past diamond shaped stained windows and into one of the manor’s smaller libraries where the cabinets reach the high ceiling painted in deep blue hues. Scattered from corner to corner are constellations of stars and midnight clouds obscuring each phase of the moon. Once when Alucard found Mirele curiously asleep atop a number of pillows when she should have been in her own bed, it was his decision to paint the library in new colours. Sypha moves aside an entire shelf of thick volumes as though trying to find a carefully hidden switch that will lead them into a secret chamber. It’s what Mirele hopes but turns mildly disappointed when the books do not in fact magically shift to reveal a stone passageway. Her soured anticipation is only countered when Sypha places a box on the desk.

“Can you guess what’s inside?”

“Is it treasure?”

“Close! You are almost right.” Sypha opens the lid just as Pandora did except there are no horrors, no evils to be wrought upon humanity. Mirele peeks inside and her eyes shine with the glistening silver of trinkets, pendants, and talismans. She resists the innate urge to reach her hands, still white with flour, into the box only to briefly experience the sensation of holding one between her fingers. Even children know when something is sacred.

“These belonged to your grandparents. They used them for protection and strength. A long time ago, before you were born, their home burned down and everything was destroyed.”

“Papa’s home?”

Sypha nods, grateful that this story now has its happy ending, slight as it may be. “However, when your other father started building the manor we live in, he found this box trapped amongst all the rubble. It managed to survive.”

“What do they say?”

Mirele points to one pendant molded in the shape of a sword. Inscribed along the curve of its ash-riddled blade are the Hebrew names of angels which must have been muttered by Sonia or Gabriel. The longer Mirele stares, attempting to decipher yet another new language, the brighter her cheeks grow red with frustration. Her mother acts quick just as her eyes begin to water.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand what any of them say.”

“I can learn! Please, mama? I promise I’ll study really hard!”

Sypha’s lips curl as Mirele continues her begging. Oh the mind of a child. How quickly it changes.

The kitchen feels hotter, wafting through the air. Enveloping the room and everything caught between its walls. Trevor stands by the oven, a thick cloth ready in his hand. It shouldn’t take much longer. At least there’s no stench of something burning. Almost makes him pine for the days of his family’s massive stone oven and how he would sneak around at night and pick out leftover morsels from inside like an insatiable mouse. Not unlike the actual beasts which he hunted throughout the hallways before moving onto larger prey typical of a Belmonts’ work—or as large as his own runtish body mass could handle.

Minutes of quiet pass, still eyeing the loaves with a keen gaze. Trevor’s concentration soon broken by the feeling of two arms wrapping around his softening yet still robust midsection. Slow and careful, until his back is pressed against an equally broad chest.

“Can I help you?” He asks as Alucard buries his face into the curvature of his shoulder blades.

“You’re already helping.” The dhampir, unchanging in his physical appearance (a revelation both Trevor and Sypha refuse to acknowledge for the time being), tightens his embrace.

“Something wrong?”

“No… I just enjoy feeling how much softer and warmer you’ve become.”

Trevor’s cheeks blush ever so pinker and not because of the oven’s heat. By now he should be used to Alucard’s sudden bouts of outward affection.

“You even smell better.”

There it is. Trevor thought he would be waiting forever to hear that little jab, though said with nothing but a good heart.

“That might be the herbs you’re smelling.”

Alucard shifts around so that the two of them are side by side, cheek to cheek, as he chuckles in Trevor’s ear. “Come here.”

He doesn’t offer a kiss, not where Trevor was expecting. Instead of his lips, Alucard singles out every patch of stray flour on his face, kissing, wiping, even licking them clean. Cheek, jawline, and nose. Trevor’s expression twists into a ticklish, surprisingly delighted facade.

“You’re a half vampire, not a cat.”

“Better to clean you now than later.”

“Always so fucking odd…”

“You love it.”

Much to his lucky stars, Trevor manages one curse mere seconds before Sypha and Mirele return. They let their daughter speak at a breakneck speed neither one can fully comprehend—something about silver pieces and whether they can teach her a new language—until one series of questions finally sticks.

“Is the bread ready yet? Can we eat it now? Can we please?”

Trevor placates Mirele by revealing the fruits of their joint hard earned labour: four freshly baked and perfectly shined challah loaves each representative of whoever did the braiding. She bounces in her chair before simmering down to an excited tremble once Trevor warns her of how they need to cool. In order to make this more of a meal, he rummages about in search of two other beacons from his childhood. He’s rewarded with one of the few fresh apples they have left while Sypha, ever in tune with his inner thoughts, grabs another small pot of honey for him.

Trevor thanks her by gently running his palm across her lower abdomen, over the growing bump. He keeps it there for just a second longer, a subtle gesture of love noticed by Sypha. Fingertips intertwined with each other, they join Alucard and Mirele at the table as the midday sun shines golden through the windows.

#castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #sypha belnades #trephacard #my writing #*cvfic #jewish trevor

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its-sasuke · 2 years

Note

There are a pair of packages on Sasuke and Sakura's Christmas table. One is wrapped in gold paper and one in silver wrapping paper. The silver wrapped package is labeled for Sasuke. Inside is a pair of kunai, a book of Sasuke's favorite recipies that their mother made for them as kids and a picture of the whole Uchiha family (including Sakura) in a nice frame with hawks feather designs etched into it. There is a note in the package.

- Merry Christmas, love your big brother

-@itachi-uchiha-deserved-better

"Oh who are these from?" Sakura asks aloud coming into the kitchen for coffee Christmas morning.

Sasuke checks the card, wondering fondly at how Itachi might have gotten these in without him noticing, "My brother."

He finds Sakuras and hands it over. His wife is extremely impatient when it comes to gifts, which Sasuke thinks is equally annoying as it it adorable.

He watches her pout as she says, "Aw, I wish he was here to see us open them!"

He could count the number of times he'd received a present directly from Itachi on one hand. Often on missions, as a kid Sasuke would always find his present from his brother on his bed or his desk to open privately. But Sasuke suspected Itachi was just too shy to see his thoughtful presents opened in person. He hadn't thought it was strange until now when Sakura had said that.

He hears the rattling of something in a box and looks up to see Sakura's curious eyes screwed to the ceiling as she listens to the present shift and tests it's weight in her hands.

"Stop that," Sasuke putting a hand over hers, "Knowing Itachi, it might be fragile."

Sakura just sticks out her tongue and asks, "Can I open mine first?"

Sasuke shakes his head with another small smile at his wife's impatience but gestures for her to go ahead. It was already an established rule they they had to take turns so each could see the others reactions.

He takes a seat, his precious silver packages on the table in front of him and watches his cute wife open her gifts. A hand drawn portrait of them and a ridiculous amount of coffee. Seeing her jet toward her coffee pot, he wondered if she even needed the caffeine anymore.

Seeing he'd been forgotten, he teases Sakura saying, "Aren't you going to watch me open my presents?"

He didn't mind opening them himself but Sakura would be disappointed. It was her rule after all.

"I'm watching!" Clearly not watching, but wanting to. He chuckles a little as she steals glances over her shoulder. "Just a sec!"

Sasuke just shakes his head again, silently laughing and beings to open his.

The first is a pair of kunai and Sasuke smiles at them fondly.

"That's a little boring." Sakura says leaning against the counter while her coffee brews behind her.

Sasuke glances her way, "Its tradition." He'd never told her before, liking to keep some things, especially about his brother close to his heart. But it was time to start sharing these things, since he'd given his heart to Sakura already. "Every year since I was young, Itachi gets me a new pair of kunai. Even before Mother allowed me real ones, he got me training sets. I used to look forward to using them in training with him. And even when he was away, it felt like he was still there helping me whenever I picked them up."

Sasuke ran his finger along the razor sharp edge. Another reason he loved caring for his weapons so thoroughly too. Many were precious gifts.

"Aw, that's so sweet." Sakura had come back to the table, and laid a hand on his arm. Though his face was neutral, it felt warm.

"Yeah." He said, putting the kunai aside for the next gift.

The next had the corners of his lips tugging up again. A cook book off his mother's "family secrets" recipes.

"Oh wow! Why did I get one of those?" Sakura asks seriously.

"Because you don't cook." Sasuke knows better than to laugh, or to say the truth - you can't cook.

"Well maybe we can cook something together? Your favorite maybe?" She offers and Sasuke isn't sure why he hadn't considered it before. Mikoto had made sure be knew what he was doing when he was younger, though his brother had always been more interested than he had.

"Yeah, that'd be nice." He said warmly, picturing himself teaching Sakura like he'd been taught by his mother. It might be good practice for teaching his own kids when the time came.

And that thought had pictures rising into his head that had his heart growing uncomfortably warm. He pushed that aside, simply giving Sakura a kiss on the forehead, earning him a huge smile, before moving to his next gift - the portrait of his family with Sakura at his side.

"The frame is a nice touch." Sakura comments and Sasuke agrees.

It was perfect. His brother had outdone himself again and he'd have to find a proper way to thank him.

#so cute! i loves your present ideas!#Merry Christmas! 💖#sasusaku

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

Who Are You Really?

Chapter 4: Rush Hour

Summary:

Huh. Guess Spirit doesn’t have too much time to introspect. That’s okay, though. Introspection doesn’t lead to anything good, and Spirit much prefers action over thought when they start to think too far back.

They dig into their pocket, pulling out the proper token.

Ft. Almond, who belongs to @strange-lace

Spirit Masterpost

Spirit is nervous.

Macaque’s token is buzzing.

They don’t know if they should be. They’re nervous for clients, of course, and they’re polite to everyone they meet, but Macaque is...different. They’ve known him longer, longer than most of their clients.

They’ve done so many favors for him, he can’t hurt them. They know that. They know they know that.

They still tremble a little as they reach into their pocket.

Are the favors not enough? They have to be. Spirit has been operating on them for as long as they can remember, likely longer than that. Favors are dependable, favors make sense, they can tally them down and be assured, and know, and can quantify, and

And yet.

Macaque is like Red, but different. Close, but not a friend. Something else. And Spirit shouldn’t be afraid. They’ve done him favors, they’re safe. They’ve done everything he asked, even when it wasn’t good. Because they aren’t stupid, and they know what is and isn’t right. They haven’t been right for a long time maybe ever, but they just want to be safe, and this is how they will be.

They know that. This is how it has to be.

Because if it isn’t, then Spirit would have, and wouldn’t have, and

Spirit doesn’t like to think on the would haves, because they turn into should haves. They should have this, they should have that—none of that is helpful. Wanting more from the past doesn’t change the present.

Besides, they should have what they deserve, and

Spirit grabs the token and goes to where they are needed.

They’re not quite sure where they are, at first, but the cliffside they appear at is just a few miles from the town. They can see the weather tower from where they are. It’s the tallest building in the city, after all.

Macaque’s seeming lack of appearance would be worrying, but Spirit feels the itch that always happens in their eye, the big one, when Macaque is hiding in the dark.

“You test that a lot,” they say. “I haven’t missed you yet.”

They turn around just as Macaque steps out of their shadow. It’s kind of interesting, watching the flat object liquify into what seems like smoke, pulling from the rockface upon which Spirit’s shadow is cast. From shadow to smoke to flesh and bone, the transition seamless.

“I’m your teacher, aren’t I? Who else is going to test you?” He stretches his arms leaning back against the cliff face with his arms crossed over his chest.

Spirit supposes that makes sense. Macaque is their teacher, in the sense that he’s really the only person who has bothered to teach Spirit anything, save for their mom. But Mom isn’t a teacher, she’s Mom, so Macaque is their teacher. It makes sense when you think about it.

“So,” Macaque starts, a claw lazily tugging at Spirit’s sleeve to get their attention. “Got any new information? As a favor,” he adds the last part like he always does, and Spirit perks up like they always do.

A new favor is always so nice.

“Oh, well, the Demon Bull King was released,” they start. “Red Son, Princess Iron Fan, and the Demon Bull King have congregated on the outskirts of Wán Qiãn Chéng, where Monkey King’s successor lives, and they battle him from time to time—”

“Monkey King has a successor?” Macaque all but shouts, loud enough that Spirit takes a step back.

They fidget, and hide their hands behind their back.

“Um, yes?” Spirit shrugs at Macaque’s incredulous look. “He stopped the Demon Bull King when DBK first emerged, and has been protecting the city and, uh, the world since then. He’s a little younger than me, age wise I think.

“I haven’t gotten a good look at him, but he’s friends with the youngest member of the Long family, so he might be aristocratic? I don’t know,” They finish lamely, smiling a little.

Macaque grins. It’s not a nice one, one of his scheming grins he gets when he wants something and is figuring out how to get it. Spirit finds it familiar, considering Macaque always wants something from them, in one way or another. Why he feels the need to scheme is beyond them, because Spirit does most anything if asked politely.

Then again, they were a bit obstinate when Macaque and them first met. They made Macaque work for their favor, which is stupid. They should’ve listened better back then, and Macaque would maybe like them more now.

Most people don’t like them, though, so they suppose they should be used to it.

“Well then,” Macaque starts, rubbing his chin with his hand in thought. “That is something. Thanks kid. I’ll use that.”

Spirit brightens at the praise.

“You’re welcome!” they beam. “Um, anything else, sir?”

Macaque waves a hand. “Nah.”

He turns towards the horizon, and then, for some reason, looks back almost...shy? Spirit doesn’t really understand Macaque’s moods. He can flip flop in terms of good or bad feelings very quickly, with no rhyme nor reason Spirit can discern in regards to why.

They jump, scrambling to catch an item as Macaque just...tosses them a bag of what they soon realize is coins. A fair bit, if the weight is any indication. The bag is purple, with a silver drawstring for the pouch. They love purple and silver! Macaque doesn’t do silver, save for the token he made for them; his cuffs are gold.

They glance up at him in confusion.

“Got tired of carrying that,” Macaque says, looking away from them. “Figured you wouldn’t mind. Buy yourself something with it, or whatever.”

He glances back at them again. Spirit waves.

Macaque jumps off the cliff, and disappears.

Spirit heads back to town, after that, flitting through different shopping centers. They don’t really have a lot of money regularly, but they also don’t spend a lot of money regularly, so they’re typically okay with spending money when they want or need to.

The last thing that was a big purchase was getting their outfit fixed up for the third time. They always wait until the fabric is so worn that they can’t stitch it together to do so, because they try to be frugal, but keeping their one and only outfit in fair condition is a necessity.

Macaque had mentioned the practice, saying that it was how he kept his outfit pristine after centuries. Demons who could weave silk would restring the fabric line by line until it was simply the same but brand new, keeping the old string to be salvaged for whatever they could find within. It wasn’t terribly expensive, but was still a purchase to be saved up for.

They don’t shift into human form, staying in the alleyways where they’re hardly seen and glancing out to the streets to see if there’s anything neat to find instead of walking in the open as a human. Their eyes catch on a shop in the food district, a colorful storefront.

Bitter Sweets.

They can see the colorful creations set up in the window display. Sweets, pastries.

Pastries.

They remember pastries. It was such a rare thing to have. Father was always in the Inn, always toward the front side they’d have to cross to get to the indoor kitchen. They never wanted to cross Father. They knew what would happen.

But it became a game. Find whenever Father is gone, fixing up a room for a new customer, off to the town to find tourists, and sneak into the kitchen. Throw together the ingredients, skipping across the floor to find each and every item needed for the recipe. Mixing the ingredients into dough, kneading it and playing with it as Mother laughed, shaping it into its proper form, placing it in the stone oven and watching, waiting.

And then the dough would rise, and Spirit would lean in so close to watch that Mom would gently tug them back with a soft smile. She would pull out the finished product, and Spirit would tug on her sleeve and say ‘Now?’, and she would smile and shake her head and make them wait until it cooled.

They would pull apart the warm (but not hot!) balls of sticky bread just to see the inside and finally stuff a piece into their mouth, giggling. They’d take the lot and scamper off into safety with Mom, off into the back area where the infirmary was, where father couldn’t reach, the taste of sweetness on their tongue.

Spirit remembers pastries.

Entranced, they cross the street and enter the shop.

The inside is just as warm and bright as the outside, purples and pinks in pastel hues the general color scheme, with cool gray walls and white highlights to accent the colors. There’s a second display case by the front counter, a small table with two chairs off to the side, and a sweet smell of something baking that hits you both with nostalgia and hunger.

Spirit thinks about the last time they’ve eaten, and can’t quite remember. Then again, that’s not too terrible, considering they don’t need to eat regularly.

“Hello, dear!” A voice calls from further inside.

Spirit jumps at the sound, and stares as brown hair, purple skin, and red eyes greet them. The demon is of the spider variety, a cap on her head and smudges of flour and icing on her apron and face.

She has 3 eyes, just like them. But they’re not supposed to have three eyes, so it’s different. She’s allowed to like hers.

She wipes off her hands on her apron and steps up to the counter, a pleasant smile greeting them with her hands on her hips, ready to be of service. “What can I get for you today?”

Spirit stares for a moment.

Right. They have to order something.

“I-uh-um,” They stammer, because they didn't have time to prepare for this, and just a glance at the display case proves that they don’t know what any of the pastries are, nor do they know what the names mean.

And what did they even expect? That this random sweets shop would have the exact type of pastry they remembered making centuries ago with someone who has been gone so long it shouldn’t matter? Those things are lost to time, lost to a world they left behind when there was nothing left but blood and memories. The soft moments are held only by the crumbs left in their head; there’s nothing tangible here. They’re so stupid. So, so, so stupid.

“I can always help you pick something out, if you need help,” the shopkeep says, gentle as Spirit’s anxiety mounts.

No, they can’t ask for help, they’re not allowed to. They can’t do this, they should just run, run and never come back because this is stupid, what are they even looking for-

“Mooncakes!” they nearly shout, clapping a hand over their mouth a moment later, face bright red as they look away.

Their tail curls around their leg tight enough to hurt. The shopkeeper's eyes glance down at their leg, for a moment.

Spirit tries again, softer, and fidgets with their belt. “Um, if you, uh, if you have any mooncakes. I would...like those.”

They bite the inside of their cheek hard, just short of drawing blood.

Mooncakes are the only pastry they know by name. The only pastry that Father allowed and wanted them to make, special for New Years. That was when they could be in the kitchen for hours, baking batch after batch for customers in the Inn and to hand out to those in the infirmary.

Father never let them make anything outside of what people wanted, what could bring them in money. He was always so worried about costs, irate by a single lost yuan. They were only to do what could be profitable. Providing mooncakes to the tourists brought them business. That’s all he cared about.

Mom’s hospital business always made far more than the Inn ever did. It’s a point of pride they carry, that their Mother’s sunny disposition, kind nature, and astute healing practices made her far more of a matriarch than their Father liked. No one likes staying at an Inn with an owner who has such a cruel gaze, where the owner’s wife and child are too afraid to show their faces.

No one likes staying at an Inn where the owner doesn’t even have a face, but, well, Spirit wouldn’t know anything about that. Why would they? They’ve had claws for a long, long time, claws that are strong enough to rip and tear, but that has nothing to do with this. Nothing happened.

It’s none of your business. Stop asking.

The shopkeep smiles.

“Ah, Mooncakes,” she says. “It’s been a few months since the New Years celebration, but people are still coming around looking for them. I make a batch every other day just in case. Lucky for you, today’s the fresh batch!”

She turns away to the back, and Spirit lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Miss.”

“Call me Almond,” Almond calls from the back.

Spirit smiles. “Thank you, Miss Almond.”

They only ask for a few, maybe three, but after they pay and leave they find nearly ten in the bag they’ve been given. They idly chew on one, and almost stop in the street as the rush of nostalgia is accompanied by the taste of an expertly baked mooncake.

Watching the fireworks with Mom, bright lights up in the sky, sharing a mooncake with someone who cared, being carried home, half asleep under the stars and wanting to be nowhere else but where they were then, because the only place that was home was her arms because they were warm and safe and now they’re….

They blink back a couple tears and continue to chew.

They walk around aimlessly for a while, and eventually climb up a random building to sit on its ledge, letting the wind brush through their fur as they chew on their second mooncake.

They wonder if Red would share one with them, if they asked. They never stayed around long enough to share one with him on New Years. They almost pull out their cell phone and text him, but…well.

Red hasn’t been close for a long time. A rift was made because Spirit failed him, and they’ve always been a coward, too afraid to reach across the gap where something safe and special used to be.

They put their phone away.

A token buzzes in their pocket.

They dig into their pocket, pulling out the proper token.

Oh. It’s Spider Queen!

Spirit hasn’t heard from her in a long while, but they’re always happy to help, so they let the token whisk them to where they need to be.

They can hear the rush of cars overhead when they appear in what they assume is the sewers. Eerie green pods of something litter the walls and ground, and there’s a fair smattering of purple grey spider webs that lighten the dark stones.

“Spirit!”

They turn, and see the Spider Queen just a foot or so away, bathed in green light from a crater shaped pool that has a green, bubbling liquid boiling within. She’s grinning wide at them, and Spirit will say that, for a demon lost for half a millennium (that’s most demons, to be fair. They all disappeared when the Demon Bull King did. After all, if Monkey King could do that to someone, what would he do to them, the weaker ones?), she looks just as much of a threat as she did the last time they saw her.

They bow.

“Hello, Miss Queen,” they greet, and, after glancing back at the bag gripped tightly in their hand, they say “Would you like a mooncake?”

Spider Queen stares, for a moment, and then laughs. “Ha! My, aren’t you sweet?”

The sound of Spider Queen’s mechanical spider legs sends a shiver down Spirit’s spine, but Spirit has never minded spiders all that much. As long as bugs stay away from them, in the sense that they don’t crawl onto them, Spirit leaves them be. Spider Queen is more than just a bug, they suppose, and therein lies the danger.

They stand up, reach into their bag, and pull out a mooncake.

“This is just the thing I needed!” Spider Queen plucks the mooncake from Spirit’s hand. “You would not believe the day I just had!”

She takes a bite and Mmms at the taste while Spirit fidgets silently.

“You know, I had my favorite meal taken from me, but this might be the next best thing.”

Spider Queen is a lot like Macaque, in the sense that they both talk a lot and Spirit never knows what to say in reply. There’s a lot of bragging, grandiose statements and plotting, and then eventually an expectation of a response. Spirit is never good at responses, though.

Then again, Spider Queen likes to hear herself talk a little more than she cares for a response. She’s easier to handle, in that sense. Macaque is harder.

“Would you mind giving me a buff, sweetheart? As a favor. I’ve got a bigger task for you, and it requires a bigger explanation. Why waste the time, right?” Spider Queen holds out one of her mechanical spider legs.

“Right,” Spirit replies with a small smile. “Of course.”

Lucky that they keep the polish for this sort of stuff on hand. They pull it out with a rag and start to polish the metal, working out old scratches and making them disappear until the surface glitters like new.

“This town has become a hotbed of activity since ol’ Demon Bull King jumped out from the netherworld,” She starts, talking as Spirit works. “I thought I’d sneak in and see what the fuss was about, maybe grab a meal or two. It has been ages since the Spider Queen has ruled, and now that we’re allowed to play, I’m planning on rebuilding my empire! The monkey boy came in and stole my meal, but he left behind a little piece of himself that I can use.”

She chuckles darkly at that notion.

“Monkey Boy?” Spirit inquires, moving onto the second leg.

“Ugh,” Spider Queen growls under her breath. “Monkey King’s newest pet project. He comes tearing in, stealing my perfectly good dinner, that little—” She cuts herself off.

Spirit hands her another mooncake. She makes a motion with it in the air, huffing indignantly before continuing. “His hair is enough to give my venom the kick it needs, but I don’t have the minions I used to. I need tech.”

Spirit starts on the fourth leg. The position they have to be to buff is uncomfortable, a strain on their back, but to complain would be stupid, so they deal with the pain.

“That’s where you come in, dear,” Spider Queen turns to them.

Spirit glances up.

“You’re good at getting information, and you probably understand this modern stuff better than I do.” She waves a hand, almost dismissive. “I need someone to build me some spider robots to transport the venom. You don’t need to worry about the transport, I’ve got Huntsman for that, but they don’t know what to look for.”

Spirit worked on finishing the fourth leg while they respond. “Of course, Miss Queen. Does it matter if they’re a demon or not?” They like to know specifics.

“Pfft—no self respecting demon knows anything about these new fangled devices! We thrive off of power and magic, not tech like phones! Those are things humans use as a crutch,” Spider Queen rolls her eyes, huffing.

“...Right,” Spirit replies, pointedly not getting offended on Red’s behalf.

It’s okay. She doesn’t know she’s being rude. Spirit stands up, having finished with buffing Spider Queen’s armory.

“I’ll get on it right away, Miss Queen. Anything else?” Spirit finds that being polite does wonders, and Spider Queen likes it when she’s called a Queen.

“Nope! I’m gonna relax. Good luck!” Spider Queen’s legs sound with metal clicks as she leaves, waving as she does so.

Spirit waits until they’re sure Spider Queen is far enough away for them to relax. They turn, walking toward where they can hear open rushing water. The sewers are essentially a river, and all rivers lead to the sea eventually. Macaque taught them that.

It takes them around an hour to walk to the end of the sewers, climbing out of the pipe and sitting atop it.

They’re just a few hundred yards away from the city’s docks. They dangle their feet over the edge of the pipe and watch the rushing sewer water drain out into the sea.

They pull out their phone.

Red Son would likely know how to work robotics, but they’re supposed to find a human. Plus, they don’t want to involve Red in this sort of stuff. They can probably ask Mei. She doesn’t know about their favor business, so she won’t be any the wiser, and she won’t feel guilty! It’s the perfect plan.

‘Mei.

Hello! It’s Spirit. I was wondering about the technology of the city. It is very advanced. How was it constructed? Who keeps it running?

Let me know if you know!

Spirit’

That should be inconspicuous enough to get Mei to start discussing things. They don’t like dancing around subjects, but they don’t think this is the sort of thing they can just tell Mei about. Mei is the type to have more of a moral backbone than Spirit does. Spirit has their rules, of course, their lines in the sand, but they do most anything regardless of consequence. What is good, what is bad; they don’t have the power to deliberate on that sort of thing.

If they were powerful enough that no one could hurt them, they would choose good, of course. They don’t enjoy most of the work they do, they don’t find satisfaction in it besides the comfort of knowing that they’re a little safer, but it’s necessary. They don’t have the luxury of knowing powerful people to protect them. They don’t have anyone who would.

So they protect themself, somehow. It works.

They pocket their phone, and head back towards the city.

They take a detour to the forest, because being in the sewers did nothing to keep them clean. There’s a stream a few miles out of town that’s perfect for washing in, though, so that’s where they end up, carefully scrubbing the scent out of their clothes and fur and sunbathing on a rock. They sprawl across it, back curved as their head hangs off one end and their feet and tail the other. They have to bend their legs a bit, because the rock isn’t tall enough to keep every part of them off of the ground, but it’s mostly comfortable.

Just for a few hours, they let themself rest, polishing off the last few mooncakes as their fur and outfit dry.

They end up falling asleep and wake up as stars dot the sky. The more they stare, the more their vision becomes unfocused, so that the lights triple in number. It’s fun, sometimes, to have lopsided eyes. It creates an interesting view.

They stretch, grabbing their now dry clothes and putting them on. They’ll take a leisurely walk back to the city, maybe pick up breakfast. Maybe. They already ate something this week, and it’s not like they need much. Why waste the money if it’s for something unnecessary.

Then again, Comes a voice that sounds a little bit like Macaque, a little bit like Father, and mostly like a part of themself they prefer to ignore; Were the mooncakes necessary?

Spirit doesn’t have an answer to that.

An hour’s walk gives them plenty of time to introspect, but Spirit prefers to avoid that. Their mind is a winding road paved back centuries, but while it started with lovingly placed bricks somewhere along the way the materials were left shattered. Glass and broken stone leaves feet bloody and pained, and you can’t go around, only through. So Spirit chooses neither, and leaves the rest of the road to be forgotten.

The road they’re on now, the present, is made with a mosaic of materials they managed to cobble together, after everything broke. It’s bumpy, there are cracks in the pavement, and you have to be careful. Spirit is always careful, though; they’ve had the practice.

The issue with being so, so careful is that leaving behind the earliest stretches of road means they remember little of their childhood. Spirit would never say it aloud, but they don’t remember their mother’s face. To find that picture would mean flipping through the bloody pages of their photo album, and Spirit is, at the end of it all, a coward.

That’s enough thought for now. We have to move things along.

Spirit thinks they can have a leisurely morning, but yet another token buzzes in their pocket, much to their chagrin. Spirit wouldn’t say it, but sometimes it’s exhausting to be at everyone’s beck and call. They signed up for it, however, they’ve no room to complain.

Reaching into their pocket, they pull out Yin and Jin’s token. They frown, if only because Yin and Jin call them the most frequently and, often, the favors they’re called for are mundane and silly.

Though, compared to the harder, less moral favors, they find these preferable.

They consider letting the token ring. They’ve done that before. Yin and Jin have so many favors put down that they get a little cavalier with how they interact with the pair. The two used Spirit a lot before they knew how the system worked and realized using them as a crutch was a bad idea.

Apparently owing Spirit something is a bad thing. Spirit can’t imagine why.

They sigh. As much as Yin and Jin are long-time clients, that’s no excuse for being late or lazy. They take a deep breath, and let the token whisk them away.

They arrive within the city, at the front step of a hideout. Spirit recognizes the alley once they swivel their head around. It’s a fair few miles in the middle of the city, where a lot of nooks and crannies lie between the bustling streets. Perfect for hiding. It’s not too far from the main road that it would be invisible, though Spirit isn’t sure if that’s because Yin and Jin want to be near the main road or if they just didn’t think about it. With their general intelligence, it’s 50/50.

They step inside, posture straight. All business.

“Hello,” they greet.

Inside is a rather sparse dwelling. There’s what appears to be an unused kitchen off to the right of the main room. Said room is a large expanse, and a dirty one at that. At the back of it is a board, covered in pins and string, tying threads together in myriad ways that Spirit can’t quite decipher. They see Mei up there. A picture of Pigsy. The rest are unrecognizable.

“Hey!” Yin calls.

Spirit’s gaze drops down to them. They’ve been taller than the two for centuries.

“Got a favor for ya,” Jin continues.

“I assumed,” Spirit replies. “What do you need me to do?

Red eyes squint with twin sharp-toothed grins, and they pull out a large book.

“Well you see,” Yin starts.

“We wanna go after the Monkie Kid, yeah?” Jin continues.

“So we made a plan,” Yin finishes.

They open the book, straight to the middle, and on the page are...two steps illustrated. Pretty self explanatory, in the sense that Spirit can tell that they want to use some sort of artifact to trap the Monkey King’s successor.

“So, we figured, Calabash,” Jin points to the first picture. “We capture him in it, keep ‘im in there, right?”

“Right,” Yin agrees.

They look to Spirit.

“Right?” Spirit says.

They both nod.

“The thing is,” Jin moves on, which Spirit appreciates because they don’t know where this conversation is going, “The calabash is uh, in a museum.”

“It’s old,” Yin supplies.

“You want me to retrieve it for you?” Spirit parses out.

Yin and Jin smile again, all teeth. It used to be intimidating, but, well, Spirit is older, and smarter.

Spirit is scared of everyone, but there’s a certain safety that comes with knowing that when push comes to shove, they just need to kill one to incapacitate the other. They’ve seen the two when one is absent without cause. They can use that, if needed. Not that they would, but they could. That makes them safe.

“Now you got it,” Jin crosses his arms over his chest.

“Sound good?” Yin asks.

“Do I have a time limit?” Spirit likes to know the conditions.

They’re already working on one favor, and if they have to worry about the time limit of another favor, then they have to balance things. Not that they do much else when not working on favors, but still. They like to be a little organized.

“We’re gonna order from the restaurant the kid works at in a week or two,” Yin explains.

Spirit nods. That gives them time. They have a phone now, too, and Mei taught them how to search stuff on it, so they can look up the museum once they’re out.

“Okay,” They respond. “Anything else?”

Yin and Jin glance at each other. They have this way of communicating without words, and Spirit finds it kind of cool. There’s a twitch of an eyebrow on one face, a small mouth movement on the other. Their expressions don’t really change, just shift a little.

“Nah, we’re good,” Yin waves them off.

Spirit nods and vanishes without a farewell.

All in all, they don’t dislike Yin and Jin. Sure, the two are loud and rambunctious, but so is Red, and Spirit could never dislike Red. In a way, they’re almost jealous of the pair. They have each other. They have someone who will never leave, who could never leave. Inseparable, two against the world.

One is the loneliest number, and maybe Spirit is just a little jealous to know a Yin who isn’t always alone.

As they head off, scaling the wall and choosing to traverse the city over rooftops, they get a text. It’s from Mei, a response to their earlier query. Spirit stops, tail swishing back and forth as they perch on the edge of a roof, toes curled over the edge to grip it as they squat, leaning down to read the text.

‘hey spirit!

the city is the sum of hundreds of years of advancement, with tens of hundreds of programmers and hardware engineers building it up! ive been looking up a lot of them as inspo for my work in tech.

i like this one programmer, syntax. hes a mystery, theres only one public picture of him, but hes responsible for most of the tech in the city! he was the leading programmer for the weather tower and has a bunch of patents he makes money off. total recluse lol no one knows where he could even live near! ive always wanted to meet him. lemme send you some articles!!!!!’

Interspersed between the sentences are a deluge of emojis. A lot of green hearts, a couple dragons, some rain clouds when mentioning the weather tower. Beneath the text are a few articles. Spirit squints. They think they press their finger on those.

Sure enough, pressing their finger on the article pulls it up in a...they think Mei called it a web browser? They should ask her next time they’re called over.

Or...well, Mei doesn’t know it, but they’re doing Spirit a favor, giving them this information, and if there’s anything Spirit fears, it’s being in someone’s debt. She doesn’t know, but she could find out, and if she did, she could use them, she could hurt them—

Well, Mei doesn’t seem the type, but one never knows.

‘Mei.

Thanks. I’ll read them soon. Hey, do you want to meet someplace? I know your mother was not thrilled at my offer to teach you swordfighting, but I am still willing to. As long as we meet away from your house. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble.

Let me know!

Spirit.’

That should even things out. A good lesson or two, maybe more. Spirit would prefer to do more than less when repaying a debt, just to be sure.

They start to peruse the different articles. The only public image they have of this programmer is striking. He’s got eccentric hair and a small mustache. He frowns at the camera, clearly displeased with having his picture taken, a pristine lab coat on and a pair of bright green glasses adorning his face. There’s a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place as the picture is taken.

The only known thing that he does is go to a specific coffee shop. Evidently, anytime he goes, the cameras in the area including phones stop working, thus contributing to the lack of photos. People like to chat about him, simply because of the mystery of it.

They get a text back from Mei.

‘sounds great! i know a place. text u the deets later! <3’

Spirit smiles.

They decide to stake out the coffee shop this Syntax goes to. It’s toward the outskirts of the city, small, with a reputation for using specially designed and grown beans that no one else can replicate. Supposedly. It keeps a low profile, as well as a very high end coffee shop can, but most people are priced out of it anyway. From what Spirit read from reviews, a lot of people would get this coffee as a treat, something to save up for as a present on a weekend. It’s a large place, and people often go to sit and relax for a while with their drink.

Syntax, evidently, goes there up to five times a week, to the point that his drink is memorized by everyone who works there. He pays in cash, to avoid any trace that he was there, and then disappears. People say he avoids being followed.

People, though. Mortals. They can’t see souls the way Spirit can.

They catch him on day two of their stakeout, and they sit, waiting, as he orders. Cash is exchanged, and he walks away. No one tries to follow him, but Spirit must, so they will.

They blink, and the world bursts into different colors. Souls of all different shades, constantly interacting with one another. Syntax’s soul is a neon green, with lavender lines within that resemble code. The soul takes on the whole of the person, after all. People more powerful can have souls that show it. Spirit likes that. They like knowing that they can always check if people are lying.

They follow, and soon realize why Syntax is so hard to follow. Every turn and twist he sends out a...well, he can’t make clones, but they’re digital recreations of himself that continue walking in a different direction than the real Syntax is. They’re near perfect, able to fool anyone who just saw them as is, but they don’t have souls.

So Spirit follows the soul.

It’s a good hour walk, not that Syntax walks all the way. Once he’s out of the main city area, he hops into a hover car that seems like a personal project (if the paint job is anything to say about it) and blasts off. Spirit follows the trail, far enough behind that they can’t see Syntax but close enough that they can catch his colors in their eye.

It’s a good twenty minutes before they reach Syntax’s house. It looks like a fortress, a large mansion gated and hidden. Spirit takes a picture, grabs Spider Queen’s token, and disappears.

They were just told to locate him, after all. They prefer that. As much as Spirit is good at their job, they don’t like the thought of having to kidnap anyone, because the person would likely scream, or cry, or beg, and Spirit would have to see that.

It’s easier if they don’t see it. They already know it isn’t right, they don’t need the painful reminder.

Spider Queen’s lair is as dark and damp as they remember, with the added addition of an expansion of the green pool of bubbling liquid. It has spread to little pods scattered about the place, glowing ominously with newfound energy.

“Miss Queen?” They call.

Green eyes blink from the dark, and Spirit stays very still as she comes into view.

“Back so soon?” Spider Queen leans back on her mech, grinning like...what was the phrase Spirit had heard. Like a cat who had caught the canary? That’s it.

Spirit doesn’t know why it has to be a canary. Cats eat plenty of birds. And mice! Odd.

“I have what you want,” Spirit replies, keeping it short and to the point. “He’s an engineer and a programmer, and a recluse, so people probably won’t notice if he goes missing. I have a picture of his house, and I can take you to it if you want, bu_t”

“That won’t be necessary,” Spider Queen waves a hand. She clears her throat with intention, and Spirit tilts their head to the side as another figure comes out from the shadows.

“My Queen,” Huntsman’s voice is as gravelly as ever, and he bows a little in greeting.

Spirit gives him a small wave. He rolls his eyes at them.

Fair enough.

“I need you to hunt down this human. He’s important to my debut as Queen of the world! Spirit here has the details.”

Spider Queen gestures to them, and Spirit jumps a little as the weight of seemingly eyes all fall upon them.

“O-oh!” They fumble to pull out their phone. “I have-uh-I have a photo of his house, so you can use that, and, uh—”

They look down, and Huntsman is suddenly very, very close to them. They take a wary step back.

He sniffs them.

“Were you just there?” He asks.

Spirit slowly nods, holding out their phone so Huntsman can see the picture of Syntax’s house. He glances down at it, and then after scanning it over, nods decisively.

“I’ll have him here by tomorrow,” he promises.

“He-uh-!” Spirit raises a hand, pressing their fingers to their mouth in apprehension. “His house looks very high tech. There’ll uh-there’ll probably be, um, defenses.”

They haven’t talked to Huntsman or Goliath much, in the centuries they’ve been around to help Spider Queen with different things, but Huntsman gave them a knife once. Said it was because they looked pathetic without a way to defend themself. They didn’t want to tell him that they already had a weapon, so they kept the knife. He got them one with a purple grip, even! It was a nice gesture, and Spirit would like Huntsman to stay alive.

Not that they ever really want anyone dead, but they know it’s often an eventuality, and saving every person, wanting to keep every person they know around is hard, and will only lead to pain. They know from experience. Besides, they’re pretty sure no one would do anything to keep them alive. If a tool breaks you can always get a new one, so Spirit is expendable, and expendable means that you can’t be expected to be kept safe. They know from experience. But they like certain hands that wield them over others, so they’d like those ones to remain, at least.

Huntsman grins, at that.

“I love it when they fights back,” he almost purrs before skittering off.

Spirit watches him leave, head tilted to the side. They suppose it makes sense that he likes hunting, considering his name is Huntsman. They wonder if his name was because of his type or his profession. Or maybe his type dictated his profession? Then again, there isn’t such a spider type as queen, so that’s a little silly to think about.

“Thank you, dear,” Spider Queen says, jerking Spirit out of their thoughts.

Spirit bows. “Of course, Miss Queen.”

When they stand up, there’s a bag of money—smaller than the one Macaque gave them, but hefty nonetheless—being offered to them.

“You’re too skinny,” Spider Queen says. “I can’t have a servant of mine looking half starved! Do something about it.”

Spirit blinks. They didn’t think they were too skinny. Sure, they could feel their ribs easily, but that's nice, because whenever they break their ribs they can figure out which one super fast. It’s useful. They don’t want to disappoint Spider Queen, though, and while she didn’t say it was a favor she is giving Spirit money, so they might as well get something to eat as a job well done gift.

They ignore how that thought makes their stomach squirm. How they feel about the jobs they are given does not matter. It never has.

“Of course,” They repeat, taking the bag. With another bow, they leave.

Thankfully, this trip hasn’t ruined their clothes, so they don’t need to wash them. They leave through a manhole cover in an alley, and when they peek their head out to see where they are, Bitter Sweets stares them down from across the street.

Well, at least they know they’ll like something from the shop, right?

The bell above the door rings in their ears long after the sound leaves the room, and Almond comes in with a smile that is slowly becoming familiar. It’s almost motherly, but Spirit wouldn’t say that, because if they did they’d have to run. Run before the motherly figure burns to dust, disappears for the sole reason of being motherly to them, of all people.

So for now, they say it is kind, and warm, and comforting.

“Spirit!” she grins up at them.

Spirit smiles hesitantly back.

“More mooncakes?” Almond prompts.

“Yes,” They nod, toes curling in excitement.

Nostalgia hurts a little, but it’s nice, too. “And—” they start, because Almond is kind, and open, and soft and Spirit can be brave a little. “Maybe, um, you could recommend some stuff? I-uh,” They rub the back of their neck sheepishly. “I don’t know the names of most of this.”

They gesture to the display case lamely.

Almond’s smile somehow gets softer, and her eyes light up with excitement. Spirit’s tail swishes back and forth with a calm joy from making someone happy.

“Of course,” Almond replies.

Getting the Calabash is, unsurprisingly, boring. Stealing an item is much easier than tracking a person. One quick search and they find it in a museum, nestled near the center of the city. Sneaking in is easy, because while they are tall, they’re quiet, flexible, and smart. That, and the people here are very lax in security. Being so used to peacetime makes people complacent. In a way, Spirit is relieved that they have known conflict most of their life. It keeps them sharp.

They don’t know what to do in peacetime. There’s always something to do, a job to accomplish. A fight to help with. What else can they do?

The only thing that gives them pause is the existence of two Calabashes. One, older and far larger, is stated as the original. Evidently, using a mix of demon magic and more modern technology, a new one was made, one that aimed to capture rather than kill.

Yin and Jin never specified which one they wanted. If Spirit was to guess, they know the pair would want the original. The one that melts whoever is trapped within. The one that kills.

Spirit doesn’t kill children. And they don’t know the Monkey King’s successor, but he’s a child. Younger than they are.

Are they a child? Were they ever?

So they hedge their bets on the idea that Yin and Jin won’t notice the difference, and pick the newer, kinder one.

The pair does not notice. They’re a bit scatterbrained like that. Or maybe they don’t care.

Once the Calabash is secured and delivered, Spirit sits atop a random building, chewing on leftover pastries from their last visit to Almond’s bakery. The sunset is looking awfully nice, but Spirit thinks that the charm is lost once you lose someone to watch them with, so they pull out their phone.

In the news section, there is a small article about Syntax abandoning his favorite coffee shop. The article supposes that he picked another spot to get his caffeinated beverages. There are thousands of comments speculating, wondering where he could have gone.

Spirit knows the truth. The weight of that, the guilt, sits at the bottom of their stomach like a stone.

But there’s a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand stones sitting there, and they’ve been dragging Spirit down for a long time. One more isn’t going to change much, isn’t going to drag them deeper down than they already are. They’ve been drowning for centuries. Drowning, mouth clenched shut, holding in their final breath, as if the moment they let it go they’d finally succumb to the suffocation pressing against them on all sides.

When they were younger, they’d claw to the surface, take a breath or two, before another stone weighed them lower. The sunlight doesn’t reach them, with how deep they are now. Nothing does, because Spirit is alone. That’s what happens when you hurt everyone around you, isn’t it?

One of these days, they were going to let go. One of these days, they’d open their mouth, and finally they would be able to scream.

Sometimes all Spirit wants to do is let go, scream, and drown.

They look at the sunset. It’s looking awfully nice, don’t you think?

#kitkat1003 #Yin Spirit #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #monkie kid oc

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