#..controlled by something else/ guided toward Violence. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comfortless · 11 months ago

Text

Only Other

chapter two of three.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of violence & gore, more groping, allusions to abduction, dubious consent to a nonsexual genital inspection, animal death, minor character death, masturbation.

wc: 10.6k.

<- previous.

Everything feels unsound, a thicket of heavy vine curling it’s way up from the dirt to settle over you, in your belly, hair, anywhere. Sharp thorns and sap so thick you could drown.

Gaius is here, again, poised with his arms folded over his chest. You swallow thickly after you ask him to repeat what he’s just said. Something about eyes and ears between every crevice, beneath every board. He had a litany of reasons to believe you were not the sweet little maiden he had promised a halfway decent life to.

Careful as you thought you were, sneaking past the gate to roll in moonlight with the giant men of myth and smell the beasts and their pelts past the wall… The following morning had been the downfall of bliss. People take note when wolves begin to sniff around their cattle, and it’s no surprise that König was noted doing just that when he brought you back here on his horse with some sort of bloated pride when he named you his ‘Göttin’.

“Disrobe,” Gaius commands for the second time. The voice that comes from cracked lips and weathered jowls never falters: always so self-assured, stern, and where it may have sparked an interest in you from anyone else, here… it only feels vile. He’s the embodiment of the city itself: worn, cracking, splintered filth, left alone to wind and twist out of control.

You imagine he must have taken up the demeanor during his days as a centurion, but your head clouds when you try to recall the many times he’s monologued those times to you. Like his proposal, the dowry and arrangements, all of it feels blurry in your mind. You lose yourself to it when the strap is slipped down your shoulder, your body goading you do as asked for the sake of fewer future headaches.

There are no lemures looming over your shoulders these days, they only guide his hand, his voice. They haunt you in the shape of Gaius, an old hawk that screeches the commands you’ve no place to refuse.

The stola drops to your ankles with a dreadfully slow sweep, a century passed in a bolt of lightning. It pools down at your feet in a river of white. Graciously, Gaius doesn’t prompt you to remove the breast band where the truth of your bout lies embedded in little bruises, the mark of teeth scraped right by your areola in a rolling fit of passion.

Your betrothed boxes you in against the bench until the backs of your knees meet the wood, guides you down with weighty palms until you’re seated: feet pressed onto the seat, knees brought back toward your chest. In earnest, your stomach froths with a displeasure and embarrassment, but this is not the first time that the man had taken to inspect your pussy as if it’s your only worth in the world.

Whichever malady he possesses to make him like this… you could only hope that König did not have it. This weak, old soldier would be nothing short of a toothless dog should your bull take to charge him.

What was a dull glimmer of longing for his safety immediately sours to a wish for his goring when those cold fingers tug your loincloth aside and you’re laid bare for him right there on the bench.

The old creep inspects your cunt as though he were a medicinal woman. His fingers part your parched labia, not so much as a dewdrop of arousal there— completely unlike how your body had only seemed to melt and sing its pleas for König. He doesn’t whisper his pleasures in Latin about how pretty it is down there, doesn’t capture your mouth in a kiss that scorches you right through, only probes and prods at your slit to see if there’s any give.

Of course there isn’t.

It wouldn’t have mattered if you let the entire barbarian camp take their turns with you; you wouldn’t be any more blooming for Gaius. Men like him didn’t have the slightest idea of how to make a lady soft and dewing, they only thought that they did.

You knew with a certainty that this wasn’t normal by any stretch. After the first instance, asking the women nestled against their open windows, humming to sleeping infants curled on their chests only prompted sympathetic stares. “Have you no midwife?,” one had replied, face paled as she looked to you: the pitiable woman who had been inspected like a strange fish just for bartering with a man at his market stall for bread. Gaius had not found a thing then, and you had only begun to doubt his intelligence.

… Did he even know what a hymen was?

You will keep your secrets, and he will always play the fool. That’s just how peace would operate once you did share a roof with him.

“Well?,” you prompt, shifting a little in your seat when his cold fingers move to grip the plush of your parted thighs, examining closer with a low, raspy gasp.

A feint that earns no response.

Seemingly satisfied by a lack of a shimmering semen trail or whatever dullards like Gaius sought, he scowls and backs away, hands falling to his sides. There’s no bulge stirring beneath his toga, either. There’s an absence of anything that would make your relationship seem anything more than some strange transaction.

If anything at all, you have become a kept dove, clipped wings and cooing in a gilded cage. No more a wife than a pet or a pretty, glittering jewel. Something meant to waste away its days possessed.

You didn’t even know why he had chosen you, a lady with no gold, silk, or land to her name. Everything you owned he had given to you. Father, mother… whether or not you even had siblings, you were uncertain. Trying to remember only stirs up another aching in your head and you’ve had more than enough to worry about lately without the added sting,

“You’ve done no wrong.” It’s decided in a cold tone of voice. There’s a belief there, but only because the truth of the matter would make him look entirely the part of the fool that he seemed to play without notice.

“As I said.” You won’t run pleading to Juno for her forgiveness this time, or ever again. For the goddess of marriages and women to bless you with… this. Surely she never favored you very much at all.

You wouldn’t waste your bronze coins on fortune tellers anymore, either.

“Mind your words, girl.” He pats your cheek, feigning an affection that has never been present in this villa, in this city at all. You feel little more than like one of the slave girls— not whipped into submission, their plight was always far worse, but if you looked into their eyes for a moment too long, you knew you would find a part of yourself held there.

You nod your head and carry on puppeting yourself as you always have. Conversation comes stiffly as he wanders about your little home, noting what would need fixing before the night of your wedding, checking your food stores and even helping himself to a bone cup filled with wine. Even with it offered to your lips, speaking with him does not come any easier.

Finally, you utter the words that have nagged at the back of your throat since the day of his proposal, “Why do you want for us to be wed?”

The man pauses as he sets the cup aside, finger drumming at the rim momentarily as he regards you with an upturned brow.

“Your father’s dying wish was for us to be married.”

“Yes, but… who was he?”

“A great warrior.” That’s the only explanation you ever get, even when the confusion paves way to a simmering concern. How could you not remember your own kin? It seemed so unfathomable. Seeing so many large families walk these same streets as you… and yet you only had Gaius, hardly better company than a corpse.

“That’s all that you ever tell me.”

“… You will make a great wife.” He concludes the conversation, gives you a firm kiss on the cheek and leaves you to stew in the nothingness that haunts this place as though it were an ancient tomb.

Your days remain the same, nothing ever changing in your eternal cage that only grows ever-colder, more and more like a crypt.

Stitching, weaving, flowing. The animals needed tending, the marketplace was always bustling, and you’ve stopped listening to the poets. Their words only make you feel colder now.

You have met the things that lurk beyond these walls, and they do not speak of bubbling creeks and your gods; they soak their weapons in you, whisper like the trees and bellow like the mountains, ride their horses into battle without a scrap of armor on their hides. They don’t even fear the lemures or Jupiter’s lightning strikes. Maybe not even the changing seasons; harvests must be plentiful when your home isn’t surrounded by chalked clay and ivory.

You don’t turn to Juno any more, but you do turn to Mars. You pray not for the empire, but for his bastard.

Her altar had been tucked away to a corner of your room, replaced now by a stagnant cup of wine you dutifully purge and refill each night, a stray dagger you had acquired from a thieving child on the street, and a strip of red fabric torn away from an old tunic belonging to your betrothed.

When night comes and the weight of it all curls over your shoulders, you find yourself tugged down to the floor on your knees, whispering great fortune for that arrogant beast who had promised to take you to bed when next you meet. It always starts the same, your voice pleads to Mars, only to dither off to murmurings of a different name.

Though he remains distant, barking and bleeding out prey far from you, some semblance of him remains tucked between your ribs. A small echo, one that only seems to grow into a roar when your eyes close and you dream of wolves and their sharp-fanged promises, wisps of wind through low-hanging branches and not paved streets, dirt giving way beneath your feet.

He holds you in those dreams, whispers to you about your false gods when you stand over a stream, points out the only two in existence amidst the reflection with a curled finger.

In those dreams, you think you hear the voice of Mars, a fluttering leaf on the breeze detached from what he’s come to be: it tells you of thyme and rosemary, a foreign glade, of death and longing, and never does it breathe fire.

Then, you wake, ripped from the Elysian and back to wander Orcus with a heavier weight upon your soul.

— — —

Mars answers your prayers in the late autumn.

You do not wake to the sounds of horses or crackling fires outside, only something quieted and peaceful. The street beyond your window is silent as you stretch out to see what’s stirred you; not an animal or a man lies in wait, only the cool gloom of the moon tucked beneath clouds above.

Time only seems to pass more viciously these months. There’s a wedding to be had when the seasons changed; your yellow-red veil had been stitched with trembling fingers nicked several times over by needle, the lectus had been prepared and set on the first floor of the villa. The red cloth covering the modest couch seemed a threat in itself. You don’t hazard it a glance when you wander out of the door to take to the street tonight.

Dim moonlight does little to guide you, only making each shadow seem to stretch and warp in mocking, uninvited guests to set your shivering heart spinning.

There is just no time anymore, not here.

There, sits an owl atop a roof. Its dark wings stretched out as if to begin another flight, to coo its retribution to the sleeping city. You don’t dare to attempt to capture it, there would be no ritual tonight and no care if some harbinger brought doom to this place. It regards you with shimmering yellow eyes, and you think, for just a moment that you see the same feral look in them that you saw in your warrior. The bird wasn’t always the omen that others may claim, sometimes it’s only a sign.

The son of Mars has returned, his horse is waiting to take you upon its broad back and carry you to the mountains and the sea.

The chill on the breeze only guides each step you take as you clamber through that chipping hole in the wall and flee to the field once again. Strangely enough, the air even feels different out here, colder still but devoid of the shadows that climb and crush. The soldiers usually stationed outside the wall are not present now. You only reason that it was rare that they ever were, anyway, always too bathed in wine and kisses from flighty little women slaves to focus on the scape just beyond.

And there, further out from the opposite bank the stream, you see the glow of a fire.

It was strange to see the Goths had returned before your city’s own soldiers. Perhaps you had slept through their march, tucked away at some vast banquet filled with pillaged riches, the finest of wines and the most fresh of smoked meats before you had even begun to stir. Peculiar thing, being so accustomed to the rituals of men that for the most part you had learned not to even bat an eye. It mattered not, anyhow. What you sought was not another Roman to steal away your aspirations to take you as his woman.

Your pace is light and tentative, feeling the earth sink and mold around your bare soles. The thorns risen up from grass dare not poke you with their spines, the owls lurking in the trees do not chase or call, and the horses in the pastures seem at ease.

Even in a world bathed in black and silver, you feel golden, warmed from temple to ankle by that someone other lurking just beyond reach. The other gods could be condemned— it was Mars at your side all along.

The barbarian camp is in a similar state to when you had first seen it, just as you are with the ends of your gown drenched in water from the stream.

There are fewer to their numbers now. You count only three: two busied away with roasting meat over the fire, one running his blade over a flat stone at the mouth of his tent. You recognize them, somewhat, as you step closer, each just as imposing as the first with thick hair and wild eyes, but there’s no sign of König, not here in the open.

You’re stricken by fear immediately, clouding your head with doubt and worry: not for your own safety, but at the thought that your warrior was left to rot in the forests beyond, struck down by some other barbarian king.

You’re stood at the edge of the camp when your breath grows thin, pulse racing as your veins try in earnest not to burst with panic.

One of the men rises from the fire, gruffs something at you in his mother tongue, a deep rumbling like the rocks of old mountain and the timber of trees: like König. He stands before you, a wild mane of dyed hair atop his head, so deeply crimson and maroon you would even think it had been colored with blood from sheep or man, perhaps both.

He claps you on the back with a strong hand, the shove nearly enough to send your shivering form tumbling to the dirt, before you’re righted with a strong grip on your wrist. Then, he laughs.

“Come. König,” the man barks in his heavily accented voice, tugging at your wrist as if you were a mere calf to herd.

Your panic dulls somewhat, enough to wriggle out of his grip and shoot him a glare you had only previously reserved for your betrothed. Intent on playing the part of some strong yet benevolent noble woman it seemed, as you straighten yourself out and ignore the way that the mud and blades of grass stick right to the dirtied hem of your loose robe.

“He is here?” You ask after a moment, feeling a bit misplaced as this other, less familiar giant stares down at you. His eyes are not blue, but gold when the light of the fire pit illuminated him.

This one does not understand as much as you had hoped, because he only murmurs more incomprehensible words and pushes your forward with a palm placed right between your shoulder blades.

You don’t trip, but you had half a mind to hiss at him then, until you realize he is only leading you towards that same ugly tent from before.

The pelts have been changed out, somewhat. There is less gray now and more brown, hides from deer and boar alike, taken from their months of travel. The maroon fabric remains, layered beneath in such a way that seems to make it only seem more alive and bleeding this time.

“Keep warm.” The man speaks up again, and there is no mistaking the amusement in his voice. Insulting, what he dared to insinuate with those two words, yet… there’s a cloud of fuzzy, warm excitement billowing up between your breasts all the same.

The flap of the tent is held up by your own trembling hand, elation tinged with an anxiety, a clustering song played without harmony in your very bones. Though, it settles so easily when the light of the moon mingles with the candles within the cradle of wool and leather.

König is sat, recognizable from his very being, laden with scars and coarse light fur, vast as he had always been. However, his face has changed. Gone is the bleeding shroud you had seen upon him before: the cloth has been tossed away on the mattress, revealing a face that both chills and heats you to the very base of your being.

His face is not unlike others you have seen, maybe upon gladiators a time or two once the helmets were discarded and the dancing with beasts and men alike had subsided. There are scars there, too, a broken face revealing a menagerie of pain from the bump upon his nose to the chip in his tooth as he smiles. His eyelids are still smeared in darkened mud used to make him seem that much more sinister in battle, streaking down his cheeks not unlike the carmine that tended to use to paint your own.

Those eyes though… they stand out above all else, heart wrenching and sullen, and still, they rise to crease at the outer corners when his stare meets your own.

A man with more polish would have concealed the state of himself from a maiden; turned his face away and covered his nudity in the furs lining his mattress. You’re thankful that König is not like those men. His stare is as open as his body’s own articulation: he only lies back into the bed and beckons you near with a curl of his fingers to his calloused palm.

“I made offerings for you.” To you, but thankfully that phrasing doesn’t make its way out. You take your place on his mattress, carefully placing a palm over his chest just to feel— to touch, to be nearer to your god in some way. The time apart hasn’t been entirely cruel, but ‘kind’ would never suit it well either.

Your touch is answered by a heavy grip around your forearm, a gentle yet demanding tug that leaves you sprawled across him like some tiny animal gripping onto a tree: your head presses against his bare stomach, one hand tucked to your chest while the other is quickly pulled up to meet his mouth. König kisses you, right on your palm in some peculiar sort of reverence.

“Your blessing was enough.” You feel his mouth stretch, the brush of teeth against your flesh as he grins, something you’ve missed.

It’s a ruse; there are winding strips of fabric haphazardly tied over his chest, thick with the stench of iron. The blood is dried, but you could only imagine the state of the wound beneath it. Months upon months of travel with a chest wound… your heart crumbles, struck with worry then.

The seax sits intact, however, propped up against one of the wooden poles keeping the shelter in place. Even sheathed, you could assume with how dutifully the barbarian cared for his blade that it had been cleaned, sharpened and greased to keep rust at bay. Though the benevolence he had coaxed from you had not saved him, a part of you was almost pleased to see the weapon unscathed.

“You’re hurt,” you hear yourself say, far away, out amidst the turning leaves that surely watched him take a spear or a dagger, maybe even an arrow, toward his beating heart.

“Hm…? Men get hurt in battles, meine Göttin,” he says, so nonchalant, as though the fear of dying out amongst the trees and hungry animals did not exist for him at all. “You worry?”

You pull your hand away from him when he playfully nips at your fingertips; even wounded König seems more inclined to bite and make you squeal than settle into this expanse of fur to rest and heal.

Of course you’re worried, men fall to mere scrapes in time: grime coaxes its way in, wounds fester with an almost laughable ease, infection paves way for fever and…

“Take care of me…?” König’s voice comes soft, the softest you’ve heard. Gone now is that boyish, mocking lilt, replaced by something akin to trepidation. Fear for him does not come from the shouting of men with blades held high, but in small whispers begging for affection.

“Sure…”

The ruddy bandages are pried away from his chest by gentle hands, uncurled and left on the dirt floor to the side of the bed. The wound in his chest is not as severe as you had expected, a few centimeters deep, jagged as it curves upward… whoever had done this had not had the opportunity to properly pierce him before the offending weapon had been pried from their hands. Crushed. Followed by what you could only imagine was the attacker’s fretful shrieks when König advanced upon him.

Your fingers brush over the wound, gentle, as you inspect the blaze of red around its edges. There’s no clear indication of infection, but when a clay jar of honey is plucked from König’s belongings and brought to your hands, you dutifully dab the wound in its sweetness.

You tell him how it will heal, using the phrases you’ve only heard from the physicians about the city, failing to mention that you had not tended to someone like this before. He breathes his appreciation in a soft rumble when you wrap his chest in strips of cloth, tightening it comfortably just to tie at his side.

“Did you kill the man who did this?,” you ask once you’ve stripped yourself bare, shed your clothing to lie in a heap with the ruined bandages he had previously worn. Your body rests at his side, arm curled over his middle. A woman’s warmth was necessary to heal a warrior… perhaps it could remedy a forgotten god, too.

“All of them,” he hums into your hair, a whisper of a voice harboring words that should chill you to your very bones. König only appears pacified as he speaks, never minding his own madness, nor the blood caked beneath his fingernails.

You ask him what these men were like, who could have been capable of wounding a man as mighty as himself, and in turn he laughs. Surely, the gash must ache, but his voice never falters when he gathers you in two treelike limbs to pull your body ever-closer to his own.

He tells you that they were familiar, that your men in their dye red tunics held their spears and struck down some of his men but could not hope to best him.

He tells you of the cowardly ambush, how the warriors of your city turned upon his own with shouts and anger after a slave woman had been released. The way the woman spoke… as if she knew more about you than you ever had, how he could not bare to watch her suffer when she even resembled you in some ways: older, but still so very much like you. He had felt killing her captor to return her to the forest was the only way he could keep your favor.

While you listen in a stasis, stuck ridged against him as your mind drifts, pulls memory from the darker corners within your skull, he strokes at your shoulder, presses his nose right up to yours.

The man who had struck him was smaller… weaker, he had not survived König’s first blow, but… There’s a frothing madness in his eyes like the sky threatening storms when he tells you that he could not bear the thought of a man that would think to harm anyone like his goddess finding a way to return. His attacker was ripped limb from limb, body burned with the rest of those that followed his order.

You remain entirely silent, taking in this whispered tale as though it were breathed from the mouths of the gods themselves.

You never needed to pray to Mars, to Juno, to Vulcan…any of them. The embodiment of fear lies as a welcomed presence next to you, stroking along your back as though you were a mere kitten while he breathes this gory story against your lips. The smile returns when he finishes, pets at your jaw as if awaiting a reward for his perceived good deed… and you allow his madness to slip right past your teeth.

The touches brush over you like the featherlight breezes of the past spring, fingertips grazing from your waist to neck, nails leaving lightened stripes over the flesh he carefully claws at, gathering your skin, the meat from your bone, to roll between each pad of his digits. There’s further worship, a desperation to ensure that you are still here as he pants into your mouth, grips at your hip to pull you closer to where he aches the most.

There’s no pelt sprawled over his groin to hide himself from you, no thin linen to protect where he wishes to reach most. All you have is your words, and a thumb delicately rubbing over his bandage. When the kiss breaks, only then do you think to speak.

“When you’re better.”

The man makes his protests, gives his cock a few strokes as he hisses into your ear about promises, the horse, how long he’s dreamt and waited. You don’t need to be convinced, but now… your mind is riddled with what’s occurred in your months apart. Though the tension remains thick and wafting in the air between you, the physical could wait until you’re both sorted.

While you remained stuck and forlorn, struck by longing and misery, he had only found some semblance of meaning for all of what has eluded you, slayed every man who he could envision bringing you- anyone like you- harm, came back with another wound to fold over into a puffed scar.

You’ve only been waiting for your own sentencing.

Your warrior softens when your eyes begin to swim, fragile and overwhelmed as you’re tucked away beneath him. He only holds you, protective with an unwavering grip as the moon sweeps through the tent with its melancholic comfort that finally pulls the tears right from your eyes.

“Meine Göttin…,” he whispers against your temple, before you press your face into a broad shoulder, hiding tears and frail hiccuped sobs. “I prayed only to you.”

The words come barely audible, though they were never truly necessary.

You feel them in every touch, every hurried whisper as he coos his apologies in that keening voice, every kiss pressed over your warmed face when relaxation snares your limbs, and you do bloom further against him. The comfort and adoration is near staggering, taking you in and pulling you under, further below than even the rivers of your dreams and the ocean just out of reach could ever hope to.

As though this were the most natural thing…

The altars of your villa before were mere practice for the worship of lying next to your own deity; bastard son or Hercules, a wolf or a wild boar, none of it mattered.

He sighs, cups your face to kiss you just once more, something far more chaste than what you’ve come to know from him; the small peck to your lips holds more weight than the clatter of teeth and tongue from before. When you begin to drift off to a dream of a glade filled with nymphs where the trees breathe sap that tastes of honeysuckle, all bathed in the glow of starlight, you only feel the need to silently pray for one last thing: that he will never let you go.

— — —

It’s only on the seventh morning that you come to a realization over a breakfast of figs and water from the stream just below the hill— one that you haven’t been home. You feel at home enough here. The stuffy villa seems only a distant memory when you’re seated across from him, the giant who showers you in so much love it feels warmer than the great flames of Vulcan’s own fury.

No one has come to seek you out, either. Gaius had to have had an idea, should he have even bothered to search for you in that now desolate home. The few soldiers you have witnessed on their patrolling across the field never seem to turn an eye to the barbarian camp. You fill your pots with water, taking aid from König’s men, and never once have they turned to you.

Judgment always seemed so swift with all apart from destiny. You reason that this is surely what it must be, a destiny painted high above in the stars on nights where the mist does not curl up to conceal them from your gaze. You watch them sometimes, when König relaxes his grip in sleep: you turn to the outside of the tent to stare up at the expanse of stars and hear the stories of this nameless king from the mouths of the very men who have braved each storm with him.

They tell you in shattered language of stories you know with a certainty must not be entirely true. They range from talk of the hundred wives König supposedly had that he released all when he met you, of the temples built in his name all lined with gold and the names of jewels you had never once heard spoken, of how he had even slain your great god Jupiter… You have always listened with great amusement, wondering just how highly he must speak of you to have his men lie for him so brazenly.

Laughter follows you back to König’s tent each night, waiting to hear the cries of their king expending his love upon you that never come. You tend to his wound, observing its healing as the days come and go, and with each rebirth of the sun, his touch only seems to grow more imploring, his words sweeter than even the fruit held up in your palm.

In the haze of the morning sun spilling in from the parted flap of the tent, his eyes seem alight with an unnatural flame when he pulls you in to seat you upon one of his muscular thighs, far too rowdy for an injured man. You think not to refuse him when he laps at the juice from the fruit that has trickled down your chin.

“I love you.” He professes his devotion in that same pleading voice, an arm curled around your middle to keep you securely in place. Another thing that you never needed the words spoken to know.

You bring a fig up to his mouth, feed him with a kiss to his cheek and a whispered confession of your own. From the moment you saw him tending to his seax on the bank, your heart had become a howling, skittering animal in the cage of your ribs. You murmur words stolen from the poets against his jaw, about love and flowers, the mating dances of beasts and gods alike. With each word spun, he clutches you tighter, echoes them in his mother tongue.

The confession ends in a kiss that leaves you cloudy, aloft, a union of tongue and soft panting that leaves each nerve thrumming rapidly. The bowl of fruit slips from your lap, left to scatter over the ground forgotten.

König lowers you to lie back on the bed, teeth nipping and raking down along the column of your throat, over your pulse… back to your breasts that he caresses in two large palms.

“Not yet,” you remind him. His touch grows more insistent, thumbs pressed to your nipples to roll over them until your back arcs and your thighs tremble. “You’ll open your wound…”

“I am fine,” he huffs when he releases you from such delicious torture. “Let me…”

You can not bring yourself to tell him the true reasons as to why you can not. Not yet. You’re a mere stroll away from the city’s beckoning gates, from the place where you’re set to be wed only a fortnight from now. The mouth of Orcus that will drag you back in and keep you caged away from him… it would be too bittersweet to make your passions clear when your doom still imposes upon you with just a glance outside. If it ever comes… and you silently begged to any greater thing that it never would.

“When you’re healed… when you take me away from here,” you promise.

König listens in his own way. You see a flash of mischief when he separates from you with one final generous squeeze to your breast. This isn’t just the casual acceptance that comes with children being scolded, but an urgency to contend your words, a desire to prove himself buried in those shimmering eyes.

“Meine Göttin thinks that I am weak, hm?”

“That is not what I said.”

“I will show you.”

All at once, König rises from the mattress, casually shedding the bandage over his chest to discard it. You want to protest to whatever it is that he’s doing, but you knew very little of the minds of these men, their proclivities and desires, only that above all his intentions only seemed to be to prove himself worthy of worshiping at your feet, between your parted thighs…

As if to taunt you, the stiffened cock between his own legs bounces, drools when he stands. Your head spins as you force yourself to sit up and look into his eyes instead.

“What are you doing?,” you ask when he gathers his seax from the place he’s left it propped up, followed swiftly bu the pelt he usually donned around his middle with its leather straps and worn, gray fur.

“We will go on a hunt, hm? I will show you how…” He trails off with a grunt as he fastens the straps, finally conceals the pale, proud pillar when the fur comes to cover his groin. The seax follows as it’s tied to his narrow hip, the pommel glinting in low light as he approaches the opening of the tent and gestures for you to follow.

He should not be going on a hunt, and you… still did not even possess a weapon to aid in such an endeavor. Still, the thought of seeing him actually in the midst of a heated battle stills your breath for a moment, spurs you forward to follow along behind him.

The men around the camp speak with him for a time, prattling on in their mother tongue, gesturing out towards the trees with grins brimming with excitement. They all seem enticed by the prospect of felling some noble creature to drag back to their camp, make a true sacrifice for the goddess made mortal that lurks here. König dismisses them with a wave of his hand, clearly intent on being the only one to gift you such an offering.

He barks an order to the man that led you to his tent, and within moments this other man brings a Roman spear to your warrior, recognizable by its intricate engravings and barbed tip. König weighs it in his hands for a moment, glances back at you with a grin that simply screams his satisfaction of holding a trophy pried from the grip of one of your own detestable soldiers.

You follow after him through the dense forest bordering the clearing. The trees have long since shed their summer green, replaced instead by reds and golds, the dead falling to bathe the forest floor in bronze and brown. König walks slowly as to not cause too much sound to pass beneath the weight of his bulky body, encouraging you to do the same in a hushed demand with each crunching leaf beneath your soles.

Finally, he comes to a halt overlooking a small ridge that overlooks a small clearing. The brush and thickets rise high here, no doubt the birthing place of brambles and thorns, ground passive and untouched by all except the animals hiding within trees and bedded down in burrows. One still walks, awake and alert, a brilliant red stag with antlers more vast than even the horns of the bulls sent off to play war with the gladiators.

The creature is stationary, chewing cud with each movement of its dainty little jaw. It’s tail twitches, ears flicking on occasion when a bird swoops too close or the sound of a snapping twig out in the distance echoes through the forest. It’s a beautiful, delicate thing, but still strong and sturdy. The stag looks perfectly at peace here, not noting the wolf that watches over the ridge.

By the time that the deer does catch sight of König, it’s already too late. The arm holding the long spear is already pulled back and raised high. When the creature moves to resume its prance, the weapon is sent spiraling through the air, twisting and spinning in the absence of a breeze like a living thing until its point is found bedded in the stag's protruding belly.

The creature bleats in pain, writhes and kicks as it comes crashing down to a bed of brittle leaves that clamor beneath its weight. You close your eyes when you see the ground painted with blood from its seeping wound, and König begins to descend upon it. There are other sounds that follow, thudding blows in quick succession that leaves very little to your imagination; you’re only grateful he brought such a pretty thing a swift death.

You walk ahead of him on the way back to camp as he carries the animal’s corpse, politely telling him that if you look, you will not eat.

He gives his spoils to the other men once you’ve reached the camp again. They cheer, readying their blades to carve the creature up for a meal of venison and whatever amount of wine remains in their stores. The rations had been cut off since the others had failed to return, it wouldn’t be long until there was no wine left without one of them fetching work for coin within the city and purchasing it himself; still, König ensures that your cup is filled to the rim with it’s tart sweetness, grape with notes of something earthy, a mixture of thyme embedded into it to bless it with scent like a pomander.

You seat yourself in his lap, looking every part of a pretty earthen goddess as he presses his face to your bare shoulder, traces shapes into your hip while you sip from your cup. His men do not stare, either, regardless of your state of nudeness. There’s respect here, embedded into their flesh, their beliefs, and you only feel the part of a noblewoman when you take note of it. You are not just any man’s woman, but their leader’s most revered treasure.

The others pick apart your harvest of flesh, hang the skins to dry for further use, the antlers and bone left in a heap to be cleaned, then sharpened and carved. Your stare is appreciative as you watch them work away, never having seen this side of things from your modest villa. A fire is stoked when the usable meat is peeled away from what remains of the bones, ribs and femur, others that you could not hope to name.

“See?” König chimes as he takes hold of your hip, squishing you closer, tighter amidst the space of his palm. “Not weak..,” he hums into the hair at the back of your neck.

His touching grows more persistent, eager as the tips of his fingers graze your inner thigh; though appeased, you were not keen on the idea of straddling him before the eyes of his men as though you were only a breeding pair of foxes, screeching your passions into the forest for birds and bears to hear. When a throb resounds from his stroking, you wind yourself away to sit at his side instead, jaw resting on his knee and cup raised up to hide your breasts from his field of view.

“I did not say you were. Just hurt.”

He gives an impatient grunt in response, but allows you to linger in this new position, taking to stroke at your face and shoulders instead.

When the meat is cooked to their standards, still bloody and near raw to your own, the men chatter away between mouthfuls and thick swallows of their wine. You try to keep up, forcing yourself to commit some of their more common turns of phrase to mind— obvious yeses and nos, the way that they call one another, the names that would sound strange on your tongue but suit the others all the same. When your expression falls to confusion, König whispers translations into your ear; they’re discussing the Romans… what they will do if their rations are cut entirely, something about a deal struck before your interest summers and you resort to eating the venison you hood in silence.

It is not that you feel out of place, only lost. These men live in a separate world entirely: there is no talk of ironed out politics, organized festivities, of weddings an plotting for farmland. There is laughter here, even song when one of the trio seated across from you and König begins to bark out a loud chorus from a tune that your warrior so sweetly explains to you is about a woman who ventured out to elope with a cave-dwelling bear. Peculiar wild men that they were, you don’t even bother to question how that could ever possibly work.

When the afternoon sinks into the coziness of evening, you walk hand in hand with König back to his tent, and just as with any other night, there are cheerful, foreign goads and tedious little sounds elicited behind you. The wine had you peaceful for a time, but its haze has since passed. Your sheepishness is apparent at the implication, but the wolfish grin König shoots back at his men is anything but.

You know he expects to fulfill his promise entirely— make you his lover, wife, whatever he seems to see you as. That could not happen… as much as you thrum for him with each brush of his warm palm against your backside or upon your face, eternally gazing up at him with your dumb and doting stare.

To your credit: when his gaze crawls over you to take every bare expanse of flesh in, he only sees a beauty that he seemingly can not comprehend. The tells range from the tightening of his jaw, the twitch of each digit when they meet your skin, the way his nostrils glare and eyelids sag. His profession from earlier was anything except just that: it was a truth.

As he strips away his pelt and sets his blade aside, your hands rise to press against his shoulders, forbidding him to go any further than this simple reveal. And you speak true, explaining your exasperating engagement with the foul man who made certain you were spied upon, your distaste for your life within the walls itself, and lastly the marriage that would occur once the seasons did change.

Your eyes feel nothing short of pure liquid when you seat yourself upon his mattress for what you assume would be the very last time. Your voice tapers when you reveal that those very reasons were why you had come to him that night for the horse, why you came back even now.

König listens until your voice is reduced to a somber whisper, broken up by weak sniffles. The flirtation in his gaze is lost, and there’s no grin that splits apart his thin lips. You think that, if he asked you if you felt similarly to him then, that you would break down in full, but he doesn’t.

Instead he hisses something in his mother tongue, a singular word: “Scheiße.” Then, another laugh is coaxed from his throat, the dozenth that you must have heard this night alone. He seems fully unperturbed, unbothered when he descends upon you as if you were nothing more than the very deer he had slaughtered earlier.

“It is fine. Alles gut.” He covers your face in kisses, biting at your cheek when you squirm against him. “I can fight him, hm?”

Stupid… so terribly impulsive and cute. You sigh as if exasperated with him, but envelope him in your embrace anyway.

“I just want to be free of all of it,” you explain in a hushed voice.

“Then we will be free,” he confirms. We. No longer just yourself, and you almost bring yourself to ask if he has truly meant it before you're reminded of his declaration with a swift kiss that punches the air from your chest and leaves you shivering.

You hold him tighter still, fingers weaving into his hair to massage at his scalp and draw back in a tug when his head cocks to nip at your jaw. Again, always, he encompasses you, pulls you down into darkened water that warms and thumbs around you. You lose yourself more and more with each touch, thumb brushing over the pulse of your neck, teeth nipping at your clavicle, the brush of his groin as he rolls his hips to meet the plushness of your thigh.

You ache, cry when he guides your nipple into his mouth, languidly lapping over you until his salivating is evident over your tit. He only grows less patient the more vocal you become; one hand remains played to the side of your head while the other steadily slinks down past your naval, trails off to grasp at you hip and steer you closer before descending lower, where only his blade had dared venture before.

“I have dreamt of this, meine Göttin,” he purrs when he shifts his hips. His cock rests heavy over your thigh, weeping the sheerness of its own demand to paint your flesh. He guides your hand there to palm at his steadily growing arousal, curls your hand around his length and guides it up to stroke.

His chest rumbles his pleasure as he groans against your cheek; the sounds are somehow more surprising than the ones you had heard outside the brothels. Before König… never had you heard a man voice his pleasure, and though it may have been emasculating to some, it only makes you wet, there where his fingers reach to pet once he’s satisfied with the pace you’ve set as you pleasure him.

Your thumb grazed over the flushed tip, smearing the preejaculate that drools from it, his hips buck then. Your own sounds join his chorus when he ghosts a fingertip over the hood of your clit, buried his middle finger into your cunt. The entire ordeal is lazy, lazy as the slow kisses that connect your panting mouths.

With each twitch of your wrist as you milk his cock, you’re met with a finger probing deeper. At some point, one becomes two, a try for three before he draws back and realizes you’re too close to begin to take anymore.

“Tight..,” he appraises in a low voice, tongue lapping over your teeth as you writhe at his side.

You pick up pace at his praise, adoringly offering him your love with quickened sweeps of your hand, of your thumb over the weeping head, until he begins to throb in your hold. König mutters a curse against your jaw as he struggles to keep his hand steady then, bludgeoning you with his fingers, circling your clit until you begin to whine.

The heat builds within you so quickly you begin to see the night sky beneath your eyelids— an expanse of stars, of glowing blooms, and all at once the heat becomes too much. You curl into yourself, struggling to keep the demanding cock in your grip as you grind your hips down upon his hand to ride out your orgasm, bleary eyes and weakened by the intensity of it all you merely muffle your cries against his waiting mouth.

It takes no time at all for him to finish then, thick spurts of white seed paint up from your mound to your belly, coating your fingers in its stickiness. He hurts his teeth through it, intent on stifling the desperate little sounds building up in his throat, kisses you with even more fervor when you bless him with another tug to milk out every last viscous drop as it kicks and throbs in your hand.

He settles briefly, trailing kisses from your jaw to shoulder, then rises to part your legs with a strong grip around each thigh. For a moment, you almost think he’s prepared to fuck you proper, but the thought dissipates when he gathers his own seed over the head of his still hardened cock, settles it against your cunt, and grinds his seed against your salivating hole.

Your whine is clipped and almost pained when he brushes over your clit, hips rising to pull away when you feel the tickling burn of overstimulation. It doesn’t last; satisfied that he has left his spend close enough to your pussy that he may as well have laid claim to it, he crashes down over you, head pressed between your breasts.

König’s breath still comes in a pant while he huffs his affection for you: praises, those three wonderful words again and again. His tone is tender, reverent, as he tells you that he loves you… immediately following it with a stout and crude declaration of how roughly he will fuck you when the time does come.

“Do you mean what you said…?” You find your voice when he finally stops whispering the filth of his fantasies to you, when your cunt ceases its pleading for more. Right now… it would not be as special anyhow. Your fate still lies in the grasp of another, and as much as you wished for it to align in full with him, that simply was not so.

“Ja,” he answers immediately, no hesitation when he commits himself in full to you, the Roman woman who had tamed him down with her silly whims and ache for him. “I will take you to the mountains, the sea, …the stars if you ask.”

You comb your fingers through his hair, filled with mirth as he speaks of such impossibilities. There is no place in the stars for two misplaced lovers, but you don’t dare say that. The things that fill your imaginations would leave even the poets balking, scrambling for the words pretty enough to describe a love so peculiar.

— — —

You had not questioned why they remained, that was your folly.

You had never thought that you would even care should you see the city fall. Though… dread immediately strikes your heart with ice and silver when you’re bolted awake by the sound of shrill shrieks and loud crumbling. There’s a war just beyond the veil the tent provides: loud sounds of heavy feet, shouts, even the clash of metal upon metal if only for a single stuttering beat of your heart.

Vulcan has descended, rode right through on flaming steeds with flame rising from his open maw. You know it with a certainty without even approaching the opening to look. But you do. You do move away from the empty mattress, finding the space where König had slept against you, snoring softly and tugging you closer in your bliss, entirely devoid of any warmth. The air is warm, tinged with the heat of coursing flames, but the bed is cold, frigid like the fear that cinches at your heart and steals the breath from fluttering lungs.

There’s ash in the air, falling like the first snows of winter when you make your way out of the tent, coughing into your hand as it clasps over your mouth and nose. The air is so thick, noxious and darker than even the backdrop of velvety sable marking the horizon. Your eyes track the twisting, feathering pillars of flame as they rise even higher than the wall: a gold and red death.

Shadows scramble across the field— men, women, then the horses, the bulls, that come thundering past. The animals trample and shriek: broken bones, hooves driven through skulls to erupt into mush, leaving twitching, scorched corpses in their wake.

Fire billows up only to fall and rain down, back onto the murderous beasts in some abstract punishment. You watch the puppets writhe and squeal; perhaps your own cries join them, wailing and crying out as all you’ve come to know is engulfed, smothered, destroyed. What the fire does not take, the shattering structures do.

Amidst it all is glee.

There are shouts of men on horseback that come out as the victory roars of men amidst battle, yipping and howling as all is reduced to rubble around them. Your feet do not guide you toward the chaos, they do not bring you to peace either, only far— far as you can go.

The smell alone makes it worse than it ever appeared in your dreaming. Blood, oil, cinder and ash that plummets deep down into your stomach, pushing back up to purge what became of the deer. You feel how that creature must have: alone, terrified, certain that death was biting at your heels. If you had fur it would bristle, antlers would plow through the brush to carry you to safety, but… you do not. You’ve only the ability to gather yourself enough to fall. You descend down the hill in a painful roll as your legs give out beneath you.

You want to close your eyes, to sink into the stream and bid the fire away with desperation alone. When you lower to the grass to wretch, fingers digging into the earth, your gaze snaps back to the scene just beyond the stream.

You know, know dreadfully well that the people here that have managed to escape were hunted down in a veil of inky blackness. The ghouls of myth could not compare to this… This was very real, real as the scent of cooking meat and hair and wood.

And you watch and wait for the fire to burn out, for the animals to cease their rampage and fall back to a calm that never comes.

You stand to your feet, meekly trembling before the wrath and chaos, and you wait with splintering nails clawing at your thighs and unshed tears blurring your vision. There was always a price to pay for freedom, you had seen it time and time again in gladiator pits, monetary and dull, but never this…

And you know the price for yours was paid in fire and vengeance, promised before you ever even had the notion to disappear at all. There was always tension between the Goths and your people. This was bound to come about sooner or later, but the guilt of potentially being the catalyst to it all brings you back to your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring out into the abyss in silenced fear, but eventually all that fills the quiet is the dull roar of the fires still burning and the dull sounds of a horse’s trot growing nearer. Just across the bubbling little stream, untouched by the death beneath the full moon, is König atop his sable steed. The creature huffs just as König cocks his shrouded head, prompting you in his silence to say anything— deliver your blessing, your thanks, your kisses.

Yet, you can not bring yourself to deliver anything but a weak, anguished wail.

The stream is crossed before you’ve even the time to raise your head, limbs gathering you up to pull you against the broad chest of your god in the cruelest tenderness. You feel limp there, atop this frustrated horse, in the arms of the man who had sacked this city. They will come for him, kill him too… You will be alone with nothing and no one, and stupidly, you find yourself longing for the comfort of calling to Juno in that bedroom you would never see again. All of this just for pleading for the very horse you now perch upon.

He lets you cry as holds the reins in one hand and carries you away from this desolation. The horse walks further than you have ever even seen. The stream before the barbarian camp is not the only, there are orchards and glades and fields of tall grass even further beyond it. You take in the beauty as the city becomes a glimmering speck far behind you.

König only remains silent, stroking your back with his free hand, so lovingly and gentle you find it almost impossible to believe him capable of such cruelty. Your mind is tired, limbs weighty and chest aching from breathing in so much smoke. You do not even realize your exhaustion until you find yourself in a fitful sleep.

There are no dreams, no wonderful comforts, only slow breaths and pained whimpers.

When you do wake, the sun has risen in full.

You’re lying on your back amidst withering grass, a pelt thrown over your body and a figure sat at your side. There’s no longer the stench of smoke, no drab gray clouds hanging over your head. The air is light and tinged with the tartness of buckthorn. There are white, puffy clouds hanging up in the vast blue of the sky, and as you blink, a thumb moves to stroke at your cheek. Soft, so soft and even tentative when it rises to your temple.

“You should have slept longer.” König’s voice comes, not reprimanding, but in a gentle surge of breath. He sounds as exhausted as you still feel.

You’re angry… but you know not why. It feels performative, almost, when you shove his hand away. You want to wail for what you’ve lost, but that voice never comes. Gaius? A home you never liked? The lectus that would be used as a stand to consummate a marriage you had begged to avoid for months on end? What was lost?

“You are going to die.” Your whisper comes strained, tight and tinged with your own misery.

“You worry for me again?”

You shake your head at that, fierce as you turn on your side and away from him again. The dying grass digs into your flesh beneath the fur, scraping like claws, like König’s very touch.

“We are not going to die, little one,” he continues as he moves closer to you, trying to gather you up into his arms in an act of comfort. Your tension rigidly leaves you, though you try to force yourself to remain closed off, it does not happen. You mold against him when he lies at your back, hand splayed over your stomach.

“I never said we. Just you,” you huff. Your hand meets his wrist as his thumb begins to stroke at your naval. The desire to push him away again only dissolves when he winds out of your grip to take your hand into his own, forced lower to feel the cold earth and the warmth of each digit beneath your touch. “They will hunt you down.”

“Then I will die at your side.”

You don’t respond to that, finding his desire to further prove whatever this was entirely incomprehensible now. It is not endearing, you force your mind to reason. This man was more than just tedious at times, but dangerous to… To burn an entire city on a whim then curl against you like this… You whimper, keening and sorrowful as you squeeze your eyes shut— force the macabre thoughts out.

“You are like me,” König continues, a low rumble as he lowers his head to press his cheek to the side of your neck. Even amidst the chill of winter, he’s so warm, so soothing, enough to make you melt like wax from candles… perfumed by his own sweat and the ash he left in his wake, so earthy and lofty all the same. “Kleine Göttin…”

“No… I’m not.”

“You come from the mountain,” he urges with a kiss to your shoulder. His grip around you becomes more insistent with each muttered word, the pads of his fingers pressed further to dimple your skin. “The slave woman told me so.”

You didn’t know the woman he spoke of, you didn’t know anyone still living apart from himself and his men. You want to yell, to drill it into his very skull with your words, but even more than that, you want this comfort.

You want to feed him figs, allow his tongue to sip the wine from your own, and to fall asleep against him with his breath tickling at your scalp. More, to share the life with him you once promised to a deceased man buried in ash…

Truth be told you were not even sure of your standing, Roman or barbarian… Though you had never told him that, his resolute tone leads you to believe all of it. You had always longed to bathe in rivers rather than crowded bathhouses, to crest the tops of mountains and taste fresh honey on your tongue… The titan promises you all of those things and more with his tight hold and in a purred, breathy, “I love you.”

All that you could not prevent dissipates in a plume when you twist around to bury your face against that chest, curl your fingers into his hair and breathe out your resistance in its entirety. The most pitiful of surrenders.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #f: only other

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springwitch8 · 9 months ago

Note

your writing is so fucking hot and perfect! pls can I request a fic where mel ends up getting possessive and jealous after seeing someone hitting on her girlfriend (reader) at abbott and when they get home, melissa makes sure that her girl knows that belongs to her and nobody else.

(featuring a lot of rough sex and some cute aftercare cuz we all love jealous schemmenti. 🤭)

a dangerous emotion (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

summary: when the new substitute teacher hits on you in front of melissa, you face the dirty consequences of her jealousy.

warnings: smut (18+), jealous sex, aggressive male flirting, mel threatens violence (it's melissa), squirting, like one mention of marking

notes: the sleepy witch is back. hope you like this one anon, sorry if i left it in the oven too long. also sorry for any other deficiencies tbh writing is a struggle rn. bonus points to whoever can spot the gay joke 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 friendly fire.

if looks could kill, this fucking guy would be a pile of ash by now.

the teachers' lounge was uncharacteristically quiet. the tv had been muted; nobody cared to watch the morning news. all eyes flickered between you and the new male teacher on one side of the room, and your seething girlfriend on the other.

the redhead was visibly furious from the moment he walked in the door, eyes dragging down your body in your flowery sundress and matching tights.

"happy first day to me," he murmured to himself, thinking nobody would hear it. it took all of melissa's self-control and professionalism not to punch his lights out.

"spring looks good on you, sweetie," he drawled from behind you as you poured coffee from the communal pot into your favorite mug.

the hem of your dress floated up as you spun around to face him, and he licked his lips. you didn't notice it, but melissa did. her hands tightened into fists in her lap.

"thank you," you smiled warmly at the man in an attempt to be polite. he was tall and stocky, probably just a few years older than you. he seemed like the kind of guy who was used to getting whatever he wanted from women—with his handsome yet cocky grin and large arms crossed in front of his chest. "are you new here?"

"yep, and i like what i see already," he threw you a wink and you looked down at the floor. you heard melissa cracking her knuckles in the background. she only did that when she was holding back, either from pouncing on you or swinging at somebody else. "i'm jesse. i'll be teachin' math up on the second floor until ms. summers gets back from maternity leave."

"well, jesse, welcome to abbott," you said sweetly, hoping to escape this conversation and join your girlfriend on the couch. "i'm a first-grade teacher, so i won't be seeing you much. but it's nice to meet y—"

"actually, i was hoping you'd show me around," he cut you off, taking a few steps toward you. "if i get lost in this building, my preteen students will never let me live it down."

"oh, um..."

before you could finish your thought, he leaned in and whispered something in your ear. melissa saw the whole exchange, enraged at this man's audacity to even breathe in your direction. you were her girl. everybody knew that. and it was time for this guy to learn.

but when melissa stood up to confront him, you did something that made her see red: you walked out with him. the other teachers noticed her anger, of course, and tried to calm her down.

"melissa, relax," barbara said, gently pulling on her best friend's hand and guiding her to sit back down. "he's harmless."

"harmless?" melissa repeated indignantly. "barb, he was lookin' at her like he wanted to bend her over the damn table!"

"you look at her like that all the time..." gregory muttered, and melissa raised an eyebrow at him in accusation. he shrugged and averted his gaze.

"i look at her like i love her!" melissa insisted. "and she's my girlfriend. i get to look at her however i want. this jamie—"

"jesse," janine corrected.

"—can't just walk in and start undressin' her with his eyes!"

"if it helps, i can keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't do anything untoward," jacob offered. "i'm pretty much the big dog on the second floor these days. i can set him straight if it comes to that."

"you couldn't even set yourself straight," melissa fired back, and jacob gave the camera a defeated look. "what, you think i can't handle this myself?"

"well, it's just that... jealousy is a dangerous emotion on you," jacob answered tentatively.

"jealousy? what am i, some kinda teenager? i don't get jealous."

"i don't know, you seemed pretty jealous at pecsa last year when the keynote speaker gave y/n his room number," gregory pointed out.

"he was just annoying."

"you poured your math-a-rita on his white suit jacket," janine chimed in.

"the jabroni shouldn't have worn white to a bar!"

"melissa, i know you're protective of y/n, but she's a grown woman capable of making her own decisions," barbara said, placing a comforting hand over the redhead's clenched fists. "she doesn't seem to have a problem with the man. at some point, you just need to trust her judgment."

"yeah, she and i are going to have a little conversation about her judgment when she gets back."

"whose judgment?" you asked as you strode back into the break room, jesse following close behind.

when your question was met with silence and anxious looks from your friends, jesse took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips.

"thanks for the tour, cutie," he said after pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand.

"thank you," you replied, shifting uneasily and look over your shoulder in anticipation of melissa's reaction. she didn't keep you waiting long.

"hey, hon," melissa approached the two of you, then hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you close. "the kids'll be here in half an hour, do you wanna go prep your classroom for the science lab?"

"i did that last night," you replied, not taking the hint.

"of course you did," mel cooed and planted a kiss behind your ear. jesse quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "maybe i just want some alone time with my lovely girlfriend before i start my day. that okay with you?"

you nodded sheepishly and leaned in to her. you could feel her possessive anger in her tough grip on your waist, could see it in the subtle wild edge to her green eyes. despite being in deep trouble, you still relaxed into the warmth of her casual touch and the familiar scent of patchouli on her skin.

jesse took a step back, opening his mouth as if to say something and sighing instead. as you and melissa exited the breakroom, jesse tried one more time to get your attention.

"hey, if you need any more—"

"i think we're good, janine," melissa cut him off with a dismissive gesture.

"it's jesse," the man sighed with a frustrated look at the camera.

---

"what the hell was that, huh?" melissa had you pinned up against her classroom door before you could even process what was happening. "you're givin' free tours now?"

"n-no!" you stammered frantically, squirming with unease (and excitement) at the fiery confrontation. "not free! i only did it so he would give me the extra chairs from his classroom. you know i've been down a few since the eighth graders tried to make 'chairing' a thing, and i can't let my kids spend another day on the floor. it's not fair!"

"how many times have i told you, i can get you anything you need?"

"yeah, and where's your 'chair guy' now? at least jesse can finish the job!"

oh, you fucked up. you knew it the moment the words left your mouth. melissa eased off of you physically, but her intense glare kept you frozen in place.

"we'll talk about this when we get home. i love you; don't forget it," melissa pecked your cheek and you cocked your head, confused at her sudden tranquility. she moved to whisper in your ear. "because tonight, i'm takin' all my jealousy out on you."

---

you had the misfortune of running into jesse one more time before the day was done. he wolf-whistled from behind you as you walked briskly from your classroom to the lobby, ready to meet melissa and head home.

melissa might have broken his nose if jacob and gregory hadn't been there to hold her back. in fact, she was a split-second away from swinging when jacob took hold of her dominant wrist, shaking his head. gregory followed suit with the other.

the redhead tried to wrench her arms free and glared sternly at the young men when she couldn't. sensing her frustration, you hurried over to her. melissa's gaze softened as soon as she saw you leaning over the counter. you gave jacob and gregory an appreciative nod.

the pair let go of her arms and you took her hands in yours. "let's go home," you said.

the two of you walked out of the building as jacob and gregory approached jesse.

"she's not interested, if you're still wondering," jacob said, patting jesse's shoulder in mock sympathy.

"should be pretty obvious by now," gregory added.

"first day, and you pissed off my scariest teacher and my favorite?" ava said while strutting out of her office. "nice career move, jason," she snarked. the teachers gave her a bewildered look. "what? i pay attention!"

---

once you got home, it all happened in a blur. melissa's possessive rage had you slipping into that fuzzy, pliable headspace before she even slammed the bedroom door behind you.

you couldn't concentrate on much besides her forceful touch, fingers digging into your hips and mouth sucking bruises into your neck. her low voice cut through the static occasionally, but she seemed to be venting to herself rather than you.

"mine..." her fingernails dug into the flesh of your waist. "touchin' my girl..." she spaced out the words between nips to your neck. "gotta mark you up, let the whole world know..." she landed a hard swat on your ass, then shoved you off of her. "on the bed."

---

"remind me again what he said when you spilled coffee on your shirt," melissa growled from above you. you were spread out on her bed, naked with your legs kept apart by turquoise ropes tied to the bedposts.

"he said, 'feel free to take it off. i wouldn't complain about the view,'" you whispered back.

"and you just let that slide, hm? you entertained him knowin' all he wanted was an eyeful of your tits?"

"yes, melissa."

"i'm sorry, does someone need a reminder of who owns her? i'm happy to provide, sweet girl. tell me," she dipped a finger into your folds and stroked you lightly, "who gets you this wet?"

"you do, ah, only you," you whimpered as she caressed you.

"uh-huh," she cooed, sounding unsatisfied still. "that's right, baby. and i'm the only one who gets to see you like this."

she gripped your hips harshly before gliding her hands up to your chest. she kneaded the swollen flesh of your tits and then zeroed in on your nipples, tweaking and tugging on them.

"that fucker," melissa began, breathing heavily. "will never know how soft these are."

you shook your head in frantic agreement as she massaged you. one of her hands slipped down between your legs again.

"he'll never hear how your breath catches in your throat when your clit's touched," she whispered, beginning to rub soft circles into your bundle of nerves. "or—" she withdrew suddenly and gave your pussy a swat, "how you cry at a spanking."

her jealous attitude had you soaked and sensitive. you were already close when she brought two fingers to your entrance and pushed in.

"and if he ever even imagines the face you make when you come, that pretty little lip bite you do," melissa pumped and curled her fingers roughly, "i'll take edith houghton to'm."

her speed quickly picked up and soon she was diving into you with force, bullying your g-spot with her fingertips.

"come. now," she ordered, and you fell over the edge. you spasmed around her fingers as she drove them in and out of you. she smirked with pride as she looked down at you.

but when you got too sensitive and started to squirm away from her touch, she doubled down. she pumped her fingers faster, and dipped down to suckle on your clit. you cried out. it felt like you were on fire, but the burn was oh so delicious.

"and he'll never guess what happens when you get all sensitive..." she picked her head up momentarily to say this before sucking hard on your nub and crooking her fingers inside you.

you felt the burn rise into a hot tidal wave. a flood of warm liquid spilled out of you. melissa helped you through it before withdrawing her touch, her hands retreating to your thighs. she looked down at you fondly, smiling with only a tiny bit of smug satisfaction.

"god, i love when you do that," she mused, smiling at your dazed, pretty, happy face. "it's like a gift just for me."

a gift. happy first day to me, he had said.

now reminded, melissa was pissed again. but the venom of her jealousy had trickled away, and now all that remained was an urgent need to give you the love and care you deserved.

"but you said somethin' earlier about 'finishing the job.' and i just feel like my job isn't finished, sweetheart," she smiled and cupped your cheeks. "how's a bubble bath sound?"

"mm-hmmm," you managed, fucked out and delirious.

---

"i really wasn't jealous, ya know," melissa murmured into your ear as you snuggled into bed, her chest pressed against your back.

"i find that hard to believe. i mentioned his name and you ripped my panties," you teased.

"okay, maybe a little bit."

"30 percent?"

"20."

"25."

"fine."

"then what was the other 75 percent?"

"i guess it just pisses me off when people don't treat you right. you're a beautiful angel, not a sex doll."

"i don't want you to feel... to feel like you have to take care of me all the time."

"baby girl, you know i don't do things i don't wanna do. you're the love of my life. i wanna spend every minute treatin' you like a princess."

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti fanfic #fanfic #abbott elementary fanfic #wlw smut #melissa schemmenti x y/n #melissa schemmenti smut #melissa schemmenti x you

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playboysaleen · 1 month ago

Text

Through Ash and Iron (8)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU.(She/her)

Word Count: 4.8k

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Jinx’s tools clattered to the ground as she took a shaky step forward. “No… no, you don’t get to leave!” she shouted, her voice breaking. She grabbed at her hair, tugging it violently, her usual manic energy replaced with raw, unfiltered despair. “You promised! You said you’d stay! You’re not allowed to leave me!”

Caitlyn fell to her knees, her composure completely shattering. She pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that escaped anyway. “No… not like this. Not like this…” Her eyes, red and glistening, locked onto your lifeless form.

Heimerdinger shook his head gravely, his tiny frame trembling. “This… this was not supposed to happen. The Arcane energy… it—it must’ve been too much. I—”

Ekko staggered back, staring at his hands as though they had committed the gravest sin. “I was trying to save her… I—” His voice cracked, and he turned away, unable to look at what he had done.

Jinx stood frozen, staring at your lifeless body. Her trembling hands reached for you, but she hesitated. Her lips quivered as her voice came out as a broken whisper. “You’re still here… right? Tell me you’re still here.” Her hand finally cupped your cheek, only to feel the coldness of your skin. Tears spilled freely down her face as she collapsed against your chest. “You’re supposed to save me, dummy… How am I supposed to—” Her words dissolved into incoherent sobs.

Caitlyn, shaking, crawled toward you. Her hand brushed against yours, her fingers curling around it tightly. “Please… come back,” she whispered. “You’ve fought through everything—don’t let this be the end.”

The monitors began to shift, erratic data flashing across the screen. Heimerdinger stepped forward, his large eyes narrowing. “Wait… something’s happening.” His tiny paw hovered over the console.

The Arcane stimulant began to pulse within you. The faintest glow ignited in your chest, spreading outward in faint threads of light. It wasn’t your gray, nor the feral purple—it was something else entirely.

Ekko straightened. “Is… is it working?”

Jinx pulled back, her tear-streaked face watching with desperate hope. Caitlyn held your hand tighter, leaning closer as if her presence could guide you back.

You opened your eyes, but there was no world around you. No ground beneath your feet, no horizon, no stars, no sky—just an endless void stretching infinitely in all directions. It wasn’t dark, nor was it light. It was an absence. The nothingness pressed against you like an unseen weight, heavy and disorienting.

You tried to speak, but your voice was swallowed by the void, your words dissipating into silence before they could form. A creeping unease settled in your chest. Were you… dead?

You looked down at yourself. Your body felt strange, foreign. It wasn’t physical, yet you could feel its shape. Your chest burned faintly with a golden glow, threads of light rippling outward like veins of molten energy, pulsating softly.

“Hello?” you called out, though it sounded less like your voice and more like a thought spilling out. There was no answer. Nothing. You took a tentative step forward, and though there was no ground, you moved.

Then you saw him.

A figure emerged from the abyss, his presence as sharp and striking as a blade cutting through the void. Viktor. His silhouette was lean, his form almost frail, yet there was an undeniable strength in the way he carried himself. His cane clicked softly against nothingness, echoing louder than it should have in the oppressive silence.

He stepped closer, his face illuminated by the faint glow of your chest. The lines of his gaunt features were as you remembered—angular, weary, but with a kind of brilliance that burned beneath his sunken eyes. His mechanical leg whirred softly with each step, the faint blue glow of Hextech circuitry tracing intricate patterns along the limb. His cane was a masterpiece of precision and design, gleaming with the same blue light.

When his amber eyes finally met yours, they seemed to cut through you, like they could see everything—your thoughts, your fears, your very soul.

“Lost, are we?” he asked, his voice calm, measured. There was a hint of amusement, but it was tempered with something deeper—curiosity, maybe even pity.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Who I am is of little importance. It is who you are that interests me.”

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving you as they traced the golden glow emanating from your chest. His gaze flickered over you, and you could feel him peeling back layers of you with every passing second.

“You’ve been wandering through this story like a stray thread in a tapestry,” he said, his tone clinical yet strangely intimate. “Weaving yourself through the lives of others, pulling them together, unravelling yourself in the process. Fascinating.”

“I… I don’t understand,” you murmured, your voice shaky. “What’s happening? Why am I here?”

Viktor tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “You have always been torn between two worlds, haven’t you? Piltover and Zaun. Light and shadow. Chaos and control. Even love—” His gaze sharpened as he continued. “You tether yourself to two anchors, yet you let the storm within you rage on. Jinx and Caitlyn. Opposing forces, yet both essential to you. You carry their marks like scars, unwilling to let go.”

His words hit like a blow to your chest. He was right. Every word.

“You think you’ve been the hero in this story,” he continued, his voice softening. “The savior. But you’ve been a mirror all along, haven’t you? Reflecting the best and worst of those around you. You push them to change, to grow, even as you lose pieces of yourself in the process. Admirable… but unsustainable.”

Viktor’s gaze dropped to the golden glow in your chest, his eyes narrowing with an almost predatory intensity. “And now look at you. A vessel for something greater than you can comprehend. It burns in you, doesn’t it? The Arcane. It calls to you.”

He reached out, his long, elegant fingers stopping just short of the glow. “Do you feel it? The weight of its importance? You are not merely a person. You are a key.”

“A key to what?” you demanded, fear creeping into your voice.

Viktor chuckled softly, a dry, humorless sound. “Ah, that is the question, isn’t it? To open doors, or to close them? That is for you to decide.”

As Viktor’s words sank in, flashes of memory began to ripple through the void. Faces, voices, moments.

You saw Jinx’s wild grin, the way her eyes softened when she looked at you. The way her hand trembled when she grabbed your face earlier, grounding you like no one else could.

You saw Caitlyn’s calm determination, the way she held your hand even as her world fell apart around her. The way she whispered promises to stay, no matter how broken you were.

And then you saw others—Ekko, Isha, even Sevika. The faces of people who had carved themselves into your soul.

“You care for them,” Viktor said, his voice cutting through the torrent of memories. “Deeply. They are your compass, your home. But you…” He gestured to the glow in your chest. “You are so much more. To them. To this world. To the Arcane itself.”

Tears stung your eyes as you whispered, “I don’t want to lose them.”

Viktor’s expression softened, a rare moment of humanity breaking through his analytical exterior. “Then hold onto them. They are your strength.”

Viktor turned, his cane clicking as he began to walk into the abyss. The void seemed to ripple and shift around him, shadows folding into themselves as he moved.

“Wait!” you called out, desperation rising in your chest. “Where are you going?”

He paused, glancing back at you with a small, enigmatic smile. “Come,” he said, his voice low and inviting. “We have so much to work on.”

And then, without another word, he disappeared into the darkness, leaving you with a choice—and a faint thread of hope.

The laboratory was still. Heimerdinger stood over your body, his small frame illuminated by the soft glow of the monitors surrounding him. His furry brows furrowed deeply as he scanned the readings, his normally bright demeanor dulled by an overwhelming sense of solemnity.

Jinx sat slumped against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest, staring blankly at the floor. The usual chaos in her eyes had dimmed, replaced with an uncharacteristic stillness. Caitlyn was standing by the far end of the room, one hand clutched over her mouth, the other gripping the edge of a table so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Ekko paced back and forth, his movements erratic, barely able to look at you for more than a few seconds before averting his gaze. Even Sevika stood frozen, leaning against the wall, uncharacteristically quiet.

Heimerdinger finally sighed, the weight of his years evident in the heaviness of the sound. He turned to face them all, his ears drooping as he shook his head. “They’re gone.”

The words shattered the room like glass.

“No…” Jinx’s voice was barely a whisper at first, but it grew louder, more desperate. “No, no, no!” She slammed her fists into the floor, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “You’re lying! You don’t know what you’re talking about, you old furball! They can’t be gone!”

Caitlyn’s knees buckled, and she caught herself on the table, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as tears spilled over her cheeks. She turned away from the group, biting her lip so hard it nearly drew blood, but the sobs racking her body betrayed her.

Ekko stopped pacing, his hands trembling as he buried his face in them, muttering under his breath. “This isn’t right… it’s not supposed to end like this. They don’t deserve this.”

Sevika clenched her jaw, her mechanical arm twitching as she gripped the hilt of her blade. “Damn it,” she muttered, her voice thick with emotion. She turned away, trying to mask the tears glistening in her eye, but it was no use.

Heimerdinger, visibly shaken by the grief surrounding him, turned back to the monitors for a final glance. He didn’t want to believe it either. His ancient hands tapped at the keys, adjusting the parameters, searching for anything—anything.

And then, something caught his eye.

A flicker. Barely perceptible, but it was there. A faint, irregular blip on the monitor. Heimerdinger’s ears perked up, his eyes widening as he leaned closer. The blip grew steadier, stronger, and then it formed into a weak but distinct rhythm.

The monitor showed a heartbeat.

Heimerdinger turned back to the group, his voice trembling with urgency. “Wait! Everyone, come here! Quickly!”

Jinx scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over herself as she ran to the monitor. Caitlyn pushed herself upright, wiping at her tears as she hurried over. Ekko and Sevika followed, their expressions shifting from despair to disbelief.

“What is it?” Caitlyn asked, her voice cracking.

Heimerdinger pointed at the screen. “It’s faint, but they’re still here. Their heartbeat—it’s weak, but it’s there!”

Jinx gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared at the screen. “They’re alive? They’re alive?!” Her voice broke into

a hysterical laugh, tears still streaming down her face. “I told you! I told you they weren’t gone!”

Caitlyn let out a shaky breath, her hand clutching her chest as relief washed over her. She closed her eyes, tears still falling, but this time they were tears of hope. “Thank the heavens…” she whispered.

Ekko exhaled sharply, his hands dropping to his sides as a wry smile tugged at his lips. “You scared the hell out of us, you stubborn idiot,” he muttered under his breath.

Sevika snorted, though her voice wavered. “They’ve got a hell of a survival instinct, I’ll give ‘em that.”

Jinx moved to your side, her hands trembling as she hovered them over your face, afraid to touch you but desperate to feel your warmth. “Hey… hey, you’re still with us, right?” she whispered, her voice soft and uncharacteristically tender. “Don’t you dare leave me, okay? I can’t… I won’t lose you.”

Caitlyn stepped closer, her hand finding yours as she gripped it tightly. “We’re here,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the tears streaking her face. “We’re not going anywhere. Stay with us.”

Heimerdinger glanced between the two women, his expression a mix of awe and contemplation. “It’s remarkable,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Even in such a weakened state, their body responds to you both. Your presence anchors them. Perhaps…”

He paused, his brilliant mind already working through possibilities, before nodding decisively. “Perhaps love truly is the strongest medicine.”

The abyss stretched endlessly around you, its emptiness so profound it felt like it could swallow you whole. Viktor’s voice was your only tether to reality, calm and deliberate, yet laced with a tone that carried a weight of inevitability.

“You are the key,” he repeated, his words echoing like a chant in the void.

“The key to what?” you demanded, frustration edging your tone as you trailed him. Each step felt weightless, as though you were walking on air, yet the path Viktor followed was clear and unwavering.

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, his head tilted slightly, and a small, almost wistful smile crossed his face. “Even keys do not know the doors they will unlock.”

As you followed him, the nothingness began to shift. First came faint glimmers, soft and golden, like sunlight breaking through clouds. Then the darkness gave way to vibrant hues—blues, purples, and greens swirling together, forming an ethereal landscape.

It was breathtaking.

You found yourself standing amidst crystalline formations that pulsed faintly with life, their surfaces reflecting galaxies within. Above, the sky was a tapestry of endless colors, each shimmering as though alive. The ground beneath you glowed faintly, translucent and soft, humming with energy.

“What… is this?” you whispered, awe evident in your voice.

“My sanctuary,” Viktor replied simply, his tone calm yet reverent. His cane clicked softly against the crystalline floor as he walked, his movements fluid despite the wear of his body. “A fragment of what the Arcane can create when it flows freely—without greed, without ambition. Pure and uncorrupted.”

You stood frozen, trying to take it all in, but Viktor turned to face you, his amber eyes piercing as they met yours. “This is what lies within you. This, and so much more.”

“I don’t understand,” you said, your voice shaky. “You keep saying I’m a key, that I’m important. But why? What am I supposed to do?”

Viktor chuckled softly, a sound that was both amused and resigned. “If you survive this—if you truly unlock what lies within—you will not just wield shimmer’s strength. You will command the Arcane itself.”

His words hung in the air, their weight settling heavily on your shoulders. “Why me?” you asked, the question a quiet plea.

He approached you slowly, his gaze unreadable, until he stood directly before you. His eyes swept over your form before resting on your chest, where the faint golden glow pulsed steadily. He raised a thin, scarred hand and gently tapped the spot, his touch cold and deliberate.

The moment his fingers met your skin, your vision exploded with light.

You gasped as the sanctuary vanished, replaced by scenes that moved faster than you could comprehend. You saw yourself standing tall, a radiant figure cloaked in glowing energy. Around you, Piltover and the Undercity were no longer at war; they were united, thriving. Bridges no longer bore scars of destruction but connected two flourishing cities.

You saw yourself healing others—wounds mended with a touch, despair replaced with hope. Children laughed, families embraced, and the air was filled with joy.

Viktor’s voice narrated softly, almost as though he were reading a story from a book. “You will bring balance where none has existed. Heal where there has only been harm. Unite where there has only been division.”

The images shifted, showing Caitlyn and Jinx. Their faces were vivid, filled with admiration and love as they stood by your side. Caitlyn’s hand brushed yours, her gaze steady and full of trust. Jinx leaned against your shoulder, her wild grin tempered by a rare sense of peace.

“They are your anchors,” Viktor murmured. “Through them, you are grounded. Through you, they will find purpose.”

The visions faded, and you were once again standing in Viktor’s sanctuary. Your chest ached, the golden glow brighter now, pulsing with a rhythm that felt alive. Viktor was watching you intently, his expression unreadable.

You met his gaze, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as the enormity of what you’d seen settled over you. “Is that… what I’m meant to do?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Not meant,” Viktor corrected. “Capable. What you do with this power will be yours to decide.” He stepped back into the shadows, his figure becoming harder to discern. “Come. We have so much to work on.”

You hesitated, the weight of the visions still pressing down on you, but then you straightened, resolve hardening in your chest. “I’m ready.”

Viktor paused, his head tilting as though he were smiling. “We shall see.”

The laboratory was a quiet sanctuary, filled with the hum of machines and the occasional soft shuffle of Ekko’s footsteps. Your body lay still, suspended in a fragile equilibrium between life and something else entirely. Wires and glowing tubes extended from the machines into your skin, pulsing faintly with energy. The golden hue in your chest would occasionally flicker, a subtle reminder of the Arcane’s persistent work within you.

Heimerdinger would often check the monitors, his furrowed brows and quiet muttering betraying his frustration. “Let the Arcane do its work,” he repeated like a mantra, though his tone carried doubt as if even he couldn’t comprehend the forces now governing your existence.

Ekko, on the other hand, was a constant presence. He moved between the monitors and your bedside, his expression oscillating between hope and guilt. He blamed himself for the stimulator—he’d acted in desperation. Now, all he could do was watch, his vibrant energy tempered by quiet prayers whispered under his breath.

Jinx had taken to the undercity with a vengeance, stepping into the role you left behind. Her manic energy was now focused, her weapons and inventions a means to protect the people who whispered your name in reverence. “They think you’re dead,” Sevika had said one day, her tone rough but her words deliberate. “But you’re not. Not while I’ve got anything to say about it.”

Jinx hadn’t responded, but her actions spoke volumes. She made sure the undercity thrived, even striking uneasy truces where necessary. The most unexpected of these alliances was with Caitlyn Kiramman.

Caitlyn, now Commander of Piltover, was navigating uncharted waters. Negotiating peace with the undercity had seemed impossible months ago, but with you absent, it became a shared goal between her and Jinx. Neither admitted it aloud, but both carried the weight of your absence like a heavy chain. And while their meetings were filled with tension, there was an unspoken understanding between them: they both loved you, and that love was enough to forge a fragile bond.

Jinx came often, though she never stayed long. She didn’t like Ekko seeing her vulnerable, and Heimerdinger’s endless observations annoyed her. But in the quiet moments when it was just you and her, she would sit by your side, her mismatched eyes scanning your face as though willing you to wake.

She’d hold your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. Sometimes, she’d lean forward and press a kiss to your lips, the gesture tender but filled with frustration. “Wake up, you idiot,” she whispered once, her voice cracking. “I’ve got a whole city to run, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing without you.”

One day, Isha arrived, her small frame slipping silently into the lab. She didn’t say a word—she never did—but her wide, expressive eyes took in every detail of your still form. She climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged beside you, her little hands carefully smoothing out the blanket over your chest. Then, she pulled out a bundle of papers, her latest drawings.

There you were, crudely sketched in crayon, standing tall with her and Jinx at your sides. Another drawing showed you holding her hand as she smiled brightly. Isha placed the pictures carefully by your bedside, her lips pressed into a tight line as if willing you to notice her effort.

Caitlyn’s visits were different. They came late at night, long after the lab had emptied. She would arrive still in her Commander’s uniform, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. She sat beside you, her fingers running absentmindedly through your hair as she whispered about her day.

“I met with Jinx again today,” she murmured during one visit. “She’s… difficult. But I see what you see in her. She loves you in her own way. I suppose I can’t fault her for that.”

Sometimes, when her words failed her, she would just sit in silence, her hand resting on yours. The cool steel of her gloves felt stark against your warmth, a reminder of the distance between you even as she stayed close.

On rare nights, when the weight of her emotions became too much, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was always brief, always gentle, as though she feared waking you. “I’ll be back soon,” she whispered once, her voice trembling. “You’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. I promise.”

The people who loved you waited in their own ways. Jinx fought for you, her love a wildfire that burned through every obstacle. Caitlyn mourned you, her love a quiet, steady beacon guiding her actions. And in the silence of the lab, surrounded by wires and machines, they all clung to hope.

It was Ekko who noticed first. A faint blip on the monitor, so faint he thought it was a glitch. But when he leaned closer, he saw it: a single, weak heartbeat.

“Guys,” he called out, his voice breaking the stillness. “Guys! She’s—she’s alive!”

Hope ignited like wildfire. Jinx froze in her tracks as the words sank in, while Caitlyn dropped the stack of reports she’d been reviewing. They all crowded around you, their faces a mix of disbelief and cautious optimism.

The golden glow in your chest flickered stronger, as if responding to their presence. Slowly, painfully, the pieces of you were starting to come back together.

The quiet in the lab was palpable, heavy with anticipation and unspoken fear. Everyone stood in the soft, dim light, their eyes fixed on you as you slowly stirred, the machines around you clicking and whirring in a steady rhythm. The golden glow in your chest had dulled but still pulsed faintly, an anchor to the reality of your existence.

You blinked, your gaze shifting around the room, taking in the familiar faces. There was no anger or ferocity in your expression anymore. No explosive energy. Instead, you were calm, almost serene, your features softening as you met their eyes. You looked different—not as the untamed force you once were, but as something gentler. Something with purpose.

Jinx was the first to step forward, her eyes wide and full of relief. The wild energy that typically radiated off of her had dimmed, replaced by a quiet awe as she watched you. Without a word, she moved toward you, her arms reaching for you instinctively. And you didn’t hesitate.

You stood, your body moving slowly but with certainty, and wrapped her in an embrace. The world seemed to fade away as you pulled her close, feeling the weight of the time that had passed between you two.

Jinx’s breath hitched as you pressed a kiss against her lips, soft and lingering, a kiss that spoke of the love and longing you had kept hidden, now spilling out like a dam breaking. She melted into you, her arms clinging tighter, as if she feared this moment would slip away.

You pulled back reluctantly, your gaze softening as you looked down at Isha, who had quietly moved to your side. You reached out and pulled her into a gentle hug, your arms wrapping around her small frame. The softness of her hair against your cheek grounded you, her silent presence speaking volumes.

When you finally released Isha, your attention shifted. You felt Caitlyn’s eyes on you from the edge of the room, her gaze filled with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. Slowly, you walked toward her, each step deliberate and filled with a newfound tranquility. You could feel her nervousness, the way she held herself back as if unsure of what to expect from you now. But you didn’t hesitate.

You wrapped your arms around Caitlyn in a quiet embrace, feeling her stiffen for just a moment before she melted into you, her warmth soothing against your skin. You pressed your cheek against her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her. Then, in the silence between you, you whispered softly in her ear.

“I heard everything… I always have.”

The words lingered in the air, and you felt her body stiffen momentarily, her breath catching in her throat. Your heart ached at the raw emotion you could hear in her silence. You didn’t wait for her to speak. Instead, you pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead—your first true, intimate gesture towards her.

Caitlyn’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when she looked at you, there was a quiet tenderness in her gaze. She didn’t say anything, but the way she held you tightly, as if she never wanted to let go, was enough.

You pulled away, your eyes moving over to Sevika. The larger woman, who had been observing the scene quietly from the corner, gave you a sharp nod, but there was a softness in her eyes. She knew, perhaps better than anyone, what it had taken to get to this moment.

You nodded back, the connection between you two unspoken but understood. There was still so much unhealed, but the tension had shifted, if only slightly.

Your gaze shifted then, looking toward the machines that had once been connected to your body. The sight of the wires and monitors, the lifeless forms of the machines that had kept you tethered to this world of science and experimentation, didn’t stir the anger it once might have. Instead, it seemed distant.

It wasn’t the machinery that you cared about anymore. No, your focus now turned to the workbench where Ekko had been working tirelessly on the Hextech prototype.

A feeling of curiosity bubbled within you, the pull toward the device undeniable. Without a word, you walked across the room, the soft clicking of your shoes against the floor the only sound as the others watched you in a strange mix of hope and wariness.

The moment you reached the workbench, the energy in the room shifted. Everyone’s gaze snapped to you as your hand reached out and hovered over the device, its small form pulsing with a soft blue glow.

Without hesitation, you seized it, your fingers wrapping around the metal surface. A bright white light exploded from your body, your eyes lighting up with a ferocity that sent chills down everyone’s spine. Your pulse quickened, the glow within you building in intensity, and before anyone could react, the Hextech device disintegrated into ash in your grasp, crumbling to dust in the blink of an eye.

Everyone froze, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. But you simply stood there, your eyes still glowing bright white as you slowly turned toward them.

“Peace,” you spoke, your voice rich with both confidence and calm, “will not come from chains or control. It is born from understanding… and from destruction.”

The room held its breath as you gazed out at the faces before you, your expression enigmatic, as though you were seeing a future far beyond the present. Your eyes flickered with the faintest hint of a smile, but there was something darker behind it—an understanding of what it would take to mend the broken world you had come from.

“Shimmer, Arcane, machines—everything in its time will break and rebuild,” you continued, your words like riddles but dripping with a truth only you seemed to know. “This world has been divided by too many walls, but soon… there will be no walls at all.”

As you spoke, there was a certainty in your tone, and your eyes glowed even brighter, if that was possible. You weren’t just someone who had come back from the dead. You were something else now—a force. A conduit of change.

And as you stood there, speaking in riddles, it was clear: nothing would be the same again.

__________________

Let me cook, i aint forget about the dish-

#wlw #fanfiction #book #lgbtq #love #jinx arcane #jinx #jinx x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn #sevika #heimerdinger #ekko #ekko arcane

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prythianpages · 1 year ago

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The Family Reunion | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch Reader | summary: Azriel accidentally welcomes your dysfunctional family into your home.

warning: I can't really think of any at the moment besides violence from a witch fight, basically you being protective over Az

a/n: There's not very much known about the witches in the ACOTAR universe so I'm just taking creative control here (: This can be read as a stand alone fic.

As Azriel sits in your living room, the familiar weight of concern settles in his chest. The past few days have felt like a quiet storm and the bond between you, has fallen eerily silent far too many times to go unnoticed.

Of course, he’s already asked if you were alright but he sensed the lie as it brewed in your eyes before it slipped out of your lips. The shadows that remain at your side keep him updated on your whereabouts but besides a crow following you one day, there’s nothing else to report. He wonders if you’re upset with him.

Azriel tries to engross himself into the book–as it’s one you recommended to him– in his hand but his eyes keep drifting from the pages. He steals glances toward the closed door of your study. A vibrant green glow, your magic, spills from the edges of the door. He tries to pull on the bond but cannot find you on the other end. You shut him out. Again.

Three knocks pull him out of his thoughts. Ignoring the skittering dance of his shadows and the way Pearl–your pet spider–retreats back to her corner, he opens the door. There’s no one on the other side. A perplexed furrow forms on his brow as he peeks into the hallway, dispatching his shadows to investigate further. They return with no insights, leaving an unsettling silence in their wake.

“Hey Az?”

Azriel closes the door and locks it. He turns to see you stepping out from your study. You smile at him sheepishly, toying with your glowing hands. “Can I have some of your blood?” Your voice is surprisingly calm, despite the look in your eyes, and you must mistake his silence as apprehension because you’re adding: “Just a drop!”

He would’ve gladly granted your request but before he can even utter a word, a sudden shift in the air catches your attention. Your eyes widen, a touch of panic flickering within them. It’s a fleeting moment where control slips from your grasp, and in that heartbeat, your side of the bond bursts open.

His wings quiver as if struck by an invisible force. A torrent of emotions crashes over him like unrelenting waves on a storm sea, flooding and overwhelming his senses. Worry etches lines on his face at the raw intensity of your feelings.

“Toad’s blood!”

In the blink of an eye, he’s standing in front of you, his hands cradling your face. The hazel depths of his eyes burn with concern but you avoid his gaze, your frantic eyes darting around the room as if looking for something–someone.

“y/n, my love,” Azriel implores softly, his heart pounding in his chest as he desperately tries to navigate through the sea of your emotions. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyes land on the door and a palpable tension fills the air. “You opened the door.”

Azriel’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Someone knocked.”

You swallow thickly. “How many?”

“What?”

Your voice is firmer this time. “How many knocks?”

“Three.”

You’re pulling out of his grasp abruptly. You run back to your study and a trail of perplexed worry etches further across Azriel’s face as he follows after you. With a furrowed brow, he observes your hurried actions. Windows are slammed and shut and locked in quick succession. He blinks and you’re running to your room next. “y/n, please talk to me! Tell me what’s wrong!”

You pause, if only for a brief moment, your eyes finally meeting his. “You just opened the door to a gateway of evil.”

“Evil??” Azriel’s wings flinch, the word carrying an unexpected weight. “What evil?”

“My mother.”

A sense of impending danger guides your every move and you’re sprinting past him. Over your shoulder, you urgently command, “Quick! Lock all the windows!”

Azriel responds without hesitation. He races back to your living room, determined to secure the window he opened earlier. As he does so, he sees a crow flying toward him. It’s familiar to both him and his shadows. The dark tendrils hasten to close the window beside him and the crow, unable to halt its trajectory, collides with the glass.

“I think that's all of it,” you say with a sigh of relief. However, it’s short lived as an overlooked detail dawns on you. The window in your kitchen.

Azriel, his shadows and you are already racing toward the kitchen but despite your efforts, you’re too slow to close it. Your sock clad feet glide across the floor and Azriel wraps an arm around your waist from behind, preventing you from falling. It tightens around you, drawing you snugly against him in a protective embrace, just as the crow flutters its wings menacingly and tauntingly above you. His eyes narrow at the bird and his shadows poise like a snake ready to strike.

Shrouded in a swirling cloud of purple smoke, the crow undergoes a mystical transformation. Its plumage shifts and twists, feathers unraveling and converging as if guided by an unseen hand. A silhouette begins to take form amid the enchanting mist and as the last tendrils of purple dissipate, a beautiful older female stands before you.

“That is not the way to welcome your mother, Dearest.”

The last time you saw your mother was when Hybern became allies with Spring. She had asked you to join her coven, out of worry for you if you stayed in the court that was crumbling apart, but Feyre had already secured plans to bring you to Velaris. The City of Starlight was a safe haven for you…until the Hybern attack unveiled its secret. She’s been reaching out ever since–sending countless letters and when those did not work, she started sending ravens.

Though she delves in dark magic, you know your mother means well. She loves you and has been protective of you. Overly protective. Perhaps, you were being dramatic about it all but you weren’t ready for her to meet Azriel yet. You didn’t even get to finish the protective spell you were planning on casting upon him. All you needed was a drop of his blood to complete it…

“Mother,” you reluctantly greet.

She smirks at you. Every muscle of your body tenses and you place your hand over Azriel’s to let him know it's okay. Ever the perceptive one, your mother catches the subtle gesture. Her gaze falls upon the protective presence behind you. She narrows her eyes and points a perfectly manicured finger at him as if to say “I’ll deal with you later.”

With a wave of her other hand, a cage materializes out of thin air. You can barely make out the tiny green creature in it before your mother is thrusting it into your hands.

“Hold your father, will you? I need to go fetch your sisters.”

She says it so casually, it’s comical almost. You grimace as your gaze flickers to the small lizard. It nervously scurries within the small cage it is confined in and you’re tempted to drop it.

Your father, a former high noble fae from Spring, had been cursed into a feeble gecko at the powerful hands of your mother. She did it shortly after she caught him trying to take your life at the mere age of two. He had plans to kill your mother next and take her heart for his own so now your mother loves to torment him by carrying him with her so that each remaining day of his life is as miserable as can be.

Verena, your mother, walks over to your door as if she owns the place. With an air of confident authority, she swings it open, revealing two females on the other side—your sisters, each birthed from a different father. One, with dark, flowing hair and sinister eyes, wears a smirk that mirrors Verena’s. Maeve. The other, with lighter hair, possesses kinder eyes, and delicate white feathery wings. Thea. She looks at you apologetically.

You’re slipping out of Azriel’s grasps and joining your family in your living room. The cage falls from your grasp, rolling onto the ground. Binx dives out from the shadows, eyes alight as the cat spots the green creature within. A curious paw swats at it, its claws peeking through the thin gaps at the top of the cage but no one bats an eyelash at the terrified squeak.

A scowl settles onto your face. “Mother, Maeve, Thea. As quickly as you arrived, I want you all to leave,” you say, clapping your hands at them for emphasis. “I did not invite you here.”

“No,” your mother agrees with a nod but her eyes are fixed on something–rather someone behind you. “He did.”

Four pairs of eyes are on him and Azriel only cares about one. Yours. His knowledge over your family is limited. He knew your father was a piece of scum but he did not know he still lived. There’s a tightening in his chest and he knows it's coming from your side of the bond. He sends a wave of reassurance through it because if you’re okay, he’s okay. Even if your family is a little overwhelming.

Verena circles around him, her gaze sharp as the crow she morphs into. Azriel stands still, his shadows swirling defensively. When Verena extends toward the talon of his wings, the shadows snap at her, causing her to withdraw. A wicked grin appears on her face. “A Shadowsinger,” she observes. “What is your name?”

“Azriel.”

Verena hums, stepping back, her eyes scanning every inch of him. There’s a devilish gleam in them when they settle upon his large, membranous wings. He instinctively tucks them back.

“By The Mother, you look absolutely ravishing,” purrs your dark-haired sister.

The lighter haired sister beside her smiles. “He is quite beautiful.”

“Maeve,” the darker haired sister introduces herself. Her dark brown eyes sparkle in amusement. She holds her hand out to him. “We haven’t yet had the pleasure. y/n has been hiding you for far too long.”

Azriel does not take her hand. Instead, he watches her with wary eyes and she laughs. As her eyes deepen in hue, mirroring the unsettling darkness akin to yours, an ominous glow envelops her hands. It resembles a delicate yet foreboding cloud of gray smoke that dances around her fingers.

“Don’t touch him,” you growl, raising your own hand. A raging green fire roars from your fingertips as the darkness takes your eyes.

Maeve turns to hiss at you. Her cloud of smoke is steadfast as it continues its path to Azriel. Your mate. You hiss back but your mother rests a hand on your shoulders and out of the corner of your eye, you swear Thea sends a reassuring gesture your way.

“Oh, come on.” Maeve persists, her voice, both enchanting and seductive, beckons like a magnetic force. She steps closer to him, ignoring the heated glare you send her way. She places a hand on his arm and you're shaking with rage as you recognize the haze that clouds Azriel's eyes.

“You look hungry. Would you like a taste? What do you think, Shadowsinger?”

Smoke wraps around him, infiltrating his senses and charging the air around him with an alluring energy. It smells like chamomile and lavender–a scent intricately tied to you, the enchanting witch he calls his own. You’re shoving away from your mother and prancing on your sister, the two of you tumbling to the ground. “Let him go!”

The room becomes a radiant spectacle, bathed in the ethereal clash of gray and green magic. The air is charged with the tension of their coexistence and you’re pinning your sister to the floor beneath you. “Why do you always have the thirst to take everything I have?”

“Because it’s fun,” Maeve hisses at you, her dark eyes a reflection of yours. “Besides, our family is in need of a new pet, don’t you think?”

“Girls, stop it this instant!”

“Can it be something cute this time? Like a puppy!”

“Thea, shut up!” You say brusquely as you look up.

Thea winces at your tone. Maeve takes the sliver of your distraction to push you off of her. The two of you hastily get to your feet and you hold your hands out ready to unleash the vibrant, verdant rage coursing through your veins at her.

“I think y/n is ravishing this evening. Don’t you?”

Azriel’s voice is light, dreamy almost as he’s in a trance. He blinks and the tendrils of magic briefly cloud his vision before it clears. He steps away from Maeve’s cloud of smoke, repulsed by her magic and his eyes are searching for you.

His gaze, steady and filled with a profound warmth, captures yours and it feels like a gentle cascade of water extinguishing a flame. The vibrant green fire in your hands gracefully fades away, mirroring the softening of your eyes in the tender exchange.

“And he’s not even lying,” Maeve frowns with a huff, her voice and eyes returning to normal. Disappointment is written all over her face. No one has been able to escape from her power of seduction before. “How dull.”

Your hand finds solace in Azriel’s and he locks his fingers with yours. You smile at him and he smiles back. You are the only enchantment he desires and your heart swells. You're so happy you could kiss him--

Thea, always one step ahead of everyone, gasps. “He’s your mate.”

Your mother’s eyes undergo a shadowed transformation of her own, reminiscent of a crow’s ominous gaze. Azriel feels a subtle unease but you remain composed. Gracefully, she approaches, her movements mirroring the fluid elegance of a bird. With a discerning sniff, she assesses the air around you both. Her keen eyes flicker to Azriel’s chest–where the emerald, the greatest token of your affection, securely rests beneath his leathers. His siphons awaken in response, pulsing with a powerful and protective luminescence.

“Your heart. Your precious, precious heart,” she whispers, her voice on the brink of tears.

There’s a drastic shift in her voice when she speaks again. It darkens with a mother’s fierce intensity and echoes through the room like a hissing serpent. “You’ve given it to him.”

Your mother outstretches her hand, toward Azriel, her gesture laden with an unmistakable agony. With a resolute urgency, you press your hand against Azriel’s chest, your other hand still wrapped around his. You can feel the pulse of his heart beneath the gem. It’s fast and erratic but gradually soothes under your touch.

Given your family's history, you can't blame your mother for reacting this way. Maeve's father was a charming merchant, who enjoyed traveling through the sea, and was very aware of his heartthrob status. Your mother was not immune to his allure and though she did not love him, she was possessive over him. So when she caught him touching another female, she cut his hand off, forcing him to always think of her for the rest of his life. She keeps the hand she severed preserved in a jar at her house.

On the other hand, Thea's father was a peregryn warrior who loved studying the stars in his free time. He was probably the best male out of all three...if he hadn't picked his loyalty for his court over your mother. Surprisingly, your mother left him alone and unharmed but she made a good example of him to you all because even the kindest of men were not to be trusted.

But Azriel is different.

His sweetness, care and love create a warmth that gently embraces your heart. You’ve spent a lifetime shielding your heart as your mother taught you but with Azriel, it feels different. He is your mate. Your other half, crafted by The Mother and Cauldron itself. In his presence, you find a haven where vulnerability is not a weakness but a welcomed connection.

“I love him.”

Wheeling with a snarl, she fixes her sharp gaze back onto you. Her hand tenses midair and her talons peak out before dropping it back to her side. She leans so close you can feel her breath tickle yours. Her gaze travels down to the obsidian necklace you keep on at all times for protection and she feels her throat tighten when she sees the new charm attached to it. It’s an initial. A for Azriel.

“You stupid, foolish girl. What have you done? Have I taught you nothing?”

Azriel growls and his shadows tense as they await their master’s next order. Your hand tightens against him and you send a wave of reassurance through the bond. This was exactly what you had been hoping to avoid. The last male you introduced to your mother was turned into a frog and you hadn’t put up a fight as the male had fallen under Maeve’s spell. But this time, you were willing to fight and defend what was yours.

“I think it's quite brave,” a dreamy voice cuts in through the tension. “A true testament to love.”

“Shut up, Thea.” Maeve snaps. “No one asked for your opinion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you ask for a reading!”

“Azriel.” Your mother’s voice is sharp, demanding attention. “You hold something extremely dear to me now. If I find you to be careless with it–if you so much as hurt y/n in any shape or form…I will hunt you down, rip your heart out and eat it for breakfast.”

“She’s not joking,” Maeve decides to chime in. “She ate Thea’s lover for dinner once.”

“Must you always jump at the opportunity to remind me?” Thea retorts with a look of pained disgust on her face and you almost feel bad for her. She did love that male terribly, as undeserving as he was.

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal, my dearest,” your mother says in a perplexed tone. She rolls her eyes at the scoff she received in response. “He was a human.”

“He was the love of my life!”

“And others too.” Maeve cuts in, lips curled into a lopsided smirk as she gazes at her nails. “Mother did you a favor there.”

“This,” you say to Azriel, lifting your chin toward your family. Your mother and sisters continue to bicker back and forth while Binx zooms after the rolling cage imprisoning your father. You sigh deeply and Azriel now understands why you were on edge all week, why you had shut him out.

“This is my family.”

As if on cue, your family turns to him. Binx rests a paw on the rolling cage, halting its movement. Even the green gecko inside seems to peer curiously at the Shadowsinger, its tiny eyes glinting in the dim light.

Your mother, a formidable figure with an air of ancient wisdom, focuses her attention to Azriel. The expression on her face is a complex blend of skepticism and concern. Her dark eyes narrow as if probing his very soul–a look that has sent many to mad chaos and the room seems to hold its breath as Azriel meets her gaze.

You step in between them both. “Mother, must you always do this?”

“It’s okay. I have nothing to hide,” Azriel reassures you as he holds your mother’s gaze, unwavering and resolute. “I would never dream of hurting y/n. I love her.”

“He speaks the truth, mother. He’d kill for her, I’ve seen–ow!”

Your mother’s keen eyes linger on him. Despite Thea’s words, she wants to see for herself. The room feels suspended in time as she carries on with probing into his very soul. She’s peering into the depths of his heart, seeping into its cracks and searching for any hint of insincerity. The tension in the room starts to dissipate as she must sense something she agrees with. Slowly, her lips gradually curve in a smile–a genuine one.

“I like this one,” your mother says as she turns to you. “I shall spare you the part of my visit where I ask you to come back home with me as I now know it will be pointless. So let’s have dinner, hmm? All this excitement has me famished.”

Your mother clasps her hands together, springing the room into action. Binx resumes messing around with your father and Maeve makes her way to your kitchen, your mother following after her.

“I did not agree to you staying for dinner!” You call after them, shooting Azriel an apologetic look.

“She was going to agree anyway.”

Azriel turns to your sister–the closest to a normal relative you seem to have. Her blue eyes, flecked with silver hold a spark of otherworldly wisdom as she regards him.

“You can see the future?”

She tilts her head, a cascade of blonde curls falling over her shoulder. Her lips curl into a knowing smile and her peregryn wings flutter. “Only what the stars tell me,” she replies cryptically. “Would you like me to read your cards?”

Azriel contemplates for a moment. He turns toward the kitchen and his eyes find you. You’re engaged in a lively debate about the perfect amount of herbs, claiming that only a pinch of thyme is needed while Maeve stubbornly shakes her head.

“Out of my kitchen! Go seduce a pig for all I care before I hex you with an angry nest of bees!”

His love for you deepens with every passing second and he nearly startles when he feels a flutter in his chest. It’s you. You echo the sentiment very loud and clear through your end of the bond.

“No.”

“Why not?” She teases, though she already knows the answer.

“Because right now, I have everything I could ever want.”

Once your family departs, relief washes over you, and you finally feel able to breathe freely. Leaning against the door, you release a sigh, allowing your eyes to flutter shut momentarily. When you reopen them, your gaze lands on Azriel in the living room. He's seated, head tilted back, eyes closed, weariness evident. Moving towards him, you saunter over, and without a word, he instinctively pulls you onto his lap, his eyes still shut in a shared moment of exhaustion and solace.

Your hands tenderly cradle his face, bathed in the soft glow of your green magic. You massage his temples, your fingertips tracing away the remnants of the headache your mother’s earlier probing had left behind. A contented sigh escapes him at your soothing touch.

“Thank you,” he breathes and his hands find their place at your hips.

You press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I should be the one thanking you.”

He opens his eyes and there’s a subtle perplexity among them. “How come?”

“Because they’re chaotic,” you answer and tipping your chin down sheepishly, you continue, “I’m sorry for shutting you out. I was doing my best to keep them from coming but I should’ve just told you instead. I was trying to protect you from all of this–”

A scarred finger props your chin up, urging you to look back up at him. The hand that remains at your hip tightens with a comforting reassurance. You find yourself lost in the depths of his beautiful hazel eyes and like always, they anchor you like a tranquil forest bathed in sunlight.

“You don’t have to protect me from this. I accept it–all of you. I love you,” he murmurs. The corner of his lips tug up into a small smile. “Though I do find you unbearingly adorable when you’re protective.”

“Adorable?” You can’t help but laugh. Others would beg to differ. You're sure your eyes have given Cassian nightmares.

“Especially when it’s all for me,” he nearly purrs, pressing kisses to the corner of your eyes. The very eyes he adores, even when they transform into inky pools of black.

He kisses the nape of your neck and your breath hitches. “Did you mean it?”

Azriel hums against your neck. “Mean what?”

“What you said to Thea earlier,” you say, mindlessly confessing that you had been listening to his short conversation with your sister.

You feel him smile against you. “Of course I did. Whatever the future may bring, as long as I have you, that's enough for me. You’re my everything.”

When he pulls away to look at you, you’re beaming at him. His nose brushes against yours and your hands cup his face again, eyes flickering to his lips before you guide them to yours in a slow yet passionate kiss. You slide your tongue along the softness of his bottom lip, reveling in his honeyed taste and he parts his mouth for you, a small sound of pleasure slipping between your lips.

You kiss him and kiss him until the future seems like a distant thought, overshadowed by the perfection of the present.

a/n: I was driving to an appointment when I randomly thought of how chaotic reader's family is and wanted to introduce them formally in case I want to incorporate them in future imagines. This takes place shortly before the one where you get kidnapped.

Also, I'm currently watching the Witcher and I couldn't help myself and use this scene to help me write the part where Maeve tries to seduce Az.

tagging: @fxckmiup

[series masterlist]

#azriel x reader #azriel x witch!reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel imagine #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #azriel fluff #az!dandelions

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pascaloverx · 4 months ago

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BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading. I would like to thank my best friend who, besides being a faithful reader of this fanfic, gave me the idea of the little confrontation between the Cannibal and Vermax dragons, thank you @dipyouuinhoney ❤️

Warning: This chapter will contain violence, as well as inappropriate language and adult sexual content. Minors should not read or interact with this chapter or this fanfic.

THREE FIVE

FOUR (+18)

Facing the dragon Cannibal, you heard his powerful roar, a clear attempt to communicate with his new rider—you. His restlessness was evident, perhaps driven by the need to understand why someone had disturbed him or because you were accompanied by a stranger. Or perhaps he sensed your own discomfort. The dark, rugged-scaled beast spread his wings in an imposing display, a signal that he was ready to take flight. His sharp teeth, glistening with a trace of blood between them, were fully exposed. You noticed his impatient paws pressing into the ground, claws sharp and ready. There was no doubt—this dragon would be a formidable asset in the war between King Aegon II's forces and the dragons fighting for Princess Rhaenyra.

"Uēpa taoba, dohaerās. Kostilus, rȳbagon," you command with a firm, dominant tone, attempting to assert control over Cannibal, readying him for what was to come. As you glance back, you notice Prince Aemond gazing at the dragon with unmistakable admiration—perhaps even something more. You could swear that he seems slightly aroused by the sight of you and Cannibal bonding. However, not wanting to acknowledge this observation, you quickly avert your gaze the moment he catches you watching him. The dragon lowers his snout toward you, as if trying to catch your scent. The blood of Aemond, still fresh on your skin, must be lingering in the air, drawing Cannibal closer.

"Sȳz gundjabo, sȳz zaldrīzes," Prince Aemond murmurs as he passes by you, moving closer to Cannibal. The dragon seems aware of the fact that both of you will soon take flight with him. Aemond, of course, never misses the chance to remind you of your station—what you are to him. Yet, in this moment, you’re far too anxious to care about his words. The looming flight, the dragon's immense power, and the weight of what lies ahead consume your thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

"Sȳz kipagīros, sȳz zaldrīzes; ñuha dārilaros. SōVegon, Cannibal," you gently correct Prince Aemond as both of you situate yourselves atop the dragon. After all, to your dragon, you are the rider, the one who will guide him down paths even you cannot yet foresee. In an attempt to appease Aemond, you address him formally in High Valyrian, acknowledging his status. As you position yourself on Cannibal, the sensation of his rough scales beneath you feels strange, unsettling even. Yet, without hesitation, you give the command for him to take flight. The air is filled with tension as the dragon obeys, lifting off the ground with powerful, sweeping wings.

"Be prepared for battle commands. If I know my strong nephew, blessed with the temperament of his late father, he will attempt to hinder our path. Do not allow Cannibal to kill him. That privilege does not belong to you," Prince Aemond commands, as though you are merely his dragon to control. He must be longing for Vhagar. However, you have no desire to harm any of Rhaenyra’s children. Making such a mistake would be far too reckless, and you are fully aware of it.

Prince Aemond's hands grip you tightly as you turn to look at him in order to respond. It is then that you notice a dragon approaching swiftly from the distance. With green scales and a more agile frame, it is small in comparison to Vhagar or even Cannibal. The rider of this dragon is coming with a speed that suggests a fierce desire for combat between their beast and yours.

"Aderī, Cannibal,"you command, and the dragon responds, accelerating towards King's Landing with a newfound agility.

"I do not wish to confront your nephew, Your Highness," you add, showcasing your ability to communicate both with your dragon and the impatient prince behind you. Aemond lets out a low grunt of frustration, likely longing for Vhagar to teach his nephew a lesson. As the son of Rhaenyra closes the distance, Cannibal visibly tenses at the proximity of the other dragon. With a swift maneuver, he performs a roll in the air, seeking to gain control. Aemond's hands grip you firmly, and you feel the heat radiating from your palms as you hold onto Cannibal, the tension mounting in the air.

Cannibal manages to distance himself from the smaller dragon, soaring above the waters where you once bathed alongside Aemond. The memory floods back, momentarily distracting you from the imminent danger. Your focus snaps back as you notice a flame nearly singe Cannibal’s wing. The heat from the attack of Rhaenyra's son sears your left hand.

"Angōs, Cannibal!" you shout through the pain of your scorched skin. At your command, your dragon rises, pursuing the smaller foe with determination. Cannibal requires no further direction; he unleashes a powerful blast of fire towards the smaller dragon, igniting part of the sky in a fierce blaze, as if he intends to incinerate everything in his path.

He clearly does not relish the thought of being commanded like this, least of all to celebrate a moment you know he feels is rightfully his. "Lykirī, Canibal!"you call out with urgency, hoping your dragon heeds your words to ensure the safety of his target. Amidst the roars and growls, Cannibal finally begins to settle, responding to your command as he assesses the outcome of the encounter.

"My strong and cunning nephew, hie thee to Dragonstone and alert your mother of the perils of being a wily fool." Prince Aemond takes the lead, addressing his curly-haired, brown-haired nephew as soon as he lays eyes upon him. The young lad's dragon bears a slight opening in one of its wings, likely from the intensity of the flames, or perchance Cannibal has grazed it lightly with his talon.

"My dear one-eyed uncle, I trust you do not believe this to be over. You and your usurper brother shall lose this war," the brown-haired nephew of Aemond declares in his most threatening tone. His words enrage the prince, and in a fit of fury, Aemond loses his composure, shouting, "Drakarys!" in a desperate command to Cannibal. Yet, the dragon does not obey. Instead, Cannibal stretches his claws toward the smaller dragon as if to intimidate, releasing a thunderous roar that shakes the very air around them.

"Choose your next move wisely, prince. You wouldn’t want your mother to bury another son," you warn Rhaenyra's son, your voice steady despite the tension thickening in the air. Though Aemond’s command failed, there is little you can do to rein in both the prince and your dragon. Cannibal, still looming and poised to strike, waits for no one’s control, and Aemond’s rage is far from spent. The weight of the moment presses on you, knowing that any misstep could unleash disaster. Your words seem to have an effect on Aemond’s nephew, who slowly retreats. You watch as he commands his dragon to return to Dragonstone, while Canibal resumes his course toward King’s Landing.

“You should have commanded Cannibal to strike him again,” Prince Aemond mutters close to your ear, frustration seeping into his voice.

“Your Highness, the death of your other nephew is not mine. It was by your own commands,” you reply, catching him off guard with the weight of your words. For the remainder of the journey, neither of you says another word. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken tension and the cold reality of what lies ahead.

Your dragon lets out a powerful roar as you approach King’s Landing, as if announcing his arrival. Cannibal swiftly glides toward the Dragonpit, and you can feel Prince Aemond's fingers brushing along your waist, almost as if exploring it. Cannibal lands amidst the growls of other dragons, releasing a burst of fire into the air as he adjusts himself on the ground. The Dragonkeepers gather around, making both you and your dragon uneasy. You wonder if Cannibal might attack them—if he cannot be fully tamed, his value to King Aegon II could be compromised.

You know that maintaining eye contact with Cannibal is crucial to calming him down. Between one growl and another, your dragon settles on the ground, lowering himself slightly. Prince Aemond dismounts with ease, accustomed to the task, while you, on the other hand, struggle on your third attempt to climb down. You start considering whether staying atop your dragon forever might be preferable. Impatience seeps into you as it does into your dragon. Just as you're about to give up, Prince Aemond’s attention shifts back to you after exchanging words with the Dragonkeepers. Like before with the horse, he extends his arms toward you, offering assistance.

"Gundjabo, you must learn how to dismount your dragon," Prince Aemond whispers near your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. The way he helped you down from Cannibal still lingers in your thoughts, the proximity between you far too intimate. You try to respond, but no words seem to form, your voice betraying you. The truth, undeniable as it is, swells within you—you are undeniably drawn to Aemond Targaryen, with a hunger that you can no longer ignore.

"The King summons you both, Your Highness. He insists you be prepared for the banquet he is hosting in honor of his newest dragon's conquest. He desires the presence of both his brother and the dragon's rider as soon as possible," one of the King's servants announces as she approaches. Aemond stiffens, his expression darkening in clear displeasure, and he releases a low growl, a hint of frustration in his gaze. He clearly does not relish the thought of being commanded like this, least of all to celebrate a moment you know he feels is rightfully his.

"Inform the King that we shall join him shortly to celebrate this victory. I trust my bath is prepared, and the gundjabo will ready herself in my company. Ensure she is provided with new attire." Prince Aemond's command is sharp and unyielding, and the servant quickly scurries off to carry out his orders. You feel a rush of shock at the thought of undressing in the presence of Prince Aemond, but your mind immediately shifts to a more pressing concern—calming your dragon. As Aemond exchanges words with a few of the keepers, you make your way to Cannibal. His dark, formidable presence looms as you approach, but you reach out, your hand finding his rough scales. You whisper a brief farewell, a silent promise to return, feeling the bond between you and the mighty beast grow with each touch.

In silence, you follow Prince Aemond to his chambers, trying to discern why he insists on you preparing yourself in his presence. Two possibilities run through your mind: perhaps he seeks to assert his dominance over you, a display of power to ward off any designs his brother might have upon you; or perhaps, this is some form of punishment for the wound you inflicted earlier. His blood still stains your skin, and no doubt the pain from where you cut him lingers. The thought settles heavily—whatever his motive, you are likely in for a reckoning.

"Disrobe yourself; we shall bathe together. Afterward, you will be formally introduced to King Aegon II Targaryen . Know that every action you take in His Grace’s presence will be under my scrutiny, and any misstep will bring consequences upon you," Prince Aemond commands, his voice laced with authority as he begins to undress before you. His words send a shiver down your spine, the implications of his warning settling heavily on your mind. The thought of what consequences might await you under his watchful eye is enough to stir anxiety. It’s no surprise that Aemond seeks to instill fear—he thrives on your desperation, needing to ensure your obedience through intimidation.

"I do not think it proper for me to be bare in your presence, Your Highness. Surely, I can afford you the necessary privacy and prepare myself elsewhere. If you would excuse me..." you attempt, feigning modesty as an excuse to escape the looming consequences of your earlier actions. But before you can slip away, Aemond’s hand grasps your arm with a firm resolve, pressing you against the door of his chambers. His fingers trail up toward your neck, lingering there as if assessing every inch of your skin, studying you like prey caught in his grasp. His one good eye follows the curve of your form, tracing from head to toe in a slow, deliberate gaze. Your breath catches, growing shallow as uncertainty floods your mind. You stand frozen, unsure of what awaits next under his unrelenting scrutiny, as the tension between you grows palpable, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Gundjabo, gundjabo... cease these futile attempts to flee from me. Believe me, within these grand walls, I am the closest thing to safety you shall find. And I think propriety is no longer a concern between us. Now, be a good girl and obey me, before my patience wears thin." Aemond's voice drips with menace as he grips your face, turning it aside so his lips hover near your ear, his words slow and deliberate. His hold is firm, unyielding, and the weight of his command sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath falters, betraying the rising doubt in your ability to navigate this situation. Survival seems like a distant notion, slipping further from reach with each moment spent under his watchful eye. You can feel his control tightening like a noose around your freedom, leaving you cornered. With trembling resolve, you grip his hand, pulling it away from your face without a word. His gaze never wavers, a predatory intensity burning within, watching your every move. Though his words still echo in your mind, you begin to comply with his original order, slowly giving in to the dangerous dance that lies ahead.

You slowly remove your clothing, hoping that Prince Aemond won't torture you for hurting him. He lets out a moan that sounds more like a "hmm" as you finish getting off. When you finish taking off your clothes, he motions with his head for you to take off his clothes too. He had already taken off some of his clothes so in a few moments, he was naked. His dick was slightly hard was on display, which caught your attention. He walked over to enter his bath but not before carrying you into the bath with him. His arms wrapping around you, forcing you into the water with him, surprises you. Until then you didn't think Aemond had that much strength. But now that you're taking a bath together, you are trying to force yourself to think about how to calm him down. You approach him, helping him clean himself; all the while touching every part of Prince Aemond's body.

"Your Highness seems tense, perhaps there is something I can do to help you release all that tension..." You say as you run your hands over Aemond's chest, your fingers moving delicately down groping the hitherto unexplored body of your beloved Prince Aemond. When your fingers reach Aemond's cock, you see the Prince close his eye. He is receptive to your touch as you run your hand over his cock, stimulating it. Your hand moving back and forth slowly as you listens to the muffled moans of Prince Aemond who has his head turned back. Your movements become faster as you feel him becoming more and more surrendered in your hands. You approach Prince Aemond's neck, kissing the spot you cut. The Prince lets out a moan as you kiss his neck again now rising with the kisses, while continuing to make movements on his cock. You kiss Aemond's chin, then his mouth. You try to have some dominance in the kiss because his eye is still closed but as soon as your tongue meets his, he seems to light up. He sucks on your tongue as if tasting a delicious fruit, while pressing you against the bathtub. He then cums in your hand, while letting out a grunt as if he enjoyed it. His gaze upon you is a mixture of pleasure with something else, like pure evil. He gives you a mischievous smile just before pressing you underwater. His hands are pushing you to stay underwater while you try to use your strength to not drown. You're thrashing around, touching every part of Aemond's body to see if he'll let go of you. You start to run out of air, your attempts to survive aren't working so you decide to accept your imminent death. It is then that Aemond pulls you up, as he watches you trying to breathe desperately. As soon as your breath returns to you, you face Prince Aemond. He has a victorious smile on his face, as if he is teaching you a lesson.

"Next time you consider harming me, make sure I do not survive. Otherwise, you shall face a fate far more cruel than merely sharing a bath. But I must say, your skills with your hands, gundjabo, are quite... relaxing." Prince Aemond's voice is chillingly casual, as though the near-murderous tension between you has been nothing more than a passing amusement for him. His gaze lingers on your expression, clearly relishing the fear flickering across your features. For a moment, you stand frozen, words failing you in the face of his menacing calm. The weight of his threat settles in your chest, but you decide it’s best not to challenge him further.

Without uttering a single word, you quickly finish bathing, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere surrounding him. As soon as you step out of the bath, your hands tremble slightly while you hurriedly dress in the green gown laid out for you. Wasting no time, you leave Prince Aemond's chambers as swiftly as your legs will carry you, the feeling of his predatory gaze still burning at your back as you depart to face the next trial—an audience with his brother, King Aegon II.

TO BE CONTINUED

GLOSSARY

Uēpa - Old

Taoba - Boy

Dohaerās - Serve

Kostilus - Please

Rȳbagon - Obey

Sȳz - Good

Gundjabo - Prostitute

Zaldrīzes - Dragon

Kipagīros - Rider

Ñuha Dārilaros - My Prince

SōVegon - Fly

Aderī - Quickly

Angōs - Attack

Lyriri - Calm down

59 notes · View notes

mrsportgas · 3 months ago

Text

The Neightbor CHAPTER 3.

Summary: The story takes place in the real world. Shanks, your unbearable neighbor, makes you a proposition that you're unsure whether to reject. It could be the start of a friendship, or maybe something more?

SHANKS X YOU

WARNING: Except for the first chapter, the rest will contain scenes of sex and violence, making this fanfic strictly +18.

TAG LIST: @buggsclownie @commanderfreethatdust

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SHANKS POV

Everything was calm. I was at the bar, sharing laughs with my friends and a group of girls who had decided to join the conversation. One of them kept touching my arm and flirting shamelessly, but being the gentleman I am, I just keep talking to her to be nice, but my mind was elsewhere.

I watched Y/N as she walked towards the bar and I noticed something different in her face, like she was dealing with a dilemma.

She was walking quickly, with an expression of determination that intrigued me. I couldn’t help but let my eyes follow her, from her gaze to her body. Every move she made had me captivated, but I didn’t let it show on my face. I didn’t want to draw too much attention.

Before I could process what was going on, Y/N was in front of me. In a move I didn’t see coming, her hands slid up my neck, getting closer to me so quickly and decisively that I barely had time to react. I felt her lips press against mine with overwhelming passion, without a second thought.

For an instant, I froze. The initial surprise quickly faded, and my instincts took over. My hands found her waist, pulling her towards me, while my other hand went to her hair, gripping it firmly. I responded to her kiss with the same intensity, our tongues meeting in a battle of desire. Around me, I heard the cheers and laughter of my friends, but all that faded into the background. We were immersed in our own world, though I sensed there was something deeper behind this kiss.

Y/N pulled away from me, her face flushed with embarrassment. My eyes quickly met hers, but then I noticed something that disturbed me: her wrist, reddened. I lowered my gaze to it, and my expression hardened.

"Did he hurt you?" I asked, with clear concern in my voice.

She didn’t answer immediately, just lowered her gaze to her wrist. My jaw tightened. What had happened to bring her to this point?

"What happened, Y/N?" I pressed, trying to keep the irritation that was starting to bubble up inside me under control. She remained silent, but I didn’t need more to understand that someone had done something to her. The atmosphere around us started to shift. The confusion on her face told me something was wrong.

I gently took her hand and guided her to a quieter corner of the bar, where the laughter and noise of the party began to fade. I didn’t want her to feel any more pressure than necessary.

"Are you alright, pretty? Do you want me to take you home?" I asked, trying to ease the tension in the air. But she shook her head, clearly trying to compose herself.

"Who’s that guy?" I asked again, more calmly this time, moving a little closer while my hand softly caressed her back.

"He's my ex… He won't leave me alone," she admitted, closing her eyes. The exhaustion in her voice made it clear this wasn’t something new for her. But what she said next surprised me.

"I'm sorry about before… I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission."

I couldn’t help but smile inwardly. Was she apologizing for kissing me? It wasn’t necessary, but what concerned me most at that moment was the situation with that guy. My eyes scanned the room, and sure enough, there he was, watching the scene with an arrogant smile. Ah, so that’s why Y/N had done it, to get rid of him.

"I can´t handle the situation anymore, I don´t know what else to do".

I stepped closer to her, gently pushing her body with mine, my lips finding hers again. This time the kiss was more intense, full of intention. I wanted to make something clear, not just to Y/N, but to her ex. This wasn’t just a game. As we lost ourselves in that kiss once again, I was aware of her vulnerability, but also of the gaze that was watching us from a distance.

Then, with a soft whisper in her ear, I asked, "Do you trust me?" My breath mingled with the warmth of her skin as I lightly bit her earlobe. I felt her nod, surrendering completely to the moment.

I couldn’t help but smile, enjoying the control I had over the situation. Slowly, I lifted the hem of her dress a bit, sliding my hand underneath to firmly grip her ass. My fingers sank into her skin as I returned to her mouth, devouring her with a restrained desire. I knew Kid was watching, and I wanted him to know one thing: he didn’t stand a chance here.

I kissed Y/N with more intensity, feeling her body surrender to mine. My hand remained firmly on her ass, gripping her as if to mark my territory, sending a clear message to anyone watching. Her soft sighs between our kisses only fueled the fire that was burning inside me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the boy standing there, his face twisted in fury. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white as his body trembled with frustration. The sight of Y/N in my arms, especially with my hand gripping her so intimately, was pushing him to his limit. His arrogant smirk from earlier had completely vanished, replaced by a storm of rage and humiliation.

But I didn’t stop. I wanted him to feel every second of this. I wanted him to understand that Y/N was no longer his to claim or torment. Each kiss, each touch, each pull of her body closer to mine was a deliberate act of defiance.

I could feel Y/N’s heartbeat racing against my chest, the mix of adrenaline and desire palpable between us. Her breath came out in soft gasps as I broke the kiss, moving my lips down to her neck, tasting her skin. I heard her whisper my name, barely audible, as I kissed her gently, my hand still holding her tightly.

In the background, the atmosphere began to shift. Kid’s fury was hard to ignore now. He took a few steps forward, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with anger as he shouted over the noise of the party, "Get your damn hands off her!"

The tension in the air thickened, and I felt Y/N stiffen slightly in my arms. I pulled back just enough to lock eyes with Kid, who now stood glaring at me, looking ready to burst.

"What's the problem?" I asked calmly, my voice deliberately cool and collected. I didn’t move an inch, my hand still resting on Y/N, making it clear that I wasn’t intimidated.

"She's not yours!" he spat, his voice trembling with fury. "You don’t get to touch her like that!"

I smirked, tilting my head slightly, enjoying the look of frustration that crossed his face. "Looks like she doesn’t belong to you either," I replied, my tone sharp, watching the fire in his eyes grow. "Maybe you should learn to take a hint."

The words hit him hard, and I could see the veins in his neck pulsing as his rage built up. But I wasn’t about to let this escalate into a fight, not yet. I leaned closer to Y/N, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before whispering in her ear, "Stay close to me."

She nodded, her fingers tightening their grip on my shirt, as though she trusted me to handle the situation. And I would.

Kid’s temper was getting the better of him, and it was obvious he was on the edge of losing control. His eyes darted between Y/N and me, and for a second, I thought he might actually come at me. But I didn’t flinch. I knew exactly how to handle men like him, hot-headed and desperate for control.

"You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into" Kid growled, taking another step forward, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. "She’s mine. Always has been. You’re just some passing fling."

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "No. She’s not yours. And judging by the way she kissed me, I don’t think she ever wants to be again."

The crowd around us had quieted down now, sensing the tension. My friends stood ready in case things escalated further, but I wasn’t too worried. I knew the boy would think twice before throwing the first punch in front of so many witnesses. Still, I wasn’t going to let my guard down.

"You talk a big game, but let’s face it… You’re nothing to her now," I said, keeping my eyes locked on his, the smirk never leaving my lips. "So why don’t you be smart for once, and walk away before this gets worse for you?"

Kid’s face turned crimson, his breathing heavy and erratic. He clenched his fists tighter, but after a long, tense moment, he finally seemed to realize that this was a fight he couldn’t win. Not like this.

"You’ll regret this," he hissed, glaring at me one last time before storming off, pushing through the crowd angrily.

I let out a small breath of relief as he disappeared from sight. The tension in the room began to ease, and the noise of the party slowly resumed. I looked down at Y/N, who was still holding onto me tightly, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety.

"You okay?" I asked softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She nodded, still catching her breath, but there was a quiet strength in her expression now.

I smiled and pulled her close again, my hand resting on her back. "He won’t bother you anymore, I promise"

YOUR POV

When we parted, I felt as though the world around us had changed somehow, as if all the chaos surrounding us had faded away. The curious stares, the murmurs of people, even the distant echo of Kid’s fury… none of it mattered anymore. It was just Shanks and me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, barely aware that I had spoken. “For… everything.” I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling. Shanks hadn’t just defended me; he had made me feel valued in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Shanks replied, his voice deep and filled with a calmness that wrapped around me. “Besides, now we’re even. A kiss for a kiss.”

I looked around, noticing how the party was slowly returning to its normal flow. Laughter and music once again filled the air, and although I could still feel the occasional glance thrown our way, I no longer cared. We walked back toward the group, and Shanks drifted off to chat with his friends while mine approached me.

"Oh my God, Y/N, are you okay? I don’t even know what just happened," Nami said, breathless.

“I’m fine, girls. I’d rather forget about it… and about Kid.”

"Yeah, let’s just go home," Nami continued.

“Actually, girls… I think I’ll stay here… with them,” Robin said casually.

“With them… or with someone specific, Robin?” Nami teased, laughing.

“Alright, just give us a call if you need anything. You’re not staying, Nami?”

“I will, but only if you don’t leave by yourself,” Nami said, winking at me.

I glanced over at Shanks. He gave me a sense of calm I couldn’t deny. I watched him from afar, talking to his friends, his relaxed and confident demeanor making it seem as though what had just happened didn’t affect him at all.

But I still felt the fire burning inside me. Not just because of what had happened with Kid, but because of what Shanks had awakened in me. From the moment his hands had brushed against my body, his mouth claiming mine, everything had changed. Something inside me had ignited, and I knew that this night wouldn’t simply end with a casual chat and goodbye.

Shanks turned back toward me, a sly smile forming on his lips as if he already knew what I was thinking. He stopped right in front of me, his gaze locked intensely on mine.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his tone casual, but the spark in his eyes told me there was nothing casual about his suggestion.

I nodded, my heart racing. I wanted to be with him, to feel the connection we had shared in every kiss, every touch.

We got into Shanks' car, a comfortable silence filling the space. He slid into the driver’s seat, and I settled into the passenger seat, still feeling the warmth of his proximity on my skin.

The engine purred softly as we pulled away from the noisy party. My gaze drifted to the city lights slowly passing by the window, my thoughts swirling in my mind. I couldn’t believe what had happened; from the kiss at the party to now, it all felt surreal.

I felt a slight brush against my leg, and when I looked down, I saw Shanks’ hand resting casually on my thigh. His touch was gentle, almost as if he didn’t want to impose anything, but at the same time, it made me feel safe, as if everything would be alright as long as he was near.

“Are you okay?” Shanks asked, his deep, soothing voice breaking the silence.

I nodded again, my heart still racing. “Yeah… I’m just a little overwhelmed by everything that happened tonight.”

Shanks glanced at me from the corner of his eye, though he kept his focus on the road. I could see the concern on his face. “You don’t need to worry about Kid anymore,” he said, his tone firm yet reassuring.

His words, though simple, filled me with relief. I knew that if anyone could make Kid back off, it was Shanks. But I didn’t want this night to revolve around that idiot.

“Thank you,” I murmured, and with a small smile, I added, “Although, to be honest, I don’t think you were just protecting me. It seemed like you enjoyed teaching him a lesson too.”

Shanks let out a soft chuckle, the sound filling the car with an unexpected warmth. “Maybe a little,” he admitted with a mischievous smile. “But mostly, I wanted to make something clear: you deserve way more than someone like him.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words. I looked at him, my gaze lingering on his profile under the flickering city lights. There was something about Shanks, a blend of confidence, strength, and a tenderness I hadn’t expected to find in someone like him. I wanted to say something, to express what I was feeling, but the words seemed to get stuck in my throat.

Before I could respond, Shanks reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small white card. He handed it to me without taking his eyes off the road.

“What’s this?” I asked, taking the card between my fingers.

“My work card,” he replied with a playful smile. “I don’t usually give my personal number to just anyone…” he said, laughing lightly.

I looked at the card, surprised by the gesture. It had his name, “Shanks D.,” and the details of what seemed to be a research company. My pulse quickened as I realized that he was not only trusting me with his personal number but also his work contact. It felt like a deeper connection beyond what had happened tonight.

“Thank you,” I whispered, carefully placing the card into my bag.

His gaze met mine briefly, and something in his expression made me feel a warmth I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was as if, beneath that carefree facade, there was someone who truly wanted to take care of me.

When we arrived at his house, he parked the car and turned toward me, his hand still resting on my leg. “Do you want to stay? Or if you want to go home, I’ll understand.”

My heart melted a little at that. He was thoughtful, even though the situation was clearly leading us toward something more. But in that moment, I knew I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to keep being close to him, and I didn’t want to sleep alone in my cold house.

“Thank you,” I said once more, my voice a bit stronger. “But I’d rather not be alone tonight.”

A soft smile curved his lips as he turned off the car. “Then let’s go inside.”

His fingers briefly intertwined with mine as he guided me toward his house. When we were inside, we climbed the stairs. I stayed silent for a moment, watching him as he walked toward what I assumed was the guest room, returning moments later without his jacket. I could still feel the heat of his hand on my leg, the way his touch had both comforted and excited me at the same time.

"You can sleep in my bed, you'll be more comfortable," Shanks said softly. "I’ll head to the guest room."

As he prepared the bed, I stood in the doorway, watching him for a few moments. He seemed so focused, so considerate. But deep down, something inside me urged me not to let this night end with us in separate rooms.

When he finished arranging the sheets, Shanks turned to me with a gentle smile. “It’s all set. You can sleep here. If you need anything, I’ll be in the room at the end of the hall.”

He stood near the door, giving me a brief smile. It was almost like he was trying to wrap up the night. I could feel the hesitation in the air, as if there was something unspoken lingering between us. My heart raced, and I couldn't let him leave just like that.

"Shanks…" I said softly, taking a deep breath. "Stay with me tonight."

His hand paused on the doorknob, and I saw the conflict in his eyes as he turned to face me. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His gaze softened as it met mine, and I could see the desire flicker across his face, but there was something else there too—something holding him back.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice low and rough, "there’s a lot to consider here." He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "There’s an age difference between us. I’m an older than you, and… I don’t want you to regret this later."

I stepped closer to him, feeling the tension between us building. "I won’t regret it," I whispered, my voice steady. "I don’t care about the age difference."

Shanks let out a heavy breath, clearly torn. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away for a moment, as if trying to gather his thoughts. "Y/N," he muttered, his voice slightly strained, "this is not something I take lightly. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I don’t want you to feel like this is something you have to do."

I shook my head, moving even closer until I was right in front of him. "This is what I want," I said firmly, my eyes locking with his. "I want you."

Shanks looked down at me, his expression softening, but there was still that flicker of doubt in his eyes. I could see him wrestling with himself, torn between what he thought was right and what he actually desired. His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch warm and tender.

"You don’t know how much I want this too," he murmured, his voice deep and hushed.

I could see that he was trying to protect me, to be the responsible one. But I wasn’t going to let him push me away. I reached for his hand, holding it between mine. "Then don’t overthink it," I whispered. "Fuck me"

For a long moment, Shanks didn’t move. His hand remained in mine, his gaze searching my face as if he was looking for reassurance, for permission. And then, slowly, he let out a breath, and I saw the final traces of his resistance fade. His hand tightened around mine.

"Alright," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "As you wish sweetheart"

As Shanks’ hand tightened around mine, the air between us shifted, charged with an undeniable energy. He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing mine with a tenderness that almost made me shiver. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring every second, every touch. His hand moved to cradle the back of my neck, pulling me closer as our lips moved in sync, the soft pressure of his mouth sending waves of heat through my body.

I could feel his hesitation slowly melting away, replaced by an unspoken desire. His other hand slid down to my waist, tracing the curve of my hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently teasing mine. I responded in kind, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers.

His lips left mine for a moment, trailing down to my jawline and then to my neck, his breath warm against my skin. Every kiss, every touch, felt like it was setting me on fire. My hands found their way to his shirt, and I began to unbutton it slowly, my fingers trembling slightly as I worked my way down. Shanks watched me, his eyes dark and focused, as if he was waiting for my every move.

When his shirt finally slid off his broad shoulders, I let my hands roam over his bare chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath my fingertips. His perfectly sculpted muscles lay beneath my hands. There was no denying that he had dedicated himself to working on that body to perfection; every muscle was perfectly defined.

I stayed admiring his body for a while. "Like what you see?" he said, raising his voice now with a cocky smile. "Now, you ask me to fuck you. Are you sure?" He said whispering in my ear

I nod and he continued " Great. Then you gonna be a good girl and do everything i say?"

I nod for a second time.

Shanks' eyes darkened with desire as he moved closer, his hands sliding up my body with a mix of passion and control. His touch sent shivers down my spine, and I felt the heat between us intensify.

Without saying a word, his fingers found the hem of my dress, gripping it firmly before pulling it over my head in one swift motion. His gaze roamed over my exposed skin, and I could see the raw hunger in his eyes as he took in every inch of me.

With a fiery determination, he reached for my bra, his movements becoming more urgent, more intense. His hands were rough but deliberate, and the way he undressed me sent waves of anticipation through me. Piece by piece, he stripped away my clothes, his fingers brushing my skin with a fierce tenderness that made my heart race.

His breathing grew heavier, and I could feel the weight of his desire in every movement. He was holding back, trying to stay in control, but I could see the fire burning behind his eyes. He wanted this just as much as I did, and I could sense the passion simmering beneath his restraint.

His eyes roamed over my body, now lying naked except for my panties, as he licked his lips. "You're stunning."

With both hands gripping my waist, he swiftly and powerfully turned me around. His left hand found its place on my neck, guiding my body toward the wall, pressing my face and chest against it.

His right hand settled on my hip, pulling me backward slightly, before slowly sliding down to my ass, delivering a quick, firm smack.

I moaned in response.

After that, his hand traveled back to my thigh, urging me to spread my legs while his fingers traced the fabric of my underwear. When they reached the center, he began moving a single finger in perfect circles over my clit.

I moaned again, needing more. "Shanks… please."

He slid his hand beneath my panties, one finger venturing lower, searching for my entrance, while the others massaged my burning clit in precise movements. When he reached my entrance, he gently slid his finger inside, searching for my G-spot. A moan escaped my lips, and Shanks let out a satisfied huff with a small smirk.

"I'm going to make you come until you can't take it anymore, and then you'll be a good girl and take all of me," he whispered, his sensual tone driving me wild.

He started moving his fingers with perfectly calculated motions. I had never felt anything like it; no one had ever been able to do this. His other hand slid up to my breasts, massaging them and teasing my nipples while he added a second finger. The room was filled with my moans and cries of pleasure.

Shanks grabbed my neck, leaning close to my ear. "You're so wet… If you're good, later I’ll let you ride me."

And that was my undoing. The ball of pleasure that had been building deep inside me exploded throughout my entire body, sending me soaring, my legs trembling, and a deep moan escaping my lips.

He grabbed me firmly, guiding me toward the bed, his strong hands turning me around again. "Lie down," he commanded in a dominant tone, his eyes filled with lust and fierceness, directing me toward the bed. He grabbed a pillow, positioning it beneath my back.

I lay down on the bed as he instructed, still trying to catch my breath, while Shanks tugged my panties down, slipping them off one leg and tossing them to the floor.

Then, he positioned himself between my legs, kissing my thighs before making his way back to my most intimate parts.

NEXT CHAPTER

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shini--chan · 7 months ago

Note

Would you please do a Yandere Character Sheet II for England, Canada, and Russia?

First one will be Russia. The other two will come out next month.

Yandere Character Sheet II

1p Russia - Ivan Konstantinovich Braginski

Trigger warnings: stalking, other controlling behaviours, toxic relationship dynamics, isolation, trivilisation of abuse, coersion, drugging, implied violence

Blend in - Are the red flags obvious? Are they even aware that their behaviour is wrong? Do they even care?

On this topic, there are the red flags that Ivan is self-aware of, and those he hasn't the foggiest clue of. Russia doesn't have any delusions of self-righteousness or sainthood. While he may strive for a better life and dream of eternal summer, he is cynical beneath the friendliness and hospitality. He is well-aware that he has flaws, and he sees them as products of his circumstances above anything else. As such, he doesn't invest much energy in trying to curb them.

Some of the red flags in himself that he is conscious of are the following:

That he is overly controlling. This is part of his natural personality and what makes him yandere as well. To him, it is a need that has to be fulfilled. Especially at the start of your relationship, he wouldn't really trust you and it would shine through. Ivan would try to keep it subtle, though how successful he'd be at that is a different question. He is older or at least more experienced than you. In ways, he doesn't expect you to be capable of handling yourself, at least not entirely, and that you therefore need somebody to guide you. Along the same vein, he'd be prone to offering unsolicited advice. Of course, he has other reasons for this sort of behaviour - such as that he simply feels more at ease the more control he has over the situation at hand. Ivan has been disappointed and burned too often in the past to just give somebody else the reigns.

As such, he would hover over your shoulder and check what sort of books you read and TV shows you watch. His reasoning behind this is that he doesn't want you to be corrupted. You are precious to him, and he doesn't want you to lose your lustre.

Will always want to know your whereabouts and doings, as well as the reasons behind them. Part of this would be to get to know you better, part to protect you.

Tying in with what is described in the first point, is that he would be prone to making important decisions without you. Suddenly, you would find yourself engaged to him, then spirited away to the registry office for marriage and moving in with him. Should you be unable to assert yourself, then he'll just steamroll over your opinions and sweep you along. You might try to argue, but you would have to argue well or else he'll just shut you down.

Is very restrictive when it comes to how other people interact with you, even early on in the relationship. The reason behind this would be twofold - on one hand, he wants to protect your honour. No insults towards you would be tolerated, nor vulgar remarks or flirting. Who knows, maybe you'd even have to restrain him from some hapless boy that just winked at you while crossing the street. The other part is that he doesn't want anybody to steal you away or hurt you, or fill your head with fluff. The more time passes, the more hoops a person would have to jump through just to get to talk with you for a few minutes.

Another characteristic that you'd have to suffer under would be his paranoia. You are very important to him, thus he'd live with the underlying fear of you abandoning him. Want to retain a certain measure of freedom? Then don't hint that you want to leave him while you hold his heart in your hands. Still, he would regularly demand reassurances and test your loyalty.

Despite all these things that he would inflict on you, he would remain an immensely private person and take very long to start to truly open up to you. His respect and trust aren't something given, they are earned. The matter is, a normal, peaceful life wouldn't allow you to demonstrate your loyalty to him sufficiently enough for his tastes, so he would put you through some tribulations.

Beneath a certain threshold, he would be quick to trivialise the suffering and fears of other people. His black humour would exacerbate this, since he would also be inclined to trolling people over what he deems "minor dilemmas".

Compatriot - Who aids them? Who condemns them? Are there ways you can convince their friends/colleges/underlings to help you?

You'd think he'd be on his own here but no, he has plenty of support. For each person that does him a favour, he would give something in return. As such, he'd have a lot of people willing to aid him. With all these persons and groups, he would be careful not to reveal all his cards. Ivan knows that much of the leverage he wields also comes from being unpredictable and he would take advantage of this to it.

For those that aid him, be it attaining to maintaining to retrieving you, there would be prizes. Aside from that, there would also be those that are wholly loyal to him, whether because of patriotism, ideology or kinship, or naked self-interest. These people would often go out of their way to help him on their own initiative. Exactly these types would be the hardest to sway to your side, and you might have to deceive, or at least mislead, them if you want them to help you with matters that run counter to Ivan's desires. However, if what you want isn't diametrically opposed to your "lover's" wishes, or if you make them think so, then they'll be glad to help you out as well.

Naturally, there are those that work for or under Ivan Konstantinovich and are unhappy with the lot they've drawn. These people would be wary of you at first, considering his attachment to you. In the case that you bridge the gap successfully, then they'll aid you with vigour, and if it is only to be petty towards Russia. The ground condition here is that they would dare … rebel. Despite what you may think, it wouldn't be self-evident.

On the flip side, there are many that would be ready to help you in a heartbeat just because it is Ivan that they are dealing with. The need to deal a blow would come before everything else. If this is a wise choice is a different discussion altogether. In the case that the "plan" fails, chances are high that you'd be dropped like a hot coal.

Taking a step away from those fanatic elements, there would be the more level-headed opponents as well. Don't be surprised when you're treated more like a chess piece than a human being.

Dominion - What actions are especially pleasing to them?

Ivan can be very simple in this regard. Cater to him and praise him; reserve a special place in your heart for him and be the sort to have enough sensitivity to know which actions are appropriate and when. Additionally, use diminutives that display your closeness to him, like Vaneshka or Ivanushka. In turn, he'll expect to have the privilege of being the only one to use a special diminutive of your name.

Fluffy relationship jazz aside, find opportunities to flaunt your loyalty to him. As mentioned before, he would need constant reassurance to feel comfortable in your relationship. Keep in mind that the more his paranoia is quelled, the more freedoms you'd have. That said, you'd have to make sure it is viewed as genuine and not mere lip service. Show, don't tell. These don't have to be over-the-top romantic gestures - in fact he would prefer it if you don't subject him to such things too often. What matters is that you choose him even when it is the less favourable option. Suffer for his sake instead of saving yourself.

What would please him immensely, would be to have his achievements recognised by you. Ranging from small things like making a good breakfast to major things like putting a man in space, he'd want you to look at him with admiration. Just like how America has claimed that he was the deciding player in WWII when it actually was the USSR - Alfred was getting his arse handed back to him in the Sahara when Nazi Germany’s fate was sealed at the Battle of Kursk - he doesn’t like it when somebody takes credit for his achievements.

Accept his version of reality - don’t dismiss his fears or laugh at his desires and make him feel appreciated. He also wants somebody to confide in, somebody that he can someday pour his heart out to. A person that wouldn’t clap their hands over their ears, or call him a liar or end the conversation because what they are hearing is too much. Show him that he can trust you, and you’ll find your life with him becoming much more comfortable.

Aside from that, he’d love it if you take on a multitude of hobbies - such as gardening, reading, wood work and the such. Preferably they should be hobbies that are either useful and train the body and or mind. On top of that, Ivan would want something mundane that you two can connect over, such as hiking and watching cheesy melodrama and then writing critiques of them online.

Flight - What do you have to do in order to escape them?

Find a moment when he is weak and distracted and make a break for it - or not. On that front, the situation is complicated, since Ivan actually functions best when life isn’t very peaceful and comfortable for him. Pain makes him move faster and his thought processes clearer. If anything, you’d be in for a very nasty shock. Since you are what provides him happiness, he would be all the quicker to track you down if you flee when the going is rough.

As it is, you’d have to find a moment when he is totally weakened, weakened to the point where he can’t move without assistance, or when he is completely at ease and therefore would take some time to notice something is amiss. The other option would just to be quicker on your feet and get in his decision making loop - surprise him, do what he wouldn’t expect. Though watch out - he would be very quick to adjust to new challenges.

Hospitality - What is your life like with them? How much does it deviate from your former life?

Once again, that would largely depend on your behaviour. Though, there would still be some fundamentals. Ivan would expect the two of you to fit together like two peas in a pod. While he wouldn’t be adverse to with seeing other people, he would be very strict and controlling on who you would see. Mostly, he would insist that he is present whenever you interact with another human being, be it your mother or a cashier in a store. Who knows who could harm you? Who knows who would try to seperate you from him?

What would occur, would be a lot of outdoor activities, especially in summer. It would be a bonding experience, a way to distract you from the “harsh realities” that you’re facing and as a means to prevent you from escaping. You’d hardly have time to plot an escape, never mind prepare for one if you’re constantly busy and in unknown locations. You wouldn’t be a sex doll to him, so he would encourage you to have your own personality, within premediated boundaries of course. You’re allowed to have hobbies and a mind of your own, as long as said mind isn’t opposed to him. If anything, hobbies would function to make you more comfortable around him, and as a way for him to show you his support and encouragement.

If you are very well behaved, then he’d even allow you to have a job. With enough imagination, you could even trick yourself into thinking that you are living a normal life and are in a somewhat normal relationship. There would be surveilance and a hideous amount of rules that you’d have to follow, but Ivan would explain it away as the price of being so high in the pecking order. Should you make peace with that, life would be fairly ok.

Should you not be well behaved, then the retriction would come into play. You’d have a tracker implanted, and somebody to shadow your movements and even pull you away from other people if you seem to be getting to cozy. Finacial movements of yours would be tracked, as well as the location of your withdrawal. Ivan would gain access to your electonics, and if your behaviour would worsen, then he would relieve you your mobile devices entirely. If he is feeling gracious, then he would set up a seperate account on his computer, but don’t count on that. A curfew would be implemented, upon which you are to stay in your room and go to sleep once the clock strikes the determined hour. For safety, the room would be sparse and you’d have to hand in any books or tools or electronics. He’d use sleeping pills on you if you’d try to defy him by staying up late on purpose.

Generally, you’d live a life according to a strict schedule, that would only become harsher the more you act out against him. It could very well culminate in him spiriting you off to the middle of nowhere to live in a hunt. Just the two of you - how very romantic, yes?

Order - What are the rules you have to adhere to?

There are quite a few, and some of them would only come into force later on, or be discarded as the relationship progresses and the circumstances change. Though, here are some of the ground rules:

Always be honest with me. If there is something that Ivan can’t stand, then it is cunning. He sees it as a weakness of character, indesivness in descion making, and disrespect to other people. Besides, if you lie once, then when should he know when you’ll lie again? If you like riddles and prose, fine, just don’t be misleading. Don’t induluge in half-truths. If there is something that you don’t like about him or his behaviour, be the one to inform him on your own incentive - don’t make him pull every word out of your throat, and don’t let him gain the information from the rumour mill. If you tell him one thing, only for him to find out the opposite was true later on, then his trust in you will be diminished and he’ll play restrictions on you, at the very least.

Stay in control of your emotions. I don’t want to see any tantrums. Ivan is very familiar with flights of passion, with emotional speeches and impulsive gesture. Though, you should be in control of your emotions - not the other way around. If that isn’t the case, then he would see it as a sign of you needing to be fixed and that you shouldn’t be allowed out in public. Also, whenever you get very emotional, he can’t help but ask himself if it is a ploy, or if you are a hysterical person in general.

If you don’t want to be harmed, then don’t try to harm me. To him, relationships should be mutual, so if you try to poison or electrucute or stab him or harm him in anyway, then he’ll pay you back with interest. This would be an especially sore spot for him, since he is cynical as it is. He would take such actions as betrayal, and traitors ought to be punished most serverly. Of course, he wouldn’t want to break you, though he might end up overestimating your hardiness and permanently damaging you anyhow.

Listen to you, and don’t dismiss my words lightly. If there is something that Ivan loathes, it is being made a laughing stock. Something he detests just as much is when his words are simply shrugged off. While there is a certain pleasure in sticking around to say “I told you so” when things go south, people are capable of cognitive distortion. Thus, he would want to taken seriously from the get-go. If you need time to come around, then fine, he is a patient man. However, even his patience has an end.

Rehabilitation - How much will they change you? Will they break you? How much therapy would you need in the event that you get rid of them?

Part of Ivan’s schick is to make you dependant on him in some form or manner. If he can manage it, you’d need him in multiple ways, such as for financial support, protection, understanding, familiarity … and much more than can be listed here. Man and wife are one before God and the law - he would want to go even further than that.

Tearing yourself away from him would be painful in its own way, and you would need community support in order to learn how to live on your own again. Not something easy, since you would have to build many, in some cases all, social bonds from scratch. Ivan would look for you in your former community, so returning wouldn’t be much of an option. To top it off, he would strive to install his own paranoia and cynicism in you, so that opening up to other people would be very difficult. All in all, it would be more likely for you to return to his embrace than to make a full recovery.

Full recovery would be grueling and you’d have to have somebody to hold you in place when you’d slip back and wish to return to him. It would take years, and you would have to have an iron clad will to not give in to despair.

Zeal - Do they fall fast or slow? What is their reaction to their own feelings?

He is fast to take an interest in you, but slow to actually act in his feelings. The key matter here is that while he is a passionate man, he has learned to control it with pragmatism. So, he would make efforts to get closer to you, to learn more about you and then decide how he should handle you. That being said - he is slow to move but once he does, it is with great momentum.

#yandere hetalia #yandere character sheet #yandere russia #yandere #yandere x reader #x reader

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natasha-in-space · 9 months ago

Text

All Good Things Must End

Ray/gn!reader;

From the beginning, you trusted Ray with all your heart. He was the embodiment of your fairytale dream come to life. Your respite from all the unappealing troubles of the outside world. But all fairytales have an ending to them. And yours is not as happy as you expected.

CW: brief mention of violence, erratic behavior, depiction of a codependent relationship. This is a Danger Ray fic! Set during V's route. Loosely based on the 7th day outgoing call to V (11:51 AM, after the 'Provoke' chatroom).

Lovely dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

Ray was a good man. A kind man. A fragile man, even. His entire appearance would remind you of a beautiful but delicate flower. So starved for love and warmth, yet so sensitive to every harsh touch of the wind, even the slightest of pushes against its soft petals would make it start to wilt. A flower that needed nothing but some gentle care and love for it to come into bloom. And, of course, you were willing to give him just that. After all, why wouldn't you be? Ray has been nothing but kind and caring towards you, ever since you stepped foot into this strange place, guiding you along the way while holding your hand and not minding any of your clumsy mistakes. He was understanding. Attentive. Curious. Always checking in with you and eager to hear about your day. Never ignoring you or making you feel stupid if you didn't understand a thing or two.

No wonder you found it so easy to open up to him in your short time here. You trusted that he would do no wrong by you. Just as he promised.

At least... that's what you thought. And appearances can be deceiving. Oh, so very deceiving. Now, it felt downright humiliating just how much of a blind fool you really were. How stupidly determined you were to deny and rebuke anyone daring to challenge your views on Ray.

You loyally refused to trust Rika's musings about Ray's 'darkness' during your brief stay with her, dismissing them as nothing but her twisted philosophy that you couldn't even begin to comprehend. You impulsively denied V's numerous warnings not to trust in Ray's sugary words, reassuring yourself over and over again that surely his affections for you must be true and earnest. You turned your back on every nagging suspicion buzzing at the back of your mind during short moments of unrest. You knew in your heart that Ray was a kind, tender boy. He was simply confined to an environment that would exacerbate his worst traits.

And he was only human, right? No one is immune to harmful outside influences being forced down upon them. Anyone could end up in his place one day, even you. It was no reason for you to be hostile and distrustful of him.

Then again, maybe that was just your mind trying desperately to keep you calm in the midst of a horrible storm you found yourself being forcibly thrust into. After all, accepting just how truly bad and out of your control things truly were here... How utterly helpless and vulnerable you were, with no one there to come save you if you needed it... How trapped and isolated you were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of lush mountain forests, with no civilization in sight...

Just the thought of it would make a heavy lump of acidic bile rise up to your throat. The sad truth is... Ray simply provided you with feelings of solace and comfort that some deeper, weaker part of you was so desperate for. Losing that was something you were not ready to face yet. He was there by your side from day one. He had a better understanding of you than anyone else did. Of course you would cling to his familiar presence for this brief feeling of stability you yearned for so gravely.

In retrospect, it was always a losing battle for you to try and win. You could have done better. You really, really could have done so much better. Yet it still hit you harder than a sledgehammer to the back of your skull, when the bitter reality has finally reared its ugly head to you, without any regard for your fragile heart.

You resent yourself for hitting that call button despite your gut screaming at you not to. You were already well aware that you would regret doing that, somewhere on the back of your mind. But, in the moment, your worry for your friend overpowered your lingering anxiety. Maybe out of some sense of duty. V made it all the way here, just to save you. You played a big role in his capture, in a way. If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be in danger. And not knowing a single thing about his whereabouts or even his state was... daunting.

So, you dialed his phone number.

You anticipated that he wouldn't pick up. Maybe you would receive a very brief phone call with him begging you to keep yourself safe, like he always would. Or even just a quick exchange of words between you two that would maybe give you even the tiniest of clues on his whereabouts. Something you could then relay to Seven. Make yourself useful. Actually do something, instead of just sitting there and driving yourself mad with dozens upon dozens of anxious thoughts clouding your mind.

What you received was worse than you could have ever imagined.

It was one thing to hear pained groans, gasps, and raspy coughing on the other end of the line. You already had an expectation that V would not be okay when you hear his voice. It still left your knees feeling weak and your heart lurching in your chest with a dizzying intensity, but you could handle that, to an extent. What you couldn't handle was also hearing a familiar soft-spoken voice that has become an unstated but undeniable source of comfort for you. A voice that was now sounding so cold and angry, that your brain had a hard time comprehending what was happening, seemingly shutting down completely, as you remained deathly quiet for the whole duration of that cursed call.

Ray just was not supposed to be there.

You have heard him get angry before. You have heard him lose his grip on reality before. You have heard him say things you couldn't truly agree with, despite you still going along with them regardless, to avoid causing him any disturbance. Those were all aspects of him you were not blind to. You just actively chose to overlook them whenever they would come up. Something that you probably shouldn't have done.

-But you never heard him be so downright cruel and vicious before. Seemingly not at all disturbed by the very real sounds of suffering from the other living person there with him. Even getting angrier at them.

Like it was something completely normal. Not at all worth getting upset or worried over.

You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that this was the same man that worried himself sick over you simply scraping a knee. He was so caring, so empathetic to you back then... over a small cut, of all things. And now, that very same man was not at all disturbed by such grave suffering happening right in front of him.

No, by the sounds of it... he was actively causing it.

And that's not something you could live in peace with.

The call lasted for a maximum of two minutes. That's the time that your phone would display to you whenever you mindlessly return to it, anyway. But it felt way longer than that. For those two horrible minutes, your ears were ruthlessly subjected to the merciless reality you were so desperate to avoid facing up until that very moment.

The bitter truth was that Ray is not a fragile flower. Nor is he a prince from a fairytale. For, fairytales are not reality. No matter how much you want them to be. He was a man, a human being, just like you. Just like every other person in this building. And much like any human being, he was more than capable of causing harm by his own two hands if he so chooses. In fact, he would do so purposefully. And a victim of his spiraling wrath was no longer some faceless unlucky believer that you could forget about in a matter of hours, despite you genuinely feeling bad for them. No, it was your friend. A friend who fought so desperately to save you, even at the cost of his own safety. A friend you have come to care for in the short time you have known each other.

A friend, you knew for sure didn't deserve to be suffering in the way that he was. By the hands of your other friend you cared for just as deeply.

Such reality was just too cruel for you to bear.

So, you do the most foolish thing of all.

You confront Ray head-on.

"-Y/N, you must be confused... I've done no wrong. I do admit that I... did loose myself for a moment there, but- but it was his own fault! If he just kept quiet and drank the elixir like my Savior has instructed, I wouldn't get so upset with him. And he kept saying his stupid lies... He wouldn't shut up. My head hurt so bad... You have no idea."

You are left feeling sick to your very core by the soft apologetic smile reflected on Ray's face, once you do have a chance to finally face him again. No matter what you say, how hard you try to show him how wrong and cruel his actions really were, it was all completely pointless. For someone so seemingly skittish and subservient, Ray was frustratingly stubborn in his beliefs. It was like throwing a tennis ball at a wall. The more force you put into your throw to get your point across, the harder it just bounces right back into your face, leaving you with the painful sting of your failure.

You shake your head, an ugly mess of emotions steadily clouding your sense of judgment. At some point, you lose track of your location and position. All caution goes out the window. All that remains is a debilitating feeling of betrayal, clutching at your insides like metal rods slowly puncturing your very heart. "It is still wrong, Ray! How can you not see that!? He was suffering, and you just- just-"

The words don't come out of your mouth, obstructed by the suffocating lump stuck in the middle of your throat. You were going in circles now. You have been trying to get through to him for almost ten minutes straight, and still no results. You have to take a moment to try and regain your breathing. A soft glowed hand rests gently upon your chin, causing you to tilt your head to meet Ray's gaze instead.

You are disgusted by the genuine concern etched onto his delicate features. By the unfeigned emotions of nothing but genuine care and affection swimming in his eyes as he looks at you. By the tender touch warming up your clammy skin. All of it is sincere. You know he is not lying to you. Not right now, at least. And that is a sickening realization to come to.

More than anything, you are disgusted by the simple fact that you cannot perceive him as a monster or an angel. Ray is no perfect prince from a fairytale, no matter how hard he may try and appear to you as such.

He's a human.

Just like you.

And this implies that he is capable of all the atrocities that any human being is capable of. As much as he is kind to you, he can also be cruel to others. As much as his hands soothe and tremble when they brush up against yours, they can also hurt and sully those he harbors hatred for. It's not all black and white, as you would like to delude yourself into thinking.

And his actions were truly appalling to you. You couldn't live in your fantasy world anymore. It was sullied. Destroyed beyond repair. Your Wonderland has been corrupted from the start, and you just denied each and every sign of it, until it was too late.

"My prince/ss... It pains me to see you in such distress. Though, your tender heart is another trait of you that I adore," Ray whispers to you softly, his thumb lightly brushing over your cheekbone. He was touching you so gently, it's almost like you were made out of glass. And yet, just a few hours earlier, these exact hands were causing so much suffering to someone you care so deeply about. The thought prompts you to swallow hard and clutch your hands together as they start to shake. He continues, seemingly undisturbed by your lack of a positive response. "-But believe me when I say that that villain is not deserving of your compassion. He tried to take you away from me... To ruin what you and I have built together. I cannot stand by and watch him do that to us. What if you got hurt because of him? I would never forgive myself, if that were to happen."

You shut your eyes, refusing to accept the reality unfolding before you. Everything was wrong. So very wrong. One part of you wanted to scream and shout at him, to make him see the twisted nature of his words by pure unrelenting force if you have to. But there was another part of you that contemplated just giving up and concluding this interaction altogether. The debilitating feeling of helplessness was just too much for you to handle.

You are not allowed to do either of those things, however. Instead, another hand lightly rests on the small of your back, pulling you in towards the source of your distress. And you don't fight it. You feel your forehead come in contact with Ray's chest, his flowery scent filling your senses, as both of his arms are now circling around you. You hear a happy sigh fall from his lips. It all seemed like a very cruel joke on you. A moment that seemed so sweet and touching, bringing you nothing but more hurt and anguish.

Did he really not see anything amiss with any of this?

"I missed you so much, my flower... You know, when I heard that liar try and talk to me like he knew you better than I do, I felt like I might just strangle him right then and there. Make sure he never utters your lovely name ever again." Ray's voice is slightly gruff from how quiet it is against the side of your head. A low hum vibrates in his throat as he nuzzles into your hair like an affectionate cat would, breathing in your scent with all the longing you could possibly ask for. Though, the only thing that comes from his affections is a sickening feeling of dread for you.

"-But I thought of you. I thought of your lovely smile... Your eyes, your voice. I know I shouldn't think like this, but... You gave me more strength than my Savior's words ever did. What I did... I did for you. For us, Y/N." He continues, taking a step back from the hug to look at you. Your gaze is cast low, as you don't reciprocate the gesture. You can't bring yourself to look at him right now. It's hard to even keep yourself from putting your hands over your ears to avoid hearing it all. He gently tilts your head up, however, making it clear that he wants you to look at him. "Please don't be upset... It breaks my heart to see you sad because of that villain."

That's when the dam inside of you finally shatters, all repressed emotions spilling out in a violent wave of hopelessness you cannot bring yourself to stop. You wrench yourself away from Ray's arms, your own hands now clenched into tight fists as you look him directly in the eyes. There's a fire burning ever hotter inside of your chest, and you make no attempt to put it out. You let it take over you completely, consequences be damned.

"Villain?Villain!? Ray, he did all he could to save me! And you locked him up and tortured him for that!"

Your mind is screaming at you to stop. To stop and fix things before they spiral too out of your control.

You're being too aggressive. Too blunt. Too disobedient. Staying safe requires you to be both calm and smart about this. And you are neither of those things right now.

But you don't care.

Even as you see the emotions in Ray's eyes shift from that suffocating affection to a mix of desperation and frustration you know well. He makes a step towards you. You make two steps back. This makes his brows furrow in what you could only assume was dissatisfaction.

You never backed away from him before.

"Save you...? No. No. Y/N, he tried to steal you from me. Poison you with his lies, like he has done to my Savior. He did it to me, too! I'm the one who saved you. I did what had to be done to protect you!" You can actively hear his voice changing from the shaky disbelief at your denial of him to rough desperation to prove you wrong. It's borderline scary how quick those changes are occurring right in front of your eyes. Almost in a blink of an eye. It's yet another blaring warning for you to stop.

One that you ignore.

Instead, your frustration boils up inside of you, making you sneer at his stubborn refusal to see reason: "By hurting him!? By making him choke and gag in pain? What was the point of-"

Your angry line of thought is instantaneously interrupted by a small yeep that slips past your lips, as Ray closes in on you in just a couple of quick steps, grabbing at your wrists with a tight grip. Tight enough to cause you some discomfort. His eyes are wide, and his breathing is noticeably shaky. Like he's fighting to get enough air into his lungs and failing miserably. He yanks you close, making you stumble into him without much time for you to struggle or push back against him. Mostly due to your state of pure disbelief. You never expected Ray to actually do anything to you. And while he wasn't actively hurting you, this was still shattering your perception of him to bits and pieces. Or, what remained of it.

"That was nothing, Y/N. He deserved all of that. He deserved that and more. You feel sad for him? You wish mercy on him?" You are suddenly pushed back against the wall, and Ray's slim form keeps you trapped in this makeshift cage you created for yourself with your reckless actions. Ray's voice grows shakier, yet also significantly lower. It sounded dangerous. Angry. His nose brushes up against yours, as he's leaning so close to you, you can't focus on anything but him. Your breath hitches as you instinctively press yourself up against the wall, the panicked pounding of your heart echoing in your temples. "You have no idea how badly he hurt me. What pain I went through because of that- that-"

You can't help but wince in pain as his grip on you tightens. An action that seems to immediately shake Ray out of his temporary fit of anger, as he gasps and quickly lets go of you, stumbling backwards with a frightened expression painted over his features. You don't even have to look at him to know that he is probably in a less than stable state of mind. You are left staggered, betrayed and confused, as you stand there, eyes cast low, rubbing at your wrists. They didn't hurt. Not much, at least. It's the psychological aspect of it that left an impact of you.

Ray's voice feels muffled as it reaches your ears through the constant flow of thought in your head.

"I- N-No, Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn't want to- Are you hurt?" You can see him taking a step back towards you, hand reaching out for yours, probably to check on your wrists. You can tell he's scared. And upset. Probably guilty. Which makes this even harder for you to grapple with.

Either way, you cut him off, not wanting to hear any more of this. Partially because you understand that staying to listen will only cause you to break further, if it was even possible at this point. Because he sounds so genuine, nervous, and miserable, it makes your heart ache for him despite yourself. Makes you want to look up, smile, and say that you're okay. That you two can figure it out together.

And you don't want to repeat the same mistake twice.

"Just... Leave, Ray." You mutter out quietly, not raising your eyes at him. You sound a bit too soft for your liking, but it'll do. Swallowing, you repeat yourself for good measure. "Please. Leave."

There is a prolonged pause between the two of you. It's almost too lengthy for comfort. Neither of you say anything for a while. But the tension in the air is thick, and it does not fade with time. It only grows. Crawling over you like snakes. There is a fear within you that prevents you from looking at him. A fear of seeing the pain in his eyes. Or, instead, to come face to face with that same anger that felt so alien to you.

Ray finally speaks up. His voice is barely audible.

"...N-No..."

He moves closer to you still. For the second time today, you are finding yourself backing away. But now, you turn your back on him and keep your hands locked where you can see them. You can feel them shaking. With a sigh, you repeat: "Leave."

And, as you soon learn, that was not a very wise choice for you to make.

You're quickly spun around before you can think to act, and Ray's fingers are digging into your shoulders with a disturbing intensity, leaving you little time to react. He's observing you as if you were a wounded animal that was left behind after being hit by a car. Like you're the saddest creature he had ever seen. And, for some reason, that look scares you more than the previous anger he showed you.

"I can't believe this..." He murmurs under his breath, his eyes darting over your figure, almost like he was searching for something physical on you that could be visible to the human eye. But he doesn't find it, and that seems to upset him further. You try to pull away from him, only to get jerked back in again, his hold on you tightening.

Only this time, he does not pay any attention to your visible discomfort. He was too occupied with his own thoughts that you were not aware of. It's like he doesn't even see you. Not fully, anyways.

He holds your chin and tilts your face to examine you more closely. As he does, his shaky breath sneaks over your cheek and causes you to shiver in place.

"He... He poisoned you, didn't he...?"

The hushed murmur sounds so utterly ridiculous that it almost makes you forget about the disturbing nature of this situation for a good moment. Yet, he was completely serious. And he wasn't even talking to you, by the looks of it.

"What? Ray, I-"

"-That's why you are saying all these things to me... That's why you don't trust me anymore." Ray cuts you off as if you were not there, his brows furrowing into a deep scowl, but not one aimed directly at you. One of his hands grips onto your chin, while the other finds your hand and takes it into his own, his fingers sliding between yours. He grasps it tight, in a hold that would feel reassuring, if it wasn't for the circumstances. "My Y/N wouldn't tell me to leave. I should've guessed..."

A shiver of fear runs down your spine. As your outburst of frustration subsides, you slowly start to realize the seriousness of this situation for you, as the fire of anger and betrayal subsides. Now you wish Ray was angry again. At least then he still listened to you. But how can you fix things when he doesn't even acknowledge you?

"-Don't worry," You are brought back to reality by a warm and assuring smile on Ray's face. One that only makes you feel nauseous. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, making your breath hitch. Staying there, he whispers onto your skin, like a secret promise only for your ears to hear. "I will fix it, my prince/ss. I shouldn't have been away from you for this long in the first place... My Savior is far too busy to give you the care and attention you need. But now, I'm here. And I'm not leaving your side again. I promise. I'll make sure you are smiling again."

He does not let go of you again. While your fairytale might have been broken, his has only begun its story. And his happily ever after is not something he will give up on. Even if you did.

#mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mm #ray choi #choi ray #mystic messenger ray #saeran choi #ray x reader #saeran x reader #i am spraying him from a water bottle because he's being a bad kitty #but uh #anyways #i love his more dangerous side in v's route #the scene with him torturing v is one i don't see many talk about #also he's a bit more erratic here #not as premeditated as danger ray is usually portrayed #i read through and listened to his bad endings and his overall behavior #and it's a thing i am very fascinated by #how quick he is to lose his composure and act out in a way he feels guilty for moments after #or how quick he is to switch #from the panicked desperation to complete delusion #and i feel like once that switch happens #you're done #you're just done #he won't listen to you #he's too stuck in his own head #it happens during the another story bad ending #and it somewhat happens in his bad ending during v's route #he's very possessive or you and - subsequently - his fairytale reality

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