#I thought of this while stoned the other day

[hederasgarden]

Protego te

Summary: Macrinus’s ambition brings you and Lucius to the Colosseum. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: 18+ only, mature themes. Brief attempted SA (nothing graphic), brief descriptions of violence and blood and Lucius being protective. A/N: This story takes place between Ab Initio and Post tenebras lux. Thank you to @ryebecca for beta'ing! Based on this request by @aninnai. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

The open-air carriage rattles as the wheels struggle over the uneven, dusty road. The rough ride forces you closer to Lucius and you lay a hand on his chest to steady yourself. He glances at you briefly, his fingertips brushing your hip in a subtle, silent reassurance. Outside the metal bars the crowd mills around, some pressing closer to catch a glimpse of the gladiators traveling with you. Lucius doesn’t acknowledge them, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

It’s clear he’s waiting for something, his breath steady, but shallow. The cart lurches and you gasp in surprise as the Colosseum appears. It’s larger than anything you've ever imagined, its imposing structure dwarfing everything around it. Despite the circumstances that have brought you here, you can't help but marvel at its grandeur. It’s nothing like anything you’ve seen before. 

Lucius seems less impressed by the sight, his expression darkening as he turns to face you. He tucks his head gently against yours, his breath falling warmly over the shell of your ear as he speaks in a low murmur.

“It will be different here,” he warns. “There will be other gladiators — men who don’t belong to Macrinus. Some won’t recognize my claim on you.”

You nod and the fear that’s always simmering just beneath the surface flares up again, expanding, spreading through you. It’s kept in check only by Lucius’s presence beside you. His touch grounds you. 

“I understand,” you reply quietly.

“You cannot be alone here,” he continues. You feel the tension in his grip, the unspoken warning laced in his voice. “You must always be with me or one of the men here.”

You glance up at the group of gladiators riding with you. All of them are seasoned fighters who’ve trained with Lucius as long as you’ve known him. While they don’t openly welcome you, there’s an unspoken understanding between you and them. They fear and respect Lucius enough to leave you alone. And Lucius believes that will extend to protecting you on his behalf as well. You feel less sure but keep that doubt to yourself.

When you arrive at the Colosseum, Macrinus is there to greet your party, a broad grin on his face as he claps Lucius on the back. His voice is animated, excitedly discussing the upcoming games the twin emperors plan to hold to celebrate their birthdays. Like always, his words are filled with a fervor that feels both unsettling and expectant.

He doesn’t spare you a glance as Lucius leads you forward. Your gladiator’s hand stays firmly planted on your lower back, a silent reminder of his claim on you as you pass others. As you are drawn deeper into the bowels of the arena Macrinus departs with a short, bald man in fine robes and a young boy appears to lead your group. 

Torchlight flickers, casting long shadows on the stone walls as you continue down the narrow, winding corridors. The air grows heavier and despite the steady pace, you can feel yourself losing track of where you came from. You knew the Colosseum was massive, but the underground world is a labyrinth, blending together in a disorienting maze. If you were left here, you’d never find your way out, you realize. That thought unsettles you and you grasp at Lucius’s tunic. 

He responds with a low, comforting sound and his hand briefly touches yours in reassurance. You continue on, the feeling of disquiet lingering in the pit of your stomach until you begin to ascend once more. Daylight filters through the gaps in the stone and with another sharp turn you find yourself in a large room with a high ceiling. 

Gladiators line the long wooden table in the center of the room and the rumble of their conversation dims when they notice your group’s arrival. The young boy steps forward, announcing to the gathered crowd that Lucius and the other gladiators belong to Macrinus. Most of the seated men size up the competition but enough of them stare openly at you that you feel Lucius’s hand shift to the back of your neck, his fingers curling around the soft skin there. 

Without a word, he pulls you roughly forward, bringing you closer to the table. His shoulders square and his presence seems to dominate the space as all eyes fall on him. His gaze is colder than you’ve ever seen and you swallow nervously, the shift in his demeanor catching you off guard. The Lucius you know, calm and calculated, seems to vanish, replaced by someone else. Someone dangerous. 

“This concubine belongs to me,” he announces. “Touch her and I will take your hand as payment.” 

A low mummer passes over the table but no one challenges Lucius. He stares at the group with his unblinking gaze for a moment longer before he turns away and strides down the length of the table, pulling you in his wake. He takes a seat at the end and the other gladiators with him follow suit.

“Bring me wine and food,” he commands you loudly. 

You hurry to do as he asks. The young man who guided you earlier steps forward to help and his hands shake as he assists you in loading the plate with fruit, bread, and a thick, straw-colored soup. It’s obvious he’s terrified of Lucius and you wish you could offer him some comfort but you know better than to show any overt sign of sympathy. Your safety depends on their fear of Lucius. 

When you return to Lucius’s side, he draws you into his lap and wraps a possessive hand around your middle. As he begins to eat, you hesitantly look up, your gaze drifting down the long line of faces. Most of the men immediately avert their eyes, but there are a few who meet your gaze head-on. One of the largest men smiles, tilting his head slightly as he watches you with unnerving interest. The scar along his jaw pulls taut, becoming more pronounced as his lips curve upward, giving his grin a vicious edge. You quickly look away and rest your hand on Lucius’s forearm, feeling the powerful tendons flex beneath your palm when he adjusts his hold on you.

–

The first few days after you arrive at the Colosseum pass without incident and you quickly learn the rhythm of life here. The slaves mostly keep to themselves, speaking with you only in brief exchanges. Their eyes are wary, but there’s an unspoken understanding between you all, a shared burden of survival. You find yourself speaking to Rufus, the serving boy you met when you first arrived, the most. He’s so young that it breaks your heart to realize that this is the only life he’s ever known.

There is only one other concubine in the entire arena, a woman who belongs to Emperor Geta’s prized gladiator. You’ve only heard whispers of her, but you’ve never seen her. From what you gather, she spends most of her days locked away in her gladiator’s cell, out of sight and out of mind. You try not to think of her too often, all too aware she likely does not have the arrangement you do. 

With a sigh, you push the troubling thought away and busy yourself with preparing Lucius’s evening meal alongside Rufus. You’re ladling a thick soup into a wooden bowl when the door slams open with a suddenness that makes you start. A young slave you don’t recognize rushes in, his face flushed. He spots you immediately, calling your name urgently.

“Hano calls for you,” he says breathlessly. He gestures for you to follow, his hand trembling slightly as he beckons you closer. “Hurry, he is hurt.”

Without a word, you gather your skirts, abandoning the meal on the counter. Fear claws at your chest as you follow him through the dimly lit corridors. What has happened you wonder, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. Another more selfish part of you panics at the thought of losing his protection and strength. Lucius has become the one thing in this chaotic, brutal world that feels somewhat certain. Your survival, your very existence, is tied so intrinsically with his that without him, you are truly lost. 

But beneath that fear lies another, more troubling one. You realize, with a jolt of surprise, that you care for him, beyond what he could offer you. You quicken your pace, your mind so focused on reaching him that you do not see the looming shadow until it is too late. Strong arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back against a firm chest. The stale smell of sweat and something rancid fills your nose. The man’s hold is unyielding, his grip like iron as you thrash in his arms while the young slave stares at you. 

“Leave us,” the man behind you orders, his voice rough and commanding. “Your work is done here.”

A gold coin spins through the air and lands with a dull clink at the young slave’s feet. It glints in the dim light, but he doesn’t move. He hesitates for a moment, watching you before he picks up the gold coin and scurries away. 

“Take your hands off me,” you shout but the man only chuckles darkly, his grip tightening around you like a vise. The force is enough to squeeze the breath from your lungs. It feels as though your ribs might crack. 

“Your gladiator is not here,” he rumbles, releasing his hold on you to shove you forward violently. 

You hit the dusty floor with a sharp gasp, the impact stealing what little air you have left. The stone floor is cool beneath your palms and you scramble away from him but he advances on you quickly. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing, pinning you to the wall with a hand around your throat. 

“I am curious to see what all the fuss is about,” he leers. “You must have some cunt on you to make Hano so possessive.”

His vulgar words send a wave of revulsion through you and you claw at the hand around your neck. Your nails tear at his skin, leaving deep bloody marks but he doesn’t even flinch. Instead he nuzzles the side of your face, his sour breath nearly suffocating. In desperation you kick out, trying to break free, but it’s useless. You’re at his mercy.

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying to any deity that will listen to deliver you from this nightmare. But just like all the times before, your plea falls on deaf ears. Your dress is ripped from your shoulder and a heavy hand paws at your chest. Tears leak from your eyes and you realize with a hollow sort of horror that the fate you’ve long avoided has finally found you. 

But then, through a blur of tears, you see a flash of movement. The man before you cries out, an agonizing guttural sound that’s almost deafening. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the wetness on your lashes and bring the world back into focus. You stare at the bloody tableau before you, your mind struggling to process the scene. The gladiator is sprawled on the floor, clutching his forearm as the hand that was around your neck now lies in the dirt between you. 

Lucius stands over him breathing heavily, his features twisted in rage. The tip of the bloody sword rests lightly against the dirt but his body is coiled tight, ready to strike again. 

“Lucius,” you breathe, throwing yourself into his arms. 

Relief sinks into your skin, easing the terror that’s consumed you. His free arm wraps around you, pulling you tight against his chest, and you bury your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat and skin. You cannot stop the way your body shakes, the tremors coursing through you as the adrenaline slowly fades. 

“I am here,” he murmurs, holding you to him. 

Over his shoulder, you catch sight of Rufus, standing a few paces back, watching the scene unfold with wide, uncertain eyes. 

Lucius turns to him, his voice brooking no argument as speaks. “Get Ravi. Tell him what has happened.”

Rufus takes a hesitant step forward, his worry obvious in the way he glances at you before his eyes return to Lucius. You manage a shaky smile, trying to reassure him, even though your own heart is still racing in your chest. The smile is small and fragile, but it seems enough and Rufus nods before he leaves in search of Ravi. 

Your attacker still lies on the floor, bloody and defeated. You turn away from the scene, focusing on Lucius. He looks like Mars personified, tan, fierce, and unwavering, his body filled with the potential for violence. 

“I warned you about the cost of touching what is mine,” he says to the man writhing in agony. “I keep my promises. If you survive, you will do well to remember that.”

♡

Also part of this series:

Ab Initio

Post tenebras lux

Finis

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary 1 & 13

Prompt 1: Headache

Prompt 13: “I’m fine.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence & gore

The concrete tilted and wavered as you walked, making it difficult to conceal your current plight: a massive headache that had been brewing behind your eyes for the better part of a day. These were usually handled in secret. There was no need to worry the others, especially Daryl. He tended to hover where you were concerned, more so if there was any sort of threat or injury.

You knew your suffering could pose a danger. That’s why you had opted to watch the doors while Daryl and Glenn had gone inside the convenience store in search of anything useful. From the state of the broken windows and the debris of wrappers and boxes left outside, it had been looted several times over. Regardless, your crew left no stone unturned. Ever.

Unlikely as it was to find anything substantial, there was always the chance something had been missed before. The practice had paid off more than once and that alone made these trips worth the risk.

“Ow.” You whimpered, pinching the bridge of your nose. You were sure to leave one eye cracked, though it was tunneling and littered with gray floaters. It wouldn’t do for a walker or another person to take you by surprise.

“Y’alright?” Daryl’s rough tone startled you into nearly dropping your gun, his quick reflexes allowing him to catch the barrel before it could clatter and accidentally discharge.

“I’m—” The sudden jerk of your head had your vision swimming and made focusing on Daryl’s silhouette nearly impossible. “I’m fine.”

He hummed with a skeptical undertone. “Right. Found a attic. Couple’a poor bastards checked out up there but had some food, medicine.”

Worth it after all. “That’s good.” You made the mistake of nodding, the pain it brought summoning bile into your esophagus. “Real—real good.”

“Y’sure you’re okay?” He still hadn’t relinquished the weapon to you.

“Yeah, Daryl, I’m fine.” You brought a hand toward your head, desperate to shield your eyes from the sun, but withdrew at the last second.

“Yeah, m’callin’ bullshit.” As if he knew Glenn would be there just at the right moment, he held the gun out to the side, the younger man almost walking into it while slipping his full backpack onto his shoulders.

“What the hell, Daryl?” Glenn asked with obvious annoyance.

“Take this,” was the archer’s only reply before one of his arms was cradling the small of your back while the other swept behind your knees. “S’get outta here.”

“I can walk, Dar—” You hissed under the onslaught of the bright sunlight and turned your face into Daryl’s chest, fingers twisting into his vest.

“Sure ya can.” The door of the old sedan creaked and groaned as it was opened, the seat soft beneath you. You thought you would have the entire backseat but that notion was quickly dismissed as one door closed and the other opened, your head gently lifted and pillowed on someone’s lap. There was no need to subject yourself to the light in order to know it was Daryl.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

“Mhm.” A large hand cradled the back of your head with a thumb rubbing gentle circles into your temple. “S’getcha home.”

[hornedmonsters]

Horus x Reader - the curse of Hathor - nsfw

Warnings: Hathor puts a curse on Reader, desire, lust, nsfw, Reader is infatuated with Horus. She rides him while he sleeps.

Synopsis: You were the servant of the god Horus. One day the goddess Hathor appeared and played a trick on you. She made you addicted to your master and there was only one solution to this problem.

Hathor is portrayed here as a playful child, I found the idea fitting and I thought I had read that she also takes the form of a child from time to time. Let me know if I'm wrong.

Since I no longer have the old stories from my old tumblr account, but I roughly remember the story of some of them. I will rewrite some of the stories.

Humming, you dip the wet brush into the water. Your hair was sticking to your forehead because you had been cleaning your master's temple for hours. You were just about to clean the dirt from the countless steps. Although your master's temple has never been dirty.

The delicate marbled stone shone and there had never been a single speck of dust on it. This palace shone, and that's exactly how you would imagine it if the god of this temple was none other than Horus himself.

He had found you some time ago and made you immortal. Now you stood by his side and you were grateful to him every day that he had brought you to his temple. Here you were safe, fed and never felt better.

You loved spending time in the temple, even when you had to do your chores. But there were some places in the big building where you really liked to be. One of them was the large glass dome, from which you had a direct view of the divine starry sky. Sometimes you would lie under the glass and just stare up at the heavens, only to fall asleep at some point, exhausted but happy.

Suddenly you heard a child's laughter and your eyes darted around the stairwell. But you didn't see anyone. Perhaps tiredness had played a trick on you. You stayed up late last night reading.

You were just about to continue when you saw a shadow behind a pillar. Confused, you narrowed your eyes and the shadow quickly disappeared.

“Hello? Who is it?” You called out and slowly a queasy feeling came over you. No one could just walk into a god's temple like that. That was almost impossible. Horus had cast a protective spell over his palace, partly to protect you from Seth and other figures who were not on good terms. But perhaps there were exceptions that the protection spell had no effect on.

“Come and show yourself!” You shouted again and stood up. This time, the shadow did not peek out from behind the pillar, but stepped out directly. It was a child. A girl, about ten years old. Your confusion grew and your brows drew together. But then the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

“Hathor,” you whisper, wondering what this cheeky goddess was up to. As far as you knew, she was the goddess of love, joy, art and so much more. She liked to turn into a child, but you didn't know why. You had never actually seen the goddess yourself.

“Let's play a game (Y/n),” the girl grinned, but her sweet child's voice turned into a woman's voice. It almost scared you and you didn't feel like playing games with a goddess you didn't know what she was up to.

“What do you mean?” came from your lips and you unconsciously licked your dry lips.

“I am the goddess, of labor, of love, of music, of art…, but also of lust,” she stretched out her arms and slowly her body grew and horns sprouted from her head. “I know your deepest desires, little human. Let me give you a little push,” was the last thing you heard. Before the goddess threw you a gentle air kiss and your eyes went black.

You startled out of bed with a gasp. The cold marble floor was already warm under your body. How long had you been out? Your head was pounding and you had only faint memories of what had happened.

Hathor. What had this goddess meant and what had she done to you? Dazed, you grabbed the bucket and went to your room after you had cleared everything away. Horus would soon be back here and he would start examining his papyrus scrolls and carrying out his duties as a god. This includes looking at boring paper scrolls.

You washed quickly to be fresh before your master came home. You put on one of your finer robes and spent some time in your chamber. But with every minute that passed, you began to feel strange. Your body began to burn from the inside out. You felt warm, but somehow you also felt cold. Your pulse quickened and fear rose within you.

But what worried you even more was the feeling between your legs. You could feel yourself swelling up and you licked your dry lips. Of course you knew these feelings and you had already touched yourself. But why did it come on so suddenly now? You breathed in and out deeply and tried to calm yourself down.

You slowly walked down the stairs. Your head was still pounding, even after splashing cold water on your face, you were still hot.

You could already hear Horu's voice. He seemed to be talking to Bes. It wasn't long before the conversation ended and Bes apparently left. You entered the hall where Horu's throne was and stared shyly at the floor. Hours noticed you immediately.

“(Y/n),” his voice startled you and goosebumps covered your body. You almost groaned as his literally divine voice came through to you.

“I've seen you've been hard at work. You really are a great help to me,” he praised you and you could feel the fire growing inside you. It was so hard to stand up to the flames, they were literally swallowing you up.

“Thank you, my lord. It truly gives me pleasure to serve you,” you bowed slightly and Horus' hawk eyes scrutinized you silently. He looked at you for a long time and you almost seemed to dissolve into glowing ashes. Did he notice that something was wrong? Could he smell it? He was a god, didn't they know everything?

“You can take the rest of the day off, you've earned it,” he said at last, breaking through the clipped silence. You nodded and almost fled the room. You needed cold water.

Nevertheless, later you stood in the kitchen and made karkadé for the god. Mallow tea was one of his favorite drinks and he deserved a little break.

But when you re-entered his throne room, your breath caught in your throat. Your gaze fell on his body. He was a handsome god, muscular but tall and with strong, sinewy arms. You watched wide-eyed as his biceps tensed as he lifted a rather large stack of paper rolls and placed them on a stone table.

You could feel how wet you were getting between your legs and you quickly put the tray down and picked up a mug. Shivering, you poured the tea and walked towards the god.

Horus looked up after sitting on his throne and looked at you. His gaze was unreadable.

“You should be resting,” he reprimanded, but accepted the tea gratefully. When his clawed hand grazed yours, you whimpered slightly. He heard it. The fog in your head thickened and you slowly lost control of your body.

Suddenly you moved towards him and before the god could react, you pushed him backwards against the back of his throne with your hands on his shoulders. Horus dropped the cup in shock. There was confusion in his eyes as he watched you scrutinize his body. And then he recognized the golden gleam in your eyes.

“Hathor,” he growled as he realized what had suddenly happened to you.

Your hand began to run over his chest. He had very fine down spread over his body. Only the head was one hundred percent falcon. You were now sitting on his lap with your legs apart, but before you could continue stroking him, the god held your wrist tightly. But he remained gentle. He could feel the heat emanating from you.

“I need you, Lord,” you whispered helplessly and a film of sweat covered your glowing skin. “You're so beautiful,” you whispered, pure admiration in your eyes.

“Enough, (Y/n),” he said calmly and pulled you off his lap with ease. You whimpered and he left you on his throne. Unsatisfied.

Sighing, Horus slid into the beautiful, warm water. His muscles slowly relaxed and his head finally cleared. It had been an exhausting day and he needed a break. But the silence didn't last long. You entered the bathing room. The god heard your light footsteps and his eyes opened a crack.

You stood at the steps of the water basin. Reddened cheeks and gold-fogged eyes. Horus sighed and tilted his head. Then suddenly the dress slipped over your shoulders as you took it off. Speechless and with widened eyes, Horus looked at you. But he quickly averted his gaze and stared at the ceiling. He felt the slight ripples your body made as you slid into the water.

You waded towards him. Lust in your eyes. He looked so good and you wanted him so much. You had long since lost control and you now realized what Hathor had done.

“(Y/n), stop,” Horus warned you, but you ignored him. You weren't afraid of the god, at least not anymore. He wouldn't kill you.

“Horus, please,” you whimper, clawing at his neck. His feathers tickle your skin and a gasp escapes your mouth. You wrap your legs around his bare hips and he sucked in a sharp breath. He felt your breasts press against his chest and you snuggled tighter against him, rubbing your abdomen against his hips.

“Let me wash you, my lord, and do you some good,” you breathed softly, your fingertips running over his soft upper arms.

A deep breath escaped from his nostrils. Then he grabbed you and lifted you up with one arm. You were still clinging to him. He walked out of the pool with you, grabbed your clothes and set you down on one of the marble benches. Again he left you sitting there.

He knew how hurt and needy you were and he was sorry too. But he could not and would not allow you to go too far. He was a god and you were a human being. This had never worked before.

He set off in search of the goddess who had cursed you. And he found her. She was sitting by a river, enjoying the sun.

“Take it back!” She heard the stern voice of Horus and looked at him, looking puzzled.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Horus,” she teased him and the falcon's gaze turned dark.

“You have cursed (Y/n)! She's completely befuddled by-” he started to rant and Hathor interrupted him, ”Lust? That's normal. Humans feel a lot of lust. It's nothing strange, my good man,” she giggled and Horus slowly lost his patience.

“All right, what can I do to stop this curse?” he asked sharply and the woman looked up at him.

“There's only one way,” she purred bittersweetly. “You must unite. The curse can only be broken if you unite your bodies and souls. With every day that passes, it will get worse. You'd better get to her before she loses her mind from all the love,” grinned Hathor.

“That's not love, that's nonsense!”

“If you say so. I feel it's not nonsense,” she winked at the god and disappeared.

That night you lay in bed, drenched in sweat, staring at the ceiling. You were so wet between your legs and so needy that it didn't even help when your fingers went between your lips and you gently stroked your bud. You needed him, only he could help you.

Horus had already gone to sleep. You crept carefully into his chamber. You could feel the outline of his body and oh how you wanted to sleep in his arms and be close to him.

You crawled from the end of the bed to him and your heart beat up to your throat. Very carefully, you pulled the scarf off his hips that he always wore to sleep. You stroked him gently until you could see the tip slowly protruding from his vagina.

Full of anticipation, it pulsed between your thighs and you stared wide-eyed at his hard member, which was now hard in your hands.

Slowly, you bent over his hips and guided the tip between your legs. Slowly, inch by inch, you inserted it into yourself and you couldn't hold back your moans. It felt so good the way he was stretching you. You straddled his chest and moved your hips.

“Oh Horus!” you moaned and you closed your eyes in pleasure. Slowly, the god's eyelids twitched and when he felt what you were doing, he grabbed you firmly by the hips. This only made you moan even more.

A gasp came from his beak as you took him deeper and greedily stuffed his cock inside you. His mind fought against it, but he remembered what Hathor had said. So he let you ride him and with his beak and eyelids slightly open he watched you.

You sat so beautifully on his cock. Your moans echoed through the room and a gasp came from Horus' throat as he felt you tighten around him.

“You feel so good, Horus. I can't stop,” you whimper and you curl into his soft feathers. As you continue to grind your hips against him.

“Then don't do it,” he moaned and came towards you with his hip movements. You were so intoxicated and Horus was also slowly becoming befuddled by what was happening.

He skillfully grabbed you and pushed you onto the mattress underneath him the next moment. He could no longer hold back. It was as if the curse was now being transferred to him. He put your legs over his shoulders and fucked you deep and hard. You clawed at the sheets and tears gathered in your eyes. It was going to be a very long night.

[abiatackerman]

Can I request a sfw Oneshot of crying levi getting confronted by the reader and being snuggly with each other? Also love your works (>∆<)

Throughout the whole show Levi only cried twice. Once when his mother teacup broke and twice when Isabel and Furlan died. It's really hard for me to imagine Levi crying in a sober state but I tried to write a Oneshot for you.

Also sorry for being so goddamn late... I was really busy and couldn't get the time to write! Anyways enjoy!

When steel shatters

⚔️Levi Ackerman x Female reader⚔️

Captain Levi Ackerman x Female reader! Fluff and comfort! Emotional breakdown! Fluffy romance! 1.1k words!

Summary: After a rough day and getting drunk, Levi finally expresses his true emotions, searching for comfort from you.

Tags: @theremainsof @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @itsnathateasy @violentvaleska @anti-cupid @meowmewow7 @mikabella7 @satorella

🩷If you want to be tagged let me know🩷

✨Masterlist✨

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

The small space of Levi's room is dimly lit by the soft glow of a single oil lamp on a sturdy wooden desk, casting warm, flickering light across the room as you sneakily enter. Shadows dance on the plain stone walls as a neatly made single bed with crisp white sheets and a simple gray blanket rests against one wall. The air carries a faint scent of tea leaves and cleaning supplies, a testament to Levi's meticulous habits.

Normally Levi keeps his room unlocked since he doesn't have anything important or expensive in his room and also because he knows no one dares to enter HIS room. Not that he spends much time here either.

You smile as you hear the sound of water splashing against the floor from the bathroom attached to the room. Of course Levi's taking a shower after a busy day and after dealing with lot of shitty things in his opinion.

You sigh and sit on the bed with a smile as you try to imagine him naked and wet while his showering. Blushing you shake your head because you know if you keep imagine him a little bit more you'll lost your self control completely and probably jump on him. And you don't want that... At least not today because you're here to show him some support after a hard day, not to jump on him.

As you hear the door opening you sit straight and smile widely.

"Hey Levi... I--"

You pause as you look at him. He's practically wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, displaying his deliciously stunning body which still have little droplets of water here and there.

"What are you doing here?"

Levi's annoyed voice slaps you out of your not so innocent thoughts and you blink. Smiling, you reply softly.

"Just wanted to see you. That's why I'm here."

Levi pulls a shirt out of his drawer and starts to wear it without looking at you.

"Didn't I told you not to come to my room?"

Levi asks coldly and you sigh.

"Heard you had a rough day... Just wanted to..."

You try to find the right words but Levi stops you.

"Console me? Show some sympathy? I'm not that pathetic that I'll be needing that. Not go back to you room."

He says as he wears his usual pants and you look at him speechless. You take a deep breath and stand up.

"Look Levi, I know you had a bad day but don't you think you're being too rude with me? When I just wanted to give you a little bit of comfort?"

You ask in an upset tone.

"No… You don't understand. What if someone else had sneaked in? What if your loud entrance had let them know you were coming, and they had hurt you? I'm the Captain of the Survey Corps, I have made a lot of enemies. I need to make sure you are safe and out of the spotlight so nothing happens to you."

You look at him worriedly as he lashes out. Then softly hold his hand, you look at him worriedly.

"You're acting out of your character, Levi? Is something wrong? What happened?"

You ask softly, not pressuring him to answer but still expressing your worries for him.

"Everything is wrong with me! I'm a disaster. I'm a bad leader, a bad friend, and a horrible lover! The only thing I’m good at is hiding. Hiding my emotions, my pain... Erwin's shitty plans."

There are tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to fall.

"I lost lot of people.. Was their sacrifice even worth it? When their family member were cries holding their corpses... I can't even look at them. Sone of them even had a children...."

You see Levi's eyes tearing up and you realise that he drank a lot. That's why he was late and since he is good at handling alcohol he's not completely drunk. But because of the alcohol he's showing his emotions and opening up to you.

Wrapping one arm around his neck and by patting his back with the other you start to whisper softly in his ears.

"Don't say that, Levi. You're the best soldier out there.... You've killed a lot of titans! That's a huge achievement! You're everyone's encouragement, darling. And you're a great friend... Also lover."

You say and move your head right in front of his while wiping his tears away.

"Don't say that please.... It hurts me. Seeing you hurt... Insulting yourself.... It hurts me."

You say as your voice cracks and as you try to smile.

Levi pulls away slightly so that he can look at you in the eyes.

"I'm not the best with words. I'm blunt and harsh, I know. But I would never intentionally hurt you… I love you too much."

He whispers, cupping your face with his hand.

"After losing Isabel and Furlan.... If I lose you too.... I'll be broken completely.... You're the only one to whom I can truly open up. Please don't leave me."

Levi whispers and hugs you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You sigh and pat his back, smiling softly.

"I won't... As long as I'm alive."

Then you chuckle again as you feel Levi nuzzling his face against your shirt to wipe his tears.

"What are you doing?"

You ask in an amused tone and feel Levi's body getting more heavier.

"It's just... Shit... I drank a lot today... And now it's hitting me. I'm tired."

Levi mumbles and you smile as you help Levi to lay down. He sighs deeply and covers his eyes with the back of his arm. You smile softly and cover his body with a blanket.

"Go to sleep, love. You've been working hard."

You mumble softly as Levi hums sleepily.

"Night, Angel."

[venomwrites]

Follow up to The Room because SOMEONE said the first part was as fluffy as I get. On a completely unrelated note happy new years to everyone and in particular to @qvert you should go admire her art.

“I think you shouldn’t be here tonight,” Caitlyn says and Vi’s guilt roars up. 

She knows she’s fucked up in a lot of ways. It’s only been a few days of sleeping in Caitlyn’s bedroom but she thought maybe things were getting better. Or heading in the right direction. Caitlyn’s letting her sort through the boring paperwork shit and starting to get her hands around how much fucking work running this house is. Vi’s known it takes a lot to run a house, she’s known since she was a kid helping her mom and definitely when her parents died. Vander was their rock but rocks didn’t make soup. One of her favorite stories in the book was of a woman who said she made stone soup. But her mother explained that it wasn’t the stone. It was the things people brought to add to the stone soup. For a long time there were no other people so Vi had brought everything she could find for her own soup. She kept them fed for years until it just sort of became her job. But there’s a serious difference between keeping people from starving and running what seems like a small village. 

It’s intimidating but it doesn’t stop her. 

Not when she looks over and sees her stuff on the empty shelves. Not when Caitlyn nuzzles into her chest and her warm weight reminds Vi how to sleep. Except once again she’s behind on something because Caitlyn is politely rejecting her. It’s not a gun to the gut or a yell or a quiet apology about why they can’t fight together. But it still stings. Even if Vi gets it. She’s a fuck up. Caitlyn gave her a chance and she blew it. She doesn’t expect Caitlyn to kick her out, but she wonders if maybe Ekko would let her crash while she figures out her next move. Even if she doesn’t belong in this place, she doesn’t want to go back to that shoebox shithole and drink herself to death. Not anymore. Not when she’s the only one left who remembers so many. She doesn’t trust her voice so she just nods and gets over to the nightstand to pick up her book. She really hopes Caitlyn will let her keep it. Then she immediately chastises herself because of course she will. Caitlyn has done so much for her. She can answer her in a steady voice at least.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No, Vi,” Caitlyn makes a noise of frustration and Vi wonders how she even managed to fuck this up. But then Caitlyn is in front of her. Her hands only hesitate a moment before settling on Vi’s shoulders, “it’s New Years eve,” she says and Vi turns with the pressure of her hands towards the spectacular balcony.

Everything clicks.

The city is spread out dazzlingly before them. Piltover sloping down to Zaun. Vi loves it because it’s the same view she used to take in on the rooftops, just from a different angle. Before she looked up at Piltover and dared it to judge her. But even back then, if she didn’t fight it she could wonder at the high buildings and endless food. And if she was really in a mood, she could let the longing wash over her. Now she doesn’t fight it. Not the longing, not the wonder. She lets them both wash over her as she sits on the balcony while Caitlyn brushes her teeth. But even she knows the Zaun she longs for doesn’t exist down there. Not really. Not anymore. She can barely step foot in it without tearing up at the memories. She has to run all the way down there to be exhausted enough to make it more than a few blocks. And she needs the entire walk back to keep herself from shaking. Sometimes she can barely meet Caitlyn’s eye when she comes back. 

But she used to spend every New Years on the rooftops watching the fireworks. 

It was the great equalizer, in a way. They were loud for her, they were loud for Piltover. Anyone that looked up could marvel at the starbursts of color that lit up the sky. She knew the Pilties weren’t sharing the beauty of them, but that didn’t matter. The starbursts of color were for everyone. She used to wrap a scarf around Powder’s ears to help muffle the noise but a few years in she took it off to marvel at them. To promise one day she would make the sky starburst like that. Vi would think of the promise when she could hear the dull echo in Stillwater. One year she convinced herself that maybe Powder was out there making fireworks and living an honest life. She was so fucking stupid. Now when she thinks of hearing an explosion it’s chased by another one of her promises. And now it ends in screaming. The thought makes her want to be sick. 

“Shit,” she says quietly as Caitlyn fits herself behind her and rests their temples together, “how bad?”

“Very,” Caitlyn says, an apologetic note in her voice like this is somehow her fault, “I thought the bunker might be best,” she says, “just to be safe.”

Vi hesitates because it sounds wonderful and like a lot of trouble. But Caitlyn seems to understand her hesitation and gives her arms a squeeze. 

“It should be set up.”

“Okay,” Vi says, “thanks,” she swallows against the embarrassment and gratitude that churns in her gut, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Vi,” Caitlyn sighs and suddenly her chin is on Vi’s shoulder. Usually when they touch like this, one of them is asleep. It feels strange to do it in the middle of the bedroom that isn’t exactly theirs. Strange and kind of amazing, if Vi’s being honest, “I’m coming with you,” Caitlyn says. 

Everything in her relaxes against Caitlyn. The arms on her shoulders hesitate only a moment before sliding down to wrap around hers. Caitlyn holds her warmly and firmly and it feels so impossibly nice it makes Vi’s head spin. Until Caitlyn makes a soft sound that might be a laugh and suddenly Vi is desperately alert to hear it again. She’s utterly unwilling to move from the embrace but manages to get her head tilted enough to give Caitlyn a questioning look. Caitlyn smiles. Vi can feel her smile against her neck. She feels her heart begin to pick up tempo and desperately fights against it. She doesn’t want to give Caitlyn any reason to change her mind about locking herself in a bunker to hide from fireworks with her. 

“I meant to make that a question,” Caitlyn says. 

“Answer’s yes,” Vi replies and wishes her voice didn’t sound quite like that. 

Caitlyn nods and almost turns her head towards Vi’s neck. Everything in Vi waits for it, yearns for it, but then Caitlyn turns her head away and just adjusts her chin against her shoulder. Her fingers give Vi’s forearms a squeeze and then she steps back quickly with a tight smile Vi doesn’t like at all. She likes the warmth in Caitlyn’s cheeks and the way she presses her lips together before her features go back to the calm mask Vi is beginning to properly recognize. It’s been breaking more in the past few days. Vi hates that it usually means tears, but she’ll wipe all of them away if it helps Caitlyn. And it does seem to help. There’s tears but there’s also faint, honest smiles. There’s tears but there’s soft snores. There’s tears but Caitlyn also haltingly explains how her parents used the room and how she went for years refusing to sit on the bed after she learned what sex was. How even though she has changed the sheets and turned the mattress, the bed still feels like theirs. 

Vi almost carried her back to her old room right then and there. 

But she knows that’s not an option. Not really. The Kiramman’s have a bunch of stupid rules. Vi thought some of Vander’s were insane but these were on a whole different level. Sure she wants to tell Caitlyn they’re stupid and if the whole house is hers, why does it matter which room she sleeps in? But she can see people watching her to see how she’s going to handle the stupid rules. She’s come to learn most of the staff is actually on her side pretty ardently. Especially the ones from Zaun. They help her figure out shit that makes no sense like the array of silverware at every meal and the difference in glassware. When she tries she sees the staff who is against her softening. That’s how she gets access to the kitchen and then, even the ones who are blatantly against her start to relax. Because Vi could make a good soup when she had nothing, now she makes a great one. Now she gets invited to break time card games and learns about the inner workings of Piltover’s elite families. 

So she knows Caitlyn cannot go back to the heir’s room because she is not the heir anymore. 

Vi didn’t know what to make of the implication of it being her room. 

Not at first. 

At first it was just the room Caitlyn had put her in after getting sliced. And sure Vi had felt something at it being Caitlyn’s room. But then she had begun to see signs that Caitlyn hadn’t been anywhere near the room for a good while. Before she chalked it up to them being busy, sometimes Caitlyn even wound up sleeping at the Enforcer barracks. But at some point Vi realized Caitlyn avoided the room to a large extent. Then she realized you couldn’t pay Caitlyn to go into the bathroom. She sliced her finger on something and Vi had tried to get her in there so she wouldn’t bleed on her priceless rug and Caitlyn had—to put it mildly—freaked the fuck out. So Vi had figured it was an empty room. Then when the battle happened, it had been easy to crawl back to the empty room she could navigate to. Between her busted shoulder, broken arm and gaping hole where her heart used to be, she would have gone anywhere. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the room’s proximity to the main suite where Caitlyn was. 

It was fucking hard to be in that room. 

It was hard because it was grand and Vi could barely bring herself to brush her hair some days. It was hard because it was empty and if they never met, maybe it wouldn’t be. But most of all it was hard because Caitlyn was in so much pain. Her eye was the most jarring at first glance, but somehow it was the easiest one to deal with. Nothing could be done. But the bones. Gods. Cheekbone, jaw, ribs, hipbone--each was more painful than the last. The one time Caitlyn cried was when she caught a glimpse of herself in a water glass and the distorted, alien reflection tipped her over the edge. To the point where the doctors had to sedate her. Even Tobias who was more ghost than man most days took pity on Vi and showed her the rows of endless portraits. Teal eyes stared back at her. Teal eyes set above sharp cheekbones and expressive, full lips. Caitlyn’s old portrait fit in perfectly in the next row over from her mothers and Vi realized the gut wrenching reaction. It was because Caitlyn no longer looked like her mom. 

She avoided the room after that. 

Until Caitlyn invited her to sneak people in to her window and Vi realized Caitlyn thought she was avoiding her.

“Should we?” Vi jerks her head to the door, “unless you’ve got something to finish.”

Caitlyn smiles and picks up the papers she’s sorting through. 

“I can do this downstairs,” she says. 

It’s strange to be in the elevator again. They’ve had access to the bunker the entire time, but it’s not like there’s been a reason to go down here. There’s no war to plan. No battle to prepare for. No sister to feed. The doors open onto the familiar array of cells. Vi’s gaze draws to the one that she’s pretty sure she’ll think of with her dying breath. That moment where everything shifted. When something in Vi finally realized that she had spent her life making sure everyone was fed but forgot to feed herself. As Jinx had gotten older she had started to try to change that, tried to always make sure Vi had something. But Vi would always make sure it went to her instead. She had been hungry for so long, she forgot what hunger felt like. Until Caitlyn stood in font of her, until she smiled and offered to sit with her and suddenly Vi was ravenous. But now when she glances at Caitlyn her eyes are trained ahead. Resolutely avoiding the cell and Vi has to remind herself that Caitlyn wanted to be down here with her. And that was worth everything, including swallowing down the question pressed to her tongue. 

What are we?

That was the thing. She was tucked in that room designated for someone about to step into a role in the family. She was learning about numbers so long they made her head spin. Caitlyn sometimes left her books about Kiramman family history. Tobias had moved the family portrait to a designated spot near the wall of Cassandra’s life and a final one was being commissioned. But the hook in the parlor never came down. It glinted annoyingly in the light during every single one of the times Vi trudged through it every day. Again, her eyes lingered and Caitlyn refused to look at the wall. But the hook still glinted. It still taunted that it was waiting for a painting of a family. Vi flipped it off once a day. It wasn’t easy to not be a part of a family and be living with them. To hear the gossip of what was Caitlyn going to do now that she was the only Kiramman. It took everything for VI not to tell Agnes to pass along the message Caitlyn wasn’t alone and anyone who said as much could choke on whatever seasonal produce they were hunting for. 

Vi smacks into Caitlyn’s back. 

“Sorry,” she says and frowns at Caitlyn’s ramrod straight back, “what’s wrong?”

Caitlyn spins around, her face red and lips pursed. Vi’s frown deepens when she tries to move past her and Caitlyn all but throws herself in front of her. Vi raises her eyebrows and Caitlyn squeezes her eye shut so tightly even the empty lid puckers. She balls her hands into fists and takes a deep breath. Even though curiosity is burning at her, Vi tries to focus on what she is doing. She wants Vi to not see what’s on the other side of the doorway. Vi hasn’t exactly been great at listening so she tries to focus on that as Caitlyn collects herself. Finally Caitlyn opens her eye and tugs her shirt like it isn’t perfect. Now Vi is really intrigued because Caitlyn only does that when she’s truly embarrassed and nervous. But Vi has no idea what could be making her feel that way. 

“Did they forget something?” She says, “we still have time before the fireworks.”

“No,” Caitlyn says through gritted teeth. Vi feels the start of concern and it must show because Caitlyn’s face softens, “it was supposed to be us and Ekko,” she says. 

Vi’s heart jumps in excitement. 

“Ekko’s here?” She asks and forgets to listen as she sidesteps Caitlyn. 

There’s a frustrated noise behind her as Vi takes in the room. 

If Ekko’s supposed to be here, she has no idea where he’s going to sit. There’s a table lit by the fancy candles, but it’s only set for two. The record player is in the corner along with a longer table with a few dishes on it. There’s a little blue flame beneath that Vi knows they use to keep things warm. In the other corner is a bed made with fresh linens and one of the best throw blankets. Someone has put a tapestry on the wall and tacked a sheet up so the bed is cocooned in fabric. When she looks down, Vi realizes there’s throw rugs everywhere. And when she looks farther up, she realizes the room has been strung with flowers and the occasional leaf from Ekko’s tree. It looks really nice. She looks around again and expects Ekko to jump out from somewhere, but he knows she hates surprises like that. Especially with the prospect of fireworks. 

“He’s not here,” she says, thinking of how he might handle this night. Then she sees his handwriting on an envelope on one of the plates, “shit is this a scavenger hunt?” She wonders. Ekko has all kinds of techniques for helping people, but the idea of that tonight makes her skin crawl. 

She’d rather be down here with Caitlyn. 

Thumbing open the thick envelope, she’s surprised when she opens it to find a flower tacked to the inside and no additional papers. 

Vi, 

Got my own plans tonight, didn’t tell your girl. 

Ask her to join you.

Good luck. 

E

The flower is for Caitlyn. 

This is all for Caitlyn. Her throat works as she looks up at Caitlyn. Caitlyn has turned away and has her hand covering her face. Vi can hear her quietly muttering to herself. That’s a new thing she’s taken to doing, one that makes Vi’s skin crawl because she knows it’s her fault. If she was here, Caitlyn wouldn’t have to mutter to herself. She could talk to her. Vi shoves the guilt away. It’s easier down here, somehow. Maybe because of what happened one impossibly thick wall to her side. That was a leap of faith and the world—well the world did fall apart. But she has Caitlyn so it didn’t fall apart as much as it could have. She takes the flower off it’s pinning and adds another thing she’s going to yell at Ekko for. It may be shades of white, purple and periwinkle but Vi knows it’s a violet. She walks over as Caitlyn shakes her head and stiffens at the sound of her footsteps. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I did not tell anyone to do this,” she continues and smooths out her face, lowering her hand but keeping her eyes closed for a moment longer, “I didn’t mean to make this uncomfortable for you—“

“It’s not,” Vi says and Caitlyn’s eye flies open. It widens as she stares at the flower Vi has in front of her face. There’s a whole lot of shit Vi wants to say but Ekko’s given her solid advice, “want to join me?”

Caitlyn stares at her, her eye going from the flower to VI and back again. The color drains from her face and a then spectacularly comes back as her fingers reach for the flower with a shyness Vi can’t remember ever seeing. Emboldened by her reaction, Vi slips the flower behind her ear. Caitlyn’s fingers hover in the air before they fall back to her side. Then one of her hands comes up. In a quick, elegant motion she sweeps her midnight hair behind her ear and secures it with the flower. They both stare at each other for an impossibly long moment as Vi tries to get her mouth to be less dry. When Caitlyn lowers her hand, Vi’s moves and catches it. Caitlyn swallows tightly and then her fingers curl over Vi’s palm. Caitlyn’s good at navigating the world with her new vision, but Vi puts herself on that side as they make their way to the table. If nothing else, it gives them an excuse to hold hands for a bit longer. Though Vi finds she’s less inclined for excuses at the moment. She kind of just wants to hold Caitlyn’s hand. 

“Here,” she says handing Caitlyn the card so she can grab their plates, “Ekko played you.”

“What?” Caitlyn looks at the card as Vi flips open the serving trays. 

There’s a jumble of Caitlyn’s favorite foods and, much to her shock, her own favorites. Ekko must have gone to a dozen of their favorite street vendors so she can have something she likes. Something she likes and something she can share. Because there’s two portions of everything, right down to the two paper cups of sauces. Vi fights against the grateful burning in her eyes. She hasn’t walked with Ekko in days but she went over her plan for breakfast in detail. Her hopes for it so Caitlyn would maybe not hate Vander’s pancake recipe. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him it was a success. But his faith in it is laid out in front of her in paper cones and her usual from Jericho. She loads the plates and includes the stuff Caitlyn likes as well, though it makes them look comically full. Caitlyn watches as she brings them back and sets one in front of her. 

The blushing embarrassed Caitlyn falls away as she recoils at the sight of Jericho’s fish and before she can stop herself, Vi erupts into laughter. 

“Sorry,” she says quickly, “the other stuff is good, but I promise it’s not as bad as you think.”

“What is it?” Caitlyn questions slowly. 

“Good,” Vi says, “come on, it can’t be worse than a snail.” 

Caitlyn purses her lips. 

“Escargot is a delicacy. One day—“

Vi realizes she hasn’t seen the other side of the plate and rotates her own, picking up one of the snails. Caitlyn’s eye widens. Vi makes an educated guess the weird tiny fork is for this and gets it free. It smells like butter so it can’t be that bad. She pops it into her mouth. It’s definitely got enough butter in it not to be bad. But it could taste like crap and it would still be worth it for the surprise painted on Caitlyn’s face. 

“Not bad,” she says. 

Caitlyn swallows and shifts her weight. She looks down at the blue. Vi is just about to absolve her when she lifts it between her fingers and bites in. She keeps their eyes locked together and Vi tries not to be distracted by the sauce that catches in the corner of Caitlyn’s lips. Her features draw together before she actually looks surprised and not completely disgusted. Not disgusted enough to glance down and take another bite. It sends something warm and stupid through Vis chest. 

“It’s surprisingly not awful,” Caitlyn says, so surprised she forgets her manners. Which makes the biggest grin stretch across Vi’s face. 

“Yeah it’s okay,” she says, “but you’ll like these better.”

The fried balls actually make Caitlyn eat quicker. Quick enough that Vi scoots her own portion to the side for later. It feels like breakfast but better as they try each other’s favorite foods and swap stories that go with them. It delights Vi to no end how Caitlyn’s pallet echoes her own. Fish and citrus and spices. How they get to the flavor is different, but they arrive at a similar place all the same. Vi feels almost shy as she hands over the paper cup but Caitlyn’s delight makes it worth it. 

“No, I couldn’t,” Caitlyn protests. 

“Take ‘em,” Vi says, “because I’m gonna ask for something in return.”

“What?” Caitlyn asks, her eyes narrowing. 

The cup betrays her with the slightest tremble that makes Caitlyn look a little concerned. Concerned enough that she takes it from Vi’s hand before she can completely humiliate herself. But she’s been brave in this place before and this dinner’s been really nice so Vi squares her shoulders. 

“A dance,” she says and Caitlyn’s eyes widen, “dance with me—shit—“ Vi stops herself before she can shove her foot even more in her mouth, “I’ll trade you those for a dance.”

Caitlyn looks at her and Vi wonders if she’s going to run. But then she picks one up between her fingers and places it between her lips. They’ve had sex, Vi reminds herself. She’s literally had Caitlyn’s other lips inside her mouth. But the sight of her accepting the offer is short circuiting her brain. Even more when Caitlyn tilts her head towards the record player. Vi scrambles to her feet so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t upend the chair. Sure she wants to dance with Caitlyn, she’s down for anything that gets her to have her arms around her. But she’s also got a head full of half hazed liquored up memories where she danced with some ghost of Caitlyn. And sometimes they haunt her dreams. It’s selfish but Vi wants to know what it feels like to dance with this Caitlyn. Not the nightmare who chases her every time she tries to work up the courage to clear out her shithole apartment by the pits. 

Her fingers are actually shaking as she finds the record she half recognizes and puts it on. But then Caitlyn slides a hand across her shoulder and turns her around and suddenly they are swaying to the music. If Caitlyn can see the nerves on her face, she doesn’t comment. She just loops her wrists behind Vi’s neck. The softness doesn’t fade past the first few heartbeats. It doesn’t turn. It’s just Caitlyn smiling and swaying with her. Some part of her that has been clenched tight since, well, probably since she stopped drinking herself to death, finally sighs open. Relaxes. Lets her move her hands so they are fully around Caitlyn’s waist. She means to pull her closer but Caitlyn has already stepped closer so they are practically on top of each other’s toes. 

“This has been lovely,” Caitlyn says. 

“Yeah?” Vi tries to give some kind of confidence but finds it impossible, “you seemed kind of embarrassed earlier.”

“Only at myself,” Caitlyn admits. Vi gives her a questioning look at Caitlyn blushes again, “I’ve moved you into this house without asking and now I moved you into my bedroom,” she says, looking down. Her eye meets Vi’s and her voice is a near whisper, “I never want you to feel pressured into something again,” she says, “not by me.”

Another something relaxes. Caitlyn looks down and Vi pulls her closer before she can step away. She touches her chin and it still takes a moment for Caitlyn to meet her gaze. 

“Hey,” Vi says, “you aren’t pressuring me,” she swallows against the embarrassing tightness in her throat, “but it means a lot—“ she swallows, “hearing that from you.”

Caitlyn nods and the slight pressure on Vi’s hands relaxes as she leans against her. Vi doesn’t understand how she was fooled for a second by the sneering ghost. She scoots one hand up Caitlyn’s back, surprised when there’s a stuttered breath against her neck. Caitlyn leans into her embrace and Vi feels wet against her throat as Caitlyn’s fingers tighten in her shirt. But the own burning in her eyes is what catches her the most off guard. It’s just a few words and Caitlyn has done so much to prove herself. So much more than Vi ever thought was necessary. Vi knows she played her own part in what happened. But Caitlyn doesn’t make her acknowledge that. She doesn’t apologize and make Vi tell her not to. She just hits the root of the pain like she’s taking the perfect shot. And because it’s her Caitlyn shooting, of course it hits. Of course it blows apart the festering knot before it can spread. 

“You ever think we’d be here when you saved my life?” Vi asks. 

“You mean with the Shimmer?” Caitlyn asks. Vi smiles and curls her fingers in Caitlyn’s shirt. Caitlyn misinterprets her silence, “or with Stillwater?“

“Or at the commune,” Vi says, “or any of the other dozens of times you saved my life?” Caitlyn pulls back just enough to give her a puzzled look, “Cait, you’re not pressuring me into anything,” Vi says firmly, “I kissed you down here because I wanted to,” Caitlyn nods but the look on her face isn’t what Vi wants to see, “I’m here because I want to be with you.”

“I know,” Caitlyn says and winces, “I mean—“

“Do you want to be with me too?” Vi asks, figuring if one of them can just come out and say shit they both should be able to. Caitlyn swallows, “shit,” Vi breathes, “now I’m the one pressuring—“

Caitlyn shoves their mouths together before she can finish the sentence and every thought in Vi’s head is wiped blissfully blank. All she can do is sigh into the kiss as Caitlyn answers in an unnervingly efficient way. Vi loves her taste, but for the first time there’s familiarity on he tongue. This time Vi’s heart doesn’t jump, Caitlyn’s doesn’t either. She can feel it from where they are pressed together so tightly. There’s new scars on both of them, but to Vi it just brings a new level of familiarity to Caitlyn. But even without it, the kiss would feel familiar. And now it feels even better with the knowledge they both want this. Not out of desperation, not out of pain, just the simple want Vi thought she lost during that fall. The familiarity of Caitlyn’s taste tangles with the flavors of what they hav just eaten. 

For the first time, Caitlyn truly tastes like home. 

She pulls back and rests their foreheads together. For the first time since that battlefield, she truly seems calm. Even with tears drying on her cheek and kiss swollen lips. Her eye opens and looks at Vi before she closes it and presses her forehead tighter to hers. 

“Can we please get rid of my parents bed?” She says, frustration and pleading heavy in her voice. 

Vi can’t remember the last time she asked for something so clearly and nods as emphatically as she dares with their foreheads pressed together. 

“Bed’s gotta go,” she says roughly and Caitlyn nods again, “I’ll get us a new one.”

“Please,” Caitlyn says though it doesn’t sound like a request. It makes Vi smile. 

“We’ll move your old one in there in the meantime,” she says. 

Caitlyn’s throat bobs but she nods. Vi knows what she’s declaring. But Caitlyn is warm in her arms and she doesn’t give a shit about having her own space. And if she does, Gods know that room is big enough. 

“If you’re certain—“

“I am,” Vi says. 

Caitlyn moves her head to Vi’s shoulder and this time, her lips brush purposefully against Vi’s pulse. A shiver works down Vi’s spine as the question of whether Caitlyn is certain as well gets answered. Vi wonders if she can convince Caitlyn to answer all her questions by kissing her neck. Figuring that’s a question for another time, she opens her eyes enough to find the fabric cocooned bed and steer them towards it. Caitlyn pushes her back and seats herself in her lap and Vi discovers she has a new memory to think of when she dies one day. The light is pink through the fabric and makes Caitlyn’s hair a deep shade of violet than the flower behind her ear. Her fingers skirt up Vi’s jaw and frame her face, thumb brushing her freckles and cheekbones as she smiles at her. She reaches up and takes the flower behind her ear and slips it behind Vi’s own. Vi’s throat works as she brushes feather light kisses to her tattoo and freckles and then the corner of her mouth. 

“Beautiful, my Violet,” she whispers and the words undo something as Vi turns her face to capture her lips. 

They came down here to hide from explosions but Vi thinks that might be a moot point as Caitlyn rocks their hips together and Vi feels something building inside her. 

But going into the year as Caitlyn’s Violet sounds like a pretty great way to start.

[thyras]

→ of the moon & stars

PAIRING → mairon | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 7.6k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - smut (nothing too explicit but just airing on the side of caution), weddings, sauron gets a slight redemption arc (though it will be very short lived)

SUMMARY → you and mairon finally complete your weaving and share in the most sacred ceremonies with your people. unknowing of the darkness that now stirs.

AUTHORS NOTE → okay so i wanna premise that sauron gets a sweet taste of redemption for a moment, like mans sees the light but it is only with reader. like he still has darkness in him and his true nature is there, but melkor will come for him he is not just going to let sauron cower away from him. also I am trying to stick close to canon as possible, these parts are set before the silmarils are crafted and melkor is just rising after his chaining. i have most of this story already written so I'm going to edit it and keep posting it every day (crossing fingers as my masters classes start up again next week)

PARTS → one // two // four

Word spread quickly through the city, the tale of your betrothal entwined with whispers of Calandil’s fiery outburst. It seemed to ripple like a stone cast into a still pond, reaching every corner of the streets and markets. Soon, figures began to arrive at the forge, hesitant yet eager, bearing words of apology on their lips. Their expressions were a curious mix of awe and unease, their glances darting between Mairon and the gleaming works that adorned his walls.

The forge itself seemed to glow brighter under their reverent gazes, for Mairon was no mere smith to these people. He was a craftsman whose hands shaped wonders that rivaled the artistry of the great Noldor. Every piece he forged—from delicate filigree to commanding works of grandeur—elevated the city’s renown, drawing envy and admiration alike from far and wide. To them, he was their most exquisite jewel, a master whose presence set their city apart, casting it in a light that even Aman’s stars could envy.

You stood nearby, watching the procession of visitors as they offered their apologies for Calandil’s behavior. Some wrung their hands nervously, their voices quick and deferential, while others were more measured, their eyes lingering on Mairon as though they feared displeasing him. You knew their motives well. They could not bear the thought of upsetting the man who had raised their stature through his craft, his creations a testament to a brilliance they could scarcely comprehend.

Mairon, for his part, accepted their words with calm detachment, his gaze as sharp and assessing as the blades he shaped. But you could see the faint flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, the subtle way his hands moved with precision even under their watchful stares. He remained silent for the most part, letting their words pass over him like a gentle breeze, his confidence unshaken.

To them, he was the embodiment of perfection, a being who had gifted their city a place among the greats. And to you, he was something more—a man whose fire and tenderness had entwined with your own, his presence a melody that played in harmony with your very soul.

So it was no surprise when one of the city’s officials sought you out one late afternoon, just as you had finished tidying up from your lesson with the children. The room still held the soft echoes of their laughter, and you were carefully arranging the books and materials for tomorrow’s lesson, your heart quietly anticipating Mairon’s arrival. As always, he would come to walk you home, a routine that had grown as familiar and comforting as the rhythm of your days.

The official’s presence startled you at first, his figure framed in the doorway. You hadn’t caught his name, but his demeanor exuded formality, and the reverence with which he addressed you was striking. Though you had come to expect some deference as Mairon’s betrothed, the magnitude of his respect took you aback.

“My lady,” he began, bowing his head slightly, his tone warm and measured.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” you asked, moving to retrieve your satchel as you tilted your head curiously at him.

“The city wishes to honor both you and Master Mairon,” he said, his words deliberate, as though carefully chosen. “We would like to hold a wedding ceremony in your honor. I understand that Master Mairon is a private man, and we can keep the event small and intimate if that is your wish, but we would also like to host a feast to celebrate you both. It would be a way to show our gratitude—for the work you do with the children, and for the unparalleled artistry Master Mairon has brought to our city.”

His sincerity was evident, his posture respectful as he awaited your response. The weight of his words settled on you, not heavy but warm, as though the city itself had embraced the bond you shared with Mairon and sought to honor it in a way that matched the reverence they held for him.

“I will speak it over with my lord and let you know his answer,” you said with a polite nod. The official returned your words with a warm, courteous smile, bowing respectfully before taking his leave. Just as he disappeared from view, you felt it—a familiar presence drawing near. The gentle shimmer of your ring and the subtle pull of the bond between you announced his arrival before your eyes could catch him.

You stepped outside to meet him, a playful smile gracing your lips as Mairon’s emerald eyes locked onto yours. His expression was one of curiosity, as though he were trying to unravel the reason for your pleasant mood. “All done for the day, my lord?” you teased, slipping your hand into the crook of his outstretched arm.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp yet amused. “You seem… unusually pleased,” he remarked, his tone light but laced with suspicion.

You only chuckled softly, leaning closer as you began your walk together. Since that evening in the forge, you had avoided speaking of the tension with Calandil. Even with Eärlindë, who had made every effort to bridge the growing divide between you, you had remained distant, unwilling to reopen the wounds her brother’s actions had inflicted.

But it had taken a toll on you, and you knew Mairon could sense it. The glow that once radiated from you had dimmed slightly, a shadow lingering in your fëa. He hadn’t pressed you to speak of it, yet his watchful gaze and the quiet comfort he offered in his every action revealed that he knew.

Mairon’s fingers brushed against yours lightly as you walked, his touch grounding you. He understood your longing to have your friend at your side once more, and he understood the pain of a bond strained by choices beyond your control. Though the tension weighed on you both, his silent presence was an anchor—a reminder that even in moments of fracture, your harmony with him would not falter.

As you walked arm in arm with Mairon, his steady presence grounding you, your playful smile faltered for just a moment. The weight of the unspoken lingered between you, a shadow cast by the rift that had grown with Eärlindë since that fateful evening. Mairon glanced down at you, his emerald eyes catching the flicker of your momentary sadness, though he said nothing. He rarely pressed, letting your emotions ebb and flow as they would, yet you knew he noticed every nuance.

“I spoke with an official today,” you began softly, your voice carrying a lightness you hoped would mask the deeper thoughts weighing on you. His brow raised slightly, curiosity flickering in his expression. “They wish to honor us—with a wedding ceremony and feast.”

Mairon hummed, his gaze forward, his steps measured as he processed your words. “A public affair?” he asked, his tone calm but contemplative.

“They offered to keep it small, intimate,” you replied, glancing up at him, searching his face for a sign of his feelings. “But they wish to celebrate your work. You are their most treasured craftsman.”

A faint smile touched his lips, though his gaze remained thoughtful. “It is not my craft that should be celebrated, Meldanya,” he murmured, the endearment slipping from his lips like a caress. “But the bond we have forged.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but your heart tightened as the lingering ache of the past weeks returned. “I would have wished for Eärlindë to stand beside me,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I fear her brother has made that impossible.”

Mairon’s steps slowed, and he turned his gaze to you fully, his hand covering yours where it rested on his arm. “Time will mend what is meant to be mended,” he said, his voice steady, the weight of his presence wrapping around you like a shield. “And what cannot be mended, we will endure together.”

The warmth of his words soothed some of the ache in your chest, and you nodded, leaning into him as you walked on. 

After escorting you safely home, Mairon returned to his own abode, the familiar solitude greeting him like an old companion. He moved to sit upon his neatly made bed, the orderliness of the room bringing him a fleeting sense of peace. For a moment, the quiet steadied him, but it was not long before the creeping shadows of his past began to stir.

His gaze drifted toward the piles of parchment stacked on his desk, their edges curling slightly in the warm air of the room. The sight should have filled him with purpose, but instead, a cold unease began to settle in his chest. He tried to shake the feeling, to cast the unwelcome thoughts away, but the tendrils of darkness were already coiling around his mind, their grip unrelenting.

“So this is where you are, servant?” The voice, dark and familiar, slithered into his thoughts, chilling him to his core. It was smooth and mocking, a cruel reminder of what he had tried so hard to leave behind. “You think yourself redeemed?”

A chuckle followed, low and bitter, echoing in the quiet of his room though no one was there. Mairon clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he fought against the words, against the presence that lingered like a shadow over his every step. His master’s voice, though distant, still held the power to shake him, to remind him of the weight he carried and the chains he had yet to break.

“No,” Mairon finally breathed, his voice low but firm, as he tried to shut out Melkor’s prodding. The effort took all his focus, yet he could still feel the darkness pressing against his thoughts, insidious and unrelenting. Over the past few days, his former master’s presence had grown more pronounced, like a shadow creeping closer. Mairon knew what it meant. Melkor’s strength was returning, even if his attention was divided for now. It was only a matter of time before he issued the inevitable summons, calling Mairon back to Angband to shatter the fragile bliss he had built here.

“Oh, Mairon,” Melkor’s voice slithered through his mind, mocking and cruel, the sound heavy with disdain. “She has truly softened you, hasn’t she? Filled your head with foolish notions of redemption.”

The voice chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating like a distant thunderstorm. “The great Moriquendi smith,” Melkor drawled, his tone dripping with contempt. “That is what they call you, is it not? A title so grand for one who crawled to me, begging for purpose.”

Mairon clenched his fists, his breath shallow as he fought to block out the words, yet they coiled tightly around his thoughts, refusing to be silenced. “You are my pet,” Melkor sneered, his voice slithering through Mairon’s mind like venom. “Remember that. Nothing you do will ever outshine me. Even she will bow to me, whether by her will or by yours. You’ll see to it if you must.”

Mairon’s jaw tightened, his fists trembling as he fought to force the voice out, pressing harder against the door to his mind in a desperate attempt to shut it. But Melkor’s presence lingered, and with one final, taunting phrase, he left his parting blow.

“She is truly a gift from Varda herself,” Melkor mused, his tone dripping with false admiration. “Perhaps I should make her mine, for she is hardly worthy of a weakling like you.”

Mairon’s breath hitched, the words slicing through him, igniting a fury so fierce it made his vision blur. His hands gripped the edge of the bed tightly, his knuckles white as he wrestled with the rage threatening to consume him. Yet even as his mind burned, the melody of your bond thrummed softly in the background, steadying him, reminding him of what was real and what he must protect.

And like the cool breath of dawn breaking a restless night, his master relinquished Mairon’s mind, leaving him shaken but free to think once more. His heart thundered in his chest, and his thoughts immediately turned to you. Rising swiftly from his bed, he stepped into the darkening street, his steps quick and determined as he followed the pull of your song. It called to him like fuel beckons the flame, guiding him toward the only solace he knew. He had to see you, to know you were unharmed and untouched by Melkor’s insidious presence. Now that his master knew of you, the thought clawed at his mind, filling him with dread.

When Mairon reached your door, the soft hum of your fëa greeted him, its melody pure and bright even against the encroaching shadows of the night. Relief washed over him as he stood there, your light a balm to his frayed nerves. He lifted his hand to knock but paused, hesitating as doubt seeped in. You were safe, untouched, and knowing this should have been enough.

But it was not enough. Before he could stop himself, his knuckles rapped against the wooden door, the sound echoing softly in the quiet night. A light shuffle followed, and the door creaked open, revealing your delicate face framed by the soft glow of candlelight spilling from your home.

His gaze traced over you, drinking in the sight as though it were the first time. Your features, illuminated in the dim light, seemed ethereal, a vision of calm amidst the chaos that had plagued his mind. Yet, as his eyes wandered downward, those earthly desires he had thought long buried stirred within him again. The same fire that had ignited the first time he laid eyes upon you now burned anew, deep and unrelenting.

The sweetness of your scent drifted toward him, wrapping around his senses as you leaned casually against the wooden doorframe, the candlelight casting a soft glow over your figure covered only by a sheer material. Leaving nothing to imagination.

“To what do I owe the visit?” you asked playfully, your voice light and teasing. You could see the way his gaze lingered, his usual composure faltering as if he were at a loss for words. The way you stood there, so effortlessly radiant, seemed to captivate him completely, drawing him in like a moth to flame.

Desire stirred within him, undeniable and fierce, yet Mairon held it at bay. He drank in your presence, his fëa drawn to yours in ways both profound and earthly, but he would not let himself give in to the darker impulses lurking within. He wished only to protect and cherish the innocence you carried, even as the part of him that thrived on shadow ached to claim you entirely, to pull you into his world and lose himself in you.

“I wanted to ensure you were safe,” he finally managed, his voice low and measured, though the storm of emotions within him churned relentlessly.

“How could I not be safe when I have you?” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips. The words warmed him, but they also pierced his heart. He wished it could be true, that his presence alone could shield you from all harm. Yet the looming shadow of his master’s return cast a heavy weight upon him. He knew too well the power Melkor wielded, and with his attention now drawn to you, there would be no safety even in Mairon’s arms.

He sighed, his eyes flickering with unspoken worry. “I apologize for disturbing you,” he said, his voice steady but subdued, as though he regretted the burden he carried to your doorstep. You reached out, your fingers curling gently around his wrist, the warmth of your touch stopping him in his tracks. The simple gesture spoke volumes, silently telling him that he was not a disturbance but a source of joy, a presence you longed for.

“Come inside,” you said softly, a mischievous smile dancing on your lips, your eyes glimmering with unspoken yearning. The cool evening air only seemed to heighten the palpable pull between you, the subtle tension that hung like a thread waiting to be woven into something more.

Once inside, you leaned your backside against your wooden table, arms supporting you as Mairon walked up to you. His deep, fiery scent filled your nostrils and begged your eyes to close, waiting patiently for what would come. You had sensed his wish to bed you the moment he took you in at the door, your gown giving him visage to something no being could turn away from.

The silence of the small room was only cut by both your labored breaths. Mairon leaned in and kissed your lips gently, as if just to taste that you were real, before moving to grasp your hip. His touch was so gentle it almost felt like only a whisper of shadows gracing your clothed hip. “May I?” he breathed against your lips. 

“You may,” you say breathlessly as his fingers move to untie the top of your gown. His hands were delicate against the tiny strings as he undid them, revealing a piece of you he had never touched before. His fingers parted the gown as his lips captured yours once more, this time hungrier and more eager to devour. Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, fingers lacing in his ginger hair while his fingers skated across the soft skin of your breastbone. He only parted from your lips when he wished to speak. 

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed against your jaw as your fingers traced the sensitive points of his ears, causing a groan of satisfaction to float across your skin. “I am hardly worthy of your beauty, my divine. " You smiled and tilted your head slightly as if to permit him to continue his gentle exploration of you.

Every piece of you alight with need and soaked in arousal as his fingers ghosted over your throat before he journeyed downward, though not before he hoisted you onto the wooden table. Mairon’s compliment of your beauty only added to the fuel of the fire burning in both of you.

His fingers moved to push the fabric over your hips as if to create a place he could neatly fit into. The very place he was meant to and that Eru had created for him. Mairon’s lips captured yours again as your hands cupped his face before breaking away, only to push the shoulder of your gown down, already growing tired of this prolonged wait for the climax you desired.

His eyes flamed with a new fire as he took in your delicate skin as it was exposed to him. Mairon wanted nothing more than to carve his mark upon you so no being could ever wonder who your equal was. His fëa sang as more and more skin was exposed until your breasts were on display for him. 

The round mounds of flesh were perky and delicate as your nipples hardened against the cool air. He licked his lips before you spoke, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. The candle’s light casting warm glows against you, causing him to harden even more against his mortal form. 

In the dim light that almost bordered on darkness, you were your most beautiful, he mused. The shadows added to your ethereal beauty, almost like the light, and shadows knew of your name and status as an elf of the dark, showing him your true place in Eru’s grand design.

“It is yours, my Mairon,” you breathed. “I have given you my soul and my heart; let me now give you my hröa,” A delicate smile filled your lips as those green gems flicked across your face. “We would be one in their eyes, husband and wife.” Mairon sunk to his knees before you, and those soft pillowy lips moved to caress your inner thigh. A satisfied whimper pushed through your lips as your eyes closed and your soul pulled at his. Threads calling out as you searched for the right song to sing at this moment, hoping that when the time came, his would match yours in blissful synchronization.

He nipped at the delicate skin of your inner thigh. Your hips fighting the urge to roll towards him. Strong hands gripped down on your thighs before moving up as he did, touching every inch of you. Your head fell back, and your eyes closed as you braced for what was to come, but Mairon paused at your entrance.

“For all eternity?” he breathed against your skin, the warmth of his breath skating across your slick opening, causing you to shiver at the anticipation crawling across your skin. You knew nothing of the deeper implication of his question nor its darker meaning.

Would you bind yourself even to the darkness within him?

“Yes,” Your voice breathless and full of want. It was only a brief moment that separated the answer and the moment the promise was sealed with his lips against you. You moaned at the newfound feeling spreading across your skin as he ate you like a starved animal. The fire that seemed to encompass him now ebbed and flowed against you. It crawled its way up your body and filled you with bliss as you instinctually rolled your hips against his face, giving more friction to your needy mound. The sensation was otherworldly as you fought to keep yourself anchored to the table, afraid you might float away due to his ministrations.

Mairon halted your movements and broke away, causing you to whimper at his retreat. Your eyes opened, and you moved to gaze upon the man you ached to bind your whole being to. Slick ran down his chin, eyes blown wide in lust and reverence, a scene you wished to commit to memory. Your fingers moved to run through his ginger strands as he gazed upon you once more, only this time from where he wished to stay.

Knelt at the altar to your very being, to worship the beauty that had captivated him and to seek the light once more.

Not for redemption, but for purpose.

“Mairon,” you said gently as your fingers moved to caress his chin. A smile touched his lips at the way your melodic and sweet tone wrapped around the syllables of his name. He ached to hear you scream it in ecstasy as you both rode out your highs to the heavens themselves, to dance across the stars and do nothing more than make love and be merry.

“Yes, divine,” He breathed before gently kissing your wrist.

“You think yourself unworthy of me, but I am unworthy of the divine being underneath my fingertips.” Mairon chuckled softly before standing again, arms cradling you like you only dreamed of. You felt like his whole world in this moment, like he saw only you as the greatest of his creations. He hoisted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist before carrying you up to your rooms.

His hands tore away your gown before he laid you on the crisp sheets of your bed. You watched as he got to work undoing his clothing until he moved like a predator in the dark to encase your bare frame with his. Your body aching to feel his skin meet yours in only the way the gods had designed husband and wife to achieve.

Those lips traveled down every inch of your soft skin as he embedded it into his memory, hands skating across the areas his lips could not, all the while your own clawed at his scalp. In no light, only the moonshine that trickled in from your window, he was of the most exquisite quality, the way his sculpted lines and a light dusting of chest hair felt against your fingertips as they danced across his form, worshiping it as you went. But what captivated you the most was how his red hair seemed to gleam brighter against the room's shadows, illuminating him in a fiery ember as his eyes burned with equal parts devotion and hunger.

He muttered words in a tongue you were unfamiliar with as he nipped at your hip before gazing at you again. A youthful smile touched your lips as his gaze lingered longer than you deemed appropriate for this moment.

“What’s the matter, love?” You ask in almost a whisper. His fingers caressed your cheek, thumb making delicate circles there.

“You truly are a Moriquendi,” he breathed against your face. “For the dark is your home, and the moon is your faithful companion.” Your face blossomed with a hue as his lips captured yours again. He moaned against your lips as you ran your fingertips across the shell of his ears once more. “I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Mairon whispered against your jaw as he moved to position himself between the moon of your thighs. You nodded in response, and he gave you a light nip of the jaw. “Good girl,” his silky smooth voice complimented, sending your core flaming at the praise.

Anticipation drove your pulse sky-high as you felt his fingers cascade down toward your wanting core, only to trace the slick through his fingers as he moved to wet himself. “My sweet wife,” he breathed softly; your eyes closed as your pulse pumped loudly in your ears. You felt him at your entrance. Then, in a light thrust, he broke past and stretched you as no being had done before. A groan left his lips, and a whimper left yours as the pain of him turned into a dull ache as he thrust lightly until you were adjusted to him.

You felt so fucking good around him, clenching and milking him of every ounce of his being. Your fëar finally found each other, and the songs it sang were nothing shy of the ones in which the Aniur sang this world into creation. Your walls fluttered as his pace quickened, and he leaned down to kiss and suck on your clavicle. Teeth pulling at the skin as this strong arm moved to wrap around your lower back, pulling you to meet every one of his thrusts. The new angle had you shivering against his grasp as stars shone above your darkened eyelids, his pace inside you causing your mind to white out in a wet, hot release of pleasure. 

The sweet sounds of your bodies colliding and breathy moans filled the room, driving you both into a plane of existence where nothing else mattered. There was no Melkor, no lies, and no darkness. Just the warmth of each other's embrace as you relinquished your hröa’s to each other.

Mairon kissed below your eyes and slowed his pace to get your attention. “Open your eyes, my sweet Mori. Show me the stars within your eyes so I may commit their pattern to memory.” You opened your eyes and were again met with his gaze, soft and wanton with relinquished desire. Mairon leaned up, took your left hand into his right, and squeezed the silver band against his palm as he drew you up so you were flesh with him now, straddling his lap but still so deliciously full of him. The new angle sent your core pulsing and your mind weeping with the need for friction again. 

He was free to bring your ringed hand to his lips, the blue inscription shining brightly against the rays of moonlight. “For my fairest maiden, remember this night, and we shall never be parted. I will remember the stars in your eyes.” He spoke just before kissing the ring, only for you to capture his lips afterward.

“And I will remember the fiery harvest moon in your very being.” You breathed against his lips. He chuckled but groaned when your hips drove against his. You both finally gave in to the other, filling the room with a chorus of names and endearments that even the Valar could not miss.

You came first, clawing at his scalp as your sweat-covered forehead laid against his. Your breath floated across his face as you struggled to regain it while he drove you into overstimulation. Noses touching even as he kept the movements going, and the clenching of your walls finally drew him into his own with a low grunt.

Your fingers cupped his cheeks as you looked down at him in the moonlight.�� His eyes were dark but full of satisfaction as his hands ran up your bare back. You wished to stay like this, conjoined forever in the deepest of embraces. Your lips leaned in and kissed his sweaty lips, tasting him again before he pulled away to gaze up at you.

You remain in each other’s embrace, the world around you fading as time seems to stretch into eternity. The steady rhythm of his breathing matches your own, a melody of unity that neither of you wishes to break. It isn’t until a soft yawn escapes your lips that the spell is gently shattered, and Mairon chuckles lowly, the sound a soothing rumble that vibrates through his chest.

With careful hands, he eases you onto the bed, his movements deliberate and tender. You instinctively curl closer to him, nestling into the warmth of his embrace as though it were the safest place in all of Arda. Your ear rests against his chest, the steady beat of his heart echoing in perfect harmony with your own. It lulls you, each thrum pulling you deeper into the quiet serenity of dreams, where his presence remains as constant as the stars above.

His heart ached with a quiet desperation, knowing this blessed time with you was drawing to an end. The fragile peace you shared felt like a fleeting dream, soon to be consumed by the looming shadow that threatened to overshadow the light of your union.

The carefully woven lie he had told himself began to unravel, thread by thread, as the shadow deep within his soul stirred, awakening once more.

For he would never truly know the light again—not in its fullness, not in the way your presence allowed him to glimpse it. The darkness, ever patient, awaited him, and he could not escape its grasp.

The older women of the city worked tirelessly, weaving intricate braids into your hair and adorning it with strands of silver and pearls they had carefully collected. Their hands moved with precision and care, their voices soft with reverence as they whispered songs of old, blessing you. Though you felt unworthy of such extravagance, they insisted, their determination unwavering.

“You must shine as brightly as the stars,” one of them said, draping a delicate shawl of shimmering gossamer over your shoulders. They believed that by enhancing your natural radiance, they might draw the favor of the Valar, offering you their finest blessings and ensuring your union would be one of harmony and prosperity.

Even as you gazed at your reflection, the silks, pearls, and braids catching the golden light, a part of you still felt undeserving of such finery. Yet their devotion, their unyielding belief in the significance of this day, began to settle into your heart, filling you with quiet gratitude for their love and care.

“Thank you,” you breathed to the woman, offering her a warm smile. “I truly do not deserve such an honor.”

“Ah, but you do,” came a silvery sweet voice from the doorway. You turned, your heart lifting at the sight of her—dark hair cascading like silk and soft blue eyes that radiated wisdom and kindness. Eäriel, the woman who had graced your early years in Laureandor, entered the room with a serene presence. It was she who had nurtured your craft, guiding you with gentle hands and teaching you to cherish all things that grew and roamed in the lands around the city.

Laureandor, the Golden Realm. The Eldar called it such now, a beacon of light and hope in a world where shadow had begun to creep ever closer. Its beauty and radiance stood in stark contrast to the encroaching darkness that saddened so many of your kin.

“Ladies, may I?” Eäriel asked with a slight incline of her head, her voice laced with both grace and authority. The other women bowed their heads respectfully to the elder elf, stepping aside to allow her presence in the room.

Eäriel, mother of Calandil and Eärlindë, and wife of Ulmoion, carried a lineage as ancient as the stars. She was of the first Elves who had dwelt by the sea, her love for its life and the currents of its waters unparalleled. Her wisdom and calm had been a cornerstone of Laureandor, a guiding light for so many, including you. Now, as she stepped closer, her gaze rested on you with a quiet pride that warmed your heart.

“My lady,” you murmured, bowing your head softly in her direction. But Eäriel, with her graceful demeanor, waved the gesture away with a gentle smile before stepping toward you. In her hands, she carried an intricate weaving of metal, its craftsmanship so fine it seemed to have been wrought by the hands of the Valar themselves. The piece gleamed in the fading light of the setting sun, its jewels vibrant and alive, like stars caught within its delicate design.

“You came to us in a dark time, Mornelótë,” she said, her voice soft and steady. You stood still in front of the mirror, hardly daring to move, captivated by her words. Her presence carried the weight of ages, and her tone wove a tale of belonging and purpose.

“But we are as one kin,” she continued, her eyes glinting with the memory of distant times. “Traveling over Ered Luin in search of the Blessed Realm, driven by the song of the West.” Her steps slowed as she reached your side, her gaze falling upon you with a quiet fondness. “Yet our hearts never fully felt the call that others did. We were bound to this land, tied to its beauty and life, for our destinies were always meant to take root here.”

She lifted the metal weaving gently, its light dancing against your reflection in the mirror, as though it too acknowledged the story she carried. Her words settled around you, not as a burden, but as a connection—an unspoken bond to the history and kinship that surrounded you now. 

“My lady, I would never consider myself—” you began, your voice faltering as you tried to object. But she silenced you once more with a soft wave of her hand, stepping closer to place the intricate metal weaving into your hair. Her movements were careful and reverent, and as the jewels settled against your forehead, they seemed to catch and hold the light, as though starlight itself had been captured within their design.

“In this land,” she said, her voice rich with conviction, “you are the very image of Varda herself. Not I, nor my daughter, but you.” She smiled, her blue eyes shimmering with an almost maternal pride. “Tintilmë, as our people shall know you now. She who sparkles. Long forgotten is that dark, forboding name.”

A flutter stirred in your chest, your heart swelling with emotion as her hand moved to caress your cheek. The warmth of her touch steadied you, grounding you in the gravity of her words. “You, Tintilmë, who sparkles like Varda’s stars, shall one day find your place among them. You will bring beauty to this land as you have already blessed this city with your light.”

Names were everything to your people, a reflection of one’s soul and purpose, woven into the melody of existence itself. To be graced with a name as honorous as that of Varda, the Lady of the Stars, carried an immense weight. It was not merely a title but a legacy, a mantle of light to bear even in the darkest of nights. Varda, the purest of luminaries, was a beacon to all, and now her reflection rested upon you. It was a gift of reverence, but also a promise—a destiny you would have to honor for the rest of your days.

“For now, you will be bound to the one who is most Admirable, one whose skill surpasses even Aulë himself,” Eäriel said softly, her voice carrying a weight of certainty. “He who is truly worthy of a maiden such as you.” Her fingers gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch as light as a whisper.

From beneath her robes, she drew forth a delicate golden chain, its singular red jewel glowing like a drop of fire captured within its setting. She held it out to you, her expression warm and maternal. “As you have no kin here to honor this union, I will stand as your mother, and Ulmoion as your father.”

Her gaze softened as she stepped closer, placing the chain in your hand to inspect. “This trinket is simple and plain, as is fitting for the moment,” she continued, her tone reverent. “It will never compare to the splendor of what he will bestow upon you, but for now, it serves as a symbol. A reminder for a man so attuned to perfection and order as my lord Mairon is. One who sees in you the harmony that matches his own.” You handed the chain back to her with a gentle smile. “Forged in the great fires of the Noldor, and a jewel crafted by Fëanor himself,” you said softly. “It will be an honor for him to wear until he too may join you in the Blessed Realm.”

Eäriel accepted it with a graceful nod, her expression tender. “Thank you, my lady. I am truly honored, and my heart is full knowing that you have been so accepting of this role and of our kin.”

“Child,” she breathed, her voice laced with an almost wistful affection. “From the moment Calandil spoke of you, I knew it would not be he who would wed you, but another. My son is too blinded by the shadows of this world to see what Eru proclaimed in the earliest of days.”

Her words carried the weight of foresight, her gaze distant as if seeing into a time beyond this moment. Yet as she returned her focus to you, there was warmth in her eyes, as though she found comfort in knowing you had chosen the one truly meant for you. 

“My daughter will stand by your side and be your most loyal companion until the end of her days,” Eäriel said gently, her voice carrying a note of earnestness. “She begs your forgiveness so she may share in the splendor and joy of this occasion.”

“I shall grant her that,” you replied softly, your resolve steady as you spoke. Eäriel’s lips curved into a warm smile, and she placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her touch imbued with quiet strength.

“Good,” she said, her tone lighter now, her eyes glinting with approval. “Now let us not keep them waiting. I believe your betrothed is growing quite restless for you to join him.”

Her words carried a teasing lilt, but the truth of them sent a flutter through your chest. You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips as you prepared yourself to step into the moment you had long awaited.

As you gazed upon him beneath the cascade of falling petals from the great tree, your heart quickened, its rhythm echoing the song that bound you to him. His ginger hair shimmered in the moonlight, glowing as it had the night before, a beacon of warmth amidst the cool silver hues of the evening. His robes, a deep red adorned with intricate golden filigree, outshone even the finest creations of the city’s most skilled artisans. It was as though the fabric itself had been woven by Vairë, each thread telling the story of his magnificence.

A soft warmth spread through you as his gaze met yours, the corners of his lips curving into a smile that was both tender and knowing. He stood, regal yet inviting, his eyes alight as he watched you approach with Eäriel at your side.

Your heart swelled with gratitude that he had agreed to this, granting you the memory of this night, a treasure to carry with you even through the shadows of the future. To have this moment, this beauty you shared, would be a light to hold onto—a testament to the harmony and grace you could bring together to this land, even in its darkest days that were yet to come.

As you approached, he extended his hand, his movements deliberate and filled with reverence. Eäriel, standing at your side, gently placed your delicate hand into his, the warmth of his touch spreading like fire. It crawled up your arm, igniting a sensation that embedded itself deeply within your soul, where it harmonized with the song that had always bound you to him.

Only then did you take in the gathering that had come to honor this moment. Eärlindë stood near the forefront, her dark hair gleaming under the soft light, her eyes reflecting quiet joy. Nearby were the women you had worked alongside, those who had shared in your labor and care during the birth of many children. Scattered among the crowd were the children themselves, their small faces alight with wonder and awe as they beheld their teacher, their mentor, adorned for such an important occasion. Their parents stood behind them, their gazes warm with pride and fondness.

Others came from Mairon’s side, his fellow craftsmen and apprentices, men and women who had grown to admire his skill and discipline. The scene was intimate, just as you both had wished—a gathering of those you cared for, and those who cared for you. It was a quiet testament to the lives you had touched, a circle of kinship and respect encircling the bond you were about to seal.

Ulmoion stepped forward, his bearing regal and calm, as Eäriel moved gracefully to stand beside him. His voice carried a quiet power as he spoke the sacred words, honoring your place as embodiments of Manwë and Varda within this union. His blessings tied you both into a bond that reached beyond the world, one that was sanctified by Eru himself, eternal and unbreakable.

When the words were spoken, Ulmoion turned to you, holding a silver chain that gleamed as brightly as the ring on your finger. The stone at its center, a deep and luminous blue, caught the moonlight in a way that made it appear alive. Its craftsmanship, unmistakably Mairon’s, radiated a brilliance that only his unparalleled skill could achieve.

Your gaze shifted to the fiery-haired man before you, and a smile touched your lips as his softened with emotion. His lips parted, his voice a whisper meant only for you. “For you,” he said, his words as steady as they were heartfelt. “My greatest inspiration, my light in the darkness. May you wear this, so I am never truly parted from you.”

Tears welled in your eyes as Ulmoion stepped closer, placing the chain around your neck. The feather-light touch of the metal sent a ripple through you, its design a perfect testament to Mairon’s love. It was not just a piece of jewelry—it was a symbol of how deeply he yearned for you, of his hope to turn away from the shadows and be bound to the light you brought into his life.

Eäriel then approached, holding a chain forged in the fires of the Noldor. At its center lay a jewel of such radiant beauty that it seemed to carry the light of the Two Trees within it. Her voice was reverent as she spoke. “For you, I gift this chain, forged under the brilliance of the great trees which light this world. A treasure of the Noldor, to honor the flame of your spirit.”

Your gaze returned to Mairon, catching the flicker in his eyes—a brief, almost imperceptible trace of fear as he looked upon the chain and its jewel. But he said nothing, and when you spoke, the warmth of your words seemed to steady him. “For the great smith of Finwë’s line, Fëanor, has crafted this jewel to match both your fiery spirits, and honor a smith of equal stature.”

As the chain was placed around his neck, you saw him brace himself, his features tightening as though expecting some unseen force to strike. But when nothing came, his shoulders relaxed, and his hand instinctively moved to touch the jewel, as though drawing strength from it.

“May you wear this in great honor,” you continued, your voice tender, “and never know separation from your place in my soul.”

Mairon’s gaze met yours then, his emerald eyes filled with an intensity that matched the flame within him. You knew in that moment that this union, bound by light and shadow, was the truest form of love and eternal grace, blessed by the ones who gave you both life.

And for a fleeting moment, it seemed the stars themselves joined in their harmony, singing with joy as the bond was sealed. Far away, the great shadow stirred, his cries of envy and malice echoing in the void as he gazed upon his wayward servant, now standing in the light once more, beyond his reach.

For the whispers that once plagued Mairon had fallen silent, their power diminished. The door to his mind, so long left ajar, was now firmly shut.

[starst0nes]

Gojo x Reader x Geto "Squid Game"

Warning: [This story contains yandere themes, possessive and obsessive behavior, graphic violence, gunshots, and blood]

Materialist

Part 2

In a deadly game where survival is the only option, Y/N, with a painful injury, relies on her two protective boyfriends, Satoru and Suguru, to navigate the perilous chaos, unaware that the true threat lies right beside her

My face fell as the votes were tallied. We were staying. The majority had chosen to keep playing, and my stomach churned with despair. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed them down, refusing to let anyone see me break.

Suguru’s voice sliced through the fog in my head. “Idiots. Every last one of them,” he muttered, his hand settling firmly on my shoulder. The weight was grounding, but the tension in his grip betrayed his barely contained frustration.

“It’s fine,” Satoru said, his signature grin intact, as if we weren’t standing on the brink of death. “You just stick to your hottest boyfriend and ignore Mr. Broody over here.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me like this was some kind of field trip.

Despite myself, I let out a snort. “Hottest? Says who?”

“Every mirror I’ve ever looked at,” Satoru shot back.

Suguru rolled his eyes, muttering, “God, give me strength.”

But their banter only served to remind me of the crushing guilt clawing at my chest. This was all my fault. My mom and little brother had been in the hospital for two years after a car accident, and the medical bills were an endless, suffocating nightmare. Desperate to help, I’d called the number on a mysterious business card. I thought I’d been discreet, but clearly not discreet enough. Because when I woke up in this hellhole, both of them were right there—furious, protective, and unwilling to let me face this alone.

Now, they were stuck here because of me.

Before I could spiral further, the robotic voice boomed overhead: “Please follow the guards for the next game.”

The room buzzed with despair. Some players prayed under their breath, while others wept quietly.

Satoru, as always, couldn’t help himself. “Seriously, how much does this game cost? Let’s just buy it and call it a day.”

Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t buy a death game, Satoru.”

“Sure I can. Money solves everything.”

Suguru sighed, too exhausted to argue with someone so egotistical.

Six-Legged Pentathlon

The air was thick with tension as the announcer’s voice rang out, announcing the start of the next game: Six-Legged Pentathlon. My heart pounded in my chest as I fought the overwhelming urge to panic. The weight of my injury, a painful gash on my left leg from a previous round, made each step feel like I was dragging a heavy anchor behind me. I could barely put pressure on it, and the thought of failing in front of everyone felt unbearable.

The rules were simple: Teams of five. And there was no way I was going to let my injury hold me back, no matter how much it hurt. I just had to push through.

As soon as the announcement finished, people scrambled to form groups. A petite girl, bloodstains staining her clothes, walked up to us with a coy smile, trying to flirt despite her obvious exhaustion. She was practically dripping with desperation, but I couldn’t spare the energy to feel jealous. I was too focused.

“We need two more person. Please join us” she said, glancing between Satoru and Suguru, clearly hoping for their attention.

Suguru didn’t even look at her, his expression cool and polite. “Sorry, we’ve got our group already.”

Satoru, ever blunt, added, “Doesn’t matter who it is, as long as they don’t slow us down. We need a team of five, not a liability.”

I bit my lip, glancing down at my leg. They had already decided who would do which game. Suguru would take the Gonggi, tossing and catching small stones in complex sequences. Satoru would do the Jegi, keeping a shuttlecock-like object in the air with precise kicks. As for me? I’d take on Spinning Top, where I had to spin a top using a string, making sure it stayed on the ground without falling over.

Just as we were about to move, a young boy with pink hair approached me.

“Hello, miss,” he said, his tone polite and sincere. “I’m Yuji. I was wondering if me and my friend could join your group?”

His manners made me smile despite the situation, and I opened my mouth to answer, but Satoru cut me off.

“Who the hell is this? Another colored-hair guy?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed, but the boy flinched, looking like he didn’t belong here in the slightest.

I felt a protective urge rise in me. “Quiet, Satoru. Let’s take them. That makes five of us.”

Satoru was about to protest, but the voice on the loudspeaker cut through, announcing that group selection was over. I shot Satoru a look, and he rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue further.

The other girl in our group, Nobara, had been assigned to Ddakji a game involving flipping tiles while Yuji would handle Flying Stone, tossing stones into the air and trying to land them into a target.

The Game Begins

We lined up, and I could barely keep my focus on the game as my mind raced. The pain in my leg was unbearable, but Satoru and Suguru flanked me, their presence somehow making the ache more bearable. They carried me subtly, a steady, quiet support. I knew they were trying to keep it low-key, but the gentle pressure on my shoulders and waist was a silent promise that they wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

First up was Nobara. Her cursing could be heard from a mile away as she struggled with the Ddakji, trying to flip the tiles. “Come on, you stupid thing!” she shouted, frustration and anger mounting.

The crowd watched, quiet for a moment, before she managed a successful flip. The roar of cheers, including mine, echoed through the space. I smiled despite the situation, but my heart was still heavy with the weight of my leg injury.

Next, Yuji stepped forward, ready for his turn with Flying Stone.

“Get this right, dude,” Satoru muttered under his breath, a touch of seriousness in his voice that I wasn’t used to hearing.

To my relief, Yuji nailed it on the first try. “Yes!” I cheered, feeling a spark of hope. He beamed, and I couldn’t help but feel proud of him.

Then it was Suguru’s turn for Gonggi. We all knelt, waiting. Suguru was in his element, his expression calm, almost serene.

“Get this done quick, or I’ll have Y/N all to myself,” Satoru teased, though the tone held a sharp edge that caught everyone’s attention.

Suguru shot him a small smirk, but his eyes were focused as he began the game. The speed with which he completed it took everyone by surprise, myself included. No one expected him to finish so fast, but in moments, it was done. The crowd erupted into applause.

Now, it was my turn.

I shook as I approached the Spinning Top. My hands trembled with every step, the pressure of the game and my injury weighing heavily on me.

“Don’t worry about the time, sweetcheeks,” Satoru’s voice whispered in my ear. I could feel his eyes on me, watching closely.

“Take your time, as long as you need,” Suguru added softly. His voice was steady, but his concern for me was evident.

I knew they were trying to reassure me, but I also knew that the longer I took, the harder it would be to hide my failure. I took the string, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I tried to get the top to spin.

The first time it broke. The second time, it didn’t even roll.

“Seriously, bitch? You’re making this a burden,” someone muttered, and I froze. The words cut into me, and panic surged.

Satoru’s voice, low and dark, echoed in the room. “Someone will die tonight.”

I couldn’t tell if he was talking about me or the person who dared to criticize, but I felt the weight of it. I couldn’t let them down. I couldn’t make them feel like this was a mistake.

With renewed determination, I took the string again, gritting my teeth. This time, the top spun perfectly. It stayed on the ground, spinning in place.

“Good job, baby!” Satoru cheered, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

We moved quickly, the next round ahead of us. Satoru didn’t even break a sweat as he completed his round, effortlessly performing Jegi with precision.

“I did better than Suguru, right, baby?” Satoru grinned, pride in his voice.

I smiled despite the exhaustion, the weight of the game, and my injury. The tension was far from over, but I knew with Suguru and Satoru by my side, I’d survive anything.

And together, we’d make it through to the end.

Unbeknownst to everyone, after the game, muffled screams echoed from the restroom. The agony in the voice was unmistakable a high-pitched wail that quickly turned to sobbing.

“P-please stop! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” The girl’s desperate cries grew weaker, punctuated by the sickening sound of a body hitting the wall.

“Should’ve thought of that before calling her a bitch,” Satoru’s voice drawled, laced with venom. He sounded almost bored, but the intensity in his eyes as he leaned over her trembling form told a different story.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Suguru added quietly, his tone cold yet calm as he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before running your mouth.”

A sharp, bone cracking snap echoed through the room. The screaming stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. Blood pooled on the floor, stark against the restroom’s cold tiles.

Satoru stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “Well, that was satisfying,” he said nonchalantly, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

Suguru adjusted his tie, his demeanor as composed as ever. “More money for us, I suppose. Not that we need any,” he remarked, glancing at Satoru before turning to leave.

Before exiting, Satoru shot a glance back at the lifeless body. His tone shifted, soft yet dripping with possessiveness.

“No one disrespects our girl and walks away. Remember that, sweetheart.”

[hexwhore]

Prompt 111 ?..... plz

Yeah! Spicing it up for the new year with an extra guest feature in this one. Very much inspired by the ball fondling fic that rewired my brain.

Tags/Warnings: 18+, Jayvik x GN Reader, oral (Viktor receiving), face fucking, fingering variety pack, fuck it we (appreciate) ball(s).

“Can you please,” you huff, wiggling to detangle your legs, “just sit on my fucking face already.”

“No,” says Viktor, firm in this denial, and a hand falls away from roaming your chest. “We agreed: You sit on my face.”

“I did not—” you accept a peck, then another, “agree to that.” 

His fingers slip out of you, and he admires the dark, sticky puddle soaked into the couch between your legs. But for now, he withholds a comment on that. Instead, jostled by the hands shoving at his boxers: “There is a certain numerical solution for this, you know,” he says. 

The hands stop abruptly. “Then what am I supposed to do?” Jayce asks, incredulous. He is unshaven, unshowered and touchy after a long day and too many late nights.

Viktor cannot help himself. He gestures vaguely in the direction of a ratty wingback chair in the corner, his first real piece of furniture after leaving behind the student dormitories. Jayce has never had a nice thing to say about it. “For all your jokes about the, eh, cuck chair…” 

You snort. Jayce sniffs. And after a moment’s consideration: “I’m not on your side anymore,” he decides. And you have the audacity to high five him to seal this alliance. But he smiles, and you smile, and it only proves that affection and annoyance are, at times, indistinguishable emotions. 

“Fine,” Viktor seethes, half-hearted at best. It’s no true loss to have Jayce ease him naked while he catches your jaw in his spindly grasp. Thumbing the plush of your lower lip, he considers how nice it will feel to drag his cock against it, how pretty you will look swallowing him down. Softly asks, “You prefer when I watch you take it, don't you?”

To his left: Jayce groans and nuzzles into his hair, hard-pressed to peel away and urge this tangle of limbs into a new configuration, but he’s being so brave. 

To his right: You nod thickly, wanting mouth already slack and open before you ever lie back against the arm of the couch and let him mount your shoulders. 

It’s easy on his knees, but Jayce—thoughtful, eager-to-serve—still urges a pillow beneath the bad one while you start to grope and grab and smear your face into the heavy velvet drape of his balls. In the shadow of his body, of his twitching cock, your open-mouthed kisses knead that pliant skin. He sucks a hiss through his teeth when you pull one, then the other into your mouth, rolling each like a tender stone on your tongue. 

Viktor’s thoughts turn syrupy, wondering if love is like this for everyone: a want to be devoured, trusting someone to do it kindly. 

Another swell of affection sees his cock guided between your lips, rocking into that warm clutch with a shuddered sigh. Your hand wraps firmly around the base, dragging back his foreskin, limiting the forward momentum of his hips. He smooths back your hair to the wet sound of Jayce behind him—straddling your core, splitting you open on thick fingers—lapping the sweat from his nape, hard against the small of his back. 

Viktor can hardly bear it, turned overwrought and sloppy so efficiently—so effortlessly. 

His fingers rake your scalp and latch, desperate little sounds leaking from behind his teeth. His other hand braces the arm of the couch beside your head and hollowed cheeks. “Deeper, please,” he rasps. Asking, not begging, though he’s alone in seeing it that way. 

Your eyes, clear and interested, cut over his shoulder to Jayce, whose breath washes the desperate words, “Let him fuck your face,” over his skin. Jayce does want to watch; wants to wish it was him; wants to use your pleasure as a whetstone to slowly sharpen his own. 

That’s why Jayce’s groan frays with a whine against his neck when Viktor asks, shakier than he means, “Would you like that?” and you hum, “Mmhm,” around the head of his cock. 

You fist your thumb where it rests against his alabaster thigh, perfectly able to unfurl and stop him at any point. But it never does. Maybe because you’re good at slackening your throat, and lucky that little trick works to keep you from gagging. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t hold out nearly long enough to approach your limit. Who could know? 

(Viktor can.)

(Viktor does.)

Caught between your silken mouth and Jayce’s middle finger—wet with slick, dipping into his ass—he comes unmoored regardless.

[miharaikko]

My 2024 writing round up

Thank you for the tags to @firenati0n @0npurpose @sophie1973 @clockwrkpendrxgon @kj-bee

I started writing fic this year in May and managed to put out 21 pieces, 19 oneshots and 2 multi-chapters. I would have never imagined myself as a fic writer, considering I barely knew the concept a year ago, but here we are—brain rot so active and ideas overflowing 🤷‍♀️

I’m so thankful to all the people willing to give my little stories a chance. Thank you for all the kudos, comments and overall yelling on twitter and discord. 

And thank you to my Red Umbrella gang. Since meeting y'all in June my life has significantly improved 💕 Can’t wait to see what 2025 brings us! ✨

My AO3: miharaikko My fandom: Red, White & Royal Blue Number of fics posted: 21 Number of Words posted: 91,717

MAY

Pearly Gates (M, 5K)  Alex sees Henry across the dance floor and is mesmerized by his ivory skin and the pearl top he is wearing.

JUNE

Love will abide (take things in stride) (E, 15K)  Henry should be getting married tomorrow. Instead, he's at a pub, considering if he should go back to the hotel of a man he just met.

JULY

waging my wars behind my face and above my throat (M, 3K) Henry is having a bad day and Alex helps him through it (part I)

AUGUST

I was already on my way (GA, 1.1K) Henry is having a bad day and Alex helps him through it (part II)

SEPTEMBER

touch my phone (as if it’s your face) (GA, 5.3K) Alex texts the wrong number. It turns out to be the right one in the end.

just you and I (GA, 1K) Slices of life, inspired by Tom Odell's Grow Old with Me

OCTOBER

In the heart of Wales (Yng nghalon Cymru) (GA, 2.8K) Alex and Henry get lost in the heart of Wales

only thing on my grocery list (is your lips) (GA, 2.2K) Henry keeps visiting his local market and trying out new recipes, all for the sake of a cute vendor

more than a game to play (the truth is on my tongue) (E, 2.5K) Being friends with benefits shouldn't matter. But when Henry gets jealous, it starts to matter.

I was cold as a stone (but I found what I'm lookin' for) (GA, 2.6K) Henry retreats to a cabin in the woods for some peace and quiet, but he also finds something else there.

all eyes on you, my magician (all eyes on us) (GA, 3.8K) - collab with tothemoon_andsaturn Henry is a magician, but he is falling under the spell of Alex.

three words, infinite possibilities (GA, 1.8K) Alex figures out that his feelings for Henry are more than he thought.

a beagle's guide to finding love (GA, 5.7K) When David feels like henry could use a new friend, he takes the matter into his own paws.

pink silk ribbon kinky thingy (E, 7.2K) Alex finds a spool of silk ribbon which makes him feels things. Henry helps him process those feelings.

NOVEMBER

saturday night love (GA, 1.3K) A-list actor Henry decides to come out during an SNL sketch. Alex is the SNL regular who gets to kiss him during it.

DECEMBER

Spotify Wrapped - a Series of Unserious Drabbles (M, 2.7K) writings based on my 2024 Spotify Wrapped

a beautiful sight, we're happy tonight (M, 2.8K) - collab with tothemoon_andsaturn Henry takes Alex to visit Wales. The lack of snow doesn't stop Alex from transforming the day into a winter Wonderland.

but if you’re leaving, I gotta know why (M, 4K) Alex overhears a conversation between Henry and Bea and realizes there's a lot more things that he feels for his roommate.

...for so long (M, 6.2K)â Henry is tasked with baking gingerbread and he gets a helping hand from a friend

both your hands (in the holes of my sweater) (M, 6.4K) Henry and Alex lend each other certain clothes items over the years

s'mores (let me taste you some more) (E, 8.8K) Stuck in a cabin due to a storm, Alex and Henry only have marshmallows, crackers and chocolate as supplies. They make the best of it, while also tending to some old wounds.

WIPs & UPCOMING FICS

I've been yapping about these 3 since the moment they each came to mind, but with the collections I took part in, and other smaller ideas that never let my mind, I haven't been able to finish them. But my goal for 2025 is to bring these 3 babies to the world:

Red Wine and Royal Bleu Cheese - vaguely established plot, where Alex visits a winery where he meets Henry

Clay your love on me - Alex is a TikTok potter and Henry is a fan of his live videos

no title yet, but this will be my multi-chaptered Magnum Opus once I manage to write it, based on the following prompt: Friends with benefits (they share a house to split the rent) with detriments (they used to date but broke up for self-sabotaging reasons) with perks (sometimes they spend the night together. it’s fine) with troubles (one of them is moving away. it feels worse than the breakup)

And I also have an upcoming fic for the Wrap It Up exchange.

No pressure tags under the cut 🥰

@alasse9 @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @indestructibleheart @itsmaybitheway @jafffacakess @myheartalivewrites @miss-minnelli @msmarvelouswinchester @ninzied @nocoastposts @orchidscript @porcelainmortal @sherryvalli @silvermaples @shesfromboston @thesleepyskipper @tinyarmedtrex @whimsymanaged

[johannestevans]

A Queer Indie Author’s Experience of 2024

Looking back on my top stories, sales stats, and best experiences of the year past, and looking to the year ahead!

Hello hello!

I’ve just been in the process of attending to my yearly tradition, ordinarily attended to in the last days of December and the first of January — I sit down with my new year’s calendar, and I write down all the vital dates and pieces of information. 

On the current calendar in front of me — a charming Peter Rabbit family planner with a little attached whiteboard, as I wasn’t able to get the Discworld calendar this year — I’ve transferred over the birthdays of all my friends and loved ones, written down some of the main conventions of 2025 I’m planning to attend like TeratoCon, and other already established professional and social plans, as well as deadlines for different submissions. 

As I’m looking ahead, I thought it would be worth looking back a little bit as well, for a nice bit of contrast!

Statistics for 2024:

Total Books Sold Through KDP (Amazon) in 2024: 1,548

1,265 of those units were eBooks and 283 were print books — my top performer was my first novel, Heart of Stone, which sold 637 units (396 eBooks, 241 paperbacks), and after that was Touch-Starved, which sold 209 total units, then Powder and Feathers, at 82 total units. 

Approximated royalties are at $2,288.42.

Total Books Sold Through Draft2Digital in 2024: 13,529

Draft2Digital is the company through which I publish to several platforms, particularly Kobo and Kobo+, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Everand, Smashwords, and then library programs like BorrowBox, Hoopla, CloudLibrary, etc. 

The sales are so incredibly high because it was the Smashwords End of Year sale, and all of my 99c shorts were discounted to free for most of December, so 12,548 sales were in December, and I only had 981 sales for the rest of the year. 

I unfortunately have absolutely no idea how to look at the breakdown between eBooks and paperbacks for D2D, but my top sellers were Touch-Starved, at 464 units sold, Sweet On, at 400 units sold, and Hitting the Books, at 369 units sold. 

Approximated royalties are at $1,117.56, with $354.52 of those royalties being in the last month. While obviously ten thousand books were free books sold, my advertisements for the free books and the freebies themselves drove a lot of traffic to my other works like Heart of Stone or Strange Liberty, etc.

Total Royalties from Medium in 2024: $1073.92

Medium pays out royalties based on views of subscribers and how much time subscribers spend reading each work. I normally tock up my top story for each month on Medium, but Medium has helpfully taken away the option to do that for months January through July, thinking that only the last six months are useful in the stats block for the Partner Program rather than the last 12. 

Nonetheless, for the months I can see:

August’s Total Earnings on Medium: $64.39 September’s Total Earnings on Medium: $47.33 October’s Total Earnings on Medium: $56.25 November’s Total Earnings on Medium: $57.27 December’s Total Earnings on Medium: $57.08

August 2024’s Top Performer was Yentl: A Trans Man Studying Talmud is Distracted by Gay Thoughts. It earned $3.80 that month, and its lifetime earnings, having been published in July 2023, stand at $163.36. It was also September 2024’s Top Performer, earning $3.79. It was also November 2024’s Top Performer, earning $3.71.

August 2024’s Top Fiction Performer was The Devil’s Mark, which earned $2.76, having been published that month, and has managed $3.12 lifetime earnings since publication. 

September 2024’s Top Fiction Performer was Street Trade, which earned $1.15, and has managed $1.81 lifetime earnings since publication.

October 2024’s Top Performer was Passing Privilege: Through My Eyes, as a Trans Man Who Passes, earning $11.64 that month, and its lifetime earnings, having been published in June 2023, stand $138.04.

October 2024’s Top Fiction Performer was Bred & Betting, which earned $2.09 that month, and has managed $3.10 lifetime earnings since publication. 

November 2024’s Top Fiction Performer was Divine Service, which earned $2.52 that month, and its lifetime earnings, having released on Medium in May 2024, stand at $32.99. It was also December 2024’s Top Fiction Performer, earning $2.21.

December 2024’s Top Performer was A Transphobe Ruined His Own Night Because I Was Existing Next to Him, which earned $13.42 and was actually a new piece, so that’s its lifetime earnings. 

Total Income from Patreon in 2024: $16,502.38

Of course, Patreon is always the bulk of my income, and I’m very grateful for my Patreon subscribers! 

On my Patreon, I publish all of my short stories and essays, barring a handful that due to Patreon’s guidelines can’t be cross-posted there, and the new benefit I’m going to be offering my patrons is going to be giving them voucher codes so they can always buy eBook versions of all my works on Smashwords as an additional benefit. 

I try not to look at my general new subscriber and unsubscription rate on Patreon each month, but my Active Subscribers currently stand at 420 (noice), with 104 new subscribers and having had 102 cancelled subscribers in the past year. 

People regularly unsubscribe on Patreon and come back later when they can afford it, or go between Medium and Patreon, depending on what works best for their income at the moment. 

What I Did in 2024

This year has been really good for me, and I’ve been absolutely delighted with the results, but the past few months particularly have been especially good, and I’m really excited with some decisions I’ve made and what they’re gonna look like for me in 2025. 

Firstly, in February I accompanied Dalton Harrison, author of The Boy Behind The Wall, and Kirsty from Bi+ Leeds to HMP Askham Grange to run a Q&A and read from some of our pieces in Transmuted to the prisoners there. 

It was such a privilege to be able to talk to some of the prisoners incarcerated there, especially other queer and trans people, and to advocate for prisoners’ queer identities to guards and staff in a way that prisoners often don’t feel able to approach in the same way for themselves, but mostly just to spread a little joy and talk about creativity and art to the prisoners in place there. 

In April, I delivered a talk with Romancing the Gothic about Crimson Peak as a modern Gothic Romance, and I of course ran my usual Monstrous May prompt event, although I don’t think I did enough promotion for it in 2024 and I don’t think my prompts were necessarily that enticing. I’m hoping to drum up more excitement and interest in 2025. 

 I went to WorldCon in August, and I had an excellent time, it felt really fulfilling as a creative professional, I loved being on several panels and also being able to moderate a panel, and I’m very excited to further cultivate my skills in the next year or two in interviewing and moderation for Q&As and panels alike! 

I didn’t unfortunately get to any other conventions in 2024 because WorldCon was very expensive between con tickets, travel up to Glasgow, and the AirBnB, but more cons is absolutely the goal. 

I also got involved in a few other projects that are going to be published in 2025 — I contributed a short story to Dudes Rock: A Celebration of Queer Masculinity in Speculative Fiction, edited by Jay Kang Romanus and published by The Circus Collective, and the anthology is currently open for preorder, due for release on January 10th! 

I’ve also contributed to SLAKE HOUSE, an erotic horror Choose-Your-Own-Ending anthology presented by Noah’s Ark and Radha Kai Zan that’s due for release in the next few months, and I’m very excited for that as well, it was such a cool project to be a part of, and I was so delighted to work along so many splendid and deliciously fucked-up creators, both other authors and amazing visual artists!

I made some changes to my social media presence — most notably swapping the bulk of my activity from the dying-a-swift-death X, née Twitter, to BlueSky, which has now added threading — enabling me to write my first ThreadFic on the platform — and publishing more actively to Reddit, especially in the fantasy, romance, and queer subs, as well as making a Threads account. 

And finally, the biggest change I’ve made in 2024, I went through my back catalogue of longer shorts, those that were in the 5k to 30k range, and made each of them available as 99c shorts, with new eBooks published in the 5–10k range to be published as 99c shorts, and ones closer to the 20k range or above to be priced at $2.99, apart from my serials that get re-edited and published as extended novels.

For a long time, I was quite reticent to publish shorts in this way, convincing myself that I absolutely had to publish shorts in big collections or otherwise I was somehow cheating the reader by giving them such a short piece, but I’m so glad I managed to shake off that anxiety. 

The response to all these 99c shorts has been overwhelmingly and absurdly positive, and I’ve reached a huge swathe of new readers even before the Smashwords sale where I sold off 10k of these shorts for free. Quite a lot of readers have been really excited at the short story, novelette, and novella formats for a lot of these pieces, especially because they’re so varied in their subject matter, genre, and characters, and obviously like…

Each of these books individually can work up its own popularity and readers who have affection for it, each of them individually being recommended on their own strengths, but having so many shorts available, people often recommend a handful in the same breath, especially those that play with similar topics or themes. 

Going from having a back catalogue of seven or so eBooks and paperbacks to 50 eBooks and 20 paperbacks makes a big difference, and it’s going to be great to be able to pick out paperbacks to bring along to sell at conventions and so on that exactly match the brief or the theme!

As each of these shorts and novelettes gain reviews, I’m excited for them to gain more of an audience over time as readers find them as their favourites, similar to the response Heart of Stone has received over time, and that I hope Powder and Feathers and other long novels in future to receive, such as the next expected release, An Uncommon Betrothal. 

I’ve come on leaps and bounds with my own ability to design book covers, working with a pared back vintage style that incorporates a lot of public domain etchings, sketches, and block prints, the sort I grew up seeing in adventure novels and so on, and also in editing and formatting my books for paperback on KDP! 

My Goals for 2025

Most of what I want to achieve in 2025 is more of the same.

I definitely feel that because I was working on a lot of longer pieces this year, and then because I was working on making eBooks and paperback versions of various pieces available, that I didn’t publish as many fiction pieces overall, but I’m very proud of what I have published!

I want to attend more conventions, as I’ve said, and involve myself in more literary and author-run events where I can, as well as maybe selling books and merch at pride events. 

I haven’t focused that much on merchandise this year, but now that my printer is up and running, I’m excited to design new badges in a few months, as well as maybe make some bookmarks, postcards, stickers, and similar. Depending on how my income looks in the next few months and how significant a difference my back catalogue makes, I think I’d also like to have some business cards printed.

I’ve definitely made more money business-wise this last year than I ever have before, and I’m keen to keep those growths doing, but we’re hoping to get a cat this year as well as do some home repairs, so I want to be modest about how I’m reinvesting that new income as I keep it building up. 

I want to be more creative about how I’m advertising to new readers and meeting new people — I actually put up some posters around Leeds last month to advertise the Smash sale, and I definitely think I want to get into the habit of regularly putting up posters advertising my work in queer spaces around Yorkshire, both around Bradford and Leeds, but also if I’m going out in York, or even if I’m going farther afield to Manchester or Bristol or London. 

And my biggest goal I think is that when I finish An Uncommon Betrothal, I want to do an official in-person launch for the paperback and do an event where I’m reading from it, selling copies, and signing them as well! 

That would most likely be in Leeds, and I just think it would be a really fun event if I can do it, and would drum up a lot of support and sales both online and in paperback. 

Thank you so much for all your support, and wishing everyone a happy new year! 

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hi and may I ask if you Can you do One piece x Reader?

Reader as Luffy's twin "Brother (sister)" and a mermaid. Having the same personality and abilities,(and probably devil fruit, like they ate slices from the same fruit and both of them had rubber powers or not), and just like Luffy, despite being a mermaid, Reader's SUCKS at swimming

As a devil fruit user, Luffy twin's already atrocious swimming skills are now at zero. She can still breathe under water, but will sink like a stone, her strength sapped by the sea, and if she loses consciousness she’ll stop breathing too. Needless to say, she stays out of the water, and the villagers come to accept that sometimes, mermaids just live on land.

(also you can change these if you like)

Just like in canon, Luffy and Reader meet the Shank and they got kidnap by Bandits

Luffy and Reader meet Dandan and the bandits, Ace and Sabo and they still rescue Luffy and Reader, and they still exchange sake cups and become brothers. Yes, brothers.

Because at this point, neither Ace nor Sabo nor any of the bandits, nor anyone really on Dawn island save Makino and Garp actually know that Luffy twin’s a girl. Not even Luffy and Reader, herself.

Asl and reader made a promise to each other that they’ll all leave the island when they turn seventeen, setting out to sea to become pirates

This concerns Ace and Sabo, even Luffy, given how often people try to sell Luffy twin's how despite aquatic appearances she's vulnerable in water, but decide to wait and see.

Sabo 'dies', Ace, Luffy, and Reader continue to train, and things don’t change until Ace is seventeen, shortly before he sets out to sea.

Ace, Luffy, and the Bandits discover Reader's a girl. Reader doesnt know what a girl is, so does Luffy, he and Ace realizes they're troubled because Ace can't remember the number of times he and Luffy rescued her from potential traffickers and Ace doubts of letting Reader go out to the sea. But at the same time, it’s not like he can order her to stay here.

The night before he leaves, Ace tells Luffy that there’s been a change of plans. Like He made Luffy promise to always stay by Reader's side when they became 17 and became pirates In the same crew or Ace will return to them when they're 17 and joining they're crew.

I will try my best with what you’ve given me to go off of.

-They couldn’t have known, hell you didn’t even know! How could you have not known?!

-Ace was rubbing his face with his hands, trying to will away the stress that was building up, feeling like his head was going to explode clean off from the pressure.

-All these years, all these years spent together, and he had no idea that you were actually a girl! They had all thought you were a boy!

-Being Luffy’s twin caused some headaches, mainly for Garp as he had to deal with two of you knuckleheads, but even more so when you both found and ate a Devil Fruit, Luffy becoming a rubber man and you becoming a mermaid, having the ability to control water.

-However, despite being a mermaid and being able to control water, you still sank like a stone, so you couldn’t swim, which was rather amusing to see, seeing that you were a mermaid that couldn’t swim.

-While that did little to limit you, as either Luffy, Sabo, or Ace had carried you everywhere, you were still a pain in the butt like Luffy, always causing trouble, but you were loyal and kind to your big brothers, swearing to always be brothers with the three of them, drinking sake together all those years ago, despite the yucky taste.

-It wasn’t until you started to get older when your breasts started to come in that everyone, Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Garp, Dandan, the bandits, everyone- realized that you were a girl, and you had been all this time!

-The panic that reigned over the island felt like it lasted for days, while you were a bit confused as to why everyone was shouting so much.

-Makino and Dandan had to teach you that you were a girl, basically telling you what that meant. Luffy was clueless as well, but Ace was beside himself as he couldn’t recall how many times you had been kidnapped by traffickers who would have loved to get their hands on a mermaid, and being a female mermaid, if they had managed to get away, they would have made a fortune!

-It was the night before Ace was leaving, having been training hard alongside you and Luffy, but now that he was faced with this dilemma, now knowing you were a girl, he was hesitant on leaving, not wanting to risk your safety.

-It was Luffy who came to him, looking for his big brother, “Are you okay Ace?” the older boy inhaled deeply, patting the rock beside him as he was sitting outside, trying to cool his head, “Luffy I… I’m worried about Y/N- I’m worried that if I’m not here to help you keep her safe, she’s going to get taken away.”

-Luffy got mad, showing his angry side for once, “Nobody will take Y/N away from us! Not while I’m here!” Ace couldn’t help but smile at his brother, feeling relieved at his answer before he sighed before he stood, making Luffy look up at him.

-Ace rarely was this serious, but he put a hand on Luffy’s shoulder, “Luffy, swear to me- swear on your life, that you will keep Y/N safe, for the both of us. I’ll come back when you’re both older and take you both on my own crew.”

-Luffy was quiet for a moment, as he wasn’t used to seeing Ace being so serious, but he beamed up at him, “Of course I’ll keep Y/N safe! But we’re going out and making our own crew because I’m going to be King of the Pirates!”

-Ace couldn’t help but grin, ruffling his brother’s head gently, knowing that you would be in good hands in Luffy… he hoped, since Luffy and you were both idiots, but if anyone could do it- you two could.

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 9. THE BRONZE SENTINEL

A/n: last installment for Act One! Possibly won't upload again for a lil bit to finish up on Act Two. Thank y'all so much for the support and see ya soon!

❝Sometimes the greatest victories are won by those the world refuses to see.❞

Warrior M.List

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˚＊˚✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ˚＊˚

The air in the throne room was thick with tension. Heated voices rose and fell, clashing against the high stone walls like waves against a jagged cliff.

Lords, generals, and soldiers of high rank filled the space; their faces a mix of concern, frustration, and simmering panic. Odysseus sat at the center of it all, perched on the grand throne of Ithaca.

His injured leg was propped up on a low stool wrapped tightly in layers of bandages that barely concealed the faint stain of blood beginning to seep through.

Despite the attempts to alleviate his pain, his jaw was clenched, and his fingers gripped the arms of the throne with a force that turned his knuckles white. His normally sharp eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, though he tried to maintain the stoic facade of a King as he silently observed the debate.

Eurylochus stood near the dais with crossed arms over his chest as he addressed the crowd. His tone was calm but carried an edge—the kind of subtle authority that made him impossible to ignore.

"Odysseus cannot lead," Eurylochus said plainly, his gaze sweeping over the gathered men. "Not in his current state. We all know it."

The room erupted in murmurs, a chorus of agreement and dissent. Some nodded reluctantly, while others frowned at the thought of their King being sidelined.

From his seat Odysseus’s mind churned. He bristled at Eurylochus’s words but could not deny the kernel of truth buried within them.

Every instinct screamed to refute the claim outright, to rise and silence the doubts in their eyes with the sheer force of his presence. But the ache in his leg reminded him sharply of his limits.

"And who would you suggest takes his place?" Antiphates—one of Ithaca's seasoned generals—challenged. His gravelly voice carried the weight of a man unafraid of confrontation. “With all due respect we cannot afford indecision.”

Eurylochus squared his shoulders, his expression resolute. "I can take command. As Second-in-Command it is my duty to step in during times like these."

Timon, a younger and brash voice among them, interjected. "I agree. Eurylochus is the natural choice. He's not only kin to the King but his record in the field speaks for itself. He’s proven himself capable time and again."

Murmurs rippled through the room dividing the assembly further.

“Capable?” Philoctetes, renowned Greek archer, scoffed. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on Eurylochus. “He's Odysseus's kinsman yes. But let us not forget how this capable man once sowed discord among his own men. He nearly cost us a campaign with his arrogance.”

The argument grew louder as the tension in the room threatening to boil over. 

"And what of Troy?" another voice cut in. It was Menestheus, a visiting Athenian general. "Odysseus was more than a leader—he was a symbol. A strategist without equal. Replacing him is not so simple."

The words stung Odysseus like an old wound reopened. He sat straighter, though the movement drew a wince that he quickly masked.

"Enough," he said finally, his voice low but commanding.

The arguments ceased instantly.

“I am not dead,” he announced despite the strain. “Nor have I relinquished command. I will not abandon my men and I will not abandon Ithaca.”

The room remained silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Odysseus’s sharp gaze swept across the assembly, lingering on each face, reading the doubts and fears etched into their features.

“Eurylochus,” he called, his tone hardening as his attention fixed on his kinsman. “You speak of duty and yet you seem to have forgotten what binds us as men of Ithaca. I have bled for this kingdom as have you. Do not mistake my injury for weakness, nor my trust in you for surrender.”

Eurylochus’s jaw clenched but he said nothing.

“I will lead where I can,” Odysseus continued, his voice gaining strength. “And where I cannot I will guide. Eurylochus will act as my second, but I remain Captai—"

The great doors of the throne room burst open with a thunderous crash.

Every head turned toward the entrance as the doors revealed Penelope and you standing side by side.

Penelope strode in first, her face a perfect mask of calm, her movements precise and unyielding. She wore a dark cloak, the fabric draped over her shoulders and flowing down to her feet—concealing what lay beneath.

Her steps echoed through the chamber, the soft clink of something metallic beneath her cloak catching the ears of those closest.

You followed at her side, your demeanor a stark contrast.

While Penelope exuded regal poise, your gait was confident and dare say lazy. It was as though the weight of the room's scrutiny didn't faze you—as if you weren't walking into a lion's den.

You were dressed for movement: lightweight shin guards and bracers gleamed in the light while a leather skirt reinforced with overlapping bronze scales allowed for fluid movement.

Draped across your torso was a well-worn enchanted messenger bag Odysseus had given you years ago; its magical seams withholding the true weight of tools and supplies you'd collected from countless skirmishes.

A hush fell over the crowd of men as the two of you approached Odysseus, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the tense silence.

The Ithacan King brows furrowed as he straightened in his seat. "Penelope," his voice faltered slightly as his gaze darted between her and you. "What are you doing here?"

Before she could respond Lord Theocles stepped forward, his expression pinched with disapproval. “Your Majesty,” he said sharply, his tone dripping with condescension. “This is a council of war strategy. It is no place for—”

"For what?" Penelope interrupted, her voice slicing through like a blade. The older man faltered, his mouth snapping shut under her sharp gaze. "A Queen?"

Penelope turned her attention back to Odysseus. "I've come to offer a solution," she said evenly.

The murmurs started again—louder this time. Lords exchanged incredulous glances, a few openly scoffing.

"A solution?" Antiphates sneered. "And what would that be Your Majesty?” His tone dripped with derision. “Surely you don't mean to advise us on warfare."

"I don't intend to advise," Penelope replied calmly over the rising noise like a thunderclap. "I intend to lead."

The silence that followed was deafening. Disbelief, disdain, and outright opposition were written on their faces, each expression a reflection of centuries of tradition they were unwilling to abandon.

"You can't be serious," Lord Theocles spat in incredulity. His face was red with fury as he stepped forward, jabbing a finger in Penelope's direction. "A Queen leading us into war? Into Troy? It's unheard of! Absurd!"

Menestheus nodded in agreement. "This is no simple skirmish or border raid Your Grace. Troy is a battlefield for seasoned men, not..." He hesitated, his eyes flicking over Penelope's composed figure. "...a woman."

The words cut through the room like a slap.

You couldn't help it—you laughed. It wasn't a polite chuckle or a quiet snicker, but a full-bodied unapologetic laugh that echoed through the chamber.

The reaction was immediate. Every head turned toward you, the atmosphere shifting dangerously.

Theocles' face darkened. "And what, pray tell, is so amusing?" he snapped, his tone dripping with scorn. "The audacity of a servant to laugh in the presence of Kings and Lords—do you find this a jest?"

Your laughter cut off sharply and the grin on your face vanished. Straightening your posture you fixed Theocles with a piercing glare.

The weight of your stare silenced him momentarily, though his lips pressed into a thin, furious line.

"What's amusing," you began low, "is the sheer audacity of men like you. Men who cling to old titles and outdated notions, sitting here wringing your hands while claiming this war is too dire for anyone but yourselves to handle. Blind and foolish."

“Blind?” Theocles' eyes narrowed. “You speak of audacity, yet you forget your place. No matter what finery you wear or how close you stand to a King and Queen, it doesn’t change what you are—a servant from Sparta, playing at something greater.”

The room was deathly quiet, every eye flicking between you and Theocles, the tension coiling tighter with every word.

You stepped forward, the soft clink of your armor punctuating the silence. “And what does that make you Theocles? A Lord too afraid to recognize true strength when he sees it? Or too bitter to admit it’s not your own?”

Theocles bristled as the red in his face darkened. “You dare—”

“I dare,” you interrupted with an authority that silenced him. “And I’ll do more than that. You question my Queen’s ability to lead while you talk about leadership, strategy, strength, and victory. Yet you don't know?" 

Your lips curled in disgust as you slowly looked Theocles up and down, the sweep of your gaze heavy with scorn. It was the kind of look that stripped away every shred of pretense and left nothing but his insecurities exposed.

“Tell me,” your voice was cold and biting, “who do you think did the ambushed at the Strait of Corinth four years ago? Who do you think outmaneuvered the Arcadian raiders before they even set foot on Ithacan soil?"

The room shifted uneasily.

"You remember that battle don't you?" you continued, your tone now dripping with mock sweetness. "March 18th. Sixty Ithacan soldiers faced down a force of two hundred—and do you know how many casualties we suffered?"

No one spoke, their silence speaking louder than any protest.

"Three," your said sharply. "Three casualties against a force more than triple the size. The defense at Mount Neritos—who do you led the strategy that allowed us to repel the enemy without losing a single man?"

"The Battle of Amnisos—dozens of enemy soldiers routed with only one casualty among our men. Border raids by Spartan brigands. The skirmish along the Cephallonian coast. The pirate fleet ambush off Asteris. Each victory achieved with minimal casualties."

"Enough of this nonsense!" Theocles slammed his hand on the table. "What is the point of this ridiculous recitation?"

"The point," you said, your voice cutting through the air like steel, "is that you've spent so much time looking down on those you deem unworthy that you've failed to see the truth staring you in the face."

The weight of your words settled over them like a storm cloud.

"And what truth is that?" the older Lord growled, his face red with frustration.

You stepped back slightly, gesturing toward Penelope with deliberate care.  "The truth," you said, "is that the architect of those victories wasn't some mythical general or renowned soldier. It was her."

Reactions rippled through like a wave.

"That's impossible!" Timon barked, finally having enough of the charade. He stepped forward while pointing an accusatory finger. "The strategist behind those victories—he is a legend."

A small knowing smile tugged at your lips. "Oh he's real," you said, reaching into your enchanted satchel. "But you got one thing wrong."

They all watched, rapt with curiosity and trepidation, as you pulled out a gleaming bronze helmet. Its intricate design—unmistakably Ithacan in craftsmanship—caught the light with an almost ethereal brilliance.

You turned to Penelope, holding the helmet out to her. Her face remained calm but you saw the faintest flicker of something in her eyes. She reached out, her fingers brushing the polished bronze as she took the helmet from your hands.

"He's not a man," your voice ring throughout the hall like a clarion call. "He's Penelope. The Queen of Ithaca."

With that, Penelope reached up and pulled the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground in a heavy heap.

Shock spread across the room like wildfire.

Her armor gleamed beneath the torchlight—a sleek, regal masterpiece of polished bronze that seemed to glow faintly with a golden hue with the Ithacan crest adorning her breastplate.

And when she placed the helmet on her head, completing the ensemble, the effect was undeniable.

Every man there knew exactly who she was.

The shadowy figure who had led Ithaca's forces to victory time and time again. The one who had outwitted every enemy that dared to challenge her.

The hero whose name had been whispered in awe across the Greek world.

"It...It can't be!" Timon stumbled back in shock, "The Bronze Sentinel. The unknown warrior of Ithaca."

It had been her all along.

Odysseus, who had been silent until now, leaned back in his throne. His lips quirked into a faint smile, his eyes glimmering with something deeper: pride.

Penelope stood tall, her honey-brown eyes unflinching beneath the helm.

You stepped beside her. "Yes. The Bronze Sentinel. The very same figure who led Ithaca to victory time and again. And she stands before you now—not as a myth...but as your Queen."

Theocles's face was pale as his lips parted in disbelief. "Impossible," he muttered finally, shaking his head.

"Not impossible," you shot back firmly. "Unseen. Unrecognized. And yet; here she is."

"I have done more for this kingdom in secret than most of you have in your entire lives." Penelope declared, her voice calm and commanding—her tone leaving no room for argument. "And now I'm telling you openly: I will lead our forces to Troy. Not simply as your Queen, but as a warrior of Ithaca. A warrior who has already proven her worth. I will fight. And I will win."

As the final word left her lips the air in the throne room changed.

It started subtly—a faint hum in the air, a vibration that wasn't quite sound but felt deep in your bones. The light from the windows dimmed slightly as the golden glow of the sun gave way to something muted, almost crimson.

A low distant cry echoed through the chamber hauntingly. It wasn't human, but the unmistakable screech of a bird—a vulture.

The sound grew louder, more distinct, until the air itself seemed to quiver. Then, as if summoned by the Gods themselves, the fiery mirage of a massive vulture materialized in the air above the throne room.

Body shimmering like molten metal, the edges of its wings blazing with radiant heat. Its glowing red eyes burned with an intensity that made even the bravest men in the room flinch.

The vulture swooped low over the heads of the stunned court. Gasps erupted as it circled Penelope, its presence commanding and otherworldly—a divine fire that left no doubt of its purpose.

A piercing raspy cry left creature once more before diving toward Penelope. Some men stepped back instinctively as the fiery creature descended, others clutching their weapons.

But Penelope didn't flinch. She stood her ground with her chin high and her expression unyielding.

The vulture's blazing form collided with her, but instead of harm the flames swirled around her—licking at her armor and skin yet leaving them untouched.

The heat illuminated her, bathing her in a fiery glow that pulsed with divine power.

Power that left no doubt in anyone's mind.

"She's been blessed..." A hushed murmur washed over all those who witnessed this moment.

The earlier protests were silenced, replaced by awe and unease as the court struggled to process what they had witnessed.

An undeniable favor of the Gods.

Odysseus leaned forward slightly as he studied his wife. Finally a low chuckle escaped him, soft but unmistakable. "You always did have a way of surprising me," his voice was laced with warmth. "Ares himself...of course."

Penelope turned to face him fully as the fiery glow around her began to fade. "You once told me that Ithaca needed a leader who would do whatever it takes to protect its people," she said. "Now let me be that leader."

For a moment, Odysseus said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Very well."

One by one, every man within the courts y began to bow—acknowledging Penelope's authority as not just their Queen but as their leader in war.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️ BONUS  ⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The nursery was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.

You sat cross-legged on a thick woven rug dressed in a simple flowing gown—a rare moment of ease amid the chaos that had overtaken Ithaca.

Telemachus lay nestled in your lap, his wide eyes staring up at you.

You sang to him softly, an old Spartan lullaby you barely remembered but hummed with as much tenderness as if you had composed it yourself.

"Look at you little Prince," you cooed affectionately as you adjusted the blanket wrapped around him. "Not even a month old and already ruling the palace."

Telemachus let out another round of gurgles. The sound warmed your chest, filling the room with a sense of peace that felt rare these days.

You were half lost in the rhythm of the tender atmosphere when a familiar voice cut through the stillness.

"My love!"

The playful drawn-out whine made you pause mid-hum. You glanced up toward the archway, your brows furrowing slightly as you caught the sound of something creaking and bumping along the floor.

"How could you! How could you keep such a thing from me?!"

You rolled your eyes before even seeing him.

Penelope was the first to step through the doorway. Her lips was pressed into a thin line—yet there was a telltale flicker of amusement dancing in her honey-brown eyes. The golden fabric of her evening gown shimmered faintly in the sunlight, the soft folds swaying gently as she moved with practiced grace.

Before you could ask the source of the commotion revealed itself: Odysseus.

He wheeled himself into view; his movements slightly clumsy as he maneuvered the makeshift wheelchair you and Polites had hastily built for him. It wasn't perfect—far from it really—but it allowed him some semblance of mobility while his leg healed.

The wheels creaked with every push, and one of them wobbled precariously, but Odysseus didn't seem to care.

"How could you not tell me?" he repeated dramatically, clutching his chest as if physically wounded by some great betrayal.

Penelope sighed and crossed her arms.

"Odysseus," she said evenly, though her tone carried the faintest edge of humor, "you're being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?!" he gestures wildly with one hand while the other held the position of his creaky chair. "You—my wife—Queen of Ithaca. A secret warrior favored by Ares himself. And you didn't think to tell me? Not once?"

Penelope arched a brow. "And what would you have done with that information?"

Odysseus opened his mouth only to pause, his expression shifting as though genuinely considering her question.

"We could've been a team," he declared at last, his tone dramatic once more. "A power couple! Do you know how incredible we would've looked fighting side by side? King and Queen, unstoppable on the battlefield!"

A small laugh escapes the older of the two. "Unstoppable perhaps,” she said lightly. “But imagine the scandal—a King so obviously favoring a fellow warrior on the battlefield. What would they say about Ithaca then?”

“Favoritism!” Odysseus scoffed, leaning back in his chair as he waved her off. “Please. It’s called a strategic advantage.”

"And besides," Penelope continued, stepping closer to stand tall over him, "I thought you'd notice. All the training, the sparring, the fact that I am clearly stronger than you."

Odysseus's eyes widened slightly as a faint pink flush crept up his neck. "O-of course I noticed!" he said quickly, his voice dropping slightly. "I...I liked it very much actually."

Penelope leaned down until her nose grazed his. Her honey-brown eyes gleaming with mischief as a sly smile curved her lips. "Oh really?"

Odysseus sputtered, the blush deepening as it spreads across his cheeks. "I mean—I just assumed it was...a Spartan thing! You know cultural. Spartan women are known for being strong aren't they?"

 "Not to the extent I went," she teased as her smirk deepened. "Or were you too distracted to notice that too?"

"I was not distracted!" Odysseus snapped, though the faint pink on his ears betrayed him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added sheepishly, "At least...not by anything that mattered."

Penelope tilted her head, her smile sharpening as she straightened. "Oh? Like when you proposed to my cousin Helen?"

The room fell silent.

Odysseus froze mid-adjustment of his chair, his eyes widening. "Penelope..." he began, his voice strained, "we don’t need to bring that up. That was...different."

"Different was it?" Penelope echoed faintly. "You mean when you, Odysseus of Ithaca, didn't offer your hand in marriage to Helen of Sparta—the same Helen whose father made you and every other suitor swear that ridiculous oath to protect her marriage no matter who she chose?"

"I didn’t even know much about you then!" Odysseus exclaimed, his voice pitching higher as he gestured emphatically. "Helen had just mentioned you after I promised—gossiping with her ladies about how Penelope of Sparta, Daughter of Icarius couldn’t even find one suitor while she had a hundred vying for her hand. She was laughing about it!"

“And that made you think you should join her queue?” Penelope’s tone was syrupy sweet, but there was steel beneath it. “Interesting.”

“I was young!” Odysseus argued, clearly flustered. “I didn’t know any better. And besides—” He looked up at her, sincerity softening his expression. “The moment I heard what you were like—your personality, your strength, your…everything—I realized Helen was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Penelope asked, tilting her head, her eyes glittering with mischief.

His words tumbled over each other as he waved his hands in a frantic attempt to clarify. "Not a mistake! I mean—yes a mistake. But not...you know what I mean. She wasn’t you!"

At this point you couldn't hold it in any longer. Laughter bubbled out of you, loud and genuine. The sound startled them both and they turned toward you in unison.

 "Alright," you said, still chuckling as you shoot them a pointed look. "I take it we're actually going to do this then?"

Penelope didn't answer immediately. Instead, she let a slow knowing smile creep across her face.

"Oh absolutely. Second-in-Command."

[theloveinc]

(warning: incest, dubcon, drugs/alc, mentions of you being “small” … etc).

Daddy Eijiro…has an odd way of keeping his baby out of trouble.

He’s more than happy if you want to drink, smoke, run off with friends, try new things with boys you don’t know. Really, getting permission is the easy part. It’s if you actually want to leave the house, get the car keys in the ignition and go, partake in all the madness that’s difficult: you gotta show him you can handle it first.

The first time you asked to go out with your friends, fluttered your pretty lashes at him as you asked him to buy you a six-pack, you hadn’t even registered it was naughty—there’s very little you aren’t comfortable sharing with your daddy, so why would this be any different? Eijiro was honestly delighted at the notion of your trust, even if his chest tightened and anger started to brew in his stomach at your request.

He wasn’t willing to stoop so low as to punish you, though, not simply for asking a question you had no idea the consequences of… so instead of his usual disciplinary tactics, he decided to show you exactly what you’d be getting yourself into.

You wanna go out and drink with your friends? he’d said, a nod of your cute, ditzy head the answer. Then show me you can handle your liquor.

He’d split a beer with you, first to see how’d you’d like it, then to see how fast it’d have your little body slumped. Then he split another one, letting you go gooey in his lap til your head was pounding. You barely managed three bottles before you were out cold (and daddy Eijiro was able to tuck you in bed, safe and sound, ready to nurse your hangover the next morning with echoes of your own words: why drinking just isn’t for you.)

You wanna try smoking weed? He’d said egregiously another time, watching you play with the lighter he keeps in his back pocket at times. Better let me teach you how, was his response before he smoked you out till you were on another planet entirely, busy sucking on daddy’s fingers and pawing and pawing at his belt, gone were the dreams of doing this with anybody else—see? He’d said, you just couldn’t handle it.

You have a crush on a boy? was most recently, when he’d replied, well, this is how boys kiss and crashed his lips into yours with such bruising strength it had you pulling back. And this is what they’ll do to you when you ask them to stop.

[gamebunny-advance]

Hm.

I think I have the energy to prep 1 more character for Art Fight, but I dunno who.

Is there anyone y'all want to see? OCs or AU!Characters are fine. I can't guarantee that I'll do them, but I'd like to hear what y'all think at least.

[fictionadventurer]

It turns out that the Eleventh Doctor Appeal mostly boils down to

A character who

Is goofy

While being very competent

And deeply kind

And that's the secret formula for designing my favorite characters.

[shortkingvi]

In a world full of domtop caitlyn believers on tumblr and Twitter I must rise as a stone top vi truther

you have come to the right blog anon!!!! this is a stone top vi truther safe space always and forever